by Amy Faye
Chris took a deep breath.
"You need me any further?"
The Sheriff sat for a moment, not answering. The faraway 'pop' that echoed through the hills and ripped through Roberts's thigh ended up answering for him. The Sheriff let out a yell and slipped off his horse.
Chris could about hear the sound of a voice calling out: 'I said you oughta come alone!'
He eased himself off his own horse and grabbed the Sheriff, who clutched at his leg. He needed to get them out of there, and he needed to do it in a hurry.
Thirty-Five
Marie watched Jamie as he took a deep breath and then put the skillet on the stove and crack a couple of eggs. He was surprisingly capable. He had to be, with his parents away as often as they were. Now, with them never coming back, he'd only have to be more independent.
The egg let out a hiss as he poured it in. A quick look around before he threw it away, as if he needed to find it again. And no doubt, he did. He was functioning again, on a basic level, and that was an incredible achievement all by itself.
After all, it was barely a week past finding out that his parents were dead. Only a week past his entire life being turned upside down. A teacher wasn't a replacement for parents; it was a simple reality, and one that she wasn't afraid to confess to.
She hadn't known him for years. She'd been here four months. But someone needed to do something. She wasn't going to see a child hurt. No one deserved to suffer, but it hurt especially to see such a sweet, caring boy put into a bad spot.
The bad spot in this case, the worst spot of all, was that his promised protector had gone off to talk to the Sheriff, and he hadn't come back. Not all night, if she was in a position to know. Now Jamie was making himself breakfast, and if he worried then he was doing a good job hiding it for now.
The smell of food started to fill the little hotel room. To fill her nostrils. Marie smiled without being able to help herself. She pushed herself up from her seat on the sofa, pushed her mood out of the gutter.
"Smells good," she offered as she stepped over to the meager stove.
Jamie looked up at her with a mixture of emotions. Then, after a long time, he murmured, "thank you." He didn't comment any further.
"What do you think we should do today?"
Jamie's lips pinched together. "Don't we have class?"
Marie shook her head. "Not today, Jamie. We're taking a holiday. Tomorrow, though–"
His eyebrow furrowed. "Can we go see Mr. Chris?"
Marie's lip found its way seemingly all on its own to between her teeth. She hid the expression before Jamie could see it, or so she hoped.
"He's at that bar, Jamie, you know it's not appropriate–"
"He'll come out to talk to us, though, if you ask him."
Marie took a deep breath and made an effort to keep her face neutral and smooth. "Not today, Jamie. He's been taking too much time off work, his boss is very upset with him."
Jamie's face fell. "Oh."
Marie let her eyes drift shut. She hadn't meant to upset him, just–jeez. Why did it have to happen this way? She wasn't trying to do anything mean, but how much meaner would it have been to let him know that she was worried? To a child, barely ten years old, if an adult was worried, then just how bad could the situation be?
With all the bad situations that he'd been through in recent days, it wouldn't be a great leap.
"We could go see Ruby. I'm sure she's got something a boy your age would like, over at the store."
He made an attempt at looking like that cheered him up. Anyone could have seen through it. She smiled at him, though. Baby steps before giant strides.
"But can we stop in and see Mr. Chris, at least? Just a moment."
Marie didn't have a good answer for that. There was no reason that they couldn't, not if he were there. They could just stop in a minute. There was nothing wrong with that.
Nothing wrong except that it relied on him being there, and she didn't know what they would find when they stepped into the bar.
So the teacher did what she always did when there wasn't a good answer: she changed the subject.
"Did you sleep alright?"
There was a faint hope that he would let the subject drop, but it was quickly apparent that he had noticed the shift. From the look on his face, he didn't like it.
"Is there something wrong with Mr. Chris? Is he okay?"
Marie didn't know what to tell him. 'I don't know' was about as comforting as a bed of nails, and Jamie wasn't exactly in an emotionally stable position right now. She didn't want to create more problems for him, not when he already had so much to deal with.
"He said he had a little business, but he'd be back today," she lied. It sounded right.
"So we can go see him, then," Jamie reasoned. He looked at her out of the side of his eyes as he took his first bite of eggs.
"We can try, but if he's not here until this evening, then he won't be there."
It was the best she could do, given the circumstances. Now she just had to hope that he was going to accept it.
"He didn't know when he'd be back?"
"He went out to meet a friend the next town over. If they get to talking, it could be a few hours. You know how men are," she said, as if he might have done it himself, knowing he wouldn't have.
But he wasn't going to deny the chance to pretend to be a man, certainly not in front of her. That was what Marie gambled on, anyways.
"Oh, sure. That makes sense," he agreed. He looked down at his eggs and pulled another bite onto his fork with a piece of bread. "But we should still go see him. He'll want to talk to me, after all."
Marie smiled. "You're right, Jamie. He absolutely will. He wouldn't miss it for the world, if he knew you were coming."
She ran her fingers through his hair and let him eat. Now she just had to hope that in spite of everything, he'd be there. The chance that he wouldn't wasn't one that she particularly wanted to take.
Thirty-Six
Chris ought to have gone faster. That would have been the best chance at getting the Sheriff back home safe, with most of his blood still in his body. The good news was that he still grunted a little, if the bartender shook him. It was a poor consolation, compared to the paleness of Roberts' skin.
Minutes counted in keeping the Sheriff's wife married. But riding hard, he quickly realized, was just too much of a risk. The big man could barely keep the half-conscious Sheriff on the saddle in front of him at any decent speed, and the cries of pain left little question of how well he was enjoying the ride.
So it was slow going in spite of Chris's best hopes and intentions, and as the sun started to slip down the horizon, he finally rode into town. If he'd been able to make it to the doc's office before someone noticed, that would have been enough. All he'd needed, no more.
That wasn't what happened. Someone noticed him riding in, and once they'd looked his way it wasn't hard to notice the body, halfway laid out along the horse's neck, a position that couldn't have been pleasant for any involved. Then the shout went on ahead and before he could say 'boo' there were folks coming out of the woodwork to come and see what was happening.
Chris let out a yell and tried to force his horse through. This was exactly what he'd expected to happen. Like clockwork, they'd done what they always did, and he wasn't going to be surprised by something like this. Just work through and try to get the Sheriff to help. The folks would figure it out and let him through, though they'd be clinging real close to see how it all went down. To see the exact moment when they can start claiming that he got the Sheriff killed. 'Almost' just didn't hold the same sort of appeal.
None of that surprised him. He was even a little bit used to it, as if he'd have been disappointed by the town if they hadn't bothered. But he was surprised by the horse pulling up in front of him, blocking what little gap the bartender was able to make for himself.
"I wasn't done talking to you, you yellow-bellied coward."
Chris's jaw t
ightened, but he didn't answer, heading his horse off to the side. He got the response he expected when his brother moved to intercept him. He worked the action on his rifle, a little threat to remind him that it was loaded.
"I need to get this man to a doctor. He's hurt bad."
Jack lowered the barrel of the rifle until it was leveled at his younger brother. "Yeah? That's a damn shame to hear."
"You can't do this, Jack–"
The murmur of the crowd rose in a ripple. With the name, suspicions were being confirmed. A face to go with the name. 'Smiling' Jack wasn't smiling–not that he ever did. But at least he'd managed to keep Chris's name out of the papers, and off the wanted posters.
"You watch me. You think I have a problem watching some law-man bleed to death? You got another thing coming."
"Jack, I don't know what your problem is, but you got no quarrel with him. You want me, you got me, but let this fella get help."
There was a glimmer of something in Jack's face that might have been consideration. Then his flat expression returned and he reaffirmed his target was dead on.
"I ain't gonna have you running off again. You're good at that, boy, and I ain't lookin' forward to another five years trackin' you down again."
"Is that how long it was? How long did it take to decide I weren't dead when you left me behind?"
There was a moment, in Chris's head, when he'd hoped that Jack was going to be so stung by the comment that he would let them both go, at least just long enough. The way that he tightened up his jaw, though, told the whole story of how naive that idea had been.
"Fuck you. If you were fine, y'ought to have come along behind. Sammy'd still be around if you had brought up the rear."
"If I'd been a quick shot, you mean. If I took on a posse by myself, I might have had a chance."
Jack's expression shifted from righteous fury to stubborn fury. It was a subtle shift, but to Chris, he might as well have moved a mountain.
"I don't care what kind of clever words you got to say. You left us to die."
Chris bit back the words in his chest, and then looked at the hexagonal barrel of that rifle, pointed right at his chest.
"I ain't done nothing. Not to Sammy and not to you. You're foolin' yourself."
"Fuck you, you son of a bitch. It was in your power, but you were too weak to do what needed doing."
"Jack, look at yourself, and when you're doin' it, realize that you're the one got Sammy killed. If we'd given up that life when we was ahead–hell, if we'd picked at the dirt a little–"
"Is that what you thought they wanted? Live life with nothing to look forward to? Just dirt-farmin' and barely making enough to survive?"
"Better than looking forward to a bullet."
Jack's snarl deepened. "You always think you're so smart. Go on, go for that pistol of yours. Think you're so tough–"
"Either pull the trigger, Jack, or get out my way, cause I'm coming through. How many of your brothers are you ready to get killed?"
He spurred his horse on, and it started moving. Chris tensed for a minute, ready for the shot to ring out any moment. And, to his surprise, it didn't. He passed Jack's horse by, and kept his head on straight as he rode by. Nothing to look back for. Nothing to think about, nothing to worry about.
He had something else to deal with, something more pressing. Something bleeding all over his horse who needed medical attention, and needed it hours ago.
Thirty-Seven
Marie watched him riding with a sick feeling in her gut. There was talk. People who gossip, they know that it's just idle chatter, that they could be making it all up, even if they say that they're as sure as can be.
Marie had watched that doubt in its effects, even as she'd seen what happened when suspicions mounted and people's idle talk overwhelmed their senses. That doubt slowed them down. Kept people quiet. That little bit of uncertainty, the idea that maybe, just maybe, they're wrong and they need to act with a little doubt. Discretion.
Once they knew, without a shadow of a doubt—he'd be done for, and nothing that she nor anyone could do would be able to stop that from happening, when it happened. She could feel the heat in the crowd rising as they waited for him to emerge. Either he'd come out, or they'd go in and get him, she feared, and then—then, who knew what lengths people would go to.
Marie took a deep breath and tried to get her head on straight. The first thing that she had to do was make sure that he had as many people on his side as possible. She looked around for Chris's brother. If he was still there, he was hiding. But there was no place that he could hide so well, not in a crowd like this. She stepped up onto the wheel of a coach that was parked up outside the back of the saloon and looked closer. Nothing to see, even still.
Marie frowned. That was one problem out of the way, at least. But now, she had to get across the crowd. That was going to present a problem and a half. But there wasn't much choice in the matter. Either she got over there, or… well, there was no point in thinking about the alternatives. She settled back down to the ground and grabbed Jamie's hand.
"Come on, we've got to go."
He looked up at her with an expression that told her all about the questions he wanted to ask her. He kept them to himself, though. It wasn't time to be arguing with adults. Not when everything was going crazy all around them, and he was a good enough boy to know it.
The problems would really start once Marie got to the door. Whatever her plan would be, the first step was always 'get to the door.' But beyond that, turning things to her favor, to Chris's favor—that would be a challenge. Faces turned and stared as she threaded her way through the close-pressed people. Thankfully, they looked only for a few moments before deciding, it seemed, that she wasn't nearly so interesting a prize as Chris.
The teacher did her best to keep her head down and keep moving to encourage that. If she didn't, who knew how long it would be before someone stopped her. Once they got inside, she reminded herself. They just had to get inside, and then they'd be safe. She could talk to Chris and they'd be able to hatch out some kind of plan.
Marie shouldered through another layer of the crowd. It seemed impossibly thick, all of them pressing to get even a little bit closer to the door. And as she moved, she pressed them in even tighter.
A voice went up, loud and clear. Loud enough that she, along with the entire crowd, stopped what they were doing and looked up.
The preacher was there. She'd seen him a few times, in passing. Not enough to know more than that about him. But it was easy to see the resemblance between him and the gray-haired man sitting on the seat beside him. No one stood near the coach, she saw. They seemed to have cleared a space. It wasn't until one of them shifted and she saw the rifle over the soldiers' shoulder that she realized how they'd done it.
A half-dozen men with military bearing and sour expressions on their faces held the crowd back far enough that there would be no risk of the crowd ever touching one solitary hair on the horses pulling the coach before they were dealt with. Swiftly, no doubt.
"People! You've heard the words of wanted men—and has Chris Broadmoor denied it? Never once!"
The crowd fell quieter still. The murmurs died down. There was someone in charge, now, and they'd wait for him to give the orders.
"I have spoken with you fine people about him more than once. And now you see, with your own eyes, that I have spoken the truth."
She pushed harder. There was a bad feeling in her gut.
"Are we going to allow that sort of man in our community?"
"No," someone cried out from the mob. Several other voices joined in. Marie pushed harder, and made it another couple of feet. In just a few more steps, she'd be there.
A hand grabbed around her arm.
"I've got his whore!"
She turned to find Mrs. Bradbury's face, beaming, her other arm held up high to show everyone exactly where the 'whore' was.
"Don't hurt her, dear. Just bring her here. We're not animal
s."
The crowd spread out, making room for them as she was pulled past. There was no hope of fighting, so Marie let them take her.
It was far, far too late to do anything else, now.
Thirty-Eight
Chris watched the doctor working with a tight jaw for a minute. He'd expect payment, at some point. That would be a problem. Hopefully, it would be a problem he could leave with Mick and Sheriff Roberts, but if it wasn't—well, he'd made the problem.
If things went sideways, then he'd have to be the one to deal with the consequences. He let out a long breath. His hips hurt from all the riding. It had been years since he'd spent that kind of time in the saddle, and now he was beginning to remember why he hadn't ever wanted to live that sort of life.
Sore, and here he was right back where he'd started the day, more tired and with nothing to show for it but a couple of broken men who had been fine when they went to bed the night before. The only one making out was the Doc, and even he had to be feeling the pressure, with two men in his care who, far as Chris could tell, might go at any moment.
He took a breath. There was a racket outside. People yelling, people shouting. No different than it had been on the way in, but now it was time to stop running away from it. If they wanted him, then by God, they were going to get him.
He looked down at the gun belt on his hip. The damn thing had caused more problems than it was worth. What use was it now? The only thing it would do if he wore it out into that crowd of people would be to convince folks he was every bit the killer they seemed to think he was.
Chris pulled the buckle loose and set it down.
"I'm gonna leave this here," he called into the other room. The doc didn't respond, not that he'd expected one. And then, with a breath like he was about to dip his head under the water, he stepped out through the doors.
Once the door opened, the sound of the crowd outside, riled up enough to start a war, hit him like a ton of bricks. It didn't take more than a moment for them to notice him coming through, and then near on two hundred souls all tried to come at him at once.