by John Hansen
Chapter Sixteen
It had taken Josh a couple of days of riding at a pretty steady pace to reach the point where he was at now, overlooking the town of Boise. The town was situated in the bottom of a broad basin on the banks of the Boise River. Foothills covered with juniper trees, sagebrush, and grass surrounded the town. Now that Idaho City had passed its boom days, Boise was the biggest settlement for maybe four or five days’ ride, and along with nearby Fort Boise it represented stability and law and order in the area. The town was of such size that no one took particular note of Josh as he rode in on this hot summer afternoon. He had two immediate concerns and they both involved comfort. His first priority was Thunder, and having spotted a livery and blacksmith down a short side street, he headed for it. Reining Thunder in, he dismounted in front of the big open doors to the livery part of the business. A short man whose shirt sleeves were rolled up above the elbows, revealing incredibly muscular forearms, emerged from the livery. “Can I help ya?” he asked.
“Yeah, I reckon you can,” replied Josh. “I’ll be needin’ to stable my horse here for a night or two.”
“I charge two bits a day if that sits right with ya,” said the short man, barely looking at Josh.
“Sounds fair,” said Josh, “but if ya’ll don’t mind I’ll tend to him today. We been on the trail for a coupla three days and I wanna brush him down good.”
“Suit yourself,” said the short man. “There’s brushes in the back there,” he added, nodding towards the open doors.
“Much obliged,” said Josh as he started to go around the short man.
“Where ya comin’ from?” asked the short man unexpectedly.
Josh paused and looked at the short man. “Bear Creek.”
The short man shook his head. “From what I hear that’s a bad place to be.”
“Can’t say as I disagree with ya’ll,” replied Josh in a somewhat disgusted tone. “So far it ain’t done right by me.”
“Well, I don’t think you’re alone there,” said the short man. “There’s been a number of folks that’s passed through here on their way to Bear Creek—decent folks, ya know—and then the next thing you hear is that they got themselves kilt and robbed out here in the wilds somewhere.”
“Yes sir, that’s a fact,” said Josh sternly. “I got firsthand knowledge of that.”
“Sorry to hear that,” said the short man.
“Thanks,” said Josh, and then it came to him that the short man might be a good source of information. “Ya’ll know the marshal in these parts?”
A mildly surprised look came over the short man’s face. “You know Caleb?” he asked.
Josh hesitated for a moment before answering. He usually didn’t think of the marshal on a first-name basis. Their meeting had been brief, and his suspicions of the marshal and Sarah had left him with a feeling of indifference towards the marshal on a personal level, but then he said: “Yeah, I ran into him a little while back up at Bear Creek. I kinda figured he woulda got in here last night or today.”
“Naw, I ain’t seen him, and I reckon I would if he was back in town ‘cause he usually keeps his horse here,” said the short man, and then he added, “You might check at the boardin’ house just around the corner—he has a room there.”
And so after tending to Thunder, Josh headed for the boardinghouse where the marshal stayed. It was a relatively short walk on mostly dirt streets; the boardinghouse, however, had a board walkway in front of it. It was a two-story building with a total of eight rooms for rent. Meals for the guests were taken family style in a dining room off of the kitchen on the ground floor. A parlor room for socializing was adjacent to the dining area. The main-street entrance to the boardinghouse opened into the parlor, which was where Josh soon found himself. No one seemed to be around, and it was quiet except for the ticking of a big clock on the wall across the room. It was encased in what appeared to be oak wood with a glass face and a brass pendulum that tirelessly marked the time. Beneath the clock was a padded couch, and along the wall near the window looking out onto the street was a padded chair. A painting of some pastoral mountain setting hung on the wall near the padded chair. On the wall to Josh’s right and opposite the entrance to the dining room was a big rock fireplace. Above the fireplace was the mount of a big buck deer that seemed to be looking back at you regardless of where you were at in the room. There were several books and newspapers neatly arranged on a small table in front of the couch. Beneath the coffee table was a large rug that could probably pass for a tapestry in most places. It depicted an intricate floral pattern of a variety of colors, but mostly a dark hue. There was an abundance of solitude in the room; it was soothing to the senses. Josh felt at peace there, kind of like when he was in the mountains above timber line on a sunny day and he had a commanding view of nothing but rugged beauty; it was an inviting place. He was studying the ornately carved flower designs in a wooden rocking chair near the big rock fireplace when he heard someone approaching from the dining area. “May I help you?” came the voice of a woman.
Josh turned around to see a young woman—a pretty woman about his age—looking at him. He felt an instant physical attraction to her. He couldn’t help himself. She was tall for a girl, maybe five foot seven or eight with long red hair and shapely. She wore a plain blue gingham dress that only seemed to accentuate her natural beauty. Josh brought his right hand up to the brim of his hat in a gesture as to tip his hat in the presence of a lady. It was a courtesy that his father had instilled in him at an early age. “My name’s Josh Morrow. I’m lookin’ for the marshal. Ya’ll wouldn’t happen to know if he’s in, would ya?”
The young woman hesitated a moment as if she was evaluating Josh’s character, and then she asked: “Are you a friend or business associate of the marshal’s?”
Josh looked at the woman. It was apparent that the marshal had likely cautioned her about giving out information on his coming and going, which was probably a wise thing to do. Might as well just lay my cards on the table, thought Josh, and so he dug into his shirt pocket and retrieved his Deputy United States Marshal badge. “I’m the marshal’s deputy,” said Josh, displaying the badge and looking squarely into the woman’s blue eyes.
The surprise on the woman’s face was obvious. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t know Caleb had a deputy.”
Caleb? said Josh to himself. Sounds like they’re on a first name basis. And then he said aloud to the girl: “He didn’t until a few days ago when he deputized me up at Bear Creek.”
“So that’s where he went to,” replied the woman. “He was pretty tight-lipped about where he was going.”
“So I take it he ain’t come back yet,” said Josh.
“If he has he ain’t been here,” said the woman. “This is usually one of his first stops when he does come into town after being gone awhile.”
The woman’s words had a tone of certainty about them. It seemed she knew the marshal fairly well, or at least that’s what Josh’s imagination was leading him to believe. More importantly, though, was the marshal. He should’ve been here by now, said Josh to himself. Trying not to show concern, Josh said to the woman: “Well, I ain’t seen him in about a week so he might have got a late start. He’ll probably be here tomorrow or the next day.”
There was now a hint of worry in the woman’s expression. “If you’re Caleb’s deputy, how come the two of you aren’t together?” she asked with some noticeable edge in her voice.
“Well, ma’am,” said Josh patiently, “we was doing different things in different places at the same time.”
“And of course you’re not going to tell me what those things are, correct?” replied the woman.
“No, ma’am,” said Josh respectfully. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, but I think ya’ll can be of some help to me.”
“How’s that?” asked the woman curiously.
“Well, I need to know where I can find Judge Higgins, and I’ll be needin’ a room for a couple a days if ya’l
l got one available.”
“Oh,” replied the woman in a somewhat deflated tone of voice, having expected Josh’s request to be of more importance. “The judge’s office is in the courthouse down at the far end of Main Street,” she said, pointing to the north end of town. “As for the room we’ve got one on the second floor, with meals it’s a dollar a day.”
“That sounds good,” said Josh.
“Fine, Mr.—I’m sorry I’ve forgotten your name,” said the woman, slightly embarrassed.
“Morrow, Josh Morrow, and your name?”
The young woman extended her hand. “I’m Lisa Ambrose, my mother and I own this boardinghouse.”
Josh shook Lisa’s hand, enveloping it completely. It was, as one might expect, soft to the touch, but her grip was firm and confident as she looked Josh in the eye. “Pleased to meet you, Lisa.”
Lisa smiled and nodded politely. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Morrow, I’ll have you sign our guest register and give you your room key.”
Josh followed a few steps behind Lisa as she led him into the dining area and a small desk in the corner of the room where the registration book was located. The smell of her bath soap or possibly a perfume seemed to be more evident to him now. It was an inviting, if not tantalizing, smell of femininity—something that he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Turning, Lisa handed Josh a pen. “Sign in here, if you don’t mind,” she said, gesturing towards the guestbook.
Josh took the pen and bent over the book.
“Supper’s at six and here’s your key, room number seven, up the stairs and to your right,” said Lisa as Josh turned to face her.
Josh smiled and tipped his hat slightly. “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll see you at suppertime.”
As Josh walked towards the courthouse, his mind was awash with different thoughts and emotions. He’d been attracted to Lisa. It was just a feeling but it made him feel guilty. He knew that Sarah had feelings for him, and truth be told he did for her as well but she came with baggage, and try as he might he hadn’t been able to set this aside—not yet anyway. And then just to add to it all there was the matter of the marshal. It appeared that Lisa had more than a casual interest in the marshal, but Josh wasn’t certain this went both ways given his suspicions about the marshal and Sarah. Josh sighed. Women, they ain’t nothin’ but trouble, he said to himself.
The courthouse, an impressive-looking building, was three stories tall. It housed not only the court but the jail and some offices. Josh entered the building and asked for directions to the judge’s office. Up until now he’d taken it for granted that he could just tell the judge what had happened when he killed Leroy and the judge would believe him and that would be that. But now as he was about to knock on the judge’s door he had a major case of butterflies; after all, he reasoned, the judge doesn’t know him from Adam and he’s about to confess to killing a man. Sure, he had a deputy marshal’s badge, but now who knows where the marshal is and he’s the only one, except Sarah, that can say how he got the badge. Josh knocked firmly on the door.
“Come in,” said a gravelly voice from inside.
Josh opened the door and stepped into the judge’s office, careful to close the door behind him. For an office, it was a fairly large room. To Josh’s left were a couple of padded chairs and a small table between them. A bottle of whiskey and several glasses sat on the table. The chairs were positioned such that their occupants wouldn’t be facing one another but would only have to turn their heads slightly to make eye contact. On the wall behind the chairs were bookshelves. It was an impressive library, totaling in the several hundreds of books. To the right of it was a permanent wood box. It was about three feet tall by about five feet wide and three feet deep. Its relatively large size owed to the fact that the judge’s office was on the third floor of the courthouse. In the wintertime, for two bits the judge could usually get a young guy to split firewood out back of the courthouse and then carry it up the three flights of stairs to fill the box. And then there were other times when the local sheriff, having jailed someone for being drunk and disorderly with no means to pay the fine, would allow him to work it off by filling the judge’s wood box. A stove—not the pot-bellied kind, but rather a flat top designed for cooking and heating—sat next to the wood box. Always in the winter, but only sometimes in the summer due to the heat, the judge would have a pot of coffee or sometimes hot water for making tea on the stove. He spent a lot of time in his office and he aimed to be comfortable. To the right of the stove was a gun cabinet that appeared to have seven or eight rifles and shotguns in it. It was made of a light yellow-colored wood, probably ponderosa pine, and had two doors with long glass panes that met in the center. Hanging on the wall to Josh’s right was a grizzly bear rug, and to the right of it was the head of a massive bighorn sheep ram. Tucked into the corner, not far from the judge’s large oak desk, were two wooden filing cabinets. But as Josh walked across the creaky wood floor towards the judge seated behind his desk, it wasn’t any of these things, not even the judge, that held his attention. On the wall behind the judge was a Mexican battle flag and a Mexican cavalry officer’s saber. Seeing the tract that Josh’s eyes were on, the judge said: “Souvenirs I picked up in ‘47 down near the border. Are you a military man?”
Somewhat embarrassed, Josh lowered his eyes to meet those of the judge. “Yes sir, I am. I spent five years in the 2nd Cavalry fightin’ Comanches and Mexican bandits.”