by Dan Arnold
“Well, all I can say is when you say you’re going to clean up a town, you manage to take out most of the trash yourself.”
“Not like this. Why did everybody start shooting?” I asked.
“I guess there were several men in here who didn’t want to be arrested this evening. You killed Martin Pogue. He was sitting at the table with the Thorndykes. He couldn’t afford to be arrested. He faced hanging for sure. He just lost his head,” Bob said.
“This place was a den of low life criminals, cutthroats, and thieves. A pity you didn’t get Ian McGregger while you were at it. Can you walk, Sheriff?” Mrs. Poole asked me.
I nodded.
“I can hobble pretty well.”
“Bob, you’d better help him up. We’re going to the house to get you all patched up.”
“Okay, Emma,” Bob replied
It dawned on me they knew each other.
“How do you two know each other?” I asked, stupidly.
They both just stared at me.
I limped over and picked up my John Browning designed Winchester shotgun from where I’d dropped it. I reloaded it with shells from my jacket pocket.
Then we headed out.
***
Outside, the street was crowded with onlookers and some who had escaped the carnage. People had come running as soon as the shooting stopped. Some were standing on the porch of the Gold Dust. Others had swarmed out of the Oxbow.
There were horrified looks on the faces of some. Others nodded their respects.
There was no sign of Homer Thorndyke.
Bob and I were in no mood for trouble, and people could sense it. They moved aside and let us be on our way. I managed to limp around the corner, but before we had gone very far, I had to lean on Bob. Mrs. Poole hurried on ahead of us.
35.
Upon our arrival at Aphrodite’s Bower, Bob eased me down on the couch in the music room.
Wes was nowhere in sight.
Victoria came in with a big bowl of hot water, bandages, towels, and what not.
She took one look at me and said, “Let’s get your pants off. In fact, we need to get you out of your clothes altogether.”
She looked at Bob, who had a peculiar grin on his face.
“You help him do that while I go upstairs and get a blanket,” She said.
The minute she left the room, Bob chuckled.
“I would love to see the look on your face when you tell Lora this part of the story.”
Before I could reply, Max came in.
“Y’all’s friend is upstairs with Miz Emma, Nancy, and Debbie. He’s hurt real bad.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“Bob, please go up and check on him. Maybe we should haul him down to Bear Creek, and let Doc Johnson treat him.”
Bob nodded and left.
“Max, can you help me get my boots off?”
“Sho nuff, Sheriff Sage, you sit down there, and I’ll ease um off.”
The first one, on the left side, came off easy enough, but the one on the right was much more difficult. The bullet had gone through part of the calf muscle just above the top of my boot. That boot was full of sticky congealed blood. Max got a firm grip on the boot, and I grabbed my leg just above the knee and pulled my foot free. The effort was rewarded with tremendous pain and new bleeding from both my leg and the base of my neck. I lay back on the settee panting and sweating.
“Oh, for crying out loud! Men! You haven’t got the sense God gave a chipmunk. Look at the mess you’re making,” Victoria said, as she hurried back into the room. “Here now, Sheriff, stand up for a minute. I swear men can’t tolerate even a little pain.”
Max helped me up, and I stood on one leg while Victoria draped the blanket over the couch. My blood saturated sock was steadily dripping onto the polished oak of the floor. “Max, put a towel under that foot!” Victoria snapped.
Max hastened to comply.
“Alright now, let’s get you out of those clothes. We’ll start with the slicker, then the gun belt, the jacket, vest, and shirt.”
She helped me do that, then she had me peel down the top of my long johns to the waist. The long johns were stiffening with dried blood. Then she had me unbutton my pants and sit on the couch. She used some soap and warm water to bathe the bullet crease at the base of my neck and wash the blood off of my torso.
“Just hold this bandage on here for a little while, till the bleeding stops,” she said.
Bob came back into the room.
“Wes can’t be moved, till the bullet comes out. She’s doing that now. I don’t know of any doctor anywhere could do a better job than she’s doing right now. She has her own surgical kit. You can tell she has done all this before.”
“She has indeed,” Victoria agreed. “In the war, Nancy treated simple bullet wounds and sewed up sabre cuts and bayonet wounds while the doctors handled the more complicated surgeries and amputations. She saw more wounded men on any given day than most fancy hospitals see in a year,”
“The war ended more than twenty years ago. She can’t be that old,” I said.
“Well, I don’t know how old you think she is, but she was only a teenage girl when she worked in the field hospitals.”
Victoria untied my tie and un-wrapped it from around my calf where it had functioned as a makeshift bandage.
“Max, he won’t be needing this anymore. We’ll have to throw away his shirt as well; even Ophelia couldn’t get the blood stains out of that,” she sniffed. “Now stand up. You can wrap this towel around your waist while you peel out of your pants, socks, and that union suit. We’ll be able to wash the pants, socks, and underwear, and we’ll sew up what holes we can.”
I did as she said, observing the wound in my calf was bleeding less now. She bathed the wound and washed the blood off the rest of my leg and foot. We could see the bullet wound clearly now. The entry wound was an angry, puckered hole, but the exit wound was torn and nearly twice the size of the entry wound.
“That’s going to leave a scar,” she observed. “I see you have a few others already. I’ll bind it up, but Nancy will want to have a look at it. She may want to throw a few stiches in there.”
When she started bandaging it, she sent Max away with my clothes to be washed.
Mrs. Peele came into the room, looking drawn and pale.
“Bob, I believe the sheriff needs a drink. I know I do. Would you be so kind as to go grab some glasses and a bottle from the kitchen? Thank you.”
She looked at me sitting on the couch with nothing on but a towel wrapped around my waist. She walked over and drew the blanket up around me, somewhat absent mindedly.
“Lay back sheriff,” Victoria said. “You’ll need to keep that leg propped up on this cushion.”
I was worried about Wes.
Mrs. Poole filled me in.
“Nancy got the bullet out of Wes’ shoulder. He lost a lot of blood in the process. He’s weak as a kitten, but Nancy says he’ll recover. He may have some loss of function in his right arm. He shouldn’t be moved for a few days. I shall have to delay our move from here until maybe this weekend.”
I nodded. I was feeling very, very tired.
When Nancy came in, I could see she was mighty tired as well.
“Let’s have a look at your leg. You can stop holding the bandage on your neck, Sheriff,” she said.
I took it away, seeing it was only slightly stained with blood.
Nancy looked at the neck wound and nodded confirmation that it wasn’t serious.
“I think it will do fine without a bandage. It’ll heal quickly. You will need to keep it clean though.”
Bob came in with a bottle and several glasses. He started pouring whisky.
She took the bandage off my leg.
“Hmmmm, I don’t think I should put any stiches in this. It will need to drain.”
She reached out for a glass of whisky and poured some of it into the wound. I yelped, and she laughed. She tossed back th
e rest of the whiskey.
“Let’s keep it bandaged with clean bandages. Change them at least once a day. You can have Doc Johnson keep an eye on it down in Bear Creek. Try not to walk far or put much weight on it for a few days. You’ll know how much is too much. It’ll be safe to walk on it a little, starting tomorrow. If it feels like it’s tearing or starts to bleed a lot, get off it and use crutches.”
She put a fresh bandage on it and bound it up firmly.
Debbie distributed the drinks, and Mrs. Poole raised her glass in a toast.
“To life,” she said.
We clinked glasses together all around.
After a couple of stiff shots of whiskey, I started to nod off. “Let’s clear out of this room and let the Sheriff get some rest,” Mrs. Poole said.
I was too tired to discuss the options, so as soon as they were gone I fell into a deep sleep.
That sleep was tormented by horrible dreams augmented by the pain in my leg. I kept re-living the shootout and seeing men die. The woman with the blank expression floated before me. She asked me several times, “Why?” then her head flew apart.
***
I awoke at first light chilled and with a horrible taste in my mouth. I lay there for a while until I became aware of the smell of coffee and cooking bacon.
Bob came into the room carrying my clothes.
“Nancy will be along shortly to put a fresh bandage on your leg. Then you can get dressed.
Ophelia sends her best.
These are still a bit damp, but nearly dry. The ladies even found you a shirt. It was left here by some fella who had to take off in a hurry. It seems he did something to offend one of the ladies, so Max threw him out. Poor man landed in the yard wearing nothing but is under drawers. I’m pretty sure the shirt will fit. The boots might be too big, but we didn’t think to clean the blood out of yours last night.”
“Uuuuh, thanks,” I managed.
“Whenever you get dressed, come on into the dining room, and indulge in the fine breakfast Ophelia has prepared for us.”
“Bob, we’re going to have to get Tommy to help us identify some of those bodies.”
“I have already addressed the issue and you may be assured Sheriff Tommy Turner will have affidavits ready for us later this morning. I went back out last night and took care of our horses. After breakfast, I’ll go to the livery stable, get the horse harnessed and bring Wes’ buggy over here, so you’ll be able to drive it back down to Bear Creek, after we visit with Tommy.”
“Well, aren’t you ‘Johnny on the spot’? What motivated you to get out early and build a fire under Tommy?”
Before he could answer, Nancy came in with hot water and fresh bandage material.
“I’ll leave you to Nancy’s gentle administration. Get dressed and come along to breakfast.”
“Bob, I asked you a question.”
“Right, so you did. We’ll discuss it at length in due course. At this juncture I find myself in need of coffee and vital sustenance. Come along when you can.”
He nodded and left.
I groaned.
Bob was back to his usual tricks.
“Does it hurt that much?” Nancy asked, concerned.
“Not, my leg, Nancy—it’s attempting constructive conversation with Bob. It always hurts a lot.”
“Really? That’s odd, I find him quite charming.”
I had to laugh.
***
I was pleased to discover that whoever had done my laundry had done a fine job. They’d even sewed up the bullet holes. There were two additional holes in my slicker though, where bullets had come close. When I went to put on my gun belt, I discovered the source of the big bruise that had come up on my left hip. A bullet had passed between the holster and the belt, taking a chunk out of the belt. I hadn’t noticed it when I took the gun belt off.
“Now then, I want to know what it is you’re up to Bob,” I said, as I limped into the dining room.
Everyone was seated around the table except Mrs. Poole and Wes, of course.
“Well I must say, John, it’s quite rude of you to ignore these ladies and fail to offer so much as a ‘thank you’ or even ‘good morning,’” Bob replied haughtily.
I ground my teeth. He was right, I had forgotten my manners.
“Ladies, please forgive me. Thank you very much for all you’ve done for us, myself in particular,” I said, with a slight bow from the waist.
“Think nothing of it Sheriff. I understand. You haven’t even had any coffee yet this mornin’. My man is the same way,” Ophelia said, as she poured me a cup of coffee.
“You might as well poke a bear with a stick as bother a man before he’s had his coffee,” she concluded.
“Yes ma’am. However, not an excuse, please do excuse my manners.”
“John, perhaps our conversation can wait until we get the chance to include Wes in our deliberations. I think that would be the most propitious time.” Bob said.
Nancy had told me she thought Wes would be able to talk to me after breakfast.
“Fine Bob, we’ll do it then, right after breakfast.”
***
After a breakfast of bacon and biscuits with honey and about a half pot of coffee in me, I was ready to brave an attempt at going up the stairs.
“If you use only your left leg to lift yourself, one step at a time, you’ll save yourself considerable pain and avoid opening the wound again,” Nancy said. “You can sort of hop down the stairs.”
“Good advice, thank you.”
We found Wes propped up in a sitting position in a bed in the first bedroom on the right, at the top of the stairs. Mrs. Poole was sitting in a chair doing needlepoint. Wes wore no shirt, but he was heavily bandaged and looked quite pale. He managed a weak smile when he saw us.
“John, I’m glad you’re okay. Bob and I’ve come to an agreement and I want to hear your thoughts,” he said.
Bob picked up the narrative.
“John, I talked to Wes about this earlier this morning. I’m going to collect the reward on Andrew Peterson and two of the other men. I won’t try to collect on the Thorndyke boys, as apprehending them was the reason you came up here.”
“No, Bob, we talked about this. You’re a Deputy Sheriff of Alta Vista County. You can’t claim any reward money for anybody you arrest or kill in the course of your duty.”
“John, apparently it hasn’t occurred to you that you failed to swear in Wes here as a deputy. He’s a civilian.
Further you are clearly unaware of my actual status at the time. You see, I left a letter addressed to you in the care of Chief Deputy Charlie Owens. It was a letter of resignation, John, effective immediately as of yesterday’s date, at noon.
I was not a deputy last night. Therefore, I can in fact collect reward money on anyone I apprehended or killed in the course of my duties as a bounty hunter.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
This was all wrong.
“Wes, are you willing to let him collect reward money on your own brother?”
“John, Andrew was my half-brother, same mother but different fathers. Andrew and my father never got along. When he killed my dad, I swore if I ever saw him again I’d kill him. He intended to kill me first, for the last twenty five years. I changed, but he didn’t. I want something good to come from his death.”
“Forget it! I was in pursuit of him as well, for his part in the bank robbery. Although I thought he was a man named Tom Russel. I don’t see anything good coming from Bob collecting reward money for his death!”
“John, calm down. I don’t need all this excitement,” Wes said. “Besides, there’s something you don’t know.”
I was still struggling with the whole ridiculous situation.
“Yeah, what else is new? This is surely the morning for surprises.”
“Bob is collecting the reward money for me.” Wes said.
“What? You’re going to collect the reward money—I don’t understand
.”
“John, Bob is collecting the reward money so I will have enough money to build a church and maybe start a school, here in North Fork.”
I couldn’t really wrap my mind around that.
I had something else I needed to do.
“Mrs. Poole, Bob, I have to ask you to step out of the room for a moment. Wes and I have something to discuss,” I said. “Bob, please go get the buggy and bring it back over here.”
Mrs. Poole looked at Wes, who nodded solemnly.
Bob held the door for her as they walked out.
When the door was closed behind them, I looked at Wes.
“Wes, I’m sorry but this is the end for you.”
“How’s that—what do you mean?” he asked.
“I’ve come up here to kill you.”
36.
Wes narrowed his eyes at me.
“I’m not quite myself this morning, John, would you repeat that?”
“I said, you’re finished, your days are done, and I’m here to kill you.”
I watched him look quickly around to where his gun belt was hanging on a bedpost. It was behind and above him on his right side. It might as well have been in a different room. He knew he’d never be able to reach it before I shot him. He looked back at me. “Why?” he asked, sadly.
“Wes Spradlin, the gunman, showed up in a saloon in North Fork last night. He killed two men in a gun battle.”
Wes nodded.
“…And?”
“And as long as he lives someone will be looking to take him in a gun fight.
It’s time for Wes Spradlin to die and disappear into history and legend. It’s time for a new preacher to appear in North Fork. Maybe a man named Les Bradley, or Jeff Sandlin, or whatever name you want to use. Plenty of people saw the shoot out where Wes Spradlin was shot down and killed. Today, the old man dies for good and a new man will emerge from the ashes.”
Wes’ eyes were shining.
“Do you really think it could work?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“You’ll never get a better chance than this.”
“What about all the witnesses and the people here?”