Lightning and Lawmen

by Shanna Hatfield

  The man sat upright with a scream that sounded like something from a wounded animal and clawed at Dugan.

  He dodged the man’s hands and quickly wrapped the second strap around the frame at the head of the cot then looped the strap around the cuffs still fastened to Elmer’s wrists. He pulled back on the strap until Elmer had no choice but to situate his arms above his head. Dugan fastened the lock to hold the restraints in place.

  Elmer’s screams turned to wails and Dugan was tempted to find something to stuff in the man’s mouth to silence the earth-shattering noise.

  “What in thunderation is going on?” Seth asked, stepping into the jail.

  “Boy, am I glad to see you, my friend,” Dugan said, hurrying out of Elmer’s cell and locking it again.

  Seth walked over and studied Elmer, cringing each time the man released another screeching wail. “He’s plumb lost his mind.”

  “I think he truly has. And I seem to upset him more than calm him. Would you mind staying here while I get Doc? I’m hoping he might be able to give Elmer something to quiet him down.”

  “He shot the girls at the Gilded Spur?” Seth asked, following Dugan back into the office.

  “Yep, he sure did. He’s been calling me Hugh Allen and telling me he won’t do my dirty work anymore. Does that name mean anything to you?” Dugan asked as he fastened on his gun belt.

  “No. Can’t say that it does.” Seth walked with Dugan outside. “I’ll wait out here for you. That noise he’s making gives me a case of the creepy-crawlies.”

  “Me, too,” Dugan said, bounding off the steps and breaking into a run. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

  By the time Dugan returned to the jail with Doc, the noise was loud enough it could be heard down the street. Seth stood on the steps of the sheriff’s office attempting to reassure a handful of people who’d gathered around him that things would settle down shortly.

  One old woman, hair tied up in rag curlers, shook her fist at Seth. “How are decent, respectable folks supposed to get any rest with all that caterwaulin’ going on?”

  “If you happen upon any of the folks you mentioned, let them know we’re trying to resolve the problem as quickly as possible,” Seth said, shooting the woman a cocky grin.

  “Well, I never!” she said, looking as though she’d like to strike Seth. “You can rest assured I’ll report this to the sheriff tomorrow.”

  “You do that, ma’am. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear what you have to say,” Seth said, goading her with another grin.

  “Go on home, folks. Doc, here, will see what he can do to help things quiet down.” Dugan looked over the crowd as he walked with Doc up the steps and into the office.

  The crowd grumbled, but did as Dugan suggested. Seth followed Dugan inside and shut the door.

  “Is this going to be as bad as it sounds?” Doc asked, setting his bag on Tully’s desk.

  “Worse,” Dugan said, grim-faced. He opened the door to the jail cells and the noise rose in volume.

  The three of them made their way to the far cell where Elmer jerked against the restraints and looked more like a wild animal than a human.

  “I can give him a shot to sedate him, but I reckon it will take all three of us to get the job done,” Doc said, turning away from the cell and returning to the office where he filled a syringe with liquid and tapped it twice to release any bubbles.

  Dugan waited with Seth by the door leading into the cell area. “Where do you want to give the shot?”

  “His arm. I’ll just need you both to keep him as still as you can and for heaven’s sake, don’t let him bite one of us. I’m starting to wonder if he doesn’t have rabies. From the restraints, I assume he was being aggressive or violent.”

  “He killed two women at the Gilded Spur earlier tonight,” Dugan said, stepping into the office and digging through a box Tully kept in the cabinet with the restraints, padlocks, and other supplies. He pulled out a contraption made of leather straps with a buckle at the back.

  “As horrible as it sounds, do you think we should muzzle him?” Dugan asked, glancing at Doc.

  “The shot should calm him quickly,” Doc said, shaking his head. “I’m more concerned he might bite one of you trying to get that thing on. Perhaps if you could distract him, I can get close enough to give him the shot before he’s aware of what happened.”

  “How fast can you jab that needle in him?” Dugan asked, tossing the muzzle in the box where he found it and rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. This certainly wasn’t how he planned to spend his evening. Although he was on duty, he’d rather hoped it would be a quiet night. He often spent the hours of the night shift reading if there was nothing else to do. He’d looked forward to finishing the book he’d started last week.

  “I can administer a shot in less than five seconds, but I’m sure he can land a bite equally as fast.” Doc gave Dugan a studying look. “What do you want to do?”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Dugan said, pulling a box of rags from the cabinet where they kept a few cleaning supplies. He tugged out an old blanket that had seen better days. “We can hold this over his face long enough for you to give him the shot. Ready, Doc?” Dugan asked, leading the way down the aisle between the cells to where Elmer jerked against the restraints. It was a good thing the leather was thick and strong or he might have broken free.

  Dugan unlocked the cell door and Elmer growled at them, baring his teeth and slobbering all over.

  “That can’t be a good sign,” Seth said, staring wide-eyed at Elmer.

  “I’ve witnessed advanced cases of rabies in humans,” Doc said, motioning toward Elmer. “If your prisoner follows suit to the progression I’ve seen in the past, it won’t be long.”

  “Long ‘til what?” Seth asked.

  “He dies,” Doc stated.

  Elmer stopped growling at them and quieted for a moment. He appeared almost lucid as he glared at Dugan and said, “I’ll haunt you, Hugh. So help me, I’ll haunt you.”

  As quickly as the lucidity appeared, it fled as the shutters of sanity lifted. Elmer again began muttering and growling, thrashing against the straps.

  “I think it’s best to wait to administer anything until he wears himself down. A bite from him could be deadly,” Doc said, backing away.

  “Agreed,” Dugan said as he and Seth moved out of the cell and locked it then returned to the office. Seth shut the door to the cells while Dugan stoked the stove then went outside to wash at the pump on the side of the building. Just the thought of Elmer’s disease made him want to scrub his skin raw, but that would have to wait a few hours.

  He scrubbed his hands, and then scrubbed them again, before returning inside. Seth and the Doc were sitting at his desk, laughing at a funny article they’d read in the paper.

  Dugan took the coffeepot out to the pump, filled it with water, and set about making a pot of coffee for something to do. He certainly didn’t need any stimulants, as wound up as he felt, but making a hot drink gave him something to do.

  With the coffee brewing on the stove, he walked over to Tully’s desk and fished a form from a file then took it over to Doc.

  “You want to fill out this paperwork now? We’ll just have to add the time of death later.”

  The doctor picked up a pen and quickly jotted down notes, signed the bottom with a flourish and set it aside.

  Suddenly, Elmer quieted. There were a few muffled thumps, like he still fought the restraints, but he’d stopped making such a racket.

  “Give him a few more minutes to calm down,” Doc said, taking a sip from the cup of coffee Dugan handed to him.

  He handed Seth a cup then poured one for himself. Dugan leaned against his desk as all sound from the cell area ceased.

  “Let’s go take a look,” Doc said, pushing up from the chair. He drained the coffee cup and set it on the corner of Seth’s desk, then followed as Dugan led the way into the jail.

  Elmer remained motionless as they approach
ed the cell. They waited a minute before Dugan looked to the doctor.

  “His chest isn’t moving. He’s not breathing.” Doc pulled out his watch and glanced at the time. “Four-thirty in the morning.”

  They returned to the office and the Doc gathered his things, wrote the time of death on the form he’d completed earlier, then placed a hand on Dugan’s shoulder. “There was nothing that could be done to help him, Dugan. Just keep that in mind.”

  “I know, sir. Thank you for coming, though. I’m sorry you didn’t get much sleep tonight.”

  Doc gave him a weary smile. “It happens all the time.” He walked out, leaving the two deputies in the office.

  “I’m worn to the bone, so I’m heading home. If I’m lucky, I’ll get in a few hours of sleep before my shift starts.” Seth thumped Dugan on the back. “If you need something, stop by my place when you get off.”

  “I’ll be fine, Seth, but I appreciate you coming to help. You’re a good friend.”

  “Don’t forget it,” Seth said with a grin then headed out the door.

  Dugan drank the rest of his coffee, filed reports, and waited for sunrise and the arrival of the sheriff.

  Tully arrived at half-past seven with a cheerful whistle as he stepped inside carrying a paper sack from the bakery. He set it on the desk in front of Dugan. “Thought you might like some breakfast.”

  “Thanks, Tully.” Dugan cleared his throat and Tully turned from hanging up his jacket on a hook near the door to look at him.

  “What happened?”

  “A man shot two girls at the Gilded Spur last night. I tossed him in a cell and he went berserk. I had Doc come and he said the man had rabies. He died about four-thirty this morning. I haven’t sent for Godfrey yet since he was probably up half the night anyway.”

  “Thunderation,” Tully said in a low voice. He opened the door to the jail cells and walked over to the one where Elmer Muldoon had drawn his last breath. “Land o’Goshen. What a horrid way to die.”

  Dugan nodded in agreement. “I’ll go to Godfrey’s place before I head home. Doc said it would be a good idea to scour that cell and burn anything he might have slobbered on.”

  Tully nodded and followed him back to the office. “Doc sign off on the death?”

  “Yep. Paperwork is all completed and in that file.” Exhausted, yet disturbed, Dugan studied Tully. “You ever hear of a man named Hugh Allen?”

  Tully gave him a thoughtful look. “Can’t say that I have. Why?”

  “Elmer kept calling me that name.” Dugan shrugged. “Maybe it was just the disease running its course that made him think I was someone else.”

  “Maybe.” Tully didn’t look convinced. “I’ll do some checking and see what I can find. I appreciate you sending Godfrey over. Go home and get some rest as soon as you can, Dug.”

  Dugan nodded and opened the door, stepping outside into the peaceful morning. He had no idea how he’d rest. Every time he closed his eyes the sound of Elmer’s wails filled his ears while the sight of that man writhing like a wild beast filled his thoughts.

  Chapter Eight

  Delilah sat up straight and stretched her arms over her head then twisted from one side to the other.

  Down on her knees in the dirt, she’d been working on establishing the flower beds she’d spent hours sketching and planning. At her prompting and then pleading, her father had hired two men to replace the rickety fence around the front and back yards. The backyard fence was now almost six-feet high and made of solid cedar boards, providing a perfect backdrop for the plants and flowers she intended to grow.

  The front yard had a white-painted picket fence around it, complete with an arbor over a swinging gate at the end of the walk. Although she would have preferred a wrought-iron fence like they’d had at their house in Washington, she would make do with the picket fence. Delilah envisioned climbing roses on the arbor and sprawling over the fence along with ivy and morning glory. She also thought daisies and lavender would look lovely along the fence.

  Lifting her face to the sky, she soaked in the sunshine, not caring if it tanned her skin. They’d endured nearly a week of rain as March drew to a close, but April had arrived a few days ago with plenty of sun and warmer temperatures. Spring, it seemed, had fully descended.

  As she and her father walked home from church the previous day, she’d admired daffodils and hyacinths blooming in several yards they passed. Next year, she’d have bulbs in bloom, too.

  Although she didn’t long for much from her life in Washington, D.C., she did miss the beautiful yard and gardens she’d spent years cultivating at their home. With the late season snow storm they’d had, though, she doubted much was blooming there anyway.

  Delilah dug her spade into the soil and turned it, working it up until it appeared rich and loamy instead of the hard-packed, weed-infested dirt it had been before she began her planting project.

  She listened as people walked by the fence, laughing about the town’s illustrious mayor accidentally shooting himself in the leg the night of the performance at the opera house when he decided to clean his gun. His wife had told him it served him right for refusing to attend the play with her that evening.

  Delilah assumed by now everyone would tire of speaking about the incident, but apparently the mayor had poked enough fun at himself over the accident that it endeared him to the citizens of town and made good fodder for gossiping tongues.

  Her thoughts rolled back to that evening when she’d attended the play with Deputy Harter. The man had been kind, polite, and amusing. She’d had a wonderful time with him, both at dinner at the hotel then at the play. Seth didn’t seem particularly interested in the performance, but he did make her laugh with some of his observations about the actors and scenes.

  Then, when they were leaving, she’d seen Deputy Durfey searching the crowd. She didn’t know why, but the sight of him made her heartbeat quicken while a weightless sensation fluttered in her stomach. It was silly, she knew, especially since she was accompanied by a very handsome, attentive man at the time. But the way Dugan looked her over from head to toe had left her feeling both pleased and exposed, as though he saw far more than her fancy gown and friendly smile.

  Regardless, she hadn’t seen much of either deputy, other than at church or in passing. She enjoyed the company of both men, but she had no interest in furthering a relationship with either of them.

  She liked being independent and free to do as she wished. In spite of her father’s attempts to spoil and pamper her, Delilah could easily make her own way in the world. If she chose, she could return to Washington and support herself with the articles and sketches she wrote as one of the most knowledgeable members of the American Ornithologists’ Union. Her drawings and detailed articles had been published in books, in newspapers from New York to New Orleans, and included in a display at a popular Washington, D. C. museum.

  Her father hadn’t supported her financially for years, although he did insist on providing a roof over her head. After her mother passed away, Delilah couldn’t bear the thought of moving away from her beloved papa and decided to remain close to him for as long as she could.

  Papa had encouraged any number of eligible young men to ask her on outings. Occasionally, Delilah went, but not because she wanted a husband. She merely sought a few hours of entertainment. Her father viewed each outing as progress in his efforts to convince her to settle down and have a family of her own. Now that she was nearing her twenty-sixth birthday, her father had made it no secret he hoped to become a grandfather while he was still young enough to enjoy the experience.

  Delilah shook her head, thinking of her father’s latest comments about Baker City offering a number of handsome, gainfully employed young men.

  “Perhaps one of them will tickle your fancy, Lila,” he’d teased.

  She’d rolled her eyes and shook her head. “They’ll do no such thing, Papa. Not if I can help it.”

  The thought of abandoning all her work just to
become the property of a man made her annoyed. If she ever found someone like her dear Papa who loved her as she was without conditions or restraints then she might entertain the notion of marriage. Since most men didn’t cotton to the idea of a woman being a wage earner or having a mind of her own, she assumed she’d spend her life alone.

  It was too bad she didn’t have a sibling. Delilah could have been the doting aunt who spoiled her nieces and nephews.

  At any rate, she had absolutely no plans to wed. The entire idea was preposterous.

  Yet, in spite of herself, a vision of Dugan Durfey popped into her thoughts. She’d seen him after church tossing Lily Jordan and then Sammy Barrett into the air, making the little girls giggle and beg him for more attention.

  What about him appealed to females, young and old alike?

  A quick mental inventory of the man partially answered her question: Crooked, teasing smile. Sky-blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Long, muscled legs. Full bottom lip — practically begging to be kissed.

  Derisively, she snorted. How had her thoughts wound from Dugan making Lily and Sammy laugh to wondering what it would be like to kiss him? She had better things to do than fritter away her time in silly, childish daydreams. With renewed efforts, she tackled the next area of her soon-to-be flowerbed.

  Delilah worked another thirty minutes before a furry blur caught her attention. She turned her head slightly to the left and watched a raccoon shimmy down the boards of the fence. Although she had no evidence or any way to prove her theory, she was certain the impertinent little fellow was the same one who’d invaded the attic space and scared her half witless.

  He’d been coming to the backyard every day since the men working on the fence had finished the job.

  At first, he stayed far away from Delilah and she did nothing to dissuade him otherwise. The news about a criminal dying of rabies at the jailhouse had made everyone cautious of wild animals and strange-acting pets.

  Nevertheless, this miniature masked invader didn’t appear threatening in the least. In fact, Delilah had given the raccoon the name of Oliver and had even watched him eat the tidbits of food she randomly left for him in a far corner of the yard.