by Sharon Ihle
Maybe, Morgan thought with a heavy sigh, he couldn't remember certain details because they were no longer important. In fact, many things had become less significant to him of late. Things like the burning need to bring justice to a disorderly world; the "hunt" when he was on the trail of a desperado; the anger he once felt inside, and the way he'd practically nurtured those feelings of anger in order to keep them alive.
Suddenly Morgan realized that the rage of long ago was gone, that the ugly serpent which had stoked his gut with a fiery and unrelenting anger roamed no more.
He suspected he had Mariah to thank for that. In fact, he had many things to thank her for, but the number fell short of the list of crimes she'd committed against him. Way short. Morgan stared at the roaring fire, hoping it might somehow burn the image of Mariah from his mind, her taste from his lips, the feel of her satiny skin from his fingertips.
If he could just do that—lose the memory of Mariah as easily as he had lost his days and nights with Virginia—he might experience a little peace of mind for the first time in his life, perhaps even gain a sense of well-being. Oh, but it all seemed so futile, so impossible, so... very, very painful.
More restless now than before, Morgan stared intently at the blue-tipped flames, still trying to scorch a clean path in his mind, but he continued to see Mariah's beautiful face. He listened to the crackles and pops hissing out from the stone hearth, but instead heard Mariah's dulcet voice—along with Daisy's mournful howl.
Startled by the unexpected intrusion, Morgan cocked his head toward the window. Had he merely imagined he heard the tiny dog? As if in answer, the sound came again. Daisy? Maybe it was a skulking coyote, a lone wolf, or even another dog. It certainly couldn't be Daisy, now that he thought of it. Mariah was much too solicitous where her little pet was concerned to let her run wild at night, particularly at such a late hour.
Again his gaze fell on the fire, and again, he tried to burn the memory of Mariah from his mind. The barking suddenly became louder and closer. More alarmed this time, Morgan turned back toward the window and listened intently. Along with the dog's yowls, he could hear one of the neighbors shouting at the animal to shut up. Then the dog yelped, a high-pitched squeal suggesting that someone had thrown an object, and hit the mark. After a few moments of relative quiet, the howling resumed, louder still.
Morgan pushed himself out of the rocking chair, tugged on his coat and hat, and went outside to investigate. At the end of Thirteenth Street, toward Greene, he saw a little blob no bigger than a jackrabbit sitting in the middle of the road.
"Daisy?"
Morgan whistled and called her name again, louder this time. The little dog jumped straight up in the air, and then came running, her tiny paws slipping and sliding out from under her as she hit several small patches of ice along the way. Just before she reached Morgan, she planted her feet and then bounced into the air, hurling herself into his arms. Her tiny nails dug into his chest as she burrowed beneath his jacket, and when her head emerged near his throat, she started to whine and lick his chin.
"Take it easy, Daisy," Morgan said, comforting her as best he could. "How come you're out running loose at this hour?" He glanced toward Greene Street, half expecting to see Mariah dashing around the corner, but there wasn't a soul in sight. Obviously the little dog had escaped from her mistress somehow, and come looking for him.
Knowing that Mariah would be frantic over her missing pet, Morgan decided to take her back to the hotel immediately. Even though it was after midnight, he rationalized that he was honor-bound to do that much for the animal. No matter that he would be confronting Mariah in the middle of the night, or that she would most surely be in her nightclothes, her hair hanging loose and mussed, her body warm from sleep...
No matter. He would simply toughen himself against her charms during his walk to the hotel. Get a firm grip on himself and remember that in spite of his mutinous body, he still wanted more than anything else to throttle her.
By the time he reached Mariah's room and softly tapped on the door, Morgan was feeling tough, impregnable, and even a little magnanimous. When she didn't answer after a few minutes, he rapped a little harder, and then tested the knob. It turned, so he let himself in.
The lamp was lit, showing him in an instant that she was gone. He'd just covered a good bit of the town and most surely would have seen at least a glimpse of her if she were out looking for Daisy. Where could she be?
Morgan was considering the inconvenience he might cause the Pennys should he disturb them at this hour, when he noticed Mariah's nightclothes strewn across the rug. That, plus her rumpled bed, raised his natural curiosity as a lawman. Mariah had been nothing less than neat around him, so she'd obviously been in a hurry when she left.
Deciding her absence warranted a further investigation, he set Daisy on the bed and then hurried out to the hallway. He wavered at Zack and Oda's door a moment, and then impulsively crossed the hall to room 15 instead. Morgan tapped lightly so as not to awaken the Pennys, and then tapped again.
He heard Artemis stirring, and as he waited to be let inside the room, he recognized the irony in Daisy's midnight sojourn. If Mariah hadn't conspired for him to take her love potion, and if he hadn't parried that conspiracy by feeding the elixir to the little dog, Daisy never would have become fond of him or come looking for him tonight. And Mariah would be—where the hell could she be? And who, if anyone, was she with?
By the time the door finally opened, Morgan's thoughts had turned dark. Without a word, he shoved the young man out of the way and pushed the door shut behind them. Then he yanked Artemis to the center of the room with him, where there would be less chance of them being overheard. Speaking in a quiet hiss, he said, "I want some answers, son, and I want them now. Exactly what is Mariah up to, and who is she with?"
"Huh?" Artemis blinked up at the lawman, his mind a muddled blur.
"I was just in her room, and she's not there. You know what?" Morgan jabbed his index finger against Artemis's shoulder. "I think you might know where she went."
"Me? But I don't know what she—" Artemis gasped, chopping his own sentence in half. Holy shit. He'd been so worried about Tubbs taking out the marshal, he forgot that his partner had been fixing to take both the marshal and his little female deputy out when they were all on the train. How could he not have remembered such an important fact.
"Out with it, son! Is she working with you and this Tubbs person? What's going on?"
Artemis had been walking the fence which lay between right and wrong for too long, struggling with the harrowing trail much too often of late. He should have known that one day soon he would be falling to one side or another, even if it meant hurting himself in the process. Refusing for once to consider the consequences to himself, Artemis took a blind step. "I think she's probably with Tubbs."
Morgan went white with rage. Tubbs, the man who'd stolen his horse? The man who wore his jacket? Now this Tubbs had taken possession of his woman as well? Half out of his mind with both jealousy and fury, Morgan bunched the collar of Artemis's long flannel underwear into one strong fist, and lifted him to his toes. "What the hell is she doing with him?"
"I think—" He began to cry. "Lord almighty. I don't know for sure."
"Can you guess? Make a guess."
"I—I can't with you a-squeezing the life outta me."
Morgan released his hold and Artemis crumpled to the floor. "Go ahead, son. I'm listening."
Big fat tears fell down his cheeks now, but Artemis didn't bother to wipe them away. He kept his gaze trained on the marshal and the huge Colt "peacemaker" strapped to his thigh. "I—I don't know why Tubbs wanted Miss Mariah for sure, but I think he mighta forced her to go with him."
"You mean he kidnapped her?"
"Could be. I think... yes."
"Oh, my God." Morgan spun in a slow circle, trying to make some kind of sense of Artemis's explanation, but he couldn't. "Why would this Tubbs be so interested in Mariah?"
"Take me out? As in kill me?"
"Yes, sir. I thought he was gonna bust a gut when we couldn't find you on the train, 'cause he meant to fling you down into the gorge between Durango and Silverton. He tried to get you again last night, but you never come to your room, and he waited and waited, getting madder and madder—"
Morgan grabbed Artemis's collar again, this time pulling him up to his feet. "Slow down, son. Go back to the part about Mariah. Did I hear you say that she's working for me?"
"Ain't she?"
Morgan shook his head. "If anything, I've been working for her."
"But, Tubbs said she was one o' them female deputies. Said you and her was locked in that train compartment with someone from the railroad company, and that you was all planning ways to bust up the gang."
"The 'gang,' Artemis?"
His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and a sharp pain stabbed at his gut.
Morgan slapped Artemis on both cheeks. "Don't pass out on me now, son. Talk to me. Tell me about this gang."
"It—it's the Doolittle Gang." His voice was a squeaky wheel. "We're the Doolittles."
Lecturing himself for not following his instincts a little sooner, Morgan said, "Your brother Billy, he's...?"
"A Doolittle. That's right, Marshal." Strange. The confession hadn't felt near as bad as he thought it would. And the marshal hadn't tried to shoot him yet either. "I'm Artemis Doolittle, but I ain't never gone on a job before. I swear I ain't done much wrong."
Morgan wasn't listening. He was too busy trying to determine exactly what kind of danger Mariah might be in—especially now that he knew Billy Doolittle was involved. "This morning in the barn, you told me that your brother was not in Silverton. The truth, Artemis: Is he here now?"
Relief kept growing in him, filling him with a mad kind of elation. "No, sir. I told you the truth in the barn, and I'm a-telling it to you now. Billy ain't nowheres near here."
"All right, I believe you. Now what about Mariah? You say this Tubbs thinks she's my deputy?"
"Yes, sir, a deputy in disguise when she wears her Princess Tanacoa costume, just like you are when you're dressed up as Brother Law. She is a deputy, ain't she?"
"Hell, no. What does Tubbs plan to do with her? Use her to get to me?"
His relief vanished, and Artemis began to cry again. "Maybe, but mostly, I—I think, oh, God in heaven. I think Tubbs means to take her out, same as you."
"Take her out?" Morgan grabbed Artemis's collar with both hands, yanking him up tight till they were nose-to-nose. "You mean to tell me he's planning to kill her?"
His eyes crossed, and his teeth chattered like never before, but Artemis managed to say, "Y-yes, sir. That's exactly what I mean."
* * *
Inside his room at Ma Cherry's Hotel, Tubbs argued with Cletus. "It don't make a damn bit of sense to go wringing her neck already."
Cletus turned a startling blue eye on their captive, and winked at her. "I didn't mean right this minute. I thought we could have a little fun with her first." He blew Mariah a kiss, and then turned back to the piece of mirror he'd propped up on the dresser.
With a heavy sigh, Tubbs went over to where his partner stood preening. "If you could get your mind off your dick for a minute, you'd realize the girl's worth more to us alive than dead for the time being. That marshal is slippery. We might have to use her as a little 'persuader.'"
Cletus's gaze was intense, electric, as he forced himself to look away from his reflection long enough to study the woman. She was sitting on a wooden chair in a corner of the room, her hands and feet bound with twine, her lovely mouth silenced with wads of his very own blue cotton handkerchief. "You might have a point, Tubbs. So we keep her alive, but I still don't see why we can't have a little fun with her until it's time to board the train."
Tubbs turned a cold gray eye on Mariah, and slowly broke into a wide grin. "Neither do I." Then he reached for his belt buckle.
* * *
As Morgan and Artemis crept down the narrow, murky hallway at Ma Cherry's Hotel, Morgan pulled the young man to a halt. His voice barely more than a whisper, he said, "Let's make sure you have it straight before we go knocking on that door, son." Artemis nodded. "Just in case Mariah is not in that room, or if something else goes wrong, you're to pretend that I've captured you and forced you to take me here, right?"
"That's right," he said, remembering to speak so only the marshal could hear. "Tubbs is supposed to think I'm still a member of the gang until you tell me I can show him different."
"That's right, son." And just to make sure that nothing had changed there, he said, "Things are different with you now, aren't they? You've sworn an oath to uphold the law."
And didn't Artemis know it. As of ten minutes ago, he was a sworn-in deputy on Marshal Slater's special posse. Artemis Doolittle, an honest-to-God deputy. Glory be. If that didn't beat all. Barely able to contain the squeal of delight which had built up inside him at the thought, he said, "Yes, sir." And then saluted his hero.
"Let's go then, and remember—don't say a word about being my deputy unless I say you can. Make sure you speak to Tubbs the way you always do." Then he poked him in the back, encouraging him to go ahead.
When Artemis found the correct room, he beat on the door at one of the few spots where the paint hadn't peeled off. "Open up, Tubbs. It's me, Artemis."
A few moments later, a sliver of light appeared, and then the door swung wide open. Tubbs backed into the room, clearing a path for Artemis to enter. "What in hell are you doing here, kid? Ain't you supposed to be keeping an eye on the marshal over at the hotel?"
As the young man moved forward, Morgan stepped out from the shadows, laid the barrel of his gun across Artemis's shoulder, and trained the sights on Tubbs. Pushing his "shield" through the open doorway, he glanced toward the far corner, confirming that Mariah was indeed in the room, and then said, "Evening, Mr. Tubbs. I decided to keep an eye on him instead. Now put your hands up slow and easy, because just like your little friend Artemis, you're under arrest."
Tubbs did as he was told, but something wasn't right. Morgan could see it in his eyes, and in the slight grin at the corner of his mouth. He didn't seem the least bit concerned over his arrest. It was almost as if—Something cold and hard slammed against the back of Morgan's head then, dousing all the light. He fell to the floor with a terrible thud.
"Get over here, kid," Tubbs said. "Help me drag him past the door."
Cletus stepped out from his hiding spot behind the door, brandishing the pistol he'd used to waylay the marshal. "You heard him, dummy—get moving."
Artemis, who wasn't quite sure what happened, or why the marshal had fallen, nearly jumped out of his skin as the other gang member came into view. God in heaven, how could he have forgotten about Cletus? His job was to warn the marshal about anything and everything. How could he have been so stupid as to forget an outlaw as mean as this? Would there ever be an end to his messing up?
Tubbs, who'd managed to drag the lawman inside the room by himself, said, "Come on, kid. Get your ass moving. At least close the damn door."
Cletus brushed past Artemis and went to stand over the marshal's prone body. After the kid had secured the room, Cletus pointed his gun at Slater's head, and said to Tubbs, "Say a few words over the 'preacher man.' He's about to meet his maker."
Behind him, the chair rattled in the corner, followed by a muffled scream. Cletus grinned at Mariah. "I almost forgot that you and the fine marshal had a little something going. Don't worry, honey pie—you won't miss him a'tall once I get my hands on you."
Artemis, who was struggling against his terror and trying desperately to think things through before acting, went over the marshal's w
arning—"Don't tell them you're a deputy unless I say so." He repeated it several times over in his head just to make sure he wouldn't mess up again, and then rushed up beside Cletus. "Please don't shoot him. I—I'm afraid."
"Oh, hell, Artie boy. You're afraid of your own socks." He cocked the hammer.
Tubbs reached over and lifted the barrel of the gun with his index finger, pointing it toward the ceiling. "Hang on a minute. For once the kid might be right."
"Come on, Tubbs. Dead's how we want him. I'd just love to do the honors."
"He's mine when the time comes, and the time ain't here yet. We've made enough mistakes on this job as it is. I'm not going to stand here and let you shoot off that gun." Tubbs paused, calming himself before he went on. "Don't you think maybe Slater checked in with Silverton's sheriff? We can't take the chance of killing him or the girl here. Hell, even if we broke their necks, their bodies could be found before we even get out of town."
Cletus slammed his gun into the holster. "Then what the hell are we going to do with them?"
Tubbs thought on that a moment as he squatted down next to the marshal's body. Chuckling over his own ingenuity, he rolled the lawman over onto his back. "We'll drag them along with us to the train in the morning, and do what I planned on doing in the first place—toss them over the side just past Elk Park."
Artemis didn't know what he should do next, but he did know that Tubbs's plan bought the marshal and Mariah a little more time. He grinned. "That sounds like a right fine idea to me."
"You see there?" Cletus pointed at the kid. "That's how brilliant your plan is—the dummy likes it. Hell—we won't get two blocks down the street with these two, much less smuggle them aboard the train. What in hell's the matter with you?"
"Oh, I think they'll come along nicely, Cletus, and we won't have to be doing any 'smuggling.'" Tubbs lifted the gold star off the frock coat, and then pinned it to his new sheepskin coat. "Especially since I'm a United States marshal, and they're a pair of murdering bank robbers I'm taking down to Durango to stand trial."