The Marshal and Mrs. O'Malley

by Julianne MacLean

  Wishing there had been time to let someone know she was coming, she accepted her valise from the driver, lifted her skirts, which were trimmed with mud at the bottom and walked across the dirt yard to the house. Three chickens clucked and scurried out of her path.

  Before she reached the steps, the front door swung open and Matilda walked onto the covered porch. Her cheeks were flushing with concern. “Josephine! What are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Matilda. I needed some time away, myself, and thought I would join you. Where’s Leo?”

  Cecil, Edwyn’s brother, appeared behind Matilda. “Good heavens, Jo, what are you doing here? Didn’t you get the wire?”

  “What wire?”

  “The wire we sent a few hours ago—no, obviously you didn’t get it.”

  Icy dread began to coil through her veins. “Where’s Leo?”

  Matilda came down the steps and took Jo’s bag. “Maybe you’d better come inside.”

  “No, I won’t come inside until you tell me what’s going on. Where’s Leo?”

  Cecil came down a step. “He went back to Dodge City.”

  “What!” Jo hollered. “You let him go?”

  “He went on his own without telling us. He left a note and took the morning train.”

  “Let me see the note.”

  Cecil darted into the house and reappeared with the small piece of paper, handing it down to Jo.

  “It says he knows who killed Edwyn,” Jo read in a panic, “and he’s going to take care of things. Take care of things! What does he mean by that?”

  Matilda shook her head. “I don’t know, Josephine, but he’s probably arriving in Dodge right about now.”

  Jo stuffed the note into her bodice pocket. “When’s the next train out of here?”

  “The last one for the day will leave in about an hour.”

  Jo darted toward Cecil’s barn, leaving her bag with Matilda for safekeeping. “I’ll need a horse to get me to the station.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Cecil said, following. “Don’t worry, Josephine. We’ll find him.”

  “Just get me to the station.”

  With a hiss of steam and a coughing sputter of smoke from the smokestack, the train from Newton puffed wearily into Dodge City. Leo made his way down the aisle, holding on to the backs of the seats to keep his balance as the train shuddered to a slow stop. Local folk gathered on the platform, but none were there to greet him, he knew. For once, he was on his own, able to complete his business in town before going home to surprise his ma with the good news.

  He patted his coat pocket one more time to check for his father’s letter, then started off toward Zeb Stone’s Dry Goods to see that it was delivered to the most powerful man in Dodge. If there was one person who could make use of such a letter, it was his good friend, Mr. Zeb Stone.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When the door to the jailhouse opened, Fletcher leaned forward at his desk, expecting a complaint about a drunken brawl or a stolen horse. He stood quickly when he recognized his sister. “Liz, what are you doing here?”

  Elizabeth walked in wearing a dark blue afternoon dress and a matching velvet hat with ribbons and a face veil. She clutched her reticule in her tiny gloved hands, peering uneasily toward the jail cells. “Could I speak to you in private?”

  “Of course. We’ll go outside.” Fletcher moved around the desk and escorted her out the door and around the side of the building. “What is it?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Did you see Zeb today?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t talk to him. I waited for him to leave the store then checked out his office.”

  “Did anyone see you?” she asked anxiously.

  “Don’t worry. I have a knack for this kind of thing.”

  “I hope so.”

  Fletcher leaned against the wall. “What brings you here, Liz? You seem nervous.”

  “Well, I just don’t want to get into trouble with Zeb. Ever since we went through his den this morning, I’ve been worrying. What if he notices something out of place?”

  “He won’t. I put everything back exactly where I found it.” Fletcher stepped away from the wall. “You don’t seem convinced.”

  “I’m just…well, the real reason I came here is because I have something more to tell you, and I fear I may be going too far.”

  Fletcher took her hand. “You can trust me, sis. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Her chin began to quiver and she lowered her face and pressed her finger under her nose. “I’m not sure you can.”

  “Why not? What’s wrong?”

  She took a moment to regain her composure. “Zeb is my husband.”

  “I know that, Liz,” he said gently. “But if he’s guilty of something, I can’t let it go because he’s married to you. Do you understand that?”

  Her gaze darted upward. “Of course I do. That’s not what I mean to say.” She paused, biting her lip. “If he is in some kind of trouble with the law, as his wife I will have to support him. But what if…what if I don’t wish to?”

  Fletcher relaxed against the wall, coming to understand her predicament. “Then you won’t. I’ll be here for you, sis, no matter what.”

  She wiped under her eye and sniffed. “Then I came here to tell you that Zeb came home this afternoon and went into his study for quite some time. After he left, I looked in and noticed the rug had been moved slightly.” Leaning toward him, she quietly added, “It was not in the same place it was when we were in there this morning.”

  Fletcher’s pulse quickened. “What are you telling me?”

  “I’m telling you that he keeps papers under the desk. In the floor.”

  “Did you see them?”

  “I pulled the rug aside and lifted the floorboard, saw what was there, but was afraid to touch anything. Matthews was hovering around in the front hall and, if he caught me, he would most certainly inform Zeb.”

  “You did the right thing. Where is Zeb now?”

  “He said he was going back to the store, but I followed to come here and saw him go to the Long Branch.”

  “He likes his brandy, that’s for certain.” Fletcher took Elizabeth by the arm. “Let’s go back to your house. I want to see what’s under that desk.”

  “Are you sure, Fletcher? Perhaps this is too dangerous.”

  “Danger, my dear sister, doesn’t exist in my vocabulary.”

  Zeb pulled his gold engraved timepiece from his coat pocket and squinted to read the time. “I suppose I should saunter down to the store,” he said casually to the bartender. “I don’t trust anyone but myself to count my cash.”

  The bartender snickered and gathered the empty glass and brandy bottle from Zeb’s place at the bar.

  “I’ll settle up with you next week,” Zeb said, turning unsteadily to leave the saloon. “And that brandy is putrid. Don’t serve it to me again.”

  He staggered once, then gained his footing and pushed through the swinging doors into the dusky evening light.

  A few minutes later, Zeb reached the mercantile, walked in and shut the door behind him. He flipped the sign over to read Closed.

  “Did we make a bundle today, Gerald? I certainly hope so. My tab at the Long Branch is getting out of hand.”

  Gerald laughed dutifully, then reached under the counter. “The O’Malley kid delivered this for you this afternoon.”

  “O’Malley, you say?”

  “Yes, sir,” Gerald replied, holding the sealed envelope out. “It’s addressed to you, sir, as mayor of Dodge City.”

  Slowly Zeb moved forward and grasped the letter. “A bit premature, perhaps, but I do like the sound of it. Count the cash tonight, Gerald, and if you leave with one cent of my money, you’re fired.”

  Zeb walked toward the back of the store and went into his office. He sat down at the huge oak desk, leaned back and crossed his legs. “This should be amusing,” he said aloud to himself.

  He ripped open the envelope and held up
the first page to read:

  Dear Mayor Stone,

  I thought you should be the one to see this.

  Sincerely,

  Leo O’Malley

  Zeb flipped to the next page to discover a letter written some time ago by the boy’s father.

  Dear Cecil,

  I have a most disturbing matter to discuss with you regarding the cattle-rustling enterprise that I mentioned in my last correspondence. It seems the guilty party is a man named George Greer. I’ve finally come to suspect him after spotting one of his men branding cattle on my land. He drove them to town through a section of fence he removed and repaired afterward. I did not risk a confrontation, but I plan to inform the county sheriff and the town council anonymously. What will occur after that I can only hope will not involve me greatly. I have not told Josephine about this matter. You know how independent she can be. I trust you will keep it to yourself until I’ve had a chance to contact the right people.

  Your brother,

  Edwyn

  Zeb stared silently at Leo’s brief note for another minute, feeling his head begin to throb as he considered the boy’s obvious meaning. Then, with an angry thrust, Zeb shoved back his chair and stood. The boy was ambitious to deliver this note the week before the election, Zeb thought with mounting fury. Too ambitious.

  This would have to be taken care of immediately.

  Quite some time after dark, Jo and Cecil leaped off the evening train and onto the wooden platform in Dodge City. Jo raised her skirts to hurry toward the jailhouse—her boots pounding over the damp ground as she went—all the while praying that Fletcher would be there.

  She reached the calaboose and pulled open the door, but found the jailhouse and cells empty.

  “Come on, he might be upstairs in the clerk’s office,” she said to Cecil, who was faithfully following behind her.

  She dashed up the stairs on the outside of the building, but found the door locked. She clutched at the knob, shaking it in frustration.

  “Where else would he be?” Cecil asked as they descended the steps.

  “He might be patrolling the streets, but I can’t spend all night looking for him. I have to find Leo.”

  Cecil glanced toward the saloons and theaters on the south side of the tracks. “That ain’t no place for a lady. I’ll look for Marshal Collins and explain things. You go home. That’s the only place Leo would have gone.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find the marshal and we’ll search the city until we hear from you that Leo’s safe.”

  Jo hesitated, trying to think if there was another, better alternative. “I wish I had my gun,” she whispered, frustrated at the feeling of helplessness, then she wished Cecil luck and ran toward the boardinghouse where Fletcher had promised to leave her wagon.

  Jo had no idea what time it was when she finally drove into her own yard, back aching and eyes burning from fatigue. She’d worked the horses hard to get there, fearing the worst, wanting nothing more than to find Leo safe in the house munching on sugar cookies, but when she saw the dark windows and dark bunkhouse, her hopes sank.

  Still clinging to the possibility that he might be in his own bedroom upstairs at the back of the house, she hopped down from the wagon and went to the door. She ran up the stairs. “Leo? Are you here?”

  The absence of a reply sent her bursting through every door, her prospects shrinking with the discovery of each silent, empty room. She gathered her skirts in her fists and ran down the stairs. “Leo!”

  The kitchen, too, was empty. Where was her son?

  Struggling to think clearly, Jo went into Edwyn’s den and lit a lamp, took a rifle from the display on the wall and loaded it. She carried it through the dark hall to the front door and walked out of the house and into the cold night.

  For a few seconds, she stood on the porch looking all around. She could make out the rolling pasture where crickets chirped and a cow called out somewhere in the distance. There was no wind, not even a whisper of a breeze.

  She looked toward the barn and noticed light through a crack in the vertical plank wall. Her insides jolted with new hope. All she wanted now was to take Leo into her arms and know that he was safe, to hold him for a few minutes. After that, she would think of nothing but protecting him.

  She ran down the porch steps and across the yard. She heard a horse nicker, a pig snort. Her feet tapped lightly over the damp dirt. She was getting closer and closer to the barn door.

  Her heart began to pound against her rib cage.

  Jo stopped just outside and leaned a hand against the wall. Last night, Fletcher had helped her go inside. Now, she was alone.

  Struggling for breath, she tried to smother the white-hot terror that was smoldering inside her. She could not let it defeat her. She straightened and forced a deep breath into her lungs, reached a trembling hand through the darkness to the door latch and pulled it open. The barn was quiet.

  She stood in the open doorway looking in, her blood pulsing through her body at an alarming speed. She wanted to call for Leo, but could push nothing from her fear-constricted throat. Again, she tried to get a breath.

  Suddenly, a hand squeezed around her arm and yanked her into the barn. Her rifle was plucked from her grasp. Disoriented, she stumbled forward onto the hay-strewn floor, something struck her in the back of the head, and she lost all consciousness.

  Feeling numb, not quite understanding where she was or what was happening to her, Jo tried to arrange her thoughts into something palpable. A dull ache throbbed at the back of her skull. She tried to open her eyes, but her injured body just wouldn’t cooperate with her brain.

  “What’s happening?” she managed to mumble, but to whom she had no idea. She felt herself being lifted and placed on the back of a horse. She knew she was straddling it, leaning forward with eyes closed, her cheek resting on its coarse mane. Her wrists were bound behind her. Thoughts began to form.

  Her eyes flew open just as a rope came down over her head and tightened around her neck.

  Shock flooded through her and she bolted upright.

  The horse took a startled step sideways. Nearly losing her balance and falling off, Jo realized with surprising clarity that the mare was the only thing keeping her from hanging.

  “Whoa, girl,” she said, trying to calm the horse, who had taken a few steps forward. The rope was stretched and pulling against Jo’s jaw. “Move to the left, girl.”

  “I doubt she knows her left from her right.”

  The sound of Zeb’s deep voice sent a wave a nausea through Jo. She looked down and saw him standing by the tack room door aiming a rifle at her.

  “Where’s Leo?” she demanded, but her voice was raspy under the tightening of the prickly rope.

  “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

  Thank goodness, she thought, he hadn’t found Leo. At least not yet.

  If she was going to keep breathing, Jo needed slack in the rope. She pressed her knees together to get the horse to move.

  “There’s no point in trying,” Zeb said, lowering the rifle to lean on it.

  “You’re going to slap her on the rump anyway, right?”

  Zeb smiled sardonically. “I thought I’d just shoot her, but then it wouldn’t look like a suicide, would it? Your idea is better.”

  Jo glared down at him, sickened by the self-satisfied glint in his eyes. “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” she said.

  “Yes, you should have. I guess Six-Shooter Hank wasn’t as scary as the paper made him out to be. You’re a coward, Mrs. O’Malley. You let your husband hang in front of your eyes and you couldn’t even kill me for doing it.”

  “You won’t get away with this, Zeb. Fletcher will know it was you. He already knows Will MacGregor worked for you and somehow he’ll prove you killed him last night.”

  “So what if I did kill him? If Fletcher has a problem with it, I’ll take care of him, too. But I’m tired of talking. I’m thirsty and I wan
t to get back to Dodge to find that boy of yours before he blabbers all over town what he knows.”

  The mere mention of Leo shook Jo to the core. Suddenly she felt powerless, at Zeb’s mercy. “Please, Zeb, leave Leo alone.”

  “I told you I didn’t want to talk anymore.” He raised the rifle and pointed it at the peaked roof.

  There was no way out of this! He was going to spook the horse and she could do nothing but watch! Just like the last time!

  He pulled the trigger and the bullet ripped through the roof, booming in Jo’s ears like a thunderclap.

  The horse reared up. Jo held on with her legs as the noose tightened around her neck and chafed against her skin. She was barely on the mare’s back anymore. Most of her weight was hanging in the rope. She couldn’t breathe!

  The mare’s front hooves slammed onto the ground. Choking, feeling her heart rush, Jo shut her eyes and thought of Fletcher. She prayed he would save Leo. Surely he would.

  Just then, the mare moved back, and Jo’s weight lightened in the rope. She coughed and struggled for breath. Confused and trembling uncontrollably, she leaned forward onto the horse’s mane again.

  Somewhere in her numb consciousness, she heard Zeb laughing. “Looks like I might just have to shoot her after all. To hell with a suicide.”

  “Zeb, no…”

  He raised the rifle and aimed it at the horse’s head. Jo squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears spill out as Zeb pulled the trigger again.

  The gun clicked.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” Zeb said, staring at the rifle.

  Jo began to sit up, but fear flared through her anew when Zeb dropped the gun and walked toward her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, sobbing.

  He didn’t answer. He just slapped the horse on the rump.

  The mare darted forward. Jo’s body lurched with the horse, then whipped back and she fell off. All air was cut off. She was hanging from the neck, swinging and kicking, praying it would be over soon….