by Monty McCord
Joe assumed that the red-haired man carrying a leather bag was the doctor. The man, stopped momentarily by the huge stain on the wall, pushed both Joe and Sarah out of the way and sat down on the bed. “Get me some hot water!” Joe nodded at Adam who responded immediately. “I saw you and Sarah at church earlier but didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. I’m Thomas Sullivan.” The doctor poured alcohol on a cloth and wiped at Lucy’s face so he could see the extent of her injuries.
“Sorry it has to be under these circumstances, Doc,” Joe said.
“It appears that you weren’t a second too soon in arriving here, Marshal,” he said. “Poor Lucy. I was here for the routine exam that I insist on, only this morning, and she was in fine spirits.”
“She’ll be all right, won’t she, Doc?” Sarah said.
“Early to tell. I hope so. I hope so.”
The man on the floor started to groan, and Joe thought about shooting him in the head. The man squirmed around enough to recognize that his friend, or what was left of his friend, was lying on top of him, dripping blood all over his union suit. “Ahhhh!!”
“Shut the hell up!” Joe stepped over and grabbed him by his long dirty black hair and dragged him around toward the door. When he noticed Sarah, Doc, and Adam watching him, he released his grip. “Get your clothes on.”
The man blubbered, spitting blood that ran from his badly smashed nose and mouth. Joe gathered up a gun belt that held a knife and a Colt Police model revolver, and hung it over his shoulder. He threw the dirty clothes at the man, who groaned. Blood was dripping out of his mouth onto the floor. “You get dressed, or by God, I’ll drag your ass to jail in your underwear!”
The man managed to look up at the source of the voice and saw the badge. Mumbling something that probably would have got him hit again, if Mundy had understood it, the man pulled the clothes closer and started to dress.
“I should have a look at him when I’m through here,” Doc Sullivan said.
Joe looked him in the eyes. “I’ll let you know if he needs your attention, Doc. You save her,” Joe said, nodding at Lucy. His voice was calm and steady. The doctor met his eyes for a moment and then returned his attention to Lucy. Joe picked up the Navy Colt and Bowie and slid them into his belt.
Sarah looked at Joe. “You probably saved her life.”
“Little early to predict,” Sullivan said. “I hope you’re right. I’ll need help moving her to my place. Keep a close watch on her for the next twenty-four hours. If she makes it that long, she should be all right.”
Joe sat at his desk and stared at the man in the cell. He lay on the bottom bunk holding a wet rag to his face, moaning. At times, he’d lean over and spit a wad of blood into the slop bucket. It looked like he no longer had any front teeth, but Joe didn’t much care.
Piled on his desk were two brass powder flasks, gun belts with pouches for ball ammunition and percussion caps, the two Colt revolvers, and the two knives. Joe stepped out back in the alley with one of the seized revolvers in each hand and fired them into the ground until empty. Since they were loaded by forcing a .36-caliber round lead ball into each chamber of the cylinder, on top of a charge of black powder, instead of using cartridges like his gun, this was the only way they could be unloaded. Before he turned to go back inside, the door of the outhouse a dozen yards away swung open, and someone took off running west as fast as they could go. Joe managed a partial smile.
Back at his desk, he looked the guns over. Their finishes were worn, but they had been oiled and kept clean. They had been taken care of, so they would work when needed. Joe wondered how much these two had used them.
Adam burst through the front door, stopped, and looked wild-eyed at Joe. “Are you okay, Marshal? I heard the shots!”
“Come in and close the door, Adam. Everything’s fine. Just emptied these pistols out back,” Joe said.
“Scared hell out of us, Marshal. Thought he might have jumped you. Missus Welby and us was just getting Lucy into Doc’s place. I said I’d run up and see if you needed help.”
Joe was a little surprised at the concern. He hadn’t given it a thought. “Get some coffee and take a chair. Been a tough night.”
Joe could still see the panic in Adam’s eyes as he sat and drank from a cup. The prisoner moaned again, and Adam glanced at him.
“You know how to tear these apart?” Joe asked, pointing at the revolvers on his desk.
“Sure do,” Adam said.
“They’ll be in this drawer. When you have time, give ’em a good cleanin’, would you?”
“Sure will, Marshal.” Adam calmed down as he thought about the chore. “The undertaker got some boys to help haul out this un’s buddy. Smiley made sure they picked up all the pieces that went with him. He weren’t too happy about the mess. Had ’em pickin’ bone pieces out of the wall. Said you’d have to pay to have it cleaned up. Assed if I wanted the job, but I respectively declined. He weren’t too happy about that neither.”
“Well, Adam, my guess is Smiley ain’t all that happy a person,” Joe said.
“That’s sure enough,” Adam’s grin showed Joe he was relaxing a bit. They stopped talking while the Regulator struck ten bells.
Joe noticed Byron Siegler brushing snow off his coat before coming into the office. “Evening, Joe. Adam.”
“Adam, why don’t you go down and assure Missus Welby and Doc Sullivan that everything’s peaceful as a church,” Joe said. “See Missus Welby home when she’s ready.”
“Oh yeah. Plum forgot they’d still be wonderin’. I sure will, Marshal. Thanks for the coffee.” Adam finished the cup, buttoned up his coat, and went out. The snow was coming down harder, and the wind had picked up. Joe walked over to the stove and shoved another short log inside.
“You okay, Joe?” Siegler asked.
“Course. Why do you ask?” Joe said.
“I heard what happened. Just come from the Palace. God! That dead feller got a shot off at you!”
“He missed. I didn’t,” Joe said, and returned to the desk.
“I’m glad it worked out that way. Damn ol’ Smiley said he’d submit a bill to you for cleanup of the room,” Siegler said. “Told him to forget it.”
“Good advice,” Joe said and waved toward the coffeepot. Siegler shook his head and sat down on the chair Adam had left. The prisoner coughed up and spit into the bucket again. He moaned and rolled over on his back, still holding the bloody cloth. Byron’s face got pasty white when he looked at him.
“Adam told me about these two right after church. He’s a good man. When I got to the Palace, I heard the screaming from upstairs. Smiley stood behind the bar like he didn’t hear nothin’,” Joe said. Siegler shook his head slowly.
“I meant to tell you that we’ll have a justice of the peace here in town come next week,” Siegler said. “The board agreed to appoint him.”
“Just in time,” Joe said.
“Elsworth Worden. He’s a retired lawyer and judge from Broken Bow. I convinced him to move here and hang out a shingle. I think he liked the idea of being the only lawyer in town.”
“’Spect he would,” Joe said. “I’ll meet with him when he comes in. He can hear the charges against my prisoner.”
“He’s buying the office across southeast of the hotel. Has living quarters upstairs like Fern and I have.”
“Joe, some of Budd’s hands were in the saloon when this happened.You’ll probably hear from him about this.”
“’Spect I will.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Joe opened his eyes and waited for them to focus. His face felt cold, but he was warm under the blanket. The fire was about out in the stove. Exhaling, he could see his breath. After quickly dressing, he stepped out into the office and glanced at the prisoner. The man was curled up in a ball on the lower bunk, shivering. A thin arc of snow had formed on the floor by the office door.
With the stove roaring to life and coffee boiling, Joe poured himself a cup.
“
I meed shome offee,” the prisoner said. He had trouble talking due to the missing teeth and swelling. The stringy black hair that surrounded his face was caked with dried blood.
“What’s your name?” Joe said.
“Gimme shome offee, ya’ bashtard! I get out I’m gonna kill you!” Joe ignored him and walked to a front window and looked out.
“Carlshon, Bob Carlshon. Now gimme shome offee!”
Joe saw Adam coming with a basket and opened the door for him.
“Mornin’, Marshal, and happy Christmas!”
“You, too, Adam,” Joe said. “That his breakfast?”
“Yes, sir, and yours, too, compliments of the Martins.”
“Right nice of them.” Joe watched as Adam uncovered a tin plate with some bacon and biscuits. He poured a cup of steaming coffee and turned toward the cell.
“Hold it, Adam,” Joe said. “Just give him the plate for now. Let that coffee sit awhile.” Adam looked puzzled but did as he was told. “We don’t want to give Mister Bob Carlson there a chance to throw hot coffee in our faces, do we?” Adam’s face paled.
“That’s a good idea, Marshal.” He reached into the basket, took out another plate that was heaped with eggs, bacon, and diced potatoes and placed it on Joe’s desk.
“You eaten?” Joe said.
“Mine’s been promised as soon as I return this basket. I’ll stop back after I do some chores at the livery.” Joe nodded as Adam left.
By the time Joe finished eating, the prisoner’s coffee was cold. The marshal opened the cell door, held out his hand for the empty plate, and then gave the prisoner the coffee. With a fresh cup for himself, he returned to a front window and looked out at the deserted town. Although the windows were mostly covered by frost, there were spaces at the top of each pane clear enough to see through. The only tracks in the snow were those left by Adam crossing the street. The stove made the office comfortable again, and the rich smell of the coffee almost overpowered the rancid stench of the prisoner’s blood and body odor.
Joe thought about Christmas day in Baxter Springs, and his standing dinner invitation with Charlie Oster and his wife. After dinner, the missus would clean up while the two men would sit in the parlor, smoke cigars, and visit. Until Charlie fell asleep, that is. They were good times, and Joe missed them.
When Adam came back to the office, Joe asked him to keep an eye on the prisoner. He walked east down the boardwalk, which had about half as much snow as the street. He crossed over to the hotel and continued south. At Doc’s house, he knocked gently on the door and waited. When it opened, Sullivan showed him inside. The house wasn’t fancy, but it was nicer than Sarah’s. A homemade examination table sat against the wall to the left, and a curtain hung down that could be pulled to close off that area. Joe guessed that the wooden cabinet contained medical supplies. To the right was a desk piled with books and papers, a nice green upholstered chair, an eating table, and straight-backed wooden chairs. Beyond was a tiny kitchen area flanked by two doors. A lot packed into a small house.
“Thought I’d drop by and see how Lucy was doing, Doc.”
“Glad to see you, Marshal.”
“Call me Joe.”
“Okay, Joe. She’s awake and seems to be doing well, considering the beating she took last night. Her vision is blurry. I’m concerned about that,” Sullivan said.
“Will it clear up?” Joe said.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Can I see her?”
“Sure, this way, but be prepared. Her face is almost all black from bruising, and her eyes look shut, but she can see a little,” Sullivan said. “I set her broken nose—as well as I could anyway.”
Sullivan opened one of the doors, and Joe walked in. There were two single beds and a small table in the tiny room. Lucy rolled over toward Joe when he sat down on the edge of the bed. Her cheeks up to the forehead were dark, and her eyelids puffed outward unnaturally. Her nose, though a blue color with a split across the bridge, looked almost straight.
“Hello, Lucy. I’m Marshal Mundy. How are you feelin’?”
“I know who you are, Marshal.Thank you for what you done. I think they meant to kill me.” It looked to Joe like her eyes were mostly closed, but she reached out and touched his hand. “I want them to pay for what they done to me!” Tears squeezed out and ran toward her ears.
“Take it easy, Lucy. There’s only one left alive to pay, but he will. A judge is coming and will hear the case, probably next week. Do you think you’ll feel up to takin’ your oath and tellin’ him what happened?” Joe said.
“I sure as hell will!”
“Okay, you relax and get some rest. Looks like you’re in good hands here.”
At the front door, Doc Sullivan assured Joe that he was keeping a close eye on her, and he thought she’d recover. Joe walked through the snow about a hundred yards due west toward Sarah’s house. About halfway there, he saw a cowhand step out of the front door, turn back as if to say something, then put his hat on and walk toward Main Street. Joe felt an unusual twist in his gut, something he hadn’t felt before. He stopped and stood for a few minutes. After talking himself into continuing, he walked up to her door.
When it opened, “I said no—Oh, it’s you,” Sarah said, surprised.
“You were expecting someone else?” Joe pulled his hat off.
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” she said. “Come by for that pie and coffee?”
“I just stopped by to see if you were okay, and tell you I checked on Lucy. Looks like she’s doing better than Doc expected.” Joe wasn’t sure why his tone was firm and businesslike, but it annoyed him not being able to control it. Sarah closed the door behind him.
She stared without saying anything at first. “You saw that man leave, didn’t you?”
“That’s none of my business, Sarah,” Joe said. She was wearing the chemise again with a blanket over her shoulders. He thought it best to look down at his boots.
“You’re damn right it’s none of your business!”
“I should get back to the office,” Joe said. He thought better of trying to continue the conversation. When he reached for the doorknob, Sarah placed her hand against the door and slid the locking bolt.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bitten your head off like that. It is none of your business, however.”
“Didn’t mean to seem like it was.”
“Sit down. I can’t eat all of that pie myself,” she said. He took a chair and watched her pour two cups of coffee and make three slices in the pie.
Joe finished his piece first and sipped from a porcelain cup. He still felt queer about how the visit had started and wished it would have gone better. When she finished, she laid her plate on the little table that separated them.
“The man you saw, he was here for, uh, business, just as you assumed he was,” Sarah said and looked at Joe. He began to speak, but she cut in. “I told him no, for now. Not that I never do business here, but I told him no.”
“Did he give you any trouble?” Joe said.
“No, he didn’t. He’s a hand at Jarvis’s ranch. A decent enough man. I had some thinking to do, and it’s Christmas! The boys have to be randy on Christmas, too?” She shook her head. “Anyway, I decided I’m not going back to the Palace. Smiley stopped by earlier and told me to get to work, that he had customers. I told him to go to hell . . . the way he just stood there doin’ nothing while those bastards almost killed Lucy. I ain’t stupid, I know that could have been me up in that room.” Her tone rose, and her eyes were glassy. Joe let her talk it out, whatever it was. “If it was me, up there in that room . . . you’d a killed both of ’em, wouldn’t you?”
“Probable,” Joe said.
Sarah looked into his eyes. Joe detected a bit of fear, maybe because she saw the level of violence he was capable of.
“I’ll have to keep working here. I don’t know what else to do. Ben, the man that just left, said when Budd Jarvis reopens the old saloon, he’s going to hire
some ladies. I don’t care much for him, either, but he’d be better to work for than that snake Smiley. And he don’t like Smiley much. This is what I have to do to survive.You understand that, don’t you? This is what I am now.”
Got one thing in common with Jarvis, I guess. “Maybe you could do some other kind of work. Maybe some dressmaking?” Joe said.
“And sell them to who? Cowhands, so they could dress up on Saturday nights?” Sarah said. Joe tried not to picture that image. “And I won’t be paraded around town by you or anyone else, to be the brunt of their stares and snickers.”
“Maybe with all that’s happened, water under the bridge, you might get your mending business goin’ again,” Joe said. He wished he had a better suggestion. He too, thought what if it had been her up in that room.
“Great idea, as long as I stop eating.”
They sat in silence for several minutes. Joe could feel her eyes on him. He didn’t know what else to say. She stood up and walked to his chair. He looked up, and she let the blanket fall and put her hand out. When he reached for it, she placed his two silver dollars into his hand, and led him to the bed.
He was on his back, trying to catch his breath. As cold as it had been, Joe was surprised at how much he was sweating. The bed was more comfortable than the one at the office. Sarah’s naked body felt good against his. She rested her head on his shoulder and caressed his chest while his hand glided over the smoothness of her back and thigh.
“That wasn’t the first time, was it?” Sarah said.
“Well, hell no, course not!” Joe said. He turned his head to look at her, taken aback by the question.
“I mean at the Palace.”
“Oh . . . you mean the first time I killed a man?”
“Yes.”
“No,” Joe said. His mind began to drift.
“Does it bother you, killing that man in the Palace?”
“Not much.”
“When was the first time?”