Mundy's Law

by Monty McCord

  “I am tired, but not too tired.” She leaned over and kissed him on the ear.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  By noon on Friday, the streets of Taylorsville were getting busy. Cowhands from nearby ranches were coming in at regular intervals and tying up wherever they could find a place. Budd Jarvis had replaced Todd with a man from his ranch to run the livery, which was already full up. People arrived in farm wagons and buckboards, parking them willy-nilly up and down Main Street. Dogs ran around the streets barking and chasing each other, children following in high spirits.

  Jarvis opened the doors of the new saloon at eleven o’clock and still planned for the celebration to kick off at six. That would be the time for the cooking to begin and when the saloon’s new name would be unveiled.

  Joe stood inside the front door of the vacated North Star with Gib Hadley watching Main Street. Both were drinking coffee from tin cups in the deserted saloon.

  “How you feelin’ about havin’ more competition, Gib?” Joe said.

  Gib turned around and feigned a look around his business. “As you might imagine, at this particular juncture, I ain’t all a twitter.”

  “Jarvis is gettin’ a piano,” Joe said.

  “Shoulda’ bought one of them,” Hadley said, “but didn’t have nobody who could play the damned thing. Budd’s okay. All in all, I guess I wish him luck, just not too much.”

  Joe watched a farmer hoist his wife down from the seat of their wagon. “I didn’t thank you for your willingness to step in on my behalf with Smiley.”

  “That clodplate had no call to blindside you that way. I do enjoy that he’ll be sittin’ in that jail up at the Flats for the next two months.” Hadley smiled slightly as he said it, looking out to the street. “I do enjoy that a great deal.”

  They watched Thord Sanderson and a helper unload two iron gratings from a wagon. After Sanderson left in his wagon, another pulled up with a second load of firewood. Other men lined up buckets of water in case the fires got out of hand. The two holes in front of Jarvis’s new saloon had already been packed tightly with firewood and set ablaze. As was intended, some folks were content to warm themselves by the fires and occasionally tip a bottle while others had drinks inside.

  “Looks like you got help for tonight,” Hadley said and nodded west toward the side window. Joe looked out across the street and saw Canfield’s deputy stepping down from his horse. He tied up at the rail beside another horse and headed up the street. Joe noticed the butt of the short shotgun still protruding from his saddle scabbard. The deputy climbed onto the boardwalk by the North Star and walked by toward Jarvis’s place.

  Joe said, “What’s his story?”

  “Clyde Davey. Came from Lincoln. ’Bout all anybody knows about him.”

  “Looks like a schoolteacher.”

  “That’s what everybody says,” Hadley said and smiled.

  “Thanks for the coffee.Think I’ll go down and see how Doc’s doin.” Joe placed the tin cup on the bar and picked up the ten-gauge.

  “Freight wagon’s due in about an hour. Gonna come and see the new piano?”

  “Gib, that’s an event I wouldn’t miss,” Joe said and walked out.

  Joe could smell the whiskey as soon as he walked in. Doc Sullivan wasn’t drunk, but he’d had a few. One drink was still on the table where he’d been sitting when Joe knocked. Sullivan returned to a rocking chair that was positioned so he could see into the room with his remaining patient.

  “Care for coffee, or a drink?” Sullivan asked. The dark circles around his eyes were still there, perhaps no worse, and he had two days’ growth on his face.

  “No, thanks, just had coffee with Gib,” Joe said. He sat down at the table. Sullivan was quiet.

  “Sorry to hear about Mister Raymond’s boy.”

  Sullivan turned to look at Joe and downed the whiskey. “Sorrys all around. But sorrys don’t save anyone, do they? And neither, apparently, do I.”

  “Doc, you do what you can. That’s all folks expect of you,” Joe said.

  “They expect . . . what they expect is, that I’ll not let their families die!” Sullivan refilled the glass.

  “No one can work miracles, Doc. Not even you, or Pastor Evans. That’s the plain cold fact of it.” Joe coughed.

  “A professor of mine in Boston once told me that I wasn’t cut from the cloth of physicians. He was right. But I didn’t listen to him. I decided to move out here and have a nice quiet practice delivering babies.”

  “How’s he doin’?” Joe said and nodded toward the patient room.

  “He’ll live, through no assistance of mine,” Sullivan said.

  Joe coughed and cleared his throat. “Everyone here respects you and what you do for ’em, knowin’ that you can’t do magic or the like. They depend on you to be here for ’em.”

  Sullivan looked at Joe. “I’ll do my best to remain sober. Happy?”

  “Plum stirred.”

  “How long you been coughing?” Sullivan asked. He walked over to the cabinet and took out a small aqua-colored bottle.

  “Not long. Takin’ on a cold in the head, I guess.”

  Sullivan approached him with the bottle. “Take a sample of this.”

  “Doc, thanks, but I have to retain all my functions right now,” Joe said.

  Sullivan returned to the cabinet and brought back another small bottle and poured some into a spoon. “You’ll taste mint. It won’t slow you down any.”

  Joe took it and was surprised that it didn’t taste as bad as most medicines he’d had before.

  “Mister Jarvis’s new piano will be here within the hour. Comin’ to take a look?”

  Sullivan shook his head. “I’ll see it later.”

  Joe dropped a coin on the table and stopped at the front door. “Thanks for the potion.You can’t help but help folks, can you?”

  “Good day, Marshal Mundy.”

  The freight wagon was just rolling to a stop in front of Jarvis’s saloon when Joe crossed Main Street. It was heavily loaded as usual, with three extra passengers that Joe took special care to note. Folks gathered around to gawk at the newcomers. At the rear of the wagon Joe helped the first passenger, a woman dressed in a silver and black taffeta dress and a tall hat. She was golden-haired and had a pretty face with a hardness that seemed to linger in the background. A younger, auburn-haired woman with a handsome slender face and big round eyes was next. Her dress was dark blue with a white lace collar. Joe helped the women onto the boardwalk and turned around to watch the third passenger, a small man, who looked his way as if expecting assistance in jumping down from the crates and trunks that were tightly packed beside the piano. One of the teamsters picked up the little man and carried him over to the walk and dropped him.The man, all of five feet tall and a hundred pounds wet, gave the teamster a disgusted glance and straightened his vest and coat. Jarvis met the three and directed them inside the saloon.

  The teamsters unloaded the trunks belonging to the passengers onto the boardwalk. They enlisted the help of men who were standing nearby and slid the canvas-wrapped piano out of the wagon. Six men strained as they bore the full weight and carried it uneasily to the boardwalk, where they carefully placed it. Progress in rolling the piano into the saloon was hindered by the uneven boards of the walk, so it was necessary to pick it up and move it along until they finally got it inside. Mismatched notes could be heard as it was knocked about.

  Inside, Joe noticed Deputy Sheriff Davey leaning against the full bar drinking coffee. Joe walked over and wedged into a spot beside him.

  “Deputy,” Joe said. “Are we expecting Sheriff Canfield’s company as well?”

  Davey looked over at Joe with his bulging eyes. “Guess not.” He took another sip from his cup. A couple of shots were fired outside, so Joe made his way to the door. Davey stayed put. A farmer holding a bottle and an old Walker Colt was capering drunkenly, near one of the fires. He managed to cock the pistol again, raised it up, and fired.

 
Joe yanked it from his hand. “Don’t need any shootin’ guns off in town! You can pick it up at the bar when you leave.” The farmer looked at Joe and hoisted the bottle again. “Okay . . . ’arshal.”

  As Joe gave the bartender the pistol, he saw that the piano had been uncovered and was being wiped off by the little man. It was positioned against the middle of the wall opposite the bar. Before heading to his office, Joe glanced up to the balcony where the new lady employees had been lodged. No activity there yet.

  The little man started playing short chords on the piano. It added immensely to the festive atmosphere, and Joe thought it a worthwhile addition to the town.

  “Did the piano come in, Marshal?” Adam said.

  “Yep, it’s a beauty. Came in with a man to play it and a couple other beauties.”

  “Since I’m still wearing this badge,” Adam stopped to double-check his question. “What I mean to ask is, would I be able to make rounds with you tonight?”

  “Sure. Our guests aren’t going anywhere. But if anybody goes to celebratin’ too much and fires off a gun, I’ll handle it.” Adam nodded his agreement.

  Joe stretched his arms out and rotated his shoulders to loosen them up. Muscles all over his body were starting to ache, and his brow was moist. He sat down at his desk and poured a whiskey, holding it in the back of his mouth momentarily before swallowing. It burned much more than usual and brought on a coughing fit. He quickly downed a second.

  Adam said, “You feelin’ okay, Marshal? You look a little peeked.”

  “I’m fine, let’s go.”

  “Marshal, how about bringin’ us a couple them steaks Budd’s gonna cook up?” Dan Loman said. He was looking through an opening in the strap iron.

  “Don’t see why not.You want one, Todd?” Joe said.

  Todd raised his head from the upper bunk. “Yeah.”

  Joe and Adam did a regular walk of the town and, after a few short visits, ended up in front of the new saloon. Joe stood with the ten-gauge under his arm. It was nearing six o’clock and the unveiling of the saloon sign. Two poles with torches on the ends were stuck almost in the middle of street, which added to the light from the lanterns on the front of the building. Families gathered outside, while men who came alone filled the saloon. Four short stumps were positioned around each fire pit and served as legs to rest the iron grating on.

  Budd Jarvis stepped out front and waved his big hat. “Attention! Can I have everyone’s attention?” He stepped up onto a chair that had been positioned for him. “I want to thank everyone for comin’ and hope you enjoy the festivities. Now it’s time to commence. Pastor.”

  Christmas Evans stepped forward from the crowd. “We bless this new establishment and everyone who enters her doors. Amen.” Everyone seemed somewhat surprised by Evans’ brevity and assumed he must have been told to keep it short. Jarvis yanked the canvas from the sign revealing the name, which didn’t much surprise anyone: TEXAN SALOON. The crowd cheered and drank from whatever they had with them.

  Jarvis spoke again. “Those who know me, know where I come from, and I just couldn’t think of another damned name for the saloon!” The crowd laughed. “The boys are throwin’ the beef on so it won’t be long. One to each person, though, so everybody wants one, gets one!” He swept the crowd with an index finger.

  The wood-hauling wagon sat empty nearby, and a young lady and older man climbed aboard. The man began playing an Irish jig on his fiddle, and the girl danced to it. The crowd clapped and stomped their feet to the beat. Some children formed daisy chains and danced to the music in ever-growing circles. One of Jarvis’s hands was juggling three tin plates in the middle of the street.

  “Ain’t this a regular wing-ding, Marshal?” Adam said.

  “It is.” Joe walked over to one of the cooks and asked for two steaks for his prisoners.The cook loaded two thin wood shingles, on hand for that purpose, and gave them to Joe. Adam carried them off to the jail.

  Joe stood inside the saloon for a while and looked for Deputy Davey but didn’t see him. Be fine if he stays out of my way. His thoughts drifted off to Luther and Cookie in the shack and what must have happened when Canfield and Davey came to visit. They must have got the drop on them and shot them in the back of the head.

  Sure wish I could prove it.

  Joe listened to the little man hammer out tunes on the new piano in a near-professional manner. He expected nothing less of Jarvis. He was sure he could enjoy it more if his head didn’t pound with every note. Joe thought that the costs of the new saloon might have been reason for Jarvis to sell off the meat market. Seemed like the man ought to be a little overextended. The two ladies were milling around the tables, dressed differently than when they’d been traveling. Their new dresses were revealing, in a more tasteful way than the old dress Lucy wore at the Palace. That thought reminded him of her.

  Back out front Joe asked for another steak, telling the cowhand who it was for: Lucy.

  “Glad to, Marshal,” the hand said. Joe carried it to the front door of the Palace and knocked hard. It was dark inside, and after a few minutes of pounding, Lucy stumbled into view and unlocked it. She stood, wavering back and forth, and stared at Joe.

  “Evenin’, Lucy,” Joe let loose with a cough. “Thought you’d like one of Budd Jarvis’s steaks.”

  She was inebriated again.

  “I want you to eat that, Lucy,” Joe said.

  “I will, thank you ever so much, Joe. You wanna come in?” She pulled her dress partly open.

  “Why don’t you eat and get dressed. Come over and enjoy the festivities?”

  She closed the door and stumbled to the bar where she picked up the steak with both hands and bit into it.

  In front of the Texan, Joe watched the people dancing and singing. He felt a tapping on his shoulder and turned to see Booth, the farmer he’d arrested for being drunk and foolish.

  “Marshal, good to see you again.” The big man wore an old coat, but it appeared to be freshly brushed.

  “Hello, Booth, how ya’ been?”

  “Real good. Ain’t been gamblin’ and not drinkin’, much. Brought my family in for this.” He pointed across the street to a farm wagon and his wife and children sitting in it. Joe waved, and they waved back. “Ain’t the music jus’ somethin’?”

  Joe said, “Tell you what, Booth, if I had a pretty wife like that, I’d have her out in the street a dancin’ up a storm!”

  “I believe you’re right, Marshal! Good to see you.” Booth shook hands with Joe and started toward his wagon. Joe noticed Adam coming across the street. At the same time, he heard two powerful gunshots.

  The shots sounded like they came from the alley behind the North Star so Joe trotted to the corner and turned north. Gib Hadley was locking the front door of his saloon, and Joe almost ran into him. Adam ran toward the alley, and Joe tried to catch up to him.

  “Adam, hold. Hold it!”

  Adam stepped into the alley just ahead of Joe, and the gun roared again. Adam stumbled and fell. Thinking he’d just lost his footing, Joe reached down to pull him up and saw the blood. Adam looked at him with wide eyes, saying nothing. Joe turned around and saw Gib coming down the sidewalk.

  “Get Adam to Doc’s right now!”

  Gib turned and ran back to the crowd on the main street.

  “You’ll be fine. Help’s comin’ for you,” Joe said. He wasn’t sure how bad Adam had been hit and wasn’t sure he’d be okay. He couldn’t help and wasn’t about to let the shooter get away. He ran into the darkness, the ten-gauge at the ready, and stopped to let his eyes adjust. He heard someone crash through a pile of refuse.

  Joe continued further down the alley, trying not to expose himself. Just as he wondered where the shooter had gone, he saw the silhouette of a head stick up from behind a wagon box. He barely ducked in time, as the blast of a shotgun tore through the wood siding next to him. Wood splinters peppered his face. Joe fired one barrel at the wagon box, and while the shooter ducked, he ran ou
t away from the buildings and used a privy for cover. Joe now had a view out of the line of fire. Again, the shooter blasted the spot where Joe had been. He stepped slowly and quietly out beyond the wagon box until he could see the shooter, who at the last minute saw him. The ten-gauge rocked against Joe’s shoulder lighting the area between them. He heard the shooter thump to the ground. Joe laid the empty shotgun down, pulled his Colt, cocked it, and waited.

  “Joe! It’s Gib. Budd and I have guns, where are you?” Hadley yelled from the rear corner of the North Star.

  Joe remained silent while he eased up to where the shooter was on the ground. Two loud snaps told Joe that the man tried shooting again, but the shotgun was empty. He pulled it from his hands and laid it aside. He felt around the man’s waist, pulled out a revolver, and stuck it in his belt. It was too dark to see well, but Joe could hear gurgling with each labored breath the man took.

  Joe said, “Gib, down here, almost to MacNab’s, bring a lantern!”

  Joe watched the lantern dancing around as it drew nearer. He looked at the shooter as the light crossed his face.

  “Damned if it isn’t Clyde Davey!” Jarvis said.

  “You okay, Joe?” Hadley asked.

  “Fine,” Joe coughed and cleared his throat. He looked at the deputy, whose bulging eyes seemed to have gotten bigger. The deputy was still breathing, but his chest and neck were covered in blood. The shiny star pinned to his shirt was more red than silver.

  “Why’d you shoot Adam?” Joe said.

  “I’ll . . . I’ll tell it all,” he coughed, and blood ran from the corners of his mouth toward his ears. He coughed again to clear it. “Promise, first . . . tell my mother . . . I died doin’ my job good . . . proudly.”

  “Who’s your mother, and where?” Joe talked fast. He knew he wouldn’t have long to get anything out of Davey.

  “Missus Nellie . . . Nellie . . . Tillmer . . . Falls City,” Davey coughed and started breathing with a rasp. “My name—”

  Joe interrupted, “We know, Clyde Davey!”

  “No! No, name’s Herm . . . Tillmer . . . tell her? Your word?” His chest squeaked as he tried to suck in more air.