by Deborah Camp
“Are you going to tend to his horse like I asked?”
Otis blinked and nodded. “Yeah. Does Junior know about this?”
“About what?”
Otis glanced at Louder. “About you bringing Sam in.”
“Probably not yet, but he will. Someone is bound to tell him.” Dalton shoved Louder further into the office area. Louder swung around, fist flying, and Dalton ducked, throwing Louder off-balance. The man stumbled into Dalton’s desk, righted himself, and started to lunge again when he felt cold steel pressed against his temple. “Settle down or I’ll shoot you where you stand,” Dalton said, keeping his voice low and calm. Louder went as still as death. “Now move.” He nodded sideways in the direction of the cells.
Louder bared his teeth, but clomped into the other room and into the vacant cell. Dalton slammed the door behind him and locked it.
“You’re a dead man,” Louder said, fisting his hands at his sides and huffing with rage.
Dalton noticed the blood smeared on Louder’s knuckles and the spots of crimson dotting his shirtfront. “And you’re a coward for beating a woman.”
“I’m gettin’ outta here!” he bellowed.
Dalton turned away from him and went back into the office. He put the man’s knife and gun into the bottom drawer of his desk, then went outside to see how Gentry was doing with the horse. The deputy was letting the unsaddled animal get a drink at the trough.
“Where is he?” Otis asked.
“Who?”
“Louder.”
“In jail. He’s bellowing like a cut bull, but he should pass out soon so you can get some shuteye in there.”
“You’re keeping him locked up?”
Dalton gave Otis a curious glance, thinking that he sure didn’t sound like a lawman. “He’s under arrest for beating a woman.”
“Her name is Willa Hollister. She’s Louder’s regular.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You know.” Otis wiggled his eyebrows. “She’s the gal he takes upstairs.”
“Has Louder beaten her before?”
“He’s been rough with her, I hear. But she’s never wanted him arrested or nothing like that.”
Dalton ran a hand over the black gelding’s flank, admiring its firm muscles. A fine cutting horse ridden by a barrel of a man. “What she wants or doesn’t want has nothing to do with our duty to arrest him.”
Otis spit tobacco into the dirt. “I’m only saying that she never acted like she wanted to make trouble for him.”
“She hasn’t. He’s made trouble for himself,” Dalton pointed out, feeling like he shouldn’t have to explain this to his deputy.
“Junior’s not going to take this lightly.”
“I’m sure he can hire someone to take Louder’s place easy enough.”
Otis flung out his hands in a gesture of supplication. “He won’t let Louder stay in jail. He’ll want him sprung.”
Dalton ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, stalling for a few moments to let his temper flame out before he spoke again. “Do you think I give a ripe cow chip what Junior Pullman wants? I’m the marshal and that’s my prisoner and my jail.” He indicated the building behind them with a jab of his thumb. “He’ll be taken to Topeka for a hearing before the district judge.”
Otis almost choked on his tobacco spit. “You can’t do that!”
“I can and I will.”
“Junior will torch this here town if you do such a thing.”
The flash of fear in the older man’s eyes confirmed for Dalton that Otis was running scared. “Junior Pullman isn’t that stupid, Deputy. What would torching this town get him? He throws threats around like cowpunchers throw lassos and everyone tries not to step in any of them or rile him in any way. But I’m not everyone.” He pinned Otis with a glare. “And you shouldn’t be either. Pick a side.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means you’re either on the side of the law or you’re not.” He bit back the rest of what he wanted to say to Otis Gentry. He’d said enough – for now. He patted the horse once more before turning away. “I’m going to check on Miss Hollister.”
On the walk to the hotel, he was stopped no fewer than six times by people wanting to know what he’d done with Sam Louder. Some were surprised by his answer and others were clearly pleased. At the hotel, lights blazed, but the saloon next door was shuttered. He met Dutch in the lobby.
“You closed the saloon?”
“For the rest of the night, okay? I got more important things to do just now than sell spirits.” Dutch’s straight blond hair stuck up in back and his blue eyes were bloodshot.
“How is Miss Hollister?”
“She’s not doing good. Bobbie Sue and Lacy are up there with her, but they think I should take her to the doctor in Olathe.”
“Not to Topeka?”
“It’s a shorter and easier ride to Olathe,” Dutch explained. “And there are good doctors there, too.”
Dalton looked up the staircase. “So, she’s bad off?”
“He loosened some of her teeth and knocked out one of them. She says her jaw hurts mightily and we’re worried something got broke in it. And when she fell, she thinks she cracked her tailbone. She’s hurting at both ends, okay?”
He winced in sympathy. “I’d like to talk to her for a few minutes before you take her to Olathe. Is she able?”
“Talk to her about what?”
“The attack.” Dalton eyed him. “What did you think I wanted to talk to her about?”
Dutch scratched his beard in contemplation. “I don’t reckon she’ll have much to say. Like I said, she’s hurting.” He glanced up at the second landing, then back at Dalton. “I saw you ride back in with Louder.”
“I caught up with him on his way back to the Pullman Ranch.”
Dutch nodded, seemed to make up his mind about something, and turned and yelled up at the landing. “Bobbie Sue!”
After a few seconds, Bobbie Sue Brand emerged from one of the rooms and looked down at him. “Yes?”
“The marshal wants to talk to Willa about the fight. You think she has anything to say about it?”
Bobbie Sue blasted Dalton with a scowl. “She’s barely able to make any sounds except for moaning. Her jaw hurts something fierce.”
Dalton knew when to surrender. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Brand. Please tell Miss Hollister that I hope she recovers quickly and I’ll question her later about the attack.”
Bobbie Sue issued a dismissive grunt before whirling away, petticoats swishing. She slammed the door behind her, making Dutch cower. He widened his blue eyes and chuckled.
“The ladyfolk are prickly as cactus over this. Even my Britta is fuming. Wish I could say that this kind of thing never happens, but I can’t. Been happening too often. That’s why it’s good you’re here, okay? It’ll be taken too far one day and somebody will die.”
“So, he has beaten Miss Hollister before.”
“Yes, he has. He’s backhanded one or two of the other girls, too. He gets whiskey in him and he gets mean and jealous. If he thinks a man is looking at one of the gals he’s picked out for the night, he starts fighting and usually ends up slapping the gal around while he’s at it.”
“And he hasn’t been arrested for that?”
“I made him pay for damages he’d done in the saloon. Well, I guess it was Pullman who paid. But you can’t pay for bruises.”
“You can put someone in jail for them.”
Dutch squinted one eye and grinned. “You can. You did!” He clapped a hand on Dalton’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Glad you’re here, Marshal Moon. High time some of these rotten souls were rounded up and made to pay for causing such a stink.” He shook his finger at him, his blue eyes alight. “But I’m warning you, okay? There will be hell to pay for it. Pullman is going to be out for blood when he hears about you throwing his man in jail. You’ve tugged on the donkey’s tail. I hope you’re ready to run or get kicked.�
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Dalton glanced up at the landing again, just in case Lacy might appear. When she didn’t, he clapped Dutch on the shoulder and left him to deal with Willa Hollister. As he made his way back to the jail to see to Soldier and his surly prisoner, it occurred to him that he should have a strut in his step after throwing a louse like Louder in jail. But he didn’t. After another stride or two, he knew why. He’d been hoping to see Lacy again at the hotel. He ran a hand down his face in frustration and gave himself a stern lecture about paying attention to marshaling instead of to spooning.
Rifling through a stack of Wanted posters, Dalton froze when he heard a horse whinny and the clatter of spurs. He turned around to see two men saunter into the office. He recognized the blond man as Whit Whittier, one of Pullman’s ranch hands. He thought that the other one might be Trey Pullman because of his tanned skin and deeply-set eyes. Features he’d inherited from his Spanish mother.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?” Dalton asked, putting aside the stack of posters and rising to his feet.
“I’m Trey Pullman. You the new marshal?”
“I am. Glad to meet you. I’ve been to your ranch, but I didn’t see you that day.” He extended his hand. Trey stared at it a few seconds before he grasped it, gave it one pump, then let go.
“We’re here for Sam Louder,” Trey said. “Heard you’d put him in jail.”
“That’s right. He’s been arrested for assaulting a woman at the Holland Saloon last night.”
Trey and Whit shared a smile before Trey faced Dalton again. “Well, you’ve had your strut and flashed your badge. Fun’s over. We have work to do at the ranch and he’s needed there.”
“You’ll have to hire someone else. I’m taking him to Topeka tomorrow morning.”
“For what?” Whit asked, taking a step closer to Dalton’s desk.
“For beating Miss Hollister.”
“She told you to arrest him?” Whit asked in a way that called Dalton a liar before he answered.
“No, but there were witnesses. Miss Hollister named him as her attacker. It will be up to a judge to decide how Louder should pay.”
“Is that you, Trey?” Louder shouted from his jail cell. “Whit? Get me outta here!”
Whit started for the cells, but Dalton stepped neatly in his path. He shook his head. “No visitors.”
Whit stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “You’re feeling your oats this morning, ain’t you, Marshal Moon?”
“You can visit him in the Topeka jail. He’ll be there for a spell.”
“You’re making a big mistake and a stupid one,” Trey said, his eyes darkening. He’d grown himself a respectable mustache and a patch of hair under his lower lip. The shape of his mouth and jawline were Junior’s. Dalton wondered if he’d inherited his father’s smirk, too.
“Let us take Sam off your hands and we’ll put this behind us,” Whit said, speaking to Dalton as if he were a child.
Trey rubbed a thumb across his lips, trying to hide a budding grin. “Look here, Moon. I understand you have to earn your keep, but this isn’t the way to go about it. You’re stirring up a hornet’s nest and you really don’t want to do that.”
Whit nodded. “If we come back to the ranch without Sam, you’ll catch hell. The council hired you, yeah, but that don’t mean they want you causing all kinds of trouble. Especially with Mr. Pullman.”
“Let me out! I’m gonna hull your teeth!” Louder bellowed.
“I know why I was hired,” Dalton said, reaching behind him and shutting the door to muffle Louder’s threats. “It’s simple. You break the law, you’re arrested. If the law you break is bad enough, you go before a judge. Beating a woman is a cowardly act. He’s gotten away with it before, but not this time.”
Trey chuckled dryly and looked at Whit. “He’s as dumb as they come, isn’t he?”
Whit grinned. “Dumb as dirt.”
Trey shrugged. “Have it your way, Moon. Let’s go, Whit.”
“We’re leaving?”
“Yes. We’ll let Junior know about the marshal’s new rules.” He ran a hand down his smiling lips. “He’ll appreciate a good chuckle.”
He glared at Dalton and Dalton glowered right back at him. After a handful of seconds, Trey drew in a quick breath and looked away. Dalton wasn’t surprised. He’d stared men down a lot more than he’d gunned them down. And that’s how he preferred it.
Trey and Whit strode to the door, but they paused, glanced back at him, and laughed under their breath before they left. Dalton went to the door and watched them mount up and ride away. He didn’t care for being laughed at, but he also knew that they weren’t truly amused. He’d seen the agitation in Trey’s eyes and the anger glowing like a banked fire in Whit’s. He suspected that Trey wasn’t looking forward to telling his father why he’d come back to the ranch without Sam Louder. Dalton had an inkling that Trey was under his father’s thumb and didn’t much like it, but didn’t have the guts to squirm out from under it. Whit, on the other hand, was a hothead itching for a fight. Any kind of fight. Dalton had been like him once – before the war had extinguished the foolish flames of bravado in him.
Leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, Dalton rolled himself a cigarette as memories of the war tramped through his mind. He’d engaged in one horrific battle after another. Each time he’d managed to live through one, he’d been shocked, especially when he’d tallied the number of comrades who had died on that same battlefield. Soon though, his shock had pounded him until he’d become numb, and that’s when he’d been the most frightened. He didn’t want to become immune to atrocities or cavalier about his luck in not losing a limb or being blown to bits. He’d feared he was losing his humanity.
The war had spared him, and although he’d emerged from the cannon fire a different man, he still possessed a heart that believed in good versus evil.
He took a drag on the cigarette and breathed out his residual tension with the smoke. Outwardly, he strove for confidence and solemnity. That’s what people wanted and needed in their lawmen. Inwardly, however, a cold dread coated him. He didn’t know what Junior Pullman would do when Sam Louder wasn’t set free as ordered, but Dalton knew that he’d retaliate somehow. Pullman would have to show everyone that he had the last word, the final reckoning.
Thumper trotted around the corner of the building and his tail waved like a flag when he spotted Dalton.
“Hey, boy,” Dalton greeted the dog, leaning down to stroke his head and ears. “Have you been sleeping in my bunk again?” Dalton had caught the dog curled up in his bed in the tack room several times and the crazy hound tried to bed down with him every night, but Dalton wasn’t having any of it. The narrow cot was hardly wide enough for him! He tossed aside the rest of the cigarette and went back inside where Louder was yelling obscenities. Thumper went to the closed door and sniffed under it. “Yes, he’s loud and he stinks.”
“Who? Me?” Otis Gentry grinned from the open doorway, but his smile faltered and fell away when he heard Louder. “I saw Trey and Whit leaving. They looked like they could spit buckshot.” His gaze tracked to the jail door again. “His lives up to his name, don’t he?”
“Shallow minds and lazy rivers have big mouths.”
Otis chuckled, but then grew grave again. “You think that Louder is worth all this trouble?”
“What trouble?”
“The trouble that’s comin’.” He stomped on a cockroach that skittered across the floor. “You know what I’m talking about, man.”
“I’ll be leaving with Louder after breakfast. You’ll be in charge while I’m away in Topeka. I shouldn’t be more than two or three days.” He noted the worry that knitted the older man’s brow. “I know you can handle anything that crops up.”
Surprise flashed in his faded blue eyes before he ducked his head to hide his grin from Dalton. “You gonna hogtie Louder? You know he’ll be a handful.”
“If I have to, I’ll truss him up like a prized hog and fling him
over the saddle. Let him ride like that on his belly all the way to Topeka.”
Otis chuckled as he swept off his hat and whacked his thigh with it. “You do that and he’ll surely squeal like a pig all the way.”
“Not if I stuff a kerchief in his big mouth, he won’t. Or an apple.” Dalton shared a grin with Otis, glad that he was shucking some of the hostility so that they could work together without fraying each other’s nerves.
Otis brought his chuckles under control and wiped the rest of his grin off his lips with the back of his hand. “We’re making light of it, but there’s nothing funny about this.”
Dalton wedged his hat onto his head. He stood beside Otis for a few moments before he rested a hand on the man’s shoulder in a show of solidarity. “You have to trust that I know what I’m doing, Deputy Gentry.”
Otis eased out from under his hand and backed to the door. “What you don’t seem to understand, Marshal, is that me trusting you won’t make a plug of difference.” He turned away from Dalton. “You’ll be lucky if you don’t get shot outta the saddle before you make it to Topeka,” he muttered on his way out.
Chapter 5
Only four tables were occupied in the Holland Hotel Restaurant at seven-thirty, but other hungry patrons were filing in. Some drifted down from their upstairs rooms and others entered from the street. The tantalizing aroma of frying ham and bacon and biscuits fresh from the oven permeated the air. Bobbie Sue came into the lobby where Lacy manned the register desk and refilled the china cup at Lacy’s elbow.
“Ahhh, thank you.” Lacy leaned against the high desk. “This is already my third cup of coffee this morning.
“Better take it easy,” Bobbie Sue said as she made her way back to the restaurant, coffee pot in hand. “There is a long day ahead of us.”