by Danni Roan
***
Spencer looked out across the grass of the prairie along the trail he had traveled so recently and forced himself not to look back.
“This surely isn’t fair,” Spencer spoke to his sturdy bay gelding as they trotted across the open ground. “Daliah doesn’t need to be a part of this anymore. She didn’t do anything and one way or another I’m going to prove it.”
He kicked the horse into a ground eating gallop.
After a quarter mile, Spencer let the horse slow again as his mind turned the problem over again in his mind. It wouldn’t be easy finding the person who had blamed Daliah for their crimes. He wasn’t going to be able to ride into town and point a finger at the miscreant.
No, this would require some serious thought and a good deal of effort. Spencer’s heart constricted in his chest as he thought of the long ride and ever growing miles between him and his family. Perhaps Daliah had balked at going through with the wedding after this mess, but to him she was his heart and nothing would change that.
“Seems like me and Daliah have suffered enough already,” Spencer’s rich voice made his horse’s ears twitch. “You’d think we could catch a break about now.”
Leaning over he patted the horse’s neck with a sigh. “We’ll just have to do our best,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get a little help,” he added as he lifted his eyes to a clear blue sky his heart heavy as lead. “God, please,” he pleaded. “You only just got through this thick head that I could love again. Don’t let it be for nothing.”
***
“Daliah,” Rosa knocked on the door of the small room that had been added onto the Hampton House for Daliah and Chad in the weeks since Spencer had gone.
“Does someone need me?” Daliah asked looking at the lovely petite woman with weary eyes.
“No,” Rosa said, “but someone wants to see you,” she said opening the door and letting one of the young men from the original wagon train in.
“Miss Owens,” the man said as he twisted his hat in his hands.
“Hello Jack,” Daliah said listlessly. Since Spencer’s departure she felt like she was going through the motions of living, but she pasted a smile on her face for the sake of others.
“Miss Owens, I was mighty sorry to hear about Spencer,” the young man said swallowing hard to stifle his nervousness. “I only just heard a few days ago when we brought a herd in from Mexico.”
“Thank you Jack,” Daliah said. People in town had been very kind to her since the wanted poster had been found and Spencer left. The people from the wagon train assured her that they didn’t believe any of the nonsense they had heard, and that they stood behind her. Still she cried herself to sleep almost every night longing for Spencer to return.
“The thing is,” Jack continued. “I remember when that all happened,” he said nearly crushing his hat brim. “I got to thinkin’ ya see. I was at the bank one day takin’ out some money to get ready for this trip, and I saw Mr. Shaw puttin’ money in his pocket. I never did think anything of it since he was the bank manager. I figured he was taking funds to use for the bank or some such thing,” Jack finished looking at her pale face.
Daliah stood, her hands shaking as she stepped toward Jack. “You’re sure?” she asked taking his arms and looking into his eyes.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “I told Dan, and he wrote it out, and I signed my mark to it then lit out for Dallas with his best string of horses. Told me to come and let you know. Said he’d mail this to Smithfield and hope it helped. I reckon he’ll be back in a few days the way he was riding.”
Bright tears filled Daliah’s eyes and she squeezed the man’s arms with one hand as if he might slip away if she let go. “Come with me,” she said turning and pulling him out of the room.
“Daliah, what’s wrong?” Mrs. Hampton said as the door opened and the young woman stepped through the young wrangler in tow.
“Tell her,” Daliah said her voice breaking as a smile settled over her face.
“Alabad a Dios,” Rosa said from where she stood by the stove stirring a pot, her little girl cooing at her from a basket on the floor when Jack finished his story.
“Did someone say something about Pa?” Chad asked hurrying into the house with Mr. Hampton, his arms full of kindling.
“We have a witness that knows who stole the money from the bank,” Olive said looking at Orville.
“Does that mean Pa can come home?” Chad asked looking between the adults in hope and confusion.
“I think it does,” Daliah breathed.
Chapter 22
Spencer walked into the Marshall’s office in Smithfield, trail weary, and dry as dust. His hard eyes glinted at the older man sitting behind a big desk when he stepped up, removing his hat as his boots clicked on the solid floor.
“What can I do for you young man?” the Marshall asked squinting at him with dark intelligent eyes that off set his beaky nose and heavy mustache.
Spencer studied the man for two heartbeats wondering if the graying lawman had been the one to send those posters of Daliah to Texas.
“I’m here,” he started clearing his dry throat, “I’m here about Daliah Owens.”
“You don’t say?” The Marshall shifted some of the papers on his desk, pulling one from the pile and turning it toward Spencer. “You here for the reward?”
“No sir,” Spencer said glaring down at the simple likeness of the woman he loved. “I’m here to clear her name.”
The Marshall rose slowly until he stood face to face with Spencer, looking him in the eye. “You saying she’s innocent?” the Marshall asked, his gruff voice soft.
“I am,” Spencer growled.
“And who are you when you’re at home?” the Marshall asked leaning forward slightly. “Why should I believe you?”
“I’m Spencer Gaines and I’m going to marry that girl,” Spencer’s words were clipped and he expected the older man to push back.
“You don’t say?” The Marshall’s bright smile made Spencer blink. “So you say she didn’t do this thievin’, do ya?”
“The woman I know would never take anything that wasn’t hers. She’s kind, loving, caring, and giving. She worked tirelessly to help others on the trail to Texas and even now, with this hanging over her head is working to make Needful a home for me and my son.”
“Whoa, whoa son. No need to get riled. I’ve thought something smelled rotten about this whole thing ever since Mr. Shaw brought it to me.” Moving to a small stove near the door the Marshall took two cups down from a peg, filling them with coffee. “I’m Marshal Eagan,” the man continued. “Have a seat and we’ll jaw a spell.”
Spencer raised his brows, surprised at the lawman’s words but took the cup gratefully before sinking into a chair as he listened to the Marshall explain what led to the wanted posters.
“So you’re telling me a month after we left Smithfield for Texas Mr. Shaw found discrepancies in the bank’s books and came to you to file charges against a young woman who had been dismissed three weeks earlier?” Spencer asked, incredulously, a half hour later.
“Yep, that about sums it up,” Tom Eagan said smoothing his mustache thoughtfully. “He figured she had been taking a little bit at a time so people wouldn’t notice until she was gone.”
“That makes no sense at all,” Spencer said placing his mug on the desk and rising to pace the small room. “How much was missing?” he finally asked wheeling and looking the Marshall in the eye.
“Nearly three-hundred dollars,” the other man said.
“If she had been taking a few dollars a week, it would have taken months to steal that much and there is no way that the manager or the president or one of the other clerks wouldn’t have noticed.”
“That’s pretty much what I thought,” Marshall Eagan agreed. “But when I checked up on everyone, I couldn’t find anything to prove it.”
Again Spencer took a turn around the small room, glancing out the window on his final pass. “I’ll find it,�
�� he said, turning and slamming his palms onto the desk. “I’ll prove that Daliah didn’t do it!”
“Now we’re talkin’,” Marshall Eagan said, planting his palms on the other side of the desk and rising to stare at Spencer across the desk. “You’ll need this,” he finished reaching into his pocket and slapping a shiny badge on the desk. “Tell you what,” the older man said smoothing his bushy mustache. “You can be my unofficial deputy and keep house here while you dig. It’s pretty quiet round about town but for this mess. The cots in the cells ain’t uncomfortable and you can save some coin at the same time you’re clearin’ your gal’s name.”
Spencer looked across the desk at the old man, studying him carefully before standing to his full height before reaching out a hand to shake on the arrangement.
***
Spencer Gaines bellied up to the bar in the local saloon and ordered a beer before turning to the bartender and hitching a heel over the rail.
Pushing his hat back on his head he gazed out across the tables spread across the room where men were gambling. He had taken his time moving along the street after the bank closed but had followed Mr. Shaw to the establishment a short time ago and now he watched as the little man wiped a handkerchief across his damp forehead, then pickup his hand.
In just the few minutes that Spencer stood there watching he could see that the man was a poor gambler. He risked too much, and couldn’t bluff well enough to fool a four-year-old.
As the game progressed in the hot, smoke filled room, Spencer watched the twitchy little man bet more and more only to lose it in one hand after another. Tallying the amount of each bet quickly in his head it became obvious to Spencer that Mr. Shaw seemed to have a good deal more money than any bank manager would earn in a year let alone a month. Just how was he funding his game of chance?
Turning back to the bar, Spencer examined his face in the mirror. His blue eyes were hard and he could feel the urge to go to the table, grab Mr. Shaw by the coat and drag him to the Marshall building in his chest. If anyone was guilty of embezzlement and thievery Mr. Shaw fit the bill down to his toes, but right now that wouldn’t help Daliah, he needed proof. Swirling the amber liquid in his cup, Spencer continued to study Mr. Shaw watching each movement and reading each pathetic tell.
***
“I’m telling you Tom,” Spencer said, after nearly a week of following Mr. Shaw and observing his bad habits, “Mr. Shaw is the only one who could have taken that money.”
For the past week, Marshall Eagan had let Spencer stay in the jail and keep an eye on things while he tried to prove that Daliah couldn’t have stolen money from the Smithfield Bank.
“First,” he started again ticking points off his calloused fingers. “he gambles at least twice a week and always loses. Second, he can’t possibly earn as much as he is losing, and third, he has I-owe-you’s out to at least three town toughs.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Marshall Eagan said. “A man can have debt, be a bad gambler, and an all around rotten character and still not be a thief. You have to have proof.”
Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose letting the air out of his lungs with a whoosh. “What do I have to find?” he asked. “How do I prove it? He is the only one who could have taken the money. He has access to all of the tills, and the safe. He also helps to keep the books so when something goes a miss he can rewrite the books to cover his tracks.”
“If it’s so easy to cook the books, why would he need to go blamin’ your girl for stealing the money?” the Marshall asked making Spencer steam.
“I don’t know,” Spence admitted, pulling a little notebook from his pocket. “When did he make the accusation?” He flipped through the pages. “Here it is,” he continued. “It was just over three weeks after Daliah left with the wagon train. He took sick and was away from the bank for three days. When he got back Mr. Bradford called him for a meeting. It was after that he came here and filed the charges against Daliah. According to Mr. Bradford there was transaction that didn’t add up, when he had balanced the week’s receipts.”
Marshall Eagan smoothed his thick graying mustache. “It makes sense,” he agreed. “I think I’ll just have a chat with Mr. Bradford again,” he finally said, standing and walking to the door where he took his hat from a peg and slapped it onto his head. “You coming?” he tossed over his shoulder with a grin.
***
Spencer crept into the empty house, listening for every sound. He had to find the proof that would clear Daliah’s name and let her marry him when he returned to Needful. It had taken him a month and a half riding hard to get back to Smithfield, and now three weeks later he still felt like he was no closer to solving this crime and giving Daliah that new start that they both wanted.
The dark house smelled musty, the old structure, small and run down at the outskirts of town, didn’t seem fitting to a man of Mr. Shaw’s means. That in itself was suspicious to Spencer.
After the meeting with the bank President, Spencer knew that if he didn’t find some evidence soon Daliah would never be free from this. Mr. Bradford had told them everything he knew but couldn’t believe that his trusted manager would do anything wrong. The very fact that Daliah left town mere weeks before the discrepancies were found was damning enough in his eyes.
Spencer stubbed his toe on a rickety chair and hissed a breath through clenched teeth to stifle the pain, but still he was no closer to finding anything. Moving around the small house he dug through drawers, checked between books, and looked under furniture, but came up empty handed.
As the minutes ticked by and he realized he wasn’t going to find anything without a daylight search, Spencer crept out the back door and took a turn around the back yard. In the far corner of the over grown space a large bucket sat below a tree. A warm breeze ruffled the leaves of the old cottonwood stirring the ashes in the bucket and Spencer hurried forward to peer inside.
Several small, partially burned pages fluttered in the wind and Spencer pulled the pieces that were still intact carefully to him trying to read them by the light of a half moon.
Giving it up for a bad job, Spencer slipped the pages into a pocket and let himself out of an old misused gate. This was taking too long. Any day now, someone could find Daliah in Needful and she would know he had failed.
Making his way back to the jail house where he had taken up residence, Spencer lit a lamp then sat at the big desk flipping through the bits of paper. The numbers, and markings made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and Spencer knew he had found his first real proof.
***
“Spencer you’re coming with me,” Marshall Eagan said, rattling the cell where Spencer spent every night. “You’ll need this,” the Marshal added, tossing the man a badge, with a grin.
In the weeks he had been back in Smithfield, Spencer had worked tirelessly tracking down every lead he could to clear Daliah of any wrong doing, but every night he would return to the jail house trying to put the pieces of information together that would let him go home.
He had talked to the bank president, shop keepers, and acquaintances. None of them could believe that Daliah was guilty of wrong doing but the circumstances surrounding the loss of the large sum of money and the conscience of Daliah leaving the wagon train along with her previous dismissal for missing funds had prompted the bank’s owners to act.
“What’s happening Tom?” Spencer asked, pinning the badge to his coat and hurrying to catch up.
The old Marshall grinned, his mustache quivering over thin lips, as he shoved a telegram into Spencer’s hands. “We’re going to make an arrest,” he said pushing his ten-gallon hat onto his head and opening the door to the jail.
The raid happened in what seemed like seconds. Together Spencer and Tom swooped into the bank, hauling Mr. Shaw the bank manager from his tiny office.
“Unhand me!” the man barked as the Marshall took him by one arm and Spencer by the other. “You can’t treat me like this!”
&
nbsp; “Mr. Shaw you are under arrest for embezzlement from the Smithfield bank, and for trying to pin it on a young woman who wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Tom Eagan said roughly.
“It’s a good thing the law got to you first,” Spencer hissed at the little man whose forehead now glistened with beads of sweat. “You should be horse whipped for what you did Daliah.”
“I didn’t hurt no one,” the man quivered with fear leaning closer to the Marshall. “What’s that useless orphan to you anyhow?”
Spencer balled his fist and turned his eyes blazing at the man with hard eyes. “Daliah Owens is a kind, gentle, and loving woman, and my fiancée,” he hissed. “You practically ruined her for a fist full of dollars.”