Mississippi

by J. B. Richard

  Before daybreak, they left in Doc’s wagon. Neither of them was sure how they would sneak Porter back into town without being seen. They would probably both end up behind bars for being accessories. Sheriff Pike locking her up… Wouldn’t that just be the talk of the territory?

  When they got to the second hole, they discovered Porter missing. Where was he? He’d been too weak to crawl out on his own. Jessa found no blood trail, no fresh animal prints inside or around the opening. There was no sign of Porter leaving at all. He had just disappeared. At the other end of the shaft, lit by the sun shining through the larger hole, Topper’s body lay stagnant in the heat. Still no Porter.

  “I’ll get the shovel from the wagon.” Doc headed along the wall toward the smaller opening through which they had come.

  Sweat dripped off them as they took turns digging. When they had Topper mounded over, Doc said a few kind words. Then they left the hole, and Jessa hoped she never had reason to return.

  Doc was climbing onto the wagon seat when Jessa grabbed his arm. Should she confide in him? That money had turned friends into enemies. Besides, would he have the answers? What would happen to her if she returned the money? Just dug it up and took it straight to Sheriff Pike?

  At first, knowledge of that money had made her thoughts greedy. That wasn’t so anymore. She had lost too much. It was time to do the right thing if she could. It wasn’t just Sheriff Pike that would have questions for her. Sheriff Curry would want to know every detail. He was a rough man, rumored to be worse with his prisoners when they didn’t cooperate. If there was a chance that Mississippi was still alive, then she wouldn’t talk, not a word. Clint and the others, she could not care less about, but she would do nothing that might land a rope around Mississippi’s neck.

  “I know where the rest of that money is.”

  “Be quiet.” Doc shushed her as though they weren’t out in the middle of nowhere. He nervously glanced once in each direction, expecting someone to be listening. A frog croaked near the trickle of water. “Whatever you know, forget it.”

  “I figured to give the money to Sheriff Pike.”

  “That’s the last thing you should do. Sam Curry is running the show now, not Sheriff Pike. And Curry will hang you as quick as he’d string up Butch or Mississippi or any of those others.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I ain’t saying they don’t deserve it. But I can’t watch you hang. If Curry thinks you’re part of this in any way, he’ll make a fine example of you for all to see. You wouldn’t be the first woman he’s hanged.”

  Jessa climbed up onto the seat next to Doc. If anyone asked, she would lie about the money. She’d never seen it. Had no knowledge of it. She twisted the hem of her skirt between her fingers. Doc slapped leather to the team, and the wagon lurched forward.

  When they reached the top of the mountain, Doc reined in to let the horses breathe easy for a few minutes.

  Jessa hopped down out of the wagon. “I’ll walk from here.”

  “It’s ten miles to your cabin. And you probably shouldn’t go back there. Too dangerous.” He eyed her. “Besides, you’re looking a little peaked.”

  She was sure it was all the stress. “I’ll be fine.” Her voice lacked confidence. Maybe if she knew what had happened to Mississippi. And Porter had disappeared carrying a lead ball in his gut.

  Clint had part of the money and would hunt her down for the other half. Her cabin would definitely not be a safe place. Where else was there to go? Doc was a good friend, but he’d taken enough risks for her, coming there to help Porter and hiding Butch, tending to him day and night. She couldn’t ask any more of him.

  Then it came to her. The cabin her father had built after her mother had died. It was far out in the mountain, probably a lot farther than the posse or even Clint and the others were hunting. “I know where I can go.” She said nothing of the location. If Doc didn’t know, then no one could get it out of him.

  Doc thoughtfully rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and eyed her as if not wanting to leave her behind. No doubt he’d worry about her getting hurt, but he also knew she was a capable woman. She’d lived on her own in the mountains for some time.

  “I’m not sure we should be seen together. Not if you think there might be trouble with Sheriff Curry. We can’t have him nosing around your place.” Jessa reckoned Doc might argue or insist that she go back to town with him.

  But Doc agreed. Butch needed to remain hidden. Too many questions would be asked if he was found. The answers to those questions might land him behind bars and possibly secure a noose around Jessa’s neck.

  Topper was dead. Porter had suspected Jessa at first. Who was to say either sheriff in that town would believe that Indians had done it? A hundred thousand dollars was a strong motive.

  Jessa gave a wave as Doc clucked at the team of horses and headed them toward Piketown. Then she turned and followed the sun west.

  CHAPTER 8

  Mississippi reined in next to a deep pool in the creek, shaded by a tall maple. He let Peppy chew grass while he pulled off his clothes and slipped into the cool water. Too bad he didn’t have any soap. The hot days had turned him ripe. He dipped his socks, washing away some of the odor, then wrung them out. He hung them over a branch that got sun. After giving his shirt a wash, Mississippi soaked while his clothing dried.

  “Ain’t you just a sight?” Jay snickered atop his horse across the creek. He had appeared from among the trees where he’d gone about an hour ago to hunt for sign of Butch’s mare.

  Mississippi grinned from where he lounged in the shade with water rippling over his body. He was relieved to see it was just Jay, who never said much and hadn’t so far given his two cents about Mississippi’s lovesick behavior back at the cabin. Clint had been persnickety since Mississippi had almost gotten himself killed for a mule, which was really for a woman, and when the gang had finally joined together after splitting while running from that posse, Clint had cursed him something awful for losing focus.

  “You forget what you’re supposed to be doing?” Jay said. Apparently, he hadn’t forgotten the tongue-lashing Mississippi took from Clint. Their goal was to find that money, not pleasure, and until they had their hands on the cash, no one was to drink, carouse, or engage in any other form of distraction. Jay uncorked his canteen and took a long drink.

  Mississippi splashed water over his head. “When Peppy starts complaining about how bad I stink, then it’s time to take a bath.” He chuckled.

  “I concur with your horse.” Jay let his gelding drink. “Git dressed. I found something I know you’ll be interested in.”

  A few minutes later, he had his clothing on and followed Jay back among the trees from which he had just come.

  Days ago, after slipping away from the posse, when they returned to the cabin and found Topper and Jessa missing, the gang easily trailed the wagon toward town. What exactly happened to Butch, they weren’t sure. The women could have taken him along, but why? He would slow them down if they were running with the money, and that was a logical suspicion.

  Many wagons had come and gone from Piketown during the time they were dodging the posse. Jay, who was the best tracker in the bunch, couldn’t distinguish that particular wagon track from all the others, so Clint and Rascal rode one way while Mississippi and Jay rode in the opposite direction, which was a relief because it got Clint off Mississippi’s back. He was sick of hearing it, but even all that bitching wouldn’t change his mind about her.

  He had hoped to find the ladies before the other two. He didn’t trust Rascal, not one bit. Together, Topper and Jessa were a strong pair and could fend off any assault Rascal might try. Clint wouldn’t bother the ladies in that way. He was out for the money.

  Mississippi figured the girls were somewhat safe so long as they stuck together. Tonight, the gang was to meet up at Jessa’s cabin whether the women and money were found or not. Then the next step toward finding the cash would be decided. They couldn’t keep spinning circles in the sa
me area. The posse was out there somewhere and would eventually catch them.

  Jay led him into a small clearing. There, grazing on the tall grass, was Bean. In a split second, Mississippi had twisted every which direction in the saddle and looked over all angles in that meadow. Where was Jessa? She wouldn’t just leave Bean there grazing. She loved that stupid mule too much. Had something happened to her? Had she and Topper gotten separated? If Rascal touched her, there would be hell to pay. That thought led to a fierce tension that started between his shoulders and spread though him, making all his muscles tight.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Jessa!”

  “Shut up before ya call that posse right to us,” Jay barked. “We can backtrack the mule’s prints. Maybe we’ll find her.”

  They’d gone about six miles with Bean in tow when they came upon her, down on all fours in the dirt. What in God’s name was wrong with her? Mississippi felt sick seeing that her face was blue and she was puking her guts out. None of that could be good, but how sick was she? He couldn’t guess the answer. His face must have shown his fear, because Jay incredulously stared at him as if Mississippi were a ridiculous fool. Maybe it was just the heat making her sick.

  Mississippi hunkered down next to her. Her face was pale and beaded with sweat. Her condition seemed too serious for it to be caused by the warmth of the sun. Mississippi swallowed back his fear, doing his best to maintain calm. He retrieved his canteen, pulled the cork, then handed it to her. She pressed it gently to her lips, took a mouthful, swished, and spit.

  “Rattler bite?” He hoped not, looking over her arms and legs for fang marks. Don’t panic, he repeated to himself. Never before had his heart thumped so hard for someone else.

  She weakly shook her head. “I ain’t sure what’s wrong.”

  “Where’s Topper?” He scooped her out of the dirt and put her on his horse.

  Jessa burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably. “She’s dead.”

  The blow of those words struck him with an ill-at-ease numbness. Jay made a funny noise. He, too, had been shocked by this news. What had happened that Jessa was found alone and sick or hurt, Mississippi couldn’t tell. Topper was dead. Who killed her? Those were questions he would hunt down the answers to, but at the moment, the more important thing was to get Jessa help or Mississippi might lose her. Just thinking it put the fear of God into him.

  Mississippi turned the gelding. “Jessa needs a doc.”

  She lay limp in his arms, her eyes listless, and a heavy sweat matted her hair. She moaned but didn’t wake. Mississippi squeezed her tight while silently saying a quick prayer. He hoped the man upstairs was listening. It had been a long time since they’d talked.

  “Clint won’t like this.” There was no need for Jay to warn him.

  This would be considered an act of treason. Mississippi was choosing her over Clint, or that’s exactly how Clint would see it. She was no longer an ally since she and Topper had disappeared and the money hadn’t shown up. Ever since that second fight between Mississippi and Rascal, Clint likely saw her as a threat, and this would make that worse, a whole lot worse.

  Clint was wise. He wouldn’t go right after her because Mississippi would turn around and go right after him. No, Clint would kill Mississippi. After all, Mississippi was the bigger threat, his guns deadly. For now, Jessa might be the source of Clint’s hatred, but with this so-called act of treachery, Mississippi would be the recipient. Which was better than having Clint go after Jessa, but he would eventually. She knew where the money was.

  Mississippi was taking another risk by riding into town. If he was caught, then he would hang. That would mean more money, and wouldn’t that make Clint, the greedy bastard, happy? Clint didn’t care about anything but that cash.

  There might be something seriously wrong with Jessa. Mississippi couldn’t overlook that fact, so anything he could do to help, no one would stop him. Not Clint or Jay or a posse of armed men. He was taking her to town.

  “What should I tell him?” Jay looked uncomfortable as he scratched his head.

  It was a lot to digest. One of the two women they’d been hunting was dead, the other in poor shape. There was no sign of the money, and neither of them had any answers as far as what had happened there.

  “Tell him whatever you want.” Mississippi spurred his horse, leading Bean alongside.

  There was no more hiding how he felt about Jessa. He was worried, and he was on a lovesick fool’s errand. Riding into town was crazy and would probably get him killed. Clint had always strongly discouraged any relationship that might tie one of them down. He wanted them focused on their work, making him money. Whores were acceptable. Do them and leave them. Ride away toward the next job, leaving behind no one memorable. Until now, he’d willingly lived that life.

  There had been no sweet face to fill his thoughts, to miss in his arms at night, to draw him back to one place. Jessa never left his mind. Thoughts of her were there to stay, and he wanted her in his life always. Permanently, if she would have him. Someday, if they got out of this mess, he would ask her to be his wife. That meant settling with Clint. No one just left the gang. Porter had made himself a target by not calling out Clint right then that day he’d ridden away. Mississippi wouldn’t live out his days looking over his shoulder. Assuming the posse didn’t catch and hang him.

  It was dark by the time he got to town. He rode down the alleyway, Jessa sleeping in his arms, then pulled up reins, leaving his horse behind Doc’s house. Probably a mistake, but if getting Jessa to the doc meant she’d be okay, he didn’t care. She didn’t look as though she had time to spare.

  He carried her to the door and jiggled the knob. It was locked. Noise from the saloon filled the air. Voices could be heard along the street, mostly men. Maybe some of the posse keeping watch on the town. He banged on the door. The voices were getting closer. He thumped the door again. Where was Doc? There were footsteps in the alleyway between Doc’s and the adjacent building. Whoever it was approached fast.

  The door squeaked open just a crack. Doc peeked through the slit. “What d’ya want?”

  The footsteps were almost on top of him. “It’s Jessa. She’s sick.”

  Doc threw open the door. Mississippi stepped inside just as a shadowy figure turned the corner. He kicked the door closed, and a fist pounded on the door. Doc stared at Mississippi, silently asking what he should do. Even in the dark, he could see the man shaking all over. He was no fighter, but that thunderous knock meant business.

  “Answer it, but don’t let him in.” Mississippi carefully laid Jessa on the exam table and slipped his Colt from his holster.

  Doc opened the door just a crack, the same way he had a few minutes ago. “My hours of operation are posted out front. There’s a sign above the door.” He moved to close the door. The shadowy figure thrust a hand inside, grabbing the door, and held it open. Mississippi stayed silent, his gun aimed where he thought the belt buckle of the man should be.

  “I’m Sheriff Curry.”

  “I don’t care who you are. I’m tired and ready for bed. Come back in the morning.” Doc was persistent, attempting to close the door for a second time.

  Curry pressed his foot into the crack and opened the door slightly wider. Mississippi eased back on the trigger.

  “One of my deputies spotted a man riding down the alleyway. His horse is here at your door, so who’s in there with ya?” He started to push past the doc and into the dark room.

  With a swift move, Doc swung up a rifle. Mississippi hadn’t seen that he’d been holding one. He jabbed it into Curry’s chest. “That happens to be my horse.”

  “And the other?” Curry asked, not fazed by the gun in his face.

  “The mule is a neighbor’s. It must’ve gotten loose and strayed, so I figured I’d return it tomorrow.” Doc had realized that Curry was trying to trick him by asking about a second horse. Anyone who knew Jessa knew she only rode that dumb mule.

  “Then who was banging on
your door?”

  “I dropped my key. Guess I made some noise while trying to find it.”

  “Why didn’t ya stable your horse or put away your tack?” Curry just wasn’t letting it go. He was a bloodhound on the trail, and Mississippi’s scent seemed to be stuck in his nose.

  “I was thirsty. Thought I’d get a drink first.” Doc lowered his gun. “Now, if you’d excuse me… I’ll go tend to my horse and the mule.”

  Probably to Doc’s and definitely Mississippi’s surprise, Curry stepped out. Doc followed, closing the door. The key clicked in the lock.

  A few minutes later, Doc returned. “Boy, what in tarnation were you thinking, leaving that horse standing? Ya should’ve hid it.”

  “I’s too worried about her. Guess I wasn’t thinking.”

  Doc hurried to Jessa’s side. “What are her symptoms?”

  Mississippi explained how he’d found her. He couldn’t recall ever being so worried.

  Doc ushered him into the next room before examining her. “Pull the shades before you light the lamp.”

  An hour went by without a word. Voices faintly carried in through the curtained doorway, so Mississippi knew Jessa was awake. Then another sound caught his ears. Someone coughed in an upstairs room. Mississippi stood and went to the stairwell, where he stopped and listened. A weak, hoarse-sounding voice carried down. Did Doc have a wife? Perhaps she was sick. Who else would be up there? He ascended the stairs without making a noise. Whoever it was begged for water. It wasn’t a female voice. Mississippi thought he recognized it.

  Butch?

  He slowly pushed open the door to the first room at the top of the stairs. There, in a dark mahogany four-poster bed, lay Butch. He mumbled deliriously, eyes rolling in his head. Mississippi pulled up a chair. A glass of water sat on the night table. He pressed it to Butch’s lips, and he drank. The glass itself was cool, so he knew the water inside was fresh. Maybe this was why it took Doc so long to answer the door.