Finish the Western III: A Murder in the Gulch

Cafe Society
81

Having changed out of his military uniform in exchange for some heavy denim pants and shirt, a goat roper hat and a long, weatherbeaten leather duster, Captain Tuttle eyed the rubble nervously as he rode into the heavily damaged area of the town. He dismounted and looped a rope around the three foot part of a hitching post still standing, making sure the reins drooped in front of the horse. He had just “borrowed” this horse from his aunt’s ranch and he wasn’t yet sure he could trust it not to run off, being a very skittish horse.

The bulk of the activity was on the other side of the town center, where people were preparing a huge pile of debris to be burned and then buried. Every now and then, he heard shouts of direction followed by a loud crash and he was impressed with the level of cooperation the town seemed to exhibit. In his own regiment, he would have had to be constantly barking orders to get a similar amount of work done.

He glanced around and was about to cross the street over to Goldstone’s store when he saw movement in the store. His miltaru traing took over as he advanced to reclaim his treasure, the one he had paid so dearly for. Indeed, he mused, others had paid even more dearly. The death of Solace’s new school marm was unfortunate, to be sure. All he had known was which stage his treasure was on, not who else was riding that day. Still, once he had the plates in his possession, any such feelings of guilt fled far away.

Staying on the dirt so his footfall could not be heard, he peered into a boken window to the two men trying to uncover his precious US Treasury plates. Pulling his long knife from his sheath tied to his calf, he pondered just how to confront the two men where he still had the advantage.

He didn’t have to wait long. Art said, “Damn it all, whatever this is, it’s heavy. Let’s come back for it.”

“Sure thing,” answered Ferson, “But let’s cover it up so’s no one else comes in to take our loot!”

“You cover it up,” barked Art, “I got to see a man about a horse.”

“What man!? Oh, you mean take a piss. Why you can’t juss say piss and shit is beyond me.” and he turned to look for something to cover over the hole.

As Art stepped out of the back of the store, Captain Tuttle slit his throat in one easy motion. Holding the man’s head by his hair to keep the blood off of him, Tuttle had an ingenious idea of how to cover these killings. Laying the body in the dirt, he lightly stepped inside and found the other man leaning over slightly, spreading a tarp. He angled this knife thrust from the kidneys up to the heart and no more than a slight gurgling signalled the last breath of Ferson.

After scalping them and propping their bodies up in a mock crucifixtion along one inner wall of the store, he painted some tribal signs he had seen before on the wall in the men’s blood. “That should make anyone think it was Injun trouble” he thought to himself, quite pleased with his little ploy. Then he removed the Treasury plates from their compromised hiding place and wrapped them up in the canvas tarp Ferson was spreading. He had forgotten how heavy they were as he loaded them up on his borrowed stead and made a quiet retreat.

82

Tuttle had figured on a plan to sucker Martha Anderson. It would be all the sweeter because the old biddy had tried to put him off, pretending she didn’t recognize him. Well, he could take care of that. He had pictures with both of them together, family photos. They were old, but both of them were quite recognizable.

Not long before the storm, but after his run-in at the AAA, he’d been approached on the sly by Yuri, the knife thrower from Prairie Dex’s now defunct show. Yuri was out of a job, and his dealings with Sam Nichol’s were up in the air now. Sam had spoken briefly to Yuri, before the kidnapping, about Tuttle, and so the Russian wasn’t too worried about the former captain turning him in to the law. Now, as he took the road out towards the AAA, he stopped as he neared the turnoff. From a clump of stunted trees at the foot of a short hill, he heard a hissing noise, and saw Yuri motioning him over.

“I found a spot, like you asked me, boss. Is good place, in little shed for things, at edge of pasture. We wait till tonight? Go put your things there.”

“No” replied Tuttle, " I don’t trust you but I can’t hold on to these while I go see my ‘dear aunt’ again. You take them to the hiding place. Except for your say-so I’m not involved here, but, you listening to me ? I can pin you for kidnapping a little girl."

Yuri jerked in surprise. “How you know that? Nichols promise he not tell. Paid me good.”

Tuttle grinned, with an evil wink. “I know lot’s of things. So don’t cross me.”

Shaken, the Russian took the heavy plates and prepared to lay low until the evening, and dark. This man was as bad as Nichols he figured, he wouldn’t cross him.

Tuttle rode on again, turning up the drive to the AAA. He hadn’t know about Yuri and Nichols, it had been a shot in the dark, but he’d been putting two and two together from what he’d been hearing. “Sometimes you get lucky”, he chuckled to himself.

Getting off his horse he approached the front door, unaware he was being watched by Graziella. “*What is this man coming back for?” * she wondered to herself. Hurrying to find her mistress, she told her who was coming, and quckly slipped out the back door, heading to the stables.

83

Zeke ignored Doc MacCaulley as Mose strapped his ribs. He held his arms out to his sides so Mose could tighten the cloth as much as possible.

“You are out of your mind, Sheriff!” Doc said. “You have several broken ribs and a hole in your chest! You’re not going anywhere.”

“I got murders, kidnappings, and a tornado to deal with, Doc,” Zeke said, grunting as Mose gave a final tug and began to attach the pins. “I have to take a look around.”

Doc grumbled. “The only patients worse than doctors are the law.” He checked Mose’s handiwork, peered at Zeke’s eyes and smelled his breath. The wound on his chest, although nasty, was actually going to heal nicely. Except for binding the torso, there wasn’t anything to be done for broken ribs anyway.

“Fine,” he said. “One hour. Mose, you make sure he’s back in one hour. And if I hear you’ve been lifting anything, I’ll dose you up with laudanum so you won’t wake up for a week.” Doc turned back to his other patients.

As Zeke stepped out of the church, he gasped at the devastation. Tears sprang to his eyes. This was his town, his home, his people, and it was quite a blow.

Mose patted him on the shoulder as they began to walk down the street. He pointed things out to Zeke, such as the still-standing Hastings Mercantile, which survived with only a few broken windows, and the children playing in the rubble of the schoolhouse. “We’ll have that rebuilt by the time Santini comes back from Pennsylvania,” Zeke promised.

They headed toward the remains of Goldstone’s store, where Zeke frowned as he saw a crowd of men. Something was wrong. They normally would have been tending to their damaged properties.

“What is it?” Mose cried out as the approached.

Ian McLeod turned. “Looks like we got Injun trouble now.” The man pulled away so the sheriff could see the two dead bodies.

Zeke gasped. “That’s Art and Ferson!” he exclaimed. “Scalped!”

Some of the other men began to grumble as Mose squatted for a closer look at the symbols on the wall, drawn in the men’s blood.

“What do they say?” Ian asked.

Mose was puzzled. Then he made the connection and began to laugh. The other men began to look at each other. Mose, although a redskin, was highly respected in the Gulch, for his tracking and his herblore.

Mose stood up, wiping his eyes. “Have no fear, Sheriff. This was not the work of the People. You’re looking for a white man.”

84

Martha Anderson opened the front door herself, as Tuttle came up the walk. Graziella had left, hightailing it for town, and she didn’t want any of the other help to hear what might be said. Her husband was asleep upstairs, and not likely to call for her just now.

Martha faced her nephew through the screen again. “I told you young man, I have never seen you before! It’s useless to try and pretend otherwise!”

Tuttle brought a brown paper packet out of an inside coat pocket. “Aunt Martha” he began in a reasonable tone, “I know you have been under a powerful lot of stress, what with Mr. Anderson taking sick and all. Perhaps we can let bygones be bygones. We are family, and I’m here to help.”

Martha positively sniffed in derision. “Help indeed! From a total stanger. I warn you, I’ve sent someone into town to summon aid here. I must* insist* that you stop harassing me in this manner.”

Tuttle sighed, in a theatrically regretful manner. “Well, then, what do you make of these?” and he showed her the family portrait, done in the studio of Matthew Brady himself, from over twenty years ago.

Mrs. Andrson’s eyes flickered uncertainly over the picture. “Obviously faked somehow” she pronounced at length. “What are the rest of those papers you have there?”

“Nothing you have to worry yourself over, Aunt Martha. I wouldn’t want to cause you any more distress at this time.”

“Stop calling me your aunt! We are not related, and I don’t know you!”

“Is that all you have to say ma’am? You’d swear to that in front of witnesses?”

Martha placed a hand over her capacious bosom. “On a stack of Bibles. Now get out!”

Tuttle tipped his hat, in an ironic gesture. “That’s all I wanted to hear” and he turned away, a secret smile on his face.

85

Graziella galloped into town, catching glimpses of the damage and ongoing repairs as she went. Somehow the Triple A has escaped the tornado. And thank deo for that. She didn’t think Senora Martha could handle one thing more.

She planned on heading for the church and asking Sheriff to send one of his deputies out, but when she saw him outside the Goldstone store she pulled up short. Her horse whinnied in protest, attracting the attention of the men.

Zeke hurried over to her, a pleasant tingling in his chest. “Miss Marquez!” He cried out, grabbing the horse’s reins and calming him. “What’s got you in such a lather?”

Graziella slipped from the horse and grabbed the Sheriff’s arm. “Please, you must send one of your men! Senora Martha’s nephew is back again!”

Before Zeke could move, Mose stopped him. “No, Sheriff, your hour is up. Back to the church you go.”

“But,” Zeke started, but Mose shook his head. “Nope. Back you go. I’ll ride out with the lady to the Triple A.”

“I’ll come with you,” said a voice from the crowd. To Zeke’s surprise, the figure of Hank Poole emerged from the mob.

“Damn, Hank!” Zeke cried. “I didn’t know you where there!”

“I’ve had dealings with Captain Tuttle in the past. I may be able to set him straight.”

Zeke looked around helplessly. This was a matter of law, for one thing, and he certainly couldn’t send two civilians out on what was a law matter, not after what Mrs. Anderson had told him. Plus, selfishly, he wanted to spend some time with Graziella again.

But he saw the impassive look in Mose’s eye, and the frantic look in Graziella’s, and he knew he couldn’t argue. He glanced around, hoping to see one of his deputies, and to his surprise, David and Alan McReynolds were over at the jailhouse, sorting through the debris. His heart lifted. They may be green, but they were good boys.

Hailing them, he called them over and told them to join Graziella and the others in heading off what trouble Tuttle might be stirring.

Zeke watched as the five mounted up and headed back to the Triple A. Then he turned and asked a couple of the bystanders to take the bodies over to the livery stables. He set Danny to sawing the symbols out of the wood and bring them to him at the church.

Then the wounded sheriff returned to his hospital bed. He was mighty sore, but he’d be danged if he’d let on to Doc.

86

Zion Methodist still had cot beds set up in it’s open spaces, although some people had been moved on. As Zeke entered the doors of the church, he looked down at his clothes, and realized for how long he’d been wearing them. It also came to him suddenly that he hadn’t been to his own place since the storm hit. By God, he didn’t even know for sure if it was there!

With Graziella close by his elbow he sank gratefully onto the bedding of his cot. Not showing pain could hurt in itself, he realized.

May Fenno came hurrying up. She looked very tired, but helping the injured seemed to have put some kind of heart, or purpose, in her.

May bent solicitously over Zeke. “Sheriff, how are you doing? I’m so glad Mose kept you to your promise.” She produced a clean cloth from somewhere and wiped the sweat from his brow.

That sweat didn’t come entirely from his physical exertions. Graziella’s eyes had darkened as the stranger woman seemed to ignore her completely, focusing on the man who’d been so nice to her. Zeke saw it all, and hastily made introductions.

“May, I’d like you to meet Graziella Marquez. She’s from the AAA, out north, I met her in connection with Tuttle. Graziella, this is May Fenno, she’s new in town as well.”

May straightened up. She was a good reader of faces, and could see what was in Graziella’s mind. She put out her hand, and began to speak in fluent Spanish.

“Senorita Marquez, pleased to meet you. I’m sorry I didn’t greet you first, I guess I was just tired. Please forgive me, and perhaps, if you have time, you can help look after the sheriff here. He’s a typical man, isn’t he, wanting to act so macho, not showing pain?”

Graziella relaxed at May’s words, and took her hand. She realized her flash of jealousy had been misplaced, and found May’s use of her native tongue to be warming. “Gracias, May, I misunderstood. He does seem to be a fine man indeed, doesn’t he?”

The two women looked down at Zeke and smirked simultaneously, leaving him to wonder just what they’d said. He knew no Spanish, beyond rudimentary phrases like “Please” and “Thank you”. He could see he was going to have to learn.

87

Percival Knight awakened from deep sleep to hear Sam Nichol’s muttering on the other side of the room. Based on what he could tell, it sounded as if Nichol’s was talking in his sleep.

Knight had been lucky. The metal bar that had speared his thigh had not broken his leg. But he’d had muscles torn and lot a great deal of blood. Doctor McCaulley had managed the bleeding, and sewn him up, grateful that he wouldn’t have to amputate. As long as the deep wound did not become infected, Knight had been told he should recover with only a dreadful scar to show for the injury.

Knight was supposed to wait for assistance to get up, but he had to relieve himself now, and the doctor hadn’t been around in a while. Maybe he’d gone out. So the Pinkerton agent managed to get up, and with the aid of a crutch, stand and use the chamber pot.

Sinking back down onto the bed he wondered what time it was. Then the voice of Nichol’s startled him. “Shut up you little bitch. I don’t want to hear any more about wanting your Mama! Jesus, you stink! I said, shut up! You’ll go back to your folks, so stop blubbering.”

Knight didn’t know if what he was hearing was real, or a revolting dream, but nevertheless he got up again and hobbled into the next room, scrabbling amongt the drawers in Doc’s desk. Finding a pencil and a sheet of letter paper, he began to write down Nichol’s ravings. He had a feeling he knew where they came from.

The next morning, when he woke up, Knight was hungry and thirsty. He realized he’d fallen asleep again, but his notes were intact, the paper face down. Nichols was awake and complaining.

"A fine way to treat an injured man! Where the hell is that doctor? I need water and a shave. And breakfast! Where’s breakfast.

"Oh shut up, said Knight tiredly "I don’t know where the doctor is either, but I know he wouldn’t abandon us

From their room in the back of Doctor MacCaulley’s clinic both men could hear a lound knocking on the door, but were not quick enough to answer it. The unlocked front door opened and footsteps came their way. Someone else was calling for the doctor.

“in here!” they both called. It was Silas Jenkins, the undertaker. "Say, do you men know where Doctor MacCaulley has gone? He hasn’t been by the church since yesterday, and I need to get him to sign these death certificates. We got to bury the bodies in the livery stable.

But Nichols and Knight were as much in the dark as everyone else.

88

Danny rushed to the church, clutching the wooden boards with the Indian symbols. He’d tried to get over to the church yesterday, but everyone seemed to want his help. It was like he wasn’t even an apprentice anymore!

Zeke was sitting up, sipping coffee, with the sharpshooter lady checking his bandages. He’d seen her from afar during the show, but this was the first time he’d seen her up close.

As Zeke took the boards from him, Danny looked closely at the lady. Something about her looked awful familiar. And why should he associate the smell of chalkdust with her?

“Thanks, Danny,” Zeke said. “I’m going to get more information from Mose about these. Oh, Danny, this is Miss Fenno, the sharpshooter from the Wild West Show. May, this is Danny Dawson, our up and coming blacksmith.”

May smiled, shook his hand, then froze. It couldn’t be! Could it? Oblivious to Zeke, the two searched each other’s faces, trying to confirm their suspicions.

Danny opened his mouth to ask a question, but was drowned out by a bellow. “Ah, Sheriff, there you are!” Tuttle yelled. He strode through the cots, knocking a few with his foot. “I need you to telegraph Judge Cotton right away.”

“I’m a bit indisposed at the moment,” Zeke said, stalling. The last thing he wanted to do was help Tuttle, but he felt a twinge of guilt. He was, after all, sworn to defend and uphold the law.

“This is an urgent matter. It concerns the upkeep of one of the most important properties in town, the Triple A.”

“What do you mean?” Zeke asked. “I know Will is recovering from his shock, but Martha seems to be doing fine.”

“She does not recognize me, her own nephew. I’ve been out there twice, and she doesn’t know who I am. I fear her mind has broken with stress. I need Judge Cotton to hold a competency hearing.”

Zeke groaned. He dragged himself to his feet. “You better come with me to Doc’s. My telegraph is gone, but I know he has one.”

May watched them go, then turned back to the young man. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but you look very familiar.”

At the sound of her voice, Danny’s jaw dropped. “It is you!” he cried. To her surprise, Danny threw himself in her arms, weeping uncontrollably.

89

After Danny calmed down May got the story out of him. Danny was another student of May’s that had disappeared. Convinced by his captors that his parents didn’t want him, he’d escaped when, one night, one of them got drunk. Crawling out a window, he’d wandered the streets of San Francisco until taken in by an orphanage. Constantly in trouble, he’d finally been apprenticed to a blacksmith, Jack Ferrell. Jack had died the previous year , and when his shop and tools were sold off, Zeke, who’d been in the city on a short visit, had happened by. Seeing Danny use some of the equipment, he’d been impressed with his talent, and had brought him to the Gulch, offering to complete his training. Danny had accepted gladly, wanting to get to a place where nobody knew his background.

Danny’s head was bowed as he finished pouring out his story. “Miss Fenno,” he said softly, “I remember you, and some school and all, but I… I… don’t remember my real name. I know my first name is Daniel, but the Dawson, I got that off a calender. It sounds stupid doesn’t it? Can you tell me, do you know if my folks would believe me, would want me back?”

Mays eyes softened in sorrow. “Oh Danny, I don’t know how to make this easy. they tried to find you, tried hard. But your folks died two years later, in a fire.”

“So I really am an orphan. I told Sally that I was, I didn’t want anyone to think I was… that I had… well, you know.”

“Danny” and here May shook the young man by his shoulders, “there’s nothing wrong with you. And I think a father would be proud to have you for his daughter. You work hard, you have a good trade, so I’ve heard. Make your own way now. And now that you are here, you can make a statement against Nichols, to put him away.”

Danny was puzzled. “But how do we find him?”

With a start May realized Danny had missed meeting or hearing about Sam’s presence. When she told him the truth, his eyes blazed. “I’ll kill him!” he cried dramatically.

“Oh no you won’t” said Zeke, who had just returned and heard what Danny threatened “I’m not going to lose a damned talented trainee like you” We’ll go by the book on this one. Judge Cotton will be here day after tomorrow, and Nichols isn’t fit to leave right now. I saw him when I went by MacCaulley’s clinic. He was asleep, paid someone to bring him liquor. But that Mr. Knight showed me some notes he took. Seems Nichol’s has been talking in his sleep, and it sounds like he had a hand in taking that Norman girl. No proof, but if she sees him and knows him, we can squash Nichols without involving you."

A vast sense of relief went throough Danny. “that would be swell, Sheriff Clayton. I just want to be like everyone else, have people treat me decent, like they do you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Huh? I mean, look up to you and all that. Man, when they found that thing in the church, I heard a lot of talk. Folks were mad someone did that.”

Zeke felt something unwind inside him. and realized he should have trusted his feelings about the townspeople of the Gulch. “We’ll set things up when Cotton arrives. Just don’t go off and do anything on your own.”

“Uh, nossir. And, thank you sir.”

Zeke sank again onto his bed, grateful that it looked like one problem, or set of problems, was going to be taken care of. "Now, if I could just get some clean clothes " he thought, "and a bath, I’ll be ready to tackle that bastard Tuttle too. He can’t be telling the whole truth. " Beginning to feel drowsy and aching, he lay back and began to plan.

May and Danny left him there. As they walked out of the church May leaned over and whispered to Danny “I think that Sally is staying with the Hasting’s for a couple days. Her folks had to go back out to their ranch. Bet she’d be glad to see you.” May was rewarded by seeing the tips of Danny’s ears turn pink.

90

Martha Hastings straightened Alice’s pinafore, and patted her on the head. “Now, sweetie, there’s no reason to be afraid. You know Mr. Zeke. He will help you.” Holding the little girl’s hand, Mrs. Hastings entered the church. Zeke had woken up from his nap and was trying to decide where to eat.

“Oh, Sheriff, if I can have a few minutes?” she asked. Zeke smiled at the little girl, who returned the grin. Zeke has always fascinated her, being so dark and tall, but he had such a pretty smile. She climbed up on his nap and starting playing with his star.

“What can I do for you, Martha?” Zeke asked, gently bobbing his knee up and down so Alice could play horsie.

“Alice, tell Mr. Zeke what you told me.”

Alice turned to look up in Zeke’s face. “The bad man. He had a funny leg.”

Zeke frowned. “A funny leg?”

Alice nodded. “The bad man who took me, he had a funny mouth. But there was another bad man. He had a bad leg. He made me hide.”

Zeke looked up at Martha. “Do you know what she means?”

Martha shook her head. “She woke up from a nightmare, screaming that.”

Alice hopped down. “Two bad men. Funny mouth and a funny leg.”

Zeke stood up slowly. “I think I better head back to Doc’s,” he said.

91

As Zeke started to leave he suddenly stopped and turned back. “Wait a minute, i have a different idea” he said to Mrs. Hastings. “We want Alice to identify the “bad man” but she can’t talk all that much, or tell much of a story. If we point to the man I think it is, and Alice here reacts, he could say she’d been coached. Jesse Parker was talking with me a while back, about “evidence”, and I think he’d call what we have circumstantial, not good enough.”

Mrs. Hasting wondered “Well what are we supposed to do? I don’t want my only grandchild to go into danger again!”

“She won’t have to, if we do what I’m thinking. And I’m going to send the McReynolds boys out to see if they can find where this person was staying. Maybe they can find something to prove this person had your granddaughter. I don’t want to tell even you who it is yet. Can you or your daughter have Alice back, say, this afternoon, across the street from Doctor MacCaulley’s place? I’m going to round up a few other people for witnesses.”

“Of course we can Sheriff Clayton. He father will probably want to be there too. He’s been doing repair work at the store, but he’ll want to be in on anything that will work towards finding out who took Alice.”

Mid-afternoon, across the street from the clinic.

Several people have stopped, “just by chance”, to have a chat, on the boarded sidewalk. Outwardly they are happy to take a break from cleanup work, but their eyes, especially those of Edward Norman, Alice’s father, keep flicking over to look at the clinic. Doc MacCaulley has been missing for over a day, so both patients are going to be leaving, Sam Nichols for his own rooms again, and Percival Knight for a hotel.

Knight is the first to leave, on hopping on crutches. The eyes of Zeke, Ed Norman, and the Rev. Gray look down at Alice, but although she catches sight of the Pinkerton agent, there is no discernible reaction. Alice had a new doll, and down’t care what the grownups are doing.

Then Sam Nichols comes hobbling out. He’s hung over and dishelved, a far cry from the dapper gentleman that first entered Anderson’ Gulch. Danny sees him first, and his mouth drops open in shocked recognition. Then, as Alice is spinnign round and round with her doll, she looks up and catches sight of Nichols. A shrill, childish scream tears through the air, and she runs to grab her daddie’s legs. “Daddeee!” she screams “Bad man, bad man!”

Chaos erupts on the walk, as Ed Norman is trying to pry his sobbing daught off his leg. Several men have to physically restrain him from charging Nichols, who has been caught unawares and has no idea of what is going on. Danny stops goggling and makes a dash, but Zekes signals Rev. Gray and Sam Hawkins, from the paper, to hold the young smith.

“Dave! Al!” Zeke hollers “get Nichols there and take him to the stable lockup like I told you about.” As a crowd started gathering, word was passed of what had happened and angry growls grew louder. Al and Dave McReynolds hustled the aching, limping, Nichols quickly away.

Alice was still wailing, but Zeke turned to her, bringing a bag of penny candy out of a pocket. “Here, honey, I’m sorry for all that. Your daddy and mommy will keep you safe. Do you like candy?” The little girl now had her thumb in her mouth again, but eyed the candy and then her father. Reaching out she grabbed the bag and opened it, pulling out a peppermint and beginning to suck on it.

Sam Hawkins was beside himself. Two bangup stories in a row! “Sheriff Zeke” he began “thank you for making me a part of this. And with all these fine folks to testify the little girl wasn’t coached, the judge is sure to rule him guilty.”

In a tiny locked room, at the back of the livery stable, Sam Nichols presented a sorry sight. But as Zeke was let in, and the door locked behind him, he was still full of angry bluster. “So, the darky thinks he can have his revenge, by trumping up kidnapping charges? I’ll have you know, boy, that I’ve studied law, and you aren’t going to have a leg to stand on, it’s all circumstantial”

There was that word again, “circumstantial” and the trouble is, Zeke thought, that he might be right. But he had a plan for that, too. Refusing to let Nichols insults get to him he began to speak.

“So I take it you won’t confess, at least to being involved in the Norman kidnapping? If you confess now, and name your accomplice, the judge might go easier on you.”

Sam sneered at Zeke “Fat chance boy! You know you’re just using your office to persecute me. Do your worst.”

“You know” drawled Zeke, “I just might take you up on that.” Taking a pair of chain cutters he stepped over to Nichols, whose eyes widened, wondering what was going to happen. Zeke cut away the crude shackles that had been jury-rigged, freeing Nichols legs. Then Zeke produced a key and unlocked the handcuffs that had been place on him. “You’re free to go” the sheriff proclaimed.

Suspicious, Nichols gave Zeke the hairy eyeball. “What’s the catch?”

Zeke was all innocence. “How could there be a catch? Now, I don’t know if I told you yet that Ed Norman, Danny Dawson, and a couple of others are waiting to see you out of the Gulch.”

"See me off? Ha! Waiting to kill me, you mean!

“Now how could that be? Seems to me I hear someone once say he was innocent.
What’s to be afraid of?” Zeke opened the “cell door” and gestured the main out into the main barn. Nichols wouldn’t budge however.

“Now Sammy” said Zeke, “what’s the hold up?”

“Oh damnitall!” swore Nichols I’m damn if I do and damned if I don’t. Well, I at least don’t want to get strung up. Get me a Pencill and start writing this down…"

92

Yuri was frantically packing his caravan when he heard a knock on his door. His horse had been killed in the tornado, so he wasn’t able to leave when the others did. He planned on stealing a horse from the livery.

Things had gotten too hot for him. First the bridge, then the murder of the store owner, then the kidnapping. This was not why he had fled Russia.

Yuri grabbed his rifle and cautiously opened the door. When he saw who it was he collapsed in relief.

“It’s about time!” he exclaimed. “You were supposed to meet me here three days ago!”

“I got held up,” Percival Knight said. “Come with me. It’s over. We have Nichols, and we’re about to get Tuttle.”

Yuri grabbed his duster and hurried out with Knight, stopping to help the wounded man along.

93

Yuri began thinking frantically, as he moved along with Knight. What did he mean, about to get Tuttle? Would his own actions with the plates come out? He should have returned them when Tuttle had handed them over, he’d be in trouble again if Knight learned of his inaction, but there had been the vague notion that maybe he himself could make use of them.

Trying to juggle three masters had gotten too complicated, but the money had looked good. Now it might rear up to bite him on the ass. He’d been involved first with Knight, then Nichols, and after him Tuttle. He hated Nichols, and for good reason was frightened of Tuttle. Knight had been decent, but if he ever found out some of the things Yuri had done, to “fit in”, well, he just wouldn’t understand what a man’s got to do to get by in this world.

How to give Knight the slip? Yuri thought. Could he sell out Tuttle or Nichols, without giving himself away? Think man! Think! he ordered himself. An idea began to take shape. No, surely not, a Pinkerton could never fall for that old gag!

But whatever the reason, whether because he was tired or preoccupied, Knight’s gaze actually did follow the pointing finger of Yuri when the latter gasped and pointed at something. Yuri neatly popped him on the side of the head. As Knight began to sag, Yuri explained to passersby “Drunk, I take him to room.”

What with all the miners in town that like to spend theirr money in Anderson’s Gulch on a payday, an inebriated man was something to sniff at, but not be surprised at. Yuri brought Knight into a small cafe on the edge of the damaged part of town. “Need coffee for this man” he explained, the “Please, where does man go to piss?”

Yuri went out back to the outhouse and did use it. Peeking out, he didn’t notice anyone from the cafe out back to see him, so he quietly made his getaway, keeping an eye peeled for a suitable horse to steal. He passed by Hasting’s Mercantile, keeping his hat pulled low, then stopped and did a double take. Was that an Arab mare there, in this town? Perfect! He licked his lips as he approached.

94

Daisy snorted gently as the stranger casually walked up to her. She was still feeling rather unsettled and frisky, the result of not enough exercise lately. Since her owner, Will Santini, had left for a visit to Pennsylvania, she’d been left with the Parkers. It had been both Will’s and Belle’s hope to breed her, a cooperative venture. But for whatever reason, both breeding attempts had failed of offspring.

Belle Parker had taken Daisy to ride today, recognizing she needed to stretch her legs. Belle was somewhere in Hastings’ store, helping with some final straightening of their undamaged stock, in return for some goods later on.

The stranger stopped, and, unobserved amongst the hustle of reconstruction and clearance, unlooped the reins that had kept Daisy in place. The horse stayed in place, surprisingly. Walking backwards a couple of steps Yuri placed his hands on the saddle, lifted one foot to the stirrup, and vaulted onto Daisy’s back. Taking the reins he…

…had the sudden sensation of flying. Daisy had suddenly exploded into a squealing, bucking fury, alarmed by the stranger who had dared to mount her. She’d show him, she would! As Yuri picked himself groggily up, Daisy continued to whinny in alarm, drawing the notice that the knife-thrower had sought to avoid. Shaking his head to clear it, the last thing he remembered was an angry feminine human shout, red hair, and a medium sized fist heading for his face.

95

Santini’s directions led him to Kelly’s Pool Hall at the corner of Broad and Lombard. Steeling himself, Will Santini opened the door and strode inside. The joint was empty save for proprietor Joe Kelly and a little man with Chinese features, who were both sweeping up. Two guys were playing 8-ball on a corner table. Kelly looked up from his broom and eyed the stranger. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” replied Santini. “I was told I could find Billy Sullivan here.”

Kelly frowned. “Never heard of him.”

Santini thought a moment, then pulled out a dollar and held it out. “Perhaps this will refresh your memory.” Kelly looked at the bill, then at Santini. “I’m not the law if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I s’pose not,” said Kelly as he took the dollar. “You look more like a teacher. Sully prob’ly won’t be here for another hour.” Kelly pointed to the third table on the left. “You’ll see him playing on that one.”

“Much obliged.” Santini walked to the table opposite of where Kelly pointed. “Might as well practice while I’m waiting. How much?”

“Practice free,” replied Cai as he racked the balls.

Santini looked around the hall while waiting for Cai to finish. He had heard rumors of a missing Anderson heir and, through some detective work, put a name to the heir. The name of William Andrew Sullivan.

96

Belle noticed how much her hand hurt from the punch as she calmed Daisy down, patting her on the neck and whispering to her as she looked into her eye. Running out from the store right behind her, Mae looked aghast at her former show partner.

“That’s Yuri!” she said. “Why would he be trying to steal your horse in broad daylight?”

Kneeling down to the unconscious figure, Belle looked him over questioningly. Though she might be young, it didn’t mean she lacked perception.

“He’s got some explaining to do, that’s for sure,” offered Belle. “Let’s tie him up before he wakes up, and see what Zeke can get out of him.” Looking coyly over her shoulder to the store clerk who had finally decided to follow the two women, she asked, “We can keep him here, can’t we?” and smiled demurely

97

Martha paced back and forth in the front room of the Triple A. She had thought denying Alfred would be enough, but Hank and the others had pointed out that it might be used against her. Now what was she to do? Alfred had been a terror, ever since he was little, and she wanted him gone.

Graziella brought in a fresh brewed teapot and some of her special blueberry muffins. She watched her mistress for a bit, then cleared her throat.

“It’s time, Senora,” she said.

“No! Not yet!” Martha exclaimed.

Graziella shook her head. “You’ve done well. And Senor has recuperated enough. He will be strong enough to handle this. You must tell him.”

“He can’t stand another shock!” Martha cried. Left unspoken was the thought that she couldn’t either.

“For weeks you’ve kept his recovery hidden,” Graziella said. “He’s strong. He’s walking around the bedroom, he’s eating normally, he’s passing his wastes by himself. You need help. Let your husband help you.”

Martha stood, wringing her hands. “I can’t!” she cried. “I can’t risk his health!”

“It’s my health to risk, my dear,” a voice said from the doorway. Martha’s knees failed her and she collapsed on the settee.

Will stood in the door. A bit shaky, but he’d made it downstairs just fine. He smiled at his wife.

“You’ve brought me back, my love. Now, let me take some of that burden.”

Martha burst into tears.

98

Martha wiped her eyes and looked at her husband with concern. Neither Will Anderson or Martha Tuttle had expected to find love in their marriage two years earlier. For Will it had been a way to keep Martha’s share of the AAA “in the family” so to speak. When Jake had given his share to Martha Will had known he’d have to act fast. For Martha marriage had been a way for an aging spinster to find security in her later years. She’d known Will, of course, being the housekeeper and all, but learning to know him as a husband had brought out a whole other side.

Will Anderson had seemed to lose most of his feckless ways when finally in charge of the ranch. At his side Martha had worked harder than she had before, and slowly they realized that their mutual respect had become something more. They’d even decided that using two bedrooms was a waste of space. Just a few months before Will had his stroke he’d even begun to tell her about some of his past “transgressions” and together they’d approached Will Santini, the schoolteacher, who was going back east anyway for a visit at the end of school. Will Anderson had finally decided to find out if the son he’d once had word of really existed. But Santini hadn’t set out until Will Anderson had had his stroke. Now both husband and wife hoped for word by telegraph almost any day. They’d last heard from the teacher almost two weeks ago.

Martha’s husband walked slowly over to her and sat down beside her. “Martha, honey, after your nursing me all this time there shouldn’t be anything we can’t talk about, you know. Please, let me know what has happened.” Shakily Martha explained the two visits of her nephew, and how she had handled them, and what Tuttle probably had in mind.

Will listened gravely and said “You know, my dear, sending Santini back to find out if I really have a child may turn out to be a good thing. If I have a son, then his ploy to take control of the AAA will be shot to heck.”

“But Will, even if you do have a son he might turn out to be a scoundrel or a wastrel, like my nephew! You just couldn’t turn over a property like this to anyone, family or not!”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter, we can always hold him up as an heir, until the Tuttle mess is taken care of. Pay him well to play a part.” He put his hand up and brushed aside a final tear leaking from her eye, giving her a smile. “As we both have good cause to know, wills can be written all sorts of ways. Even if Carla was telling the truth in that one note, it was a long time ago and we weren’t married, so the child would be a ba… illegitimite , and not entitled anyway.”

“If you say so, dear Will. What do you thing we should do now?”

“Honey, you have just as much right to decided as I do, but here’s what I was thinking. Graziella!”

The maid appeared from the next room.“Yes, Senor Will?”

“Martha tells me you know the sheriff.”

“Oh,* yes*, Senor Will!” Mention of Zeke set her aflutter.

“Can you take some messages into the Gulch, either later today, or tomorrow?” Looking at Martha he went on “I think we need to trust a few people now, especially my nephew. He may not have wanted the ranch, but he sure wouldn’t want to see it run into the ground. Plus, he is the law.”

“Sir, I be most happy to take messages to Zeke!”

Lifting his right eyebrow (and thankful again he was right handed, the the stroke had been a light one, on his left) “oh, so it’s Zeke now, is it?”

Graziella’s complexion flushed just a little at the teasing.

99

Zeke left Al guarding Nichols when he left the stables. He rubbed his side. His ribs were beginning to ache, but he’d be damned if he would let on.

“Sheriff!” a voice cried out. Zeke turned to see Belle waving at him from the livery. “Quick! Over here!”

Zeke hurried over, then blinked as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The fancy knife thrower, Yuri, was lying in the straw, neatly tied up. May held a pitchfork pointed at him.

“What in heaven’s name happened here?” Zeke asked, puzzled.

Belle stroked Daisy’s neck. The mare was calming down, but still snorting. “He was trying to steal Will’s horse,” she explained.

“I see,” Zeke said. He groaned as he squatted down next to the trussed up Yuri. “Care to explain yourself, mister?”

Yuri glared at him. “Knight. I want talk with Knight.”

Zeke stood up, shrugging. “We’re setting up the stable as a jail. Let’s haul him over there.” He glanced around, looking for some masculine help, when to his surprise, Belle grabbed Yuri’s ankles and May hefted Yuri up under his arms.

“It’s not far, is it?” May asked.

Zeke smiled. “No, it just over there.” He rubbed at his side again. “By the way, has anyone seen Doc lately?”

100

Just as they were pondering the question, Danny came in. He’d been working harder than he ever had, for by now folks had had a chance to assess their damage, and orders for metal implements of all sorts were pouring in. The job that had given him most satisfaction, and they he had given priority to, was the rigging of shackles for Sam Nichols. Pushing in the bolt lock on those had felt good!

Danny eyed May and Balle with Yuri, and had a pretty good idea he was going to join Sam. "Here, he said to Belle, “give me those feet, ma’am, you take the horse.” As Yuri was being hauled off, Zeke kept up with Danny.

“Say, we’ve been wondering where the doctor is. You seen him around?”

“No” said Danny, dragging the word out as he tried to remember what he’d heard. “But I do know that when Nichols and that Pinkerton fella came out of the doc’s place, it was because he hadn’t been around.”

Zeke slapped himself on the forehead. “How could I forget?” He cracked a big yawn. “Must be tired.”

Yuri was unceremoniously dumped in a stall at the stable and an ankle shackle clamped around his leg. He had blankets and a chamberpot with him, but not much else. Rebuilding the jail was going to be important, Zeke thought. This place wasn’t secure enough.

May left, but Zeke stopped Danny. "Say, I’m worried about McCaulley now, but I don’t have time, and neither do the McReynolds, to go looking for him. Can you help me out and start looking around, ask questions, and so on?

“You bet, Zeke!” Danny enthused, as Zeke went to look up Percival Knight. It was almost like being deputized, he thought, as he took off. Maybe this would look good to Sally’s father, too.

A couple hours later Danny was really worried. He’d gone first to the church, now almost emptied of the injured. Speaking to the minister, and to those left, he found that Zeke wasn’t the only one who’d been worried. The doctor hadn’t shown up for at least a day there. Heading back through town, stopping at businesses that had reopened, or talking to those engaged in cleanup, he still got no word. Finally he decided to head back to the clinic. The doctor had lived upstairs, maybe there would be a clue there, as to McCaulley’s whereabouts.

The clinic front door had been locked, and Danny didn’t have a key, but going around to the back he found a window he could jimmy open. Clambering up and into the lower level, he looked around. Everything seemed pretty much in order, except for the unmade beds in the clinic bedroom. Danny found a door that opened onto a stairway to the second floor, the living quarters. Nervously he went up the steps, that opened into a small sitting room, with a big easy chair turned directly towards a large, south facing back window, bookcases, and a flowered carpet. Looking into an open archway, he found the doctor’s bedroom, but no doctor. Feeling foolish he opened two closets, but nothing. As he turned to go back down the stairs something about the chair’s shadow struck him as…odd… was all he could think. He stepped over to and around to the front of the chair.

Doctor MacCaulley looked as if he had simply fallen asleep in his chair. His bag was at his feet, where he’d dropped it when he’d sat down for a spot of rest before heading out again. His head was tilted to one side, and his eyes were only half closed. Danny had never touched a dead man, but now he gently reached over and brushed those eyes completely shut. Then he started to sweat, and ran down the stairs, fumbling at the front door to unbolt it from the inside, and rushing out to find Zeke again.

After the storm Tuttle had layed low, except for when he’d informed the sheriff of his “concern” for his aunt, and his intentions to have her competency judged. After that he’d expected to hear from Yuri about the plates, but checking on his caravan had proved fruitless. Now Tuttle was returning from a fast ride to Solace. He’d figured he’d have less questions asked there about some messages he had to send. Now he was coming back, full of confidence that when he had his hearing with Judge Cotton, he could get the ruling he wanted.

Tuttle even whistled a little tune, as the road heading back to Anderson’s Gulch skirted the eastern edge of the AAA, property he was sure he was soon to be the master of. The plates, and dreams of them being put to profitable use, bouyed his spirits.