CHAPTER 6
It was a neat little one-story cottage with a front porch on the left half facing the street. The walls were whitewashed, and the trim was painted green. A wisteria grew in front of the porch, next to the steps. The branches twined around the posts holding up the porch roof. To the right was a redbud tree, and over the top of the house, Smoke saw several oaks growing in the back. All the trees were bare at this time of year, but he thought it would be a really pretty place in the summer.
Of course, by the next summer Jonas Madigan probably wouldn’t be here anymore.
“The town provided the house, in addition to Jonas’s salary,” Mrs. Dollinger went on, breaking into that grim thought, “and when his health forced him to give up the marshal’s job, the council voted unanimously not to take the house away from him.”
“That was considerate of them, I reckon,” Smoke said.
“Well”—and now a bleak note entered her voice as she unknowingly echoed Smoke’s thought from a moment earlier—“no one expects him to need it for all that much longer.”
Before they could go up the steps to the porch, a man bustled around the corner of the house by the redbud and lifted an age-gnarled hand in greeting.
“Howdy there, Miz Dollinger,” he said. “I was just checkin’ on the supply o’ firewood in the back. Looks like the marshal could use a mite more. I’ll drop some off later in the day. Don’t want to run outta wood for the stove, seein’ as how we got a mighty chilly cold snap on the way.”
“And how would you know that, Windy?” Mrs. Dollinger asked with a smile.
“’Cause these ol’ bones o’ mine tell me so! My knee and my hip and my elbow are all sayin’ there’s a heap o’ cold weather comin’, and some snow, too, more’n likely. They ain’t never lied to me in all these years.”
“Well, if you trust them, Windy, then so do I.” She nodded toward Smoke and went on, “This is an old friend of Jonas’s who has come to visit, Smoke Jensen. Mr. Jensen, this is George Whittaker, our local handyman.”
“Smoke Jensen?” Whittaker repeated as his eyes widened. “Sure enough? I’ve heard the marshal talk about knowin’ you, but I wasn’t sure it was true.”
“Plenty true,” Smoke responded with a grin. He put out his hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Whittaker.”
“Oh, tarnation, don’t call me mister. Folks around here just call me Windy, on account of I talk a mite and like to tell stories.” He pumped Smoke’s hand. “It’s a plumb honor to meet you, Mr. Jensen.”
“Make it Smoke . . . Windy.”
Smoke felt an instant liking for this old-timer. Windy Whittaker was a little below medium height. He would have been a little taller if his legs hadn’t been so bowed from many years obviously spent in a saddle. His denim trousers were tucked into high-topped boots, and he wore a buckskin vest over an old flannel shirt with holes in the sleeves at the elbows. His hat had seen better days, too. A white beard bristled from his jaws, and the deep, permanent tan on his weathered face made him resemble a pecan with whiskers.
“You’ve been helping take care of Jonas?” Smoke went on.
Windy’s head bobbed up and down. “That’s right. He’s always been good to me, so it’s the least I can do. Now and again, I worked for him as a part-time jailer, back when he was still wearin’ the marshal’s badge.”
“You don’t help out Marshal Cardwell?”
Windy’s forehead creased at that question. “You know Marshal Cardwell?”
“Mr. Jensen made his acquaintance a short time ago, while he was on his way here,” Mrs. Dollinger said.
“Lemme guess. He tried to run you outta town.”
“I believe the thought crossed his mind,” Smoke allowed. “How did you know that?”
“Because he likes to run off any strangers who ride into Salt Lick. I reckon he’s afraid they might start some trouble, so he tries to move ’em on before they get a chance to.”
That was exactly how Smoke had sized up Marshal Ted Cardwell.
“I figure he’d try to run me out, too, if he thought he could get away with it,” Windy continued. “He considers me just some shiftless ol’ rapscallion.”
“No one’s ever going to run you out of town, Windy,” Mrs. Dollinger assured him with a smile. “Why, rapscallion or not, you’re as much of a fixture around here as the town well.”
Smoke had spotted that well at the south end of town, with a waist-high stone wall around it and a wooden awning that had a windlass with a bucket attached to it. It looked like it had been there a long time . . . and so did Windy Whittaker.
“Maybe so, but that wet-behind-the-ears so-called marshal made it plumb clear that he wouldn’t be needin’ my help once he pinned on that badge.” Windy sniffed. “I know when I ain’t wanted. I ain’t one to bull my way in.”
“Well, Jonas wants and appreciates your help, and I do, too,” Mrs. Dollinger told him. “You say you’ll bring more firewood over later?”
Windy tugged at the brim of his old hat and said, “Yes’m, I sure will.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at Smoke. “We had better go on in. Jonas may have heard us talking, and he’ll wonder who’s out here.”
“He can still hear that well?” Smoke asked.
“His eyes and ears are almost as good as they ever were.” The woman’s smile took on a sad tinge. “It’s just the rest of his body that’s betrayed him.”
She and Smoke climbed the three steps to the porch. She opened the front door without knocking, displaying an easy familiarity that once again made Smoke wonder if there was something more than friendship between her and Jonas Madigan. The door opened directly into a parlor. Mrs. Dollinger paused and called, “Jonas, are you awake?”
“Dang right I am.” The response came from an open doorway in a hall running toward the back of the house. “I heard two sets of footsteps coming in. Who’s that with you?”
Mrs. Dollinger nodded to Smoke. He moved toward the open door and said, “Somebody who hasn’t seen you for a long time, Marshal. Too long.”
“Smoke—!”
“That’s right,” Smoke said as he took off his hat and stepped into a neatly kept, homey bedroom with curtains on the windows, a couple of woven rugs on the floor, a framed lithograph of what looked like the English countryside on the wall, a mahogany wardrobe, and a sturdy bed with a quilted bedspread folded back over the legs of the man sitting propped up with pillows against the headboard.
Even under these circumstances, it was evident that the man in the bed had once been a powerfully built hombre. His arms and shoulders and the rest of his bone structure were that of a big man.
But time and illness had wasted away a significant amount of the flesh on those bones and left his silvery hair thinning until there were only a few strands on top of his head. The face that lifted toward Smoke had a haggard look to it despite the surprised smile it wore. At the sight of his old friend, Smoke felt a pang of pity, but he immediately pushed it away.
Jonas Madigan had never been the sort of man who would want anybody to pity him.
“I hoped you’d come,” Madigan said, “but I didn’t know if my letter would get to you in time.”
“It did, and I’m here,” Smoke said. He stretched the truth a mite by adding, “I never doubted for a second that you’d be waiting for me, too.”
“You never did, eh?”
“No, sir. I knew good and well you were always too blasted stubborn to go anywhere until you were damned well good and ready.”
At those words, Smoke heard a soft gasp of surprise behind him from Mrs. Dollinger, but Madigan threw his head back and laughed, a sound hearty enough to belie the impression of weakness his appearance gave.
“By the Lord Harry, you’re right about that,” he said. He started to push the covers aside. “Let me get up out of this bed so I can shake your hand properly—”
Mrs. Dollinger moved past Smoke and said, “You’ll do no such thing. You can shake hands perfectly well from where you are.”
She put a hand on his shoulder to reinforce her words. Madigan grunted and sat back.
“No point in arguing with a woman, especially a pretty one. She’s accustomed to getting her own way.”
“I swear, Jonas, I don’t know if you’re trying to flatter me or insult me.”
“I’ll count that as a victory, then. A rare victory, I might add.”
“You do go on, don’t you?” she said as she patted his shoulder, the affectionate gesture belying the slightly scolding tone in her voice.
Yes, there was definitely something more than friendship between these two, Smoke decided.
Madigan lifted his right arm. Smoke stepped forward and clasped the former lawman’s hand. Madigan’s grip was a shadow of what it had once been, like the man’s physical appearance.
“I’m afraid you’ve caught me when I’m feeling a mite poorly. Seems like that’s most days, here lately. But then, I told you in my letter that things have changed.” Madigan drew in a deep breath. The action caused him to wince a little, as if it pained him. “I’ve given up the badge, Smoke.”
Smoke nodded and said, “I’ve met Marshal Cardwell.”
“You have, eh? What’d you think of him?”
Smoke hesitated, remembering that Cardwell had served as deputy under Madigan. He didn’t figure Madigan would have hired the young man if he didn’t believe that Cardwell could do the job.
“Seems like a fine young man. Of course, he doesn’t have a fraction of the experience that you do . . .”
Madigan waved a hand. “That’ll come, that’ll come. Ted’s got a good head on his shoulders, and he can handle himself in a fight. Like you say, he just needs some experience and seasoning.”
“I’m sure that’s right. But I’m sure the folks here in Salt Lick miss having you as their marshal, too. From what I hear, you’re mostly responsible for the town being a good place to live.”
“Oh, no, that’s giving me too much credit. A lot of folks made Salt Lick what it is today, like Miriam here and her husband, Frank. Frank, may the Lord rest his soul, was the mayor here when I first came to Salt Lick and pinned on the badge. He’d already taken some steps to tame the place down. Mighty good man, was Frank Dollinger. We miss him, don’t we, Miriam?”
She sat beside him on the edge of the bed for a moment and said, “Yes, we certainly do. But he always praised you as highly as you praise him.”
“We made a pretty good team, Frank and me,” Madigan admitted.
Smoke had a better sense of things now. Miriam Dollinger was a widow, as he’d suspected. Jonas Madigan, himself a widower, although he had been married for only a short time as a young man before his wife died of a fever, had been a family friend. Smoke was sure that Madigan had been a comfort to Mrs. Dollinger when her husband passed on. A warm friendship had grown from that, as often happened in such circumstances. And then Madigan had gotten sick . . .
Smoke was glad the two of them had been there for each other.
“Well, don’t just stand there, Smoke,” Madigan said, breaking the brief moment of silence. “Pull up a chair and visit for a spell. You’ve ridden all this way, and we’ve got a heap of catching up to do.”
“Are you sure you’re not too tired for that, Jonas?” Mrs. Dollinger asked. “I imagine that Mr. Jensen plans to be in town for a few days . . .”
“That’s right,” Smoke said. “After that ride down here from Colorado, my horse could use some rest. I’ll see about a stall for him in the local livery, and then I can hunt a hotel room—”
“No, sir,” Madigan interrupted. “You can stable your horse, but no hotel room. There’s a spare bedroom right down the hall, so you’ll stay here.”
“I don’t want to put anybody out,” Smoke began.
“It’s no bother at all,” Mrs. Dollinger assured him. “There’s always plenty of food.”
“That’s the truth!” Madigan said. “The ladies of this town keep me mighty well fed. Hardly a day goes by without one or two of ’em showing up with a covered dish of some sort. And the pies! Lord have mercy.”
Smoke grinned. “All right, you’ve talked me into it. I’ll go tend to my horse and then be back in a spell.”
“You tell Rufus at the livery stable that you’re my friend and you’re staying here with me. He’ll treat you right.”
Smoke nodded his thanks and left the room. Mrs. Dollinger followed him out and went to the front porch with him.
“Your arrival certainly lifted his spirits, Mr. Jensen,” she said quietly as they paused there. “Jonas has had a hard time of it. He’s in a great deal of pain most of the time, although he does his very best not to show it, and he certainly doesn’t like to complain.”
“Can’t the doctor give him something for that?”
“Yes, he can. In fact, he tried to. But Jonas won’t take the medicine, not regularly, anyway. He says it makes him feel too fuzzy-headed, like he’s not quite actually here. He’ll only take it when he just can’t stand the pain anymore.”
“It’s what they’ve started calling a cancer, isn’t it?” Smoke asked.
Mrs. Dollinger nodded. Her jaw trembled, just for a second, but Smoke saw it. She said, “Yes. The doctor doesn’t know exactly where it started, but he’s convinced that it’s spread quite a bit.”
“And there’s nothing he can do but try to keep Jonas comfortable.”
“That’s right. Some days are worse than others, but there aren’t really any good days anymore.”
“Maybe another doctor, somewhere else?” Although Smoke didn’t live like a rich man, he was actually wealthy enough that he could afford to bring in medical experts from elsewhere, if there was any chance they might help Jonas Madigan.
“Our local doctor assures us there’s nothing anyone can do. He offered to send for some other physicians he knows, but Jonas refused and said no one was going to that much trouble for him, especially when it wasn’t going to do any good.”
Smoke nodded slowly. That sounded like Madigan, all right.
“The way you saw him just now, that’s actually the best he’s been for a while,” Mrs. Dollinger went on. “I honestly doubted that he would be able to hang on until you got here.”
“Like I told him, Jonas is a stubborn old cuss.”
She laughed softly. “Yes, he is. But stubbornness will only carry a person so far. Are you going to be able to stay in Salt Lick for a while, Mr. Jensen?”
“Yes, ma’am, I can stay as long as I need to.”
“It won’t be long,” she said. “But it will be good for Jonas, having you here.” She laid a hand lightly on his forearm. “I appreciate that, Mr. Jensen.”
“It’s the least I can do, after everything he did for me.”
She tilted her head a little to the side. “What did he do, if you don’t mind me asking? He’s never really explained how the two of you came to know each other. I assume it had something to do with his career as a law officer.”
“That’s right, it did, but it’s a pretty long story, and I’d like to get my horse inside at the stable, out of this chilly wind. And you should probably go back inside, too, ma’am.”
“All right.” She laughed quietly again. “Be mysterious about it. But I still want to hear about it later.”
“As long as Jonas doesn’t mind, I sure don’t.” Smoke put his hat on, nodded, and added, “I’ll be back in a while.”
“We’ll be here,” she told him.