Chapter Thirty-Four
For the second night in a row, I could scarcely tell the difference between sleeping and waking. I lay frozen in the blackness of my bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. Every time I was about to slip into sleep, my mind would start racing, and I couldn’t make it stop.
I dressed numbly the next morning and headed into the hall. I stuck my head into my folks’ room. Pa was straightening his tie in the mirror.
“I’ve got one stop to make,” I said. “It will be quick.”
“Okay,” he said, glancing at the clock on the wall.
Heart drumming in my chest, I raced across the green. The sun shone pink in the eastern sky, and the windows of the Grubstake Hotel reflected its rosy tint. My insides seemed turned to lead, though, as I climbed the stairs to the Thompson’s room. When I knocked on the door, I was met not by Tumbleweed, but by a sleepy Beauregard Thompson. His rubbed the back of his neck and yawned. “Why, it’s Eugene. Do something for you, son? It’s mighty early to be stirring.”
“I just wanted—is Tumbleweed up?”
“He is.” But he didn’t step aside to let me in.
“Is he…okay? After yesterday?”
“I believe so. Sting is healing up nicely.”
“Can I come in?”
He said nothing, but swung the door wide. I paused a step inside. The curtains were closed, and only a small lantern flickered weak light. Tumbleweed lay in the far bed propped up on pillows. He grinned crookedly.
“Hey, Gene. I’m laying low for a spell. Doctor’s orders. Reckon I’ll make my way through those copies of Dead-Eye Dan you leant me.” I glanced to the bedside table. A pair of traveling trunks were lined up neatly in the corner. Tumbleweed’s Ma didn’t appear to be at home.
“I had to come over,” I said. “They’re going to have a hearing for Wendell today. If they decide they have enough evidence, they’re taking him to Kansas for a real trial. Are you up to helping?”
Tumbleweed leaned forward. “Help? What’d you have in mind?”
Mr. Thompson cleared his throat. A strange expression crossed Tumbleweed’s face.
“We need a plan, to prove Wendell’s really innocent.”
“What can me and you do about it?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. Aren’t you feeling bad about all of it?”
Tumbleweed straightened his pillow. “Well, I, uh…”
“I believe what my boy’s trying to say is he ain’t exactly been wracked with remorse,” said Mr. Thompson. “These things happen.”
I turned. “These things happen?”
“Let’s not get too hasty here,” Mr. Thompson said. “The law’s going to do what the law’s going to do. Why does it matter so much to you what happens to Wendell?” I opened my mouth to reply, but Mr. Thompson continued, his pace maddeningly slow. “Besides, I think you’re forgetting something mighty important in all of this.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“Money. Five hundred dollars in federal reserve notes per Gang member. Split two ways, that’s close to a thousand apiece.”
“The reward?” I squawked. “You can’t be serious!” But Tumbleweed remained silent, head propped on the pillows, watching his Pa.
“There’s plenty of land out west just waiting to be had on the cheap. My Dorothea’s been itching for some more adventure since she came back to town. It might be time for the Thompsons to head west and settle down on a big patch of land. We might get a hundred acres, maybe more. Think of it, son. Huntin’. Fishin’. Think of what you and your folks could do with that kind of money. You could set out in a wagon and explore the whole Colorado territory. Go where you please, stay as long as you like, light out for another place when you get bored.”
“But that money isn’t ours! It’s a bounty for Wendell that we don’t deserve. Right, Tumbleweed?”
Tumbleweed turned toward his Pa. “You know, Dad, Eugene’s got a point. I mean…”
“That’s enough, son. We talked all this through last night, remember?” He turned back to me. “I don’t look at it as undeserved. You boys were in the right place at the right time. And how do we know he’s as innocent as he says he is?”
“How do we know?”
He frowned. “You’re discounting all the Marshall’s evidence? What if Wendell ain’t as clean about his past as he says?”
“He is,” I said firmly. “This isn’t another one of your schemes, Mr. Thompson. You can’t scam this situation like all the others you’ve been in. This is Wendell’s life we’re talking about!”
Tumbleweed frowned and sank backward.
“Listen,” I continued, “you make it sound so great, getting some land, going wherever you please, but I know better. Sooner or later, you’ve got to find your people. I reckon that’s what Wendell’s been trying to do here all these years in Rattlesnake Junction—find his people. Who’s your people, Tumbleweed?”
He scowled, but said nothing.
“Do the right thing, Tumbleweed,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. He kicked his blanket off him and turned to stare vacantly out the window. Silence settled over the small room. Finally, I turned toward the door. “I gotta go,” I said. “I’ll…see you around or something.” I gave Tumbleweed one last look, then headed toward the door. When I reached the door, I paused, hand on the knob, praying he’d say something. But the room was silent.
Pa was waiting for me at the front door of the jail.
“I went to see Tumbleweed,” I said. “His Pa’s got him all mixed up about Wendell.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Pa said. “You ready?” I nodded.
Marshall Boggs glanced up as we entered. “I’ll be one moment longer,” he said. “Got a few papers to finish up before Judge Crawford gets here.”
“So he’s really coming?” I asked.
“Arrives at four-thirty from Topeka.”
“And what about the mayor and Sheriff Mayberry?” Pa asked.
“I expect the judge will send word along to them after this is all said and done. When the Marshall’s office took over the case, your sheriff became a mighty small fish in this pond. He doesn’t matter a whole lot with me here. I’ve got the authority now.”
“You’ll take us out to the ranch?” Pa asked.
“I’m ready when you are,” Boggs said, lining the papers into two neat stacks on his desk.
“Do you think I could have a minute with Wendell?” I asked.
Sheriff Boggs frowned, his jaw clenched tight. He nodded toward the hall. “Deputy Mars?” he called.
The young deputy appeared in the doorway. “Follow me,” he said. “And when it’s time to go, it’s time to go.”
As we approached, Wendell rose from his seat on the small bed inside his cell. A tired smile split his whiskered face. The deputy’s keys clicked in the lock, and the door rattled open. “I was wonderin’ when I’d see your face again,” Wendell said. Though it had only been a day since I saw him, he looked far more tired than he should.
“You’re not angry at me,” I said.
He shook his head. “Angry? Eugene, any anger I would feel toward you would be badly misplaced.”
“But you’re in jail.”
“I noticed. What’s your point?”
“Um, I guess—”
“Once you think more about it, you’ll see that you ain’t at fault here. Things just run their course.”
“Run their course?”
He rubbed a hand his chin. “Looking back, I see I probably shouldn’t have carried on after the war with Trent and the boys. Should have been a better judge of their character. Maybe this is just all that catching up with me.” His voice trailed off.
“You can’t give up, Wendell.” I could hear my voice rising in desperation. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Son, don’t waste your time thinkin’ any more about Trent and the gang. They done bad things before, but sooner or later, they’ll get what’s coming to them.”
“But I can’t wait that long. And you belong here in Rattlesnake Junction, not anywhere else.”
“I can’t argue with that,” he said.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to let that happen. We’re going back to the ranch today, and I’ll show them everything.”
Wendell shook his head slowly. “Trent’s wily. And he’s determined. He hasn’t come this far just to let it all slip away. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you. I don’t want to see you throw it away by getting mixed up with an old codger like me.”
“No way.”
“Eugene, Boggs and his badge carry weight in this town. If he says I’m guilty, people will buy it. They’ll take me away, but you and your family will have to live here. If people see you standing up on my behalf, that’s a stain that’ll never leave you.”
I stood and crossed my arms across my chest. “You’re wrong,” I said. “I’ve got to do something. Besides, I heard from an old codger I know that we make our own coincidences in life. So I reckon I’ve made you my own personal coincidence.”
Wendell sat back, and I thought I could see the trace of a smile flit across his lips. “Fine,” he said finally. “You do what you’re going to do. And it means a lot to me. But come what may, there’s something you should know. It’s about Widow Springfield. She’s pretty important to me, and—”
Deputy Mars appeared in the doorway. “Alright, time’s up, son. Come on out of there.”
I glanced at Wendell one last time, hoping he would finish his sentence about Widow Springfield. But he raised his hands, palm-out and shook his head lightly, mouthing the words. Not now.
Mars cleared his throat. “Coming, son?” I followed him out of the cell, turning for one last glimpse of Wendell. Marshall Boggs had left his office, so I followed Deputy Mars outside. Marshall Boggs stood in the doorway, buckling his gun belt around his waist.
“You ready?” he asked.