CHAPTER 9
Flint was a little more than concerned for Buck’s obvious attempt to change his evening habits, so he was especially anxious to see how he was holding up after delaying his usual hour of retirement. He heard him when he came back from supper, but instead of coming straight to the office, he stopped in his living quarters first. Flint was not surprised. He could well imagine how badly Buck needed a drink. When he came back into the office, Flint guessed that he had taken a couple.
“Everything all right?” Buck asked as he walked in the door.
“So far, everything’s fine,” Flint answered. “As far as I can tell, there hasn’t been any contact between the two of ’em, or if there has, they’ve been mighty quiet about it.”
“I don’t see any reason why they don’t get along all right,” Buck said, his voice steady and calm. The quick stop at his quarters seemed to have given him confidence. “I reckon you might as well go on home for the night.”
“I was wonderin’ if you might want me to bunk here in the office tonight, since it is the first night of the new arrangement.”
“No, ain’t no need for that, with me sleepin’ right on the other side of the wall from ’em,” Buck insisted. “You go on to your room at the boardin’ house and I’ll see you back here in the mornin’.”
“You’re the boss. I’ll take a walk around town first, since that’s one of the things you hired me for.” Flint laughed then japed, “I’ll see what’s goin’ on at the saloon, in case they’ve heard about us havin’ a woman in the cell with Ralph, and there’s somebody tryin’ to raise enough hell to get thrown in there with ’em.”
Buck chuckled and suggested, “Tell Jake we’re throwin’ everybody we arrest in his place into that dark room back of Harper’s.”
“That ain’t a bad idea,” Flint said as he walked to the door. “That’s what I’ll tell him.”
As he said he would, Flint took a walk up one side of the main street and back down the other, checking the locks on the doors of those businesses with no lights on. The town seemed as peaceful as it had been before it crossed paths with Jed Tubbs and Ralph Cox. He had to admit that he was the cause of Tinhorn’s recent problems, and he couldn’t help feeling some guilt because of it. The trouble began when he’d decided to arrest the two cattle thieves and he wondered if there might not have been any further trouble if he had just taken a couple of shots at them to scare them off. But he had wanted to put a stop to their rustling, minor as it was, and he had not wanted to kill two men over the theft of two cows. So he arrested them. What is, is, he told himself. I can’t go back and do it different.
His last stop was Jake’s Place, and it was quiet like the rest of the town. He paused momentarily to see who was there. Walt Doolin and Lon Blake were sitting at a table playing cards with Paul Roper and the postmaster, Louis Wheeler. Jake Rudolph was standing at the end of the bar, but a new face was behind the bar. Flint walked over to join them.
“Howdy, Flint,” Jake greeted him. “Want you to meet my new bartender, Rudy Place. Rudy, this here’s Deputy Flint Moran.”
Flint shook hands with Rudy and Jake continued. “Rudy was pourin’ whiskey in a saloon up in Tyler. I hired him ’cause his last name is Place, so he fits right in at Jake’s Place. Trouble is, now when folks talk about Jake’s Place, you won’t know if they’re talkin’ about the saloon or the bartender.” He punctuated his story with a full chuckle.
Rudy smiled, evidently having heard Jake’s story more than once already. Rudy, a pleasant-looking middle-aged man, bald except for a ring of hair around the sides and back of his head, nodded at Flint. “Jake’s already told me you have a special arrangement with him for your whiskey.”
“No,” Jake quickly corrected. “That arrangement is with Sheriff Buck Jackson. Flint’s just another customer.” He caught himself then. “I don’t mean he’s just another customer. I mean he don’t have no special needs. And he ain’t ever asked for any special deal.” He looked at Flint, knowing he was in a corner and thinking he was about to lose some more money to the sheriff’s department.
Flint laughed, then put him at ease. “I don’t drink that much. Just a shot once in a while if I feel the urge for one. I’ll just pay for mine like any other customer. Right about now, in fact. So why don’t you pour me a shot.”
“And we’ll sure as hell make this one on the house,” Jake said. With that settled, he was quick to change the subject. “How are you and Buck makin’ out over there at your open-air jail? Nolan Carson said he’s fixin’ to build your wall back for you. Said he’d already hung some canvas so the folks can’t look at the prisoners anymore.”
Flint drank the whiskey Rudy had poured then said, “Yeah, that’s about the size of it, right now. We had to do something to protect the prisoners from the town folk, instead of the other way around.”
That brought a chuckle from Jake and Rudy.
“Hey Flint,” Walt called out. “I got a complaint I wanna talk to you about.”
“Thanks for the drink,” Flint said to Jake then walked over to the table to hear Walt’s complaint. “What do you wanna complain about, Walt?”
“Your shootin’. That last body I worked on, that Jed Tubbs. That bullet hole was dead center his forehead. You could draw a line straight up from the bridge of his nose and it would run right through the center of that bullet hole.” It was obvious Walt just wanted to impress the others at the table with the accuracy of Flint’s shooting.
Flint was not comfortable with that. He was not interested in making a name as a gunslinger.
Walt continued. “I would appreciate it if you’d just aim for the heart. A head wound like that is hard to cover up, so it ain’t so obvious.” He looked around at the others and grinned.
“Is somebody havin’ a funeral service for Jed Tubbs?” Flint asked him. “If you dig a hole and throw him in it, nobody will see the hole in his forehead. But I’m sorry about that. I was aimin’ at his foot. My gun shoots a little high sometimes.”
“Hey, Flint, Hannah Green said you have a room at the boarding house, but we ain’t ever seen you there. Are you still stayin’ there?”
He recognized the man as Paul Roper, one of Hannah’s tenants who worked for John Harper at the feed store. “Sometimes I wonder, myself. The way some things have been happenin’ at the jail, it hasn’t been easy to get on a regular schedule. But I’ve still got my room, and I’ll be back there tonight.”
“Mr. Harper had me cleanin’ up that empty storeroom behind the store,” Roper said. “He said, if you arrest any more folks, you’re probably gonna put ’em in there.”
“I’ll tell the sheriff that it’s ready for use, if we need it. Thanks,” Flint said. “You’d best watch your cards real close ’cause it looks like you’re playin’ with some real sharks here.”
“We told him to ask John Harper for a raise, so we could get a little more money in the game,” Lon Blake japed. “We’ve got room for another hand, if you wanna sit in.”
“I’m surprised you invited me to play,” Flint replied. “You’re a member of the town council, so you know I don’t have any money to gamble with.”
“I forgot about that,” Lon said. “Never mind, then.”
They all laughed as Flint went out the door.
He paused in front of the sheriff’s office and wondered if he should go in. Buck thought he was gone for the night and Flint would not want to catch him in an embarrassing state. Buck’s drinking problem was common knowledge among the leaders of the town, but Flint was not certain of the severity of it. Thinking about it, he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. But ever since the cell room explosion, he felt sure Buck was trying to do something about his drinking problem.
Still undecided if he should check in with the sheriff once more, Flint stepped up to the office door and looked through the two glass panes. A light was on and Buck was still there. Sitting at his desk, his chin resting on his chest, he appeared to be asleep. Flint slowly turned the doorknob and found the door locked. He paused to think it over. Good, he decided, he’s right there in the office and the door’s locked. It should be all right At least better than Buck being unconscious in his quarters.
He turned around, stepped back down into the street, and took a slow walk down to Hannah Green’s boarding house. Lights were on in the parlor, so he walked around to the back steps. As he walked up the steps to the porch and turned to go to his room, he heard someone behind him call. “Flint?”
He turned to discover Hannah coming from the washroom. She was in her robe and carrying a chamber pot. “I wasn’t sure that was you. We’ve seen so little of you.”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s a fact. We’ve been pretty busy with all the trouble we’ve had with explosions and jail breaks. I’m sure hopin’ things will settle down, so I can take a meal at your table for a change.” He nodded toward the chamber pot in her hands and asked, “Is everything all right?”
She glanced down as if she forgot what she was holding. “Oh, Mr. Arthur is having an upset stomach and I was on my way out back to empty this for him.”
“You want me to do that for you?” he asked, thinking it the polite thing to do and greatly relieved when she said no.
“Gracious, no,” she exclaimed. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to help him out. You’re coming home too late for supper again. Are you hungry?”
“Ah, no, ma’am,” he said, still looking at the chamber pot. “I’m needin’ a good cleanin’ up, though. So, if there ain’t anybody usin’ the washroom, I’d like to.”
“Nobody’s in there now. I’ll build that fire up in the stove and you can heat some hot water, all right?”
“Yes, ma’am, that would be nice.”
She went to empty the chamber pot then and he went into his room at the end of the back porch. A short time later, she knocked on his door to let him know his bathwater was hot, then left him to his privacy while he gave himself a good scrubbing and changed into his spare underwear and socks. Then he washed the underwear he had just removed, dumped his bathwater, and went back to his room. He crawled into bed feeling content that Tinhorn was going to enjoy a peaceful night.
* * *
After a good night’s sleep, Flint was the first to arrive at Hannah’s breakfast table when Myrna pulled the first pan of biscuits out of the oven. He had almost finished his breakfast when the other guests came in to eat, and soon excused himself to go to work. He was eager to see what kind of night Buck had had, or he might have been inclined to linger a while over breakfast, since Hannah seemed to want him to become one of the family. Being honest with himself, he didn’t care to know any of them too well, thinking of the chamber pot Hannah was carrying last night.
At the office, the door was unlocked and Buck was at his desk, drinking coffee. Walking inside, Flint wondered if he’d been there all night.
“Well, good mornin’,” Buck sang out. “I was startin’ to think you were takin’ the day off.”
“I ate breakfast at Hannah’s this mornin’. Did you stay here in the office all night?”
“Hell, no,” Buck replied. “I went to bed a little while after you left. I told you, there weren’t no use to set up with those two all night. I ain’t heard a peep outta them this mornin’ either. They’re both stayin’ on their side of the curtain, and I don’t think they’re even talkin’ to each other.”
“I saw Paul Roper in the saloon last night. He said John Harper already had him cleaning up that storeroom behind his store. So if the two of ’em can’t get along, he’s gonna have the room ready for us.”
Buck nodded as if considering that possibility.
“You want me to go up to Clara’s to get their breakfasts?” Flint asked. “You don’t usually go to Jake’s till a little later in the mornin’.”
Buck hesitated a few moments before answering. “No,” he finally said. “I think I’ll have breakfast at Clara’s this mornin’, and I’ll bring their breakfasts back.”
Flint thought he detected a hint of serious determination in his tone.
“You can tell ’em it’ll be just a little later than usual.” Buck got up from the desk at once, plopped his hat on his head, and went out the door.
Out of curiosity, Flint stood near the door and listened. He heard Buck go into his private quarters and come back out within a couple of minutes’ time. Just enough time for another shot of determination, he thought. He felt compassion for the man’s problem and could only guess how hard it was for the task Buck seemed determined to do. I’ll help any way I think I can, he thought as he walked to the cell room door.
Although Buck had told Flint there had been no conversation between Ada and Ralph, that was not entirely the case. He had been right in thinking Ralph not likely to communicate, though, for it was Ada who broke the silence.
“Were you there when my husband was shot?” she had asked very quietly, and Ralph had said that he was.
“How did it happen?” she’d wanted to know.
“The doctor and his nurse was in here to treat our bullet wounds,” Ralph had explained. “They was ready to bandage Jed’s wound up when he made his move.” He had gone on to relate the incident with Doc’s wife, and her aggressive move that caused Jed’s death.
“So, it was Moran who killed Jed?” she had asked. “The man who jumped in between me and Jed at the trial when I tried to throw him a gun?”
Ralph had responded with a quiet, “Yes.”
“So that’s why they made him a deputy sheriff,” she had said.
That conversation with Ralph was still on her mind when the door to the office opened and the man who had killed her husband walked through.
“You two gettin’ along all right?” Flint asked as he walked around to the end wall, so he could see both of them. “The sheriff just went up to the dinin’ room at the hotel to eat breakfast. He’ll bring your breakfast back with him.”
“Won’t be a minute too soon to suit me,” Ralph said in reply.
Ada got up from her cot and walked toward him but stopped when she reached the end of the canvas curtain, leaving her close to five feet short of the cell wall. “You are the one who killed my husband.” She said it accusingly but spoke softly while showing no emotion.
Her tone was so ordinary he wasn’t sure how to answer her accusation, if that’s what it was but responded to her statement as he did to most statements. He answered truthfully. “That’s a fact, ma’am, but he didn’t really give me a choice, since he was fixin’ to cut an innocent woman’s throat. I was the only one with a chance to save her. I could tell you I am sorry I shot your husband, but that wouldn’t be true. I was just the unfortunate one who had the only chance to save the lady’s life . . . and maybe that of the sheriff and myself. I could say I’m sorry that I was the one in that position, but I’m glad my aim was true, and I stopped him.”
She continued to meet his gaze as she paused to think about his response to her accusation. She could not really accuse the man of blatant cruelty or murder for his actions. He admitted that he had reacted just as Ralph had related, so she shifted her accusation to her own person. “If killing my husband wasn’t enough, you had to sneak in like a hungry dog, and attack me in my father’s house.”
“Would you have come peacefully, if I had knocked on the door and said you were under arrest?” Flint asked.
She didn’t answer the question.
“I didn’t think so either. Besides, I didn’t attack you in your father’s house. I attacked you outside your father’s outhouse.”
She seemed lost for a moment.
So he said, “I was a little bit sorry I had to capture you that way, but I couldn’t take a chance on you alertin’ everybody.”
She gave up on the aggressive assault on his authority, and asked simply, “What are you gonna do with me?”
“I’m sure Sheriff Jackson musta told you. We’re gonna hold you for trial, same as Ralph.”
“In that saloon?”
“I expect so,” Flint answered, “unless the captain sends some Rangers to take you to Tyler for trial.”
“Ain’t killin’ my husband enough punishment for anything I’ve done?”
Perplexed by the simple logic generated in her mind, Flint couldn’t believe the woman’s childishness. “Ada, don’t you know dynamitin’ the jail is against the law?”
She didn’t answer at once, and when she finally did, she said, “It ain’t as bad as killin’ somebody.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Flint said, totally aware now of the level of intelligence he was trying to reason with. “Killin’ is about the worst crime, like what your husband did when he beat an old man to death with an iron bar. You’ll be punished for what you did, and that was dynamitin’ the jail and causing the escape of your husband and Ralph. Your breakfast oughta be here before long.” With that, he did an about-face and went back to the office, feeling as if he had been trying to reason with a coyote.
* * *
Diagonally across the street, three riders pulled up to the hitching rail in front of the saloon. When they dismounted, Liam Trask looped his reins over the rail, then turned to look up and down the street as if he were scouting the town.
“Yonder’s the jail,” Vike said, pointing across the street.
All three turned to stare at it and the big man walking toward it carrying what appeared to be a food tray.
“We’ll go inside and get a drink of likker,” Trask said. “See if we can’t find out if anybody’s seen Ada. Maybe get us somethin’ to eat, too, if they’ve got a cook.”
That was enough for Vike and Kyle to lose interest in the jail, even though they had discussed the likelihood it was the sheriff who kidnapped Ada.
Since they didn’t know much about Tinhorn, Trask declared, “If you wanna know anythin’ about what’s goin’ on in a town, the saloon’s where you go to find out.” Whenever they made trips into town, it was Tyler they went to.
“Howdy, boys,” Rudy sang out. “Whatcha gonna have?”
“Give us a shot of whiskey,” Trask answered. “What’s that you’re pourin’?” He pointed to a bottle Rudy had just poured a drink from.”
“That’s pure corn whiskey,” Rudy told him.
“That’ll do,” Trask said.
Rudy poured three shots and the two young men tossed them back immediately.
Trask took a couple of sips before downing the rest of his. “Just hold your horses,” he said when both boys pushed their empty glasses toward the bottle again. “Let’s get some food in us before we drown in that likker bottle. You sell any food here?” he asked Rudy.
“Yes, sir,” Rudy replied. “I think we do. I mean, I know we do, but I ain’t sure about breakfast.” When Trask gave him a suspicious look, Rudy quickly explained. “I’m new here. I just started yesterday, and I know Rena, the cook, fixes some dinner and supper, but I ain’t sure about breakfast. Lemme let you talk to the owner.” He threw up his hand and waved to Jake, who was sitting at a table in the back, drinking coffee with Lon Blake.
Jake came to the bar and introduced himself. “You boys are new in town, ain’tcha?”
Trask said that they were, and they wanted to know if they could get some breakfast there.
“Yes, sir, you sure can,” Jake answered. “Rena will fix you up with a good breakfast. We only have one or two customers who come here for breakfast, so we don’t try to push it. But Rena will cook you up some eggs and fried potatoes, with some ham or bacon. How’s that sound?”
“Suit’s me,” Vike said.
“Me too,” Kyle said.
“Set yourself down wherever you like,” Jake said. “I’ll tell Rena to bring you some coffee.” While they selected a table, Jake went into the kitchen to tell the cook she had three customers for breakfast.
Rena looked at him and asked, “Where’s Sheriff Jackson?”
“You know, I was wonderin’ that, myself,” Jake said. “It ain’t like him to be this late. Maybe he’ll show up directly. Anyway, all three of these boys want those eggs fried hard.”
He went back to the table and told Trask, “Rena’s already workin’ on it.” He stepped aside then to let her have room when she came up behind him carrying a tray with three cups of coffee. “You fellows are new in town, ain’t you?” Jake asked again.
“Matter of fact,” Trask answered. “We don’t get down this way much. We do most of our tradin’ in Tyler.”
“You oughta give Tinhorn a lookin’ over,” Jake suggested. “This ain’t the dead little town it used to be.”
“I heard somebody tried to blow the jailhouse up,” Trask said. “Any truth to that?”
“You heard about that, did ya?” Jake answered. “Well, they sure did. Used enough dynamite to blow the whole back wall off the jail.”
Vike reached over and gave Kyle a playful punch when he heard that. Trask fixed a fierce frown on Vike.
Jake went on. “The real funny part about it was that it was a woman who blew it up. She was married to one of the men in jail, so she was tryin’ to spring her husband.”
“A woman?” Trask played along while warning his sons with a deep frown.
“Yep,” Jake answered. “This ol’ gal was crazy as hell. Like I said, she was married to one of ’em. They had a trial for them two fellows, right here in this saloon. And she tried to throw a gun to her husband then. They let her go home after that, but she came back and dynamited the jail. The deputy sheriff caught the two fellers again. I’m tellin’ you that woman is plum crazy. She’s settin’ in the jailhouse right now.”
None of the three could pretend to be indifferent after Jake said that.
After a moment while he tried to be calm, Trask asked, “She’s in jail right now?”
“Yep. They locked her up in the same cell with her husband’s partner,” Jake replied, obviously enjoying the telling of the tale. “After she dynamited the place, the sheriff only had one cell that didn’t get blown apart, so they’re both in it.”
“What about her husband?” Trask asked. “Is he in the cell with ’em?”
“He’s dead.”
“Dead!” Trask exclaimed, surprised.
“Yeah,” Jake said. “When the doctor was in there patching up a bullet hole in his shoulder, her husband made a move to escape and the deputy plugged him right between the eyes.”
All three of the strangers reacted in shocked silence upon hearing that.
After a long moment, Trask finally spoke. “So after they shot her husband, they stuck Ada in the same cell with his partner?”
“That’s right, ’cause they ain’t got but one cell they can lock up,” Jake answered, then paused when it occurred to him. “How did you know her name is Ada?”
“She’s my daughter,” Trask answered, “and these two boys is her brothers.”
His simple statement was enough to render Jake speechless for a long awkward moment. When finally able to regain his voice, he was quick to apologize. “Damn, mister, I’m awful sorry. I wouldn’ta gone on like that if I’d known you were family.”
“It ain’t your fault,” Trask said. “At least, we know where she is now. Somebody came onto my property and snatched her when she came outta the outhouse last night. We didn’t have no idea what happened to her. Now, come to find out, it was the sheriff that snatched her. He ain’t got no right to arrest anybody if they ain’t in this town.”
Jake didn’t know what to say about that, so he started off on another track. “I reckon you’ll be goin’ over to the jail to visit your daughter, now that you know where she is.” He was saved at that moment when Rena arrived with three plates of food. Seeing an opportunity to get a little bit of his foot out of his mouth, he said, “On account of this sad occasion for your family, I won’t charge you anything for your breakfast.”
Trask hesitated from getting up from the table when Vike remarked, “We might as well eat our breakfast, since she already cooked it.”
“Yeah, Pa,” Kyle added, “we need to eat, and there ain’t no charge.”
“I reckon you’re right,” Trask said. “We do need to eat.” He looked at Jake and nodded. “Much obliged.”
“You’re welcome,” Jake returned. “I’ll leave you in peace to eat your breakfast now. Rena will check on your coffee.” He returned to his table in the back of the saloon and sat down again. He looked at Lon Blake, who was looking back at him and slowly shaking his head. “Did you hear all that?” Jake asked. “That’s her father and brothers.”
“I heard it,” Lon answered. “Most of it, anyway. You reckon they’re likely to cause trouble? Maybe they’ll just wanna visit her in the jail.”
A big grin suddenly bloomed on Jake’s face. “Did you hear him say Flint snatched his daughter outta the outhouse?”
They both tried to keep from laughing.