37

Will charged into Frank’s yard at midmorning. He didn’t bother to tether Fanny Too, but ran toward the noise he heard in the milk house.

When Will pushed through the doors, Frank glanced up, and then he turned back to cleaning pails. “I thought you’d be busy with those new cows.” He put the brush down, but didn’t seem to notice that Will was angry.

“How could you do this to me?” Will yelled. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Are you crazy?” Frank stepped back.

“If I had a gun, I hate to think what I’d do.”

Frank backed farther away as Will pressed into him.

“And I thought Jesse was the crazy one. What’s eating you, Will?”

“Those cows you sold me, they’re diseased. I’ll lose the farm.”

“The hell they are. I’ve got the records.”

“And my friends may lose theirs, too.”

“Will, those aren’t diseased cows.”

Will grabbed his brother by the collar and jerked him forward. “The vet says otherwise.”

Frank slipped Will’s grasp and rushed toward the door. “Calm down.” He distanced himself farther. “Come to the house. I’ll show you.”

Will followed his brother into the kitchen.

“I’d give you a coffee, but you’re already too worked up. Hold on a minute.” Frank rummaged through the kitchen cupboard. “I thought I put those on the top shelf.” He grabbed a packet of papers. “Here they are.”

He thrust the pack into Will’s hands. “Count them, twenty-five certificates, all healthy cows.”

Will thumbed through the papers.

“Look carefully, Will.” He thrust a chair at his brother. “You’ll not find a bad one there.”

Will read each report, shook his head, and handed the packet back to Frank. “Then who? How?”

“Are you sure they’re diseased?”

“The tests came back with Bangs Disease.”

“That’s terrible.”

“How could this happen?”

“Somebody must have switched them.”

“Who’d do such a thing?”

“Jesse?” emerged simultaneously from Will and Frank’s mouths.

“I don’t think so,” Will said.

“He always hated Grandpa and me,” Frank said. “Didn’t much like you, either.”

“He’s changed.”

“A skunk doesn’t change his stripe. He said that he’d see us in Hell. Looks like he got us both in one fell swoop.”

“I don’t think he’d do it.” Who else then? Finian? Mary had always disliked him.

“Those were my cows,” Frank said. “It’s my reputation. I expect your sheriff to take action. I’ll meet you at the sheriff’s office, but, first, I need to shore up a pen for my new Hereford bull.” He led Will out the door.

* * *

Will approached Willow late afternoon. Along the way he decided he must seek charges. Henning and Roberts would be furious if he didn’t take action. But hadn’t Jesse suffered enough?

Sheriff Bates, whose attention was fixed on the papers on his desk, didn’t notice Will at first.

Will cleared his throat.

“Oh, it’s you, Will. I hate paperwork. If I’d known my days would be spent at my desk, I’d never have run for this office.”

“I’ve never seen another Sheriff in that seat. Why do you stay?”

“Habit, I guess. What’s on your mind?”

“I suppose you know I’ve got Bangs in my herd.”

“Bad stuff. I heard that Jesse delivered the cows. What does he say?”

“I haven’t seen him. I wanted to talk with my brother Frank first. He should be here soon.”

“I’d heard they were your brother’s cows. It’s a crime to move diseased cows you know.”

“All twenty-five of his cows were certified disease free. He’s got the papers.”

“Someone switched them in transit then. You think it was Jesse?”

“He delivered them, but… ”

“Why would he do that to you?”

“I don’t think he would. Maybe years ago.”

“Roberts was in. He wants me to file charges.”

“Against who?”

“He doesn’t care. He says somebody should pay.”

“Do you plan to arrest Jesse?”

“Not yet. We’ll bring him in for questioning. I want that McCarthy first.” Bates rose from his chair. “He’s been known to cut corners. Nothing too serious, not yet. Nothing like this.”

Will heard voices outside the door, where Deputy Smith held his brother back. The deputy stood aside when Bates beckoned Frank in.

“Will, I’ve mulled this over all the way from the Springs,” Frank said. He rushed toward Sheriff Bates. “I want arrests. My reputation’s at stake here.”

“Calm down,” Sheriff Bates said. He turned to Will. “This your brother?”

“Frank,” Will nodded toward the sheriff, “Sheriff Bates.”

“Sheriff, I want an arrest.”

“And who are you accusing?”

“My brother Jesse. He hauled the sick cows, didn’t he?”

“Maybe.”

Frank turned to his brother. “He did haul them, didn’t he, Will?”

“I don’t think Jesse would do it.”

“Lots of chances to make a switch,” Bates said. “It could have been done before they were loaded.” He glared at Frank. “It could’ve been done right in your own barnyard.”

Frank slammed his fist on the sheriff’s desk and shouted, “Are you accusing me?”

Bates threw his pen down and leaned into Frank. “Hold on. I’m not accusing you or Jesse. Least, not yet. I want to question McCarthy first.” He walked to the phone on the far wall. “He owns the trucks.”

After a short conversation, Sheriff Bates hung up the phone and turned back to the brothers. “Ashley Springs’s Constable Stephens will bring him here tomorrow.”

“He’s arresting him?” Frank said.

“Bringing him in for questioning. We’ll get to arrests later—if there’s evidence.”

“I want to be here when he comes in,” Frank said.

“Might be a good idea. Both of you. Be here at noon tomorrow.”

“I still think it’s Jesse,” Frank said to Will as he stepped into his Chevy. “The nerve of that sheriff. Accusing me.”

“I don’t think he’s accusing anyone,” Will said. “Not yet.”

* * *

Finian McCarthy sat on the sheriff’s desk when Will and Frank entered the office the next day at noon. As cheerful as ever although a bit tattered, Finian wore his usual brown, checkered derby hat with matching knee-length corduroy breeches, emerald green swallow-tail jacket, field-corn yellow shirt, and his buckle-topped shoe a faded red.

Sheriff Bates peered around Finian, a frown on his face.

Constable Stephens looked befuddled as he dashed past the brothers toward the door. “That’s the dangest trip I’ve ever taken. Gotta get back home to some sanity.”

Finian pounced off the desk and grabbed Will’s hand. “Good to see you, Will. Tell this man,” he pointed to Bates, “that I’m an old friend. He thinks I cheated you. I wouldn’t do no such thing. You know that.”

Will jerked his hand free and remained silent.

“You know I wouldn’t, Will. Not to a Wicklow man. Haven’t I helped you find good cows?” Finian pressed so close that Will turned his head away from his foul breath. “Isn’t that right?”

Frank grabbed Finian’s arm. “Someone switched those cows. If not you, who then?”

Finian hung his head. “I hadn’t meant to say anything. Your brother . . . . ’Course, I couldn’t know for sure. I was doing business down in Dubuque when this all happened. But, who else could have done it?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine,” Sheriff Bates said. “Why do you think it’s Jesse? Could have been Frank here. They’re his cows.”

Frank clenched his fists.

Will grabbed his arm.

“Don’t know ’bout Frank,” Finian said. “I do know that Jesse hated the two of you.” Finian’s pudgy face drooped and his lips tightened. “He complained to me how you cheated him, how it cost him his face and future. Why, you said so yourself that day we went looking for him. Didn’t you, Will?”

Will’s muscles tightened as he bristled at the memory of that day. He should have been more discrete.

“Well, didn’t you?”

Will nodded.

“We better find Jesse and bring him in for questioning,” Sheriff Bates said.

Finian snatched his hat off the desk and limped toward the door.

“Just a minute, McCarthy,” Bates said. “I’m not through with you yet.” He grabbed Finian’s arm and guided him toward the cellblock. “I’m going to hold you a bit longer, until we get to the bottom of this.”

Deputy Smith snarled, grabbed Finian by his grubby collar, and shoved him down the hall, Finian protesting at every step along the way.

“Take it easy, Smith,” Bates called. “Wait until he’s found guilty before you jostle him.”

Bates turned back toward the O’Shaughnessy brothers. “Smith gets a little rough with our clientele at times.” He grinned. “I tell him not to alienate my constituency. I don’t mind after they’re found guilty.” He emitted a deep belly laugh. “They can’t vote when they’re in the clink.”

A cell door clanged. Will heard Finian’s loud protests, followed by a shrill yelp, and then ponderous footsteps preceded Smith’s reentry into the room. “Glad to get rid of that man. He can scream his gripes at the walls for a while.”

“Do you know where Jesse could be, Will?” Sheriff Bates asked.

“I saw Jesse enter the grocery store an hour ago,” Smith said.

Might he have gone to the tavern?” Bates said.

“He doesn’t drink anymore,” Will said. “I’ve never seen him at the Waterin’ Hole.”

“I doubt that,” Frank said. “Once they start, they don’t stop. That’s what Grandpa said.”

“Smith, go see if you can find him. Bring him in. Go easy on him, mind you.”

“Sure, boss.” Smith sneered at Bates. “I always treat them right, now don’t I?”

Will jumped up as Smith headed out the door. “Frank, I’m going with the deputy. Go to my house. Tell Mary I’ll be home as soon as we find Jesse.”

Will ran after Smith, but he couldn’t keep up with the fast moving deputy. He heard Smith’s call up ahead, “Have you seen Jesse O’Shaughnessy?” The voice came from around the corner of a building.

A gravelly voice called back, “Down by the river.”

Will rushed onward, but people, drawn to the commotion, blocked his path as they raced forward on the heels of the agitated deputy. Will heard more calls from ahead. “He’s running along the river bank.” Will surged forward and pushed people aside. He had to reach the deputy before he got to his brother. He knew that Jesse must be insane with fright.

Then the crowd stopped and Will burst through. “Where’s Jesse?”

Deputy Smith drew his gun, and people edged toward widow Wilder’s house on the river.

“He ran through the front door,” Smith said.

“Put your gun away,” Will said. “I’ll go in.”

Deputy Smith began to holster his weapon. Then he rapidly drew it again when they heard screams from inside the house.

“What’s he doing to her?” Smith said.

“The poor woman’s scared,” Will said as he ran into the house. He had no sooner pushed through the door when he heard shouts behind him. “He’s running out the back.”

“Stop. Stop or I’ll shoot,” Smith hollered. “Stop, I said.”

Will heard a gunshot and feared the worst.

Will passed widow Wilder and her daughter, who huddled in the back entry and screamed like banshees but were apparently unhurt. He raced out the back door. As he exited the house, he heard another shot and saw Smith’s gun pointed in the air. Jesse stood on the river bank. He looked back, and then he leapt into the water.

Deputy Smith raced forward with his gun leveled, but before he could fire again, Will shouted, “He’s not a criminal. He’s just wanted for questioning.”

Smith turned toward Will who grabbed the gun from his hand and, without thinking, knocked the deputy head-over-teakettle into the rushing water, shouting, “Take that, Grandpa.”

Will recoiled for a moment when he comprehended his action and words, but he felt good about it. Maybe he hadn’t lost his manhood. He looked at the weapon in his hand, threw it into the water, stripped to his underclothes, and jumped in after Jesse. He sank deep, fought his way to the surface, and shook the water from his eyes. At first, he lost track of Jesse, but looked around while he treaded water. He saw hands reaching for the deputy who struggled in the water, but Smith’s welfare didn’t concern him. He whipped around and saw Jesse ahead, swimming toward a sandbar a hundred yards out. He wasn’t sure Jesse could make it. Jesse had never been a good swimmer, and Will wasn’t surprised to rapidly close in on his brother. He supposed that Jesse planned to run along the sandbar to where it spun off Turkey Island and then another mile up the island to where it rose less than thirty yards from the mainland. Will wouldn’t try to stop him. This was no time for Jesse to face a frenzied crowd and an angry, wet deputy. Maybe he could hide Jesse away and go back to Sheriff Bates for help.

Will figured he was safe on the mainland side of the island where the water eddied and slowed before it reentered the main channel at the sandbar’s end. He wanted to avoid the vicious undercurrents that swirled off the tip of the sandbar, awaiting the unwary. When he saw Jesse scramble onto the sand, Will treaded water and called, “Jesse, wait for me. Let me help.”

Jesse turned and trudged up the sand. He didn’t look back or respond to Will’s call.

Distracted, Will had drifted downstream and now approached the sandbar from below. He felt the tug of the river and knew he could be in trouble. He swam with all the energy he could muster. He had to make the sandbar. He had to catch his brother. Will stroked hard against the rushing water. “Jesse, stop!” he screamed as he turned his head to the side for air.

He stretched upward and sank his fingers into the sand, but the river’s fury grabbed hold of his lower body. Exhausted, he lifted his shoulders from the water and slithered onto the sand. The current sucked him back. He shouted, “Jesse, stop! Help me!”

And when Jesse saw Will’s plight, he did stop. At first, he slowly retraced his steps. When Will slipped backward, Jesse ran and reached for his brother’s hand as Will, completely spent, tried to pull himself up.

Jesse grabbed firm and pulled hard, but his feet slipped in the wet sand. He tightened his grip and stepped backward to gain leverage, but as he leaned back and pulled again, the sandbar crumbled under him, and he tumbled into the surging current. Jesse’s fingers slipped from Will’s hand. Will grabbed hold of his brother’s shirt and they plummeted along together.

Will knew better than to fight the current. The turbulence swept them downstream, sometimes high like a schooner running before the wind, sometimes submerged like a broken derrick. Fighting to stay on top, Will tried to get an arm free, but he clung to his brother. “Grab around my shoulders,” he shouted as he shifted under Jesse and held tight with one hand while he flailed the water with the other.

Jesse gripped Will’s shoulders. Then he slipped as the water whipped about them. When his grip loosened, he shifted forward and, for a moment, stared into Will’s eyes. “I didn’t do it. Tell Catherine—”

When the water pulled them under once more, Jesse let go of Will’s shoulders and he was gone.

Will started after him, but he couldn’t hold his breath any longer. Water filled his nose, his throat, and he began to suck it in. His brain went numb as he kicked hard toward the light ahead, pulled at the water with the strength that remained, and popped into the sunlight at the river bank’s calm. He gasped for air as hands pulled him up the slope and pumped life into his limp body. He spat muddy river water and it ran down his chin. He coughed a watery emission, again and again. “Where’s Jesse? Did you find Jesse?”

* * *

Two days later, Will felt no physical effects from his ordeal, but he couldn’t forget the look of despair on Jesse when he twisted back to look into Will’s face before he slipped under the water. He had proclaimed his innocence with such fervor that Will had no doubts—not about Jesse.

When Mary asked about it, he told how Smith had chased Jesse, how he had followed, but his confrontation with the deputy was a muddle in his mind. He could only think about Jesse grasping his hand and the water that engulfed them. He could only think about their struggle against the relentless current that spun them in circles and dragged them under. He didn’t want to talk about it, so he retreated to the barn and pitched hay in the loft.

When he and Petr had unloaded the summer’s last hay crop, the pulley on the fork had frozen, so they dropped the last forkful in the center runway. To make room above for that spilled in the runway, Will climbed the stacked hay and began to pitch it toward the barn’s far end. After fifteen minutes of throwing forkfuls under the hot roof, sweat poured down his forehead and into his eyes. When he stopped to pull his handkerchief, he heard Petr’s call from below.

“Will, you’ve been through an ordeal. Come on down. I’ll do that.”

Will wiped perspiration from his brow and shouted down, “I’ll finish this. Get the cows up.”

“We don’t milk for another hour. I’ll help.”

When Will heard the crunch of hay under Petr’s boots, he called, “Stay down, Petr. I’ll do this job.”

“Are you sure, Will?”

Will didn’t answer. He shoved his hankie into his back pocket and furiously pitched hay toward the loft’s far end. When the hay piled high, he moved forward and pitched more towards the back. He pitched until hay touched the track at the barn’s peak. He pitched until his arms ached and his head throbbed. He pitched until all images of Jesse were erased from his mind.

After the last hay was cleared from the center runway and he had no more hay to pitch, those images returned. Could he have grasped his brother at that final moment—a brother who had saved his life at the sandbar and had rescued Catherine that day at the river? Could he have made one last attempt to save Jesse? Will mulled that thought over and over.

Roberts and Henning didn’t wait for Will’s grief to subside. They came to his house and demanded that he go with them to the sheriff’s office.

“Will, you do the talking, but we expect action,” Roberts said. “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

Before Will could deliver his planned speech, Sheriff Bates was on him. “I was just sitting here trying to decide whether I should issue a warrant and go looking for you. Glad you’ve saved me the trouble. Tell me why I shouldn’t throw you in that cell back there?”

“I—”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t lock you up and throw away the key. You took my deputy’s gun and threw it into the river.” Bates pushed into Will. “You threw him into the river. I should charge you for interfering with the law in the line of duty. Assaulting an officer. Destruction of government property. Disorderly conduct. Let’s see.” He grabbed his duty book off the shelf. “I can probably find half a dozen things in here to throw at you.”

Will had had enough. He jabbed his finger at the sheriff. “That man should be relieved of his job. He has no business being a lawman. Firing his gun at a man you wanted for questioning. He’s incompetent. He has no business on the force. What’s he think this town is—Dodge City?”

“He says your brother wouldn’t stop. You were there. Why’d he run?”

“Your deputy shot at him! My god, man, he had his face blown away in the war. Wouldn’t you run, too?”

“S’pose so.” Bates dropped his duty book onto his desk. “Calm down, Will. There’ll be no action.” His shoulders drooped.

“We want to press charges,” Roberts shouted.

“Against who?”

“Against McCarthy,” Henning said.

“I released him,” Bates said.

“You let him go?” Roberts screamed.

“We’ll keep investigating, but there’s not a shred of evidence.”

“You think it was Jesse?” Will said.

“We’ll never know, will we? It seems likely, though.”

“He stared death in the face and swore that he didn’t do it, Sheriff. He saved my life.”

“Easy enough. T’wern’t no Bible.”

“Did they find his body?” Henning said.

“Not yet,” Bates said. “They think he may have snagged on a deadhead. He may not emerge for weeks.”

“It has to be Finian,” Will said. “Pains me to say it, but years ago, I saw Finian cheat a man out of a meal.”

“Lots of people cheated for meals in those days. ’Twas hardly a crime. Besides, that’s circumstantial evidence. I can’t arrest him on that.”

“He had a motive, Sheriff,” Will said. “People say he’s cash poor. He could’ve netted a hundred fifty, maybe more, on each cow he switched.”

“I can’t prosecute on could’ves. His alibi’s airtight. He was at the Dubuque Packing Company offices the whole week those cows were delivered.”

“He was less than two hours from Frank’s place. He might have slipped back.”

“You could claim the man exchanged steers for prime bulls, but that wouldn’t make it so. We’ll keep looking. I promise you that. I’ll let you know if we find something.”

Roberts stepped past Will and stared the Sheriff down. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not trying very hard? S’pose you’ve got better things to do than chase cow thieves. But someone’s going to pay for this.”

And Will had a pretty good idea who that someone was.