CHAPTER 16
Kremmling, Colorado Territory
“What are you doin’ sleepin’ here in one of my stalls?” The man gave a harder than necessary kick to the bottom of Clell’s foot.
Clell sat up fast, a gun instantly appearing in his hand. He eared back the hammer, the cocking sound having a chilling effect.
The man put both hands up and jumped back. “Hold on there, mister, hold on!” he shouted, fear coloring his voice. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I was just wakin’ you up, is all.”
Clell stood up, then returned his gun to its holster. “To answer your question, I slept here because I didn’t want to leave my saddle unguarded. I had to put my horse down, and I need another one.”
“You . . . you’re stealin’ a horse from me?”
“What?” Clell frowned. “No. Who said anything about stealing a horse? I said I needed a horse. I want to buy one from you, if you have one for sale. If you don’t have one for sale, I’d appreciate it if you would tell me where I might buy one.”
“Oh. Well, you don’t have to go nowhere else,” the liveryman said, smiling at the prospect of a sale. “I’ve got some of the best horseflesh you ever laid your eyes on.”
“Really? I’ve seen some pretty good horses in my day,” Clell replied.
“Well, they, uh, might not be the best you’ve ever seen”—the stableman paused in mid-sentence—“but they’re damn good. How much money are you lookin’ to spend?”
“As much as it takes to get the horse I want.”
Again, the stableman was all smiles. “Come out back with me, and I’ll show you what I’ve got.”
Looking at the available horses, Clell had a sharp intake of breath when he spotted Dan. That was impossible, of course, but the horse was the spitting image of Dan. He walked over to him. “I want this horse.”
“Mister, I could tell you lies about how good that horse is, but the truth is, he’s at least seven or eight years old. If you look around, I’m sure you can find a younger horse, and one that would suit you better.”
“This is the horse I want,” Clell declared. His tone made it clear he wasn’t going to change his mind.
“All right, you’re the one paying for it. If that’s the horse you want, you can certainly have him. His name is Blackie.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Sure it is. That’s the name that was on the paper when I bought him.”
“His name is Dan,” Clell said.
Three quarters of an hour later Clell, mounted once more, was riding out of town. He passed by a gulley near a stream of water—he believed he remembered Nick referring to it as Muddy Creek—when he heard a voice that he recognized.
Nick was telling a small group of raggedy men about “the feller I had to pull onto the train or he woulda been runned over for sure.”
Clell smiled as he rode on.
Denver
“I don’t know what you did or said to my friend Frank Tanner while you were there,” Marshal Holloway said. “But he sent me a telegram singing your praises. That telegram was so long it musta cost him five dollars to send it. To spend five dollars on a telegram takes some kind of motivation.”
“The truth is, Sheriff Tanner did it himself,” Smoke said. “He’s the one who faced Holder down, and when Holder drew on him, he’s the one who shot him.”
“Yeah, he said something about you backing him up and helping him regain some face in that town.” Holloway cocked his head to one side. “Boy, you got a lot more smarts in you than most people your age. I don’t know how long you plan on bein’ my deputy, but I want you to know that I am right proud to have you with me for as long as you plan to hang on to that badge.”
“Thanks. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’m looking for the men who killed my pa. I figure that having this badge can only help. I mean, it helped me find the men who killed my ma.”
Holloway nodded. “I understand. I don’t like the idea of using a badge just for vengeance, but I certainly can’t complain about the way you’ve treated the job so far. You’ve been more than willing to take on any task I set for you. Anyway, since Sheriff Murchison has asked for our help in finding those same men that you’re looking for, we can’t exactly call it vengeance, can we?”
Smoke smiled. “No, sir, I guess we can’t.”
“I’ve been thinking about this, and I almost hate to offer it to you, for fear you’ll take me up on it. But you’ve certainly earned the right. How would you like to be a deputy emeritus?” Marshal Holloway suggested.
“A deputy what?”
“A deputy emeritus. Emeritus is what you call somebody who is retired, but has maintained the title and the authority. I think something like that is used mostly for college professors, but I don’t know why I can’t use it for you.”
“I’ll be. I’ve never heard of that word.”
“I think it would fit your situation perfectly. Basically, what it will do is give you the freedom to go or do what you want, while keeping your badge, and if I ever have anything specific that I want you to do, I’ll find some way to get in touch with you.”
“Wait a minute, are you telling me that I don’t have to report to you, but I can still have the authority of being a deputy U.S. marshal?”
“Yes.That is exactly what I’m telling you. That is, if you would like to do that.”
Smoke gave it only a moment’s thought. “Yes. I think I would very much like to do that.”
“The only thing about this kind of position, Smoke, is that you would no longer be on the payroll except when you are actually engaged in an official and specific operation.”
“That would be fine by me, Marshal. I appreciate you doing this for me.”
“Where do you plan to go first?”
“I’ll probably go back and check in with Preacher. Maybe stay around for a year or so.”
“You mean you’re going to give up looking for those three men you’ve been searching for?”
“I’m not giving up, exactly, I figure they’ll still be out there when I’m ready to start looking for them again. But Preacher isn’t getting any younger, and truth to tell, I don’t know how much longer he’s going to be around. He’s the closest thing to family I’ve got. And I’m more than likely the only family he’s ever had, so I’d like to spend some time with him. I’ll never let him know that, though. He’d be so embarrassed he’d probably run me off.”
“I wouldn’t doubt that for a minute,” Holloway said with a little laugh. “All right, take a year, eighteen months, two years if need be. The badge is yours to keep, and anytime you’re ready, come on back and I’ll find something for you to do. You take care of that old man now, you hear? He’s as much a part of this territory as the Rocky Mountains themselves.”
“I will, Marshal. And thanks again for doing this for me.”
Bury
Sally Reynolds sat primly in a chair at a meeting of the school board.
“It has been reported, Miss Reynolds, that you have been seen keeping company with Janey Garner and Flora Yancey,” the president of the school board said with an ominous frown.
Sally nodded and said simply, “Yes.”
“Yes?” The school board president’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead like a pair of bushy worms. “You mean you don’t deny it?”
“Why should I deny it?”
“Do you not feel a sense of shame for keeping company with those people?”
“No, why should I feel shame? Miss Garner and Miss Yancey are both friends of mine.”
“But surely you can see the impropriety of that,” Mrs. Pinknell said, leaning forward and staring at her through a pair of pince-nez wire-rim glasses.
“No, I cannot see any impropriety in that,” Sally said. “Janey and Flora are my friends. There are not that many women in Bury with whom I can be friends, and I feel very lucky to have encountered some unmarried women who are near my age, and whose company I find to be entertaining.”
“It has also been reported that you have been seen going into, and leaving, the Pink House,” declared one of the male members of the Board of Education.
“I sometimes go there to play whist with my friends.”
“Miss Reynolds,” Mrs. Pinknell said. “Are you totally unaware of the profession followed by the young women who reside in the Pink House?”
“I have been given to believe that they are prostitutes.” Sally raised an eyebrow. “Have I erred in that belief?”
Sally’s frankness was totally unexpected by the members of the board, as they had thought she would dissemble and obfuscate.
“Uh, yes, that is what they are. Do you see nothing wrong with that?” the board president said.
“Well, it isn’t an occupation that I would care to follow,” Sally said with a slight shrug. “But then, neither would I want to be a lawyer, or a horse trader, or a pawnbroker.” She smiled, knowing she had named the occupations of at least three of the board members.
Mrs. Pinknell glared at her and said, “I’m afraid that you are going to have to give up your friendship with these women or we will be forced to remove you from your position as a schoolteacher.”
“All right,” Sally said.
Mrs. Pinknell smiled triumphantly. “I’m glad you see it our way. Then we can be assured that you will no longer keep company with those women?”
“No,” Sally replied. “When I said all right, I meant you can go ahead and remove me from my position as schoolteacher. I have no intention of turning my back on my friends.”
“What?” Mrs. Pinknell gasped. “Miss Reynolds, you can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I’m quite serious. And, as I shall no longer be employed by the school board, I understand that I shall have to give up my quarters, so I will look for a new apartment immediately.”
“Wait, now. Let’s not be too hasty here.” The president of the board held up his hand. “Give us a moment of deliberation, would you?”
“Yes, of course.” Sally stepped out of the room for a moment.
“We can’t ask her to step down,” he said to the others. “There is no way we could get a new schoolteacher for next year at this late date. It’s already March.”
“But she has been seen in a brothel!” objected one of the others.
The president frowned. “Who would know this, except habitués of such an establishment? I hardly think their opinion is valid. I say we let the whole thing drop.”
“Well I, for one, am opposed to letting it drop,” Mrs. Pinknell said.
The president sighed. “You’re only one vote. I say she stays, and I say we vote now.”
An immediate vote was taken, and the outcome of the vote was to retain Sally Reynolds as teacher for the Bury Grammar School.
* * *
Janey laughed about it as she and Sally shared dinner that evening at the Gold Nugget Restaurant. “I would love to have seen the expression on that old biddy Hortense Pinknell’s face when the board voted to keep you on as teacher.”
“Would you? Well, I can show you the expression.” Sally pursed her lips, squinted her eyes, and made wrinkles appear around her nose.
“Stop!” Janey said, laughing even harder. “You should go on the stage. You mimicked her perfectly.”
“You know Mrs. Pinknell, do you?”
“Oh, indeed I do,” Janey said. “Sometimes I’ll have Mr. Jefferies drive down the street by Mrs. Pinknell, even if it is out of the way . . . just so I can see her stick her nose in the air. One of these days, she’s doing to do that and a bird is going to drop a little bird turd right in one of her nostrils.”
Sally had just lifted a fork, but she had to drop it, she laughed so loud at Janey’s comment. “Oh, Janey, hush. You’re going to make me laugh so hard that the manager will come kick us out of here.”
“No, he won’t. The PSR owns this restaurant. Laugh all you want.”