Chapter Fifty-One
U.S. Marshal James Crown's bed-ridden backside had begun killin' 'im so that, by the third day--he was sittin' up and, by the fourth--he was standin'!
"It's open!" the half-dressed lawman told whoever it was that was 'rappin'' on his room's door.
Francis Wilde's heavily bandaged head poked itself into Marshal Crown's quarters and he gave his still a bit pale lookin'--and equally heavily bandaged--boss an accusing glare, "You s'posed ta be out a' bed?"
"Are you-ou?" his boss asked right back.
The writer looked a bit sheepish and quickly changed the subject, "Kin I talk ta you for a minute?"
"Sure! C'mon in," the lawman warmly invited, but then looked a little nervous, "Unless it's about that 'dream' a' yores! Then, I don' wanna hear it!"
The reporter looked unsure as to whether or not he should enter, for he had, indeed, come to discuss his 'dream'. Or, rather, to talk about how to stop his 'dream' from becoming a reality! He took a chance and entered, closing the door behind him as he did so. "There's not much I kin do to undo the damage. But there is somethin' you kin do ta minimize it. Please, Jim?! For yore sake--an' mine?! PROMISE me you won't ever go out in public WITHOUT yore gun?!"
The Marshal--who was now but one boot shy of bein' fully dressed--paused in mid-pull to shoot his anxious young guest a deeply skeptical glance.
"I know--I know how strongly you feel about this!" Francis assured him, "Sometimes--when you get back--why, you're barely through the door and you've already got yore gun belt off! But I can't help but think a' how diff'rently my 'dream' might a' ended if you would a' only had a gun! You could a' fired back as you dove for cover! A gun might a' saved yore life!"
"Fra-ancis--" his even more skeptical boss began.
"Just hear me out!" his even more anxious young friend interrupted--er, pleaded. "I ain't slept in days! Every time I close my eyes, I relive that 'nightmare'! Yore promise'll grant me at least some peace a' mind. I know you think I'm bein' irrational," the guilt-ridden reporter declared. "But I cain't help the way I feel! I feel that yore life is in a whole lot a' danger! An' I feel that it's all my fault," he softly--and sadly--summed up.
His boss did--indeed--think that he was bein' irrational...totally irrational! But, after days without any sleep--who wouldn' be?! Jim Crown's face scrunched up a might--as he considered his deputy's little proposition over...an' over...an' over, "Never ever?"
"Never, never ever !"
The Marshal winced, "That could tend ta be a bit...'awkward' at times..."
His deputy shot him a pitiful, pleading--almost desperate look.
Jim Crown sighed--an' surrendered, "All right, Francis--if it'll make you sleep any easier..." (If it would make him sleep period!)
The author of 'Taming the Territory' looked tremendously relieved, "Promise?"
His boss' eyes narrowed and he exhaled another sigh--this one of exasperation, "I promise!"
The deliriously happy deputy suddenly looked pensive', "Promise you will always remember yore 'promise'!" Francis further proposed.
The Marshal's already squinting eyes narrowed into menacing slits. (His sleepless deputy was pushin' it!) "I promise...that I will do my best...ta ALWAYS remember my 'promise'."
Francis gave his obliging boss a grateful smile--along with his gun belt.
Jim stomped his boot all the way on. Then he stood up and started--rather reluctantly--to strap on his gu-un. "It's open!" he called out--with just a trace of irritation--to the latest 'knocker' on his door.
And MacGregor strolled merrily into the Marshal's chambers. But--as the Scotsman noted the pallor of the completely upright peace officer's face, a scow-owl filled his own, "Is it no', perhaps, just a tad bit premature for you ta be vacatin' that bed?!"
"The longer a body lies in bed, the longer it takes 'im ta get goin' again," his bent over boss wisely? surmised. Then he finished fastening the tie-down, (which kept his holster from floppin' around) straightened stiffly--an' sorely--up and calmly asked if his Chief Deputy had anything to report.
"Every thing has been returned to its 'rightful' place, and every one is on their 'best' behavior," the deputy dutifully reported. "After all, there are no fewer than four U.S. Marshals in town. Five--countin' yerself. And eight Deputy U.S. Marshals. Ten--if you include Francis and me. Five Town Marshals, and an entire company of U.S. Cavalry troops! With close to a thousand more soldiers due to arrive any day! Oh, and Mr. Winsom brought this wire over for you..." Mac added and passed his pale--and pigheaded--boss the piece of paper he'd been holding in his hand.
The lawman opened the telegram and related its contents--aloud, "Roger Mareck's assistant in the Justice Department was Blaise Phillip's secretary--a Mrs. Sandra Riesen..whose maiden name happens to be Sandra Mareck!" So-o, it was Roger Mareck's relative that had engineered the interception of his telegrams and waylaid his aid!
Katelyn came along just then--and was about to comment on her husband's having left his bed--when she noticed the daring--defiant even--look in his narrowed eyes.
He was daring her to say something like, 'Should you be out of be-ed?!'
So the lady flashed the lawman the loveliest of smiles and said, "It's about time you got up!" instead.
That look of defiance in the Marshal's dark eyes changed to one of amusement. He gave the beautiful woman back her smile, "I'm late for my rounds," he nonchalantly announced, and--after planting a kiss on the pretty lady's lovely brow--he tipped his hat and began heading for the door.
"Morning rounds have already been made," MacGregor informed him.
"Not by me-e they haven't," he reminded Mac. Then, jes' before leavin' the room, Jim turned to Francis and strongly suggested that his sleepy lookin' young friend, "Go get some shut eye!"
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The Marshal made his rounds--for the last time. (With Martial Law now in effect, the lawman was no longer needed to keep the peace. Soldiers of the United States Army would now be patrolling Cimarron's streets.) Then he held a joint conference in his office--of all law officers in the immediate area.
Jim Crown's fellow Marshal's were as amazed by the unmitigated gall of Roger Mareck--as he was!
In going through the deceased's things, papers had been discovered in which plans were uncovered. The arrogant entrepreneur had arranged (through bribery and extortion) to have Cimarron named as the new Territory's seat of Government, and himself appointed Territorial Governor! Certainly the new Territory's citizens would have had something to say about tha-at!
The Marshal pointed out that the little man had been too full of himself to pay 'them' any attention. He also pointed out that THEY had all arrived too late to be of any assistance! (Which everyone agreed was typical of the way the Government functioned--er, dysfunctioned!)
So-o, after sharing a bottle or two of his best 'company' whiskey with them, the peace officer passed along the notion that it was time for them all to go back where they came from--himself included! The task of maintaining Civil Order in the Territory was now in the hands of the Army.
Speakin' a which...
No sooner had Jim Crown's 'company' left, when Senator Fisher and Lieutenant Anderson entered his office--er, correction, Lieutenant Colonel Mark Anderson!
"Congratulations, Lieutenant--Colonel?!" the Marshal stated and stood there, looking completely perplexed. The young officer had--somehow--been promoted right on past the ranks of Captain and Major! Jim glanced knowingly at his ole buddy from back East.
Dave saw the lawman's look and shrugged, "I have this...friend in the War Department. The General just happened ta owe me a couple a' favors. An' anyways, he earned it! It weren't exactly easy savin' yore 'bacon'!"
Just as Jim Crown was about to comment, himself, on the young man's meritorious actions, Dulcey Coopersmith came barging in to his office--all excited.
"Listen to this!" the girl urged and began to read--what appeared to be--a telegram, "While it is not customary for them to do so, United States Territorial Marshal's do have the juris prudence to perform marriages! Therefore, all such contracts would be both legal and binding--even in the absence of witnesses! Respectfully, Judge William L. Fulton, Federal Justice for the Superior Court of the State of Kansas!" Then, to her adopted father, she exclaimed--most joyously, "You really are married! It really is legal! And you can 'legally' marry us!" she added--as her 'Stranger' came strolling into the room.
"I've been looking all over for you!" the doctor declared, and flashed his errant patient--and not his pretty fiancee--a rather foreboding frown, "You rip those sutures out--That's it! I'm not sewing you up again!"
The lawman completely ignored his frowning physician's threats and directed his undivided attention towards Dulcey, "Martial Law has been declared. Which means that the Army is in charge of the Territory now. I no longer have any jurisdiction here. I'm not a 'Territorial Marshal' anymo--"
"Normally," Senator David Samuel Fisher suddenly cut in, "that would be the case. However, the President's 'Directive' gives you complete control of the Army. Which means that you-ou are still the highest FEDERAL authority in the Strip! You were a 'Territorial Marshal' at the time of yore own wedding, and you'll be one at the time a' their wedding, too!"
The 'Territorial Marshal' found his old friend's little revelation most astoundin'! He really was 'married'! It really was 'legal'! And he legally could marry them!
Jarrod glanced up from the telegram Dulcey had handed him and shot his vertical--and still ghostly pale--patient another look of extreme annoyance. "He'll probably pass out--right in the middle of the ceremony!" the groom-to-be rather glumly predicted.
Jim was about to inform the kid that he was feelin' jes' fi-ine!--when his beautiful WIFE arrived with their son in her arms--and a wire in her hand.
"My sister's comin' ta Cimarron!" the pretty little lady joyously proclaimed, "She'll be arrivin' on this afternoon's train!"
Her husband appeared pleasantly surprised, but then looked thoughtful--and even a little panicky, "It mus' be close ta two, now!" he realized right out loud. "I'd better change an' get on down ta that depot! When a man meets his 'in-laws' for the first time," Jim Crown continued, plucking the paper from Jarrod's palm and passing it on to his spouse, "he wants ta make a good impression!" Then he flashed the confused female a wry grin and left to go see about makin' as good a first impression as he possibly could.
The little lady perused the piece of paper the peace officer had placed in her hand for a moment or two. Then her face lit up and her head snapped up, "I knew it!" Mrs. Crown rather proudly--and loudly--declared. "I could feel it!" she added--somewhat reverently, "It jes' 'felt'...right!"
"There you are Dulcey, girl!" MacGregor exclaimed as he came sailing into the Federal Marshal's Office. "Ah just got a telegram from Sarah Burke! She's comin' back for a visit! Yah do no' suppose you could find a room for her here--at the Inn?!" he pleadingly pondered.
"Oh, Mac, that's wonderful! Yes! Of course!" the Innkeeper promised, "We have plenty of room!" (Wishing to devote all of her time to tending to Jim and Francis, Dulcey had kept the Wayfarer's closed--to the general public.) "When will she be arriving?"
"In about fifteen minutes!" MacGregor anxiously answered, "Do Ah need a shave?"
It was then that Dulcey realized the Scotsman was sporting his best--and only--suit.
"You look very handsome!" she assured the 'suitor', suppressing a smile all the while.
"Ah, Ah could change," Mac anxiously determined, "The two o'clock is never on time!"
"I wouldn't change a thing!" the now grinning girl reassured him.
Mac heaved a sigh of relief and then glanced around the room. It was then that he noticed the Marshal was absent, "Where's Ji-im?"
Katelyn passed the late arrival both telegrams, "He's upstairs--workin' on a good impression."
"My wife and my assistant will also be arrivin'--shortly," the Senator said, "Maggie'll be stayin' with me. But we'll be needin' a room for Jordan..."
"No problem!" his hospitable host informed him, "Just tell the baggage handler to bring over their luggage!"
Dave gave the obligin' gal a grateful smile and then turned to the doctor, "You're a lucky young man!"
Jarrod stared dreamily into his betrothed's soft, blue eyes and whispered rather wistfully, "Don't I know it!" Doctor Kilghren had wired that his sister had surprisingly recovered and so he would be returning to his practice in Cimarron. Jarrod had received two telegrams, himself. One--from New York. And the other--all the way from Paris! The Board of Directors at that New York hospital wired, begging him to reconsider the surgical position they were offering. Monsieur Pasteur had put it plain and simple: Jarrod had a natural, God-given, surgical ability and he shouldn't waste it by running away. The skilled young surgeon had discussed the matter over with Dulcey. The girl would go along with whatever her husband considered--or, reconsidered--doing. Ye-es, he was a lucky young man, all right! They would be leaving for New York--just as soon as affairs there--in Cimarron--could be settled.
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Jim Crown fastened and refastened the black ribbon tie about his neck--'til it looked jes' ri-ight. Then he stepped back from his dresser bureau and scrutinized his spit an' polished reflection in its spit an' polished mirror. The peace officer was sporting his sharpest black, three-piece suit. And his Peace-Maker. The big, bulkey, .45 caliber Colt (clearly visible beneath his coat) was not the kind a' first impression he had wanted ta make. But, a promise was a promise! He slapped his Stetson back on and began headin' for the door.
"What's the occasion?" Francis Wilde wondered as he bumped into his all spruced up boss in the hall--just outside his room.
"I'm about ta meet my wife's sister for the first time!" Jim told him. Then, upon seeing the bizarre-lookin', telescopin', glass-lensed, box-shaped contraption in the reporter's hands, he pondered, "That yore revolutionary new camera?"
The revolutionary new camera's owner/operator nodded, "The, uh, papers back East want pictures a' all the people pourin' inta town."
Satisifed, the Marshal turned and started striding confidently off--in the direction of the stairs. "Sleep well?" Jim queried--as Francis caught up with him.
"Like a baby!" the writer replied and matched the armed Marshal--stride for stride.
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"We-ell!" Katelyn exclaimed as she caught her first glimpse of her handsome husband, "I don' know 'bout my kid sister, but I am certainly impressed!"
The transformed Marshal smiled and kissed the pretty, impressed lady for her compliment.
"Then," Francis suddenly said, sounding rather nervous, "yore sister is younger than you...?"
Katelyn nonchalantly nodded. But then it dawned on her what the writer was gettin' at--and she turned back to shoot the good-lookin' fellah in the three-piece suit an anxious--no-o, an alarmed glance.
Jim watched as the woman's rather alarmed expression spread to the rest of his friends' faces. The Marshal groaned in mental anguish--as he realized that everybody in the room had--regretably--just recalled the journalist's rather tragic reverie--e-er, 'nightmare'! (Upon the young doctor's insistance, Dulcey had related the 'dream' to Jarrod. And the Senator had mentioned the incident to Charley Adams and the young Lt....Colonel.) "As a common courtesy ta yore sister," Jim Crown announced with narrowed eyes, "I am goin' down ta the depot ta meet that train! An' I don' want ta hear another word about that--DREAM!" And, with that--and one, last menacing glare--the courteous--an' furious--lawman stormed out of his office!
And left everybody just a standin' there!