Chapter Forty-Five
"George Rawlings, Carl Benjamin, Walt Andrews and the others are ba-ack!" Charley Lundquist rather excitedly exclaimed as he came racing into the Wayfarer's and skidded to a halt in the middle of Miss Coopersmith's kitchen. The 'Save the Marshal Committee' had ridden out the moment it'd heard word that the hostages were safe. (Upon Mrs. Edwards' urging, Dulcey had convinced Elliot Polk that he would need Marshal Crown--if he was to ever get his brother out of the canyon. And, after the outlaw had left, Doctor Ellis had drugged the wounded Delliss, taken away his weapons, and then locked the cell that Polk had placed his partner in.)
Dulcey, who'd been sitting at her kitchen table--entertaining some cute little tyke with his fists full of wooden spoons--leapt to her feet and directed an incredibly concerned stare at their startling visitor, "Are Jim and Mrs. Edwards with them?!"
Her suddenly glum guest gave his hanging head a few sad shakes, "That Clayton Stevens fellah--an' fourteen others--rode off with the Marshal! An' ain' nobody seen hide nor hair a' Mrs. Edwards since she rode out after that polecat, Polk! Roger Mareck, Eugene Gordon, Dennis Bowlen an Luther Nyman are all dead! They jes' brought them in draped over their saddles!"
The look on Miss Coopersmith's pretty face was a mixture of equal parts horror, relief and confusion, "Why did they come back?! Why aren't they still out there?! They should be following those men who have the Marshal!"
"Accordin' ta Walt Andrews, the Marshal would a' gotten away...if'n they hadn' a' interfered. He'd got hisself clear a' Mister Mareck an' his men--somehow--an' Andrews claims it's on account a' their little committee that the Marshal got hisself recaptured!"
"That is all the more reason for them to be out there!" Dulcey angrily declared.
"For who to be out where?" Jarrod asked as he came strolling into the room.
"Those men who rode out to rescue Jim!" Jamie's babysitter obligingly, albeit bitterly, replied, "They've given up and come back without him!"
"WHY-Y?" the good doctor demanded, sounding equally bitter a-and angry.
"'Cu-uz!" Mr. Lundquist promptly explained, "Rutger's man--Stevens--swore they'd kill the Marshal if'n they didn't! An' they was already feelin' bad enuff 'bout gettin' 'im caught! Ain' none a' 'em wanted ta be the one that got 'im kill't!"
Miss Dulcey and Doctor Ellis exchanged very grave glances.
"Well, somebody has to do something!" the flustered young female finally determined.
"Maybe we should run this past Francis and see what he thinks..." Jarrod suddenly suggested.
"Is he awake?" Dulcey wondered.
"He was a minute ago," Doctor Ellis announced.
And then the three--er, four of them fled from the room.
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"...An' that's why nobody's all that anxious ta interfere again!" Charley Lundquist summed up several solemn minutes later for Jim Crown's incapacitated--an' completely prone--deputy.
"They'll kill him even if nobody interferes," Francis figured, "The Judge can't afford ta have Jim testify. They'll most likely take 'im ta the canyon an' claim ta wanna 'trade'--him for the 'Hampton brothers'. Then, as soon as they're all out in the open, Rutger's men'll put bullets in all three of 'em!"
Dulcey inhaled a horrified gasp and then turned--once again--to exchange very grave glances with Francis' frowning physician.
The girl was right! Somebody had to do something! But who?! And what?!
"I can't even hold my head up off a' this pillow..." Francis glumly announced. (It was because of his busted-in head that his boss had locked his legs to the foot of his bed.)
"I got a 'raw' nerve in my right leg that don' allow me ta set a horse..." Mr. Lundqust quietly confessed.
"I promised Katelyn I'd take care of Jamie..." Dulcey solemnly stated.
"I wouldn't know how to get to Adrian's Canyon..." Jarrod regrettably--and also somewhat relievedly--remarked.
"I kin draw you a map!" Francis immediately informed him.
"Bu-ut," the extremely anxious young man stammered, "it's DARK out there!"
"I'll pack planty of matches in with your food--and fill you a canteen!" Dulcey readily volunteered. And then she and the baby vanished.
"An' I'll saddle Lancer!" the lame liveryman eagerly added, "Jes' give 'im his head an' hang on! Lancer'll find the Marshal for you!"
"Have you ever fired a gun before?" Francis inquired of the now queasy looking young fellow.
"I uh, went bird hunting a few times with my father..." the young doctor rather uncertainly admitted.
"Better fix him up with a rifle," Francis advised the liveryman, who nodded and then left. "There should be a pencil on that dresser over there..." the deputy directed the doctor, "Hand it ta me."
Jarrod dutifully did.
And the reporter began plotting a course for him across the blank back of his single-paged newspaper.
And so, the who seemed settled. But that still left the what...
"All right, let's say I don't get lost," the now completely panic-stricken young physician sarcastically commented, in mid-pace. "What do you expect me to do-o when I get there?! I mean, the only people I'm trained to deliver are babies!"
For a few fleeting moments, Francis' thoughts flashed back to that morning--five years earlier--when he and Mac had backed Jim Crown at the river. "You'll do whatever you have ta do," the Deputy U.S. Marshal told him. "An', if you fai-ail? Well...at least you tried!"
The physician found little solace in Francis' words. And he didn't figure his folks would find much comfort in the fact that their son had died trying, either!
"Come here," the topographer urged, "an' I'll explain this map to you..."
Jarrod pulled up his hanging head and obediently crossed back over to the bed.
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Fifteen minutes later, the fully briefed--but still completely unprepared--physician followed Miss Coopersmith out of her Inn and into the town's incredibly dark Main Street.
Where Mr. Lundquist stood, holding the bit shanks of a bridled--and unbelievably tall--black horse--er, saddled saddlebred.
"I haven't ridden a horse in five years!" the young doctor confessed, "And I've never sat in a saddle like that before in my entire life!"
"You'll git the feel of it...after five or ten miles!" the liveryman solemnly--though not too seriously--assured him.
But Dulcey could see how terribly unsure of himself--and his mission--the young man still remained. And, sensing that the physician was in urgent need of some reassurance of a much stronger nature, the pretty Miss passed Jamie over to Mr. Lundquist and took Jarrod into her arms, "Promise me you'll be careful! And that you'll bring them back...No matter what happens, please, bring them back!"
It was hard for the physician to return her hug. (The doctor had his medical bag in his left hand and his canteen and saddlebags in his right.) But he gave it his best shot. And that is what Jarrod promised the pretty girl he'd give this hazardous little assignment of his, too--his best shot!
The grateful young lady then planted a kiss upon her hero's lips, which told the handsome young fellow--in no uncertain terms--that she would greatly appreciate it if he were to bring HIMSELF safely back to her, as well!
The couple's passionate embrace--combined with their lingering kiss--seemed to be just the inspirational send-off that Jarrod needed. For it was with a new found confidence that the doctor hung his canteen strap and the handle of his medical bag over his saddle's horn.
Mr. Lundquist returned the baby to his sitter--and then fastened the young fellow's fully loaded saddlebags onto the back of his seat for him. The liveryman then locked his hands together and offered to help the doctor aboard. (Since Miss Coopersmith had boosted the young man's morale, the least he could do was to boost his leg up.)
Jarrod settled confidently--but uncomfortably--down into his western seat. Then--after putting the map in his front pocket and the loaded rifle in the leather scabbord under his left leg--he gathered the reins up in his hands and turned the antsy animal towards the North end of town. Once they were going in the right direction, the doc recalled what Mr. Lundquist had said...and gave the horse his head. As they disappeared into the darkness, there was no doubt what-so-ever in the young man's mind. Either he was going to get himself lost--or...kill't! The thought also crossed his mind that things like this never happened to doctor's...in New Yo-ork.
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Less than an hour after the doctor's departure, the Army made its arrival in Cimarron.
Dulcey and Jamie watched--along with Mr. Lundquist--as Senator Fisher, Charley Adams, Lt. Mark Anderson, and thirty or so hot and hungry, tired and sweaty looking soldiers pulled up in front of her Inn--and the adjoining U.S. Marshal's Office.
The lieutenant's fatigued--and famished--troops looked up and down Cimarron's peaceful--and seemingly deserted--Main Street and reflected on their fearless leader's infamous last words before leaving the Fort. But, it seemed they'd just ridden over thirty miles--through the sweltering heat and humidity--to help some Marshal restore order--to a blankety-blank GHOST TOWN! Not only was the place not disorderly, it was out right--DEA-EAD! Yes sir! And the very thought that they'd just ridden all that way--all that hellishly hot day--for nothing really 'rankled' the ranks! Hopefully, there was a perfectly sound explanation for everything they'd just had to endure.
Thankfully, there was! And the pretty Inn keeper and the lame Livery owner took turns providing the new arrivals with the disturbing details of it.
Their listeners sat there in stunned silence--right up to the part about the Marshal being taken to some canyon to be killed. The overly-exhausted soldiers moaned and groaned aloud when they heard the name of the place. They knew that Adrian's Canyon was almost halfways back to the Fort! They also knew that they--an' their equally overly-exhausted horses--could never make it another fifteen plus miles! At least, not without adequate rest and refreshment.
When it was announced that the town's new doctor had ridden out to rescue the Marshal--all alone--the group's young leader managed a moa-oan of his ow-own.
Following their brief briefing, Senator Fisher, Mr. Adams and Lt. Anderson dismounted and disappeared inside the Wayfarer's.
Since Sergeant Coulter consented to babysit for her, Dulcey was able to rustle up what food remained from the Marshal's appreciation party and to slap together over thirty som sandwiches, which she then dutifully dispensed to the Lt'.s famished-looking--and still mounted--men.
After a quick conferment in Francis' sick room, the three missing members of their completely pooped little party emerged from the Inn and made the much dreaded announcement: they would be leaving for Adrian's Canyon just as soon as they could come up with adequate transportation.
The 'Save the Marshal Committee' was immediately dispatched to round up whatever 'fresh' horses might be found within a five mile radius of the town.
Their own completely done-in animals were unsaddled and turned out into the corrals down at the Livery, where Mr. Lundquist vowed to see to their needs.
It took the Committee close to two hours to commandeer enough 'fresh' mounts for the Lieutenant and his men. As the commandeered critters came in, the remounted soldiers rode off on them. Senator Fisher, Charley Adams and Lieutenant Anderson were amoung the first group to leave Cimarron in search of the Marshal and Mrs. Edwards--oh, and the foolhardy young doctor. It was the group's intention to catch up to Rutger's men before they reached the canyon-- where certain death awaited their captive--er, captives? The dread of what might lay ahead strengthened their resolve--and their totally exhausted selves--and the rescue party picked up the pace. They were in a race--against Rutgers a-and time!