Chapter Seven
And, speaking of hope...
Hoping to save his horse--and his already saddle-weary self--for the 'escape from the Fort alive' part of his 'plan', the Marshal took his time traversing the distance between Gault's Spring and the desolate army outpost to which he was headed. So it was that it was nearly one that afternoon when Crown finally 'snuck into Fort Dawes the back way to collect his prisoner'. He left stealth at the front gate and went barging brazenly into the Commanding Officer's quarters.
Where a young corporal leapt to his feet and attempted to block the very determined looking lawman's forward progress, "Ahh..Sir? You can't--"
"As you were!" Crown advised, brushing the still somewhat stunned soldier aside and throwing the door to the Commanding Officer's office open.
Blakesley appeared. And what he appeared to be was, at first, startled...and then stunned...and then absolutely astounded.
The lawman entered the room and strolled right up to the Major's desk, "Don' bother!" he said as the senior officer shoved his chair back and started gettting to his feet, "Jes' turn Tanner over ta me an' I'll turn right around an' high tail it on out a' here."
The Major closed his mouth--which was still agape--and averted his eyes--which were still filled with surprise--and settled obediently, though rather uneasily, back down in his seat...where he began to fidget something fearful. It was blatently obvious to any observer that Blakesley was finding the Marshal's sudden appearance more than a little unsettling.
The Corporal shot his C.O. a concerned look, "Sir?!" he shouted, sounding anxious, "Shall I call the guards?!"
"You do that, Corporal," Crown suggested, his gruff voice filled with sarcasm, "An' have 'em bring me over my prisoner while you're at it."
The Corporal waited expectedly for some command to be issued to the contrary, but his Commander just continued to just sit there, silently.
Crown glanced back over his shoulder and saw that the Corporal's concerned look had been turned into one of utter confusion. "Yah know, you people are actin' as though you weren't expectin' ta see me here this afternoon. What's the matter, Major?" the Marshal inquired, directing his gaze and his sarcasm back at the now sweating, still seated, still silent turncoat, "Didn't yah get my telegram...telling yah I was comin'?"
Blakesley was a long time answering. "I got it..." he mumbled finally and continued to completely avoid his interrogator's eyes.
"But you had no reason ta believe I'd ever really get here now, did you," Crown continued, "on account a' how you must a' also got a message from Mareck--sayin' I wasn't comin'."
The Major appeared suddenly to be sweating more profusely and fidgeting more fearfully.
The Marshal's face filled with an expression that was equal measures of disgust and determination again. "I'll take Tanner off yore hands now. That is, if yah haven't already released 'im...or had 'im shot in the back while tryin' ta escape...or some other such nonsense," he finished, sounding every bit as disgusted and determined as he looked.
Blakesley cleared his throat and finally spoke up with at least some semblance of authority, "Corporal Downes!"
"Sir!" the young soldier acknowledged, snapping himself to attention.
"Have the Marshal's prisoner and the prisoner's horse brought here at once!"
"Yes, Sir!" Corporal Downes clicked his heels smartly together. Then he about-faced and disappeared from the doorway--at once!
"I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised ta find he's still here," Crown reasoned aloud, "After all, releasin' 'im with me makes more sense, don' it...makes it more convenient for yore friends out there...ta keep their targets tagether, I mean."
The Major's eyes remained averted, and his mouth remained mute.
The Marshal turned to leave, but then remembered something and turned back again. "I don' suppose there's any chance of you grantin' my request for a military escort back ta Hardesty?" he inquired sarcastically.
"That will be all, Marshal!" Blakesley warned, suddenly sending the voice he had been saving booming out into the room.
Crown gave the lousy traitor one last determined, disgusted glare. "You wish, Major..." he informed him icily. "You wi-ish..." he restated softly, repeating a rather unmistakable warning of his own. Then he turned quietly and quickly took his leave of both the Commanding Officer and his quarters.
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"Marshal!" Lieutenant Anderson greeted him as he stepped back out onto the wooden porch in front of the building.
"Ah, Lieutenant. I was jest about ta go lookin' for you," Crown calmly confessed. Then, after taking a cautious look around, the lawman took the young officer by the arm and started escorting him out into the middle of the yard. "First..." he said when he was finally satisfied that they were out of everyones earshot but their own, "I'd like ta thank you for gettin' me here in time. An' second, I'm afraid I'm gonna be needin' yore assistance once again...in gettin' me--an' my prisoner--out a' here..alive!" he added solemnly and took another cautious look around.
The Lieutenant noticed the looks and the nervous edge to the Marshal's lowered voice, and glanced rather nervously around himself, "This 'trouble' you're anticipating...Is it going to be coming from inside or outside the Fort?"
"Both!" Crown told him. "Tanner's boss intercepted yore telegram. Now Mareck's expectin' his current employees--yore Major there included--ta make Tanner an ex-employee an' me an ex-Marshal."
The Lieutenant's youthful face filled with looks of shock, then anger, then worry, then--finally--curiosity, "Exactly how much trouble are you anticipating?"
"Besides the 'Major' source--in there, there may be as many as fourteen more 'minor' sources--out there," the lawman replied, flicking his gaze from the C.O.'s front door to the Fort's front gate.
The Lieutenant looked even more shocked, and angered, and worried--and curious--than before, "How did you ever make it in here, in the first place?"
"I snuck in the back way."
The Lieutenant looked duly impressed--and then more worried and anxious then ever, "Marshal, maybe the two of you should just stay here. I mean, if I were to help you, and you and your prisoner did, some how, manage to make it out of here alive--with the odds fifteen to two against you--I'm afraid you wouldn't get very far with him."
"I know," Crown calmly replied. "That's where you come in, Lieutenant. I need yore help in evadin' an' lowerin' those odds, out there," he explained, flicking his gaze to the open gate again.
"So-o, you want me and some other 'volunteers' to go A.W.O.L. and provide the two of you with an escort back to Hardesty. Is that it?"
"No-o, 'cuz then Mareck's Major'd prob'ly have you's all shot for desertion. An' I wouldn't want that on my conscience." Crown was forced to suppress a smile, seeing the young officer couldn't look any more baffled. Or could he? "When's yore next patrol due ta leave the Fort?"
"Any minute now. Why?"
"Lieutenant, I'd like yore permission for Tanner an' I ta tag along."
"Permission denied!" the Lieutenant replied, sounding positively horrified by the very idea, "Why, you'd probably be picked off before we even got a hundred yards from the front gate! And I wouldn't want that on my conscience."
The young officer's tactic of turning the tables on the Marshal forced the lawman to suppress another smile, "Lieutenant, if you'll jes' let me explai--"
"No, Marshal!" the Lieutenant interrupted, sounding quite adamant, "I'm sorry. But I must advise you to just stay put--for now."
The Marshal managed a resigned sigh and then gazed up at the now partially overcast sky. "Looks like we might be in for a little rain later on this afternoon," he observed rather nonchalantly. "Might be a good idea ta issue yore men some rain gear, Lieutenant," he added, passing on a little sound advice of his own, "Yes-sir, nothin' covers a man better...or provides more protection for 'im from the various...'elements' than a good army raincoat. Come ta think of it," the lawman lowered his gaze back to the Lieutenant, "I don' suppose I could talk you inta loanin' me a couple of 'em?" he wondered and then watched as a grin gradually appeared on the young officer's face--along with a look of gradual comprehension.
"Your request to ride out with the patrol is granted, Marshal! And, as for the raincoats, I'll requisition them personally. Along with two fresh mounts," the Lieutenant added as Corporal Downes--and two soldiers from the guard house--came striding up with the Marshal's prisoner--and the prisoner's pokey-looking pinto--in tow.
"Make that one fresh mount," Crown requested, and finally released the smile he'd been suppressing earlier. "And thank you very much, Lieutenant," he added, nodding gratefully. "I owe you one...well, two, actually," he corrected lightly.
"So-o...Who's counting?" the Lieutenant quipped, equally lightly. But then quickly turned serious again as he turned to pass on some orders to his men. "We'll be pulling out in fifteen minutes!" he concluded finally and turned back to the Marshal to see if that met with his approval.
"The sooner the better!" Crown told him truthfully. Considering that Dulcey's party was due to begin in a little under seven hours now and he figured he was still a little over eight hours of hard riding away--and that was a conservative figure. One which allowed him only three hours to complete the detour to and through Adrian's Canyon. A-and one which assumed he wouldn't run into any trouble at the river crossing.
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And, speaking of 'trouble'...
'Mister' Roger Mareck drew the curtain back from the window of his second-story office and stared down at all the teams and buggies and buckboards which were already beginning to line up outside the Wayfarer's Inn--which was situated kind of kitty-cornered from his Land Development Company. "My, my, my!" he mused to his three ever-present henchmen, "Would you look at all the hubbub going on down there! Why folks must be pouring into town from miles around! Just for the Marshal's party tonight--Cimarron's social event of the year! Which, by the way, by some horrendous oversight, we never received an invitation to attend. But that's all right. Because once they hear of their guest-of-honor's untimely demise, in Hardesty this morning, they're sure to call the whole thing off, anyways." Mareck glanced back over his shoulder to exchange smirks with his men again. "Yes?!" he told whoever it was that suddenly rapped on his office door.
One of the lawyers from downstairs poked his head into the room, "Judge Rutgers is here to see you."
"Rutgers?!" a frown appeared on Mareck's face and he let the curtain fall back into place. "What's he doing here? He's not due in Cimarron for another week yet!"
"Maybe he decided to deliver the good news in person?" one of his bodyguards suggested helpfully.
"No wonder we haven't heard from him all day," another realized aloud, "He must have been on his way here from Hardesty."
"Send him up!" Mareck ordered gruffly, his frown transforming into an outright scowl.
The lawyer nodded and closed the door.
Then it reopened and Judge Rutgers appeared, sporting a real prize winning scowl of his own. The justiciary just stood there, looking too upset for words.
"I hope you're not waiting for me to clear the room," Mareck told the mute magistrate. "This is as private as it gets," he added, waving an arm in the direction of his cohorts. "So-o..." Mareck continued, growing impatienter with each passing silent second, "Is Crown dead or isn't he?!"
"I don't know!" Rutgers replied, sounding enraged.
"What do you mean, you don't know?! Where is he?!" Mareck demanded, sounding equally enraged.
"I have no idea where the Marshal is!" his judgeship shouted, "But I can tell you where he wasn't! He wasn't on that train when it pulled into Hardesty this morning! And I had my men covering every exit out of town--just as you ordered!"
Mareck looked stunned and then skeptical, "But he had to be on that train! I saw him get on it myself!"
The judge just rolled his eyes in an obvious 'oh brother' fashion.
Mareck gasped in exasperation. "Well, no matter!" he reasoned, trying to make the best of a potentially disasterous situation, "Even if he does make it to the Fort, he'll never leave there alive! My boys will see to that! And, once Crown is taken care of, things can proceed as planned."
Rutgers looked like he was about to laugh right out loud, but then reconsidered it, "That is exactly what I have been trying to tell you for the past two weeks now! I told you not to even bother coming to town until Crown was taken care of!"
"And I told you that we had less than a month!" Mareck countered, "You had your chance--and you failed! You said you would have Crown out of the way by the time I arrived-- and you failed! Well, I waited until I couldn't wait any longer. I had to get started before word of the Outlet's opening got out and about."
"Speaking of word getting out and about!" Rutgers shouted, suddenly recalling the real reason for his rage and his visit, "How could you have been such a complete and utter foo-ool?! If you had to confront Crown again, whatever possessed you to pick Main Street, Cimarron, as the place to do it?! Do you realize that half the town heard you threaten the Marshal's life?! Half the town heard Crown say that he knows Blakesley and I are on your payroll! And right now that half is busy telling the other half--so that the whole town is out there talking about your little confrontation with the Marshal this morning!"
This time it was 'Mister' Mareck's turn to look too upset for words. "How dare you--?!" the 'complete and utter foo-ool' began finally, only to be interrupted by more loud rapping noises. "What no-ow?!" he demanded, directing the full force of his displeasure on the poor, unfortunate door rapper.
The door opened a crack, "This just came for you..." an intimidated individual announced timidly. Then an arm popped into the room and proferred a folded slip of paper. One of Mareck's bodyguards grabbed the message...the arm rapidly retreated and the door quickly closed.
Mareck took the telegram which was passed on to him and perused it. "Well, now I know where the Marshal is," he muttered calmly, and the beginnings of another smirk began to form and replace the scowl on his face,"And where he'll stay. Unless they decide to bring him back here for burial..." he added, making another 'smirk exchange' with his trio of henchmen, "Crown's at the Fort and Blakesley just turned Tanner over to hi--"
"Now that was really STUPID!" Rutgers interrupted, his rage rising up again, "Killing that Indian! The Marshal and that Indian went wa-ay back!"
"Oh yeah?!" Mareck shouted, his own eyes flashing with fury, "Then he'll be pleased to know that his 'Indian-loving friend' is on his way to join him in the 'happy hunting grounds'!"
His bodyguards grinned.
Mareck's gaze softened and he sauntered over to his liquor cabinet to pour himself and his companions some liquid refreshment, "Besides, that's all water under the bridge. From now on, it'll be clear sailing," he stopped suddenly and turned to one of his men, "Gordy, tell that 'MacGregor' character I want to talk to him--at his earliest convenience."
Gordy acknowledged his boss' order with another smirk and nod before getting up and leaving the room.
Judge Rutgers just stood there, sadly shaking his head. "That's the trouble with you, Mareck!" he realized aloud, "You don't learn from your mistakes. So you keep making the same ones...over and over again."
Mareck counted to ten and then counted to ten again. "For example?" he wondered, struggling desperately to maintain control of his temper and his voice.
"You keep underestimating the Marshal! I made that mistake once myself--when I hired those professional killers to do him in. Being a professional lawman, Crown spotted those men as professional killers the moment they hit town. He arrested the both of them and slapped them in a jailcell before they ever had a chance to do anything. They're now serving three consecutive life terms each, in Levinsworth!" Rutgers paused for affect, and to regain his crumbling composure, "I don't intend to repeat that mistake, or to forget that little lesson. Crown won't rest now till he has us both--and Blakesley, too! So, I'm taking steps to get to him before he gets to me." The judge was about to go, but then decided to pass on one last bit of advice, "Oh...you might want to consider making a stand at the river. On the off chance that he gets away from the Fort as easily as he apparently got to it!" he remarked rather snidely. Then he turned and left.
'Mister' Roger Mareck stared thoughtfully down at the drink in his hand. He no longer looked smug. And no one in the room felt much like smirking any more.
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A normal afternoon patrol out of Fort Dawes consisted of a platoon of twelve soldiers: eleven enlisted men and one officer. This afternoon's abnormal patrol consisted of eleven enlisted men, one officer, and two civilians--though you'd never know by looking at it. Thirteen members of the patrol were already mounted--all of them being completely clad in long, army-blue, canvas raincoats. So that every man in the yard looked exactly the same as the next man.
Well, maybe not every man--exactly. The figure still on foot had silver conchos showing beneath the long hem of 'his' U.S. Army issue raincoat.
"What's goin' on, Crown?!" the Marshal's mounted prisoner demanded, "What's this 'getup' for?"
The Marshal had put his prisoner up on Lancer's back and was in the process of handcuffing Tanner's left wrist to the horn of his saddle. "For avoidin' the rain," the cuffs clicked closed, "an' evadin' the wrath of yore former employer."
Tanner managed an amused snort.
"Oh," Crown continued, giving the cuffs a yank to make sure they were locked, "You kin bet there's gonna be plenty a' both in store for the both of us out there."
His prisoner grunted, skeptically.
Crown glared icily up at him, "This may come as quite a shock ta you, Tanner. But I'm not gonna be the only 'target' out there. You're jest as much a 'target' as I am, now. Mareck wants you jest as dead. He wants you silenced--permanently. Before you get the chance ta give yore testimony against him in court."
Tanner laughed outright, but a little nervously, "You're crazy, Crown!"
"Suit yerself. But if you shut up an' co-operate, I guarantee we're both gonna live a lot longer." The Marshal gave his prisoner one last icy glare. Then he snatched up Lancer's dangling reins and the reins of the horse the Lieutenant had obligingly borrowed him and swung his army-raincoated self up into his army-issue saddle--where his conchos disappeared.
Seeing that the thirteenth and fourteenth irregular members of his patrol were now both mounted, the Lieutenant turned to his troop of regulars, "All right, you men! Listen up!" he told them, keeping his shouted voice low, "Instead of our normal, routine patrol this afternoon, we're going to be practicing an evasive military maneuver!"
The Marshal suppressed a smile.
The Lieutenant suppresed a smile, too, seeing the looks of indifference on the faces of his men transforming into looks of eager anticipation. Army life was pretty much routine, so any break in that routine was naturally welcomed. "We'll be riding out at the canter in columns of two! Then--upon my order--the columns will pair off and split up...with each pair traveling in a different direction from that of the Marshal and his prisoner! I want each of us to put as much distance between us and this Fort as we possibly can in twenty minutes! We will then rendez-vous back here to regroup in one hour! Oh, and if fired upon, you have my permission to return fire!" The officer suppressed another smile, seeing his men nudging one another and grinning with excitement. Though their orders stated they were all on active duty while stationed at Fort Dawes, in reality, there were very few activities for them to engage in. So they slept a lot...and drilled a lot...and rode out on an occasional patrol. And so the chance to maybe see some actual active duty was also naturally welcomed. "Remember! Pairs stay together, and don't spare your horses! All right now, columns of two!" the officer ordered, and the men obediently formed into two single file columns, with the Marshal and his prisoner smack dab in the middle of them. The Lieutenant smiled approvingly, and nodded to his Sergeant-Major.
"Detail, forward ho-o!!" he shouted rather melodiously.
The Lieutenant spun his mount around, and began leading his troops out on their 'evasive military maneuver'.
Fourteen pairs of eyes watched from ambush as fourteen raincoated figures suddenly came riding out of the Fort together.
The group cantered out a couple hundred yards from the front gate. Then one of the two men in the lead yelled, "Company disperse!"
And then, right before all twenty-eight of those very wide eyes, the company obediently dispersed--riding off in all different directions at once. The beleaguered bushwhackers watched helplessly as the raincoated figures went racing away, two-by-two, at top speed--and then just as rapidly started disappearing from view.
"What do we do now?!" one of the ambushers asked alarmedly and slowly lowered his rifle, "Andy swears he saw the Marshal ride in a little while ago! And I'd swear he's riding out again right now!"
"Well, what can we do?!" his closest associate shouted, "We can't shoot them all! Why, we'd have every soldier in that Fort after us!"
"We'll just have to round up the rest of our boys and then split up and go after 'em!" another ambusher suggested, slamming his rifle into its leather scabbord and vaulting into his saddle. "Come on!" he urged. "They're gettin' away from us!"
And that they were. Yes, sir! That they were...
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Being as 'distracted' as she was, Dulcey didn't pay the half dozen or so people who had promised her they'd show up a few hours early to help get things ready, much attention. They were all pretty busy carting tables and chairs around and trying to clear a dance floor. And Dulcey was pretty busy herself. At the moment, she was standing on a chair in one of the Inn's large main entrance room's far corners, putting twists in a twenty-foot strip of festive, yellow streamer paper. The color was indeed festive, being unusually bright and incredibly cheery. Just the right touch for that night's festivities. She had special-ordered the paper, along with various other equally festive party favors, months ago from some mail order company back East. She gave the streamer a few last twirls to achieve just the right amount of curls and then took up the slack till it had just the right sag. Dulcey didn't notice the dilemma she had created for herself until she reached for a thumbtack to attach the streamer to the ceiling beam and found her apron pocket empty. If she stepped down, the streamer would get all tangled up. But she had no intention of standing there, holding it all night, either. What she needed was for someone to bring the tacks to her. "Walking Man!" the distracted girl declared, spotting the only someone in the room who didn't seem to be doing something already. "Would you bring me that box of thumbtacks over there, please?" she requested and pointed to a little metal box on a tabletop clear across the room.
And the tall, thin, silent, solemn-faced Indian--who had just stepped in off the street for a second to see what all was going on--found himself suddenly recruited into Miss Dulcey's service. He obediently fetched the tacks and obligingly held the opened box up to her.
"Thank you," Dulcey told him as she took a tack and pressed her last streamer into place. Then she quickly climbed down and strode over to the center of the room so she could admire her handywork and experience the full 'festive' effect. Dozens and dozens of cheery, yellow streamers were strung out from the ceiling beam in the center of the room like spokes inside a wagon wheel, or--more fittingly--like golden beams of light radiating out from the sun. She clasped her hands together and smiled approvingly. "Well, what do you think?" she asked the Indian, who had stepped silently up beside her.
Walking Man stared up at the cheery decorations on the ceiling...and then down at the gloomy faces on the small crowd of people busily bustling about. He wasn't sure what to think. Maybe it would help if he knew what was going on. "What's all the 'ta-do' about?" he asked solemnly. But then Walking Man was always solemn--and seldom sober. Which was why 'the ice was still safe in the oven' as far as the old Indian was concerned.
Dulcey stared disbelievingly up at him and noticed that he was looking exceptionally solemn today--and also seemed surprisingly sober. "Well, what does it look like?"
Walking Man's eyes made another careful reconnoiter of the room--and the crowd--and came up still confused. "By the looks of the place," he answered solemnly, "I'd say a marryin'. By the looks of the people," he added even more solemnly, "I'd say a buryin'."
Dulcey recoiled some from the man and his responses. "Well, you're wro-ong!" she stated emphatically. "We are having a surprise party here tonight for the Marshal!" she explained cheerily. "And you can come, if you like. In fact, you can stay now, if you like. Though most people aren't planning to show up 'til around seven."
Walking Man looked more confused then ever. Last he'd heard, the Marshal was still out of town, tracking John Two Rivers' killer down. 'Maybe that's where the surprise comes in?' the Indian reasoned silently to himself, 'If the person the party's for shows up, he's surprised. And if he doesn't, everyone else is.' "I suppose I could stick around for a while," he told her, suddenly curious as to just who would find the party a bigger surprise.
"Fine!" Dulcey declared with another warm smile,"Then either pull up a chair or pick up a chair and make yourself right at home."
The Indian handed her the thumbtacks then picked up a chair and did just that.
If Dulcey hadn't been so 'distracted', she might have caught Walking Man's morbid--but accurate--comment, and she might have paid more attention to the people who were in the room with her. And then she might have realized that all the 'festive' decorations in the world were not going to be able to do a thing to dispel the 'funeral parlor' atmosphere which seemed to permeate the entire place--and which was reflected in the solemn, sullen faces of Marshal Jim Crown's very worried friends.
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And, speaking of worried friends...
There was another one sitting in the room right next door. Mac was suddenly feeling very worried indeed! For one of Mareck's three thugs had just waltzed into the office and extended an invitation for the Deputy Marshal to drop by for a friendly little drink and a little chat at his 'earliest convenience'. So why was Mareck suddenly so interested in dealing with the Marshal's Deputy? Could it mean that Mareck knew the Marshal was no longer around to do business with? He quickly dismissed the dismal thought and looked up from the desktop he had been nervously tapping, to shoot the waiting thug a menacing glare. "'Mister' Gordon, yah can go back and tell 'Mister' Mareck that 'Mister' MacGregor is no' interested!" Mac declined cooly.
"I'd reconsider if I were you," 'Mister' Gordon advised, equally cooly, "The man has some mighty smooth Scotch..."
"It's no' the man's whiskey, but the man's company that Ah could no' stomach!" Mac assured him, "And it will no' be convenient for 'Mister'MacGregor ta pay yer boss a visit until such a time as my boss informs me that Ah can arrest the blaggard when Ah do! Now go on! Haul yer caboose out a' here, or you'll find yerself side-tracked inta one of those jailcells back there!"
The bodyguard backed out of the office and disappeared off down the boardwalk.
Dulcey backed into the office, stood there a moment or two, and then turned around in slow motion.
Mac glanced up from the desktop he'd gone back to tapping and noticed the girl appeared to be in sort of a daze.
"The oddest thing just happened out there," she declared, sounding every bit as dazed as she looked.
"Oh?" Mac acknowledged rather disinterestedly.
Dulcey stared blankly down at the napkin-covered bowl in her hands and nodded, "Lenora Winsom just dropped this dessert off at the back door."
MacGregor managed an amused snort, "And what strikes you as being so 'peculiar' about that?" he wondered, "Can't the poor woman cook?"
"Well, I just naturally assumed it was for the party tonight. But she claims she brought it over just for you. She was very insistent that it be delivered to the Marshal's chief Deputy immediately!" Dulcey added and then very dutifully set the bowl down on the desk in front of the Marshal's chief Deputy.
Mac had stiffened and straighted up in his chair. "And where is Mrs. Winsom now?" he inqured, suddenly sounding very interested, indeed.
"That's the oddest part of all. She's still standing out there by the back door to my kitchen, waiting for me to come and tell her what you think of it. Oh, and she'd appreciate it if you could give her your opinion of it as quickly as possible. Now honestly, doesn't that strike you as being very strange? I mean, why didn't she just give it to you herself? Whatever that stuff is, I don't know as I'd eat any of it if I were you. After the strange way she's been behaving and all...well, who knows what she may have put in it!"
"Aye, lass!" Mac heartily agreed as he stood and started escorting the lass out of the office, "But Ah believe Ah'll take my chances with it anyway. After all, the woman has gone to a bit of a bother now, hasn't she."
"But--" Dulcey began as the Scotsman began to close the door on her.
"Don't you worry none, Dulcey girl. You just run along now, and Ah'll let yah know when Ah'm ready ta render my opinion," he promised, prying her fingers out of the way and pushing the door shut. The Marshal's chief deputy stepped back up to the desk and stared down at his dessert. "Who knows what she may have put in it, indeed!" Mac repeated, carefully removing the cloth-napkin cover from the bowl. He was just about to find that out.