Chapter Three
When Crown rode up to the Wayfarer's Inn, he found MacGregor waiting for him outside. "Mornin', Mac!" he called, reining his horse in at the hitching rail in front of his adjoining office.
MacGregor just stood there, mute.
Crown stepped stiffly down, dropped the reins, and snatched the four remaining sets of manacles from the pommel of his saddle. He turned back to his haggard-looking, still-silent deputy and friend and forced a slight smile. "Kin I interest you in a pot a' coffee?"
"What's the matter with yah, man?!" MacGregor demanded, looking and sounding absolutely furious with the Marshal. "Have yah taken complete leave a' yer senses?!"
Crown found both his friend's response and his foul mood completely confusing. He glanced nervously in the direction of the Inn's front door. "Why? The coffee that ba-ad this mornin'?"
"Ah'm no' talking about coffee! Ah'm talking about tr-r-rains!" MacGregor corrected and noticed the Marshal seemed a bit surprised. "Aye! Ah hear-r-rd all about that tr-r-rain business this morning! And about the way you were taunting Mareck! Are yah daft, man?! Yer already the man's prime candidate for a coffin! So, whatever were yah thinking?! Aye! Ah dare say that's part a' yer problem! You have no' been thinking, lately...at least, no' too clearly! Ever since that Indian friend of yer's was kill't, you've been behaving like a man with a death wish! Barging inta Mareck's fortress and taking on the whole lot of them single-handedly! Taking off after Tanner without a posse! Deliberately taunting the man! Ah dunno...it just seems yer taking more chances now than yah need ta be!"
The Marshal was finding this little confrontation more than a little infuriating, himself. "O-Oh? Well, maybe if I'd taken more chances before, my Indian friend might still be alive!" he replied in bitter anger. He was bitterly angry with Mareck, with Tanner, with Mac...but mostly with himself--for failing his Indian friend.
There was a long, tense, solemn silence. MacGregor studied his boss carefully. He could see the mixed emotions in the man's tired eyes--bitterness, anger, frustration, sorrow. But, mostly he saw the sorrow. He gave the sorrowful figure standing in the street below him a deeply sympathetic look. "So that's it then," he reasoned softly. "That's what's behind it...guilt." He stepped down from the boardwalk to stand level with his guilt-ridden friend. "Then allow me ta point something out to you, yer honor...a fact which seems ta have temporarily escaped yer attention," he paused. "Sometimes a man does his best...but it just is no' good enough. Now, that does no' mean that it was no' his best," he paused again. "That just means that it was no' good enough."
There was another long silence as Crown stood there--staring thoughtfully down at the dirt street beneath his feet--contemplating his friend's angry rantings over. Mac's words sure rang true all right. He sure had lost sight of that fact--completely! And grief and guilt had been interfering with his good judgment lately. It's just that he was so-o tired...and sad...and confused. Had he really done his best?
MacGregor saw that the Marshal's look of bitter anger had been replaced by one of self-doubt. He gave his friend another deeply sympathetic look and gripped his slumped shoulder reassuringly. "Believe me, man, you did the best you could do. And no man can do better than his best. No' even you!" he added in a good-natured accusation. He felt the fury beginning to rage up inside him again and suddenly turned stern. "So, then, yah see! There's no point in yer killing yerself trying, is there?!" he stated emphatically, and punctuated his statement even more by releasing the Marshal's shoulder with a not too gentle shove. "So, now, will yah stop being so bleeding hard on yerself and keep yer attention focused on the long line a' laddies out there who are bent on killing yerself for yah!" he paused again, his steely-blue eyes narrowing deviously. "And, while we're on the subject of yer possible--and now quite probable--ear-r-rly demise. There's an old Scottish proverb which yah put me in mind a'...'Any man who insists on hitting a hornet's nest with a stick is bound ta be stung! Sooner...or later'..." He stared down at the Marshal's injured left forearm, looking rather smug. "Tr-r-rue enough?"
"True enough," Crown acknowledged with a grateful smile. Then his own eyes narrowed a bit deviously. "Yah know, it's too bad nobody brought that ta Mareck's attention. I mean, before he picked up his stick and started swingin'," he added, looking rather smug himself.
MacGregor's face filled with a look of disbelief and then total frustration. "A-Aye! Yer incorrigible! Yah know that!"
"So you keep tellin' me," Crown conceded, handing two sets of the manacles to his deputy with another grateful smile. He pulled out his office key, stepped around the rail and up onto the boardwalk. "I'm gonna have ta look that fifty dollar word a' yore's up some day," he teased, "and find out what it means."
"Ah'll save yah the trouble," MacGregor volunteered, following his boss up onto the boardwalk. "It means yer hopelessly stubborn and impossible ta reason with!"
"Oh," Crown muttered matter-of-factly. "Well, then, it mus' be the 'company' I keep," he reasoned, looking even more pleased with himself.
MacGregor's grumpy look vanished as he was forced to smile. "So yah keep telling me..."
The two haggard-looking lawmen exhanged grins.
Crown finished unlocking his office. "Come on," he invited, throwing the door open. "We both look like we could use a nice, strong pot a' coffee."
"Now that's the first tr-r-ruly sensible thing you've said all morning," MacGregor declared.
They entered the U.S. Marshal's Office and deposited the manacles onto a desk. The Marshal tossed his Stetson onto a hat rack. Then he, and his deputy, passed through the doorway that connected his office with the Wayfarer's Inn and stepped into Dulcey's coffeehouse--the 'Skillet and Skittles'. To their amazement, the whole place was deserted! They were the only customers in sight!
"I'm closed today because of the party here tonight," Dulcey explained, seeing the looks of confusion on the two men's faces. "And, if the eggs are cold, it's because you are five minutes late," she added, directing this explanation solely at the Marshal. "Now, sit down and start eating! Because if you don't hurry it up some, you're going to miss your train."
The two men had obligingly pulled out some chairs and were in the process of sitting down.
But at her mentioning of the word train, MacGregor had frozen in mid-sit. He stood there, bent over, statue-like, for a few moments, and then dropped the rest of the way into his seat with an ominous 'thunk'. He sat there, glaring menacingly across the table at the Marshal, who just sat there--mute. Mac could feel his recent, raging fury rapidly returning. "What tr-r-rain?!" he demanded.
"The 7:45 train to Hardesty," Dulcey volunteered, setting the steaming tray down on the red-checkered tablecloth between them. She removed two steaming plates, two cups and a pot of steaming black coffee from the tray. "I have to take some pies out of the oven," she added, handing them their napkins and silverware. "Just call me if you need anything more. I'll bring you some fresh coffee in a bit." Then she and her tray disappeared--in the direction of her kitchen.
MacGregor studied his 'hopelessly stubborn and impossible to reason with' friend very carefully. There had to be a shred of sanity left in the man somewheres. The only question now was, could he find it? "Mareck brought in nine more men while you were gone."
"Yeah...I know," Crown calmly replied and calmly poured his fishing friend a nice hot cup of steaming black coffee.
"Mareck only allowed that telegram ta get through ta yah because he wants yah ta leave town--so his men can kill yah without any witnesses around."
"Yeah...I know," Crown calmly replied and calmly poured himself a nice hot cup of steaming black coffee.
"The moment yah left Hardesty for Fort Dawes yah'd be a dead man."
"Yeah...I know," Crown calmly and quietly replied for a third time.
The Marshal's incredibly calm responses helped calm MacGregor--considerably. "Well, what's all this talk about tr-r-rains then? The lass had me worried there for awhi--"
"--Oh," Crown interrupted--even more calmly and quietly, "I'm gonna be boardin' the train ta Hardesty at 7:45 all right. But I'm gonna be gettin' off'n it at 7:50. Then I'm gonna double-back around an' intercept the next train ta Shades Wells. I'll have 'em drop me off at Gault's Spring. Then I'll sneak inta Fort Dawes the back way an' collect my prisoner."
MacGregor could feel his fury rising rapidly again. "There's no point in yer killing yerself--and there's no point in yah getting yerself kill't, either! Wait 'til Francis gets here with some men ta back yah up. So what if they let that Tanner fella go. You tracked 'im down once...you can track 'im down again!"
"I'm not so sure about that. There's ten million acres for Tanner ta lose himself in out there in that Outlet. An' he's real good at losin' himself. Maybe too good. If he'd a' gotten jes' a little bit more of a headstart on me, I'd a' never caught up with 'im the las' time."
"Well, what would have been so dreadfully awful about that?!"
"I want the man responsible for John Two Rivers' death ta pay for what he did."
"And Ah'm telling yah that--if yah leave here ta go after Tanner--there's a very strong possibility that yah will no' be coming back again...ever! And Tanner is no' worth dying for!"
"Yeah...I know," Crown calmly replied for a fourth time. "It's Mareck I'm after."
"Mareck! Aye! Now there's a prize!" MacGregor shouted, his voice filled with sarcasm. "'Mister' Mareck will just say what he's been saying right along--that he had nothing ta do with yer friend's death--that Tanner was acting on his own."
"You've seen the way he runs his little operation. His men won't even inhale or exhale without 'Mister' Mareck's' permission. No, when Tanner killed John Two Rivers, he was actin' under Mareck's orders all right. An', when Tanner realizes he's gonna be standin' on a hair-trigger trap door with a noose around his neck, he'll talk. Yes-sir, he'll get real talkative. An' that's the real reason I got ta go after Tanner--I got ta get ta him before Mareck does."
"Even if yah can keep 'im alive long enough ta testify, Mareck will just deny everything. It'll be Mareck's word against Tanner's."
"Yeah, but Tanner's word is gonna be backed up by the ten other men I've got stashed away--for safe-keepin'."
"There! Yah see! Yah do no' need Tanner. Yah have all those other men ta testify against Mareck for yah."
"That's not good enough. I don' jes' want ta see Mareck tried for trespassin' an' extortion. I want ta see 'im convicted a' murder."
"Even if that means yah have ta ride out a' here and let 'im mer-r-rder yah ta do it?"
"Actually, that's not a part a' my plan."
"Speaking a' yer 'plan'...Ah did no' hear what happens ta yah after the part where yah sneak inta the Fort the back way and collect yer prisoner. Yah think Mareck's men are just gonna let yah sneak back out and cart 'im off somewhere's? What's ta prevent 'em from turning the both of yah inta buzzard bait, the moment yah leave the Fort?"
Crown stared thoughtfully down into his coffee for a few moments before commenting. "They'll have ta catch us, first."
MacGregor looked extremely skeptical as to the soundness of the Marshal's plan--at least, that particular part of it. "Aye. Answer me this. If that Indian were no' a good friend a' yer's, would yah still be considering riding out of here?"
Crown stared across the table at his shrewd-looking deputy. "That's a real interestin' question, Mac," he was forced to admit. "I'll have ta think on that some."
"Well, I hope you can think while you're chewing," Dulcey advised, stepping back up to their table with a fresh, hot pot of coffee, "because your train is going to be leaving in less than thirty minutes now, and you haven't even touched your breakfast yet. Well, you may be able to get by for a while without sleep, but you can't go out there and expect to function without food, as well. So you simply must eat something before you go. Now, I've already packed your saddlebags for you and filled your canteen. I didn't bother with your bedroll. You won't be needing it anyways, since you'll be coming back here tonight. Oh, and if you are going to be taking those heavy chain things with you, please don't pack them in on top of your pie. There are few things less appetizing looking then a piece of squooshed apple pie. Now, come on! Eat! Eat! Ea-Eat!" she urged, pushing the Marshal's now non-steaming plate towards his still non-chewing self.
The two lawmen turned to each other and exchanged mystified glances, but then obediently picked up their knives and forks and began eating.
"That's better. Now, you just keep eating and I'll get you some fresh coffee," she volunteered and disappeared in the direction of her kitchen again.
MacGregor stared down at the two pots of fresh coffee already setting on their table. "Must be pre-party jitters," he reasoned aloud. "Poor lass! She's been planning the thing for months! No-ow, Ah do no' think she's gonna last the night," he sadly summed up. .
Crown chewed and swallowed--and looked thoughtful. "For months, you say?"
His deputy chewed and swallowed--and nodded.
"Now, that's kind a' curious," Crown continued thoughtfully. "Considerin' that Francis has only been gone a week an' a half."
MacGregor practically choked on a piece of his ham. After a brief--but violent--coughing spell, the Scotsman cleared his throat nervously and forced an equally nervous smile. "Aye. That's what Ah meant. Ah meant it seems like months," he corrected. "You know me, Ah'm prone to a bit a' the exaggeration," he added, slouching down in his seat.
"Uh-huh..." Crown replied skeptically. "People around these parts must be particularly desperate for entertainment. 'Cuz it sure don' seem ta take much ta put 'em inta a partyin' mood. Tell me, what's so special about this particular party, anyways? Seems everywhere I go, people are goin' out a' their way ta mention the party tanight. First Dulcey...then the Wongs...then Charley...Mrs. Fitzsimmons...Danny. Why, 'Mister' Mareck even mentioned it."
"Mentioned what?" Dulcey wondered, returning with a fresh, hot pot of coffee.
"What else!" Crown glumly replied, "Yore party tanight."
"Well, he didn't say that he was coming, did he? Because he's not welcome if he does. And, besides, he hasn't been invited. At least, not by me he hasn't. You're not eating again," Dulcey suddenly realized with a frown. "Do I have to feed you?"
Crown stared at the frowning girl--and then at Mac--in disbelief.
MacGregor shrugged. "In the state she's in, anything's possible."
Crown swallowed nervously and then resumed eating with a vigor that far surpassed his diminished appetite.
Dulcey looked extremely pleased with herself. Then she set her coffee pot down beside the other two and headed back into her kitchen again.
The two men stared after her for a few moments--and then down at the three steaming pots on their table.
Mac turned his gaze back to the kitchen and looked thoughtful. "Yah do no' suppose she's gone ta fetch us some 'fresh' coffee, do yah?"
The Scotsman's question caused Crown first to smile...then to grin...and then to start laughing. His deputy joined him--and the sound of their soft, easy laughter filled the big, empty room.
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"I'm counting on you," Dulcey declared and watched as the Marshal's horse eagerly began devouring the contents of the large wooden bowl in her outstretched hands. "I know it's an awfully long ways, but Charley says that you have plenty of stamina. So you should be able to get the Marshal back here in plenty of time." Speaking of what Charley had said... Dulcey decided the horse warranted a second look. There must be something special about the beast if the Marshal was willing to keep it at his own, personal expense. After all, boarding a horse could be quite costly. But--no matter how hard she stared--all she saw was homely staring back at her. She couldn't imagine the Marshal ever buying such an animal. Perhaps the gelding had been a gift? Yes, that had to be it! Lancer was obviously a gift horse. Now, she couldn't imagine who would ever want to give the Marshal such an animal.
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"I see it," Crown muttered softly, "but I don't believe it."
"Why?" MacGregor wondered nervously, joining the Marshal at his office window. "What's she up to now?"
"She's standin' out there...talkin' ta my horse...an' feedin' it cake an' apple peelin's." Crown hesitated, looking thoughtful. "She mus' be tryin' ta bribe it inta gettin' me back here in time for her party tanight," he reasoned aloud.
"Aye, Ah reckon yer right," Mac agreed and seemed pleased that the Marshal seemed to be thinking quite clearly again. Maybe too clearly, now...
Crown snatched his Stetson from the hat stand and tossed it back on his head. Then he grabbed his raingear, his saddlebags, his canteen and his rifle and headed on out the door.
"Leave her be, man!" MacGregor called after him. "The lass means no harm!"
"Go easy on that stuff," Crown advised, stepping up to the lass, "or you're gonna make 'im sick."
"Don't worry," Dulcey declared. "I'm not going to give him any more...until he gets back," she added, waving her bowl of horsey treats in front of the Marshal's mount's muzzle. "You want them? You know where to find them," she reminded the nickering nag. Then she started backing towards the front door of her Inn, wearing a smile of deep satisfaction on her pretty face.
Crown's horse nickered again and took a step or two after the departing girl.
"Oh, great!" Crown stated, snatching up the dangling reins and pulling the animal to a stop. He turned to his deputy, not looking too pleased. "Yah see that? Dulcey's got my horse almost as distracted as she is!" He slid his rifle into its leather scabbard on the side of his saddle and hooked his canteen strap over the horn. Then he tossed his saddlebags and his black canvas duster across the back of his seat and started strapping everything down, muttering out loud to himself. "Bribin' a man's horse. Kin you believe it? An' why is she so set on me bein' here tanight, anyways? If yah ask me, she ought ta be worryin' more about her guest-a'-honor...an' whether or not he's gonna show up! Yah'd think so long as he shows up, that would be enuff ta make her happy!"
"Now Ah know why 'Mister' Mareck keeps sayin' he's such a reasonable man," MacGregor muttered, not to himself, but to Crown's horse. "The Marshal, here, has an uncanny knack for answering his own questions."
Crown thought Mac's comments over for a few moments...and Mareck's...and Charley's...and Danny's...and kept coming to the same conclusion. He stiffened suddenly and stared at the Scotsman in disbelief--and dismay. "Are you sayin'...that party tanight...is for me?!"
"How long have we known each other?" Mac calmly inquired.
Crown stared at him in confusion. "I dunno. Mus' be goin' on five years. Why?"
"Aye. Five years," Mac agreed, "to the very day," he added hintingly.
A look of dawning understanding slowly came over the Marshal, followed by another look of total disbelief. "Yah mean ta tell me that Dulcey decided ta throw me a party...an' spent months plannin' it...jes' because I been here for five years?"
MacGregor looked a bit squeamish. "Ah did no' mean ta tell yah. It just sort a' came out."
"Well, why didn' she ask me first, if I even wanted a party? I would a' told her what a lousy idea it was!"
MacGregor turned back to the Marshal's horse. "See what Ah mean?"
The animal tossed its head and snorted.
MacGregor smiled. "Aye. Ah see yah do--" he cut his comment short and a strange look came over him. "Oh no. It's contagious," he muttered. Then he drew himself up and faced his still-puzzled friend again. "If yah knew as much about Marshaling as yah do about women, you would no' a' lasted a day here! Can't yah see, man? The lass loves yah!"
The Marshal's face fell and his already slumped shoulders sagged even more. "I thought I had that all straightened out," he muttered, sounding like he felt--miserably miserable.
MacGregor managed an impatient sigh. "She's no' in love with yah. She just loves yah. So, maybe she just figured that--after spending five long years holding the lid down on this pressure-cooker of a place--that maybe yah deserved a little thanks and recognition for all a' yer hard work. Now, granted, her timing could have been a bit better maybe. But the date was set for this little shindig long before 'Mister' Mareck and his horde showed up--ta spoil things." He saw the Marshal looked deeply moved and deeply thoughtful, so he felt deeply justified in removing the surprise aspect of the evening. "Ah thought that if yah knew how important this particular party was...what it means ta the lass...that you'd be particularly careful out there...and maybe make an extra effort ta get back here in time."
"Thanks," Crown told him with another grateful smile. "But I already promised Dulcey that I'd do my best. An' no man kin do better than that, remember? Not even me-e," he added, his smile broadening into a grin.
'You'll make the lass happy by getting back in time for her party...and you'll make this old heart a' mine glad just by making it back--period,' Mac thought solemnly. Then he forced a smile. "Take care a' yerself, Jim Crown. Ah've grown a wee bit accustomed ta yah in the past five years. And, besides, Ah dread the thought of having ta break in a new man."
"What a coincidence," Crown commented calmly. "Why, I was jest about ta say the very same thing ta you." The Marshal swung himself up onto his horse and then sat there, smiling smugly down at his very doubtful looking deputy.
"Incorrigable!" Mac fired up at him.
"It's the company I keep!" Crown shot back down. And the two of them exchanged grins again.
Dulcey came bursting back out onto the boardwalk. "You're still here?! Do you realize that you now have less than five minutes to get down to that depot and get you and your horse loaded onto that train?! I'd go down and see you off, but I have some more pies to take out of the oven. So please, be careful! And please, try to make it back as quickly as possible. Preferably by eight...but nine o'clock would even be all right. I suppose ten wouldn't even be too la--!"
"--Dulcey!" Crown interrupted, suppressing another grin. "If you don' say goodbye pretty quick, I'm gonna miss my train, remember?"
"Oh...yes...of course. Goodbye, Jim. Have a safe journey...and please hurry back!"
The Marshal glanced knowingly at MacGregor and then beamed a broad smile down at the distracted girl. "You promise ta save me a dance?"
"Yes! Of course!" she promised.
"Goo-ood! Then you jes' keep rememberin' my promise, 'cuz I have every intention of takin' you up on yore's--jes' as soon as I git back!" Crown grinned again, then he tipped his hat to the two of them and headed off down the street--in the direction of the depot...and his train.