Chapter Twenty-Five
Congressman Dave Fisher carefully finished pouring the scaulding hot contents of the heavy wooden bucket in his hands into the cowboy's finally refilled and reheated bath tub. Dave figured it was the least he could do--considering what he'd just put poor Jim through.
Slo-o-owly, Jim Crown surfaced from the depths of his exhaustion and unconsciousness. He lay there for a while with his eyes closed, listening to the sound of--water sloshing?! He drew a deep breath in and his heavy head and eyelids up and than squinted off in the disturbing sound's direction. It was sloshing water that he'd heard! And it was Dave Fisher that he'd seen sometime--when was it anyways?...yesterday afternoon?...or last night? For some reason, the cowboy couldn't seem to remember. In fact, he wasn't even sure what day it was. The only thing he was sure of, was that he'd been in a doozie of a fight! For his knuckles had been bruised, his teeth had been loosened, his ribs had been tenderized and--say! That's probably why he was having problems with his memory--no doubt, his brains had also been scrambled. "What...happened?" he wondered groggily, in the hope that his friend might be able to shed some light on the fight.
Dave was glad to see that his really out-of-it friend had finally regained consciousness, "So-o...you are alive, after all. I was beginnin' ta have my doubts. I've never known you ta sleep pas' seven!" he stated truthfully and the fond recollection prompted him to smile fondly down at the normally early riser.
The cowboy flashed the best friend he'd ever had a sore smile and then let his aching head drop back onto the bed, "I ain' so sure I was sleepin'," he reasoned groggily--with a grimace and a moan, "looks more ta me like I must a' passed out..." he muttered, in reference to his fully clothed self.
Dave Fisher flashed his sore friend a sad smile and suddenly regretted ever getting his easy-goin' buddy involved in any of this 'corruption' business. For seven years the two of them had been inseperable! He and James were more than friends--they were partners! And no cause--no matter how worthy it was--was worth risking the loss of their friendship over! He should a' never got Jim down here...like he did. He sure should a' NEVER got Jim beat up...so ba-ad. An'--most of all--he should a' NEVER EVER got Jim sworn in as a U.S. Marshal...without his knowledge or consent. No-o, Dave jes' should a' NEVER done none a' that! But he ha-ad! And no-ow he was regrettin' it...sort a'.
Jim stared thoughtfully off into space for a while and then his head popped back up, "Are we in...El Paso?" he wanted to know.
The Congressman managed another, even sadder smile and nodded.
The cowboy looked even more curious, "Well, I know what I'm doin' here. But what on earth are you doin' here?! I mean, shouldn' you be in Washin'ton or somethin'?"
"Like you, I'm here on business. President Arthur agreed to appoint some Federal Marshals ta help me combat corruption at the local law level. As I'm sure you must a' noticed when yah hit town--at this moment, we have a serious problem with that in this state. So, I've been busy recruitin' men for the President...ta help him fill these four, new--desperately needed--government posts."
Jim thought the politician's reply over carefully. How did Dave know that he was down here on business? he wondered. That's when he noticed that somebody had hung a blanket over his room's door. The curious sight jogged his memory--and-- suddenly it all came back to him! And--just as abruptly--everything else sort a' slid inta place! Their anonymous buyer in El Paso? Congressman Dave Fisher! Those terribly polite tough guys who were not at liberty to say who their boss was? Secret Service men! And that distinguished-looking gentleman in the hotel dining room who kept shaking his hand? The President of the United States! The President of the United Sta-ates?! Na-ah! Jim Crown's sore jaw dropped. His dark green eyes widened and he promptly propped himself up on his elbows to stare down at his chest. Sure enuff! Right there--pinned to the left front pocket of his shirt--was a bran' new, shiny Marshal's badge! So--it wasn' all just a real ba-ad dream! He really had just been recruited! Jim swallowed hard and then stared silently up at his old friend, wearing an 'How could you?!' look on his face.
The Congressman saw the look--and cringed. He had never seen Jim Crown look more hurt or confused than he did just then. But then, the cowboy had never been betrayed by his best friend before, either! It was then that Dave knew that he would never be able to forgive himself for what he had just done to Jim--or to forget that...look on Jim's face--for as long as he lived! "I'm...sorry," he said sincerely, "It seemed like a good idea...at the ti-ime. I really needed yore help," he continued as the cowboy's 'How could you?!' look turned to one of even greater confusion, "an' I couldn' think a' any other way ta get you here..."
"Did it ever occur ta you ta A-ASK?!" Jim Crown asked, his confusion giving way to anger.
"Yea-eah...look, James--will yah give me a chance ta explain?!" Dave pleaded as James got to his feet and strapped on his gun--which someone had retrieved from the balcony. "I fixed you a nice, hot ba-ath..." he pointed out--as James pulled on his worn leather vest and then plunked his black hat on his head. "You could set an' soak for awhile an' I could try ta explain!" he suggested as James unpinned his badge and then plunked it down on the dresser. "I'll keep that for you," Dave vowed, "in case you should ever happen ta change your mind..."
"That's mighty comfortin', Congressman!" Jim Crown stated sarcastically, "Should I ever get tired a' livin', it's nice ta know that there's a 'job' waitin' for me somewheres!" Then he tossed his saddle bags over his left shoulder, snatched up his rifle and quickly took his leave.
"I really AM sorry, James!" the Congressman restated. Then he snatched up the badge, brushed the blanket aside and followed his former friend out into the hall. He found Jim Crown surrounded by his current friends.
"Everything all right?" one of them wanted to know, "We heard shoutin'..."
"Yeah, you okay?" another inquired, "The whiskey was too watered down ta get drunk on, so when you didn' show for breakfast--we figured maybe you'd been 'murdered in yore sleep'..."
"Looks like yah came close to it!" the third surmised upon seeing the condition that Jim Crown was currently in, "If'n I was you, I believe I'd ask the Sheriff for a refund..." he added with reference to their friend having obviously been beaten.
Their comments caused a slight smile to play upon the slightly murdered cowboy's bruised lips. But one glance at the Congressman was all it took to make his slightly amused appearance turn stern.
"You met our buyer, yet?" one of his friend's wondered.
"He may a' bought 'em," another conceded, "but the ARMY paid for 'em!" he continued, carefully removing a bankdraft from the inside pocket of his brown leather vest and waving it triumphantly in front of Jim Crown's face.
All four of the very capable cowboys exchanged victorious grins.
Dave Fisher frowned. It was apparent that the four of them had big plans for that money...THEIR money...their hard-earned money.
The cowboy who had been so cool-headed over in the saloon watched--as another glance in their buyer's direction caused Jim Crown's grin to disappear. "You know that fellah?" he asked his suddenly stern-faced friend.
"I thought I did..." Jim whispered sadly and flashed his best friend turned betrayer one final, deeply hurt look.
The Congressman caught Jim Crown's quiet comment and saw the look--and cringed again. It hurt him to hear how badly he had hurt his friend.
The three equally concerned cowboys exchanged solemn glances and then two threw their arms around their sad companion's shoulders and started ushering him off down the hallway. "C'mon!" one invited as they started down the stairs, "We got the horses right outsi-ide an'--as soon as we eat--we'll be ready ta ride!"
"You boys go on," Jim invited as they reached the lobby, "enjoy yore--" he paused to shoot a quick glance at the clock, "--lunch. I'll be back in a little while."
"Where yah goin'?!" one wondered curiously.
"Yeah! You mus' be hungry! Yah missed breakfast!"
"Maybe he knows somethin' about the food arroun' here that we don't?" the third reasoned lightly and forced another smile out of their very somber amigo.
"There's nothin' wrong with the food," their amigo assured them, "It's this town I'm havin' trouble stomachin'! I'm goin' on down ta the river...ta wash up," he added softly, the sadness returning to his face and voice.
The three cowboys watched their depressed partner step out onto the street. It sounded to them like Jim Crown wanted--needed to be alone for a little while. They continued watching as he strapped his gear to the back of his saddle. As he mounted and turned his horse in the direction of the river, they sighed and turned in the direction of the dining room. Jim had taken their appetites with him when he left. But they decided to go through the motions of eating anyways--just to pass the time.
Dave didn't have any appetite left either--not for food o-or for recruiting his friends. He plunked Jim's badge into his coat pocket and himself down onto an over-stuffed sofa in the lobby. He would make one last-ditch desperate effort to attain Jim Crown's forgiveness and salvage what--if anything--remained of their friendship. Dave's hopes were not high for either of his efforts succeeding. The cowboy was sore, real sore! And, rightfully so! The Congressman realized that he should just be grateful that El Paso wasn't the site of a political assassination! 'Cuz Jim had every right to kill him!
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The cowboy took his time washin' up.
To combat the mounting tension, the Congressman took to pacing--up and down the boardwalk in front of the hotel. The politician stopped in mid-pace and peered off down the street. Jim Crown was coming back from the river--and his little 'think'. The cowboy was about to go riding out of El Paso--and Dave Fisher's life--for good!
The Congressman closed his eyes tightly and breathed a fervent, silent prayer--for Divine intervention.
Now, some non-believer might say that what happened next was purely coincidental. But--of all the times for Sheriff Hawkes' deputies to pick on some poor stranger in town--they picked THEN. And this poor timing on their part was--Dave Fisher firmly believed--purely and Divinely PROVIDENCIAL! (i.e. '...occuring by the benevolent guidance of God!')
Because of its close proximity to the border, (the town was built on the banks of the Rio Grande) and due to the fact that its original builders were all Mexican, the 'Spanish' influence was everywhere in El Paso. From its single-story adobe-bricked dwellings, to its citizens and their dress! Why, on the street Jim Crown was coming down alone--cantina's out-numbered saloons nearly three to one!
Speaking of out-numbered saloons...
The cowboy pulled his mount up as another cowboy came sailing out of the 'Silver Spur' and landed hard--on his bloodied face--in the dust at his horse's feet.
Four of Sheriff Hawkes' five deputies spilled out of the saloon and into the street, elbowing one another and laughing.
The bloodied and beaten out-of-breath cowboy locked his groggy gaze onto one of the horse's eight legs and followed it clear up to its riders. He was breathing too hard to speak, but the look on his bruised and bloodied face said it all. And what it said was: 'Either give me a hand here--or get the hell out of my way!'
Jim Crown accurately read the look and, obligingly, did both, "Leave 'im be!" he advised, positioning he and his horse between the badly beaten cowboy and the approaching thugs.
The deputy-thugs glared irritatedly up at the rider responsible for interrupting their 'fun and games'. "Get that animal out of our way!" one of them ordered gruffly.
Jim recognized the thug as the bully from the 'Broken Arrow' the night before. He also recognized the odds...four to one. Ye-es, those odds were uncomfortably familiar to him. The mounted cowboy glanced in the beaten cowboy's direction and saw that the badly-injured fellow was now trying--and not very successfully either--to cra-awl away from his attackers. He also saw that the sudden commotion was beginning to draw a crowd...and that no one in that sizeable crowd seemed willing to lend the poor, incapacitated cowboy a hand.
"I said MOVE IT, Mister!" the thug shouted angrily.
Jim Crown took another, longer, closer look around him. All he saw were bartenders, barflies, shopkeepers, old men, women and children, and a few ordinary, unarmed ranch hands. At that particular moment in El Paso, the only guys good with a gun appeared to be the BAD guys! Well, that wasn't entirely true...for--at least for the moment--he was still sitting there. And--as all who really knew him were quick to testify--Jim Crown was exceptionally goo-ood with a gun! "Here!" the cowboy said, tossing a silver dollar at the loud-mouthed thug, "I jes' bought 'im twenty-four hours a' tranquility!"
The thug caught the coin in self-defense and then called back over his shoulder, "Hey, Sheriff?! You'd better get out here!"
Two heads appeared above the Silver Spurs' swinging doors.
"Take care of it, Jack!" the place's proprietor ordered annoyedly.
'Jack' nodded and stepped out across the boardwalk and into the street to stand face-to face with 'its' horse. The deputy showed his boss the silver dollar. "Keep out of this, 'cowboy'!" Sheriff Hawkes warned, shooting the mounted cowboy an angry glare.
Jim Crown winced at the derogatory way in which the word 'cowboy' had been spoken.
"Or I'll personally see to it that you get some of the same!" Mr. Hawkes added, pocketing the silver coin.
The mounted cowboy reviewed the odds and reached a decision concerning the poor fellow who was down there, writhing in the dirt. All eyes watched as the 'Good Samaritan' jerked his horse's head around and went galloping off up the street.
The Sheriff and his men exchanged amused glances and then turned their undivided attention back to the crawling cowboy.
Jim Crown reined his horse in in front of the hotel and was out of the saddle before the animal even stopped running. He entered the lobby and took a quick look around.
Dave Fisher--who had ducked back inside when he saw Jim coming--watched as his angry friend's searching gaze settled upon him.
The cowboy strode over to where the Congressman was hiding and held out his left hand.
The politician pulled something from his coat pocket and placed it in his friend's open palm.
"Damn you!" Jim Crown exclaimed and sent his clenched right fist into the left side of the Congressman's smug jaw.
The blow sent Dave crashing back onto the carpeted floor clear across the room! The dazed man shook some of the cobwebs out of his spinning head and looked up in time to see Marshal Crown pin his badge back on!
"Hey, Jim! What's with the ba-adge?!" the cowboy's cool-headed friend inquired as the 'Marshal'? turned to go.
"Stay here!" his friend with the badge advised, "I'll be right back!...Maybe," he added as a morbid afterthought.
But his friends did not stay there. All four of them followed him out of the hotel...and off across the boardwalk...and up to his horse.
"Stay he-ere!" the man with the badge practically begged as he vaulted back up onto his horse and then went racing down the same street he'd just raced up.
Mr. Hawkes and his men halted their resumed ill treatment of the stranger in the street, to investigate the sound of galloping hooves. Several of the men glanced at each other with arched brows as they recognized the rapidly approaching rider as the same 'Good Samaritan' they'd thought they'd just sent packing!
The cowboy pulled his horse to an abrupt halt and pointed his drawn pistol at the Sheriff, "All right, EVERYBODY...DROP YORE GUNS!" he shouted menacingly.
The Sheriff stared up at the nutsy, gutsy 'cowboy' in total disbelief, "Just what do you think you're doing?! he demanded rather haughtily.
"Why-y, as you--an' any other fool--can plainly see," the cowboy calmly answered, "I'm placin' you--an' yore boys, here--under arrest...'Ja-ack'!"
Mr. Hawkes winced at the disrespectful way in which his first name had been used and the derogatory way in which it had been spoken. "By whose authority?!" the man with the most authority in town wanted to know.
The cowboy slipped his feet from his stirrups and then slid slowly to the ground, keeping his eyes--and his aim--on Mr. Hawkes, all the while. "President Chester A. Arthur's," he answered, motioning to his Federal Marshal's badge, "an' Colonel Samuel P. Colt's!" he added, motioning to his cocked gun.
"On what charges?!" Mr. Hawkes wondered, as he couldn't dispute the cowboy's authority.
Jim Crown stepped up to Sheriff Hawkes and pressed the barrel of his pistol into the man's paunch--very forcefully, "We-ell, 'Jack'...How about extortion? An' aggravated assault! A-an' impersonatin' a peace officer!" he replied, latching onto the Sheriff's badge with his free hand and ripping it--pocket and all--clean off of the sadistic, slimy-brained, back-shootin', bushwhacker's shirt, "An' that's jes' for starters!" The two 'lawmen' exchanged 'if looks could kill' glares. The unimpressed Marshal pulled the Sheriff's gun from its holster and tossed it to the unarmed--and practically unconscious--object of the gang's brutality. "Now--either yore boys drop their guns--or I drop you!"
Mr. Hawkes eyed the cowboy's gun--and its cocked hammer--for a few moments. "Drop 'em!" he shouted, unsure as he was as to whether the 'cowboy' was just bluffing.
And four guns dropped into the dust.
"Take off the badges, too!" the cowboy told the unarmed thugs. "I s'pose I could try shootin' 'em off..." he reasoned as the 'boys' failed to comply. And the badges were off in an instant! "All right! Let's go! I'm sure you 'gentlemen' know the way ta the jai-ail..." (At least he hoped they did, because he sure didn't.)
They had barely taken two steps when the cowboy suddenly spun and fired--one shot--in the direction of the alley between the 'Silver Spur' and 'Dawson's Saddlery'.
There was an anguished cry and then the fifth deputy-thug came stumbling out into the street, clutching at his right shoulder.
The Marshal motioned for the wounded man to join their little march to the jai-ail...which he did. Jim smiled, seeing that several of the town's people had now come to the stranger's assistance. "You bes' go see a doctor," he said, seeing that the young man was still unable to stand, "an', when he's through with you...send 'im on over ta the jai-ail."
The young man managed a slight nod and then his bloodied lips parted, "Thanks!" he gasped, "...Marshal."
The two cowboys exchanged sore smiles.
"You'll never get away with this, 'cowboy'!" Mr. Hawkes stated confidently.
"I jes' did, 'Ja-ack'!" the Marshal reminded him and then started herding his prisoners off in, what he hoped was, the right direction.
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It was. And when the Marshal reached his desired destination--he found Dave Fisher and his friends there...waiting for him.
"Cover 'em!" Jim Crown requested and his three companions did--while the cautious cowboy collected all their boots, gun belts, belts, hats, scarves, knives, money and keys!
The Marshal deposited all their paraphernalia onto a desk in the jail's outer office--before opening and emptying its two cells. He didn't reckon anybody these yahoos had locked up deserved to be! Finally, he divided his prisoners into two groups and deposited them equally into their tiny prisons.
Only after locking--and double-checking--the cell doors, did Jim Crown allow himself to relax...some. The whole arrest--from start to finish--had barely taken him ten minutes...and yet he felt like it had taken ten years off'n his life! His still-pounding heart was proof that no man--in his right mind--would ever WANT to do what he just did--for a living! And so, being of sound mind, Jim Crown handed over the keys--and his badge--to Congressman Fisher and began heading for the front door--and freedom!
"Sheriff Hawkes an' his boys are jes' the tip a' the iceberg!" Dave called after him, "This whole southwest corner a' Texas is crawlin' with corrupt lawmen...an' the men with the money who sit back an' pull their strings!"
The cowboy halted.
The Congressman continued, "The reason I didn' bother askin' you for yore help is...Well, after hearing what happened up in Wyomin'...How you got hurt--an' half the Fifth got wiped out...I figured you'd had yore fill a' workin' for the gover'ment. But I knew that if I could jes' get President Arthur ta talk with you--HE jes' might get yah ta change yore mind."
"Ho-ow?!" the cowboy inquired, turning back around to face Dave Fisher, "By havin' his bodyguards work me over?!"
"That was yore doin'! Remember?! You could a' went along peaceably!"
"An' I would a' went along 'peaceably'! AFTER I had my ba-ath!"
"The President couldn' wait for you ta 'ba-athe'! He had ta be across the border an' in Mexico BEFORE dark!"
"Why-y?! He rob the Treasury or somethin'?!"
"He had ta get to a meetin' with President Juarez!"
Jim Crown thought the Congressman's reasonably reasonable explanations over for a few moments before commenting, "Even if I was interested--which I ain't! I don'' know the fers' thing about Marshalin'! I jes' had ta invent some charges ta arrest those men!"
"You don' need four years a' law school!" Dave Fisher assured his friend, "You've got all you'll ever need right up here," he continued, tapping his right temple, "An' in here," he added, tapping his chest, "An' down there," he threw in, motioning to the cowboy's Colt. "I've never known anyone with a clearer--or stronger--sense a' what's right an' what's wrong than YOU, my friend! So don'' try ta tell me that you're jes' a 'poor, dumb cowboy'!"
"Well, I am! The only thing I really know for sure about the 'law' is that me an' it don' always see 'eye-ta-eye'!"
"You don' have ta always see eye-ta-eye with it! Jes' perform yore duties ta the best a' yore abilities...like you swore you would..." Dave added under his breath, "An' you'll do jes' fine!"
But Jim Crown caught the comment, "I got no recollection a' swearin' any such thing!" he reminded the under-handed Marshal recruitor, his dark eyes narrowing into menacing slits.
Dave met Jim's angry glare--and pretty nearly surpassed it! "All I ever heard--the whole time we were growin' up--was: 'It ain't right! It ain't right! It jes' ain't right!' 'Til I was plumb sick a' hearin' it! You been Marshalin' yore whole life, James! The only difference is that no-ow you'll be gettin' PAID for it!"
Ever since Dave had mentioned 'the men with the money' who 'sit back' an' 'pull their strings', Jim Crown had been unable to get that man in the doorway of the 'Silver Spur' out of his mind. That man was one of the men who 'pulled' Sheriff Hawkes' 'strings'. And it wasn't right that he should go unpunished!
"So...what 'a yah say?" Dave cautiously inquired, seeing his friend's angry expression had turned to one of thoughtfulness, "You kin spare a couple a' weeks ta help out an old friend...cain't you?"
The cowboy drew a deep breath and released it as a sigh of surrender, "I always said--with yore powers a' persuasion--that you belonged in politics!" he told his old friend, the politician--and then he turned to his other three friends, "You boys head on back ta Duran. I'll be along in a couple a' weeks...an'...if anything...'happens' ta me down here, well, you three kin divide my share a' the ranch amongst yerselves. That goes for my share a' the money, too..." he concluded with a sad smile.
"I'm stayin'!" his cool-headed companion stated emphatically. "You'll be needin' somebody ta guard yore back," he calmly explained, seeing Jim Crown's completely perplexed--and slightly vexed--look. "I don' care how good you are with a gun! All the fancy shootin' skills in the world ain't gonna save you from gettin' 'back-shot' by some slime-brain--like the one that was lurkin' in that alley this afternoon..."
"I spotted 'im, didn' I?" Jim reminded him.
"Yeah. But he'd already started squeezin' the trigger..." he reminded Jim right back, "Anyways, it don't matter how careful or cautious you are--yah got ta sleep sometime don't yah?! An' when yah do--I'll be watchin' ta see that no one 'murders' you! It's all settled!" the cowboy's companion declared even more determinedly, "Why, the only way I'd even consider leavin' you here on yore own--would be if'n you was ta grow an extra set a' eyes...right there--in the back a' yore head!" he teased, motioning to an imaginary spot beneath the brim of his friend's black hat.
"Thanks, Drew..." Jim Crown said quietly, giving his caring companion a warm smile--and an even warmer handshake, "We'll watch each other's backs!"
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"An' that they did!" the storytelling Senator summed up with a warm smile of his own, "An' two weeks turned inta two years!"
The two weary grave diggers finished their grim task and tossed their shovels up out of the deep hole they'd just dug.
"I know Jim got reassigned ta Abilene," Francis announced a bit breathlessly, stooping to give the legislator a leg up, "But whatever became of his friend, Drew?"
"Drew Garrett ended up marryin' a pretty little Spanish girl an' settlin' down," Dave said, climbing up out of their pit. "Last I heard, he was still 'married' an' still the 'Town Marshal' of El Paso..." he concluded, pulling the young reporter up by the wrists.
"How did Hawkes ever get away from Jim?" Francis asked on the way over to the wagon.
"Mr. Hawkes' bosses busted their ex-sheriff an' his deputies out a' jail one night," Dave replied, stepping up to the back of the buckboard to give him a hand with the...'body'. "Hawkes hired a little boy ta lure the Marshal into a back alley. The bunch of 'em got the jump on Jim--an' busted 'im up pretty bad. I believe their intentions were ta beat 'im ta death. An', by the time Drew arrived with reinforcements an' rescued 'im--he darn near was dea-ead!" Dave glanced up and saw that Francis' face was filled with horror. "It took 'im more than a month ta mend," the Senator solemnly continued, latching onto their stiff-legged 'cadaver' and sliding him to his black-booted feet. "Jim spent the time over in the 'Broken Arrow', recuperatin'...an' readin' law books. An' THAT is when 'Marshal' Jim Crown became a lawman!" he finished with a flair.
Francis flashed the lawman's flamboyant old friend another 'oh brother' look. "Give me Jim's gun," he requested.
The Senator passed him the Marshal's spare pistol.
The deputy turned their rigid companion to one side and then drew a careful bead down the gun's long, nickel-plated barrel.
The Senator watched in disbelief as the deputy proceeded to blast the mannequin's already headless body once--squarely in the chest.
Francis saw the legislator's look and held up his boss' black, leather vest--the one with the bullet hole in it...and the dried blood on it. "Better hand over his holster, too..." he added, and a duly-impressed-looking Dave did. The deputy stuck the Marshal's gun into it and then laid it and the vest down beside the black, silver-banded hat in the back of the buckboard.
Dave continued watching as the young man took a small, black bottle from the front pocket of his discarded coat and pulled the cork from it.
"Red ink," Francis explained, carefully applying the bottle's bright red contents to the front of the Marshal's already ruined white shirt, "compliments of Mr. Harold..."
The Senator stared down at the 'bleeding' bullet wound--which Francis had so realistically recreated in Manny's chest--and then slowly shook his head, "You've thought of everything, haven't you!"
"I hope so!" Jim Crown's very able deputy replied solemnly, giving the empty ink bottle a quick toss into the bushes, "C'mon! Let's get Manny, here, planted. There's still plenty ta do back in town," he added, latching onto one of the dummy's rigid legs.
The Senator grabbed the ex-model around his immovable waist and the two--er, three of them started heading off.
"About three years back, Jim had another run-in with 'Jack'," Francis informed Dave--on the way over to the grave, "Mr. Hawkes sent a hired assassin here ta finish what they came close ta doin' in that back alley in El Paso..."
"Yeah...I know," Dave informed the deputy. "After yore articles stopped appearin' in the papers, I took ta readin' Jim's reports--which, by the way, weren't nearly as entertainin'..." he assured the young writer with a grin.
Francis returned the grin and then dropped himself down into their deep pit again. "Pass me the...'body'."
Dave did.
And the deputy carefully positioned the dummy in his final resting place. "Hand me his 'head'..."
The Senator reluctantly lowered the bloody burlap bag into the grave.
Francis grabbed the sack and set it down between Manny's broad, stiff-as-a-board shoulders.
"I got a little worried when you stopped writin', so I wired 'im: 'James. Have'nt read about you in the papers lately. Got ta thinkin' you might be dead. Are you? Dave.'" The Senator paused to pull the reporter out of their pit. "He wired back: 'No. Though you cain't always tell by lookin' at me...'" Dave finished, and stared down at, what was supposed to be, his friend's dead body, wearing a sadder than sad smile. When he looked up again, he found Francis holding a shovel out to him. The Senator's incredibly weary, already slumped shoulders slumped even more. Reluctantly, he took the tool and the two grave fillers began pitching the pink-tinged soil back into the hole. Something suddenly occurred to the Senator and his head snapped up, "Who gets ta dig the 'body' back up?!" he demanded, sounding a bit nervous.
"Don't worry," the deputy told him reasurringly, "I'll find someone ta help you..." he added, suppressing a smile.
Dave Fisher frowned and then went back to work.
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"Here," Jarrod said, all-at-once appearing in the hide-a-way's suddenly opened door, late that same afternoon. "How's our 'legend' doing?" he inquired, stepping into the cozy little lamp-lit room and handing the legend's startled nurse a stack of warm blankets.
Katelyn flashed the young doctor a look which said that she was annoyed that he hadn't 'knocked' before entering. "He's still out cold, I'm afraid. Why do you keep callin' him a 'legend'?" she wondered curiously--as the annoying young man stooped to examine their peacefully sleeping patient.
"Rather than trying to explain it to you...why don't I just have you," Jarrod paused to pull a paperback book from his opened medical bag, "read why...for yourself, "he concluded, giving the lady the book--along with a wry smile. "If you should need me for anything," he straightened up and started heading for the exit, "I'll be downstairs--unpacking." The doctor stepped back out the door and disappeared.
Katelyn studied the book's cover for a few moments and then stared down at Marshal Doc' Crown? in amazement. The woman settled back down into the chair beside the bed, took the 'legend's' limp, left hand back into hers and then opened the book to the first chapter.