Chapter Twenty-Seven
Senator David Fisher entered the Federal Marshal's Office--just before dark--with a fully-briefed Doctor Ellis, and found 'Mister' Roger Mareck sitting at Jim's desk, sipping a drink.
Dave fought the urge to go for the gun that Francis had found for him...and, fortunately, won the battle. It was fortunate because Mareck's ever-present personal bodyguards already had he and the good doctor covered. Besides, both of his hands were already full. The Senator was carrying Jim Crown's personal effects.
Dulcey, who'd been sitting stiffly up in the armchair--which was still situated in the center of the room--stiffened even more and started getting to her feet, "Jarrod!" she acknowledged rather relievedly.
The young doctor overcame his alarm at finding the frightened little lady in the company of such unsavory looking, armed--and obviously dangerous--gentlemen, and took a step or two in Dulcey's direction.
Mr. Gordon--and his gun barrel--came between them and blocked the couple's embrace.
Jarrod flashed the cruel fellow an angry glare, "What's the meaning of this?!" he demanded, ditching the lines he'd been rehearsing and improvising a new 'script'. (Francis' lines had been jes' fine but a man has ta play the hand he's dealt!) "What are you men doing here?!"
"What are YOU men doing here?!" the man seated behind the Marshal's desk demanded, tossing the angry young man's question right back at him, "And what are you doing with those things?!" he added, spotting the Marshal's belongings.
"When the Marshal's horse came back without the Marshal," the solemn, sad-faced Senator soberly replied, "Miss Coopersmith became worried. After all, the animal was all lathered up an' there was dried blood on the saddle. So she asked the two a' us ta go lookin' for 'im."
Miss Coopersmith caught on quickly and did a little improvising of her own, "Those are Jim's things!" she exclaimed excitedly and allowed her questioning eyes to dart from the young doctor's to the Senator's...and then back to the young doctor's.
"I'm...sorry, Miss Dulcey..." an equally sad Jarrod said, sounding equally sober, "...the Marshal's...dead."
Miss Dulcey drew in a sudden breath of shock and disbelief and then feigned a dead faint.
At least, Jarrod hoped the completely overcome actress was feigning. He stepped out to catch the collapsing Miss Coopersmith and, this time, the cruel fellow with the gun made no attempt to stop him. The doctor caught Dulcey under the arms and carefully lowered her back down onto the armchair.
The Marshal's arch enemy looked somewhat shocked himself, but then his expression gradually grew skeptical, "You FOUND Crown?!"
Dave nodded solemnly, "In a little clearin'...about four miles South a' town."
"And you're CERTAIN that he's dead?!" Mareck asked, remaining deeply skeptical.
"I'm a Doctor!" Jarrod shouted bitterly, not bothering to look up from his 'fainted dead away' patient, "I examined him! And believe me, they don't come any 'deader'! Someone put a bullet hole in the center of his chest!"
"Yeah," the equally bitter sounding Senator chimed in, "an' then, whoever it was that shot 'im, finished the job by blowin' his head off!...With a shotgun!"
Roger Mareck stared up at the two men looking like he found their grim and gorey report too good to be true, "What did you do with him?!"
Jarrod glanced up from the pretty--still pretending to be 'passed out'--girl to shoot their questioner another irritated glare, "What do you think we did with him?!" he wondered sarcastically, "What do people normally do with DEAD bodies?! We buried him!"
"Where?!" Roger Mareck inquired cautiously, the skepticism returning to his face and voice.
"Right where we found him!" the young doctor replied, "Getting hit in the head with a double-barreled shotgun--at very close range--does not make for a very pretty sight! We didn't want anyone else--especially the girl, here--to see the Marshal's body...mutilated the way it was," he added morbidly.
Mister Mareck exchanged skeptical glances with his hired goons and then aimed an icy glare at Dave, "Where's the grave?!"
"In a little clearin' about four miles South a' town!" Dave replied, sounding annoyed that he had to repeat himself.
"You'll have to do better than that!"
"That's the best I kin do!" Mr. Fisher informed him, "I jes' got inta town las' night! I don' know the lay a' the land around here!"
"Then you'll have to take Mr. Nyman out there and show him where the Marshal's grave is!" Roger Mareck reasoned angrily.
"Why-y?!" Jarrod asked, sounding every bit as angry.
"Because if you don't, there are going to be three more DEAD bodies around here!" Mareck explained, sounding completely enraged.
Dave and the young doctor exchanged anxious glances, "You s'pose the two a' us could find that clearin' again? It's gettin' awful dark out there..."
"I certainly hope we can!" Jarrod answered, looking and sounding genuinely concerned.
Dave deposited the 'dead' lawman's 'effects' down on the desk and then turned to Mr. Nyman, "Well, c'mon! What're we waitin' for? There's a fresh grave ta be found!"
Mareck examined the Marshal's black, leather vest carefully. There was dried blood on it and a bullet hole in it all right...but no badge pinned to it. "Where's his badge?!" he wondered curiously.
"It was missin' when we found 'im," Dave answered, "We figured the murderer must a' took it so's he could collect the bounty!" he added, the bitterness returning to his voice.
"Where's my money?!" Mareck demanded as a search of the Marshal's saddlebags came up shy of his twenty thousand dollars.
The Senator stared down at the recently unwrapped napkin on Jim's desk and made a face. Eeee-yuk! (Dulcey was right! There were few things less appetizing looking than a piece of squooshed apple pie!) "He had it with him when he left town," the queazy-stomached Senator said, "Find the Marshal's murderer--an' you'll find yore money!"
Mareck's look went from mad...to thoughtful, "Denny, tell the Judge I want to see him! No-ow!!"
Denny nodded and obediently disappeared out the door.
"Ain' you gonna try ta wake her?" Dave wondered as the doctor left the little lady and started heading for the exit as well.
"She's had a terrible shock," replied the young doc', "sleep's the best thing for her right now. So I believe I'll let her be..."
"Make sure you take some shovels and lanterns along, Luther!" Roger Mareck reminded Mr. Nyman, "I want you to make good and sure, Crown's good and dead!"
Luther nodded a bit uncertainly and then ushered the two secretly delighted 'grave-digger-uppers' out of the Office--at gunpoint!
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"Francis!" George Rawlings exclaimed as the young deputy appeared in the store room of Carl Benjamin's shop, "Where--in heaven's name--have you been?! And where is the Marshal?!"
Francis glanced around the room at the solemn group that was assembled there. Besides Mr. Rawlings and Carl Benjamin, of course, there was Mr. Herald and Mr. Wisler and Mr. Andrews...and Charley Lundquist--all men who could be trusted...hopefully. "The Marshal's dead," he informed them, "for all intents an' purposes..." he added hintingly, and watched their shocked, horrified expressions turn to looks of confusion, followed--finally--by those of dawning understanding. "How'd it go?" Francis wondered curiously.
"Huh?" the closest thing Cimarron had to a Mayor muttered, sounding like he was still stunned by the young man's stunning announcement, "O-Oh right...It went just fine. Everything of value has been shipped out of town--just like you wanted. Including most of the women and children."
"You sure this is gonna work?!" Mr. Andrews asked uncertainly.
"Certainly!" the Marshal's young deputy assured him, "It always worked when Jim did it, didn' it?"
Mr. Andrews and the remaining skeptics in the room were forced to nod.
"That's right!" Charley Lundquist chimed in rather cheerily, "If we do everything the way the Marshal would do it if'n he was here--it's bound ta work out!"
And again the solemn men were forced to nod. Then, all eyes in the room refocused on Francis.
"So-o, Deputy," George Rawlings said with a smile, "What do we do no-ow?"
"That depends entirely on Mareck an' his bunch," the deputy declared, "they got the next move. With Jim 'dead' an' nothin' left in town worth stealin'--hopefully they'll all decide ta up an' leave."
"And if they decide to up and stay?" Mr. Wisler wondered nervously.
"Then we'll jes' have ta pick up where the Marshal left off," Francis reasoned, "We kin take our time an' pick Mareck's men off one by one until there are none!"
The somber group nodded the young deputy's plan of action approvingly.
"Now that that's settled," the Marshal's deputy said, sounding tremendously relieved--and terribly tired, "Let's all get some sleep, an' we'll meet back here tomorrow mornin'--after the train leaves. Hopefully, with Roger Mareck and his bunch on board..." he added under his breath.
And, again, the group nodded.
Francis turned to go, but then suddenly remembered something, "Don't forget!" he called back over his shoulder, "For all intents an' purposes--"
"We know," Mr. Andrews assured him, "the Marshal is dead."
And--this time--the deputy nodded. Then he walked out the door and disappeared without a trace. Realizing that it wasn't safe for him to return to the Inn, Francis went off to find a place where he could lie low for a while.
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'Mister' Roger Mareck looked up from the fresh drink he'd just poured himself and watched as the requested Judge Rutgers appeared before him. He also took note of the two hired guns who had closely accompanied 'His Honor' into the Marshal's Office, "I sent for 'you'!" Mareck reminded Rutgers, "ALONE!"
The Judge glanced at the sleeping girl for a moment and then glared distrustfully down at the pompous little man seated behind the Marshal's desk, "I don't go anywhere alone anymore!" he stated for the record, and continued to stare-- disbelievingly--down at the man behind the desk. He knew Roger Mareck to be an arrogant man--but he couldn't believe that he actually had the audacity to take over the Marshal's Office!
"I take it you haven't heard the latest word," Mareck said, seeing the look of disbelief on the Judge's face. "The Marshal's been murdered..." Mareck obligingly continued as that look turned to one of curiousity, "...and my money is missing!!" he added angrily, "...along with the Marshal's badge!" he concluded--hintingly. Then he casually sipped his drink and watched as complete confusion took the place of the shocked expression on the reward offerer's face.
"I don't believe it!" Rutgers declared, the look of disbelief returning, along with his ability to speak.
Roger Mareck whipped the Marshal's bloodied black vest at him, and continued to, nonchalantly, nurse his drink.
'His Honor' caught the article of Crown's clothing and closely examined it. The badge-less vest did indeed appear to have a bullet hole in it and dried blood on it. "I still DON'T believe it!" the Judge declared, dismissing the evidence as circumstantial, "If Crown is dead...and if one of my boys had killed him...they would've turned in his badge by now and claimed their bounty money!" he reasoned confidently.
"Not necessarily!" Mareck said, sounding equally as confident, "Not if they had already claimed twenty thousand dollars of my money!" he shouted, the rage returning to his voice.
Confusion returned to Rutger's face, "Crown left town... carrying twenty grand on him?!" he asked amazedly, "And he took it from you-ou?!" he asked--even more amazedly.
Roger Mareck and his henchman exchanged embarrassed glances. Then he gave the amazed question asker a reluctant nod, "In return for this," he explained, pulling a highly polished 'two-bit piece a' tin' from his coat pocket and plunking it down on the desk.
Judge Rutgers exchanged broad grins with his bodyguards. Truth was, the three highly amused men had everything they could do to keep from laughing--outright! (Which would've enraged Roger Mareck even more.) Their grins were outrageous and enraging enough as is!
"I want you to find out which one of your men has my money!" Mareck ordered, a trace of embarrassment lingering in his loud voice, "I want it back!"
"And I want to see a body!" the good Judge ordered right back. "How do you know this isn't all just some 'trick' to get you to leave town?!"
"One of my men is looking into that possibility right now!" Mareck icily informed him, "In the meantime, I want you to look into the little matter of my missing money!" he repeated impatiently.
Rutgers didn't argue with the aggravatingly arrogant fool behind the desk. If one or more of his men had killed Crown and taken his badge--and Mareck's money--the Judge could think of twenty thousand reasons why he or they would NEVER admit to the murder. "I'll have Spencer and Endry here ask around," he lied, "and when your man gets back, I'd appreciate it if you would let me know what he found."
Mister Mareck managed another reluctant nod.
Judge Rutgers shot the sleeping girl--and then the arrogant fool--a final glance and quickly took his leave.
Roger Mareck picked the half-emptied bottle up from off the dead Marshal's desk and promptly replenished his drink. The peace officer's passing prompted a toast! Heck--Crown's death called for a full-scale celebration! "To the Marshal's murder!" he proposed, passing his bodyguards the bottle. "He won't go stepping in front of any more trains!" Mister Mareck said with a satisfied smirk, and drained his glass-- brimming with brandy--dry again...and again...and again.
Mr. Gordon and Mr. Bowlen glanced uncertainly at each other. If their celebrating boss wasn't careful, he just might drink himself under the dead Marshal's desk!
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And, speaking of the dead Marshal...
Jim Crown couldn't keep his eyes shut. Almost immediately upon drifting off, the extreme discomfort from his hurting head, aching arms and incredibly sore backside caused him to come drifting right back again. He wanted to leave--not just consciously, but physically. (The lawman had been locked in his own leg irons, handcuffs and jail cells before...more times than he cared to recall. So he kept a spare key in a special compartment in the inside wall of his right boot, for just such embarrassing occasions.) With all those hornets he'd stirred up buzzin' around town, he figured it was just a matter of time before somebody got stung. He had intended to slip out while his nurse was asleep, and then go see about settling those hornets down some. Trouble was, he couldn't see how he could slip his aching arm out from under the woman without waking her. To top off the Marshal's misery, his bullet-ridden, badly-bruised and busted ribcage had begun paining him so, that it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to draw a deep breath. That little twinge he felt with every little inhalation had turned into a sharp, stabbing sensation which made him 'wince' with each shallow breath. He finally gasped in frustration and then forced himself to take in a complete lungful of air..which the lawman's lungs promptly expelled with one unbelievably agonizingly painful--and loud--cough. The pain produced by the cough was so sharp and so severe that Crown couldn't help but cry out...and reach for his burning chest with both of his arms.
Katelyn wasn't sure if it was the 'cough' or the 'cry' or the 'sudden commotion' which had awakened her, but she woke up wringing wet--with the Marshal's sweat! Here he was--burning up! And there she was--lying down! "O-Oh!" the nurse moaned regrettably and crawled quickly out of bed to place the cool, damp cloth back on the feverish lawman's burning brow.
"Sorry..." her equally soggy, groggy patient gasped, releasing his held breath, "I didn' mean...ta wake you."
"You should a' woke me sooner!" Katelyn chastised, "I'm s'posed ta be carin' for you!"
Crown, who was still clutching his chest and clenching his jaw, forced himself to relax...some, "You let me rest...when I was tired..." he reminded the worried-sounding woman. Then he smiled and slowly opened his tightly shut eyes, "I was jes'...returnin'...the favor..." he explained, locking his groggy gaze upon his gorgeous nurse, "I don' suppose it's...unbearably...'hot'...in here..." he stated hopefully.
His nurse smiled sympathetically down at him, "Sorry, but it's actually quite comfortably cool," she glumly confessed and replaced the cool cloth on his forehead with an even colder compress.
The lawman gasped in frustration and then grimaced in pain.
Seeing her patient's pain--and sensing his frustration, Katelyn reached out and placed a hand on his left shoulder--to give it a reassuring squeeze, "Everything'll be all right. Why, in a few hours the fever will have run its course and you'll be jes' fine!"
Crown cocked one eyebrow and glared up at his nurse, looking highly skeptical.
The woman gave him another deeply sympathetic smile and shrugged.
His own smile returned, "In case...I haven't said it...before," he gasped a bit breathlessly, "You're beautiful!"
Katelyn's smile broadened as well, "An' you're delirious!"
"Perhaps..." the Marshal admitted, "but...in a few hours...I'll be jes' fine...and you'll still be...beautiful!"
Katelyn flashed her admirer another warm smile. It was then that she noticed her patient was still clutching at his chest. "You're hurtin'!" she exclaimed anxiously.
"Some..." came back her pained patient's rather breathless reply, "Even in the...depths of delirium...I kin still reco'nize...beauty...when I see it," he stated confidently and kept his vision locked on the 'beauty' who was bent over him.
"Yore breathin's too shallow!" his nurse announced, completely ignoring his rantings, "Yore lungs are fillin' with fluids! I'll fetch the doctor an' we'll sit you up an' maybe even unwrap yore ribs. That should help...some."
Her patient completely ignored her rantings and just kept staring up at her, "I-I...am in love...with a...beautiful...lady!" Jim Crown determined rather deliriously.
The beautiful lady pressed a finger over his smile, "Shu-ush!" she ordered sharply, "Lie still! I'll be right back!"
The lawman looked disappointed as the vision of loveliness left him. But he made no attempt to leave himself. Even in the depths of his delirium, he possessed enough sense to realize that a man who couldn't even hardly breathe had no business being out of bed.
True to her word, the woman was right back. "Doctor Ellis wasn't downstairs," she gloomily announced and placed several items down on the dresser, "which means we'll have ta do this without 'im..." she added--even more gravely, and sat down on the bed beside her patient. "We should a' had you sittin' up some right along!" she glumly confessed. Then she leaned over and took the man that she loved up into her arms and pulled him into a sitting position...with a minimum of discomfort.
Almost immediately, the lawman's labored breathing began easing. He held onto his lovely nurse and rested his spinning head upon the little lady's soft shoulder.
Katelyn latched onto the scissors lying on top of the dresser and carefully began cutting the bandages from the Marshal's midsection.
The tightly wrapped dressings fell away, freeing the man to breathe deeply...which he naturally did... which he immediately regretted! For, almost as immediately, he began coughing--and hurting! No-o, it hurt him just to breathe. Coughing was killing him!
"C'mon!" Katelyn urged, "Take some deep breaths!"
That was easy for her to say. She didn't have no sharp, searing pains shootin' through her chest! The entire upper half of the lawman's body was wracked in excruciating pain! He kept coughing...and groaning--all involuntarily.
Katelyn Edwards kept her arms locked around her coughing, groaning patient and did her level best to comfort him, "I know...I know, my darling..." she assured him softly, "But we can't have you dying of pneumonia, now can we..."
Something in the woman's soft-spoken words told Jim Crown that he was dead wrong. The woman did have sharp, searin' pains shootin' through her chest! Love wasn't the only strong feeling the two of them shared.
"Here," his nurse said, sensing that neither of them could stand the pain produced by the coughing anymore, "take some a' this..."
Her extremely trusting--and pained--patient unhesitatingly took a sip of the potion which she pressed to his tightly pursed lips.
"Accordin' ta Jonathan's medical journals, this stuff is s'posed ta quiet the cough control centers of your brain..." Katelyn quoted uncertainly.
Crown glanced skeptically up at her between coughs.
She shrugged and then held the cough syrup up to her patient's mouth one more time, "Trouble is," she continued, as the man took another sip, "I have absolutely no idea what the proper dosage is--" she stopped as her patient stopped in mid-sip and shot her a look of disbelief. "Don' worry. When the coughin' stops, we'll know we got the right dosage," the woman reasoned with a wry smile.
The grimacing--still coughing--Marshal smiled uncertainly, and took another uncertain sip from the bottle being shoved into his mouth. "Will you get a...message...ta my friends for me?" Crown asked quietly between coughs.
His nurse nodded.
"Tell Francis...an' Dulcey...I said ta lie low...until Mareck leaves," he paused to cough. The pain was so profound it brought tears to their eyes. "You got that?" the delirious--and now drugged--man gasped.
Again his nurse nodded.
Her acknowledgement put the lawman somewhat at ease. "Speakin' a' lyin' low..." Crown continued in a whisper, "...if you're gonna live with a target...you're gonna have ta learn ta duck...an'...when I tell you ta duck...you better...duck..." the incredibly drowsy--no longer coughing--man's words trailed off. His half-open eyes closed and his head dropped back down onto his nurse's so-oft shoulder.
The nurse set the bottle back on the dresser and began gently rocking her unconscious patient. (Apparently, cough centers were not the only areas of the brain that codeine quieted.) "Ah, harmonious pipe, how I envy they thy bliss," Katelyn crooned softly, "When pressed to Steven's lips, with a gentle kiss! And when his tender hands, 'round thee fold in a soft embrace, I listen and approve these melting tones, which soothe my soul, soothe my soul to love. Alive with passions from his breath that flow, yield your music when he's pleased to blow. Thus at once the charming minstrel rare...delights with sounds, an enchanting tone, with sweet songs fill the air. Go happy pipe and ever mindful be to court my handsome troubadour for me. Tell him of all I feel. Repeat my love at each melting touch. Since to him my loyalty assign, take thou care to tune his heart, tune his heart to mine..." ***
(*** "Harmonious Pipe" a Celtic Love Song. Lyrics by Wayne Nelson. Based on a 17th century Scottish poem by John Clerk.)