Chapter Two
Dulcey peered through the corral rails at Marshal Crown's string of horses. "Charley?!" she inquired of the well-muscled, mustached man who was busily pitching hay into their manger. "Which of these would you say is the Marshal's fastest horse?"
"His fastest? Uh, that'd hafta be Wisper," the man replied, pausing in his pitching only long enough to point his fork. "That lighter bay mare, there."
Dulcey eyed the mare carefully. "Are you absolutely certain?"
This time, Charley stopped in mid-pitch and turned in the girl's direction. "Missy, I'd be willin' ta wager--an' wager heavily--that Will-O'-The-Wisp ain't jes' the Marshal's fastest horse, but the fastest horse in the whole Strip! The entire Territory even!"
"Splendid!" Dulcey exclaimed. "Then, could you bring her out and saddle her? I have to go over and wake Mr. Winsom, but I'll be right ba--"
"--Whoa-oa, little lady!" Charley interrupted, planting his fork into the hay and leaning on its handle. "Did the Marshal say he wanted Wisper brought out an' saddled?"
"Yes. Well...actually...he didn't mention her specifically. He just said he wanted a fresh horse, and she looks plenty fresh to me."
Charley cocked his head at an odd angle and smiled wryly. "I see...an' yah want yore guest a' honor ta make it back--from where ever it is he's goin'--in plenty a' time fer the little shindig yah got planned fer 'im tanight, right?"
Dulcey was momentarily too stunned for words. But only momentarily. "How do you know about it?" she demanded. "It's supposed to be a secret!"
Charley just rolled his eyes. "Lordy, Miss Dulcey, everybody knows about it! The Marshal'd prob'ly know about it, too, if'n he hadn' a' been out a' town fer the pas' five days, trackin' that Tanner feller. Tryin' ta keep a secret in Cimarron is like tryin' ta hide ice in an oven. Yah might be able ta keep it fer a while...but somethin's bound ta leak out...eventually."
Dulcey gave the philisophical livery owner a strange look. "Yes...well, then, you understand why it's so important for the Marshal to have his absolutely fastest horse. He has a lot of ground to cover today. He has to travel all the way to Fort Dawes and back by eight or nine o'clock tonight. Preferably eight. So, could you please get Wisper out and saddle her?"
"Oh, I reckon I could all right," Charley had to admit. "But I ain't a' goin' ta."
Dulcey's eyes widened and her brows arched up. "Why not?"
The liveryman's eyes gleamed with mischief as he again resumed his hay pitching. "Cuz it'd jes' be a waste a' time."
Dulcey took the bait. "Why?"
"Cuz the Marshal would never take Wisper all the way ta Fort Dawes, that's why."
The girl swallowed it--hook, line and sinker. "Why wouldn't he?"
"Cuz--like mos' Kentuck' bred horses--she's flightier than an ol' hoot owl. If'n he ever had ta git off'n her back, she'd prob'ly take off an' come racin' back here without 'im. I kin jes' see the Marshal now...stranded...twenty miles out in the middle a' nowheres...with no food...an' no water...walkin' the soles right off'n 'is boots."
Dulcey quickly dismissed the grisly mental picture he'd just painted for her and drew in a deep breath before attempting to address him again. "Very well then, which horse would the Marshal take?"
Charley paused in his pitching again to thoughtfully stroke his chin. "Well, he usually takes Cutter--the darker bay."
Dulcey studied the horse with an intense scrutiny. "Is Cutter fast?"
"I'll say! Wisper's the only horse aroun' these parts that Cutter cain't beat."
"Fine!" Dulcey declared. "Then Cutter it is."
"'Fraid not," Charley informed her, trying his level best to keep a straight face. "The Marshal jes' rode in on him a few hours ago, so he ain't fresh."
Dulcey looked disappointed. "Well, what about that one?" she wondered, motioning to a big blue roan standing off by itself.
"That's Reckless Wonder," Charley continued, in an amazing display of self-control. "I reckon ol' Reckless is the best looker a' the bunch. Don' you?"
"Yes, she's very pretty," the girl half-heartedly agreed, barely giving the mare a second glance. "But is she fast, and is she fresh?"
"O-Oh, fast enuff an' fresh enuff, I reckon. But she's gotta have her shoes reset before she goes out agin, or she'll throw one fer sure." He glanced in the girl's direction, saw the expression she was wearing and quickly looked away.
"I guess that leaves him, then," Dulcey resignedly declared and pointed to a fresh, and relatively fast, looking brown gelding with three white stockings and a white blaze on its forehead. It would have to be him. He was the only horse left in the pen.
"Wha-at?!" Charley stared at the girl in disbelief. "Ol' Dreamer?! Shucks, no! Dreamer's lame...been lame goin' on two weeks now. Nothin' serious. Jes' a stone bruise, is all." This time, the look on the girl's face caused his wry smile to return and broaden into a grin. "Now, if'n you'll excuse me...I got work ta do. I hafta go saddle the Marshal a fresh horse." He planted his fork in the hay again and headed off to do just that.
"But..." Dulcey stared at the corral--and then at Charley's back--in confusion, "which one?"
"One that'll git the Marshal ta Fort Dawes an' back in time fer yore party tanight!" Charley called back over his shoulder, and then he disappeared into the main barn, chuckling delightedly.
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By the time Dulcey got back from completing the unpleasant task of waking Mr. Winsom to dispatch the Marshal's telegram, an enormous coal-black horse was standing out front of Lundquist's Livery--all saddled and bridled and ready to go. If homely were a term that could be used to describe a horse, this gelding was the homeliest horse she'd ever laid eyes on.
Charley came out of the main barn just then and joined in her inspection of the beast. "Granted, he ain't much ta look at," he conceded, almost as though he had been reading her mind. "But he's sure-footed, an' steady, an' seems sensible enuff." He saw the girl's mouth starting to open. "An' what he lacks in speed, he more than makes up fer in stamina," he continued, answering the question that hadn't yet formed on her lips.
Dulcey was forced to smile.
Charley grinned, too as he realized that his good-natured teasing had finally paid off. The girl was obviously satisfied with his answer and no longer seemed bent on teaching him his business. "Oh, an' one more thing about this horse. He don' like ta be tied up, at all! It makes 'im sort a' crazy. So, when yah git ta wherever it is yer goin' with 'im--jes' drop the reins an' leave 'im . Yah don' hafta worry 'bout 'im wanderin' off," he added, accurately anticipating her next question as well. "He'll stay ground tied...jes' like he is now."
"Ground tied?" Dulcey looked skeptical. "And he's not going to run off and leave the Marshal stranded out in the middle of nowheres...walking the soles off of his boots?"
Charley threw his head back and laughed. "Ah-hah! Don' you worry none. Ol' Lancer, here, ain't like that fancy, flighty filly over there. No-o-o. Lancer, here, knows whose horse he is, don't yah, boy!"
The big black gelding snorted just then and tossed its head--as if on cue.
Charley grinned again and patted the animal on the shoulder. "I tell yah, Missy, it's unnatural the affection this animal has fer the Marshal! Unnatural--an' downright embarrassin'! Why, he actually follows the man around like a little puppy dog!"
Dulcey looked somewhat reassured and then thoughtful. "I don't understand. If Lancer belongs to the Marshal, then why wasn't he in the corral with the others?"
"Those animals--over there--are used for official government business, so he gets ta keep them at the government's expense. Lancer, here--an' another horse inside--are the Marshal's own personal property. So the money ta pay their feed bills comes out a' his own pocket. Now, go on! Take 'im, an' git! I'll never git my work done if'n I hafta stand around here jawin' with you all mornin'! Oh, an' when yah see the Marshal, tell 'im ta stop by an' see me before he leaves. Those special items he ordered are ready for 'im ta pick up. Think yah kin remember that?"
Dulcey smiled and nodded. "Will I see you tonight?"
"You betcha!" Charley vowed, his wry smile returning. "Been lookin' forward ta it fer days!" he teased and went chuckling off again.
Dulcey smiled again. The girl then grabbed the gelding's reins and started leading him off down the street--in the direction of her Inn.
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The Marshal Crown that exited Lee Wong's combination tonsorial parlor, bath house and laundry--and headed off down the boardwalk with broad, brisk, confident strides--was not the same Marshal Crown that had entered it just a half hour earlier.
It was amazing the effect that a little soap and water, a sharp razor, and a clean change of clothes could have on a man's appearance--and perspective. The spring was back in his step. The day was looking much brighter--a fact which had very little to do with the sun rising higher in the eastern sky.
The surface of the Marshal's solid silver hat band glistened. A week's worth of trail dust had been removed from his gambler's-style Stetson, revealing its true color--black. His hair, also truly black, worn on the long side--and usually in disarray--was squeaky clean and still a little damp, but combed and held in check by his hat. His rugged, tanned, handsome face was now grime-free and close-shaven.
His powder-blue, well-tailored shirt was immaculate. Its sleeves, like its collar, were unbuttoned--the cuffs casually flipped back up on his wrists. A black, ribbon-like tie encircled his neck and came together under his collar in a large, limp, loose bow. The lawman's black leather vest had been cleaned and oiled, and the badge of his office--pinned high on its left front panel--had been polished.
His holster--slung low on his right hip--sported a well-balanced, bone-handled, nickel-plated Colt .45 Peace-Maker model, with an eight-inch barrel that made allowances for both speed and accuracy. The hammer-catch, which held his weapon in place while he was running or riding, was slipped off. The thin, leather lace--which kept his holster in place while he was drawing--was tied snugly about his right thigh.
His nearly black britches, skin-tight and Spanish-cut, were cleaned and pressed. Four solid silver conchos adorned each of his flared pant cuffs--woven into place with black leather lace. Why, the black leather of his boots had even been buffed to a high, glossy shine.
Yes-sir, thanks to a little elbow grease from Mr. Wong, the Marshal's whole appearance now seemed perfectly spit and polished. And, thanks to the medicinal properties of the herbs that Mrs. Wong had so thoughtfully added to his steaming, hot tub, Crown found that he was now feeling almost as good as he looked.
He reached the end of Mercantel Street and took a turn onto Main Street--the street on which the Wayfarer's Inn and his Office were located. A turn which brought about his fourth encounter with Roger Mareck.
Before Mareck and his three bodyguards could even bat their wide eyes, Crown's Colt had already cleared its holster, its hammer had been thumbed back, and its barrel had been passed back and forth over them--at the level of their mid-sections--several times. Seeing that the Marshal was quite capable of keeping the four of them covered simultaneously, caused the startled men to freeze--and to remain frozen--in their tracks.
Mareck was the first one to recover his composure and find his voice. "Now, Marshal...I ask you...Is that any way to greet someone?" The rather blase` tone of his question belied the cold, precisely calculated look in his sinister, dark eyes.
Crown met Mareck's gaze and matched it in intensity. "If that someone is you, it is," he casually replied.
Mareck was forced to smile. Well, actually, it was more of a condescending smirk than a smile. He stood there--in his precisely tailored suit--eyeing the Marshal up and down, from head to toe. "I must say...I'm somewhat surprised to see you up and about--and looking so dapper--this early in the day." He glanced knowingly at his three bodyguards and they exchanged smirks. Mareck turned back to the peace officer and pretended to look thoughtful. "Let's see if I can guess what's gotten you out of bed...Well, it's too soon to be getting duded up for your party tonight, that's for sure..."he reasoned mockingly. Then he stiffened suddenly and snapped his fingers. "You must have some place to go! Is that it? Are you, by any chance, going somewheres?"
Crown knew full well that Mareck knew full well exactly where he was going and why he was going there. "I must say," the lawman said, parroting the smirking man's words perfectly, "that I'm surprised ta see you up an' about period, Mareck. Yes-sir, it amazes me that you kin move at all. What with all that extra weight you're carryin' around these days. What with a Territorial Judge in one pocket...and an Army Major in the other..." he added, motioning to Mareck's two front coat pockets with the barrel of his gun.
'Mister' Mareck's smirk vanished. His already intense gaze intensified. This time when he spoke, the tone of his voice matched the look in his cold, hard eyes. "It appears that I've misjudged you, Marshal. You're not a reasonable man, after all. You're a fool! One, foolish little man...standing alone...trying to stop a freight train. Have you ever seen what happens to a man when he steps in front of a moving train, Marshal? It's not a pretty sight!" he paused for effect. But the Marshal didn't seem to be effected in the least, so he continued. "But...a train can't run you over when you're on board it. So...what do you say? Why not forget all this foolishness and climb aboard? While there's still time..."he added very deliberately, finishing his unmistakable threat to the Marshal's continued existence.
In his ten years as a U.S. Marshal, Crown had come across dozens of men like Mareck--men who were so small that they felt obliged to step on other people to make themselves appear bigger. He had found every single one of them extremely arrogant and annoying, too. But the unmitigated gall of 'Mister' Roger Mareck topped them all! How could one pompous person be so unbelievably arrogant--and dense?! He gave the arrogant man an 'Are you for rea-eal?' look before making his reply. "For the fourth time, I have no intentions a' boardin' yore 'train', Mareck! Truth is, my heart's dead set on derailin' it," he added, equally deliberately. "Have you ever seen a train wreck, Mareck?" he calmly inquired, continuing his unmistakable threat to Mareck's continued existence as a free man. "It's not a pretty sight!" he concluded, perfectly parroting the Easterner's own words, once again.
And so the battle lines were drawn. By the time 'all this foolishness' was finally over, and the smoke finally cleared, either Mareck was gonna be behind bars...or the Marshal was gonna be dead. The two sworn enemies just continued to stand there, silently staring each other down.
"Ji-im?!" a familiar voice broke the silence. Dulcey had spotted the Marshal's glistening, silver hat-band from clear down on the other end of Main Street, and had come--practically running--to meet him, dragging his homely--but fresh--horse along with her.
Crown used the girl's sudden appearance as an excuse to make a dignified retreat from his close encounter of the 'Mareck' kind. He backed off the boardwalk as dignifiedly as possible, and carefully returned his gun to its holster--a cautious move designed to allow Mareck and his men either to draw on him...or to continue on their merry way.
The group gave the Marshal a few last 'if looks could kill, he'd be dead' glares, then they turned the corner and disappeared up the street he'd just come down.
"What was all that about?" Dulcey wondered, sounding more than a bit anxious and concerned.
Crown finally chanced a glance in the girl's direction. Sure enough, the concerned, anxious look on her pretty face matched the concern and anxiety he'd heard in her voice. "'Mister' Mareck an' I were jes' discussin' some a' the benefits..." the lawman looked back at the now empty boardwalk and forced a slight smile, "an' hazards a' train travel these days," he told her, somewhat truthfully. "Speakin' a' trains...I'm gonna ride on out an' check on the Settlement before mine pulls out," he announced, snatching the reins from her and tossing them back up onto his horse's withers. He raised his left stirrup up and laid it back across the seat of his saddle so he could check his cinch.
"But..." Dulcey seemed even more rattled by the Marshal's now imminent departure, "you haven't eaten yet!"
The lawman finished checking his cinch, replaced his left stirrup and then swung himself up into his saddle--all in one, smooth, uninterrupted motion. 'Havin' one Miss Dulcey Coopersmith for a friend is a lot like bein' married,' he realized to himself. "Thanks for bringin' my horse down for me. Have my breakfast ready by seven. I ought ta have me--an my appetite--back by then," he finished and flashed his adopted wife a warm, winning smile. He tipped his hat to her for the second time that morning. Then he turned his horse in the direction of the Settlement and eased it into a trot.
Dulcey gazed glumly after the rapidly disappearing figure for a few moments and then stiffened. "Jim?! Wait!" she shouted and ran off down the street after him, "Wait up, Jim!"
Crown reluctantly reined his horse in and waited patiently for the panting girl to reach his new position in the street.
"I forgot I had another message for you," Dulcey gasped breathlessly. "So, before I forget again...Charley wants you to stop by and see him before you leave," she gasped again. "Something about some special items you ordered being ready or something."
The Marshal nodded his acknowledgment of her latest message, then tipped his hat to her a third time and eased his horse back into a trot, thankful that not all of the girl's messages for him were gonna be bad news...or were they?
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"Mornin', Charley!" Crown called out, riding up to the owner of Lundquist's Livery, and reining in his horse. "I hear yah got my special order filled."
"Mornin', Marshal!" Charley called back. "Yeah, they're ready all right. They're right here," he added, giving the pile of chains at his feet a quick kick. "But that ain't the real reason I wanted ta see yah. I jes' said that 'cause I didn' wanna worry the girl none." He stood there solemnly for a few moments hesitating to speak. The expression on his troubled face was just as solemn as it could get, and there was a solemn tone in his voice when he finally did speak again. "Roger Mareck's men have been ridin' out a' here two-by-two since before sun-up. An' they was--all of 'em--totin' Winchesters. So yah kin jes' forgit about goin' ta Fort Dawes taday. 'Cuz--if'n you was ta go ridin' out a' here right now--you'd be committin' suicide, sure as heck!" There was another brief silence, during which time Charley studied the still-mounted figure before him carefully. He seemed more than a little disappointed by the Marshal's reaction--or rather his lack of a reaction--to his comments. "Didn' yah hear me, Marshal?! I sai-aid 'Mister' Mareck's got fourteen men out there--jes' a layin' fer yah! Jes' a waitin' fer yah ta 'ride within range a' their rifles'--so's they kin blow yah clean out a' yore saddle!"
This time, his comments produced at least a slight reaction, causing Crown first to stiffen and then to straighten in his seat. "He's brought in reinforcements?"
Charley nodded. "They rode in las' night on the train out a' Shades Wells," he glumly replied and then waited for some further reaction. But there was none forthcoming.
Crown just sat there--silently--in his saddle, wearing a foreboding frown, carefully thinking over the implications of Charley's latest facts and figures. By gradually spiriting them off to Adrian's Canyon, the Marshal had succeeded in cutting the number of men in Mareck's horde from fifteen down to just five. Now, by promising them tidy sums of money no doubt, Mareck had just succeeded in building his horde back up to nearly fifteen again--eighteen counting his bodyguards. Successfully eluding five men would be one thing. Successfully eluding fourteen men would be another thing all together. Something like say, a miracle maybe? "Any other new faces in town these days?"
"Nope! Yore reinforcements ain't arrived yet. If'n they's gonna show up at all..."
Crown winced, finding the man's last remark painfully grim. "Thanks for the warnin', Charley. I'll take those items off yore hands now," he added, nodding to the pile of chains on the ground at the blacksmith's feet.
Charley's jaw dropped and he stared up at the Marshal, looking absolutely incredulous. "Yer not still thinkin' a' headin' out a' here?!" he stated hopefully.
"I thought I'd ride on out an' check on the Settlement before my train leaves," the lawman calmly confided.
Charley just stood there for a few more moments, sadly shaking his head. Then he reluctantly stooped down and started passing the chains up to the Marshal, who started draping them carefully over the pommel of his saddle. "I sure hope yah know what yer doin', Marshal. 'Cuz--fer the life a' me--I sure cain't figure it--" he stopped suddenly and turned to Crown's horse. "You take care a' him now, yah hear? An' see ta it that 'e makes it back here," he solemnly added .
Crown suppressed a smile. He then took the last of the eight new sets of manacles from the man who had forged them and draped it over his saddle with the others. "Thanks again, Charley. I'll see yah later."
"I surely do hope so, Marshal," Charley replied. "I surely do hope so...or it ain't gonna be much of a party," he added under his breath.
But, the Marshal caught the comment and gave him a strange look.
Charley crouched down and hurried off into the barn.
Crown sat there, contemplating the liveryman's rather curious comment--and behavior--over for a few moments. Alas, a few moments was all he could spare. So, once again, he turned his mount in the direction of the Settlement just south of town, and, once again, he eased it into a trot--and concentrated his mental efforts on much more serious matters. 'You do realize, don't you,' he grimly reminded himself, 'that, when you leave here, you'll be facin' fourteen backshootin' bushwhackers!' He was finding it next to impossible to put the grisly mental picture--that Charley had so vividly just drawn for him--out of his mind. Maybe he should have just stayed in bed today? Maybe he should just go back to bed? Nah, he could never rest knowing John's killer was traipsin' around the Territory a free man. Besides, he had a plan, and there was, after all, a bright side to all of this. With Mareck's men out of town for the day, MacGregor should have no problem keeping the lid on things there in Cimarron. So Crown had one less worry...and nine more worries! Perhaps there wasn't a bright side to all of this after all...
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The peace officer passed the edge of town, came to a fork in the road, and took the left branch--the one that led down to the Cimarron River, and the Settlement along its east bank. He decided he wasn't going to allow himself to concentrate on bushwhackers. His attention was to be fully devoted to the rest of his senses. The air was cool, crisp and invigorating. There were birds singing in the groves of alders along the riverbank. The sound of the Cimarron, rushing ever onward to the southeast, was soothing, and there was the most breathtakingly beautiful red sky on the eastern horizon. Beautiful--and yet foreboding. Because a red sky on the morning horizon usually always meant rain later on in the day--which meant that he was going to get wet.
He put the bushwhackers and the rain out of his mind and concentrated on the natural beauty of the landscape. The pink-tinged, sandy-textured topsoil seemed even pinker, enhanced by the soft, red glow of the sun on the horizon. The soil was naturally pinkish because the sandy earth mixed with the layers of red sandstone and shale just beneath its surface. There were some areas along the river where wind and water had completely eroded the pink topsoil, exposing the red sandstone and shale and creating a stark color contrast. This whole area of the Strip was one gently-rolling, pink plain--mostly grass-covered--and dotted here and there with clumps of sagebrush and other low shrubs.
To the west of him--across the river--were the hills, rising one hundred and fifty to two hundred feet above the low plains. Hills capped by layers of gypsum--fifteen to twenty feet thick. Gypsum is a semi-transparent mineral that sparkles like glass in the sun. The Indians called the area 'Sha`-wa-ka-sa`-ne`', or 'hills-of-fire', because the sparkling gypsum often made the mounds of earth appear as though they were burning.
Beyond these gypsum hills was the high plain country...millions of square acres of flat, open grasslands--free, open country for as far as the eye could see. Why, a man could ride for weeks and never see a single sign of civilization. But, if 'Mister' Mareck's sudden appearance in Cimarron meant what the Marshal thought it meant, it wouldn't be long before the last untouched Indian Territory--the whole Cherokee Outlet and the entire Cimarron Strip--would be precisely parceled out. The grasslands would be plowed under and fenced off into neat little barbed-wire squares.
It tore at Crown's insides to think of it, so he quickly put that out of his mind, too and tried concentrating on the smells that were now wafting his way. The lawman enjoyed riding out to check on the Settlement. One of the things that he enjoyed the most were the smells that always greeted him in the air...the thick, rich, warm smell of wood smoke...deliciously inviting smells of coffee brewing and sourdough biscuits being baked over open fires. They reminded the former cowboy of his trail days.
Crown all too quickly covered the mere two mile distance between the Settlement and Cimarron. He rode right up to the Fitzsimmons family's camp--situated on the outskirts--and reined his horse in. "Mornin', Mrs. Fitzsimmons!"
A pleasant woman, in her late thirties, looked up from the campfire she was cooking over. "Good morning, Marshal!" she acknowledged as the lawman nodded and tipped his hat politely in her direction. "You're just in time for breakfast. Won't you step down and join us?"
"That's a mighty temptin' offer. But Dulcey's got my breakfast waitin' for me back in town. Thanks anyways. Is Danny around?"
"He's getting dressed. I'll fetch 'im. Dan-ny?! The Marshal's here!" she called in the direction of their covered wagon.
The head of a fourteen-year-old boy poked itself out of the back canvas flap. An astonished look filled the lad's face. His head disappeared again and then reappeared a few moments later--followed by the half-dressed rest of him. "Mornin', Marshal!"
"Danny..." Crown acknowledged with a nod and a suppressed smile, as the boy came hopping up to him, pulling his boots on along the way. "How's my deputy doin' this mornin'?"
Danny gave his left boot one last stomp then straightened up and gave his blond head a quick flick to shake the hair out of his bright blue eyes. "U-Uh, fine! Just fine, sir! Clipper's doin' fine, too. He's the best horse in the whole world!" he proudly declared and motioned to a spotted gelding tethered to a tree at their camp's left boundary.
Crown had given the animal to the boy, saying that no deputy of his was gonna be without a good horse. In return, Danny would keep the Marshal up to date on all the latest happenings in the Settlement, keep tabs on all the new arrivals and report any trouble to the Marshal's Office--on the double!
"Do you want a full report?" his deputy wondered, whipping a small note pad out of his back pants' pocket.
"Actually," Crown replied, suppressing another smile, "I don' really have a whole lot a' time for reports, right now. Taday's payday," he explained, flipping the lad a silver dollar, "I'll let yah know when it's report day."
Danny fingered the silver dollar and beamed a big grin up at his boss. "Yes-sir, Marshal Crown!"
"Danny, I'd like ta talk ta yore mother, here, a minute--in private..." the Marshal hinted.
Danny took the hint and stepped out of ear-shot of the grown-ups.
Crown turned his full attention back to the woman. "I spoke with yore husband earlier this mornin'. He wanted me ta tell yah that he misses you an' that he's doin' jes' fine. I'd be obliged if you could let the rest a' the wives know that their men miss them, and that they're all doin' jes' fine, too. Mr. Lewis an' Mr. Davies'll be comin' in for supplies this mornin'. I'd appreciate it if you could see ta it that they get these," he paused to flip four sets of the manacles off of his saddle. They dropped with a jingle into the dust on the ground at the woman's feet. "An' tell 'em I said ta be extra careful. Mareck's brought in more men. So they cain't be too careful."
"Thank you, Marshal. Yes, of course. Don't worry. I'll tell the ladies. And I'll make sure the men get these--and your message--before they leave. Any idea how much longer they'll be gone?"
Crown's face scrunched up a might and he heaved a heavy sigh of frustration. "I was hopin' ta see 'em make it back here sometime tanight. But it looks like Mareck's reinforcements are the only ones that have shown up...so fa-ar," he added positively. "I should have some word for sure by tanight. I promise, I'll let you know the moment I hear anything."
"I'd appreciate that very much. Thank you again and," she gave the lawman a sort of a sad smile, "I don't think you could possibly be too careful yourself, Marshal."
Her truthful--and sincere--comment caused Crown to return her smile.
"See you tonight at the party!" she called as the man tipped his hat and turned his horse in her son's direction.
Crown glanced back and waved uncertainly. "Take care a' yore mother, boy," the Marshal ordered down as he rode up to where Danny stood, patting his spotted horse. "An' keep an eye on things around here for me while I'm gone. Remember, if there's any trouble, I want yah ta ride in an' report it ta Mr. MacGregor on the double! Yah hear?"
"Yes-sir, Marshal!"
The boy's eagerness to please--and the serious expression on his youthful face--caused Crown's smile to return. "You're a good deputy, Danny." 'An', come ta think of it,' he told himself, 'so's yore father.'
"Maybe I could give you my report at the party tonight?" the boy volunteered.
"Maybe," Crown agreed. "If I'm there."
"But..." the boy's face fell and his color went pale,"you've got ta be the--" he cut his comment short and pulled his horse's lead rope free. "Excuse me, Marshal. I got ta go water Clipper," he said and then quickly disappeared, dragging the horse off down the slope--in the direction of the river.
Crown sat there contemplating his deputy's rather curious comments--and behavior--over for a few moments. Maybe there was something more mystifyin' than a female after all...like a fourteen-year-old boy with his first horse. The Marshal gave his head another quick shake. Then he swung his horse in the direction of town and urged it into a nice, easy canter.