The Bride's Prerogative (44 page)

“Griff Bane can lay him out at the livery.”

“Who is it, anyway?”

Hiram puzzled for a moment. “I don’t rightly know. There were four of them. Cowboys, not miners. They were wearing spurs. But they never said what outfit they work for.”

“I’ll ask the sheriff.” Kincaid headed for the stairs.

Mrs. Thistle stood in the doorway between the parlor and the dining room. “What happened, Mr. Dooley?”

“Just a little fracas at the saloon, ma’am.”

“Thank heaven it was the one down the street for a change.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Did I hear you say you hurt your hand?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He shoved his hand into his trouser pocket and tried not to wince. He was eager to get home and try that willow bark tea and Epsom salts.

“Well, between your sister and Mrs. Caplinger, the womenfolk will know what to do, like Dr. Jim said.”

Hiram gulped. The last person he wanted hovering and fussing over him was Rose.

CHAPTER 12

L
ibby totaled the order for Annie Harper. Coffee, sugar, saleratus, and a length of dress goods.

“Let’s see, now. I believe that with the eggs and milk you’ve been supplying me, you haven’t used all your credit, Annie.”

“That’s wonderful. Zack’s been a little short on cash lately. Say, did you hear about the dustup at Bitsy’s place last night?”

“No. What happened?” Libby reached under the counter for a roll of brown paper. “Let me wrap your material for you.”

“Thank you. Seems Sheriff Chapman and Hiram Dooley stood off a half dozen gunfighters.”

Libby let the roll of paper thump onto the counter. “They
what?

“My husband saw the whole thing. He said a bunch of strangers rode in and were drinking too hard. They started tearing up the saloon. Ethan marched in there and shot the leader dead, and Hiram got into fisticuffs with one of the others. Laid him out cold on the floor.”

Aware that her lower jaw was hanging, Libby snapped it shut. She could scarcely credit what she was hearing, but still … Zack Harper wouldn’t lie about something like that. Though he might exaggerate.

“I thought I heard a gunshot or two, but when I opened my window, I didn’t hear anything more,” she said. “Is … is the sheriff all right?”

“I expect so. Zachary said he was right as rain when he left the saloon last night, and I haven’t heard otherwise.”

Libby finished wrapping the parcel, and Annie went on her way. Only a few customers had come early to the emporium. Libby took off her apron and beckoned Florence to the counter.

“I need to step over to Trudy’s for a minute. Will you be all right?”

“Yes ma’am.” Florence, at nineteen, was one of the beauties of Fergus. Her red hair and green eyes drew all the young men’s attention, and she sometimes had to choose whom to allow to sit beside her at church. She was a good girl and a steady worker, and Libby had trained her well over the past two years.

“Say, did your father mention anything this morning about some unpleasantness at the Spur & Saddle last night?”

“No, but Mr. Harper and Mr. Bane came to see him as I was leaving to come to work. Papa was still at breakfast.”

So, the council members were making sure Peter Nash, the mayor, knew about the latest doings. “I won’t be long.” Libby grabbed her bonnet and shawl and hustled out the door. She dashed across Main Street and down the boardwalk to the path beside the Dooleys’ house. When she knocked, Rose opened the back door.

“Oh, Mrs. Caplinger.” Libby paused to catch her breath and consider how to word her inquiry. “Is Trudy about this morning?”

Rose’s pretty nose wrinkled. “She’s feeding the livestock. Mr. Dooley injured his hand, and his sister felt obliged to do the chores for him.”

“Oh my. It’s not serious, I hope.”

Rose lowered her thick, dark eyelashes and sighed. “The doctor examined him, and he assured Mr. Dooley that he would recover in a few weeks.”

“Weeks?” Libby caught herself. She’d save the questions for Trudy. “Well, I hope this won’t keep him from his work. I’ll just step over and …” She turned as a door creaked across the barnyard. Trudy was just coming from the barn, carrying a basin of chicken feed.

“Hello, Libby! What are you doing here?” she called.

Libby gathered her skirts. “Thank you, Mrs. Caplinger.” She turned and hurried toward Trudy. “I came to ask you a question.” She lowered her voice and looked back toward the kitchen, but Rose had already withdrawn and closed the door. “Is … is the sheriff all right? I just heard about the brawl at Bitsy’s.”

Trudy gave a rueful smile. “Ethan’s fine. He’s taking it hard that he killed a man. But I wish I’d been there to see it when he stood up to those fellows. Hiram, too.”

“Yes. Your sister-in-law said Hiram was injured.”

Trudy shrugged and opened the gate to the poultry yard. “He’ll be all right. But next time I expect he’ll think a little longer before he lambastes a tough cowpoke.”

Libby gasped. “His hand …?”

“Bruised pretty good. All colors of the rainbow this morning.”

“Will he be able to work?”

“It may be a few days before he does fine work. I’m tending the horses this morning only because Rose insisted he shouldn’t carry a pail of water from the pump to the trough. As if he couldn’t lug it with his left hand. But I don’t mind. Hiram’s done a lot of chores for me.” Trudy flung handfuls of cracked corn to the dozen chickens in the yard, and they scrambled about her feet to get it.

Libby noted that Rose’s mothering of Hiram stopped short of offering to do the work herself. “Well. I’m glad he’s all right. If you need anything …”

“Doc Kincaid said to soak it in Epsom salts, and we did that last night. I may need another package, though.”

“I’ll bring it over this afternoon. No charge.”

Trudy’s eyes widened. “Why, thank you, but there’s no need to bankrupt yourself on our account.”

“You said your brother may be unable to do close work for a while, so he’ll lose some income. Besides, a man who defends our town ought to be treated special, don’t you think?”

Trudy lowered her empty basin and grasped Libby’s sleeve, her eyes gleaming. “Libby, you know Hiram wouldn’t want anyone to fuss over him—he’d be so embarrassed—but I’ve got to tell you, from what Ethan says, Hi is a real hero. He jumped right into the fray to support Ethan. Those men would have ruined Bitsy’s place and maybe killed some innocent people if Ethan and Hi hadn’t stepped in.” Her grave expression smoothed out, and she gave a conspiratorial smile. “Rose asked Hiram whatever ailed him to walk into danger like that. Know what he said?”

Libby shook her head, amazed at how eager she was to hear the answer.

“He said he’d heard Miss Bitsy had a great big mirror and lots of pretty furniture in there, and when he saw it was true, he couldn’t bear to let those rowdies stave it up.”

Libby blinked at her. “That doesn’t sound like Hiram.”

Trudy laughed. “I think he was trying to get Rose to ease up. She practically swooned when she saw what he did to his hand. I think he was afraid Ethan was going to get himself killed. He went in there for his friend’s sake. Well, and maybe a little for Bitsy, too, since she was so good about helping defend the town when we needed it. Hiram and I pray every day that she’ll come to know the Lord.”

“So do I.” Libby felt tears spring into her eyes. She’d known Hiram was a praying man, but it touched her deeply to hear of his faithful pleas for the saloon owner. “Do you and Hiram pray together? He’s so quiet.”

“Usually I pray, and he just says, ‘amen.’ But I know he prays inside.” Trudy frowned. “Since Rose came, we’ve quit reading scripture together. Used to do it after breakfast every morning, but now …” Trudy sighed. “Rose being here sort of puts us off kilter. She makes Hi nervous as a cat.”

“I’m sorry about that. Any indication of how long her visit will last?”

“Not yet.” Trudy fastened the gate to the chicken yard. “She made gingerbread yesterday because she remembered he used to like it, and she’s talking about piecing a wedding ring quilt, of all things.”

It was a bit blatant, but Libby couldn’t bring herself to comment on Rose’s choice of quilt patterns.

“Now that she sees my brother as a wounded hero, who knows?” Trudy asked. “If she had her way, I think she’d make mollycoddling him her life’s mission, if you know what I mean.”

Libby knew all too well what she meant.

CHAPTER 13

E
than slid his prisoner’s breakfast through the slot at the bottom of the cell wall. It was a little late, but the Thistles had fed their roomers first before bringing flapjacks and bacon for two to the jailhouse. He poured himself a mug of coffee, set the pot back on the small woodstove, and went to his desk to eat his own meal from the tray. He’d left the door of his office open, since the stove had heated things up all too well.

He’d just finished the stack of flapjacks and wished there were more when the prisoner decided to talk.

“You gonna keep me here all day?”

“Maybe.” Ethan shoved the tray aside and tilted his chair back, resting his boots on the desktop. He sipped his coffee. “How’s the headache this mornin’?”

“Tolerable.”

Ethan grunted and drank more coffee. So far all he’d gotten out of the prisoner was his name—Eli Button. Didn’t sound like a real name to Ethan. Probably made it up, though he’d met some folks with strange names. But none of the current wanted posters had a name like that.

When he’d drained his mug, he lowered his feet to the floor with a thump and stood. “You want more coffee, Button?”

“Much obliged.”

“Slide your cup out here.”

When the prisoner had stood back from the bars again, Ethan picked up the tin cup he allowed inmates and took it with his ironstone mug to the stove. He poured Button’s drink first and took it back to the cell. “There you go.” When he had his own refilled mug in hand, he went back to his desk. “I can’t let you go until I know who you work for. I need to notify your boss about your dead partner.”

Button scowled. “I’m sure the other boys told him.”

“We’ll see.” Ethan settled his boots on the desktop again. “I’m not letting you go until I see your ranch foreman in here.” He hadn’t voiced the thought that perhaps Button wasn’t really employed at a local ranch at all. He’d never seen any of the men who’d caused trouble at Bitsy’s last night. Odd for a rancher to hire an all-new crew, and even odder for the folks in town not to hear about it.

“We h’aint been here long.” Button’s voice bordered on whiny. “The fella that owns the ranch is named Fennel.”

Ethan froze with his mug an inch from his lips. After a moment, he set it down. “Cyrus Fennel.”

“That’s right.”

“You don’t work on Fennel’s main ranch, though.” Fennel was a close neighbor of Ethan’s, and they saw each other almost daily on the road or in town. Ethan couldn’t believe he wouldn’t know if Cyrus had doubled his crew overnight.

“Naw, it’s about ten miles from here. But he owns it.”

“Who’s the foreman?”

“Eastern fella, name of Smith.”

Ethan let out a short puff of air, just short of a snort. Smith sounded even more bogus than Button.

The doorway darkened, and he looked up. Griffin Bane, the big blacksmith, filled the space.

“I can stay for an hour. No more.”

“Shouldn’t take that long.” Ethan swung his long legs down off the desk. “I don’t expect trouble, but it’s possible someone from the ranch where this hothead works will come by to bail him out.”

“Where you going to be if I need you?”

Ethan stood and reached for his hat. “Over to Mayor Nash’s house. The council’s meeting. I don’t know why they need me there.” He gritted his teeth, hoping they weren’t going to give him any grief over last night’s shooting.

“Glad I’m not on the council this year.” Griff plopped down in Ethan’s chair and eyed his mug speculatively. “You done with this coffee?”

“Yeah. Help yourself to more. See you shortly.”

Ethan hoofed it for the Nashes’ home, where Peter kept the post office on the boarded-in front porch. He’d hoped to catch Cyrus as he left his office, but the Wells Fargo station was empty when Ethan passed.

He walked into the post office—you never knocked on the outer door—and rapped on the door to the house. Ellie Nash opened it.

“Good morning, Sheriff. The council is all here, I believe. They’re in the parlor. Can I bring you coffee?”

“Just had some, thank you, ma’am.” Ethan pulled off his hat and entered the small parlor. Though it wasn’t so fine as the Walkers’, it felt cozier. Meetings here always seemed more cordial than the ones last year, when Charles Walker had presided.

Ethan nodded at Libby Adams, the newest member. Folks had debated long and hard last fall over letting a woman sit on the town council. Since they hadn’t achieved statehood yet, the town pretty much made its own rules. The Ladies’ Shooting Club of Fergus had strong opinions that they lobbied for, one of them being that women should be able to hold town offices and vote on local questions.

A lot of men had protested, but in the end, the ladies and the minority of men supporting them had won. Bitsy had pointed out that widows and unmarried women who owned property were already allowed to vote on special property-tax issues in the territory. It was only a small step, she declared, until they gained equal suffrage with men. Throughout the territory, the push for women’s voting rights was strong.

Personally, Ethan was glad they had a female council member. It kept Cyrus, Oscar, and Zack from swearing and smoking those infernal cigars they liked so much.

“Welcome, Sheriff,” Peter said. “Take a seat. We have several items to discuss, but we’ll put the one that concerns you first so you can get back to your duties.”

“Thank you.” Ethan tried to ignore the tickle in his chest. How bad could it be?

“First of all, as the current leaders of the town, we would like to thank you for the boldness you exhibited last night in protecting the lives and virtue of our citizens and the property of one of our leading business owners.”

Ethan looked down and adjusted his position in the chair. What other town would commend a man for defending a saloon? “It’s part of the job, I reckon.”

“Nevertheless, we extend our gratitude to you as sheriff. This council is in agreement that we ought to raise your pay a dollar a week.”

Ethan jerked his chin up and met Peter’s gaze. A dollar a week would go a long ways. Because of all the time he spent in town fulfilling his duties, he’d had to keep his ranch hands longer in the fall and hire them back earlier this spring.

“Why, thank you very much. I appreciate your confidence.”

Libby said, “And we appreciate your valiance.”

Oscar frowned as if puzzling over that word.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Ethan said.

“Did you find out who the fella you plugged is?” Zack asked.

Libby winced, and Ethan felt his face flush in sympathy.

“Not yet. The prisoner’s pretty tight-lipped, but”—he glanced at Cyrus—“Mr. Fennel, if I might have a word with you when you’re finished here, I’d appreciate it.”

Cyrus cleared his throat. “Are you implying that I had something to do with last night’s shootout? Because I haven’t set foot in the Spur & Saddle since—”

Ethan held out one hand. “No sir, not at all. It’s just …” He looked around, wondering how much he should spill in front of the others.

“Spit it out.” Cyrus glared at him.

“All right. The prisoner—that is, the man Hiram Dooley knocked out during the fracas—says he and the other troublemakers work on one of your ranches.”

“What—” Cyrus stopped abruptly and clamped his lips shut in a bitter frown. “I see.”

“Do you? Because I don’t, Mr. Fennel.”

Cyrus harrumphed and took a gulp from his cup.

Peter looked around at the others, and his gaze came back to Cyrus. “If you can shed any light on this situation, Cy, we’d appreciate it. Zack said the four roughnecks were all strangers, but if you know them …”

“I don’t know them.” Cyrus shot Ethan a dark glance then heaved a sigh. “I suppose they’re out to the old Martin ranch.”

“You don’t know?” Oscar sat up and poked a stubby, accusing finger toward him. “You mean to tell me you don’t know who’s living on your property? That don’t sound like you, Cyrus.”

Fennel rubbed the back of his neck and met Peter’s gaze. “The truth is, I have a tenant out there now. Didn’t know he would hire a bunch of rabble-rousers. I had no idea until this minute that those men came from out there.” He turned toward Ethan. “You sure that’s where they’re from?”

“No sir, but the prisoner says it’s about ten miles from here.”

Cyrus nodded reluctantly. “That’s about how far it is to the old Martin place. My most remote property.” He sighed again and slumped in the armchair. “I haven’t been able to do anything with the place. A fellow came along wanting to lease with an option to buy. He seemed like a decent man, and I agreed to let him live out there. He said he’d run some beef on the land.”

“What’s his name?” Libby eyed him keenly.

“Uh … Smith.”

Ethan wondered at the little frown that puckered Libby’s smooth brow.

“I don’t know where he got his hands. Maybe some fellows who had worked for him someplace else. Anyway, I’ll ride out there this afternoon after the stagecoach comes in. You can be sure this won’t happen again.”

“I should hope not,” Peter said.

“I’ll lay down the law to him.” Cyrus reached for his coffee.

“You want me to let the prisoner go?” Ethan asked.

Zack let out a whoop of laughter. “Still can’t believe Hiram Dooley put out his lights. Never would have expected him to do that, him being such a quiet man.”

“Does the prisoner owe anything?” Cyrus asked, ignoring Zack.

Ethan shrugged. “I generally charge a buck a night, to save the town from paying their expenses. He had a couple of dollars on him. I can take it out of that if you want and pay the Thistles for his meals. But someone ought to pay for the damage at Bitsy’s.”

“How bad was it?” Oscar asked.

“Not much. I had her give me a list this morning. She says they broke one chair and three glasses, and the man that fired the gun made a hole in the wall. A couple of dollars ought to cover everything.”

“I’ll stop by the jailhouse later and pay you,” Cyrus said. “And I’ll speak to my tenant about making sure his hands stay out of trouble.”

“Oh, and the other two—the ones I let go—I’ve got their six-shooters over at the jailhouse. You could return them, I guess, if you get a pledge they won’t come fixing to bust up the town again.”

“All right. I’ll see you after lunch.”

Ethan nodded. “We done?”

“I guess so,” Peter said, glancing around at the other council members. “And again, Sheriff, we thank you for your excellent service.”

Ethan left the house, wondering if Cyrus would be able to control his tenant’s hired hands. He didn’t want to walk into another gunfight anytime soon.