True to the Law (6 page)

He paused again, then took a mouthful of food and washed it down with a sip of beer. “After Hempstead, I set a different course.”

Tru considered that. “So you might not always play at the tables for your livelihood.”

“I might. I might not. I’m making no plans.” He jabbed at another dumpling. “Is it important? I recall you saying that you do not pass judgment on gaming.” He pointed to his beer. “Or drinking.”

“I haven’t forgotten what I said. I meant it.”

Cobb’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’ve got something in mind, though. I can see it.”

She touched the corner of her mouth self-consciously. No, she hadn’t pushed out her tongue. “What gave me away?”

“You don’t really expect me to tell you.”

She shrugged and took a bite of food. “Bitter Springs has no marshal. Did you know that?”

“No. No one’s mentioned it.”

“I didn’t hear about it until weeks after I arrived. Most folks think it should be kept quiet around strangers, at least until they’re fairly confident the strangers aren’t bank robbers or cattle thieves.”

“Or card cheats.”

“Especially not card cheats.”

“You don’t think it should be kept secret?”

“I think the town should have a lawman. There used to be a deputy. If I recall correctly, his name was Dan Sugar. But he’s gone now, and no one has a good word to say about him anyway. Mrs. Sterling’s husband was marshal years ago, and he was well liked. He was killed in an ambush outside of town.”

“I was aware of what happened to Marshal Sterling. Finn told me. He left out the part about the position still being vacant.”

“It’s hard to imagine, but I suppose even Finn can mind his tongue from time to time.”

Cobb jabbed a dumpling. “Why do you believe Bitter Springs needs a marshal? Is there some problem Finn hasn’t shared with me?”

“I don’t think so. There are disputes, of course, but Terry McCormick settles those. He’s the mayor. If it’s a property dispute, Harry Sample or his cousin Charles from the land office gets involved. Sometimes it’s a matter for a judge to decide and one comes in from Rawlins. That’s only happened once since I arrived.”

“And when did you arrive?”

“The first week of June.”

“So you’ve been here a little more than four months. Do you think you know enough to say whether or not Bitter Springs needs another marshal?”

“I’m allowed to have an opinion.”

“Of course. It’s generally better if it’s an informed one. There’s probably a good reason why no one is clamoring to fill the vacancy.”

“But I think I—”

Cobb interrupted her. “It doesn’t matter, Miss Morrow. Even if I could get elected to the position, I’m not interested in wearing a badge again or staying in Bitter Springs that long.”

Tru felt as if she had been pushed back in her chair. Cobb Bridger had not raised his voice in the least, rather it had become softer at the same time it was gathering intensity. There was a real force to it. She did not think she had imagined that. Her father had spoken similarly when he felt passionate about his subject, which he frequently did standing at the pulpit above the congregation at Olde St. John’s Episcopal Church. Tru also had occasion to hear her father practice his sermons and knew that the modulation of his voice was often carefully calculated to underscore a point.

Tru folded her hands around her teacup, warming them. “I don’t know if you could be clearer, Mr. Bridger, but I am compelled to correct an assumption you made. There is no election. The mayor and council can appoint you. They have that federal authority by virtue of their offices.”

“Miss Morrow.”

She recognized the feigned patience in his tone. “Yes?”

“I am not interested.”

“Now,” she said. “You are not interested now. You might find yourself in need of another diversion. It’s hard to say how a losing streak at the card table might influence your thinking.”

Cobb shook his head, but it was more in admiration than negation. “And I thought you could be dissuaded.” He lifted his beer before he inched forward in his chair just enough so he could recline. Beneath the table he crossed his legs at the ankles. “Very well. But why me, Miss Morrow? Why now? You’ve had months to apply yourself to the problem of law and order in Bitter Springs. Given what I have observed of your tenacity, it is astonishing that you haven’t already sworn in a new marshal. All by yourself.”

“I have heard it said that sarcasm is the language of the devil.”

“Then you know who you’re dealing with.”

The line of Tru’s full lips thinned as she suppressed another smile. His sardonic wit brought Charlotte Mackey to mind, although Mrs. Mackey’s pronouncements veered toward acerbic, while Cobb Bridger’s remarks were wry and dry.

“In spite of what you think, Mr. Bridger, the idea that you might make a reasonably competent marshal only occurred to me when you mentioned your experience. There have been discussions at public council meetings so it is not as if I am the only one who has been entertaining the notion. Not of you specifically, I mean. How could any of us have anticipated that someone with your experience would arrive in Bitter Springs? I’m talking about the
idea
that the town could benefit from a man like you. Since no one’s come forward to apply for the position, there’s been a proposal that the town should make the vacancy public.”

“Like they did with you.”

“As a matter of fact, yes. But how did you know?” She shook her head, blowing out an audible breath. “Finn.”

“And his grandmother. And Walt. Miss Ross said something about it as well. Or it could have been Miss Harrison. People seem to be delighted that the new teacher hails from Chicago and has an education to match her position. It’s a point of pride and the reason they talk about it so easily. Even Finn has come around, but then you know that.”

“It’s disquieting what a complete stranger can learn in a matter of days.”

“Most of it in the matter of a single day. Although it seems when the town agrees that some things are better not shared with strangers, like the absence of a marshal, for instance, there is almost universal silence.”

Tru flushed at what she felt was a rebuke. The fact that it was delivered by a virtual stranger made it all the more galling.

“When there is no such restriction,” he said, “I’ve learned that people in Bitter Springs have more to say than the
New York World
.”

“There is a lot of talk here,” she said. “And no town newspaper.”

“You don’t need one. Just like you probably don’t need a marshal.”

“I beg to differ on both counts.”

“Yet you did not ask me to be a publisher.”

“Do you have experience operating a newspaper?”

“No.”

“Experience is the salient point here. You carry a gun, don’t you?”

“Not to dinner.”

“But you know how to use one.”

“Yes. And so do the men robbing banks, stealing cattle, and challenging card cheats. One of the reasons people aren’t clamoring to be marshal is because it’s dangerous. Mrs. Sterling knows that all too well.”

Tru fell silent. Cecilia appeared again, this time to take their plates away and replace them with warm slices of apple pie. Tru thanked her and hoped she would recognize it for the dismissal it was. Cecilia lingered long enough to watch Cobb savor his first bite and agree to carry his compliments back to the cook.

“Mrs. Sterling doesn’t make the pies,” Tru said.

“I know. Mrs. Phillips does. But Mrs. Sterling deserves praise for purchasing them from someone so profoundly competent.”

“I will tell Jenny. She is a friend.”

“Then you should definitely tell her.”

“She thinks we need a marshal.”

He shrugged and took another bite of pie.

“The time to look for a marshal is when we don’t need one. If we are faced with the decision at the point of some calamity, it will be more difficult to be thoughtful.”

“Miss Morrow, there is more to being marshal than knowing how to shoot, although as a predictor of success in the job, it’s a reasonably good beginning.” He relished his last bite of pie but declined Tru’s serving when she pushed it toward him.

“What other qualities are important?” she asked.

“Very well. I suggest evenhandedness. Objectivity. A better than average knowledge of the law, particularly the ones that govern the town. The man you’re looking for won’t take the job if there are laws that are inherently flawed.”

“For example?”

“Laws that favor one group over another without regard to merit.”

“Like supporting the rights of men over women. Husbands over wives.”

Cobb’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I opened that door wide, didn’t I?”

“You did. What else?”

“Skill at tracking, investigation. Someone who can lead.”

“Someone who commands respect.”

“Precisely. A point not in my favor, by the way.”

“You should not be so quick to judge the citizens of Bitter Springs. People respect a gambler who runs a fair game.”

“I swear, Miss Morrow, you are sorely tempting me to reveal the ace I keep up my sleeve.”

Tru’s mouth twisted to one side as she studied him. Her lips settled into their normal line once she arrived at her conclusion. “You don’t have an ace anywhere on your person. You don’t play with marked cards. And you don’t deal from the bottom of the deck.”

“You are more trusting than is good for you.”

“You are not the first person to say so.”

“Your father again?”

She shook her head. “My former employer. Mrs. Mackey chided me regularly, but then she was suspicious of everyone. I asked her once if she was born cynical, and she assured me that she wasn’t. Family, she said, had made her that way. I told it her that it was the same for me.”

“How do you mean?”

“Trusting others to be at least as good as they can be. Trusting that some will be better. That thinking is compliments of my father. He was a minister and great believer in the good.”

Both of Cobb’s eyebrows lifted. “So you’re a schoolteacher
and
a minister’s daughter. You really aren’t going to allow me to escort you home.”

She laughed. “I told you.”

Cecilia Ross visited each table one more time, collecting plates and refilling coffee cups. She arrived at Cobb and Tru’s table last. “I let Mrs. Sterling know you liked the pie.” She glanced at the slice Tru had barely touched. “Something wrong with yours, Miss Morrow?”

“Not at all. I was chattering.”

“I noticed. I surely did.”

Tru was careful to temper her response. “I’m sure you weren’t alone. May I have my pie wrapped? I’d like to take it home.” She thought Cecilia looked as if she wanted to say no, but in the end she acquiesced.

“Of course.” She stopped short of saying she would be happy to do it.

“Thank you, Cil.”

Cecilia was already turning toward Cobb. “Is there anything else you’d like, Mr. Bridger?”

“Nothing for me.”

“Will you be going to the saloon before long? Folks have been asking.”

“Within the hour. There’s something I need to do first.”

“You don’t mind if I let people know? Jem and Jessop Davis are looking to win back what they lost last night. Jake says they’re fools, but he’d like to watch his brothers lose their shirts. I think he means to collect them for you.”

“I doubt it will come to that. Thank you, Miss Ross. Certainly you can let people know I intend to play this evening.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, Mr. Bridger. It’ll be my pleasure.”

When she walked away Tru checked to see if Cil’s feet were touching the ground. They were, but only just. She glanced at Cobb. “I hope you do not mean to break that girl’s heart, though I imagine she would bear as much responsibility for the breakage as you.”

Cobb said, “You’re making too much of her attention.”

Tru shrugged lightly.

Cobb’s eyes fell to the plate in front of Tru. “She forgot to take your pie.”

“I rest my case.”

* * *

Cobb sat at the small oak writing desk beside his bed, his feet propped sideways on a three-legged stool he had carried out of the bathing room. Walter delivered the paper, pen, and ink to him mere minutes after he made his request, and Cobb had given him a gold piece for his trouble. It was an extravagant gesture, one that Cobb could not afford to regularly repeat, but he had been feeling generous. It was a mood that lingered.

She
had something to do with it. Gertrude Morrow. He reached into the inside pocket of his vest and gingerly extracted the sketch he had made of her in Andrew Mackey’s study. The lawyer’s description had been correct on general points, but he had not been able to convey the finer ones.

Miss Morrow did indeed have an oval face, but there had been no mention of the faint indentation at the base of her chin or that in spite of features that were perfectly proportioned, there was an intriguing asymmetry that was visible when she smiled. The shallow dimple on the left side of her mouth had no twin on the right. Cobb wondered if Mackey hadn’t noticed or didn’t think it was important enough to bring up. For Cobb it was precisely that kind of detail that raised a sketch to the level of a portrait. Cobb had spent a considerable portion of the evening committing certain aspects of Gertrude Morrow’s face to his memory and wondering if Andrew Mackey had ever noticed her except in passing.