Depot. He checked his sample case to make certain nothing had been broken during the trip.
A traveling salesman from Denver, Deckert had been on the road for just over a week, having served clients in Greely, Colorado, Cheyenne, Rawlins, and Green River, Wyoming, Squaw Creek, American Falls, and King Hill, Idaho, before arriving here in Medbury. So far his trip had been successful, and he had taken orders for almost a thousand dollars worth of goods, which meant he had earned one hundred dollars in commission. Medbury was the end of his sales territory. He would spend the night here at the Del Rey Hotel, then call on the mercantile and general stores tomorrow in time to take the noon train back.
Satisfied that his samples were undamaged, he closed the case then started across the street to the hotel. As he started through the door, though, two large men blocked his way.
“Where do you think you are going?” one of them asked. Both were dressed just alike, and both were wearing star badges on their shirt.
“I’m going to check into the hotel,” Deckert said.
“No, you ain’t.”
“Why not?”
“There ain’t no rooms left.”
“Of course there are. Elmer always keeps a couple of rooms open for travelers. I stay here every time I come to Medbury.”
“You ain’t stayin’ here tonight.”
“I’d rather hear that from Elmer,” Deckert said.
The two burly men looked at each other for a moment, then one of them laughed. “Let him talk to Elmer,” he said.
“Yeah, why not?”
The two men stepped aside and Deckert, a bit apprehensive now, crossed the lobby to the front desk. Elmer was standing behind the desk.
“Hello, Elmer. Is my room ready? I’d like the same one I always have, on the font, overlooking the street.”
“There is only one room left, Hodge, and I don’t think you will want it,” Elmer said.
“What do you mean I don’t want it? Of course I do.”
“No, you don’t,” one of the men with the star on his chest said.
“What’s going on here, Elmer?”
“Pearl and I have a spare room. You can stay with us tonight,” Elmer said. “In fact, you can join us for supper, and it won’t cost you a cent.”
“Well, then, if you are willing to do that for me, of course I will accept your offer. But I would like to know what’s going on.”
“I’ll tell you all about it, later,” Elmer said. “Come on, I’ll walk down to the house with you and tell Pearl we’re having company tonight.”
“Does your wife like perfume?” Deckert asked.
“Oh, heavens, we can’t afford to be buying something like perfume.”
“You won’t be buying it, I’m giving it to you. I have a spare bottle in my samples kit. I would be pleased if Mrs. Reinhardt would accept it.”
Crack Kingsley was riding into town just as Elmer and Deckert were walking up the street toward the little cluster of houses that made up the residential area of Medbury. He touched his hat and nodded at them, and they returned the gesture.
Crack rode past the Sand Spur and wanted, very much, to stop and have a beer and maybe visit a little with one of the women. But he had told Matt that he would come straight to town, make his purchase, then return immediately.
Crack could understand the need to get back to the ranch, especially if the rustlers hit them again tonight. What he couldn’t understand was why Matt had sent him in town to make such a frivolous purchase.
Dismounting in front of the Medbury Mercantile, Crack stepped up on the porch, then went inside. He passed by the candy shelf and saw a large jar of horehound candy. He thought of Hank, who always bought himself a stick anytime he came to town, and asked one of the others to buy it for him if they came to town and he didn’t.
The thought caused Crack to experience a moment of melancholy, and, in memory of Hank, he reached down into the jar and pulled out a penny stick. He walked up to the counter holding the stick of candy.
“Hello, Crack,” the store keeper asked. “How is Mrs. Wellington getting along?”
“She’s doin’ just fine, Mr. Dunnigan, I’ll be sure and tell her you was askin’ about her.”
“You do that,” Dunnigan said. He pointed to the stick of candy and chuckled. “You didn’t ride all the way into town just to spend a penny, did you?”
“What?” Crack held up the stick of candy and looked at it. “Oh, no sir, I just picked this up on account of Hank.”
“Hank? Isn’t he…?” Dunnigan let the question hang.
“Dead, yes sir, Hank’s dead all right. But you mind how much he loved horehound?”
“I sure do. That boy bought him a piece ever’ time he come in here,” Dunnigan said.
“Well, sir, this here candy is for him, sort of a way I’ve got of rememberin’ him.”
