A Town Called Fury

Jenny had made a pot roast for the occasion, complete with what he remembered his mother using: cut-up potatoes, carrots, and onions. She’d gone all out and baked biscuits, too, and they were so light that he nearly had to stab his fork through them to keep them from floating to the ceiling! A plate of fresh-churned butter and jars of mesquite honey and her cactus jelly completed the feast, and they all made good and satisfying use of it.

At last, Rafe leaned back from the table. “Miss Jenny, that roast was so good and tender and flavorful, it nearly wore me out! And the potatoes and onions? Lord have mercy! I ain’t et this good in a coon’s age!”

And Jenny replied as she had to most of Rafe’s comments during the meal: She flushed right up to her hairline, stifled a giggle, and stared at her lap. Oh, she is sure as shootin’ gone on Rafe, Jason thought, and not for the first time.

Oddly, the idea didn’t bother him as much as he’d thought it would. He, himself, was growing to like the man more and more, and after hearing Rafe’s explanation of the Sampson Davis matter—and another, different slaying on the way home—he was beginning to see Rafe as a victim of circumstance. Rafe’s rescue of Jenny earlier that day hadn’t hurt, either. Jason was enough of a lawman, though, to avoid going with the idea completely.

But he didn’t have time to give it further thought, because just then somebody started in pounding on the front door, and it wasn’t Ward this time. Or at least, he was fairly certain it wasn’t.

He ripped the napkin from his collar and, cursing under his breath, marched toward the front door. He could hear the voices growing louder as he neared it, and when he threw it open, the clamor had him throwing his hands over his ears.

He looked at the dozen or so people gathered—and arguing—in his front yard, and shouted, “Shut up!”

The mob, with heads pulled back and eyes blinking, quieted immediately. That was, until Salmon Kendall spoke up. “We want you to do something about Matt MacDonald!” he snapped, then crossed his arms over his chest as if that was the answer to everything that was wrong with the world.

He wasn’t far from the truth, Jason thought, but he wearily said, “What’s he done this time?”

Hattie Furling, one of their latest additions, piped up, “He’s runnin’ up and down Main Street screamin’ ‘Indians! Apache!’ and ‘Come out, you cowards!’”

Salmon cut in, “Gus Furling went up on the stockade and said he couldn’t see a thing!”

Hattie nodded vehemently in agreement.

“That’s right,” said Dr. Morelli, with his dinner napkin still tucked into his collar. “Nothing. I went up myself and checked.”

“Where was Ward during all this?” Jason asked.

“Nobody knows,” replied Salmon. “We can’t find him.”

He was likely still out looking for Wash, or up at Abigail Krimp’s, Jason thought, taking care of her card-cheating problem. He said, “All right. Lemme tell Jenny where I’m headed.”

After hearing a very shortened version of Matthew MacDonald and what he currently believed to be his “problem,” Rafe insisted on accompanying Jason on his short jaunt to town. Jason had mixed feelings about this, but with Megan’s brother being the cause of the ruckus and a front yard full of townsfolk about to equip themselves with weaponry, he didn’t have the time or the energy to pull Rafe aside and explain things. He just went, and Rafe tagged along.

After they turned the corner and headed down toward Main—now followed by twenty or so irate citizens— Jason turned his head and said, “Salmon, run down to the office and see if Ward’s turned up yet. If he hasn’t, you’re in charge till I tell you different. I’m gonna check Abigail’s.”

He didn’t look back. He trusted Salmon. Instead, he forged ahead to Abigail’s place, turned the corner, and swung wide the doors. Rafe entered right behind him.

Abby turned round at the sound of their entry, and said, “Good evening, Jason, Rafe. You two decide to go slummin’?”

Jason stepped to the fore. “No, Abby, no. We were just searching for Matt MacDonald, that’s all.”

“Well, the sonofabitch ain’t in here, that’s for sure.” She flipped a glance toward the three men at the poker table.

Politely, Jason muttered, “Yes, ma’am,” grabbed Rafe by his other arm, and exited Abby’s. “C’mon,” he said to Rafe once they were outside. “We’ve gotta find Matt before somebody kills him just for bein’ a jackass.”

“Just on general principle, you mean?”

“You been hangin’ around me too much.”

Rafe grinned. “Mebbe so.”

And then, quite suddenly, the crowd behind them quieted. From clear down at the other end of the street, they saw Matthew MacDonald backing out of the saloon, and yelling, “Bunch’a lily-livered cowards, that’s what you are! I thought Fury had some real men livin’ in her!”

“I think that’ll about do it,” said Jason, and began marching down the center of the street with Rafe following along, aping his speed as well as the disgusted expression on his face. Halfway down the street and mid-stride, Jason called out, “MacDonald! Matt MacDonald! Hold it down!”

Matt stopped, turned, and looked, and hollered up the street, “Well, if it isn’t Marshal Chicken-shit and Deputy Dog Turd!” He hadn’t recognized Rafe, and Jason had the sense to leave well enough alone.

They had kept walking toward Matt during his tirade, and were quite a bit closer now. “You wanna go to jail for disturbin’ the peace, keep on hollerin’,” Jason said, just loud enough to be heard. He stopped walking and so did Rafe.

Matt’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click.