“Things are worse than when I wrote you boys,” Jason said as he and Ward guided Wash into the jail.
“Stick him a cell for now, Jason?” Ward asked, once they were inside.
“Yeah. I don’t think he’s gonna mind, let alone remember.” He turned back to the deputy marshal and began listing the town’s current woes. As he talked, Todd grew more and more serious.
And when he’d finished, Todd said, “I think I’ve got it. You got a town overpopulated with gunmen and a nutcase rancher who sees Apache behind every cactus. Right?”
Jason’s jaw hung open. Todd had boiled it down to one sentence, more or less. He finally got control of his speaking parts and said, “Basically, yeah.”
Ward, standing by the file cabinets, muttered, “Now, don’t he make it sound simple. . . .”
“Always best to tackle the problem one step at a time, deputy,” Todd said without turning around, despite the fact that Ward was standing across the room, behind him.
Todd leaned forward, putting his elbows on Jason’s desk. “Now, first off, I gotta tell you that I know Rafe Lynch, and I like him. I’ll get back to why in a second, but when you get right down to it, he ain’t no danger,” Todd said. “Second, I just heard of this Teddy Gunderson last week. Seems he’s trackin’ bounties, now, and it looks to me like he’s got the idea he’s hit the big time, and now he’s gonna pick up Lynch’s bounty. California’s got ’bout $13,000 on Lynch last I heard, dead or alive. Imagine Teddy’s thinkin’ to take him back west, over the border, then shoot him. Teddy’s too careful to do it any other way.”
Deputy Marshal Todd’s speech was having a soothing effect on Jason, who, of the three men, was by far the most in need of it. He was, after all, responsible for everything that happened in his town. And everything out of it, according to Matt MacDonald, he thought angrily. Well, Matt had got his wish, after all. Jason had called in the U.S. Marshal’s Office. But Rafe was no threat, which relieved him greatly, and Gunderson wasn’t likely to shoot up the town or anything else in Arizona. But as for Davis . . .
As if reading his mind, Todd said, “Now, I don’t know much of anythin’ about this Sampson Davis character, save that he served two years in California for the ‘accidental’ death of a man named Silvers, in a dispute over a mining claim.”
Jason said, “All I know is what Rafe told me—and I already told you—and that Davis scares the bejesus outta me.”
Ward nodded, as if to say he was scared, too, but Todd remarked, “Y’ know, I think you fellers are holdin’ up damned well, considerin’. Glad you contacted us, though. And please call me Abe, boys.”
Jason nodded and smiled. “All right, Abe. We like to keep things casual out here, too.”
“Like our prisoner, here,” said Ward, poking a thumb over his shoulder at Wash, who was flopped out on a cot, arms and legs everywhere, snoring blissfully.
Marshal Todd—no, Abe—leaned out a little, smiled and said, “I’ll be dogged. That Wash Keogh, for real?”
Amazed at the marshal’s handle on the situation, Jason nodded.
“He’s some older than the last time I run into him, but I’d’a knowed him anywhere. You two ever need a third man to back you up on short notice, call on Wash. Good at fightin’ Indians, too.”
Jason nodded. “We know. Ward, here, just brought him in this mornin’.”
Abe hoisted bushy brows. “For drinkin’?”
Jason let out a laugh. “No, to help with the gunfighters. But now we’ve got you. You got a place to stay, yet?”
“Naw. Was gonna get a recommendation from you.”
“Well, Wash is already set to camp on Ward’s spare mattress, so I reckon you can come along home with me for tonight, anyhow. Got a sister who’s a whiz-bang cook,” he urged.
“I’ll take you up on that,” Abe said with a smile. And then he said, “Sister? You folks ain’t ol’ Jedediah Fury’s kids by any chance, is you?”
Jason nodded. “That we are. The town’s named for him.”
“Why’s that?”
Ward spoke up. He knew Jason didn’t like talking about his father over and over. “Jason’s pa was the wagon master on the train that left Kansas City five or six years back. Jason came along as ramrod, and I was sorta a roustabout. Comanche got him when we was most’a the way through Texas. Folks here was real attached to him, real attached.” Ward stopped and shook his head. “So Jason took his place and shepherded us this far, and then we decided we didn’t want to go no farther. And that’s how it was,” he finished.
Jason was relieved. Ward was getting better and better at getting him out of tricky situations. Well, that was Ward’s specialty, wasn’t it? His father had relied on Ward for a thousand little details, and after Jason took over the wagon train, he had, too.
Abe was shaking his head. “I’m awful sorry to hear that,” he said, “awful sorry. I knew Jedediah for years, when he was ferrying folks back and forth from west to east and back again. He was quite a man, God rest him. I’m real sorry for you and your sister, Jason.”
Jason mumbled his thanks, and they set out for Jason’s home.
12
After the introductions were made and they ate a good dinner, Jason and Abe retired to the front porch for a smoke.
Abe rubbed at his belly. “That was the finest spread I’ve seen for a long time,” he said, referring to the amazing meal Jenny had created on short notice. “Lip-smackin’ good!”
