The bright moon showed them the way back to town, and they were home before Jason knew it. He left the other men to put their horses up at the livery, and rode on home, to bed down Cleo in her own stall. Once there, he fed her a fair ration of grain and hay, and refreshed the water in her bucket.
When he gained the house and went in the back door, he found Jenny waiting with a stern expression blocking her otherwise sunny countenance. Jason said, “Sorry I’m late?”
She crossed her arms over her bosom. “And just where have you been?”
“The Double M. Matt had built a dam across the creek, so the Apache were running dry. Which was why they were sending raiding parties up to his place, the dirtbag.” Jason practically fell into a kitchen chair and propped his elbows on the table.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t come around the front,” she replied.
“Huh?”
The door to the parlor burst open, and in poured people. And not just people, but friends! Solomon and Rachael, the Kendalls, Megan MacDonald, and on and on, and bringing up the rear, Abe Todd and Rafe Lynch!
“What are you all—?” Jason began.
But he was cut off by the group’s shouted, “Happy birthday!”
He had forgotten completely, but they were right. If he looked half as stunned as he felt, then Jenny and her cohorts had got their money’s worth.
Sometime, while everybody was busy pounding his back and congratulating him, Jenny produced a gigantic layer cake with the words
He would have rather they’d cooked him a steak, but he was more than grateful for the cake. That must have been a real job, and he pulled his sister close and whispered, “Thanks, Jen,” in her ear, then kissed her cheek.
In response, she clapped her hands together and giggled, then said, “Blow out the candles, Jason! Be sure to get them all!”
He puckered up and blew as hard as he could, and managed to get them all out, at which point everybody cheered.
As he cut the cake, he was thinking that life wasn’t so bad, after all.
But he sure wished that Ward could be here.
The wagon train pulled out in the morning, leaving behind Father Micah and Mrs. Judith Strong, along with Bill Crachit, who had found work in Solomon’s stockroom, and a dog in the form of Hannibal, the Grimms’ dog (who was fast becoming a fixture around town), and Frank Saulk’s widow, Eliza, and their kids. Judith Strong had taken pity on Eliza Saulk and offered her not only lodging, but work in her dress shop as well, which would be opening in a few days.
The town, Jason thought, was taking on a little more shape with every wagon train that passed through. Of course, they were getting yet another preacher, Fletcher Bean, in the bargain, but Jason supposed it was none of his business. He just hoped that it wouldn’t pull trade from the Reverend Milcher. Not that he was a big fan, but they were the “grandparents” of his kitten—rather, Jenny’s kitten—and he figured it was only the nice thing.
Then again, Milcher had done fine at Ward’s funeral. No talk of fire and brimstone, just praise for a good man.
And sorrow at the loss of him.
Milcher’s tone was a satisfying change of pace, and more than that: The eulogy had actually done Ward justice. He had to give Milcher credit for that.
But he had other fish to fry today. First off, he had to find another desk somewhere, for he doubted that a Deputy U.S. Marshal would be happy doing business out of his lap. They’d need another file cabinet, too, to keep the town papers separated from the federal.
And besides that, he had to figure out what to do for a deputy. He’d considered not replacing Ward at all—after all, he was, in a lot of ways, irreplaceable. But he didn’t like leaving the office locked for the night—especially not with a prisoner (even a drugged one, like Davis) in the cell. He’d considered asking Wash Keogh for assistance, but then he remembered the gold. Wash wouldn’t want to walk away from that!
No, it had to be somebody else. Somebody who could handle himself with confidence in most any circumstance, and who he could stand to be around. It came down to one man, and he was sure, right from the start, that he’d made the wrong choice: Rafe Lynch.
Rafe was affable, a crack shot, and hadn’t put a foot wrong in the whole territory. So far. That he knew of, at any rate.
He could see no way around it: Nobody else could fit the bill. But wasn’t it highly unusual for a man, worth so much in bounties in a bordering state, to
In the cell across the room, Sampson Davis muttered something through his dark haze of laudanum, and then took his final breath.
Jason didn’t notice. He just sighed deeply and stared out the window.
Solomon Cohen was a happy man. He had a beautiful wife, three robust sons, and a new daughter who was growing stronger with each passing hour. He had a fine business with a new employee, as well.
In fact, he only had one problem: the dog. How could he hire Bill Crachit with one breath, then with the next tell him he couldn’t keep the dog there? He couldn’t. He didn’t have it in him. But he had to dig deep and find it somehow, before the dog ate him out of stock and out of business!
The first day that Bill had worked there, the dog had eaten three pounds of raw, smoked bacon, two dozen fresh eggs, and a jar of pickled eggs, and at least a pound of hard candy. Solomon didn’t know exactly how much, but the voracious beast had drooled over another three or four pounds, which had to be thrown out. All this in the slim space of less than ten minutes, while he was upstairs and Bill was out, running an errand for him.
They had tried keeping the dog outside—where he normally was, anyway, roaming the town—but he kept finding always new and more inventive ways to let himself in when nobody was looking. This day alone, he had already cleaned out the canned meats shelf (Solomon was at a loss to figure out just how he knew which cans had
