rain, how he seemed to have a fever and she didn’t
know what to do for him, and how he’d told her
there’d be men coming for him—to kill him.
“Kill him?”
She hesitated, wondering if she should tell him
everything. He wore a badge, after all, and maybe it
wasn’t such a good idea to tell the law about William
Sunday. But then again, what did he have to lose at
this stage of the game? She needed to trust someone,
and this was a man she felt she could trust. She’d seen
an uncommon kindness in him with the orphaned
boy.
“My father is William Sunday,” she said. “Have
you heard of him?”
The name was familiar enough all over the west.
William Sunday was known as a dangerous gun-
fighter, maybe as dangerous as Wild Bill Hickok or
any of his ilk. Only Sunday was a man with the added
reputation of killing for hire, unlike Hickok.
“Yes,” Jake said, “I’ve heard of him.”
“He’s dying,” Clara said. “He told me he doesn’t
have long to live and he’s come here hoping I’d see
him through his end days. But I can’t put my girls in
harm’s way if he’s correct about men coming for
him,” she said. “And I can’t just pitch him out on the
street either. I don’t know what to do.”
Jake noticed then how handsome a woman she
was, or at least seemed to be in that solitary moment
of worry. Handsome but not your typical beauty.
“I’ll go have a look at him,” Jake said.
“School will be out in a couple of hours,” she said.
“Could you remain at the house until I get there?”
Jake nodded.
“I’m grateful,” she said. “And don’t worry about
Stephen. He can stay with me as long as you need to
make the arrangements.”
Jake felt like touching her arm, perhaps her cheek
to let her know it would be all right, the situation
with her father. But instead he turned and left, and
walked to the house where she lived.
William Sunday was there, lying sideways across
the bed because it was too short for him to lie length-
wise.
Even though he’d knocked before coming in, he
could see the feral look in the gunman’s eyes, could
guess he’d had time to reach one of his pistols and
hide it under the blanket covering him.
“Your daughter, Clara, asked me to come have a
look at you.”
“Who are you?”
Jake realized then that he was still wearing the city
marshal’s badge.
“I’m a man who knows a little something about
medicine,” Jake said.
“And a lawman too, I see.”
“Yeah, I’m that too. Clara says you’re running a
fever?”
He saw William Sunday’s face relax a bit.
“I’m about dead, she tell you that?”
“Yes. She mentioned it.”
“What else did she mention?”
“She told me who you were.”
“That a problem for you, who I am?”
“As far as I know you’re not wanted for anything
around here.”
“As far as you know.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Jake said. “You want me to
have a look at you, or would you prefer we shoot it
out?”
He saw Sunday’s eyes shift, looking him over, try-
ing to make a judgment on him.
“I don’t know what it is you can do for me,” he
said.
“There are things to treat your fever.”
Sunday closed his eyes momentarily.
“I’d be grateful for anything you can do to get me
back on my feet,” he said. “I don’t want to be a bur-
den to Clara.”
Jake walked to the bed and laid a palm atop the
gunman’s forehead, felt the fever, said, “I’ve got med-
icine, but I’ll have to go and get it.”
“You a doctor?”
“No, but I had some training in the war.”
“Whose side were you on?”
Jake looked at him.
“Does it matter, that war’s been over sixteen
years.”
Sunday smiled, said, “I guess it has.”
“One thing,” Jake said.
“What’s that?”
“Clara’s worried the men you say are coming for
you will find you here, possibly put her and her chil-
dren in harm’s way if what you’re saying is true. How
would you feel about moving to someplace safer—for
their sake?”
Sunday nodded.
“I don’t want to put them in the middle of it. I’ve a
room at the hotel. Just that I fell sick here the other
night. Maybe you could help me back to the hotel.”
