A man wearing a fancy suit and a bowler hat carrying a small carpet bag stepped down from the stage and walked over to Charlie.
“Where’s the best place to stay around here?”
“Jack’s Eatery down the street,” Charlie said.
“Thanks.” The man walked away carrying his bag.
“Another carpet bagger,” Preston said and went back to sipping his whiskey.
The gruff-looking stage driver slapped his hat on his leg to shake the dust off of it then dusted himself off. He dipped his bandana in the water trough, wrung it out and wiped his sweaty face.
“Ain’t you the marshal here?” he asked Preston.
“Not anymore,” Preston said.
“You goin’ on the stage?” He tugged his suspenders up to raise his sagging pants.
“We are,” Preston said.
“They call me Patty. Glad to see you packin’ them guns. We been runnin’ into hostiles the last couple of times out, could use some more firepower.”
“What kind of hostiles?”
“Mostly stray Creek war parties, usually four or five. Been able to fend them off so far but you never know when they may come at you with the whole damn tribe. We’ll be ready to go after I change horses and get something to eat. We’ll make a stop at Cally Springs for the night then just stop for horses and rest stops the rest of the way to Pinefield.
The stage driver climbed back up on the stage coach seat, tapped the reins on the six horses’ backs and headed for the livery stable.
“You gonna kill ‘em?” Charlie asked.
“Got to.” Preston picked up the shotgun. “They’re wanted for murder, got every right to. Ain’t no two ways about it.”
A chubby little woman wearing a red dress and matching hat with feathers on top came out of the saloon where the girl from the stage went in. She was hurrying down the street toward the stage office, carrying a purse and a carpet bag. She walked up to Preston and Charlie.
“Marshal, I want that floozy arrested.” She pointed to a cut on her neck. “She tried to cut my throat! Told me to get out of town. Tried to kill me!”
“Looks like you been replaced, Shirley,” Preston said and grinned. “Can’t help you. Not the marshal no more. Me and Charlie are leaving town.”
Shirley looked at Preston’s shirt for the badge. “Well I’ll be damned,” she said. “Who’s the marshal now?”
“Don’t have one yet,” Charlie said.
“Where you goin?’” she asked.
“Pinefield,” Preston said.
The shotgun rider came out of the stage office toting his shotgun and saddle bags. “What you doin’ here, Shirley?”
“Go away,” she said. “Buy me a ticket, Willie, for all those freebies I gave you.”
“Can’t afford it,” Preston said.
“You owe me, marshal,” she said, angrily.
“I’ll buy you a ticket for a roll in the hay,” Charlie said.
She looked at Charlie. “We’ll, can’t stay here,” she said. “I’ll pay up when we get to Pinefield.”
Charlie smiled, took her bag and they walked in the office.
Preston shook his head. “One born every minute,” he said.
“You ord’not let that bitch go,” the shotgun rider said, holding the shotgun in the crook of his arm as he climbed into the seat.
“She ain’t goin’ to pay up. Charlie wasted his money,” Preston said. “Another sucker.”
The stage coach came rolling down the street with fresh horses and stopped in front of the stage office. Preston put his bag in the stage box and climbed in, laid the shotgun across his lap and took his whiskey bottle out of his coat pocket.
Charlie and Shirley came out of the office hand-in-hand, getting on the stage. Patty busted air with his whip and the horses took off. Charlie and Shirley snuggled up together on the other seat. Preston grinned.
14
Pinefield was the biggest town they had come to yet. Even in the wee hours of the morning the saloons were still alive and people were wandering the streets.
“Think they got any word here ‘bout us breakin’ out of jail?” Tommy said.
“Maybe,” B.W. said. “Word gets around a lot quicker now with the telegraph.”
“The skies are lightening up,” Rance said. “Be sunrise soon. We’ll move around easy-like, get some supplies and get out of town ‘fore most folks start starin.’”
“I want some peppermint sticks,” Tommy said.
“If they got ‘em,” Rance said.
“Let’s find the livery and take care of the horses,” B.W. said. “Might have to push ‘em hard if the law gets after us.”
A little further down the street they came to a livery stable with a sign on the door.
“What’s that sign say?” Tommy asked.
“Say’s they open at six,” B.W. said.
“What time is it now?”
“Don’t know,” Rance said. “Use to have a watch till a Yankee sergeant at the hospital stole it.”
“Or you lost it,” B.W. said.
“He stole it. I know he did,” Rance said. “My grandpa gave me that watch.”
“Too bad,” B.W. said. “From the looks of that glow in the east I would say it’s five-thirty.”
Rance glanced at the sky, tilted his head and looked at B.W. “Five-thirty, you sure ‘bout that?”
“Pretty sure, yeah.”
They rode up to the livery stable, dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching post.
“Think I’ll partake of a little whiskey to warm the mornin’ air,” B.W. said. “Care to join me, major?”
“Too early for me.”
“That stuff made me sick,” Tommy said. “Don’t think I ever want any again.”
“For the best.” B.W. reached in his saddle bags, took the whisky bottle out, screwed the cap off and took a big slug, shook his head, put the cap back on and put the bottle back in his saddle bags.
A few minutes later, the sun was peeking over the hills and a big man getting up in years showed up wearing a dirty black hat and scuffed boots. He had to be sixty-something. You could tell by the way he walked he knew his age.
“You boys here bright and early,” he said. “What you want me to do with them horses?”
“Feed, water and and loosen the girths for a while
