Chapter 12 #2
Caleb began to trudge after them. He was already calculating what needed to be done. Getting more out this rogue again was at the top of the list, but he’d only be able to get so far with him anytime soon.
A better option for him right now was to go and see Patterson. The judge was connected in many circles outside of Elkhorn. He might be able to provide him with more information about Elijah Starr. But there was no way Caleb was going to reveal his own connection to the man.
Sheila walked alongside, not giving up her position at his elbow. As if she intended to personally see him delivered to Doc's examining table.
“You’re dragging.”
“I’m fine.”
“Can you make it on your own, or should I have some of these men help you?” she persisted.
“I can walk,” he told her.
“Well, I’m going to make sure my father tends to you before that outlaw,” she said staunchly.
“First, I’m gonna go see the judge.”
She yanked at his elbow, causing a hot dagger of pain to cut through his midsection. “You’re not going anywhere until you have that wound taken care of.”
“Doc’s got his hands full. I’ll be back.”
She stepped directly in his path and faced him, her fists on her hips. Even in the darkness, he could see her eyes spitting fire.
The woman looked ready to take on a charging buffalo.
“You’re not going anywhere but inside that house.”
“Got things I need to do.”
“They can wait.”
Caleb looked toward the road, trying to decide if he could show up at Patterson’s house unannounced. He knew approximately where the judge lived.
“You’re not paying attention, are you?”
“I promise to come back.”
“Don’t make me hurt you.” Her tone was deep and sharp.
“More than I am, you mean.”
“Much more.”
He glanced down at the knife she was pointing at him, obviously in jest.
Mostly in jest?
He held his hand out, and she gave it to him. “There’re better ways of convincing me to do something.”
Her tone softened. “Please come in, Marlowe.”
There was no fighting with this woman once she set her mind to something.
His thumb brushed away the wetness from her cheek. She was soaked to the skin. So was he. For a moment, neither of them moved.
“All right. Have it your way.”
She took hold of his elbow again, not giving him any chance of escaping.
It probably was a good idea to see Doc first. With every step he took, Caleb felt like he was being stabbed. While his fighting blood had been up, he’d barely noticed the wound, but it ran through him like the blazes now.
The rain was easing up. Far to the east, sullen flashes marked the retreating storm. To the west, he saw breaks of starry sky through the clouds.
Near the house, two young fellows were standing barefoot in the mud, gawking at the proceedings. He was quite close before he recognized them as the bucktoothed brothers who’d knocked into Zeke on the sidewalk the other day.
He stopped and beckoned to them. “Need you to do some scouting for me.”
They glanced at each other and then nodded enthusiastically.
“This weasel that they’re carrying in rode in on something.
I’m guessing he left his horse over there.
” Caleb pointed at the line of trees. “Bring it back here and tie it in front of Doc’s house.
” He frowned as a thought occurred to him.
“But I need you to go quiet as a pair of Arapaho hunters. Stay in the shadows and don’t let nobody see you.
If there’s anyone waiting over there, come back and tell me. Got it?”
Without a word, the young recruits ran off, quickly disappearing in the darkness.
Caleb wondered what that blade had managed to slice up inside of him. He was sure he’d lost a good deal of blood because he was starting to feel a coldness set into that left side of his body.
“Are you always right?” There was an edge in Sheila’s voice, but it sounded more like worry than pique.
“Don’t know what you mean, exactly. But I like the way that sounds.”
“I think you know.” She cast a quick glance at his side.
Caleb realized she was trying to distract him. “Go ahead and tell me. I like hearing you apologize.”
“Apologize?” Her temper flared. “For what? Why would I?”
“For not believing me.”
She scoffed.
“I believe I told you that patient in the surgery would have friends who’d come calling.”
“Some kind of friend,” she said with disgust. She was quiet for a few steps. “Who is Elijah Starr?”
Caleb was right. Sheila had overheard him talking with the cutthroat.
“Might be the man who sent this blackguard. I ain’t sure yet.”
“But you recognized that the knife belonged to him?”
“I recognized the markings on it.”
“You’ve seen it before?”
“Some marks you never forget.”
She looked at him, waiting. When he said nothing more, she let the subject drop.
They reached the front of the house. The rain stopped, with only a residual mist in the air. There was a small crowd milling around a wagon.
Caleb realized that it belonged to the undertaker. He’d certainly gotten here quick enough. Zeke was supervising as four men carried the deputy’s body down the porch stairs. The dead outlaw had already been brought out from the surgery and deposited in the wagon.
Sheila stood next to Caleb. Close enough that he could feel the warmth of her shoulder through their wet clothes.
She was making sure he went in and had Doc tend to the wound.
Before they could go up the steps, Zeke joined them, tipping his hat to Sheila.
He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the rain off his beard.
“Dang it…pardon my language, miss…but I’m tired of this, Marlowe. I’m packing my gear and heading out. Montana, maybe.”
“You ain’t going nowhere.”
“That mangy hound cut two throats. Just a good thing he didn’t do the same to Doc. And to you too, Miss Sheila.”
“He couldn’t,” she replied, sparking with anger. “I would have flattened his head with a skillet and gutted him with my knife.”
Despite the pain in his side, Caleb's mouth twitched.
“I’m sure you would have given him what he deserved, ma’am.”
They heard Doc calling to his daughter inside the house. She went up onto the porch to answer him. “I’ll be right in with Marlowe.”
Not Mr. Marlowe. Just Marlowe. He liked the sound of that.
The sheriff’s eyes fell on Caleb’s vest. “He got you too?”
“He’s quick and tough.”
“Should’ve used a skillet on him, old man.”
“I heard that, Sheriff.” Sheila glared and beckoned to Caleb from the top step. “Let’s get you patched up.”
He started up the steps, but stopped and turned to Zeke. “I need to talk to the judge tonight. Can you go and let him know?”
“I imagine he’s home now,” the sheriff said. “Can’t wait till morning?”
“No.”
“I’ll tell him. But I ain’t promising nothing.”
As Caleb made his way slowly up the steps, the sheriff barked more orders at the throng and stomped off, gray and surly, into the darkness.
In the wide central hallway, men filed by, touching the brims of their hats as they passed Sheila on their way out.
Her shoulders were tense. By the added light inside, Caleb could see she was pale as a ghost. He realized from her worried looks that she was more nervous about his wound than he was.
“Looks like there’s as much mud in here as there is outside,” Caleb said, glancing at the floor.
“Nothing new there. It goes with the territory.”
When they reached the back of the house, Doc was waiting for them.
He gestured into the kitchen, where the wounded outlaw was propped up in a chair with a deputy and another man watching him.
They looked like a pair of street dogs guarding a bone.
The killer was clutching his shoulder. He shot a quick glance at Caleb, then turned his pinched face away.
“Come into the surgery, Marlowe,” Doc said.
He led them in, and Caleb climbed onto the table. The window where he and the assailant had climbed out was closed now. The floor was still wet and shiny from a quick mopping. A nearby basket was filled with cleaning cloths, and the coppery scent of blood lingered in the air.
Doc eyed the wound and went to collect the instruments he’d need. “Take off your vest and shirt and lie back.”