Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Caleb opened his eyes and immediately closed them. His stomach turned from the pain in his head.
He slowly pried his lids apart again, taking in his surroundings. He was lying on his side on a dirt floor that smelled of piss and puke.
He pushed himself upright and stayed there until the room stopped tilting and whirling around him. Late afternoon shadows from the bars on the window played across the hard-packed floor.
Damn.
This wasn’t the first time Caleb had spent time in Elkhorn’s jail. Once, to settle an old score, Grat Horner, the last sheriff, locked him in here overnight just because he could.
And there were other towns. Other jails.
As a very young man, before he got his head on straight, Caleb had done more than his share of drinking, fighting, and general carousing.
Somewhere along the way, though, he’d come to realize it was more than looking for a good time that was steering him into the path of the law.
He was trying to forget Elijah Starr. He was choosing the hard road, hoping to forget the brutality his mother had endured until it killed her.
Guilt and anger create a thirst that can never be slaked with liquor, but that doesn’t stop a man from trying.
He didn’t know how long he’d been out cold. Maybe only an hour or two, if it was still the same day. The last thing he recalled was fighting the men trying to drag him away from Starr’s throat.
Caleb touched the back of his head. His fingers came away bloody. Whoever had delivered the blow, they meant business. Voices came to him from beyond his cell door. He gingerly pushed himself to his feet and lurched toward it as footsteps approached.
The scruffy puss of a sheriff’s deputy appeared. “Folks here to see ya.”
Caleb had no interest in seeing anyone, but he had every intention of knocking the deputy on his scrawny tail as soon as he opened that door. Then he’d be back in that hotel if he had to shoot his way in.
That plan changed as soon as he saw Doc Burnett behind him, carrying his medical case. Sheila trailed them, looking pale and worried.
Damn me.
The sight of Sheila standing behind her father stopped him colder than the jail cell ever could. She looked pale. Worried.
And suddenly Caleb regretted losing his temper at the hotel more than he regretted being locked up. He didn't like seeing that look in her eyes. Especially when he was the cause of it.
The deputy looked in and jingled the key. “Don’t get no funny ideas, Marlowe, or…”
“Close your mouth and open that door,” Doc snapped, interrupting Billy or Bub or Beau…or whatever his name was. “Now!”
Caleb saw the flash of anger cross the deputy’s face as the man backed away. The look withered under Doc’s hard glare.
“All right. Keep your shirt on.”
“Never mind the smart mouth. Open it.”
Doc was not a big man, but he had a bearing that made lesser men listen.
Perhaps it was the dark eyes that could cut through a man as cleanly as his scalpel.
Or his blunt directives that left little doubt of his command.
Perhaps it was the result of generations of Burnett doctors who had been bred to convey confidence and control.
He was the only doctor in Elkhorn, and he could be very intimidating when he chose to be.
Caleb knew from their conversations over chess that John Burnett had grown up in a well-to-do family of medical practitioners in New York.
When the Southern states decided to secede, however, he’d joined the Union Army Medical Corps early on, giving up his practice in the city.
That war had left in its wake a great many men bearing scars and missing limbs and broken spirits, and Doc’s experience from the carnage changed him too.
By the time the smoke cleared and he returned to the city, his wife had passed away, and he could not go back to his old life treating the mostly imagined ailments of wealthy patients.
He needed to find a greater purpose. Find himself.
Leaving Sheila with his wife’s rich parents, he’d traveled west, like so many others.
As far as Caleb could tell, Doc feared nothing.
He never wore a sidearm but rode out at all hours to treat those who needed medical attention.
At fifty years old, he was tough and sharp-witted.
And Sheila had inherited many of his best qualities.
Including the infuriating habit of caring about people who didn't always deserve it.
Like him.
Caleb could see her standing impatiently beyond the two men.
She too was scowling at the deputy. When she’d brought him news earlier that Elijah Starr had been set free, he was sure she hadn’t expected Caleb to take his place in here.
Nor had she expected him to ride straight into town looking for a fight.
“Only one can go in, Doc.” Sulking, the deputy paused before turning the key. “Sheriff’s orders.”
Sheila nodded to her father. The scrawny bonehead kept one hand on the Remington holstered at his hip as he opened the cell door. As soon as Doc stepped across the threshold, the key turned again in the lock.
Doc turned and growled through the bars. “Go. Now.”
The deputy glanced through nervously at the two men, then at Sheila before going out grumbling into the front area of the jailhouse.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Everyone in Elkhorn knows. You caused quite a stir at the hotel earlier.”
Caleb doubted he was that newsworthy, though the sight of him being hauled over here must have caused some gawking. He looked toward the small cell window. At least it was still the same day. He hadn’t been knocked out that long.
Zeke, being a friend of Doc’s, had probably gone to let him know. Or maybe Sheila had come looking for Caleb once she got back to town.
“When do I get out?”
“Sit down. Let me take a look at your head.”
“Ain’t nothing. My least vulnerable spot.”
Doc harrumphed, opening his medical case. “I don’t doubt it, but maybe you could use it to better effect.”
Caleb knew how his friend worked, so he said nothing more. He wouldn’t get an ounce more information out of him until the doctoring was done.
“Tip your head forward.”
Caleb dropped his chin and immediately felt the room tilt. Holding his face in his hands, he made himself focus on the toe of his boot as Doc poked and prodded the wound.
“I should stitch that up.”
“No need.”
“Why, are you planning to have them bust it open again?”
“Maybe.” Caleb wasn’t going to give anyone the chance to get at him. He’d gotten angry. He should have attacked faster and with no remorse.
“Well, I’ll clean it up then. Wouldn’t want to waste good cat gut.”
Doc uncorked a bottle of some bitter-smelling liquid. He soaked a cloth of white linen and began dabbing the wound. Caleb clenched his jaw, bearing the sharp pain. When the doctor was satisfied, he began gathering his things.
“So, Elijah Starr is your father?” he asked as he replaced the bottle carefully in the bag.
Caleb looked up and his eyes met Sheila’s. She’d hardly taken her eyes off him since she’d arrived.
The sight of her standing beyond the bars twisted something inside him. Not because he was embarrassed. Because she looked as though she was hurting right along with him.
Her arms were hugging her middle, and her shoulders looked stiff with tension. He wondered how much, if anything, she’d revealed to Doc.
“Starr is telling anyone who will listen that you’re his son.”
“It don’t give me any pleasure to admit that.”
His gaze drifted back to Sheila. He hated that she had to hear any of this. Hated that Elijah Starr's shadow was reaching into her life now too.
“I understand your feelings. The man is a brute and a scoundrel. I see nothing of him in you, Caleb.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“But for the moment, he has you in a tough spot.”
“Looks like it. But soon as I’m out of here, him and me are gonna settle things.”
Doc Burnett moved the case and sat heavily on the bench beside him. “Listen to me, my friend, and listen good. The way things stand now, that vile miscreant is sitting right on the judge’s shoulder. And he’s not whispering anything good about you in Patterson’s ear.”
Caleb nodded. “All the more reason for me to take care of business.”
“I stopped and talked to the judge before coming here. As things stand, he has no intention of turning you loose. From the way he talked, I gathered that he’ll keep you right in this cell until he pushes forward on some big plans of his. You and I both know he’s the law around here.”
“Then I’ll find my own way out.”
“How?” Doc ran a hand over his face. “Maybe Henry and Sheila and I can break you out.”
Caleb scoffed. “I just can’t see you three shooting your way in here, Doc. Sheila and Henry, maybe.”
“You know we’ll do it, if that’s what you want. But then what? Will you run? Hide for the rest of your days?”
“I’ve done my share of running. No more.”
“Then what?”
Caleb thought of the fear and the pain Elijah Starr inflicted on the students at his Indian training school. And on him. And on his own wife.
“He killed my mother.” His voice was icy cold. “I will avenge her death.”
Doc stood, glanced at Sheila, and moved to the barred window. The late afternoon sun was throwing slanting rays against his troubled face. He finally turned and looked at Caleb.
“And how are you going to do that? Patterson has been building an army of gunmen, and Starr is as protected as the judge.”
“Don’t matter. I’ll get to him.”
“I have no doubt you can. It’s known from here to Deadwood that there’s no man with a quicker draw. But I know you, and you’re not a cold-blooded killer. There are plenty of men in these parts who will stab another fellow in the back over a trifle, but you’re not one of them.”
Doc was partly right. Caleb wouldn’t stab the man in the back. He’ll be looking directly into his father’s face when he killed him. He wanted the viper to know who was twisting the blade or holding the smoking gun.
A voice came from the other side of the bars. “You could have killed him before, but you didn’t. You are not him.”
Her voice was quiet, but it carried through the cell more effectively than a shout.
Caleb remembered her kneeling beside him in the cabin. Remembered her hand on his shoulder. Remembered the way she'd pulled him back from the edge when no one else could have.
And the terrible thing was that she still believed in him.
Anguish was etched in the corners of her eyes and mouth. The realization hit him harder than that revolver butt to the head.
She wasn't afraid of Elijah Starr. She was afraid for him.
“I know you could have blasted your way into that hotel today, but you chose not to.” Doc sat beside him again and put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Why? Because you want justice, but you want a fair fight.”
“There ain’t no fair fight in putting down a mad dog.” Caleb stood. “And Elijah Starr is a mad dog.”
“I don’t doubt your word, my friend. But men like Eric Goulden don’t see him that way. The judge doesn’t see him that way. So you have to be smarter.”
Doc was right. He had to use his head. A quick draw wasn’t enough, not when Starr was hiding behind Patterson’s wall of bodyguards. Not when Caleb was stuck inside this cell.
“You’re a chess player. Right now, he’s the most powerful piece on the board,” Doc continued. “Take him down as you would my queen, because he’s planning the same fate for you. He’ll be moving his pieces into position. Waiting for you.”
Caleb turned away. He knew what Doc said was the truth.
Looking into his father’s face in that dining room, he could see the old viciousness there.
Starr would chip away at all of Caleb’s defenses just to make him suffer.
That was the way his father operated. Elijah Starr took immense satisfaction out of the pain he could inflict before striking the final blow.
“You need to be patient and vigilant, Caleb. I’ll go and speak to Patterson again. For the moment, I have value to him because I’m the only doctor in Elkhorn. He has to listen to me. Perhaps if he thinks you’ve come to your senses, that you won’t stand against him, I can get him to let you out.”
“I ain’t doing no groveling. And I ain’t making peace.”
“Fine. But you’ve already saved Patterson’s hide enough times that there’s no way he can forget that he owes you. Maybe that will be enough.”
“Please, Marlowe.” Sheila’s plea reached him. “Let my father try to convince the judge to free you.”
He looked at her and then at Doc. They were the only two people anywhere who treated him like family. And somewhere along the way, without asking permission, they'd become exactly that.
Caleb gave a curt nod. It was the smarter play. He’d wait. Watch. Learn what Starr was planning.
Across the bars, Sheila finally seemed to breathe a little easier. That alone almost made the waiting worthwhile.
Almost.
Because this was a game of chess where checkmate meant death—for someone.