“What?” Arthur narrowed his eyes and glared at the renegade. “You can’t quit now!”
“Already quit. You pay now: money or blood. Shadow doesn’t care. You make choice now, Broken Head.” He reached for his Bowie knife and drew it from its scabbard. Arthur stared at the steel blade in disbelief.
“Choose now. Or you die,” Shadow growled.
* * *
James and Ben had followed the renegade’s trail through the oak grove. With fresh signs and an experienced tracker they made good headway. Soon they found the Comanche’s horse tethered at the edge of the forest near Sonora.
“What the devil is he up to, Ben? Didn’t figure he’d go into town after we chased him like that.”
“Very strange,” Leary agreed. “Can’t track him through town neither. What are we gonna do?”
James thought for a moment. “Let’s go let the deputies know and put the boys on high alert. Then let’s go see Arthur. It’s time he answered some questions about what happened in Del Rio.”
The lawmen took the safety-thongs off their revolvers and rode into Sonora. After briefing their deputies, a messenger was sent to the Golden Lane warning everyone to be on the lookout for Blue Shadow in case he came that way next. Then the two men went to the Sutton Hotel.
Entering the building they found the maître d’ and asked to see Arthur immediately. “Mr. Richards is in his office, gentlemen, and left instructions that he is not to be disturbed.”
“This is official business. We need to see him right now,” said James, showing the man his badge.
“Very well, Sheriff,” the maître d’ said, bowing and waving them in. “You know where Mr. Richards’s office is.” They walked quickly past the lobby to the far end of the hallway where Arthur’s suite was located.
The door was closed and they heard Arthur talking with someone inside. Ben put his ear to the wall. “Can’t make out what they’re talkin’ about... but it sounds like the other feller might be an Indian.”
“It must be Shadow,” said James. “Arthur’s got a private exit from his office into the alleyway. Give me two minutes to get out there, then give him a knock and tell him you wanna ask a couple of questions. I’ll cover the exit in case his visitor tries to duck out.”
Ben took out his pocket watch and checked the time. When the sheriff said to do something in a certain number of minutes he always took out the timepiece, knowing that the tension of the moment could make the seconds seem to go by slower or faster than they actually did.
When two minutes had passed, Leary stood to the side of the office door, raised his hand and knocked. The muffled voices inside the room fell silent. Then footsteps approached the door and Arthur said, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Deputy Leary, Arthur. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions, please.”
There was a pause. “I’m occupied right now, Deputy. Please come back in a half hour, if that’s convenient.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Ben replied, “this here business is important and can’t wait.”
The door opened slowly. “Come in and tell me this business that is so important,” Arthur said impatiently. He turned around and walked back through the foyer and Ben followed him.
As they entered the desk area James was standing with a Colt revolver in his hand. It was pointed at Blue Shadow. “Arthur,” the sheriff said, “you wanna tell me what you and this feller was talkin’ about in your office just now? I caught him slippin’ out the side door.” James eyed the dart pipe slung over his prisoner’s shoulder. “This wouldn’t be the man who kidnapped Georgia, would it?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Arthur protested.
“Let me ask him myself then. Are you Blue Shadow?”
The Comanche nodded, smiled, and slowly turned his blue-stained palms toward James. “Yep. That’s him, Arthur. Now what were you and this man whose name you didn’t know talkin’ about in here?” For once in his life Arthur could not find the words. James waited for an answer from the stunned hotelier and passed Ben the revolver, then took the Bowie knife from Shadow’s belt.
“I... I didn’t know his name,” said Richards in a trembling voice. “This poor man came knocking on my door looking for work, so I let him into the office for a job interview. That’s all, James.”
“And it never occurred to you that the pipe he’s wearing might be the one that shot those darts into my brother, Auntie and Georgia? Come on, Arthur,” James said, losing patience with his friend’s denials, “stop lying to us. How do you know him?”
“I swear to you: I’ve never seen this person before!”
“Not even down in Del Rio last November?”
“No, of course not. Why would I have met him in Del Rio?”
“Oh, I don’t know... maybe because you saved Shadow from a mob who wanted to kill him in a saloon? You were seen leaving town with him and another man afterwards, you know.”
As Blue Shadow listened to the conversation his anger quickly began to rise. Arthur’s lies about never meeting him made the Comanche shake with fury. He thought of the dagger hidden inside his moccasin.
The time for payment has come. Broken Head will lie no more...
In one swift movement the renegade bent down, grasped the knife from his moccasin and lunged at Arthur. The blade sank deep into his stomach and the hotelier screamed in pain.
Ben lashed out with the hard, sharp toe of a cowboy boot, kicking the elbow of Shadow’s knife arm. With a grunt of pain the Comanche let go of the Bowie knife and the deputy smashed him in the skull with the Colt. He dropped to the floor unconscious.
When the suspect was secured with handcuffs Ben turned towards Arthur. The man had collapsed onto the couch – bleeding profusely from his wound. The knife handle stuck out grotesquely from his belly. James knelt beside him, holding a towel on Arthur’s stomach to try and staunch the flow of blood.
“It’s no use, James. I’m done,” his friend groaned.
Both men knew that with the state of medicine in 1890 such a stomach wound was fatal.
“Why did you do it, Arthur?” James asked, looking deep into his eyes.
“It was for Margaret,” Arthur smiled weakly. “God, I loved her – I still love her!”
James was shocked. “I had no idea you loved her too.”
“Of course you didn’t. I wasn’t about to ruin her happiness – or yours – by telling you two about it.” He made an ugly choking sound, cleared his throat and continued. “She chose you, James. And I was fine with that.”
“Okay. So what about...”
“But you should have taken better care of her,” Arthur went on, desperate to tell his friend the truth of how he felt at last.
“What?” James replied. “I loved Margaret. I would have taken a bullet for her. I did my best for her, Arthur. Always.”
“Then how could you let her fall off that horse!?” Arthur demanded. “She didn’t have to die like that. At least she was still a part of my life when she was alive, when I could see her come into town, or see you two for dinner. But I lost her all over again when she died.”
“It was an accident, Arthur, nobody’s fault.”
“I know, I know,” he coughed. James looked down at the stomach wound: it was still bleeding despite the pressure he was applying with the towel.
“I got over it...eventually,” Arthur said, “but it took so long.” Tears began welling up in his eyes. “And then you... you dishonored her memory by finding another woman. How could you do that to Margaret?”
James was stunned by his friend’s accusation. “I did no disrespect to Margaret by findin’ another wife – and nobody took it that way except you! I grieved for her for ten years, Arthur. Ten years. But you can’t live in the past, ya got to let it go.”
“Life goes on?” Arthur smiled ironically and coughed again.
“Yes. You should have come and talked to me about it. Instead...” James’s voice trailed off as the full impact of what his friend
had done hit home. “Instead you attacked my family.”
Arthur nodded and the tears began to run down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, James.”
“What were you thinkin’?” James demanded angrily.
“I didn’t want to hurt anybody. Honest. Shadow said the drugs would wear off. I just needed to show you – to stop you from dishonoring her, any way I could.”
“You went plumb crazy, Arthur, and nearly killed Auntie. I ought to...”
“Kill me?” he mumbled with a crooked smile.
James realized that his friend was dying as a victim of his own schemes. His anger began to subside. Sorrow and pity rose up for the man instead.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said again, crying openly. “I couldn’t handle it...went off the deep end.”
James nodded. He stared at the floorboards as Richards poured out his regrets for what had happened. When he grew quiet again James said, “We had us some good times together when we were kids, didn’t we?”
“Ha... we sure did,” Arthur agreed, wiping his tears with a shirt sleeve. “All three of us. I’ll never forget those years.”
“Yeah,” James whispered, tears gathering in his eyes as he remembered too.
Arthur closed his eyes. His face was very pale. “Is there anything I can do?” James asked gently.
After a moment the dying man’s eyes opened. “Yes: will you bury me next to her? I know that’s asking a lot, after what’s happened.”
James nodded. “I will do that,” he said solemnly.
“Thank you,” Arthur smiled. “Listen, my friend, you know I’ve got no family left. I want you to have the hotel. It’s all I can do to make amends. Ben here is my witness to the gift.” He looked over at Leary, still guarding the unconscious prisoner. The deputy nodded in agreement.
“Thank you, Ben,” Arthur said, then turned his gaze back to his friend. “It’s yours, James, for the trouble I’ve caused you and the family.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about running a hotel,” James said quietly, “but thanks.”
“Okay then...it’s a deal,” Arthur whispered. His eyes froze into a stare and he slipped away.
James reached over and closed the lifeless eyelids. Then he got up slowly and left the room without a word.
* * *
“Oh, my God,” Georgia said in stunned disbelief later that day at the Golden Lane. James had just told her about Arthur’s death and the reason why the hotelier had organized a gang of desperadoes. Aunt Martha and David had already been informed of the situation and the young couple retired alone to the den so James could tell his bride the news.
“I am so sorry, honey,” she said, throwing her arms around him, “I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling right now after these terrible events and revelations.”
James could say nothing in response. He was still reeling from what happened. He held Georgia close, drawing strength and comfort from her presence. He could hardly believe himself what Arthur had done. It made no logical sense. Yet it had happened, and two men were dead because of it.
He remembered the last request of the outlaw he shot in self-defense, Jessie, and felt some relief knowing they had been able to obtain his mother’s address and send a letter notifying the woman of her son’s death. As per Jessie’s wishes, James had also informed the young man’s mother that ‘she was right’ – whatever secret meaning that might have for her.
They could find no next of kin for Smokey, the other desperado who died at the cabin, so he was buried in the pauper’s graveyard near Sonora. That made for two men killed needlessly due to Arthur’s fantasy about Margaret being dishonored by James. It was tragic and outrageous in itself. The fact that Arthur himself had been murdered because of his confused scheme added a strange element of poetic justice to the whole situation.
“Shadow will probably hang for Arthur’s murder,” he said to Georgia as she held him close. “That’ll be three men who died because of his warped idea of protecting Margaret’s honor. Isn’t that crazy?”
She drew back from their embrace and looked into his eyes. “Unrequited love can do strange things to a person’s heart. Poor Arthur.” He must have been suffering so terribly to even think of doing such a thing. Oh God, have mercy on his soul.
“I’m glad you feel that way after what he did to you,” James said quietly.
She looked hopefully into his eyes. “What about you, my love? Can you forgive him for it?”
James stared down at the floor. “Yes. But I need some time to put this to rest, darlin’. Arthur was my best friend in the world... until I met you.” They embraced again. “What do you think about postponing the weddin’ for a couple weeks?”
“I think that’s a good idea and I totally understand,” Georgia whispered compassionately. “We all need some time to come to terms with this. It will be best for everybody, I think.” Hope all of us get through this; especially dear James who has lost his friend so tragically.
“Thanks, I appreciate that a lot,” he said, closing his eyes and holding her close.
25
The entire Sonora community was shocked when news broke that Arthur Richards was behind the kidnappings and had been murdered in the tangled web of his scheme. Many wondered how the genteel, well-read, and eloquent hotelier could have fallen into such a lethal obsession to protect the honor of a woman who had been dead for ten years. Some thought it was romantic. Most saw it as completely deluded. None seemed to grieve the death of the two outlaws who were his unwitting victims except the Sheriff of Sonora and his bride.
Two days after Arthur’s passing, his funeral was held at the Sutton Hotel in the grand dining room where in better days the flamboyant host loved to welcome his guests. The tables were moved to the side of the room and a hundred chairs set up for those who wished to come and pay their respects.
Despite the shock and confusion about his demise, the turnout for the event filled the room to overflowing. Mourners stood in the hallway to get a glimpse or hear some of the proceedings and whispered in hushed tones about the tragic end of one of Sonora’s most colorful personalities.
The casket was surrounded by hundreds of Texas wildflowers that Georgia had ordered and arranged as a tribute to her fiancé’s friend. James thought the idea was perfect. “He loved wildflowers,” he said to her, “Arthur was known to take long walks just to enjoy ‘em.”
To leave no doubt in the public’s mind that she and James forgave the man for the injuries he inflicted upon their family – and knowing that the great American poet was one of Arthur’s favorites – Georgia also planned to read a Walt Whitman poem as part of the service.
Just before the service began the McCloud family made their way to seats that had been saved for them in the front row. Aunt Martha was accompanied on each side by David and James. She held their arms and walked slowly to the front, dressed in black, grieving as much as any mother who had lost a son. Martha had known Arthur almost as long as she knew the McCloud brothers. She took his death very hard and wept openly as they took their seats.
Georgia sat to the right of James. “I think Arthur would be very pleased with the turnout today,” she said, “it seems like the people of this town really appreciated him.”
“Yep,” he said, looking around him, “they surely did.”
The rest of the Warton family had come to the funeral out of respect for their future in-laws’ friend. They sat directly behind the McClouds, shocked as well by the recent turn of events. Emilia fanned herself with a handheld fan, sad to see Martha so distraught and crying.
As the service began, Georgia took James’s hand in hers. The event was officiated by the same Methodist minister, a Reverend Wilkinson, who was scheduled to lead them in their wedding vows in just a couple weeks’ time.
His funerary oration was short but profound, commenting on the shortness of Arthur’s life here on Earth and “the brief span of all our lives here;” mentioning what a positive impact the hotelier’s years of bus
iness had brought to the community and the culture of Sonora. He noted wryly that Arthur’s flamboyant style was a local attraction for visitors and citizens alike – which brought a knowing chuckle of appreciation from the audience – and talked of his philanthropy, his giving heart.
Finally, Wilkinson called upon all present to forgive Arthur for his failures and be thankful for the many years he had blessed them at his best. He encouraged the community to remember Richards not for the tragedy of his ending, but for the way he had lived his life: full of enthusiasm for his work, a genuine concern for helping people, and a man who not only loved great art and writing but loved to share it with others.
“And on that note,” the reverend concluded, “I would like to ask Ms. Georgia Warton to come forward and read a selection by one of Mr. Richards’s favorite poets.” There was a murmur among the audience as they realized that the very woman whom Arthur had ordered abducted was going to address them.
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