by Lee Lejeune
She held his stare and moved closer. ‘D’you mind if I ask you a personal question, Jacob?’
‘Depends how personal it is,’ he said quietly.
She breathed in slowly. ‘It’s probably the most personal question you’ve ever been asked.’
Jacob felt his heart beating so fast he could scarcely breathe. ‘Please ask the question, Miss Silversmith.’
‘Would you mind if I put a spell on you, Mr Merriweather?’
Jacob was smiling so much he thought his face would split and for a moment he couldn’t speak. Then he said very quietly, ‘You already have, Marie.’ It was as though he had crossed a river and there was no going back. He stretched out his arms and she came straight to him, and for a long moment they stood together and their cheeks glowed with wholesome fire. And then they kissed, and their kiss lasted for a very long time.
Jacob felt like the sky had opened and a spirit had drawn him into heaven.
‘So, is that how a witch kisses?’ he murmured.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ she gasped. ‘It never happened that way before.’
‘So what happens now?’ she asked him.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘It seems we have a lot of thinking to do. You’re a witch and I’m a gunman. Is that a good combination?’
‘Speaking as a witch,’ she said, ‘I think it’s what we want it to be. When I stir up the plum pudding at Christmas, the ingredients mix together fine and the result is delicious.’
‘Well,’ Jacob said. ‘I always enjoy a good plum pudding.’ He paused. ‘But there’s a difficulty here. . . .’
‘There’s always a way to get round a difficulty if you look hard enough,’ she said. ‘So what’s the difficulty?’
They were both smiling and Jacob felt that however long they debated, the die was already cast. It was like wading into a fast-flowing stream and being swept away by the tide. And this tide was warm and friendly and seemed to flow on for ever.
‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘the truth is, I’ve hardly got a bean to my name. I’m just a wandering tumbleweed blowing about in the wind.’
She nodded and smiled. ‘Even tumbleweeds find a resting place sooner or later. It’s part of the life cycle.’
Jacob shook his head. ‘You sure have a lot of savvy for a witch.’ He took her in his arms and they enjoyed another long, deep kiss, and were lifted right off the ground on to the tide of passion!
I could have ridden right on to Oregon where the apples grow all the year round, but I turned back and met Marie. Was that what some folk call Fate, or was it a coincidence? Jacob wondered.
They were now sitting opposite one another across the table. Marie had made them both drinks.
‘So what do you see in your magic orb now?’ he asked her.
She held her head on one side. ‘I might be a witch, but I can’t look into the future. If we could look into the future we’d probably just die on the spot.’
‘Which would not be a happy ending.’
She looked at him with her keen enquiring eyes. ‘But,’ she said. ‘I could make a guess.’
‘So what’s your guess, Marie?’
She was looking at his hands resting on the top of the table. ‘You have capable hands, Jacob, but they are also rash hands.’
‘So what does that mean?’
She looked him in the eye again. ‘It means that when you make up your mind to take a journey, you go all the way.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘So what does all the way mean?’ he asked.
She gave a wry smile. ‘I should have foreseen this when I asked you to escort me to Beth and Stan’s cabin. When Killop took a shot at us something inside of you made up your mind for you.’
‘Made up my mind to do what?’ he asked.
‘It was then you decided to go after the killers and bring them to justice,’ she said.
He looked at her and nodded. ‘I do believe you’re right on that, Marie.’
‘The question is, how do we bring Jack Davidson to justice?’ she said.
‘Did I hear you say “we”?’ he asked.
She looked at him steadily for several seconds. ‘That’s because wherever you go, I’m going with you, Jacob.’
CHAPTER SIX
Jacob looked at Marie across the table, and now he wasn’t smiling. ‘I don’t think I can let you do that.’
‘Well, when I make up my mind there’s no way anyone can stop me. So maybe I’m just as stubborn as you.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘And it might be useful to have a witch along. Men can be brave and sometimes reckless, but witches are better at planning and more cautious. And they have what some folk call intuition, too!’
Jacob looked thoughtful. ‘And what does this witch’s intuition tell her about Jack Davidson and his bunch of killers?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that until I’ve put my witch’s hat on,’ she said.
‘Can you shoot straight?’
‘If needs be I can shoot as straight as any man, and probably better than most,’ she declared. ‘I’ve been deer hunting with my pa many years ago. But I’ve never shot a man, and never wanted to until now.’
‘Killing a man is a hell of a lot harder than killing a deer,’ Jacob told her. ‘You can eat a deer, but you can’t eat a man.’
‘How many men have you shot, Jacob?’ she asked.
‘More than I care to mention,’ he said, ‘And it doesn’t come any easier, despite what they say.’
Marie shook her head and smiled. ‘You’re a good man, Jacob.’
‘If you think that, you don’t know me as well as you think you do.’
‘I know you well enough to trust you, Jacob. That’s what my witch’s intuition tells me.’
They left the house and walked towards Main Street, and met Sheriff Olsen.
‘Ah, Mr Merriweather,’ the sheriff said. ‘I think it’s time we had a real conversation.’
Jacob raised his hat. ‘Well, I’ll be happy to talk to you, Sheriff, just as long as you’ve got that killer locked up tight in the town jail.’
Olsen blinked. ‘Are you sure he’s a killer, Mr Merriweather?’
‘Well, I’m as sure as hell he took a shot at me and Marie,’ Merriweather affirmed, ‘and I’m as sure as hell glad he missed. And another thing I’m sure about is, he’s going to give evidence against the men who killed those good people Beth and Stan, and the man who paid them to commit those murders.’
‘How can you be sure of that, Mr Merriweather?’
Jacob held his head on one side. ‘Nothing’s certain in this life, Sheriff, except life itself and death. We’re lucky to be born, and we don’t know when we’re going to pass along, as the saying goes. Everything in between is in the mists of time, and I don’t think you can see as far as that, even with your specs on.’
Sheriff Oson gave a sceptical grin. ‘I think you should know, Mr Merriweather, I’ve been looking into your past and I know more about you than you may think.’
‘Well, that’s an education in itself,’ Jacob agreed. ‘So maybe you could tell me my life story. I’m sure you’ve enjoyed digging it up.’
Ollson nodded. ‘I sent a wire through to River Fork and the sheriff there replied pretty quick. It seems you’re wanted by the law down there. You rode with Black Bart and his bunch, and as you know, that ruthless killer has now paid the price with his neck.’
Jacob glanced at Marie. ‘That’s no secret, Sheriff, even from Black Bart himself, though I doubt whether he thinks about it much where he’s gone. So what do you aim to do about it?’
Olsen blinked. ‘I think I should take you into custody, Mr Merriweather.’
‘And lock me up with Killop. I’m sure we’d get along just fine together. There’s only one problem.’
‘And what might that be?’
Jacob glanced at Marie again. ‘That’s because I aim to bring those killers to justice, and I mean to do it before I travel on, or die.’ He shrugged. ‘By the way, Sheriff, I heard a r
umour the other day.’
‘What was that?’
‘That the big rancher Jack Davidson was once an acquaintance of yours.’
Olsen’s eyes narrowed and he turned a shade paler. ‘Who told you that, Mr Merriweather?’
Jacob shrugged again. ‘You know how rumours spread. Someone starts a whisper and soon everyone in town hears it loud and clear.’ He paused for half a second. ‘But whether there’s truth in that rumour, I’m not going to ask you. But I will strike a deal with you. After those killers have been brought to justice, I’ll give myself up, and you can claim the reward, if there is one.’
‘Why did you say that?’ Marie asked as they were walking along Main Street.
Jacob smiled. ‘Maybe it’s because I’m a little high at the moment.’
‘Well, you’d better pull yourself down to earth again,’ she said, ‘because Sheriff Olsen is a dangerous man, and if you cross him it’s like plunging into a river in full flood and you’re likely to be swept away and drowned.’
‘Well, then, it’s lucky I’m a pretty strong swimmer, isn’t it?’
She shook her head and frowned. ‘Are you ever serious, Jacob?’
‘Well, I’m pretty serious about you.’
Marie looked at him with exasperation, but she was smiling too. ‘You must realize that Jack Davidson will hear about what you said, and he’ll be waiting for us.’
Jacob nodded. ‘Well, that’s a problem we have to solve. But right now I have a hunch that we should consult the oracle in the shape of Sam Critchley.’
Sam’s painted wagon was sitting outside the Grand hotel and his burros were drinking at the horse trough. Jacob and Marie went inside through the swing doors and saw Sam perched on a stool at the bar. He was in deep conversation with the bartender. The bartender looked across at Jacob and Marie, and his usual stern features relaxed.
‘Why, Mr Merriweather and Miss Silversmith, good to see you both again. What can I get you?’
‘Well,’ Jacob said, ‘it sure won’t be that hogwash you call whiskey.’ He turned to Marie. ‘Would you like a soda or a sarsparilla?’
‘I think I’ll have a beer,’ she said.
Jacob ordered two beers, and he and Marie took them to the round table under the window. Sam finished talking to the bartender and came over and joined them at the table.
‘Well, now,’ he said with a smile, ‘so you two have teamed up, I see.’
Jacob looked at Marie and smiled. ‘And maybe you should be the first to congratulate us,’ he said.
‘I’d be happy to do that! When’s the great day?’
Jacob reached for Marie’s hand under the table. ‘As soon as possible. Maybe you could do the honours?’
‘Well, I’m just a wandering preacher and I’m not licensed for marriages or funerals,’ Sam said. ‘I think you should see the priest. He thinks I’m a witch doctor or something, but I’m told he does a good line in weddings, and he’s a real expert in funerals too. But I don’t think you’re quite ready for that yet.’ He was smiling mischievously behind his long white beard.
Sam looked at Jacob: ‘What do you aim to do, my friend?’
‘Are you a mind reader?’ Jacob asked him.
‘Pretty close,’ the old man said. ‘The human species is very complicated, but the brain sends out signals, and if a man’s very patient, he can pick up on those signals and read them pretty well.’ He turned to Marie. ‘I guess you can do it too, Miss Silversmith. It just takes a bit of practice.’
Jacob leaned forwards. ‘OK: tell me what I’m thinking.’
Sam creased his brow. ‘Dangerous thoughts. You’re thinking of going after Jack Davidson and bringing him to justice.’ He held up an admonitory finger. ‘Did you ever hear of that priest who stuck his head in a lion’s mouth? It was somewhere in England not so long ago, I believe.’
‘What happened?’ Jacob asked.
Sam grinned, ‘The lion bit his head right off, of course.’
Both Jacob and Marie looked at Sam in dismay.
‘That was a damned foolish thing to do,’ Marie said.
‘Precisely,’ Sam said. ‘So, if we’re going to get Jack Davidson we need to cook up some kind of plan.’
Jacob looked in the direction of the swing doors and saw a familiar figure standing just inside. The man gave him a wave of the hand and came over to the table.
‘Good day to you,’ he said.
‘Good day to you, Running Deer,’ Jacob replied.
Running Deer looked down at him and gave an enigmatic half smile. ‘Saw you coming into the hotel and thought I ought to join you.’ He spoke with an indefinable half-Indian accent
‘Well, we’re real glad to see you,’ Sam said. ‘Why don’t you sit yourself down and have a drink?’
‘Be glad to, sir.’ Running Deer sat down at the table opposite Jacob.
Sam signalled to the bartender. ‘A beer be OK?’ he asked Running Deer.
‘A beer will be just fine,’ Running Deer said. He looked across at Jacob. ‘There’s something I have to say to you, Mr Merriweather.’
‘I figured there must be.’
Running Deer nodded. ‘I hear rumours,’ he said gravely.
‘What kind of rumours?’ Jacob asked him.
Running Deer looked at him earnestly with his deep brown eyes. ‘I know you shot the big man who’s lying in the funeral parlour, and I know there’s a guy locked in the calaboose name of Killop.’
‘I guess everyone in town must know that,’ Jacob said.
‘I guess they do, Mr Merriweather,’ Running Deer agreed. He picked up his glass of beer and studied it as though it might give him a clue as to how to proceed. ‘I also know you mean to bring the men who killed those two innocent people to book.’
‘That’s a reasonable conclusion, Mister Running Deer Johnson. What’s new?’
Running Deer stared deep into Jacob’s eyes and said abruptly, ‘You can’t do it!’
There was a long pause. Everyone seemed to stop breathing. It was so quiet Jacob heard the clock over the bar ticking as though it was about to toll the bell of doom.
Running Deer raised his glass and drank his beer down to the dregs. Then he placed his glass on the table and said, ‘You can’t do it without my help, sir.’
‘Why not?’ Jacob asked after a pause.
Running Deer gave him another straight look. ‘Because you’ll be dead before you get within a mile of the ranch.’
‘So how can you help?’ Sam asked.
Running Deer reached down and suddenly produced a pistol. Everyone froze, and Jacob tensed and threw himself to one side.
Running Deer said, ‘That was quick, but not quick enough, Mr Merriweather. If I meant to kill you, you’d be lying with a hole in the head under the table right now.’ He laid his gun on the table in front of him and raised both hands. ‘That’s the way it is with Jack Davidson. If he wants you dead, you’re dead before you know it.’
‘Have another beer, Running Deer,’ Sam Critchley said with relief.
‘Thank you, sir, I do believe I will.’ Running Deer sat back with his hands across his chest. Jacob reached out and picked up the gun. It was an old Navy cap and ball. ‘This gun isn’t loaded,’ he said.
Running Deer grinned. ‘That is so, Mr Merriweather, but it might have been.’
Sam smiled. ‘You took a terrible risk on that, Running Deer. Mr Merriweather could have shot you dead.’
Running Deer nodded in agreement. ‘That is true, Mr Critchley, but I wanted to show you something.’
‘Show us what?’ Jacob asked him.
‘First, how easy it is to die when you’re dealing with a hombre like Jack Davidson. You see, I know Davidson well because I used to work for him as a wrangler. I’ve always been good with horses, like my pa. He taught me everything I know.’
‘So, how do you propose to help us?’ Jacob asked him.
‘Well, it’s like this, Mr Merriweather,’ Running Deer said. ‘I feel right
sore about those killings, and I also know how the man Davidson is, and he’s a real mean son of a bitch. So, if you’ll have me, I’d like to ride along with you because I know how that ugly bastard operates, and if I can help, you won’t get yourselves into deep shit.’ He turned to Marie. ‘Beg pardon for the language, Miss, but no language is too strong when you’re dealing with a man like Davidson.’
Marie smiled. ‘So how can you help us, Running Deer?’
Running Deer looked at them one at a tine. Sam glanced at Jacob and Marie. ‘I guess that will be three of us, Running Deer.’
Running Deer shook his head. ‘That’s impossible. An old man who never carries a gun, a lady who ought to be home looking after the house and the chickens, pardon me saying so, Miss Marie, and a man who’s good with a gun but doesn’t know the territory. It doesn’t fit.’
‘Well, I’m going to be part of the outfit, whatever you say,’ Marie affirmed. ‘I can shoot as well as any man.’
Running Deer pulled a sceptical face. ‘Well, Miss Marie, you might shoot a jack rabbit or a coyote, but shooting a man is another thing altogether. My woman Sophie is pretty tough, but she couldn’t shoot a man . . . even if it happened to be me,’ he added with a wry grin.
Merriweather was nodding and thinking. Could this half-breed Indian be trusted? Running Deer looked at him and seemed to read his thoughts. ‘You are wondering what’s in this for me,’ he said. ‘The answer, Mr Merriweather, is justice. That’s what I believe in.’
Jacob looked at Marie and she nodded and smiled as if to say, ‘I can read this man, and he’s telling you the truth.’
Jacob looked towards the bar and saw that the barman was well out of earshot and minding his own business. Can we trust anyone in this town? he wondered. He knew that Sheriff Olsen must already know the four of them were meeting in the Grand hotel bar. Maybe he should have ridden on to Oregon after all. But then he looked at Marie and knew why he had to stay and see this thing through to the end.
‘So,’ he said quietly, ‘how can we go about this business, Running Deer?’
Running Deer spread his hands on the table. ‘Well, one thing’s for sure, we don’t just head out together and aim at the Davidson spread. When I leave here, I’ll go home and saddle up my best horse.’ He looked at Sam. ‘And if you’re intent on coming, Mr Critchley, I suggest you leave your rig somewhere here where it’s out of sight. My wife Sophie will be happy to look after the burros and the rig, and you can ride your best burro. Leave after dark so you don’t attract too much attention. And you, Marie and Mr Merriweather can ride together earlier or later. it won’t matter a damn as long as you don’t attract attention.’
