Servant of the Law

by Dusty Richards

  John Wesley moved swiftly and wrenched the gun from her grasp before she could protest. “No. Let the law handle it now. Do you hear me?”

  All the fight went out of her. Her face crumpled like a child’s and she leaned against him. “I saw him come in. I was in the store, and I knew you were going to get him. Oh John, he has to pay.” Tears spilled down her windburned cheeks as she looked up at him imploringly.

  John stifled a grunt of frustration. He jammed her pistol in his waistband and held her by the shoulders. “It’s over, we have him now. Get a hold of yourself.”

  She raised her head and looked over his shoulder. Her eyes widened in disbelief. The bartender held a shotgun, but John noted with relief that it was aimed at the Kid.

  “Dolly,” he said softly, the name slipping out in a moment of compassion. “It’s really over now.”

  She stared at him, numbed with shock. “Yes. Yes, you’re right. I … I won’t try anything. I promise.” The last words came out in a whisper of defeat.

  John fought the anger inside him. He was angry with himself, with the Kid, and even with her. He released her shoulders and said coldly, “I’ll meet you outside. We’re taking him back to Snowflake tonight.”

  “All right, John,” she said wearily and turned to leave.

  He noted her slumping shoulders as she walked outside. Then he strode to the bar and tore the bottle of whiskey out of the Kid’s hands. In a gesture of frustrated rage, he smashed the bottle against the bar railing, sending a shower of liquor and glass over him and the prisoner. His cold glare bored into the Kid. “I don’t want any tricks out of you.”

  “Well, well,” the bartender drawled, “so he’s the Coyote Kid, huh?”

  John nodded curtly. “Do I owe you anything for damages?”

  “Nah. This ought to be good for business. What’s your name?”

  Unable to see any way out of it, John answered, “John Wesley Michaels.” He jerked the Kid around by his elbow and pushed him toward the door.

  “Hey!” the saloonkeeper shouted, “Are you a U.S. Marshal?”

  “No, just an officer of the court.”

  “Oh. And the lady with the gun is your missus?”

  “No,” John growled, “her name is Mrs. Arnold.” He hoped that the man would make the connection without additional explanation.

  “I see. That’s the reason she wanted him dead—” The man stopped abruptly, obviously having heard about the Arnold boy being shot. “Well, thanks, mister. Arresting the Coyote Kid in here will sure be good for my business.”

  John cringed. His contempt for liquor and what it did to a man made him angry, but it disturbed him more to think that what he did would support such a vice. He guided the Kid out to the boardwalk, moving past the crowd of dismayed onlookers on the porch.

  “Hey, lawman. Is that woman out here in the crowd?” the Kid asked in a gruff voice.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got her gun in my belt.” His tone was sharp, not inviting any more comments.

  “You might not worry about it, but the woman’s out for my blood.”

  Despite his irritation at her foolhardy actions, John was relieved to see Dolly beyond the crowd, sitting on her gray, the packhorse in tow. “Which one is your horse?” he asked his prisoner.

  “That one.” The Kid pointed to an exhausted-looking animal tied to the hitch rail. “He’s about gone.”

  John could see that. He shoved the prisoner toward the spent animal. His lips tightened as he walked toward the beast. He stripped the saddle off and unbridled the horse.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Do you want the saddle?” John asked flatly.

  “Of course.”

  “Then pick it up, ’cause this horse is about to die. And I’m not letting it fall down here in the street.” He lightly slapped the horse’s rump, then watched it amble down the street in the growing darkness.

  In dismay, the Kid looked at his freed horse then at John Wesley. “Well, the hell with it!” He threw the saddle down in disgust.

  “Suit yourself.” John shrugged as he noted the action. He removed Jacob’s bridle and fashioned a halter from his lariat for him.

  “Get aboard,” he told the Kid.

  Unsure what to expect next, Dolly watched the two. Once the Kid was in the saddle, John came over to her. She looked down at him in puzzlement. “Surely you’re not going to walk?”

  “No, I’m not. If I may, I’m going to ride with you.”

  “Oh, oh certainly.” She looked hard at the Kid and scowled. “You ought to put a noose around his neck and drag him back.”

  John handed her the lead to his horse and hung his bridle on her saddle horn. Then he stepped into the stirrup and swung up behind her.

  Feeling his solid form against her back, Dolly automatically stiffened. “Are you ready?” She tried to ignore the curious and knowing stares of the many people milling about in the street.

  “Hey, you boys get a good look!” the Kid shouted. His manacled hands held on to the saddle horn as he boasted. “You’re looking at the Coyote Kid. You’ll see him again.”

  Her hands tightened on the reins and leads as she listened to the braggart. With deliberation she dug her heels into her horse’s side. Her intentional jump-start nearly unseated the prisoner. He jerked in the saddle, but held fast.

  The Kid smiled sardonically in her direction. “Come on, boys, they’re selling tickets to my hanging.” The crowd laughed at his careless attitude. John grimaced with disgust at the circus atmosphere. He was forced to reach past her in an almost intimate way in order to stay seated behind her.

  “I’m not poison, John Wesley. You can hold on to me.” When he resisted, she shrugged. “Then fall off, see if I give a damn, you stubborn devil.”

  He was already regretting his decision to ride double with the sharp-tongued woman. Behind them the Kid was singing off-key. The smell of liquor still clung to John’s clothes from the smashed liquor bottle. But the most disturbing thing of all was riding behind a woman on the gray with its swinging gait. It was next to impossible to hold on without bumping her. His legs rubbed hers because he could not keep back or hold them straight down and maintain his balance at the same time. It was going to be a long night. The fact that he had been celibate for too long only increased his discomfort.

  Glancing at the darkening twilight sky, John tried to detach himself from his surroundings. He wondered about the whereabouts of the Kid’s partner. Had they parted company or was he waiting somewhere in the distance for a chance to ambush them? He twisted in the saddle but saw nothing threatening as they left the village.

  What about Dolly? Her part was over; surely she would see that and return to Arnold. A nagging doubt irritated him. He wasn’t entirely confident that she would agree to that solution, but he would meet that problem when it arose. Hopefully things would work out. His present assignment was nearing completion. Bobby Joe Budd could await trial in the Apache County jail. Dolly Arnold was free to return home, and he would be alone at last. He looked forward to a less fettered state.

  She kept the horse at a steady pace. John’s silence behind her didn’t surprise her. But her conscience plagued her with guilt because of her earlier impulsive actions. She regretted taking a shot at the Kid. Not because she had missed him, but because of the reproach of the silent man behind her on the mare. Perhaps he was right; the law could handle Bobby Budd. It was probably better that way. Besides, she sighed wearily, what had her actions accomplished? Well, she conceded, John Wesley had called her Dolly for the first and probably the last time. But she admitted that he had lapsed only because he momentarily lost his composure.

  “How did you know it was him—back there?” she finally asked. “I mean, he’s thinner than I recall.”

  “Plain luck. I was walking by when he had that coughing fit on the porch, and drew my attention. I looked over at him and noticed that guardless .38. He was the right height and his clothes were sure
a mess. Figured it was him.”

  She nodded to indicate that she had heard him and felt him shift around some more. A faint smile lifted her lips. She found this law business an exciting occupation. It was a lot more interesting than cooking, washing, and being a housewife. An idea took root in her mind. Perhaps when John rode out on a new case, she could help him. Of course, persuading him that he needed her would be a little difficult, but she was fairly confident that she just might manage to do that.

  The Kid sang in a slurred voice. Feeling warmed by the whiskey that he had consumed earlier and yet confused about how to handle his arrest, he took refuge in song. He had gotten out of worse deals before. Something would work out. If only Leo was with him, but poor Leo was dead. His compadre was gone. The Kid shook his head to keep from remembering. He looked ahead at the two people riding double. Just who in the hell did that Mrs. Arnold think she was? Her taking a shot at him like she had back there. His whiskey-laden brain refused to make a connection between her hatred and the cause for it. She was simply a good-looking woman. But it had sure been a blessing that she was such a poor shot. Hell, maybe it simply wasn’t his time yet to join Leo.

  “Oh, cows move along. We got miles to go,” he sang aloud.

  The twilight soon turned to darkness and stars lit the way. They would never make Snowflake before midnight, John decided. He pushed himself back on the saddle for the umpteenth time. A faint scent tickled his nostrils. She emitted a slight smell of perfume. He made a dogged attempt to wipe the smell from his senses. More and more he regretted his foolish idea to ride double with the woman.

  “John, when will they have a trial?”

  “Soon, I hope.”

  She made a face at his unhelpful answer. But it was typical of him, she knew. He never gave away his emotions or thoughts.

  “We may need to rest the horses,” he said, as he noted while checking on his prisoner that the moon had begun to rise.

  “All right,” she agreed tiredly. “When would you like to stop?”

  John shrugged, immediately regretting the action since it caused more body contact with Dolly. “Oh, anytime. Would you like to stop now?”

  “That would be fine.” She wondered why they were still talking like polite strangers, but she was too weary to work out the reasoning. With a deep sigh, she reined up the gray mare and waited while John dismounted. He did not offer to help her down; for once she would have welcomed his strong helping hands. But she recalled she had told him long ago that she was perfectly capable of dismounting alone. Her eyelids closed for a restive second over her weary pupils as he took both lead ropes. Feeling irritated with him for some inexplicable reason, she straightened her back and short-loped her mare toward the dark shadowy thicket of junipers.

  A few moments later she staggered in relief to be off the horse for a while. More than that, she was longing for a few moments of privacy away from both men. The gentle night breeze cooled her face as she brushed her hair. Standing in the silvery light, she pulled on the tangles, vowing that tomorrow she would find a way to take a bath. It was a luxury that she had taken for granted at Ben’s place. Anytime she wished she could draw water and bathe, but out here water was a rationed commodity. A bed would feel heavenly, but she was becoming accustomed to curling up in a warm bedroll on the ground. Besides, she admitted silently, she was so tired it would not matter where she slept.

  The lonely sound of a yapping coyote startled her. She suddenly realized how vulnerable she was out in the darkness away from the men without her gun. It was time to ride back to them.

  The Kid was seated on the ground, his hands still manacled. He looked up at John Wesley who had his head cocked as if listening for the woman’s return. “So your name’s John Wesley Michaels, huh? Have we met before?”

  “No, we haven’t,” John said flatly. He searched over the dark landscape for sight of her. What was she doing out there that was taking so long?

  The Kid clucked his tongue. “That’s a shame. I always figured some famous lawman would arrest me.”

  “Why? Do you fancy yourself as someone special?”

  “No, not me. But I know there are stories about me. A lot of lawmen have rode the wrong way looking for me. Guess I was too smart for them.”

  John ignored the boasting. “Where’s your partner, Leo Jackson, alias Leon Smith?”

  The Kid hung his head and closed his eyes in pain. “Now, why did you have to ask about poor Leo?”

  John took a deep breath, striving for patience. “It’s part of my job. I’ll have to go find him.”

  The Kid shook his head. “You can’t.”

  “What do you mean I can’t?” John tried to read the prisoner’s face in the moonlight, but he couldn’t.

  “Ain’t no reason to go after Leo. He’s dead.”

  “How?”

  “In a shootout this morning.”

  John tried to gauge his voice, wondering if the Kid was telling the truth.

  “Why in the hell do you think I came back by myself for the whiskey?” the Kid challenged, looking up at him with a smile.

  John’s instincts told him that the Kid was telling the truth. He let the matter drop as his thoughts and concerns returned to Dolly’s absence. Where was she? A coyote howled, and at last he heard the sounds of her horse’s hooves returning.

  Masking his relief, he glared down at the Kid. “You better not try anything. And watch your mouth around the lady.”

  He took Dolly’s pistol out of his belt and turned, waiting for her to rein up beside him.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked as she dismounted and stood beside him.

  “Fine. I want my pistol back. There’s damned coyotes out there.”

  “Did they frighten you?”

  “No.” She gave him an indignant look. “They just sounded eerie. I hate those yapping critters.” She peered beyond him, trying to see the Kid’s face in the firelight.

  John bit back a word of caution as he handed her the revolver. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” She braced herself, expecting a long lecture on her shooting exploits. When he said nothing, she felt let down. Maybe she had grown to enjoy their bickering. But John never did what she expected him to.

  “His partner Leo is dead,” he informed her. “Or so he says.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  John frowned. “Maybe, but we’ll keep an eye out anyway. As for him”—he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the Kid—“I want him in the Apache County jail.”

  “Do you think we’ll reach Snowflake by morning?”

  “Yes. If you’re ready to go now, I’ll get him mounted. Oh, and Mrs. Arnold, I’m sorry about the inconvenience of having to ride double.”

  So he was back to “Mrs. Arnold.” She sighed in exasperation, but her sense of humor came to her rescue. He was obviously still worried about having to ride behind her. His dismay was almost comical. “Well, John Wesley,” she said pointedly, “it’s not as if we were rubbing bellies, is it?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Oh, never mind. Go load that singing idiot.” She remounted the mare, wondering why she could not build up a fierce hatred for the Kid. Somehow he seemed a different man from the one who had shot her son. It was difficult to reconcile this drunken, thin man with the reckless killer of her child. Her brow furrowed as she tried to understand her own reactions toward their prisoner.

  John returned, leading Jacob. The Kid was sitting resignedly on the horse’s back. John stepped toward the gray. “You ready, Mrs. Arnold?”

  She nodded, bracing herself for the extra weight on the mare. She closed her eyes when John swung aboard in the same restrained manner that he had assumed before. “Don’t fall off,” she said to taunt him.

  When the horses moved at a fast trot, the Kid slowly began to sober up. He decided it would be wiser not to sing the bawdy songs that came to mind. Mrs. Arnold seemed like two different people. Her words were those of an experienced woman, yet she was stra
ngely reserved like a lady. It was an odd mixture. As for the lawman, he surmised Michaels would be a difficult man to trick. He also knew that Michaels would shoot him if he found it necessary. That was a sobering fact. He had no intentions of trying to escape from John Wesley Michaels. The time for attempting an escape would come after he was no longer in the lawman’s custody. With that thought came the memory of the silver pistol that was lowered into his cell on the rope. He would need one of those for sure this time.

  Snowflake came alive when John and Dolly led the Coyote Kid down the street. Word must have been telegraphed ahead of their arrival, because onlookers, big and small, crowded the boardwalk watching in the first light of dawn as they moved up the main street toward the jail.

  Neal stood in front of the sheriff’s office, a Winchester repeater in the crook of his arm. He greeted them with a polite nod. “How do, Mrs. Arnold, John.”

  John Wesley slid off the horse and helped the prisoner down. He noted how Dolly pointedly looked away from the Kid. Wordlessly, he marched the prisoner inside the jail.

  Stiff and sore, Dolly dismounted to seek some relief from her tight muscles. Standing beside the gray, she watched Neal, who was searching the crowd as if expecting trouble. Then he turned and hurriedly followed John inside the jail. At the sound of an approaching wagon, she turned. A soft snort of displeasure escaped her throat as she noted the new arrival. Sheriff Rogers, she observed with cynicism, had arrived just in time to bask in the glory of having the notorious Coyote Kid in his jail.

  A cold chill swept over her as she stood in the early morning sun holding the reins to the horses. It was strange to feel so numb. Her son’s killer was in jail, but the fact did not fill her with half the satisfaction that she expected. And it was oddly discomfiting that she had no hate or thirst for revenge left in her heart. She seemed to be observing herself with an odd detachment. She saw a tired, disheveled woman smelling of horse and sweat. A chill ran through her shoulders and she shivered as she waited for John Wesley Michaels to come out of the Apache County jail. The feeling of detachment passed. She closed her eyes, wondering why she was so depressed at the thought of her future and what it held for her.