The Marshal Meets His Match

by Clari Dees

  Catriona McIsaac

  1825-1882

  Beloved Wife

  Beloved Mother

  Beloved Child of God

  The cold gray stone could never communicate the true meaning of the life it represented.

  Meri felt a tear run down her cheek, and wiped it away in surprise. She hadn’t shed tears since the funeral. Even when her burning eyes and aching throat had begged for the cathartic release, her eyes had remained stubbornly dry. She sank to her knees in the soft grass.

  “Oh, Mither. I miss you so much it hurts.” Another tear slid down, and all the grief and anger of the past year boiled up with it, refusing to be contained any longer. “God, why did you take her? You could so easily have healed her! Why did You let her die?”

  The sound of the vicious words rocked her back on her heels. She’d never spoken the questions aloud, but they had festered just below the surface slowly infecting her whole being.

  Meri finally accepted the truth that had been gnawing at her spirit since Pastor Willis’s sermon. “I have been so angry with You, Lord. You could have healed Mither of pnuemonia, but You didn’t and I couldn’t accept that. I’ve blamed You for her death. I’ve been angry and bitter that You allowed that to happen to us, to me, and that anger has become a barrier pushing me away from You.”

  As confession cleared the windows of Meri’s soul, the tears began to flow in earnest. “Father, You say that all things work together for good to them that love You. I don’t understand how Mither’s death is good, but she was Your child, and I know You love her more than I ever could. Forgive me for being angry at You, for acting like a spoiled child who gets mad when things don’t go my way. I’m tired of fighting You. I’m tired of being angry and hurting all the time. Please forgive me.”

  Sobs shook her shoulders and tears poured, but as she cried out to a loving Heavenly Father, long-lost peace began to seep through the cracks in her heart, softening the hardness and restoring what bitterness had choked out. Long minutes passed before her tears began to dry, and snatches of Scripture watered peace deep into her soul.

  A few more tears leaked out as she pictured her mother in Heaven at Jesus’s feet. She had focused entirely on what she had lost when she should have been focusing on what her mother had gained. Her father was right. Mither was happier with her Savior than she could ever have been here on earth.

  Meri shifted to pull a handkerchief from her pocket and realized she’d sat on her legs so long she’d lost feeling in them. Gingerly stretching them out, she leaned against the headstone, wiping her face and wincing as sleeping limbs awakened with a rush of fiery prickles. But in spite of aching legs and tear-soaked eyes, Meri felt better than she had in months. The oppressive weight was gone, and her heart felt light and clean. She would always miss her mother, her friend and confidante, but sweet peace had replaced aching sadness, and Meri basked in the calm that followed the long storm.

  Fatigue washed over her, and she leaned her head back against the cool stone, letting her eyes drift shut. She had almost dozed off when a soft nicker made her jump. Sitting up, she saw Sandy was not looking at her. He was watching the high end of the graveyard, ears pricked intently.

  Meri rose to her knees to follow his gaze. What had caught his attention? The only thing up there was that silly marble tomb, imposing in its haughty grandeur and looking down on lowly rank-and-file headstones.

  She froze, heart pounding. Had the door on the crypt…moved?

  Shivers raced up her spine, and she jumped to her feet and sprinted to Sandy’s side, unsheathing her carbine and spinning back to scan the area in one quick move. Nothing stirred. She would have doubted she’d seen anything except Sandy was still cautiously looking toward the top of the cemetery between quick bites of grass.

  A thought caused Meri to take a deep breath and laugh at herself as her racing heart slowed. Boys had probably found a way into the crypt and thought to scare her.

  Let’s see who scares whom!

  Meri reentered the burial ground, thankful she’d thought to leave the gate open thus avoiding its noisy squeak, and walked toward the two imposing lions flanking the door of the marble monstrosity.

  “I know you’re in there. You can come out now,” Meri called out sternly.

  Silence fell and she heard nothing but the swish of her own footsteps through the grass as she reached the last row of gravestones and stopped. Darting a glance around, she saw nothing but her own horse calmly grazing.

  “I said, come out,” she ordered again, but nothing moved.

  She thought she’d only started to doze off, but maybe she’d actually been asleep and dreamed this whole thing up.

  No. Sandy saw something, too.

  Another shiver raced up her spine as she squinted at the latch on the door. It was undone and the door stood slightly ajar. It had never been used, but who would want to hide in there? That seemed terribly unnerving, even for a bunch of mischievous boys.

  “I have a Winchester carbine aimed straight at this door. Come out with your hands up. Now!” The words sounded braver in Meri’s mind then they did when they hit the air.

  She held her breath as she waited, but still nothing happened. She argued with herself before slowly stepping within reach of the cold marble edifice and touching the toe of her boot to the metal door. She swallowed hard as the door moved smoothly and silently inward.

  You’re crazy! You could have gotten on Sandy and ridden home, but no, you have to go investigate!

  Meri stepped back hastily, bringing the rifle up as sunshine illuminated the shadowed crypt. It was too late to turn and run now. Something—no, someone was in there. Meri backed farther away, voice squeaking when she ordered, “Hands up! Come out where I can see you.”

  Her heart beat furiously in her ears as the shadows in the crypt shifted toward her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Daylight washed over the shadows, and they melted, leaving behind two men. One wore an amused expression on his face and a star on his shirt; the other wore a similar star but a sheepish expression. Both men raised their hands placatingly as they exited the marble structure, Jonah pulling the door shut behind him with one hand.

  “You!” Meri’s knees suddenly threatened to buckle, and the barrel of her carbine drooped toward the ground.

  “May we put our hands down, or are you going to use that on us?” Wyatt grinned and motioned toward her gun.

  She kept the barrel pointed toward the ground but shifted it toward Wyatt. “That depends on how you answer my question. What were you and Jonah doing in there?” It took some effort, but she kept the tremor out of her voice.

  But then dismayed realization dawned. “How long have you been up here?” She cringed, thinking how she’d blubbered over her mother’s grave.

  “Long enough to realize you wouldn’t appreciate an audience,” Wyatt said softly.

  She almost dropped the carbine. Of all the people to witness her tears… She didn’t know whether to melt in mortification or… She tightened her grip on the gun and took a step toward Wyatt and Jonah. Jonah stepped back.

  Wyatt stood his ground with a crooked grin. “You just figure out if you shoot us there won’t be any witnesses?”

  How does he always know what I’m thinking? “Would you quit changing the subject?” she huffed. “How did you two get up here? Where are your horses?” She moved another half step closer, but Wyatt still didn’t budge. It was hard to intimidate a man who didn’t scare.

  “Which question would you like answered first?” Wyatt scratched his forehead with a knuckle, nudging his hat up.

  The man was impossible. He had no right to look so devastatingly attractive when she was upset with him. “How ‘bout all of them?”

  “Well, let’s see…” In one swift move Wyatt’s hand came away from the brim of his hat and swiped the barrel of the carbine to one side. Stepping in close, he pulled the gun from her abruptly nerveless hands.

  Meri stiffened as he
leaned down, hat brim nearly touching hers, forcing her to look up at him. He held her gaze for several breathless heartbeats. “You were saying?”

  Meri blinked and scuttled backward trying to collect her scattered wits. What had she been saying? Glinting green-gold eyes had short-circuited her brain.

  Crack! Crack! Ping!

  She jerked, feeling the sounds like a physical blow.

  “Get down!” Wyatt roared, and lunged at her, wrapping her in his arms. The ground rose up to meet them with a thump, and he used their momentum to roll down to a row of headstones for cover. Pain radiated through her as they slammed to an abrupt halt against a wide stone marker. She groaned. Her arms were pinioned to her sides by Wyatt’s arms, and she couldn’t breathe against his weight pinning her to the ground. “Stay down! You okay, Jonah?” Wyatt shifted Meri out of his arms, tucking her tightly against the base of the marker.

  Jonah hollered he was unhurt, and Meri decided to argue with the bossy marshal when she’d recovered enough breath to speak more forcibly. Her back loudly protested the sudden contact with the ground, and her lungs ached with the effort to refill them.

  “Can you see anything?” Wyatt removed his hat before peering cautiously around the bottom edge of the headstone.

  “No, but those shots sounded like they came from farther down the slope. Maybe those cedars left of the road,” Jonah barked.

  “We’re pinned down pretty bad,” Wyatt gritted out. “Let’s see if we can shake something out of those trees.” He levered Meri’s carbine open—he’d managed to hold on to it in their tumble for cover—and jacked a shell into the empty chamber. He left his own pistol securely in its holster and aimed for the clump of trees about a hundred and fifty yards down the slope. Firing two quick shots, he paused and repeated the action. “See anything move, Jonah?”

  “No. Wait! You hear that?”

  “Yeah, sounds like a horse leaving fast—with or without the rider I can’t tell. He’s using his cover too well.” He sounded disgusted.

  “There haven’t been any more shots fired at us since those first two. Maybe he’s hightailing it out of there.”

  “Let’s see if we get any bites.” Wyatt grabbed his hat, slowly raised it above the top of the headstone and held it there a second. The deafening silence was broken only by the return of tentative birdsong.

  “Try your hat, Jonah, maybe he’s playin’ ‘possum.”

  Jonah repeated Wyatt’s actions, but no further gunshots sounded. “You think he’s gone?”

  “If he’s not, he soon will be.” Wyatt peered around the base of the stone. “Look at that dust coming. Someone must have heard the shots and decided to come investigate. All we have to do is lay low ‘til they get here.” He turned and sat, tucking his back against the stone. He swiped his arm over his damp forehead and looked at Meri. “You shock me, Miss McIsaac. I figured you’d be trying to take that gunman down all by yourself. Instead you followed my order to stay down. I’m surprised and proud of you!” He grinned.

  “You had my rifle. What was I supposed to use?” Meri had to force the words through her tight throat. She was feeling completely useless and nearly cross-eyed with dizziness. “I think you broke my shoulder when you threw me down and landed on me, you big ox.” It hurt to breathe.

  “Now, now, Mac, don’t call names. It isn’t ladylike. And I didn’t land on you, I cushioned your fall.”

  “If that’s what you call cushioning a fall…”

  “Drop your weapons and come out with your hands where we can see them!” The command rang out below them.

  “Where have I heard this before?” groaned Jonah.

  “Take it easy, fellas. It’s just us,” Wyatt shouted before he and Jonah got cautiously to their feet.

  “Marshal? What’s all the shootin’ about?” The man sounded closer, but Meri was having trouble recognizing the voice through the pulse hammering in her ears.

  “Some polecat started throwin’ lead at us. You can see where one of ‘em hit the top of that tombstone over there.” Jonah motioned toward a marker near where they’d been standing when the shots had been fired.

  “Where’s Miss McIsaac? Her horse is down here,” another voice asked.

  “She’s right here.” Wyatt looked down at Meri as he spoke. “You’re taking the order to stay down a bit too seriously, Mac.”

  “Don’t call me Mac. I’m still trying to catch my breath.” Meri struggled to push herself up, but a bolt of pain streaked through her, and the bright afternoon spun wildly, colors dimming and blurring together. She slumped back as Wyatt whispered her name, and the world went black.

  * * *

  Wyatt fell to his knees beside Meri, yelling her name. She didn’t respond. He reached under her motionless body to lift her into his arms and something warmly wet and sticky met his touch. Heartsick, he withdrew a hand covered in thick red blood.

  He should have known something was wrong. She just didn’t lie around taking orders. “Somebody go get Doc! Now!”

  Pastor Willis ran to his horse, leaving Mr. Van Deusen and Mr. Hubert standing by helplessly. Wyatt gently shifted Meri. Torn blood-soaked fabric met his eyes.

  Mr. Hubert hissed sharply as he peered over Wyatt’s shoulder. “That looks pretty bad.”

  Wyatt grunted acknowledgment as he finished turning her over carefully. “There wasn’t blood on the front of her shoulder. Did it go in or just cut her up?” He reached for his knife, and slit the torn edges of the fabric, pulling it away from the wound to look.

  “Looks like she caught a ricochet.” Mr. Van Deusen knelt beside Wyatt. “They make wounds like that.”

  A jagged furrow plowed up her back, ending in a ragged hole just below the top of the shoulder. Wyatt yanked off his neckerchief and pressed it onto the wound. “Hold that in place, and put some pressure on it!” he barked.

  Mr. Van Deusen complied, and Wyatt lifted the hem of Meri’s riding skirt and ripped a wide strip off her cotton petticoat. Tearing the strip lengthwise, he knotted the two ends together to make a longer strip and wrapped it around her shoulder, holding the improvised bandage in place. With infinite care he rolled her onto her back and into his arms. Standing, cradling her limp form, he saw Jonah leading his own horse and Charger down from the trees where they’d been hidden.

  “Figured you’d want to get her into town quick—looks like she’s still losing quite a bit of blood. I’ll go after the shooter and leave a trail for you to follow after you get her to Doc’s.” Jonah’s tone was brusque, but his hands were gentle as he took Wyatt’s fragile armful.

  Wyatt leaped into the saddle and wrapped the reins around the saddle horn. Reaching down, he tenderly retrieved his precious burden and cradled her once more. He looked toward Mr. Van Deusen and Mr. Hubert. “You men stay here and make sure no one enters that crypt. If anyone tries, you hold them prisoner ‘til I get back.”

  “What? Why?” Matching looks of confusion covered their faces as they glanced from the mausoleum back to him.

  “I’ll explain later. Until then, make sure no one goes anywhere near it. Your word on it?”

  “Our word, Marshal.” Both men nodded solemnly, still bewildered.

  With a nod of thanks, Wyatt used his legs to guide Charger out of the gate and toward town. The big horse stepped carefully but quickly as if he understood the gravity of the situation.

  Wyatt struggled to pray beyond one-word syllables, and his heart ached at the pale face cradled against his chest. “Lord, help her. Help me. Hang in there, Mac. Stay with me.”

  Meri groaned and mumbled something.

  “What is it?” He lowered his head to catch her words.

  “…not…Mac,” she breathed.

  Wyatt’s chest rose and sank on a relieved sigh. “You just keep fighting, sweetheart, and I’ll call you any name you want.” But she was beyond hearing.

  He shifted a hand until he could feel the pulse at her wrist. Weak, but steady. He hugged her a little closer and resumed
praying. “Father, please, stop the bleeding and heal her body.”

  The ride was interminable. He prayed and wondered why the doctor hadn’t already met him. He was at the edge of town before he saw Franks riding toward him. “Where’s Doc?”

  “Deliverin’ a baby. Brotha’ Willis rode ta git ‘im. Doc’s wife is waitin’.” Franks turned to ride alongside Wyatt, glancing worriedly at Wyatt’s limp bundle.

  When they arrived at the Doc’s, Franks dismounted and reached for Meri. Wyatt reluctantly relinquished her so he could dismount but quickly reclaimed her as soon as his feet touched the ground.

  “Bring her in.” Mrs. Kilburn waved them through to the examination room. “Lay her there.” She pointed to the exam table, and Wyatt tenderly lowered Meri onto her uninjured side.

  Mrs. Kilburn immediately set about removing the bandage he had hastily fashioned and examined the wound critically. “You two step out of the room, but don’t go far.”

  Wyatt and Franks retreated to the office. Wyatt slumped into a chair, suddenly aware of his weak knees.

  “How bad…?” Franks’s deep bass trembled a little.

  “She caught a ricochet that tore up her shoulder. Looks like one of the first shots glanced upward off a headstone, slicing up her back before angling into her shoulder. She’s lost some blood. She woke up on the ride in, but almost immediately lost consciousness again.” Wyatt sketched the details of the ambush then dragged in a deep breath before continuing. “Can you round up someone to go get her father?”