The Talisman - Crisscross

by Shaunna Gonzales

  *

  Quinn watched her examine each man's vest, knowing more of what she looked for than the judge. He glanced at Judge Fairbanks’ finding a formidable poker face. While one comment from Judge Fairbanks seemed to reside on Trish's side, the next sounded ready to condemn her without further proof.

  His attention weighed and measured the other men in the room. How many could handle themselves in a hand-to-hand fight? No six-guns were allowed except for Tuckett and Powell. He carefully considered the possible escape routes. He would first try to help her prove her innocence. If that failed, he would try to prove her mentally insane. Of course, he knew he could be insane for considering such a course of action, but he couldn't help it. As a last resort, he must prepare to fight for their escape. Would she help him? Or would she stand firm, a martyr for insanity's sake? His or hers?

  Trish returned to the table and reached into the saddlebags. She seemed to fish to the bottom and when she removed her hand, clutching a small item, he knew she held the button. She kept it well hidden in her hand until she placed it on the judge's bench, keeping her hand over it. On tiptoe, she leaned in to whisper to Judge Fairbanks.

  Quinn caught the last words, "--would you mind keeping it under your hand until I require it?"

  Judge Fairbanks nodded, granting her request. He appeared to like Trish, for now. She held his full attention.

  "Bailiff, swear these men in."

  Bailiff Powell did so, one at a time.

  Quinn sat in quiet admiration. He had thought that he knew her, but here she showed yet another side of herself. She seemed fully capable and willing to take risks, her own innocence in the balance. It reminded him of a card game that proved not only exciting to play, but exciting to watch. What would she do next? She surprised him, proving herself a gambler, one he would relish to play against. He studied her, looking for her tells. She failed to exhibit any nervous habits, but occasionally, she would look at him and take a deep breath before diving in for the next round of intrigue. He made note for future reference should they both get out of this together.

  This time she didn't take her usual deep breath. She stepped in front of one of the men who also served on the jury.

  "Have you met me before?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "Have you seen me before today?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Would you tell the court where?"

  "Pierre's saloon a few days ago."

  Quinn almost expected Moore to burst out with his expletives once more. He remained silent, but his vindictive accusation was apparent. "You sing right nice, Miss Trish."

  "Thank you. You were wearing your vest then too, were you not?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Why?"

  "Well, it's the only one I have. I always wear it."

  "Your honor, notice that his vest has lacings to tie it closed if necessary. I'd like to excuse this man to return to the juror's box."

  Judge Fairbanks nodded his approval and the cowboy returned to his seat in the juror's box with a sigh of relief.

  "Mr. Leavitt, I believe we've met as well. Would you tell the court where, please?"

  "Yes, ma'am, I met you at the spiritualist's meeting a week or so back. Albert was a good man and friend."

  "I agree. You're a rancher in these parts?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "How many of your cow hands wear vests?"

  "Most of them, probably eight or nine."

  "I see they are not all present today. Can you tell us where they were on May twenty-first?"

  "Well, those that weren't in the saloon getting a drink that evening were on a cattle drive out across the Oregon parts a few hundred miles. They should be returning in a day or two."

  "You're sure that there was no way that any of those men could have been here or at Pierre's on the day in question?"

  "My boys make that drive every year about this time. I usually go 'long, but my wife asked that I stay close to home, she being sick and all this spring. They woulda killed the horses it would take to get back here. All my horses are accounted for."

  "So you can vouch for all nine of your men?"

  "Well, except for Slim here that you already excused. Yes."

  "And where was Slim?"

  "He has a thing for the ladies, so most likely with Zelda."

  "You're sure of your hired hands? None of them were drunk that night?"

  "If they get drunk, they lose their jobs."

  "I see. I notice that your vest has wooden toggles. Is this your only one?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I gave my old one to Dakota last year. Gettin' a bit too fat off my own beef." The room echoed with appreciative laughter, especially from Slim.

  "Thank you. Judge? Excuse this man?"

  "If your beef's that good, I wouldn't mind a steak before headin' home. You're excused." Judge Fairbanks seemed to return to his usual nature.

  "I'll see to it that Humphrey has a right tender cut of steer for your supper tonight, Your Honor." Wes nodded at Judge Fairbanks.

  Trish smiled at the next man, a handsome man with a quick smile.

  "Sir, you wear a very nice brown leather vest. I believe it is lined. Isn't that a bit difficult to come by?"

  "I bought it out in Carson City this spring." The cowboy appeared visibly affected by her closeness.

  "What took you to Carson City?"

  He cleared his throat. "I was on my way here from Frisco."

  Trish paused for a moment. "I see. It looks very soft. May I?"

  He allowed her to touch it, obviously enjoying her nearness as she explored its smooth softness. Quinn knew she checked the buttons and how they were sewn on.

  "Thank you. Judge, I believe this man can be excused."

  "You're excused."

  The cowboy let out his breath, dropping his head in a brief bow to Trish before returning to his seat. Quinn smiled, recognizing the effect she apparently had on most the men, if only in the audience as she sang at the saloon.

  The next man Trish focused her attention on stood tall and lean, his features dark, though his hairline receded dramatically. Quinn had never seen the man before.

  "This is a nice vest. Is it lined with wool?"

  "Actually, it’s sheep skin. The wool is from the critter that grew it on the hide. It ain't sewn in," he boasted.

  "This is cow country. Where did you find such a vest?"

  "Got it just last week in Wyoming."

  "Isn't that cattle country?"

  "Most of it, I guess."

  "Did you trade your old vest for this one?"

  "No, ma'am. Ain't never had a vest before."

  "You knew Albert Jackson?"

  "No, ma'am. We just got into town yesterday. Saw lots of people coming in here this morning and thought I'd come in and have a look see."

  "Your Honor?"

  "Anybody here know this man or seen him before?"

  Quinn craned his neck around. No one stood up for the man.

  "Didn't expect to be part of the proceedings, did you?" Judge Fairbanks chuckled.

  "No sir, but this has been right exciting!" His young enthusiasm bubbled out of him as it would a schoolgirl.

  "Go sit down," Judge Fairbanks instructed amid the light laughter.

  Trish looked at Tuckett and Moore still standing where instructed by Judge Fairbanks, then at Quinn, taking her telltale breath.

  "Mr. Moore, we have met before, correct?"

  "Yeah, you come into my saloon a while back, looking like a 'sporting girl'." The courtroom remained silent. Everyone watched Trish.

  "Indeed, I did. And do you remember our conversation?"

  "How could I forget it? You wanted to know if I would let you use my saloon to solicit 'johns'."

  "And anything else?"

  Milton looked at Quinn. "No, I told you I wasn't interested," he sneered.

  "Did you have a particular reason for not accepting such a proposal?"

  "My wife. She doesn't approve of s
uch 'ladies'." A low rumble of masculine laughter filled the room.

  "Would it be fair to say that you are largely influenced by your wife's approval or disapproval?"

  "Yes ma'am."

  "I see, then she wouldn't approve of your interest in a particular 'sporting girl'-- even in passing?" This question caused a verbal reaction from Mr. Moore's wife.

  "Milton Moore, you wouldn't dare!" She bellowed, jumping to her feet.

  Quinn shifted around in his seat to see her. The masculine rumble seeped across the courtroom, causing Moore's features to flush. It seemed that only the man seated to Mrs. Moore's right remained unsurprised. He merely glanced her direction at her outburst.

  "Woman, be seated! This is a courtroom not your house. Browbeat him there if you must, but not in my court." Judge Fairbanks restored order and silence from the woman.

  "I seem to recall the afternoon a bit differently, but I'm not the one being questioned. What else happened?" Trish brought the attention back to the matter at hand.

  "Nothing." Moore shrugged.

  "Surely there was something else that you aren't telling the court. Come, Mr. Moore, I have no secrets here. Tell us."

  Milton muttered under his breath obviously unhappy with the situation. "A man invited you to get to know him better."

  "And is that man here in the courtroom today?"

  "Yes." He paused, seeming unsure if he should go on. "It was Quinn Jackson." The courtroom broke into astonished rumblings.

  Quinn warily watched Trish. Maybe it was Trish that was mad.

  The gavel pounded in loud protest.

  "Order! Order!" A reluctant hush came over the galley. "This court is not for bearing your promiscuity, young lady," Fairbanks warned.

  "No Your Honor, it is not. Would you ask the aforementioned why he behaved so and what happened?" Her voice seemed hardly audible by the men closest to her.

  Quinn's thoughts bolted. Should he tell the truth? Would it prove more likely to ensure her safety? Would an honest answer convict them both?

  "Mr. Quinn Jackson, please rise." Quinn arose to stand in his casual manner. He shifted his weight, wondering what her next play would be in this dangerous game. Should he lie? It could prove a cog in her guilt or innocence, depending on how he phrased it. What of his own defense? If he accused her or managed to shift the guilt in her direction, he might get off but the possibility existed that they could be accused of being in on it together. Of course, he could blatantly lie, accusing her of moments of extreme insanity. She still hadn't shown her hand. No one, not even Trish, would bring saddlebags to court just to carry the cross-pien hammer and the small item she'd given to Judge Fairbanks. He considered each possibility in those few seconds, at last settling on what he would say.

 

  Chapter 43