Always, Clay

by Nan O'Berry

  “Did you hear shots fired?”

  Clay thought hard for a moment. “No.” He shifted his gaze back to Captain Merrick. “He had been shot before I arrived and left there to die.”

  Emma took a deep breath at the harshness of his words.

  Captain Merrick stood quietly before speaking again, “Clay, you’ve got some nasty bruises on your face.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Would you like to tell me how you got them?”

  Clay cleared his throat. “I got them in a fight at O’Neal’s.”

  “O’Neal’s.”

  Clay nodded.

  “What caused the fight?”

  “I bought some dress goods.” He glanced at Emma. “For my girl.”

  He watched a soft brush color her cheeks.

  “Coming out of the general store, a few of the men began to raze me.”

  “Was Denver one?”

  “No,” Clay’s answer was strong. “Some of the men, I didn’t know except they were the ones we see at Benders.”

  “Anyone stand out?”

  Clay hesitated for a moment. He glanced over at Levi.

  “Go ahead, son, if there’s someone you recognized, tell us.”

  Clay took a deep breath. “One of them was Cyrus, Cyrus Drake.”

  He watched Captain Merrick and Levi exchange glances.

  “Clay, where is your weapon?”

  Clay blinked. “Sir?”

  “Your gun, Clay,” Levi clarified.

  Clay cast a glance to Mr. Rawlings. “I don’t know.”

  The men turned to those standing in the back against the wall.

  “I have Clay’s weapon,” Mr. Rawlings spoke up. “It’s downstairs hanging on a peg at the back door.”

  “May I see it?” the Captain inquired.

  “Certainly.” Mr. Rawlings turned toward Drew. “Would you bring it upstairs to the Captain?”

  “Yes, sir.” Drew cast a worried glance at Emma and quietly left the room.

  The room seemed charged with an underlying current of suspicion. Clay could see the worry in everyone’s eyes.

  “Clay,” Levi spoke up. “You’ve talked about finding Denver. When Andrew brought back Thunder and the body, there was no sign of the mochila.”

  He took a deep breath. “It wasn’t there when I got there. He said that he hid it. I didn’t get chance to look for it. I had taken down my bedroll to wrap the body when I was shot.”

  “Here it is,” Drew said, walking into the room.

  Captain Merrick stepped over to him followed by Levi Hawkins.

  “Let’s step into the hallway. Mr. Rawlings?”

  Clay watched as the men left the bedroom.

  “I don’t understand,” Emma fussed. “It’s like they are trying to find a reason to blame Clay for Denver being shot.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it’s that dear. I just think that they want to make sure they have all the facts,” Mrs. Rawlings replied.

  Still, the worried tone in her voice did little to reassure anyone in the room.

  “Here now, Clay, while the men are out, you sip some more of this tea.” Mrs. Rawlings insisted. “This will all be over very soon.”

  “I hope,” he replied. “I have things I need to talk to Mr. Rawlings about.”

  “I bet you do.” Mrs. Rawlings looked over at her daughter and winked.

  While Emma and his mother worried over Clay, Stephen Rawlings slipped from behind the door and walked over to the doorway. The door was half opened. He stood next to the wall and strained his ear to hear with the men were saying.

  “You didn’t touch the gun out at the site where you found Clay?” Captain Merrick asked.

  “No, sir,” his older brother answered.

  “If this gun has been fired, we will be able to tell by the smell and the smudge on the hammer.”

  “You don’t believe Clay could have shot Denver?” Levi Hawkins voice sounded angry at the thought.

  “No. But I must clear him of any suspicion. If someone is trying to use this as a way to pin a murder on Clay, I have to resolve the issue.”

  Stephen held his breath as the men grew silent.

  “Nothing,” Captain Merrick replied.

  “No,” Mr. Hawkins agreed. “If anything, I smell oil where he cleaned it last Saturday.”

  “I could have told you he was no more a killer than I,” his father stated.

  “I understand, but these are questions that had to be answered.”

  A silence fell on the menfolk outside the door.

  “Tell me, would Clay have any reason to destroy the mail packet?”

  “None. Clay is the type of rider that does his job without calling suspicion on himself,” Mr. Hawkins answered.

  “The fight?”

  “The fight was over his girl. He apologized to me once Patty brought him back to the house. He didn’t even bat an eye when I put him on suspension.”

  “Was that for fighting?” the Captain inquired.

  “No, more for his bruises from the beating. Clay is a fine young man.”

  Stephen peeked around the corner and watched the Captain put his fingers to his pursed lips in thought. “He seems to have caught the eye of your daughter.”

  His father chuckled. “And very quickly too.”

  Captain Merrick nodded. “You will be letting him stay on for a while?”

  “Clay will need to recover.”

  “He’ll want to go to the graveside,” Mr. Hawkins said.

  “When will the burial be?”

  “Tuesday afternoon.” Mr. Hawkins sighed.

  “I should like to come,” Captain Merrick murmured. “With Clay showing up, someone might show a hand.”

  The three men nodded.

  “This business with the mail packet is most troubling. Is there anyone you might think who would want something to happen to the Pony Express?” the Captain directed this question to Mr. Hawkins.

  “Pierson.” He sighed. “If the express was to go down, mail would be turned back to the stage lines.”

  “I see,” Captain Merrick muttered and slowly nodded his head.

  Chapter 12

  Later that night after Mr. Hawkins and Captain Merrick left, Stephen lay in his bed thinking about all he had heard.

  “If only I could find the mail pouch.”

  Turning on his side, he tried to recall where Clay mentioned Denver had been found.

  “Grove halfway between our house and Burrough’s station,” he whispered.

  Closing his eyes, Stephen tried to ride the trail from memory. The grove of trees before Burrough’s station. Yes, I can see it. Just like Clay said, it was about five miles to the east of their land. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “If I can get up early and go riding, maybe I can find the mail pouch and take it into Mr. Hawkins, just like a real Pony Express rider.” He smiled. “Patches would be too slow. Maybe, I could ride Emma’s mare.”

  Turning on his side, Stephen went to sleep.

  At Benders, a man with hair the color of coal, slicked back against his head, played a game of solitaire.

  Bender stood at the bar pouring drinks, but his curiosity was aroused. Normally, folks came in for beer, drank it, chatted up the ladies, and retreated to one of the shacks out back or went home. But this man was different.

  The cut of his clothes, the style of his boots spoke of money. Money was something Three Rivers was often short of. Tossing his rag over his shoulder, he moved from behind the bar on the pretense of picking up empty mugs that littered the tables. He paused at the table nearest the stranger.

  “You interested in something?”

  Joseph Bender paused at the question. His blue eyes widened as he watched the man slowly tilt his head upwards to stare back at him. “No, not interested in nothing.” He lifted an empty mug. “Just cleaning up the joint.”

  The man looked back down at the cards before him.

  “You’re new in town.”

  The
card the man was about to turn over stilled.

  Again, the slow movements of his head made Bender think of a cornered rattlesnake.

  “I am.”

  He glanced around trying to think of something witty to say. “Beer?”

  The man paused. “No.”

  Bender nodded. “I’ll just go back to the bar.”

  “You do that.”

  Joseph Bender moved as quickly as he could to put the bar between him and the stranger. Dumping the mugs in the dishpan to be washed later, he studied the man in the mirror as he flipped the next card.

  A large sigh followed as if he was disgusted. Then he scooped up the cards and plopped them in the center of the table. Rising, he adjusted the dark hat in a rakish angle over his head and pushing through the door, he disappeared into the night.

  Joseph Benders gave a huge shiver that shook his form.

  “You okay, Joe?” one of his patrons called out.

  “Yeah, I know what it means to have that rabbit walk over your grave.

  Jake Davidson walked through town. His spurs jangled against the echo of his boots on the boardwalk. From the shadows, a puff of cigarette smoke curled into the darkness. Jake moved to the post holding up the roof of the O’Neal’s porch and leaned his shoulder against it.

  “Did you see Captain Merrick leave town today with Levi Hawkins?” Pierson asked from the shadows.

  Jake crossed an ankle over the other and stared at a rider passing. “Was he’s the one with the dark blue jacket?”

  “Yes,” Reuben Pierson hissed.

  “I saw them. Talk in Benders is that another rider was shot. They rode out to speak with him.”

  A curse passed from Pierson’s lips. “What if he saw Cyrus?”

  Jake shrugged. “What if he did? Cyrus won’t be found.”

  “I want you to go find that mail packet. I want to make sure, it stays permanently lost.”

  “Cost you extra.”

  “Fine. Just get it done.” Pierson fumed.

  “Tomorrow, right now, I want a good night’s sleep.” Pushing away from the post, Jake sauntered toward the rooming house as if nothing had happened.

  Reuben Pierson stepped out from the shadows of the alley and tossed the half smoke cheroot onto the ground. Using his heel, he crushed the tobacco in the ground. Across the way, the lights shown bright from the Hawkins’ house. He’d already heard that the riders would be standing vigil over the body of the comrade until the graveside service on Tuesday. Clearing his throat, he spit on the ground and turned away.

  Stephen held his boots in his hands as he tiptoed down the stairs and into the parlor. Already, he could hear his mother working to start the fire and do the morning cooking. His right hand rubbed he hollow spot in his middle. He hated missing a meal but Clay and the other Pony Express riders needed him.

  Padding over to the front door, he turned the latch and stepped outside. The warmth of the sun was already making its presence known. He needed to hurry if he was going to get back in time for supper. Sitting down on the first step, he slid his feet into his boots and scampered down the stairs heading toward the barn.

  Emma’s horse, Jester, stood watching from her stall.

  Stephen went over and patted the horse’s neck. “You and me are going to have an adventure today.”

  The horse nickered and nodded as if he fully understood what he had just said.

  Clambering down, he made short work of saddling the pony by standing on a bale of straw. However, once he led Jester out, Stephen realized that mounting Emma’s horse would not be as easy. Pulling on the reins, he led the pony out to the fence rail then climbed up to the top rung and slid on board.

  “Let’s go.” He clicked his heels against the pony’s soft side and they loped away toward the edge of the Rocking R.

  The sun was moving toward its height at noon when he came to the bend. Stephen slowed up and tried to think what he should do.

  “If Denver knew someone was following him, he’d want a good hiding spot.” One hand on the pommel and the other on the cantle of the saddle, he scanned the horizon. The brush and small bushes would make great cover. Turning Jester toward the brush that lined the trail, Stephen dismounted and began pushing back the leaves, branches in search of the leather pouch.

  A broken branch caught his attention. It was off the main trail, near the overhang. Sensing victory, he kicked his feet free from the stirrups and slid down.

  “You stay here,” he instructed the pony and wrapped the leather reins over the sturdy limb.

  Walking toward the broken tree tops, he pushed the heaviest boughs back and peered intently at the ground. A flash of red caught his eye. Stepping around, he gazed at the roots of the scrub pine. There lay the packet. Reaching out, he grasped the edge and brought it to him.

  “They lay these across the saddle,” he mused thinking back to all the riders he had watched roaring by the ranch.

  Moving over to Jester, he led the mare to an outcropping of rock. Climbing to the flat top surface, he slid the soft leather over the pommel and the other end over the cantle of his saddle. Foot in the stirrup, Stephen slid into the seat and with a touch of his heels, Jester trotted onto the trail.

  “Let’s go,” Stephen called out and swung the ends of the reins against the pony’s sides.

  The horse leapt forward and he held on as tight as he could as they raced down the trail toward Burrough’s station.

  Ransom was out in the yard when the sounds of hooves pounding the dirt reached his ears. Confused, he turned. His eyes widened as the youngest Rawlings tore into the yard. Reaching out, he grabbed the pony’s bridle and slowed the animal to a stop. “Whoa. Whoa.”

  The kid looked up and blinked. “Ransom. I found it.”

  “Found it?” Ransom felt confused.

  “Denver hid it. The mail packet. I found it in the brush. I got to get it to Three Rivers.”

  Ransom didn’t know whether to paddle his behind or hug him.

  “Ransom?” Frank Burroughs called from the barn. “I heard a horse.”

  “It’s Stephen Rawlings.”

  Frank Burroughs came out of the barn and walked toward them.

  “I got to go. I got to finish Denver’s ride,” Stephen urged. “Can you give me a pony?”

  Frank stared at the boy then at Ransom. “I can’t give him a horse he can’t handle.”

  Ransom shook his head. “No, but there’s always Delia’s mare. He can ride her and I’ll follow behind him.”

  Frank nodded. “You do that. I’ll let Delia know and then head over to the Rawlings place so they won’t worry. Olivia Hawkins will put the boy up for the night and watch over him.”

  Ransom nodded. “Alright, Stephen, I’m going to help you get this mail packet back to Three Rivers. You dismount and walk this pony around to cool down. I’ll get our horses saddled.”

  Stephen walked Jester around as her coat dried and waited for Ransom to finish.

  As he led both horses from the barn, his wife, Delia, walked out to see him. “You take care, Ransom,” she whispered as she stood on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

  “I will. Did your father tell you he was going out to the Rocking R?”

  She nodded. “This is all so strange. I am beginning to wonder just who wants the express gone.”

  Ransom took his wife into his arms and held her tight.

  “Alright, off you go.” She took hold of her horse as her husband grabbed Stephen and hoisted him into the saddle.

  Swinging on board his own mount, he grinned down at his wife. “Feels like old times.”

  She waggled her finger at him. “Don’t you be thinking you’ll go back to riding for the express, you’re a family man, now.”

  “How could I forget?” He winked at her and turned to Stephen. “Let’s ride.”

  They pulled into Three Rivers just as the sun was setting. Ransom dismounted first, then helped the boy down. Removing the mail pouch, he knelt down and handed i
t to the kid. “This is your final step,” he told him. “I’m going to walk you to the door, but you are the one to go in and take this to Mr. Hawkins.”

  Stephen nodded.

  Rising, he let Stephen walk up the steps to the Pony Express office by himself.

  At the door, the boy turned and looked at him.

  “Knock.”

  Stephen turned back and knocked on the door.

  Ransom took the moment to walk up the steps and join him.

  The door opened and the solemn face of Wyeth peered out. Spying Ransom, his face grew concerned. “Ransom?”

  “Levi here?”

  Wyeth shook his head. “He and Mrs. Hawkins walked over to the undertakers to pick out a coffin.”

  Ransom nodded. “Can the boy come in? I’ll go get Levi. He has something for him.”

  Wyeth looked down at the Stephen and then realized what the boy held in his hands. “Well, I’ll be. Sure, Stephen, you come in and I’ll let you sit with us a spell, till Ransom gets back.”

  Stephen nodded and moved into the house.

  “Keep an eye on things,” Ransom mouthed.

  Wyeth nodded.

  With the door shut, Ransom walked steadily toward the undertaker’s shop. Opening the door, he stood staring. The shop made his skin crawl, but in the back, he could hear Levi talking.

  “Yes a plain box would do but, is there something just a bit more?”

  “I don’t know?” Walt Daniels replied. “I got one that’s got a bit of carving on the lid.”

  Ransom made his way back to where the conversations were taking place.

  Walt led Levi and his wife over to a box.

  Olivia ran her hand across the wood. “How nice,” she whispered. “Hands folded in prayer. “I-I like that. I think Denver would approve.” She sniffed.

  Ransom looked down at his feet, wishing he were here under better circumstances.

  “We’ll take this one,” Levi agreed.

  “I’ll come get the body in an hour and have him ready. Should I take the body to church?”

  “Yes, the boys will be standing with Denver through the night.”

  Olivia gave a muffled sob and Levi pulled his wife close. “There, there, Mother.” Turning, he looked up surprised to see Ransom in the doorway.