by J. R. WRIGHT
He simply pointed to the open door to the jail.
Katie dashed through it going from cell to cell until she came to him sitting on the bunk, his attention focused on her. At first sight she screamed, “Oh God!” and tears gushed to her eyes and flowed freely down her face. She instantly covered her mouth, fingers trembling in horror.
“You sonofabitch!” she screamed toward the open jail room door.
Calmly then Sheriff Ames entered the jail room, walked to Yancey’s cell, unlocked and opened it. “Take all the time you need, Misses Peck.”
“Get a doctor!” she demanded to his back as he walked away, white hair moving from side to side with each step.
“Kromwede was called some time ago, now. I suppose he’ll come once he finishes up with his regular rounds,” was his response to that. “The jail is last for a reason, Katie. The county don’t pay for prisoner care.”
Ignoring that, she entered the cell, eased up and dropped to her knees before him. Her quivering fingers lightly touched the massive swelling, so purple and blue he was hardly recognizable. One eye was swollen completely shut. The left cheek was so enlarged it twisted his mouth into an ugly snarl. “Oh, Yancey,” she dropped her face into his lap and began to cry.
“Katie,” he slurred softly and caressed her shoulders, “there’s no need to cry. In a couple of weeks I’ll be good as new.”
“Good as new?” This caught her as funny … she lifted her head and laughed. “Does it hurt?”
He straightened cautiously. “Only when I laugh.”
Putting that together, Katie demanded, “Yance, unbutton your shirt!”
He moved his swollen hands to his chest, fumbled briefly, and then finding it impossible to work the buttons ... he dropped them in despair.
“Let me,” she said. “I see you didn’t take your licks lying down.” Secretly she was happy to see the damaged hands. It proved he’d at least defended himself, to a point.
“There were six of them …”
“Oh my God! It’s a wonder you’re alive …” Then she saw the rib cage, horribly bruised. “They kicked you?” she screamed. Her hands went to his tight abdomen, but didn’t touch it. “You poor man.” She would dream about this and the muscular chest, she knew, but now wasn’t the time for such nonsense.
“Break me out of here, Katie … I can’t take another day of this.”
She looked to his good eye. “Are you serious?”
“I am. I’m not used to being penned up like a parrot. I need the wide open spaces.”
“I know … But in a week or so you’ll be free. Somebody in town noticed something about Clyde … His testimony will surely convince the jury you didn’t do it, Yance.”
“Oh, yeah. What’s that?”
From the corner of her eye, Katie saw something move in the next cell. She glanced and saw a body on the bunk. Then, taking a better look in the dim light, shockingly she saw it was Deputy Striker lying there. Wondering why, she noticed he had a black eye. There was also a wicked gash on his forehead. Preston must have pistol whipped him for what he’d done at the prison. Serves him right! She would have done worse, had she the chance. Bastard!
It seemed he was sleeping. Hopefully he hadn’t heard what she’d just said. She wouldn’t want the sheriff to know she had anything that may help Yancey. “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
“The sheriff brought it an hour ago. I ate the oatmeal.”
Katie looked around and saw the breakfast basket still on the bunk. “We have to get your jaw and those ribs looked at.” She glanced to the chest again, which looked undamaged, thank God! She got to her feet, figuring to speak to Ames again about the doctor when, with little black bag in hand, the man came walking up.
“Doctor Paul,” Katie greeted the old doctor she’d grown to adore over the years. His full name was Paul Kromwede. But for good reason he preferred his patients call him simply Doctor Paul. “I think he may have a broken jaw.” She stepped out of the way. “And those ribs look awfully sore.” She snatched another look.
“Katie,” Doctor Paul acknowledged. “Oh, my, what do we have here? Did Preston do this?”
“Nah,” Preston said, coming into the room, “but I know who is responsible for it.” He walked past on his way to the next cell down, keys in hand, and opened it. “Get up, Striker! Go home to your wife.”
Striker got off the bunk and came meekly from the cell. The sheriff followed him out. Shortly thereafter there was shouting in the sheriff’s office for a time, then all went quiet.
“His jaw’s not broken, Katie … but it’ll be awfully sore for a while,” Doc Paul said. “Once the swelling is down in a day or so, that jaw bone should settle back into the socket, giving him less pain.”
“Thank God! Did you hear that, Yancey?” she said cheerfully.
“I see no sense in wrapping the ribs. They’ll heal just as well the way they are.”
The doctor reached into his bag and came out with a brown bottle and handed it to Yancey. “Sip on that from time to time, for the pain … a tablespoon to start with, then only as you need it — every few hours.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Yancey said, and seemed anxious to get the cork out for the first dosage, using teeth at the good side of his mouth to pull it. He then tipped it for a sip, and then another for good measure.
“Maybe you can tell Helmer, soft foods only for a few days, Katie.”
“I will.”
“He’ll most likely be asleep before long.” The doctor closed his bag and left the cell. “That stuff works fast.”
“You’re telling me,” Yancey said and worked to sit back on the bunk so he could lie down.
Katie scurried to remove the food basket and help support his back as he eased down. She then gently lifted his legs to the bunk and re-buttoned his shirt. Once he was settled, she said, “I’ll be back, okay?”
“Okay,” Yancey returned and closed his eyes. “Thanks, Katie.”
She watched him for a while, then closed the cell door and followed the doctor out, thanking him for coming as they walked. She would have gone straight out the door with him had Preston Ames not called her name.
“Misses Peck! Hold up a minute, will you?”
Katie said goodbye to the doctor, then focused on Preston behind his desk at the far end of the room. “What is it, Sheriff?”
“I just wanted to say, Judge Samuels has decided to move the trial up a week. It will begin on Monday at nine a.m. sharp.”
“Oh, I see … Judge Samuels decided,” Katie said, glaring. “Could it be that you want this over because the county, for once, has found the backbone to stand up to your outdated style of justice?”
“I didn’t see anybody complaining three decades and more ago when I near single handedly took this county back from the outlaws, rustlers and cold blooded killers that controlled it. Judge Samuels and I were heroes back then, with our hangings near every week. Anyone, back then, that didn’t hightail it out of here got the rope, few questions asked.”
“This isn’t the Old West anymore, Sheriff!”
“That fact hasn’t changed my mind about the guilt of your friend in there, Katie. He’ll hang for what he did like all the rest.”
“Well, I wouldn’t start building the gallows just yet!” She turned smartly, lifted her dress and walked through the door.
After picking up her keys to the tavern at the hotel, Katie went directly on to the telephone office. Woody Clampett would need to know the change of trial date — only three days away now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Katie got to the tavern just before noon, after paying a last visit to Yancey, who was found to be sleeping still, she was surprised to see Gracie Kingsley at the door. “Gracie,” she greeted with a warm smile, in light of what her husband had done.
“Katie. I just came by to tell you, I’m wise to what you and Lester are up to …”
“Oh, and what might that be
?”
“Well, he didn’t come home again last night and the way I figure it …”
“Is he home now?” Katie was alarmed.
“No. I haven’t seen him since yesterday supper,” Gracie said. “It was then he mentioned you and him shared a secret. And he wouldn’t tell me what it was.”
“Oh! Well, I guess that’s true. But I don’t think it’s what you think it is. I haven’t seen Lester since yesterday afternoon, here at the tavern.”
“So, what’s the secret?”
“I can’t tell you that, Gracie.”
“Why not? I’m his wife. Lester and I have never had secrets from one another, until now.”
“And you shouldn’t,” Katie, having a change of heart, assured her and unlocked the door. “Come in, Gracie.”
Gracie eased through the door slowly, taking in the entire place, as if the devil himself was apt to pop from somewhere at any given moment.
“Would you like a beer or something?” Katie offered, not expecting her to accept, and went directly to the safe under the bar.
“Oh, no. I don’t partake in the consumption of alcohol,” Gracie said, still looking the place over. “Lester does enough of that for the both of us … It stinks of beer, spittoons and smoke in here.”
“Yes, it surely does. That why I leave the door open most days, weather permitting.”
Gracie whirled her plump body around to see the shaft of light coming through it.
“I’m going to show you this, Gracie, but you must swear not to tell a soul,” Katie said and handed her the papers Lester had signed.
Gracie took it. “Oh, I won’t. Cross my heart and hope to die,” she said and started to read. After all four pages, Gracie looked up. “Oh, I’m so proud of him,” she squealed. “Lester knows about these things. He’s always observing what’s going on around him … like he’s some kind of scientist or something. The other day I saw him digging in the yard to see how long dandelion roots are, on average. He even measured with that folding measuring stick he carries in the breast pocket of his overalls.”
“Yes. Well, now you know the secret, Gracie. And please remember, it’s a secret.”
“I’ll do that for sure, Katie … and thanks,” she said, then hustled her ample rear end toward the door.
“Go find Lester …” Katie got out before she disappeared outside. She thought to see where Gracie may be going with this newfound information. Soon outside herself, she watched her cross the street, just as fast as her short legs could carry her, without breaking into a run. Then on the other side she passed up every business establishment along the way until she came to the telephone office a block down. There she entered. Oh, God, what have I done? Katie fretted and went back inside. Oh, well, what is, is, she made an attempt to cast off the despair. Nobody could change that. She still had the papers, and they were properly signed and witnessed. That was all that mattered now.
It wasn’t long after that, Helmer stuck his head through the door. She’d already told him of Yancey’s need for soft food. She’d done that when she finally got around to having breakfast, around ten thirty. Now he was here to tell her what he’d decided.
“I thought chicken soup broth and custard pudding for lunch. If that’s okay, I’ll get it over to him pronto, Katie?”
“No rush. I was just over there and he’s still sleeping.”
“I’ll give him an hour then.”
“Thanks, Helmer.”
“You bet,” he said and turned to leave.
“Oh, Helmer …” she remembered.
“Yes, Katie?” He reappeared.
“The trial date has been changed. I’ll need Wanda to replace me on Monday, if that’s all right?”
“Sure. I’ll tell her. You know Wanda, she’ll always jump at the chance to be over here. The gal is man crazy.”
“Well, Helmer, you know what they say …”
“What do they say, Katie?” It was a game they played often, and he was good humored enough to go along with it.
“It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it.”
Helmer laughed, then disappeared outside again, but only for a second. “Woody Clampett is going to get Yancey off, isn’t he?”
“Well, if he doesn’t, you and I will just have to spring him and make a run for it.”
“How come I don’t think you’re kidding, Katie?” Helmer said, seemingly anxious for a response.
“‘Cause I’m not!”
To that Helmer nodded solemnly and turned to leave for the final time. Now he wondered how much longer he would have her … either way. Oh, well, if the Anti-Saloon League, pushing hard for prohibition, got their way, his tavern wouldn’t be open for business much longer anyway.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Again it was slim pickings at the tavern; only stragglers popped in and out throughout the day. But when evening rolled around the usual crowd came through the open door in droves. Thank goodness the beer wagon had come that afternoon, or she’d be drawing from the last keg. Katie asked the driver to leave two extra, in addition to the eight he usually brought. If business continued as it had been the past few days, she’d need them before he returned the following week. Then of course the murder trial would bring extra people to town. That had always been a big attraction in Blazedale … that and hangings. But there wouldn’t be one of those this time, she was certain.
About an hour into evening a tall stout man of about forty came through the door and marched right up to Katie at the bar. “Hello, good looking,” he said, a boyish grin on his face.
“Hello, Bart.” Katie returned the smile. However, she really didn’t mean it. Bart Miller had been trying to get into her bloomers for the past five years. And even though he was a married man, she expected him to still be at it five years from now. He simply refused to take her repeated rejections as final.
“I bought me a car, Katie. Now I’ll be able to make it over here more often.”
“Well, now that just made my day, Bart.” She looked around the room, appearing unconcerned. “What’ll you have?”
“I bet you missed me, Katie. What’s it been, two months since I was here last?”
“I can’t say as I recall. I guess I was so busy missing you I lost track of time. Has it really been that long? It seems like yesterday.”
“Okay, Katie …” Bart drew back, seeing he was getting nowhere. “I’ll just have a beer … Do you have something in a bottle?”
“Berg’s Lager, but it’s twenty cents.”
“What’s an extra dime?”
Katie went to the ice room door, reached in and came back with it. She found an opener in a drawer and popped the cap. “Enjoy!” She slid the long necked bottle to him.
Bart took a few gulps, then belched loudly. “Damn, that’s good beer.”
Bart always had to be different. The last time, it was some expensive Scotch whisky. He got terribly sick and had to rush out to the street to heave.
“Katie, I’m thinking about buying a house here … you know, like something for a getaway.”
“You mean from your wife?” Katie returned smartly and went down the bar to wait on another customer.
“You know what I mean!”
Katie cast her eyes to him and in the process caught sight of Deputy Striker making his way through the crowded room. He had a bandage over the gash on his head now but that was mostly covered by his hat, down low. The shiner, though, was plenty visible, darker than ever now, looking a bit like raw calf’s liver.
Katie went back to Bart, keeping her eyes on Striker all the while. “Didn’t Deputy Striker haul you in once?”
“The son of a bitch will never do it again,” he said angrily, mostly to impress Katie, then looked around, catching sight of him as well. “Fucker better mind his own business.”
“Rather tough language for a man who went willingly the last time,” Katie egged him on.
“Yeah, well I was too drunk to fight … Give me a shot, Katie
. Whiskey! Make it a double.”
Katie had the bottle in her hand before “double” came out, and her hand skipped to the larger glass. Sliding it over, she kept the bottle in hand, expecting him to ask for another. And he did, after dumping down the first without flinching. She gave Bart an extra measure this time.
Katie had no idea where all this was going, but figured whatever happened would be a plus for her — she didn’t like either man. Wanting to be away from Bart now, she went around the bar and collected mugs for refills. Striker was at the other end of the room, seemingly looking at every face as he moved through. Could he be looking for somebody?
Moments later Lester Kingsley came in the door. Striker spotted him instantly and started toward him, making his way just behind those at the bar. Kingsley, however, changed course and went to Katie at a table distributing drinks from a tray filled with them. “I have something to tell you.”
“Okay. Just give me a minute,” Katie said and turned back to the table. Unbeknownst to her, Striker had drawn his pistol and was pushing people out of the way as he charged forward.
Out of the corner of his eye, Bart Miller saw Striker coming up behind him. Timing it just right, he came around with a haymaker to Striker’s jaw. That dropped him, but on the way down his Colt revolver discharged accidentally into the floor. This caused immediate chaos and people scrambled for the door. In the midst of the commotion, Lester, having become frightened, ducked out through the rear exit and disappeared.
By the time Bart lifted Katie off the floor, the place was completely empty, except for the three of them: Katie, Bart Miller and Kermit Striker, who was on his belly out cold.
“Oh my God! What did you do?” Katie screamed. “Get out! Just get out, Bart! And you best not ever come back here, if you know what’s good for you!”
Looking much like a fresh whipped pup, Bart deposited Striker’s gun on the bar, slinked across the room and out the door.
A few minutes later, just as Striker was coming around, people started returning. At first just a few, then more as time went on. Two men helped Striker to his feet, slapped his hat on his head, shoved his gun in the holster and marched him across to the sheriff’s office.
