by Mari Collier
“Uh, that takes money, Missus.” The man was trying to edge away, his brown eyes darting from side-to-side as he realized he couldn't move his legs, and still her mind locked his with her command.
“Charge it to Mr. Collins. He keeps a running tab here, and hand me that brandy.” She watched him pour the brandy. Smithers redirected the beer bucket carrying kid (hired for outside solicitation) to the restaurant for a plate of hash and gravy. He then handed over the filled brandy glass and the bottle.
Brandy in hand, Margareatha marched to the table nearest the door she just came in. It was an ill lit little table with two chairs, but it was quiet and later when crowded, people would ignore her. She could always slip out the back if things became too rough. She fished in her pocket before sitting down and pulled out a deck of playing cards. Once she was seated, she dealt out a hand of solitaire. This was her ritual during waking hours, one hand after the other; a mindless activity to while away the time while her mind dwelt back in the cabin, reliving every painful moment. She picked at the food when it was delivered, but the brandy she drank and drank.
Smithers sent a hurried note to Jethro, but Jethro ignored the plea to come in early until his regular time at the saloon. He was nearing sixty and the years of running this place, sometimes the sporting houses, acting as a rider-messenger across state lines when the written word was too dangerous, a gunny, and whatever other job O'Neal would assign had taken its toll. His hair was gray, his once slim body had developed a paunch, and he slept far later than when he was younger. A fight with Margareatha would mean a fight with Red or possibly the end of his employment; situations Jethro preferred not to happen. Where were her brothers? Damn it! He'd sent for them. Daniel was the closest, but at least one of them could have sent an answering telegram. Jethro pushed aside the swinging doors and went in, a smile plastered across his face as he greeted the regulars.
His eyes swung around the place, men were drinking, chatting, wandering in and out, and the night barkeep, Magnusson, was coming downstairs carrying a tray of empty glasses. That meant card games were in progress upstairs. The mine managers and owners preferred a quiet room, and he knew how to please. His smile faded as he saw Margareatha playing away, her bottle nearly empty and the cigarillo smoke curling up around her face. Damn. The woman must be well into her forties now, but her face didn't show it. Too bad she never washed it. Still, the slovenly dress and tangled hair gave the appearance of age and lost youth. Smithers and Magnusson were being swamped at the bar and he went behind the bar to handle the overflow. When Magnusson departed with another tray, he finally had a chance to talk with Smithers.
“What did she order for her meal?”
“Nothing. I just had the kid bring her some hash and gravy.”
“Fine, we'll just let her be. If something happens, I'll be upstairs in my office.”
He escaped from the smoke and the noise. Not that the smoke and noise didn't drift upward, but in comparison, it was relatively quiet; as quiet as it could be with the stamp mills running. He pulled out a cigar and started sorting the invoices, receipts, paid markers, and deposit slips. These would go to the bookkeeper tomorrow. With Margareatha incapable of doing the books, he had to hire someone. Certain bills of lading he would forward on to Red. It was an annoyance, but, Jethro reflected, O'Neal paid well, and there was always The Sporting Palace when he needed a female. Somehow those times seemed to come less and less. He began clipping the piles together when the sudden quiet below alerted him. He quickly headed for the door as he shrugged into his jacket. He hoped his bouncer was on top of things. Things weren't like the old days when it took two toughs to keep the peace at night. As he started down the stairs, he could see the crowd of miners gathered around Margareatha's table. Most were young men or new men in town who hadn't known her in the days when she dealt the cards and regularly cleaned out the best of players. Neither did they know that she would open her house to the sick. All they saw was a crazy woman who didn't belong in a saloon.
Chapter 23: Rescue
Two miners were standing next to the table where Margareatha played her endless game of solitaire. Dirt from the floating dust of the mines was ground into any exposed pore and under their fingernails. Their clothes were sweat stained and dust covered. The younger one was grinning and smirking, occasionally winking at those on the side. The older one's beard was streaked with grey and he bent over the table, raising his voice as Margareatha had ignored his first invitation.
“I said you're wasting your time with them cards. You need to come with me and enjoy the evening. Hell, I'll even buy you another glass of brandy seeing as how that one's almost empty.”
Margareatha raised her copper eyes enough to flick a glance at the man. “Go away.” She resumed her game.
He reached forward and grasped her left wrist. “Now, now, pretty lady, you've got something better to spend your time on: me.”
Loud guffaws and cheers greeted that speech. The younger miner patted the older man's back.
“You son of a bitch!” Margareatha's right fist slammed upward into the man's Adam's apple as she screamed at him.
The man went to his knees, his eyes wild. In the now quiet room it was possible to hear his struggle to get his breath.
“Get him out of here.” Rita glared at the others and resumed her game. “Smithers, I need another bottle.”
The younger miner leaned forward. “You can't treat Caleb like that, you bitch. You need a lesson.”
Margareatha glared at him, trying to use her mind to cause him pain when she realized she had drunk too much. This couldn't be one of those that could block her mind. He'd been drinking too. She almost giggled over that fact when she realized more than one young man was coming at her. What right did these snickering, pimpled-faced youths have to live when her own boys were dead? She grabbed the brandy bottle, stood, shoved the table at the closest youth, and slammed the bottle down on his head. She tried to break the bottle on the table, but the table had been caught by four hands and shoved back at her, and someone from the other side grabbed at her hair. She turned to meet that assailant when others grabbed her arms.
No one had noticed the cowman stepping inside the door and making his way towards the back. His progress was impeded by the men trying to get a closer look at the action and the nearer ones shoving back at the others. Their attention was further distracted by some of them reacting to the shoves with blows. The cowman found himself trapped between two combatants and swung his fist into the gut of one, whirled, and slugged the jaw at the next one. The crowd pushed him up against the bar. Instinct made him duck. A bottle slammed down on the bar behind him spraying him and the person in front with glass and liquid.
Lorenz pushed upward and withdrew his handgun. The person directly in front of him backed away, hands in the air and was promptly elbowed in the back. Lorenz used the opportunity to step away from the bar and used the barrel of the gun to whack at any head in his way. Finally the group of miners was too thick to dislodge.
He shrugged and fired a bullet into the ceiling at the same time Smithers let loose with a blast from the shotgun. Quiet descended over the groups of milling men. Some dropped to the floor ready to crawl behind a table or a chair, and others milled around uncertainly.
“Gentlemen, that is no way to behave.” Lorenz held the gun at hip level to indicate he wasn't threatening them unless they moved toward him.
Bewildered Margareatha looked around, not recognizing his voice.
“Now, I want you all to step aside. Then Mrs. Buckley and I will go upstairs and visit with Mr. Collins.”
“I prefer not to go upstairs. I wish to be left alone.” Margareatha was seething.
“Mr. MacDonald, it's a pleasure to see you.” Jethro hurried down the stairs. It had been years since he had seen Lorenz, but this wasn't Daniel. There was no mustache, and this man had a scar.
“Smithers, find one of my special bottles for my friend here and bring it upstairs. Men, why
don't you give the lady and gentlemen some room before the night deputy gets here.”
Jethro kept control and authority in his voice. He would have preferred inviting the two of them out of his place, but right now he had to get Margareatha away from the miners. He was smiling pleasantly at everyone as though the disturbance was too minor to bother with.
“This way, please.” Jethro stood to the side for them to pass upward.
Margareatha was still dazed from the sudden violence, but the fumes in her head were dissipating and she doubled her fist to swing at Lorenz.
“Damn you, your three are still alive!”
Lorenz hastily dropped the gun into his holster and enfolded her with his arms. He couldn't believe the stench coming off her, but this was no time for remonstrations, and he pulled her close.
“It's all right, Rity.”
“No,” her scream was muffled. “It's not all right. My babies, my Brent, they're dead. That's not right, and I want my brandy.”
“Shh, we'll order more. Come on, Rity. Mr. Collins is waiting for us.” He used his mind and kept one arm securely around her to lead her to the stairs.
It was hell inside of her mind: dark, twisted, filled with sobs echoing back into his head and soul. He gritted his teeth, taking it one step at a time. Time seemed endless but finally they were at the top of the stairs, and he supported her down the narrow hall.
Jethro brought up the rear, thankful that Lorenz was here, but he wondered how the man could arrive from Texas faster than Daniel from Arizona. He did not ask the question, but said, “It's the first door on the left.”
Step after step Lorenz led Margareatha into a decent sized room and Collins was closing the door behind them. Lorenz withdrew from Margareatha's mind and helped her into one of the armchairs in front of the desk.
“I want brandy, and I want my cards.” Rita glared at him and Jethro.
“I've ordered my special reserve sent up. Smithers will be here shortly.” Jethro went to the cabinet and took down three glasses.
“None for me, but thanks for the offer.”
Jethro, a puzzled look on his face, turned. Lorenz was standing beside his sister, making sure she was settled. What kind of Texas cattleman refused a drink? Then the smell off Rita reminded him that maybe it was a good thing the man wasn't drinking. He wanted the two of them out of here. He smiled at Lorenz.
“Won't you be seated?” Jethro indicated the chair beside Lorenz and went to answer the knock at his door. Smithers stuck his head and the bottle inside.
“Here you go, boss man. Anything else?”
“Yes, keep everyone away from here. That means Melville if he comes by to check about the shooting. Tell him it was strictly for control and no one was hurt. Then offer him a drink.”
He started to close the door when Lorenz interrupted.
“Have him send up a plate of food from somewhere. I didn't stop to eat.” He withdrew a silver dollar and handed it over. “If I need something else, I'll square up payment before we leave.”
Jethro looked at Smithers. “See if Sally is still serving and order something from there.” He closed the door and threw the bolt home. “Now, if you don't mind, I'll join Mrs. Buckley in a drink.”
Lorenz shook his head. “No, I don't mind. Right now I need to know if there is a hotel around here that will take us in.”
“You, yes, her, I'm not sure.” Jethro quickly splashed the brandy into a glass and handed it to Margareatha along with a new deck of cards. He didn't want her to start screaming. “You could try the Miner's Roost at the end of town, but I don't recommend that place.” He had visions of this man or his father coming after him if things went wrong. He remembered too well the size of MacDonald. Of course, the man would be older now, maybe dead.
“She's been sleeping outside in the shed. I took her some bedding, but I haven't been able to convince her to clean up and change into something else. Why don't you take her back to the spread she and Buckley had? It's only three days…“ Jethro's voice trailed away at the hard look crawling over Lorenz's face and the lip on the scarred side of his face curling upward.
“The hell with that! Y'all are going to order some food for Margareatha if she wants some, and then y'all are going to find a room for us in a decent hotel or we spend the night here. Y'all will be providing the bedding. Now which do y'all want?”
Jethro swallowed. “I'm not sure Mr. O'Neal…”
“O'Neal doesn't own this place. The MacDonald Corporation does. A fact y'all should be familiar with, and Mister, I am a MacDonald and part of the board. O'Neal just runs this segment of the corporation. Now y'all make those arrangements or someone else will be occupying your chair, guaranteed!”
Margareatha snickered.
Lorenz turned to her. “Rity, I've ordered dinner. Do y'all want something?”
She looked up at him and shook her head no, her hands continuing to slap the cards on the table. For a moment Lorenz saw the pain in her eyes and looked away.
“Do y'all have any idea when she last ate?”
“Smithers ordered her a plate about five. I don't think she's had anything since.”
“Then get your man back up here. She's too thin.”
Jethro rose. He disliked the man, but the job was easy and he was too old to ride for long miles and hire out as a gunny. “Beef stew and biscuits okay with you?” He kept his voice even.
“That'll be fine.”
Lorenz watch the man leave. He didn't care whether he was liked or disliked. Right now he was hungry and worried about getting Margareatha to a hotel. He needed food before he went into her mind again if she refused to go to the hotel with him. That still left the problem of getting her back to the Scout.
Chapter 24: Anna's Boys
Sheriff Dougherty sat his cup on the desk when the man wearing a star entered. Years of watching men had trained his eyes to note this tall man wore a dust covered suit, good hat, expensive boots, and two very expensive pieces of hardware on his hips. The man politely removed his hat and nodded at him.
“Sheriff, my name is Daniel Hunter. I'm a town marshal for a small city over in Arizona and thought it best to check in with you before searching for my sister.” He smiled briefly.
Dougherty also noted the wide shoulders, well built frame, and grey somber eyes that met his directly.
“Her name is Margareatha Buckley. Could you tell me where I might find her?”
Dougherty stood and continued looking at the man as he offered his hand.
“I thank you for coming here first. Your sister, I'm sorry to say, has created quite a problem. I'm preparing a deposition for the court right now. The community believes it is safer to have her committed and that will be done as soon as I get the doctor's notarized opinion. What was a straightforward case is now complicated. It seems another brother arrived last night and refused to even consider the town's solution. It was late, and I believe, we should have waited until this morning to present our findings to him. It's always best to have a family member sign the papers. We can, of course proceed without that.”
Daniel stared at the man. Rita committed? Another brother? Which one beat him here, Lorenz or O'Neal? He felt his stomach muscles tighten. It didn't matter whether it was Lorenz or O'Neal. He didn't want to see either of them. Even more puzzling, how did either one of them get here before he did? Another subject he preferred not to dwell on.
“Perhaps it might help if you tell me why you believe Mrs. Buckley is insane.”
“You may not be aware that she lost her children and her husband to smallpox during the winter. We've never had a snow like that. There was no way anyone could get in or out of where their ranch is located. When someone finally made it, they found her living outside the house in the barn with the horses and one cow, and the dead inside on one of the beds. The cold had preserved their bodies, and the ground was still too frozen to bury them. It took several men to subdue her and bring her and the bodies back to town for the undertaker
to embalm them for burial. The doctor felt that sleep and food would cure her shock. It really was too much for a woman to bear, even one as big and strong as Mrs. Buckley. Mr. Collins offered her a place to recuperate, but things haven't improved.”
Dougherty knew there was a great deal lacking in his recital and those steady, grey eyes burning into his weren't showing whether he was believed or not.
“I think it's wise if I were to talk with Collins or with whoever is here first before I commit to signing anything. Where would I find a decent place to eat and where would I find either Collins or the other brother?”
Inwardly Dougherty heaved a sigh. At least he hadn't been told no. This man looked like a hired gunny that wore a badge to keep the worst of the elements in a bad town subdued. He'd be able to deal with the other man. There was not a doubt in Dougherty's mind that the woman had gone mad through her experience.
“Any of the places along the two main blocks serve a respectable meal at a respectable price. According to the note I have here from the town committee, your brother and sister are in the St. Charles-Muller Hotel. Mr. Collins won't be at the Full Shot until about five or later. I can have someone direct you to his home if you like.”
“No, thank you. I'll go grab some breakfast and then go see Mrs. Buckley.”
Daniel was in a sour mood during breakfast. No one recognized him from years ago, but he'd been a kid then, not a man grown. If it was Lorenz, no one was startled by their resemblance. He'd have to check with the hotel clerk.
The hotel clerk tried to deny that Mrs. Buckley or anyone related to her was on the premises. Daniel leaned forward, his six-foot three body towering over the middle aged clerk, his grey eyes slate.
“Sheriff Dougherty told me they were here. Now which room?”
The clerk capitulated and Daniel walked up three flights of stairs. He preferred to have done with the whole business. He had little desire to see any of his white family and had responded to Collins's telegram out of a sense of obligation to Collins for all he had taught him so many years ago, and the fact that Rita had saved his butt from Red's assault.
