Jack tried to open the gate by leaning over without dismounting but the stallion moved around too much. He finally got off and held the uneasy horse by the reins. He let four riders enter their property and closed the gate behind them. Two were riding double. As they came closer to the porch, she could see that the one in the front was hurt. He was young, about the same age as Jack, and was being held semi-upright by a handsome man who sat tall in the saddle. Riding next to them was a husky man who rode with stiff determination. A Derby hat tied down by a scarf was pulled tight upon his square face. The last rider resembled the man in the Derby hat, but he was leaner and rode easy in the saddle.
“Mary, get over here and tend to this boy,” shouted Jack. “He had a horse fall on him. He’s busted up a mite.”
Mary rushed to the horse carrying the two riders. She grasped the injured young man gently, and the tall man eased him into her care. The man in the Derby hat had dismounted quickly and was there to help.
“He’s my nephew Patrick,” he said, “I think he broke his arm.”
“I’ve got him,” she said with soft reassurance.
They eased him to the ground where she could take a better look at him.
“It’s broken all right. About to pop through his skin,” she concluded. “He’s turning very pale. I think he could be going into shock. We need to get him inside and get some blankets on him.”
The uncle and the tall man supported Patrick and brought him into the house with as little jostling as possible. Mary directed them to put him on a bed in front of the fireplace. Patrick was moaning and looking around incoherently. His face had the pallor of death and beads of sweat formed on his brow.
“Jack, you’re going to have to go fetch Doc Fellers.”
“You set arms before Mary,” Jack protested.
“Not for strangers, not this bad,” she said. “Besides, Doc Fellers is at the Jacobs’ place. She had a baby last night. You get on that fancy black horse and you can have him back here before sundown.”
Jack was going to protest again but he caught Mike glaring at him, and picking up his hat, disappeared out the door.
Mary went to the sink and soaked a rag in cool water. She motioned for Mike to come towards her.
“I think he’s a little panicked by what happened to him,” she said. “You need to talk to him and try to calm him down Mr., ah…”
“McGhan. I’m Mike McGhan. He’s me nephew, Patrick Donegel.”
“I’m Mary Cassidy,” she said without looking up from her task.
“Pleased to meet you.”
“So what happened out there Mr. McGhan?”
“Yer brother was practicing his shootin’ a little too close to the trail. We rode right into his stray bullets. Since we’re followin’ some no-goods, we didn’t know what was happening. I thought they might be ambushing us.”
“That’s my brother,” she said emphatically. “Never thinking about anyone but himself. I guess I can be thankful no one was killed.”
“Well, there’s a dead horse out there,” he said. “You might want tuh inform who’s ever in charge ov dead animal removal around here tuh pick him up.”
She looked at him perplexed for a moment and then smiled. “This must be your first time out west.”
“Yeah, and so far it ain’t been too enjoyable.”
Mary wiped the wet cloth over Pat’s head and said a few encouraging words. She motioned for Mike to come over and do the same.
“Well, kid, it coulda been a lot worse. You coulda got that bullet in duh head instead of yer horse.”
Mary looked at him sternly and shook her head.
“You’re gonna be all right,” he began anew. “It’ll take more than a horse droppin’ dead on an Irishman tuh kill’um. Now if an elee-phant dropped on yuh, I’d be standing here worried as uh crooked poletician on election day.”
This brought a smile to Pat’s frightened face and he began to stop shaking uncontrollably.
“It’s okay now,” soothed Mary. “Everything is going to be fine.”
She ran the cool, damp rag over Pat’s head, and his eyes began to loose their frenzied look. She turned to Mike and smiled. He reached out and took Pat’s good right hand in his. His young nephew squeezed the large, familiar hand gratefully.
“See, you can be gentle if you have to, Mr. McGhan.”
Mike smiled sheepishly and looked back at his fallen nephew. He tried to ignore a warm glow that Mary had created inside him. It had something to do with being in close proximity to a pretty, virtuous woman engaged in a serious act of nurturing. A man turns soft as pudding.
He had experienced this phenomenon first when he was twelve years old. Miss Abigail Spencer worked in the public library that summer during her break from college. She was studying to be a teacher. Mike would go into the library at least once a week to request a certain type of book. He had to go to the neighborhood bookworm, Kevin O’Day, to get ideas on what to request. Then he would watch Abigail as she furrowed her brow and thought about a good book in that genre. To prolong the warm, pleasant sensation, he could never be happy with the first book she found. Then he would watch her well-turned ankles as she climbed the ladder scurrying around on behalf of his education. Before he left, he would make an insightful comment about the last book she found for him, and her face would light up in a smile that an angel would envy. It turned him gooey inside. He forced poor Kevin O’Day to read so much he had to get glasses by the end of the summer.
Mike never felt bad about it because Kevin got something out of the deal. With Mike McGhan as his new friend, he didn’t get beat up anymore, so the glasses were safe. He looked more natural in them anyhow. Kevin went on to law school and had insisted Mike come to his graduation. He was now a judge in Joliet.
“Are you a lawman, Mr. McGhan?” asked Mary, dipping the rag once more into the bowl of cool water and wringing it out.
“What?”
“Are you a lawman? You said you were after some men. Are you a lawman?”
“Ah, ya…Yes, I am,” he replied, startled out of his reminiscence.
“Where are you from?”
“I’m from Chicago,” he said. “We’re after uh young fella that’s escaped jail and is running with the Red Alvins’ gang.”
“So this is your posse?” she asked, nodding towards Butch and Elzy sitting at the table drinking coffee.
“Oh, no, I dun’t want no credit fer puttin’ this outfit together. This is his posse,” he said, pointing at Butch sitting at the end of the table. “Marshal Parker got this guy outah jail tuh lead this bunch, and I’m just followin’ til I figure out what’s goin’ on. They do things a little different out here.”
“Who is he?” she asked. “He looks something like you. When you first rode up, I thought he was your brother or something.”
“Ain’t no kin ov mine,” Mike said emphatically. “He goes by Butch Cassidy.”
“Butch Cassidy!” Mary said in amazement. “Butch Cassidy is leading a posse?”
Her voice had easily carried to the table, and Butch looked their way and tipped his hat with an impish smile. Mary flushed with embarrassment.
“Why would Marshal Parker put a known outlaw at the head of a posse?” she whispered. “Has he taken leave of his senses?”
“That’s just another question I got on uh long list ov questions,” sighed Mike.
Pat groaned in pain as if to remind them that he should be their primary focus of attention. Mary quickly returned to swabbing his brow.
“Maureen,” she called to her sister on the porch. “Go out to the ice cellar and bring in a small chuck. I should have thought of that sooner. Maybe some ice would numb the pain in that arm til Doc Fellers gets here.”
Maureen came to the doorway and posed prettily for the two men at the table, gracing them with a girlish smile.
“She can get it herself,” Mary said curtly before Butch and Elzy even got the idea of volunteering to help.
“M
y life will be a lot easier when I get that one properly married,” she said in a motherly tone. “The oldest Jacobs’ boy has been coming around real regular, but they had a fight last night because he was talking to Caroline Haliday after church on Sunday. We got to get this patched up because Mrs. Jacobs wants that boy married and out of the house. She needs the room. Imagine having a nineteen-year-old son and still having babies. That’s the way it is out here though.”
Mike watched the concern on the face of the handsome woman across from him. She was maybe in her late twenties but had somehow over the years slipped into the role of the mother. Ironically she bore no resemblance to the two younger siblings who had the characteristic Irish sandy red hair and upturned noses. Her darks eyes, copper colored complexion and high cheekbones suggested she was part Indian. He remembered that Jack had made a point of saying she was only his half sister.
CHAPTER 15
FAMILY MATTERS
Several hours had passed before a springboard buggy drawn by a tired-looking old horse pulled up in front of the Cassidy ranch house. The aged physician needlessly pulled back on the reins to stop. He was assisted as he stepped down by a tall young man who was glancing anxiously at the door. When it opened, Maureen was the first person through it. She hurried to the end of the porch and took Doc Fellers by the arm, escorting him in without even a sidelong glance at young Eldon Jacobs. The farm boy was being gently manipulated in ways he would probably never understand. Someday as a tired old man with grandchildren surrounding him, he may silently wonder how it all happened, but it really wasn’t important in the way of things that he ever knew.
“Where’s this lad who’s all busted up?” Doc Fellers demanded once inside.
“He’s over here,” said Mary. “What took you so long?”
“I don’t even know why I’m here,” he retorted. “You usually take care of these things yourself. Besides, it just so happens I was delivering a baby.”
“That’s what I heard,” said Mary enthusiastically.
“Young Eldon here has a baby sister,” he announced proudly.
“Oh, Eldon, that’s great!” shouted Mary, temporarily deserting Pat’s side to give the embarrassed farm boy a hug. A smile lit up her face and she looked a decade younger.
“Oooh,” groaned Pat, trying to get the doctor’s attention where he felt it belonged.
The doctor spotted his new patient and parted the crowd of well-wishers to get to him. He gently felt Patrick’s arm and the bone poised to break the surface of the skin. He looked at the ashen-faced young man staring at him apprehensively.
“Boy, this is a bad break,” the Doctor concluded. “I bet that hurts like hell.”
Mary leaned over to Mike and whispered, “Doc Fellers isn’t known for his bedside manner, but he is really good.”
“Okay, all you people clear out and give the boy some air,” yelled the Doctor. “He don’t need a crowd of gawkers standing around. Mary, you stay close in case I need you.”
Butch and Elzy went out to tend the horses and made themselves scarce. Maureen and young Eldon went out on the porch and circled about waiting for the other to speak first. That left Mike alone with Mary. They sat at opposite ends of the large oak kitchen table.
“This is uh fine table,” said Mike in an attempt to make small talk.
“Oh, yes, it’s been with us since I was a little girl. It was made in England. My father traded it for a horse. This family was trying to haul it all the way to Oregon with them and had to give up the idea before they went over South Pass.”
“Sound like damn fools. This thing must weigh uh couple hundred pounds,” he said gruffly. “Were they English?”
“No,” she laughed. “Actually they were from Ohio.”
“Why are yuh laughin’?” asked Mike.
“You sound like my father. He hated the English too. He never explained why.”
“Hundreds ov years ago the English took over Ireland,” said Mike. “They treated us like prisoners in our own country. You had to kiss an Englishman’s arse to be allowed to live.”
“I guess I should be twice as bitter as you then, Mr. McGhan,” she said coolly. “I’m half Irish and half Sioux.”
She had him there. Mike felt like Bockleman had him in one of his checkmates. He grunted an acknowledgement of agreement and watched his own nervous hands as they drummed on the fine English table. A lot of questions came to mind that he didn’t want to ask.
“He was in the cavalry, my father,” she said, reading his thoughts. “He deserted. It was nothing to be ashamed of. At least he never was. It was quite common. It was hard to get troops to come out here to fight during the Indian Wars. He was recruited right off the boat in New York City in ‘66. The year after the great war back East ended. He only joined as a way to get out West where he heard there was free land.”
“How did he and your, uh mother, uh,” stammered Mike.
“He won her in a poker game,” she said with a smile. “She told me that. He always said that God brought them together.”
“How’s that?”
“The night my father planned to desert he had picketed two horses with supplies in a ravine by the camp. He had money because he was quite a good cardplayer. What he was worried about was sneaking past the sentry after ‘lights out.’ When he went out to see who was posted nearest his escape route, he found the sentry and another drunken trooper arguing over an Indian girl they had captured that day. She was a virgin and they both wanted to be first with her.”
Mike squirmed in his seat at her frankness.
“He thought she was beautiful,” she continued, “and could in no way leave her with these two. He told them he would give them each ten dollars and bet them he could win it back from them by ‘lights out’. If he did, they would have to let him have her for the first night and he would leave her tied up in the ravine for them the next night.”
“He musta won since you’re here,” Mike concluded, “but why didn’t he just give them each duh ten dollars to have her? Wouldn’t he uh got out ov there faster?”
“Ten dollars was a large part of a trooper’s pay back then,” said Mary. “My father may have been smitten, but he wasn’t ever foolish with money.”
“So did they come after him?”
“They made a half-hearted effort. There were lots of desertions and he got a pretty good head start. The sentry was supposed to cover my father for bed check. I guess when he didn’t come back from the ravine the next morning, the sentry wasn’t any too anxious to report my father missing since he was involved. My father always felt there was some kind of divine plan involved that allowed him to save my mother and give him time to make his escape.”
“A religious card sharp,” said Mike. “He musta been an unusual fella.”
“I guess he was unusual,” she agreed. “He never played cards after that. His father was a card sharp and a no-good to hear him tell it. Never worked a day in his life. Just hung around the local Irish pub and let his wife and son take in laundry. My father learned how to play cards from his father, but he never approved of it. He only used the skill when he needed to. He always wanted to own land and be a farmer. My father wanted to be a respected member of the community. He was helping members of the church when he and my stepmother caught the influenza and died.”
“Yuh said stepmother. What happened to your mother?”
“Oh, she died when I was a child,” she said sadly. “After they escaped, he planned to turn her over to some government agency because she was quite young. When he saw how things were, he couldn’t bear to do it. He put her in the care of some sisters at a church up around Sheridan. He would come and check on her regularly. She became a Catholic and they were married when she was probably about sixteen. I was born a year later. When I was five, smallpox killed her. She had no immunity to the white man’s diseases.”
“Do yuh remember her?”
“Yes, I do,” she said fondly. “She was beautiful. Tall and
graceful. I think she felt she was not completely accepted but she never mentioned it. My earliest memory of her was when someone had called her a squaw. She walked past the man proudly without looking his way. Then she broke down in tears and held me and told me I was part of her people, the Sioux. I should never be ashamed of that.”
“So do folks around here accept you?”
“On the surface,” she said, turning in her chair and staring out the window. “Somewhere in the back of their minds, I will always be a half-breed though. That’s the way it is out here.”
“Why dun’t yuh leave then?”
“I have responsibilities that I just can’t walk away from,” she said defensively. “I’m a teacher in the local school. There’s this place and my sister and brother.”
“Dun’t you mean your half brother?” asked Mike. “He seems to make it a point ov letting everyone know you’re only his half sister.”
She gave Mike a hurt look and quickly got up and went to the sink to busy herself with dishes. Mary must have inherited the graceful form that made her mother an enchantress. She was one of those people you just enjoyed watching as they went about doing what might be very ordinary tasks like stretching to put cups on the top shelf.
“Mary, come over and give me a hand,” shouted the cantankerous old doctor. “I’m going to need some help setting this arm. And bring a bottle of whiskey. I know Jack must keep one around here someplace. It will be all the anesthetic this young feller needs.”
Mary went to his aid, and soon Pat was screaming as if he were being murdered. When they had finished, Doc Fellers came over and sat at the table with Mike.
The Cassidy Posse Page 10
