Mundy's Law

by Monty McCord

  He stepped into the mud beside her, pulled her upright, and sat her on the boardwalk. Gib Hadley came across from the North Star to help. With Joe’s overcoat gathered around her, the two struggled to stand her up. Joe hooked one of Lucy’s arms over his shoulders with his right arm around her waist. She was crying and mumbling words neither man could understand.

  “Go get Sarah—she’s helping down at Doc’s. I’ll take her back to the Palace,” Joe said. Gib set off without speaking.

  Joe kicked open a door of the Palace Saloon and headed toward the stairs. The place was empty except for Smiley, who appeared to be amused by the sight.

  “I told her not to go out without a wrap!” he said, and chuckled.

  Joe stopped at the bottom of the staircase, turned, and looked at Smiley. The barkeeper’s sickening grin went away as fast as it had appeared. Joe proceeded up the stairs with Lucy. Once she was in her bed, Joe forced himself to take a few extra breaths and used the time to talk himself out of beating Smiley to death. Lucy was shivering, so Joe pulled a blanket over his coat, giving her a double layer of warmth. He sat down next to her and wiped mud from her mouth and nose.

  “Lucy, can you hear me? What were you doing out there with no clothes on?”

  She mumbled more words that Joe couldn’t make out and began sobbing. She started to wretch, so he rolled her over on her side. Sarah took over for Joe when she and Gib arrived.

  “Jesus, what’s the matter with her? She tryin’ to catch her death, Joe?” Hadley said.

  “Sure could of, Gib,” Joe said. “She’s been havin’ a real hard time since her beatin’. It really fouled her up.”

  “I’ll clean her up,” Sarah said.

  Joe and Gib stepped out of Lucy’s little room and closed the door. On the way down they saw Smiley standing near the bottom of the stairs. It looked like he wanted to say something, and he did.

  “You’s up there long enough, Mundy, that’ll be a dollar!”

  All of Joe’s effort in calming himself down instantly vanished. He stepped for Smiley, but as Joe got close enough to land a punch, the barkeeper whipped out a chair rung from behind his leg and swung it. It caught Joe across the side of his face and sent his hat flying. When his chin hit the grungy wood floor, Joe’s thoughts and vision were momentarily scrambled.

  “How ya’ like them apples, you son-of-a-bitch!” Smiley yelled.

  Hadley lunged at Smiley a second later, but the barkeeper threw a chair in front of him. Joe staggered to his feet and felt the warm flow of blood down his left cheek.

  Joe got to Smiley first and this time successfully ducked the swing of the rung. His fist hit Smiley squarely on the jaw and sent him flying into a table. The dirty glasses left there tumbled to the floor. Smiley grabbed the handle of a broken mug and swung it back and forth. Joe waved Hadley off and kicked the mug out of Smiley’s hand. He kicked Smiley in the head and then in the stomach. With a left hand full of apron and vest, Joe pulled him up and drove his fist into the man’s nose.

  Gib spoke after the fifth punch smashed into Smiley’s bloody face. “Joe, hell, you’re killin’ him! Hold off now!”

  He wanted to hit him ten or maybe twenty more times. Joe almost told Gib to leave, but his rage began to recede. He dragged the unconscious Smiley up on top of a table and stepped back to catch his breath.

  Gib looked at Smiley and at Joe, and then up at the balcony. He was startled by the beating Joe had carried out so violently. Joe noticed his gaze and looked up at Sarah, who was holding her hands over her mouth like she had at the shooting in Lucy’s room.

  “Are . . . are you all right?”

  “I am,” Joe said.

  She glanced into Lucy’s room and back down. She saw that Joe’s knuckles and face were bloody. “Have Doc look at your face?”

  “Surely will,” Joe said.

  “What do ya’ wanna’ do with him?” Hadley said.

  “He’s comin’ with me.” Joe grabbed Smiley by the back of his shirt collar.

  Along the way, Harvey Martin, Siegler, and several others stepped out to watch the spectacle of an unconscious man being dragged down the boardwalk by the bloody-faced marshal.

  Adam was seated behind the desk reading his book when the door flew open, and Joe dragged Smiley over to the cell.

  “Gawd, what happened?”

  “Smiley needs a little time to think,” Joe said. He took the keys from Adam, unlocked the cell, and shoved Smiley inside.

  “Hey, there ain’t enough room in here for us two, let alone him! Put ’im somewheres else!” Todd said. “Shit!”

  Joe ignored him, and dropped the keys on the desk. “I’ll be at Doc’s for a bit if ya’ need me.”

  “You okay, Marshal?” Adam said.

  “A small headache is all,” Joe said, and grinned. Blood dripped off his face onto the floor.

  Joe knocked gently on the door, trying not to wake any of the sick who might be managing some sleep. When Doc Sullivan opened it, he stared at Joe’s bloody face. Stepping aside, he asked Joe what happened.

  “Gib and me found Lucy takin’ a drunken stroll on Main Street without any clothes on. We took her back to the Palace, and Smiley suckered me with a chair rung.”

  “Why the hell did he do that?”

  Joe ignored the question. “You need to check on Lucy, Doc. She’s not doin’ very well.”

  Joe took another long pull on the bottle as Doc finished wiping the blood from his face. He threaded what looked like a small fishing hook and placed his hand on Joe’s forehead. Joe nodded, and Doc forced the needle through the skin, first on one side, then the other side of the cut that ran vertically from the left eyebrow up to his hair line. Blood oozed from the cut and required periodic daubing to keep it out of Joe’s eye. Doc sewed efficiently, like he was repairing a coat seam. Joe couldn’t help but wince each time the needle poked through his skin.

  “Didn’t you have your hat on?” Sullivan said.

  “Just carried Lucy upstairs. Pushed it back on my head as Gib and I came down the stairs,” Joe said. “Made a nice clear target for him.”

  “You did that,” Sullivan said. “You did that.”

  Joe could smell a mix of whiskey and onions on Doc’s breath. “You have a full house today?” Joe said.

  “Luckily down to two with the influenza, but they’re both children.”

  “Don’t mind my sayin’, Doc, but you look like hell,” Joe said. “Dark circles, hell your eyes look worse than mine.”

  Sullivan stopped in mid-stitch, making Joe wonder why he just didn’t keep his mouth shut until the doc was done. Probably the whiskey.

  Doc looked Joe in the eye and was about to speak, but didn’t. At last, he said, “I’m not dead.” Joe wasn’t sure, but guessed Doc was referring to the Sanderson girl who had died under his care. And now two more children were down.

  “We all do what we can do, Doc. We’re all just human,” Joe said. Damn, there I go again.

  Doc stopped halfway through the last stitch. A flash of anger went across his face, and his eyes glassed over before he lowered his head. He nodded and continued his work.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Smiley was wearing handcuffs when Joe escorted him from the jail to Judge Worden’s office at ten o’clock Monday morning. Gib Hadley was already seated near the bench, and several onlookers were seated along the side, including Budd Jarvis and Byron Siegler.

  Everyone stood when Worden, wearing his black robe, stepped out from the back room and seated himself. “Order!” He rapped the gavel twice, and the room fell silent.

  Smiley had refused counsel, so the judge decided to hear the case immediately.

  “John Wilkie, you are charged with assault with intention of doing bodily harm to Marshal Joe Mundy. How do you plead?”

  Smiley looked at the judge from a swollen, black and blue face, and said nothing.

  “Very well, I’ll enter a not-guilty plea on your behalf. Mister Hadley, would you take the witnes
s stand please?” Worden said.

  Harvey Martin stood up with a Bible, and Hadley placed his hand on it. “Swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  “I do.”

  “Tell the court what happened yesterday, regarding the arrest of John Wilkie,” Worden said.

  “Well, I looked out a window from my saloon, the North Star, and saw Lucy, naked as a jay, goin’ down the walk. Marshal Mundy had seen her, too, ’cuz he come a runnin’ with a coat. I headed across the street to help, but just before we got there, she fell in the street. Why, she was so drunk, she couldn’t a hit the ground with her bottle in three tries. We got her picked up, and Joe, ah, Marshal Mundy, helped her back to her room at the Palace. He sent me for Missus Welby, to help ’cuz Lucy was three sheets to the wind. I fetched Missus Welby and took her to Lucy’s room, and she said she’d take care of her.The marshal and I come back down the stairs, and Smiley said we’d been upstairs long enough that the marshal owed him a dollar. When Joe stepped closer, Smiley whipped out a chair rung and whacked Joe across the head. Knocked him right down. Then the fight was on, and uh, Smiley got hauled off to jail. That’s about it.”

  “Thank you, Mister Hadley, you may step down.”

  Joe was called next and gave basically the same story. The onlookers stared at the ugly stitched gash and dark bruising around Joe’s eye.

  “Mister Wilkie, would you like to testify on your own behalf?” Worden said.

  “No, goddamnit! You’ll condemn me anyway. That bastard got what he deserved bullying folks—”

  “Order! Order!” Worden wrapped the gavel several times, which finally had the desired effect.

  “Mister Wilkie, take your oath, and sit down on the witness stand if you desire to testify, or shut the hell up!” Smiley sat still and ignored the judge.

  “Very well,” Worden said and looked down at Smiley. “I find you guilty as charged and sentence you to sixty days in the county jail!” With that, Worden rapped the gavel. “Court adjourned.”

  The ride to Gracie Flats was uneventful. Smiley had nothing to say, and Joe was glad of it. He had half expected some trouble out of the saloon man on his way to a two-month stay in the county lockup.

  Joe tied the bay to the hitching rail in front of the courthouse but kept hold of the reins of Smiley’s mount until he had stepped down from the saddle. Inside, Sheriff Canfield, alone in the office, did a double-take when they walked in. He stood up and gazed at both faces before offering a greeting.

  “Marshal Mundy. Can’t tell which one of ya’ looks worse.”

  “Afternoon, Sheriff,” Joe said, ignoring his inquisitive nature. “Here’s a sentencing order from Judge Worden. Mister Wilkie here is good for sixty days.” He handed the paper to Canfield and removed Smiley’s handcuffs.

  Joe studied Wanted posters tacked on the wall while he waited for the sheriff to lock up his new prisoner.

  “Marshal, I heard you had two more killings in Taylorsville. Sounds like things are gettin’ out of hand, wouldn’t you say?”

  “You mean Luther and Cookie? That was a shame. Came in to tell me who’s behind some rustling goin’ on in the county.” Joe left it at that to see where Canfield would take it. After a brief lull, it seemed to Joe that the sheriff couldn’t help but pursue the matter.

  “Did they pass along anything of value?” Joe thought that the mild wrinkles in Canfield’s forehead gave away more than a passing concern and made him look like he was holding wind. The sheriff was probably not much of a poker player.

  “Not a lot. Guess they were saving the whole story for Judge Worden,” Joe said. His vague answer was meant to worry the sheriff, and it seemed to be working.

  “Well, what did they tell you? Maybe I can be of assistance.”

  “Nothing that’s usable for anything, not right now anyway,” Joe said. He enjoyed making the sheriff squirm a little. “Still thinking about me for Carlson’s killing?”

  “Well, you were the only one who threatened his life.” Canfield’s answer was a poor mixture of fake friendliness and duty.

  “Suppose you suspect me of killing Luther and Cookie as well?” Joe said.

  “Well, I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t cross my mind,” Canfield said. “You didn’t threaten them, too, did you?” His grin was very slight.

  “Did a motive cross your mind?” Joe said.

  “I heard those boys all rode together. Maybe they came after you for killin’ their friend Carlson?” Canfield said. He leaned back in the swivel chair and lit a cigar. He didn’t try to conceal the smirk on his face. “Course if they tried that, I couldn’t blame you for defending yourself.”

  Joe said, “Sounds possible, if I did. Only one problem, I didn’t. Someone got to them before I could take them to see the judge. Someone who didn’t much want them talkin’ to the judge. Have any idea who that might have been?”

  The two stared at each other trying to reach inside and read the other’s thoughts. See what exactly the other knew, or thought he knew, and their plans. It was a Mexican standoff of sorts. Joe was certain Canfield and his deputy killed Carlson, Luther, and Cookie, but couldn’t prove it. Canfield was trying to corner Joe for killing them, but was having trouble putting a strong enough case together. Other than the fact that Joe had threatened Carlson, he had nothing factual. The sheriff knew he could arrest Joe on that, and might get a conviction. But, he appeared to be treading lightly, concerned about what Luther and Cookie might have told Joe.

  “If I could offer anything to help, Marshal, I would,” Canfield said. “We should both continue to seek information, as time allows, of course.”

  Joe studied him for a moment and then stood. “I’ve got to get back, Sheriff, good day.” Canfield gave only a slow nod in return.

  “You just missed Mundy,” Canfield said as his deputy walked in.

  “I seen him.”

  “We have a problem,” Canfield said. He puffed on the cigar and pulled it out of his mouth. He looked at it for a moment and continued. “That gawdamn Luther and Cookie must have talked before you got to ’em. He wouldn’t say exactly what they said, but the way he eyed me, he knows.”

  “Shoulda’ done it as soon as they hit town,” the deputy said.

  “We needed the darkness. We can’t be doin’ that without it,” Canfield said.

  The deputy poured a cup of coffee and sat down beside the sheriff’s desk. “So what do we do with him?”

  “Didn’t want it to come to this, but I’m afraid Marshal Mundy has become a liability.” Canfield puffed on the cigar and stared straight ahead. “Can’t let him put a noose around our necks, can we?”

  “Guess we’re gonna visit that shithole town again,” the deputy said.

  Canfield nodded slowly as he thought of a plan. “Remember Budd telling us his new saloon was gonna open Friday?”

  “Yeah, his piano will be comin’ in from Willow Springs. Gonna have a big to-do for opening night.”

  “He asked for some help in keeping order so the rowdies don’t bust up his new place.You head down there Friday morning. Scout a place in an alley where you can take Mundy. After dark. After the hoo-rawin’ gets under way. I don’t care how you do it, just don’t be seen. Once Mundy’s out of the way, we can reorganize. Get some new men. Some we can depend on this time, like the pony boys. Get some money coming in again.”

  The deputy nodded and sipped from his cup. “We gonna do anything to help out Todd?”

  “Hell with him. If he’s that damned dumb to get caught, he can swing, as far as I care.”

  “What if he talks?”

  “He won’t,” Canfield said.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “If he gets prison time instead of a rope, he knows I have friends inside those sandstone walls at Lincoln. Hell, you were one of ’em! If he gets there after runnin’ his mouth in court, his life ain’t worth two cents, and he knows it. In fact, one ol’ boy there would do it for nothin
’. And if he gets county time, we’ll take care of him ’til his time is served.”

  “What about Loman?” the deputy asked.

  “Loman don’t know nothin’,” Canfield said.

  The deputy nodded.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Joe was standing on the boardwalk in front of Siegler’s store when the Forsonns pulled their wagon team to a stop. Lars jumped down and helped Hadda step down from the wagon.

  “Mister Forsonn, Missus Forsonn,” Joe said and touched his hat brim. “It’s good to see you. Wish it could have been under better circumstances.” Hadda looked at Lars, and he said a few words in their language.

  “Joe, by golly, it good to see ya’ too. Sorry to be a seein’ ya’ when we’re headin’ home,” Forsonn said.

  “I know you been busy helpin’ the Sandersons. Terrible thing losing their child.”

  “Da missus is takin’ it awful bad,” Forsonn said. “But we wanted ta t’ank ya’ for the kindness ya’ showed, Joe. Ya’ shouldn’t a sent so much to us, but we wanted to t’ank you for it.” He reached out his hand and Joe took it. Forsonn nodded at Hadda, and she stepped forward and gave Joe her hand. “T’ank you, Mis-ter Mun-dy.” She smiled and stepped back.

  Forsonn nodded at the children, and they stepped forward as well.

  “T’ank you for the gifts and food, Marshal Mundy,” Jorund said and offered his hand. He stood straight as his father.

  “You’re welcome, Jorund, I’m glad you enjoyed them,” Joe said, his face flushing slightly. Jorund stepped back, and Nada stepped forward with a big smile. Joe knelt down, and Nada gave him a hug, saying nothing.

  “And I thank you for the basket, and especially these,” Joe reached into his vest pocket and showed them the little wooden horse and man. “They are very special, and I carry them with me always.”

  The children smiled widely and looked up at Lars and Hadda.

  “Well, we gotta’ be headin’ back now. You come see us anytime ya’ want, Joe Mundy,” Lars said.

  “I’ll do that, Mister Forsonn.You take care now,” Joe said.

  Siegler joined Joe on the boardwalk and bid the Forsonns farewell. The two men stood and watched as Lars carefully turned the wagon around and headed out.