Mississippi

by J. B. Richard

  “Dammit,” Jay grumbled.

  More curses pulled Mississippi from his thoughts about the trappers, and he focused on what was in front of them. The hoofprints on the ground once again had switched direction, leading them more or less in a loop. None of them could make sense of the path Butch’s horse was cutting. Butch had lost lots of blood, and a body could get disoriented and lost real easy in hundreds of miles of nature. Trees and rocks, that’s all there was. Lots of game and water, but the only thing that spoke most days was the wind—and Rascal, who wouldn’t shut up.

  Poor Topper was the recipient of that affection, which everyone could plainly see irritated the hell out of Porter. Brothers trying to court the same gal. She no longer cried all the time and her spirits seemed to have brightened since settling on the fact that she would be given a stake to start over, but nothing in her manner gave Mississippi reason to believe she was ready for courtship. It wasn’t like she was flirty. She spoke when spoken to, and other than that, she kept mostly to herself. That was a recipe for trouble. Except Mississippi kind of got a kick out of it. When one brother wasn’t playing up to her, the other was. She didn’t seem stuck on either, and neither fool could see it.

  That afternoon, Jay shot a deer. At supper, they all ate their fill, then slept soundly. Mississippi dreamed of Jessa. Before the sun was up, they were in their saddles. A few more days of watching the lovesick brothers’ kinship dwindle had them all about ready to kill each other.

  Mississippi rolled out of his ground blanket as the sun poked over the horizon. Within the hour, they lost Butch’s trail. The soil on the backside of the mountain stayed softer, more shaded, not so much sun. They had crossed over the top. The bones of the mountain were harder there, lots of rocks. With one wrong step, it could cause a slide. They dismounted and walked their horses for a mile, following a narrow deer path. Evening was setting in when they rode out of the mountains and reined in on top of a tree-speckled knob. A town, not too big, was situated in the little green valley below. The soft glow of lights from inside those homes and businesses seemed inviting, or Mississippi was just sick of his present company.

  “We goin’ down?” Rascal licked his lips.

  Clint harshly chuckled. “Only if you wanna git hanged. That’s Piketown. Home of Sheriff Henry Pike.”

  “The ranger?” Jay shifted nervously in his saddle, making it groan.

  “He’s a sheriff now, but that’s him.”

  Clint eyed Topper, and the corners of his mouth curled into a wicked smile. “No one will recognize you. Git down there. Listen for any talk of the money or a posse. Check the livery for Butch’s horse.”

  Topper’s eyes stretched wide with fear. She didn’t know what she could be walking into, nor did the rest of them. Telegraph made it possible for lawmen to pass the word on recent holdups. Stolen money, especially a sum of a hundred thousand dollars, would not be kept under wraps and quietly investigated. Plus, over a dozen men had been killed. Sheriff Pike was an old Indian fighter from way back. Made a name for himself as a Texas Ranger, battling bandits and renegades along the border. Not someone to be underestimated. Plenty of these little far and away towns had folks that desperately wanted law and order and would pin a badge on anyone who could hold a gun. Sheriff Pike was no halfwit, thrown-together lawman.

  Topper fiercely shook her head in protest. Mississippi didn’t like the idea of her going into town alone and was just about to speak up when Porter beat him to it.

  “If she’s goin’, I’m goin’ too.” Porter knew there was no sense in arguing with Clint. Mississippi tried to avoid it himself.

  “Port’s right.” Mississippi held eye contact with Clint. “We can’t send her down there without protection.” Then he had another thought. “What if Sheriff Pike recognizes Porter from his poster? Maybe two of us oughta go. I doubt that old wolf would take on both of us head on, and before he could gather some men or deputies, if he has one or two, we could be out of town.”

  Mississippi figured since he’d thought of it, he ought to be the one to risk it. Besides, Rascal would only go if Clint wanted him to, and Jay never volunteered for any mission too dangerous. Both Mississippi and Porter could be counted on to watch the other’s back. Plus, he owed Topper. After all, Buckhorn had died helping them.

  “I’ll go.” Mississippi nudged his horse.

  Clint loudly cleared his throat. “If you boys git your tails in trouble, don’t look for us to come in after ya.”

  Mississippi grinned. Someday he might put a bullet in Clint. Right now, he needed to stay focused on finding the money, and this was where they’d been led. He wasn’t afraid of Henry Pike or any other man, including Clint. “You best watch your tail.”

  Clint’s beady eyes narrowed, and there was that glint. That bloodlust, the want to kill. There were ten feet between them. At that range, neither of them would miss. Mississippi was fast, could clear leather in half the time, maybe giving him a few seconds to dive off his horse after firing. Clint would be figuring that. That’s probably why his hands stayed on his reins. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to spend that missing money. They all did. It was Mississippi’s fund to escape this life and run far away where he could hopefully retire his fast gun.

  Before Mississippi, Porter, and Topper reached the edge of town, they had decided to ride right down the middle of the street. It would be less suspicious than skirting the back of the buildings or alleyways. The sun was all but down. Shadows and darkness would help mask their faces. There was no hiding their tired horses, a definite sign of hard travel. Hopefully, the darkness would help veil that too.

  They pulled up reins in front of the saloon. Plenty of murmured talk flowed out into the street. Lots of interesting conversations happened in any saloon. Cattle, land rights, who owned how much and where the border lines fell, waterholes, women, and always gambling and fortune hunting. That’s where their ears needed to stay tuned. Fortunes could be gained or lost on the card table. After a few drinks, tongues sometimes loosened immensely. Info leaked out about gold shipments, stagecoach strong boxes, bank payrolls. If Butch’s horse had been found, someone would be celebrating finding that money.

  Mississippi, followed by Porter, then Topper, slipped in through the swinging doors. They were dirty and wrinkled like everyone else in the room. Cigar smoke loomed in a thick haze above most of the tables. Glasses clanked, and voices roared from everywhere. Someone near the bar strummed a guitar. They found an empty table in the middle of it, and Mississippi felt right at home. Port waved a hand at a working girl to bring a bottle and three glasses.

  She plunked the bottle in the center, dropped a glass in front of each of them, then threw herself on Mississippi’s lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck. “Is there anything else I can do for ya?” She traced a polished finger along the dark stubble on his jaw.

  “Lookin’ for a fella. Big man. Got himself hurt. Rides a blue roan mare.”

  She thought for a minute without letting go of him. “Can’t say I heard of anyone. Doc’s sitting right over there. Ask him.” She pointed to a frail-looking older man with gray hair and spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He lifted a mug of beer and drank.

  “Thanks. That’s all I’ll be needin’.” He pulled some bills from inside his vest and crammed them in her hand. He stood, and she happily fluttered off to land on someone else’s lap. Mississippi bellied up to the bar next to the doctor. “Howdy.”

  The old man glanced over the rim of his spectacles. “Hello, sir. I do not wish to be rude. However, I don’t want bothered. If you have a boil or ailment or any other ache or pain, I’ll be in my office tomorrow morning.”

  Mississippi swallowed his drink, then tapped the bar for another. “You recently treat anyone with bullet holes in him?”

  The doctor stiffly straightened. His brow arched. “Why do you ask?”

  “A friend of mine had a huntin’ accident. I lost his trail. Thought maybe he drifted in here.”

 
The doctor suspiciously eyed him. Then his gaze dropped and landed on the tied-down gun belt. Most men didn’t wear their guns that way. One breed did. Maybe the doctor recognized him for what he was. Maybe he had recognized the same thing about Butch.

  “No. I have not,” he said pertly, like an uppity woman, and turned his back. Mississippi noticed a gash on the back of his head. If his bedside manners weren’t any better than this, Mississippi could see why someone would whack him upside the head.

  He returned to his seat with Topper and Porter, who seemed to be getting along very well. Their chairs were slid closer together than when he had left them. Porter’s arm rested atop the back of hers, and neither looked up from pleasantly chatting when he plopped down.

  He ordered food for the three of them and was overlooked until the steaming vittles were smacked down in front of them by a fat Mexican wearing a wide-rimmed sombrero and a dirty apron. The meat was tender, done just right. Mississippi had never eaten beans with such kick. His eyes watered. It took three mugs of beer to wash away the sting.

  They were just about to leave when the swinging doors breezed open. A pretty little yellow-haired someone stood, taking in the room. Mississippi damn near sprang to his feet.

  “Jessa.” He hadn’t realized he’d said her name out loud until both Port and Topper strangely stared at him, then looked toward the door.

  Topper waved her over. Mississippi’s heart pounded harder with each step as she walked up to the table and sat. Topper highlighted the events that had led them to Piketown. There were tears in her eyes when she spoke of Buckhorn. Jessa sadly shook her head as though she didn’t believe it could be true. She picked up Mississippi’s beer, took a swallow, then set it down in front of herself. Wasn’t she just a pistol? Inwardly, he chuckled.

  “Topper, why don’t ya stay with me? My place ain’t much, but it’s big enough that you can set up shop there ‘til you find a real place.” There was an excitement in her voice.

  Her offer made Mississippi believe that Jessa lived in Piketown. At first glance, back at Topper’s trade post—which was out in the middle of nowhere, miles from any town—he had assumed by her raggedy clothing and moccasins that she was mountainfolk. She’d known about that cave where they hid overnight, and he assumed she lived somewhere in the Blacklog Mountains where he had seen the print of her mule.

  If she lived here, then why had she ridden days and been doing business at Topper’s trade post, far away from this town? Thinking about it made him scratch his head. She had come into the saloon after dark. Was that on purpose, perhaps not wanting to be noticed? After all, she was a lone woman in a man’s place, but Mississippi sensed it wasn’t that. It was something different, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. She was the cutest thing he ever laid eyes on, hard not to notice. Any man with even one good eye would sit up a little taller when she walked by.

  “What about my money?” Topper asked, staring straight into Porter’s eyes, waiting for the truth. Would Clint pay up?

  “We gotta find it first, an’ just don’t piss Clint off in the meantime. You’ll get your money. But don’t give him reason to kill ya, ‘cause he will. Maybe you should stay with this gal. Be a lot safer than riding with us. I’ll make sure you get your share.” Porter stood, dug money out of his pocket, and dropped it on the table for the food. “Come on, woman. We’re gettin’ a room.”

  Mississippi and Jessa were now alone at the table. He wasn’t sure what to say or even if she wanted to talk. The clatter in the room was suddenly getting to him, giving him the jitters. He wanted to be alone with her, to touch her like that night in the cave.

  She stood and pushed in her chair. Where was she going? He didn’t want her to leave.

  “Have ya checked the livery for your friend’s horse? Dead or alive, if he came to town, that’s where his horse would be.” She was a right savvy woman.

  He stood, resisting the urge to tell her that was the very reason they had ridden into town. “Lead the way.”

  They walked out onto the boardwalk. Small fires burned in the street every so many yards and lit the way.

  A man stepped out of a dark doorway and blocked their path. “Good evening, Jessa. What brings ya to town?”

  “None of your damn business, Sheriff Pike.”

  Mississippi had to fight his hand from skinning his pistol.

  “Who’s this with ya?” Pike’s voice was demanding, though he held out his hand in a gesture of friendliness.

  Jessa slapped away the sheriff’s hand. “If I wanted you to know, I’d tell ya.”

  What in God’s name was she doing, trying to get them arrested? Mississippi needed to say or do something to defuse this situation before she blew his cover. He pushed his hat down farther to shadow his face even more, then grabbed Sheriff Pike’s hand and firmly shook. “Sorry about that, sir. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

  Jessa smacked Mississippi’s arm, breaking his grip. She stepped haughtily between the sheriff and Mississippi, hands fisted on her hips. “He’s my man. That’s all you need to know, an’ don’t you be harassin’ him. He ain’t a gambler, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She was an all-fire hellcat, giving lip to the sheriff as if he deserved every word of it. They were both going to end up behind bars. Some of what she said didn’t make sense. Why would she insist that he wasn’t a gambler? That was the truth. They must have a lot of trouble with people passing through taking advantage of townsfolk, so the sheriff was naturally suspicious of any stranger. This wasn’t good for Mississippi, his hand grazing the butt of his pistol, waiting for the sheriff to recognize him as Mississippi Lightning.

  “Let us through. We’re gonna check on Bean.”

  Sheriff Pike stepped aside while chuckling. “When are you gonna give up ridin’ that bony old thing an’ get a horse?”

  “Never. Bean’s the only one who’s faithful to me, an’ I love him for it.” Her voice was much softer, sadder.

  The sheriff turned on his heel and headed off down the boardwalk, disappearing into the saloon. Mississippi had a gut feeling that something else was going on here, something that had nothing to do with him, and apparently, he was wrong about her only coming out at night, a loner. She obviously had some sort of relationship with the sheriff.

  “What’s that all about?”

  “Never mind. Let’s go,” she snapped.

  When they got to the livery, Jessa knew right where the lamp hung on a hook inside the door. She lit the flame. He pulled her close and kissed her. He’d been waiting for a chance to do that ever since she walked through the doors at the saloon.

  She pushed him away. “We’re here to look for a horse.” She reminded him with a hint of annoyance in her tone.

  “That can wait. If I’m your man, prove it.”

  This made her chuckle. “We have all night for that.” She turned and, one by one, looked over every horse, twelve in all, plus some in the corral. Butch’s mare wasn’t there.

  They didn’t make it back to the saloon to get a room. The hayloft worked fine for the two of them, and they had a high old time.

  Mississippi woke to the sound of shoveling. Someone was mucking out the stalls below them. Then it stopped. There were two voices. He recognized the one as Sheriff Pike’s.

  “They came in here last night. I watched them, Stan.”

  “Well, they must’ve left, ‘cause you can see they ain’t here now.”

  “How about in the loft?”

  “Nope. I just pitched some hay down. Why don’t ya leave her alone?”

  Why did Stan lie to the sheriff? He must have come up, seen them, then quietly slipped down the ladder. Mississippi and Jessa had been undisturbed until now. She was still asleep, unaware of the conversation below.

  Mississippi was listening carefully to every word. Why had the sheriff been watching them last night? He must have gone through the saloon, out the back door, and kept an eye on them from the alleyway. He hadn’t seem
ed overly suspicious of Mississippi, more so curious as to who was with Jessa. Was the old man interested in having her for himself? Surely not. He had to be of an age that he could be her father.

  “I’m not tryin’ to run her off. I haven’t seen her in a while. Just wanna talk. That’s all. I swear.”

  Had Sheriff Pike tried at one time or another to run Jessa out of town? The way he’d said it made Mississippi believe he had at least entertained the idea, but for what reason? And what did it matter if he hadn’t seen her in a while, especially if he had kicked her out. Maybe seeing her last night with someone else had stirred old feelings for her, making the old man jealous. How urgent could anything he had to say really be?

  The barn door slammed. Footsteps echoed on the ladder rungs. A man poked his head up. He was probably the same age as the sheriff. “Son, if you know what’s good for ya, you’ll get on your horse and ride. But put some pants on first.” He chuckled.

  Mississippi glanced at Jessa, who hadn’t yet stirred. She looked at peace in her dreams. He hated to wake her. Maybe he shouldn’t tell her about the sheriff and what he’d said. She hadn’t been concerned one bit last night when they ran into him.

  “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine, an’ she’s always welcome here.” Stan disappeared down the ladder.

  Mississippi didn’t like leaving her without saying something. But he sensed Stan’s genuine concern. And the less she was seen with Mississippi, the better for her. If he got caught, he didn’t want any trouble tossed her way. He tugged on his clothes, then slipped quietly out of the loft.

  Stan was at the bottom of the ladder, waiting for him. “Where’s your horse?”

  “At the saloon. Why?”

  “‘Cause Sheriff Pike’s probably watchin’ this place. If he sees ya leave, he’ll know I lied. I don’t need that trouble. She don’t need it.” He nodded toward the loft. “And trust me, you don’t need it either.”