Mississippi

by J. B. Richard

  “Like I’ve just been dragged behind a horse.”

  Doc softly chuckled. Jessa’s face, on the other hand, was stone sober, except her eyes were full of tears. She hadn’t found his wit funny.

  “Do you think you could hold down some broth?” Doc pressed a palm against Mississippi’s forehead.

  “Reckon I could eat a whole lot more.”

  Prodded by his words, Jessa willingly went to work. She disappeared out the door, then returned a few minutes later. Under one arm was a sack of flour, gripped in her hand a bunch of dandelions, and hanging around her other arm was a basket full of cooking supplies, a tin of coffee, and a loaf of bread. Where had it all come from?

  Mississippi raised a brow.

  There was one rickety old chair, and a barrel sat on end, which she plunked the basket on. Doc must’ve have read his face as Jessa whipped out a frying pan that had been left on the hearth.

  “We went to her cabin to gather some things that she wished to bring back to town. I figured it was safer if she stayed with me for a while. That’s when we found your hat and the blood smear trailing across the yard.”

  So she had tracked him through the mountain with Doc’s help. Not many women could have done that. Jessa was something.

  The little talking he’d done and all the thinking had him tuckered. He closed his eyes, wearing a happy little grin on his face. For now, a peace had come to him. He was no longer stranded without means. It looked as if he would recover. How long it would take to regain his full strength, it was hard to tell, but soon as he could ride, he would track down Clint and the others and be smarter about it this time. Being thought dead would give him an advantage since they wanted to play three to one. Mississippi could draw fast with either hand, and thankfully, neither one was injured.

  Mississippi woke and ate his fill of dandelion gravy over a chunk of bread and washed it down with good coffee.

  Doc left them the next day after giving Jessa a stern fatherly warning not to fish or trap far from the shack and not to hunt with her gun if she could avoid it. A rifle shot, as they all knew, even on a day when the wind wasn’t blowing, could carry for miles. They didn’t need to attract any unwanted attention, including the Apache.

  That’s when Mississippi warned them about Clint wanting the other half of the money. Jessa and Doc had exchanged frightened looks. They had to have known all along that messing with a rattler could get them bit, and Clint was not one to toy with.

  Doc would return in a few days to check in and refresh their meager supplies.

  The following day, Jessa helped Mississippi sit up to eat. Had she not been there, he would have considered it pure hell. He was trapped in a bruised body that screamed every time he moved an arm or leg.

  A week passed in that manner. On the seventh evening, he stiffly hobbled outside and inhaled the fresh air. Somehow, the leaves looked greener, and the animal calls that echoed through the woods sounded gay, as if it were spring and they’d finally come awake after a long winter slumber.

  Jessa walked up from the creek, carrying the bucket of water in one hand and a big dead snapping turtle in the other. Her gaze met his, and she frowned. “You should be resting. Now git back inside.”

  She was a sassy one, inwardly making him smile. “Stop your frettin’, woman. I’m feelin’ spry.”

  “Well, ya look awful.” She waltzed past him into the house.

  He followed. She set down the bucket, then pulled the knife from his belt that hung on a peg with his holster and pistol. First, she cut off the turtle’s head, then began to carve off the shell.

  Mississippi eased down on the cot, more winded from his short time in the air than he’d expected. Each day, he was getting stronger. Soon, very soon, he would be strong enough to ride. Just sitting astride a horse didn’t take much strength. But with his health worn down so, he might not be as fast with a gun and, with him in no shape for a hand-to-hand fight, they had no choice. They needed to stay put a little while longer—until his strength returned—so he didn’t get himself killed.

  It wasn’t easy for him to sit still for the time being. He needed to end this for Jessa’s sake. Clint was hunting her, and Mississippi knew where she would be safest once he went after Clint. The problem he faced was how to get her back to town without finding trouble along the way. Clint, posse, or Apache—Mississippi, at present, was no match for any of them. His reflexes were too stiff and slow.

  Another worry was that Doc hadn’t shown up yet. Where was he? What could be taking him so long? Maybe he’d had trouble with Pike or Curry or even Butch.

  “Suppose you don’t like turtle is why you’re make that sour face.” Jessa had the shell off and was cutting out the meat, dropping it in small pieces into the cook pot.

  “Reckon you could cook rat and make it taste good.” He said nothing of his worries, not wanting to give her any ideas about slipping off to check on Doc. Though, with them being good friends, she’d probably thought about it once or twice already but wouldn’t leave Mississippi while he was on the mend.

  Doc was probably tending to a patient. Maybe Butch was festering an infection, fever and all. That wouldn’t be something Doc could just walk away from. Besides, for now, Mississippi and Jessa were okay. No one had found them, and he still needed some time to heal.

  “Whose place is this?”

  What made him even ponder whose cabin they were in, he didn’t know, but he didn’t want to be found by chance or intention. Flipping the subject might change his demeanor, and she wouldn’t ask any more questions that could lead to talk of Pike, Curry, or being captured and killed. For a man who wanted to get well, the sooner the better, he knew his end was coming, and it would come fast and harsh.

  “Sheriff Pike’s.” She said it casually, as though they weren’t being hunted by that man.

  Mississippi furiously started to get up. His fists banged the so-called tabletop, and a rush of anger heated his face. “Are you out of your mind, woman, bringing us here?” This wasn’t a safe place for them. He was a wanted man, for God’s sake, and the sheriff had been with that posse who would certainly have hanged him had they gotten their hands on him. They were lucky the sheriff hadn’t shown up. How could she do something that dumb? Did she want to see him hang?

  “Sit down. He hasn’t come here in years. Look at the place.” She jerked her arms, waving in an irritated manner, as though she were saying she was smarter than that, and pointing out her reasons for bringing him there.

  He took a close look around. Except for the spot where she cooked and the work area she had cleaned, the mantel, the windowsill, and the pegged shelf were covered in inches of dust. Cobwebs hung down from the ceiling in all four corners. And the cold ashes that should have been dug out of the fireplace a long time ago were spilled out onto the hearth and now tracked across the already dirty floor. From top to bottom, the place was a filthy mess. The roof sagged, and moss grew on the shingles both on the inside and out. Outside wasn’t much better. Earlier, he’d noticed clumps of weeds stood tall at each cornerstone and vines climbed high along the doorframe. No one had been there in a long time. She was right.

  “He built this place not long after his wife died.” Her eyes teared up. “They had a picnic spot a few miles from here, and he built her a cabin there, nothing fancy, just something for the two of them to slip off and get away from town. Without her, he couldn’t bear to go there anymore, so he tried to start over with this place of his own, just him, no one else. That didn’t work out for him either. Too lonely, I suppose.”

  How did she know all that? Her place was a few miles from there. Was that the cabin she’d just spoken of, the picnic spot? Why would Jessa be living in the cabin Sheriff Pike had built for his wife, since the man had almost run her out of town? None of it made sense.

  Mississippi eyed her, every detail. The color of her eyes, the build of her nose, her small features. None of that matched, but the heart-shaped face was a mirror image of Pike’s.
The picture in Doc’s office of the town’s official opening popped into his head. The girl. He now knew why she had looked familiar.

  “Did they have any children?”

  His gut twisted, waiting for the answer. Could it be that Sheriff Pike was Jessa’s father? It would explain her free-spirited attitude toward him that night in town and why he was so curious about who was with her. A rebellious daughter and a concerned father, that made sense.

  “Yes, a daughter. But he doesn’t have much to do with her anymore. She don’t live in Piketown,” she said as though she were talking about someone other than herself. Placing the pot on the fire without pause, she then turned and began to clean up the scraps.

  It still didn’t explain why her father had considered running her out of town. For some reason, maybe because Mississippi was a wanted criminal, she held back from admitting the truth. That Sheriff Pike was her pa. Perhaps she believed Mississippi would be put off by such a thing. He did now understand what Porter meant when he’d said she could get him killed. Her pa, if he caught Mississippi, would hang him. That was a straight-up fact, an added complication to a situation that was already problematic.

  At the present time, he would not press her to reveal the details of a pain-filled past. Her mother had died, her father estranged, leaving her to make do and fend for herself. Put together, along with her self-reliant demeanor, it said a lot about her life. Obviously, nothing in this world had come easy to her. During the past few days, there was a glow on her face that could not be mistaken as anything but happiness, and he didn’t want to go ruining it by pressing her for details she clearly wasn’t eager to share.

  With a hard man such as Pike rearing a daughter in a wild, untamed country and without a mother to show Jessa the softer side of life, Mississippi could imagine her childhood must have been awful to endure at times. Though, her past, as rough as it may have been, didn’t seem to be holding her back from gaining happiness. There was a rosy glow about her cheeks, actually her entire being. And with the exception of their small argument earlier, anytime she had looked at him, she beamed a big beautiful smile. Simply put, all it took to make her shine was the two of them together. It didn’t seem to matter where.

  She had a gift, the ability to overshadow the circumstances that had brought them there with her gleaming hope for a better future. She was a dreamer. He was much more realistic. Their time together, alone there in that faraway place where no one spoke to them but the wind, would not last. His minutes were ticking quickly by.

  Soon, a day would arrive, and he and Clint would square off—if the posse didn’t find one or the other first. Either way, the end result would be the same. Mississippi would take his final breath, by bullet or rope. And Jessa… He couldn’t bear to think about how that happiness on her face would be gone for a time, until the memory of him faded. That thought bothered him severely. Not that he wanted her to pine over him. That wasn’t it at all. He was a cad for living the way he had, and now for how he’d be leaving her and the baby by getting strung up or having lead pumped into him. He wished he could change everything, but that was out of his control.

  Jessa handed him a plate of turtle stew. He ate heartily, thinking he should have some fear of dying, but he didn’t. His fear was wrapped up around what would happen to her and the baby once he was gone. He deserved what was coming to him. Unfortunately, he didn’t see a way of clearing his name, not for his sake, but to save Jessa’s reputation. Once word got out that she was having his baby, the two of them, though innocent of his crimes, might be looked down on or treated unkindly. But there might be a way to fix that, except it would require a talk with Pike, which seemed out of question at the moment.

  A horse snorted outside the door.

  “Doc must be back.” Jessa set her plate on the chair where she had just been sitting and strolled to the door, relief on her face. Doc was four days overdue.

  She opened the door, but not wide. “Sheriff Pike.” The name stammered off her tongue in a profoundly stunned tone.

  Mississippi forgot his aches and leaped to his feet. His rig and pistol hung on the other side of the room on a peg. Jessa closed the door behind her with a snap. In one long stride, Mississippi grabbed his gun belt, slung it around his waist, and hastily fastened it. His Colt now in his hand, he stood next to a small, boxy window that held no glass. An animal skin had been nailed up, covering the opening. With the end of his revolver, he lifted the flap slightly and peered out.

  Maybe Pike didn’t know he was inside, but why else would he be there? It was possible he’d been worried when Doc had returned to town without Jessa and just come searching for her. Mississippi didn’t believe that was it. Sheriff Pike sat tall astride his horse, looking official. That man was on the hunt, and he’d found what he was looking for. At least in part, it was not his daughter that brought him far from town.

  His horse was lathered and panting, and sweat beaded Pike’s face. “Jessa, I need to talk to your friend.”

  “He ain’t here.” Being caught off guard by his unexpected appearance showed. Her voice quivered, and the usually saucy tongue had no bite. “He got on his horse and left.”

  She was a horrible liar. The uneasy weight shift was the first thing to give her away, followed by a gulp that could’ve been heard a mile away, and the slump of her shoulders certainly wasn’t a sign of confidence in what she’d just blurted out.

  “Girl, I’ve always been able to tell when ya ain’t telling me the truth. You can’t look me in the eyes. Besides, one of Sheriff Curry’s deputies found his horse wandering. It’s at the livery. They’ve been searching this area. You’re lucky they didn’t find ya.”

  Her head turned left then right, likely searching the brush and trees beyond. Mississippi knew what she was thinking: Curry and his deputies were out there, hunkered down, ready to make a stand, and she knew him well enough to know he would fight. There wasn’t a back door, and the window near the rear of the shack was too small for escape.

  Mississippi opened the door and stepped outside. Curry, too much the glory hunter, wouldn’t wait aside in the brush. He would want to do the killing. If Sheriff Curry wasn’t there—and it didn’t appear that he was—then it was doubtful that his men were standing by. So it looked like just him and Pike. Even if Curry had been there, Mississippi wouldn’t hide behind a skirt. Jessa was caught in the middle, and he wanted her out of there.

  “Woman, git in the cabin.” He only said it once, and she hustled past him. The door smacked shut.

  Her sniffles carried out and into their ears. Two men. One would live, but she carried the heartache of loving both. Mississippi didn’t want to shoot it out with her father. If he could, he would just wing the man, take his horse, then ride off. It was Clint that Mississippi wanted. And to return the money. He wasn’t fully recovered, too weak to face Clint, but maybe his calling to do so had come early.

  Sheriff Pike’s reputation wasn’t that he was fast on the draw, but dead accurate. Jessa might lose them both today, and Mississippi would not get to face Clint. Dammit, there wouldn’t be anybody left to stand between Clint and Jessa. What Mississippi needed was a partnership with this man itching to get a rope around him.

  They shrewdly eyeballed one another.

  “I ain’t here to jail ya.”

  “That’s good, ‘cause I don’t want to have to shoot ya off that horse.”

  “Bite your tongue, boy,” snapped the old badger with his tin star glinting in the sun. He shook his head, digesting the sight of Mississippi’s battered face, torn clothing stained with blood, and his wavering posture brought on by standing too long. Though, it had only been a few minutes. “By the looks of ya, it wouldn’t take much to nail your hide to a tree.”

  Mississippi took a big risk then. The sheriff had said he wasn’t there to arrest him. He slid his pistol into his holster and raised his hands. “Parlay.”

  It was a peace offering that they would talk for now, and with that came a vow of
no weapons. Sheriff Pike nodded, then stepped down out of the saddle and walked his horse toward the cabin. He stopped shoulder to shoulder with Mississippi and looked over, his curious stare baffling.

  “You put her first. I appreciate that.” He stepped past, tying his horse to a limb, and the door flew open. Tears streaked Jessa’s face. Her chest heaved. Then she puffed out a deep sigh of relief. Had the sheriff just paid him a compliment for getting her out of the line of fire? Wouldn’t any man have done the same for his woman? Especially one carrying his child.

  Jessa stepped aside as Sheriff Pike, then Mississippi, filed inside. That showed trust, the sheriff turning his back on a wanted man who was armed. Mississippi sensed this meeting had little do with his crimes and was mostly about Jessa.

  Pike sat in the only chair, and Mississippi took a seat on the cot. They were facing one another, and Jessa stood quietly off to the side between them, chewing on her lip. There were still tears in her eyes. Although she had not shown any loyalty to that man, he was her father, and she might be pondering what side of the fence of right and wrong she should be standing on.

  Pike must have sensed it too. He didn’t beat around the bush. “I want you to take Jessa and run. I’ll keep Curry and his men off your tail as long as I can.” He pulled a small roll of bills out of his pocket. “Take this. It ain’t much, but it’s all I have. It should keep ya for a little while.”

  Jessa glided onto the cot with a merry grin on her face, sitting next to Mississippi. She slipped an arm around his and gave him a happy squeeze. Mississippi was stunned, but not about Jessa’s joyful reaction to her pa’s obvious concern for her well-being. Pike was a lawman, noted for his unbending ways, and those attributes were built on the foundation of the law, laws that this man had always enforced.

  Pike was watching the two of them closely, and Jessa kept smiling at her father. There was wetness in the man’s eyes. This affectionate behavior from her was obviously something he wasn’t used to. Pike’s gaze drifted to the floor where he seemed to study his boots for a few minutes before speaking.