Gasher Creek Part 2

Jack shook his head.

"No man comes to Gasher except he wants gold or wh.o.r.es. Unless he's a longrider looking to hide. You rob a bank?"

"No."

"Kill a man in some other city?"

"No," Jack said, sitting on the cot. It groaned, but held his weight.

"Just an odd jobs man," Don said, leaning back and picking his fingernails with the tip of his knife blade. "I done odd jobs for Hank. Long time ago, when I was a boy. Cutting wood, fetching bath water for the wh.o.r.es." He smiled. "That was my favorite. So what you done that landed you in here, you steal from Hank?"

Jack sighed, but didn't answer.

"Hey," Don said, his feet slipping off the desk. He pointed the knife. "I asked you a question."

The front door opened. Tracker entered the office and paused, staring at the knife.

"Hey Tom," Don said, slipping the knife back into its sheath. He relinquished the chair to his boss and fetched the stool from the corner.

"Everything fine, Deputy?" the sheriff asked.

"Peaches," Don said, setting the stool down beside the desk.

Tracker removed his hat and dropped it onto the desk. "You can go home now," he said, taking a seat. "Get some sleep."

"I think I'll stay a spell," Don said, the stool wobbling a little as he sat down.

Tracker stared at the stool a moment before shrugging and saying, "Suit yourself."

Both men turned to face Jack.

Questions were coming, but Jack didn't know how to answer them. He couldn't even tell a lie. A lie would mean that he secretly knew the truth.

"All right, Devlin," Tracker said, leaning forward in his chair. "Here's the deal. Hank says you did the murder."

"Murder!" Don exclaimed. "Who'd he murder?"

"Sally," Tracker said.

"The one with the red hair and the freckles on her neck?"

"She had red hair, yeah," Tracker said.

"Green eyes?"

"I'm not sure."

"Tiny feet?"

"How should I know?" Tracker said impatiently. He looked back at Jack. "There were no eyewitnesses to the murder, but Liza, Hank, Andy, myself and the Doc all saw you laying next to her. That's a lot of people, Devlin."

Jack tried to swallow, but his throat felt as dry as a snake hole.

"So now that Hank's shotgun isn't pointing at your b.a.l.l.s, let's talk," Tracker said. "What happened-you get rough with her? Was it because of your fight?"

With all the death, vomiting, and near shootings, Jack had forgotten about the fight.

"I saw that," Don said. "Was sitting on the hill behind The Ram when it happened. You sure got tore up by her. Did you see it, Sheriff?"

"Caroline did."

"Sally went to help Liza take in the wash. This one followed Sally out the back door and then bam!" Don clapped his hands. "She starts screeching at him like an alley cat. And this runt," he said, laughing. "This runt just stood there like a whipped puppy."

The darkness of the cell helped Jack relive it. Everyone in town stopped like a broken clock to gawk at them, at her, the red-haired whirlwind. "You leave me be," Sally had shouted, her eyes watery and mean. "I can take care of myself."

And he, the fool, the whipped puppy, made the mistake of whispering, "You can't."

"I can't?" she'd shouted, stepping so close to his face that they nearly touched noses. "I may look like your sister, but I ain't her, you get it, lunatic!"

"I just don't want to see you hurt," he'd said sheepishly.

"Well, you picked a fine place to come for that!" she'd yelled.

"Devlin?"

Jack blinked, back in the cell. The sheriff was staring at him. "You all right?"

Jack nodded. "She told me to leave her alone, and I did."

Don grunted.

Tracker shot him a look, then said, "Last night, you got a little drunk, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me what you remember."

Jack thought about it. "I was playing poker with Andy. I remember a red ace card ... drinking whiskey ... Foster tapping out Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair on the piano. Someone helped me to stand up, and then ... that's it. I remember nothing more."

"Don't remember being with her?"

"No."

"Nothing at all?

"No."

"Sure he don't," Don said. "I wouldn't remember killing a girl if I was in that cell neither. This dummy may not be such a dummy after all."

The sheriff sat back and steepled his fingers. After a moment, he said, "How did you and the wh.o.r.es relate?"

"Fine," Jack said. "I looked after them, made sure no man hurt them."

"Except Sally," Don interjected.

"Especially her," Jack said.

"Funny way to go about it, don't you think?"

Tracker slammed his palm on the desk, startling both Jack and Don.

"You're not helping," Tracker said. "Go home and catch some sleep. You'll need it for your watch tonight."

"For this runt?" Don said. "Seems a waste of bullets protecting him."

Tracker made to stand and Don slipped off the stool, raising his hands. "All right, Tom, keep tight, I'm going." He plucked his hat off a hook beside the door, smirked at Jack, and then shut the door behind him.

"So where you from, Devlin?" Tracker asked. It was a lame attempt to calm him, but Jack didn't mind talking to the sheriff. He didn't have the temper behind his words like the deputy did.

"A farm near Corn Pa.s.s," Jack said.

"Corn Pa.s.s? I know it," Tracker said.

"You do?" Jack said, genuinely surprised. Most folks who lived in Corn Pa.s.s didn't know where it was.

"Sure," Tracker said. "We were practically neighbors. I grew up in Bear Hunt. What brought you here, the gold?"

Jack shook his head. "Just moving through, I suppose ... looking for a bite of peace."

"Peace," Tracker said, grunting. "A fella will find more bite than peace in this town. Too bad you didn't head north to Lone Pine."

"Lone Pine?"

"A new settlement," Tracker said, lifting a badge off the desk and wiping his thumb over the surface. "Free land, all a man can plow. They chased the Chewak Indians off and now it's for the whites. It's cold, but quiet," he said. "Quieter than here."

The two men sat listening to the rusher traffic for a few moments. Then Tracker said, "Tomorrow I'll send word to Bear Hunt and they'll send a wagon and a deputy. You'll be delivered to Judge O'Donnell for your trial. He's an Irishmen, tough as they come, with six daughters. He hears you raped and killed a girl? You're liable to swing that same day. That is, unless you got something to tell me. Something that would prove your innocence."

"I-I ..." Jack stammered, and fell silent. He wanted to knock his head against the wall. He wanted to dig his fingers into his skull and rip out the memory, but he couldn't.

"Good news is you have about two days to think," Tracker said. "And if you do remember anything else, I promise I'll listen." The sheriff held the badge in his palm. "I wish I could do more for you. I'd like to think, one day, that a man will need more than the words and eyes of another man to prove him guilty, but ..." He trailed off, looking genuinely disappointed.

"Thank you," Jack managed.

Tracker nodded and set the badge back on the desk. "You hungry?"

"No."

"I'll get you some food from the hotel in case you change your mind," he said, standing. "It's decent."

As the sheriff crossed over to the door, Jack said, "Are you going to be here tonight?"

Tracker shook his head. "Sorry Devlin, no. Most days, you'd be right. But my missus is expecting and I don't like to leave her alone at night. However, I've arranged to have an extra man sit with Don tonight. And don't worry about Don, he'll keep you safe. He's not much to look at, but he likes his steady pay. You'll be fine."

"All right," Jack said. In his mind, he saw Don the deputy doing a jig as Hank Dupois sauntered into the office and blew his head off.

To sweeten the pot.

Mind if I have a go?

G.o.d dammit, Jack, your dream come true! Ride her, Jack, ride her!

Jack opened his eyes. He was lying below the cot, pressed against the bars. He must have fallen asleep although he wasn't sure when, or how he could've settled enough to close his eyes. Through the window above him, he saw night falling. Amazingly, he'd slept most of the day away.

He pulled himself up, his knees and back aching. His hair hung limp over his forehead, heavy and greasy. His arms itched from old sweat. His s.h.i.+rt smelled of vomit. He needed a bath but didn't see that happening in the near future.

There was no one in the office, but the sheriff must have returned because he found a plate of beans and bread sitting on the cot behind him. He sniffed it like a wary dog, then scooped two fingers in the beans and tasted them. Cold, but spicy. The bread hurt his teeth but tasted sweet, a bit of cinnamon in it. He'd never eaten hotel food before.

When he finished eating, he stood and stretched his legs. If he stood on his tiptoes, he could see out the window. A wagon rolled past. A boy chased after a dog.

He turned away and leaned on the bars.

I sigh for Jeanie with the light brown hair...

The sheriff said he had two days to think, but all he could think of were red ace poker cards, piano tunes, and whiskey. He remembered it as busy. The Ram was crowded with prospectors and ranchers. Delilah had to help Hank tend the bar. She served drinks with one hand and fended off drunks with the other.

Where those stairs got to?

Up, up, step lively Jack.

He rummaged through his trouser pockets, hoping to find anything that could jog his memory, but all he found were a few bits of lint.

The office door opened. Sheriff Tracker walked in, saying, "I don't like it." He carried a shotgun. Don the deputy entered next, followed by a man roughly the size of three haystacks. His hair was thick and ginger. He wore the makings of a beard. His hands were the size of bear paws. Mud stained his s.h.i.+rt and trousers.

"I don't much like it either," haystacks said, "but Pa went fis.h.i.+ng and I have to be there for the sow. She ripped herself something awful. You want I should fetch my cousin Sam?"

Tracker set the shotgun on the desk. "No, Ben, I don't trust your cousin Sam to stay for an hour. Not with the hotel a few steps away."

"True enough," Ben said. "He does love a drink."

"I love a drink," Don said. "Sam loves a trough."

Ben giggled and slapped Don's shoulder, nearly sending him into the wall. "You got that right, deputy."

"It'll be fine," Don said, wincing. "No one's gonna want the stick over there. He's hanging anyway, so why bother?"

Tracker lit a lantern. "I can think of one man who'd like the satisfaction."