Miner's Daughter (40 page)

“Oh.” She settled back against the chair
cushions. “Is he all right?”

She looked so unhappy, Tony’s heart flipped.
Relenting slightly, he said, “I’ll see if he’s fit to come in here.
I’m sure he’d like to be with you as much as you’d like him to be.”
There. If she wouldn’t marry him after that magnanimous speech,
Tony didn’t know her.

That reminded him, he still hadn’t proposed.
What the hell! A man could only do so many things at once. He
hurried out to the front lobby, not wanting to miss Martin and the
perpetrators.

The doctor arrived before Martin and the
sheriff did, circumstance for which Mari was grateful. She was in a
lot of pain.

But Doc Crabtree soon had dabbed carbolic on
the worst of her scrapes and scratches and applied gauze bandages,
rebandaged her foot and ankle, given her a bottle containing a
laudanum solution that she was to take if she needed it, and told
her she’d be all right.

“Eventually,” he added, replacing the roll of
bandages, considerably diminished now, in his black bag. You had a
narrow escape, young lady.”

“Don’t I know it.” Mari stared gloomily at
her bandaged leg. The bandage ran halfway up her calf, but the
purple bruising went all the way to her knee. The doctor told her
she couldn’t have done a better job of spraining it if she’d tried.
She didn’t think it was funny.

“But I suppose everything will be all right
now. I understand they caught the fellows behind all the so-called
accidents.”

“Yes, Martin told us. They’re going to come
here and explain everything.” She scowled at the door, through
which not a soul had passed since Doc Crabtree’s arrival. If they’d
lied to her, she’d be extremely angry.

But before the doctor had left the room, a
procession of people entered. Tony wasn’t with them, but Martin,
George, Ben and several other Peerless people accompanied the
sheriff. Sheriff Jones was leading a handcuffed man sporting a
bandaged head whom Mari vaguely recognized as being one of the
stage crew. She gazed at the man curiously.

They were all milling around in front of the
door as if they were trying to decide where to sit, when Tony’s
voice sounded behind them in a peremptory command. “Out of the way,
everybody. Dog coming through.”

The men parted like the Red Sea for Moses,
and Mari’s heart was touched when she saw Tony, struggling under
the weight of her oversized dog. “Oh, Tony!” she cried. “You
carried him to me!”

Scowling hideously, Tony said, “Yeah, I
carried him, the big lug.”

Despite his irritated words, Tony was as
gentle as gentle could be when he laid the monster dog on the rug
beside Mari’s chair. She hadn’t thought she could love him—Tony,
that is to say—any more than she already did, but his care with
Tiny revealed her mistake. She didn’t think she’d ever get over her
love for Tony Ewing. Pathetic, but true. She sighed deeply. “Thank
you, Tony.”

“You’re welcome.” He stood, glowered down at
the dog for a moment, then turned.

Mari was startled when Tony caught sight of
the villain. His eyebrows soared, his eyes all but started from
their sockets, and he blurted out, “Sidney! What the devil are you
in handcuffs for? What happened to your head?”

The sheriff asked, “You know this man, Mr.
Ewing?”

“Know him? Sure, I know him. He’s one of my
father’s men. One of the guys who came out here with me to work on
the picture.”

Mari gasped. “Good heavens.”

Sidney, head bowed and looking as if he
wished he could fade into the woodwork, said not a word.

Tony exploded when the light dawned. “Do you
mean to tell me you’re behind these accidents, Sidney?”

Sidney remained mute.

Tony took a step toward Sidney, who backed up
an equal distance. He’d probably have backed up even farther, but
Sheriff Jones didn’t budge, and the chain on his handcuffs wouldn’t
let him. “Why, for the love of God? Are you insane?”

Still Sidney didn’t speak. After frowning at
him for a minute, the sheriff, looked up at Tony. “I’m afraid it’s
worse than that, Mr. Ewing.” He gave Sidney an ungentle nudge.
“Speak up, Sidney. It’s got to come out someday. You’ve already
told me about it. You’d best make your confession to Mr. Ewing
here. It’s his lookout after all.”

Looking as if he’d rather be dead than
explaining the matter to Tony and Martin, Sidney at last lifted his
head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ewing. We didn’t mean to hurt nobody.”

“Who’s we?” Tony demanded.

“Me and Clifford. But we really didn’t mean
to hurt nobody.”

Tony snorted. Because he was close enough,
Mari whacked his arm to get him to be quiet. He glared at her but
didn’t make any more noises.

Sheriff Jones put in, “When the citizens of
Mojave Wells realized I’d arrested these two, they got a bit out of
hand. Clifford’s still out from being hit by Clyde.” Clyde was the
local blacksmith.

Mari murmured, “Oh, my.” Her friends in
Mojave Wells had attacked her injurers. Mari’s heart swelled with
pride for her fellow citizens. It was nice to belong to a community
that took care of its own.

“It’s your father, you see,” Sidney went on
in a quavery voice. “The insurance on the picture would have paid
more than if the picture went into distribution. Mr. Ewing—the
senior Mr. Ewing, I mean—paid me a big bonus to sabotage the
production.”

“My father is behind this?” Tony’s eyes were
fairly starting from his head. “My father?”

Sidney nodded miserably. “Yes, sir. I’m
sorry, sir.”

“My father?” Tony’s voice rose. “My goddamned
old man nearly killed the woman I love for money?” He’d begun
shouting. “I’ll kill the bastard! I’ll give him money! I’ll give
him a bullet in the brain pan! I’ll ruin him, damn his eyes!”

Because she was still close enough to grab a
hunk of his shirtsleeve, and she wanted clarification on a
particular matter, Mari yanked hard.

Tony turned abruptly. “What?”

“Tony, calm down,” Mari begged.

“Calm down?” he roared. “Calm down? I’m going
to rip that son of a bitch apart with my bare hands! He almost
murdered my wife!”

“Wait a minute, Tony,” Mari said.

“No! Damn it, Mari, you might have been
killed!”

“I know it, Tony, but I need to ask you
something.”

“Damn it, I’m in no mood to be answering
questions!” He turned to Sidney, shook off Mari’s restraining hand,
and barreled up to the man. The sheriff held him back from doing
mayhem to Sidney by barring Tony’s advance with his billy club.

“Calm down, son. Nobody got killed. I’m sure
it’s a bad shock to you—”

“A
shock
?” As if he were incapable of
continuing, Tony stood still and shook his head hard.

Mari watched intently. Dagnabbit, had he said
something about Sidney hurting the woman he loved? His wife? If he
had, was that woman herself? Mari Pottersby? Because she didn’t
trust luck or hunches or wildly delicious daydreams, Mari felt a
compelling need to clarify the comment before falling either into
raptures or despair.

But it had to be her, didn’t it? There
weren’t any other women around here, were there? Well, there was
Judy Nelson, but if Tony was in love with her, Mari’d shoot
herself. No, no, no. She meant, she’d be surprised, was what she
meant.

Mrs. Nelson appeared at the door, and
everyone turned to stare at her. Clearly ill at ease under the
scrutiny of so many people, two of whom were bandaged up and one of
whom wore handcuffs, she twisted her hands in her apron and said
with a squeak in her voice, “Your long-distance call’s come
through, Mt Ewing.” She didn’t wait for anyone to respond or for
Tony to quit gaping, but fled as soon as she’d delivered her
message.

Silence prevailed in the room. Mari’s
attention was focused exclusively on Tony, who was blinking at
where Mrs. Nelson had stood as if he’d just seen an apparition.
Suddenly he lunged forward, and the group of men jumped
backward.

“My father,” Mari heard him say as he headed
out the door. “My damned father. I’ll talk to him, all right. I’ll
talk to him

His voice reeked with menace, and Mari wished
she could hurry out with him and try to calm him down some.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t move. Not only that, but if Tony’s
father truly was behind these awful things—and Mari could conceive
of no reason to doubt Sidney’s veracity, especially since he’d
confessed under extremely perilous conditions—Mari thought the
horrid old beast could use a good talking-to.

Maurice Ewing received more than a mere
talking-to from his son. Even in the parlor, Mari and the rest of
the folks gathered there could hear snippets of his roaring
condemnation. The words bastard, kill, dog, love, and lawsuit
seemed to prevail, although many others filtered through the Mojave
Inn’s thick plaster walls. Mari wasn’t sorry the evil Mr. Ewing was
getting a good dressing-down from Tony, but she still needed to
clarify matters with Tony herself.

She didn’t get the chance until later that
afternoon. The doctor had provided her with a pair of crutches and
showed her how to use them, but he had advised her to sit still
with her foot elevated for three or four days before she tried
getting around much. Exhausted and sore, Mari complied with
something akin to relief. There was something about being laid up,
she realized, and knowing she couldn’t work even if she wanted to,
that allowed her to relax.

After the men had cleared out of her room,
she fell asleep in her chair, Tiny snoring peacefully at her side.
When she awoke, it was to the aroma of fried chicken, which Mrs.
Nelson brought her for lunch. Mari was grateful, although the
chicken did bring to mind her own chickens, and she asked Mrs.
Nelson about them.

“Don’t worry about your garden or your
chickens, Mari,” Mrs. Nelson advised her. “Your Mr. Ewing hired
Judy to go out to the cabin and take care of it while you’re laid
up.”

Her Mr. Ewing? Mari didn’t feel up to asking.
Instead, she said, “How kind of them both. But it’s too far for
Judy to walk, Mrs. Nelson. I don’t want her to have to—”

Mrs. Nelson cut her off with a laugh in
mid-protest. “Don’t be silly, Mari. There’s nothing the least bit
shabby about your Mr. Ewing. He’s hired a man to drive her there in
the morning and in the evening, so it won’t take hardly any time at
all, and you can be sure your place is secure and your chickens are
fed.”

“How . . . how nice of them both,” Mari
murmured, too dazed to think of anything more cogent to say.

Mrs. Nelson patted her hand. “Don’t be silly,
girl. You know we’d have taken care of you even without Mr. Ewing’s
money, but it’s nice to know he cares so much” And with a wink,
Mrs. Nelson left Mari to her fried chicken, which was
delicious.

Mari hadn’t realized how hungry she was until
she recalled she hadn’t eaten a bite since breakfast, and it was
now getting on toward four in the afternoon. Blast it, where was
Tony?

Tiny, smelling chicken, awoke from his
drug-induced slumber and slowly staggered to his feet. Eyeing him
critically, Mari decided it was a good thing he had four of them,
or he’d never be able to stand. She pulled the meat from a leg
bone. “Here, boy, this isn’t enough, but maybe it’ll keep your
tummy from growling until we can get some more food for you.”

“What’s going on in here?” an imperious voice
demanded from the doorway.

Looking up from her plate, Mari beheld Tony.
Instantly her appetite fled, her heart raced, and the blood began
pounding in her veins. “Tony.”

He stomped toward her. “Why are you giving
Tiny your dinner? Are you sick? Aren’t you hungry? Do you want
something else? Do you feel queasy?”

“Hold on there, Tony,” she pleaded. “I only
gave Tiny a little chicken meat because he said he was hungry.”
Interpreting the look on Tony’s face and shooting a glance at her
dog, she amended, “That is, he looked hungry.” She didn’t expect
anyone else to understand the communication extant between herself
and Tiny, although it existed.

“Well, stop it,” Tony commanded her. “I’ll
get something for Tiny to eat.”

Before Mari could voice approval or her
thanks, he was gone. She sighed. “Gee whiz, Tiny, I really need to
talk to him.” She heard the thump of Tiny’s tail on the floor. “Oh,
all right, I’m glad he went to get you some food first.” She gave
her dog a mock frown. “I don’t want you eating all of my
dinner.”

Tony came back pretty soon with a big bowl
overflowing with scraps for Tiny. “Here. This ought to do the
beast.”

Although she didn’t approve of people calling
her dog a beast, Mari thanked him.

So did Tiny, although he didn’t do so in
words.

As soon as Tony had straightened from putting
the bowl on the floor, Mari said, “Tony, we have to talk. I need to
ask you something.”

“Not until after you’ve finished with your
meal. You have to keep your strength up, Mari. You’ve been through
an ordeal.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but I still need to talk
to you.”

“You’re not going to do it now. I’m going to
talk to you while you eat.”

She sighed but knew it would be useless to
argue.
It’s probably because he’s so darned rich
, she
thought sourly.
He’s not used to anybody doing anything unless
he gives his approval first
.

Still, she was very hungry, so she
capitulated without argument. As she ate fried chicken, mashed
potatoes, green beans, and sliced tomatoes, Tony talked.

“It was my father,” he started out in his
blunt way. “He said he has no faith in the pictures, but he figured
he might as well make some money from them. His idea, however, was
to earn it on the shady side, the bastard.”