The Shotgun Arcana (44 page)

“It’s a small town … Deputy?” Maude said, looking at the star. “I do laundry for a lot of it. I’m sure we’ve passed each other.”

“I’m sure,” Kate said, but kept looking at Maude.

“What’s wrong, Maude?” Highfather asked. “You look tired. You under the weather?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Jon,” Maude said. “A long night, too little sleep. I’ve been helping Gillian with her food deliveries today,” Maude said. “I wanted to give her and Auggie as much of a break as I could. They deserve it.” Mutt and Constance knew what Maude was capable of, but she had worked very hard to keep her training a secret from Highfather, Jim and the rest of the town. Gran had always said that anonymity was crucial to survival.

“So what’s troubling you, Maude?” Mutt said.

“Like I said, Jon, I’ve been taking up Gillian’s route these last few days, and I think someone is trying to poison as much of the town as they can.”

“Poison?” Kate said.

“I stopped at several of Gillian’s customers’ homes this morning and no one answered. I found the door open at Mrs. Winters’ house and I found her on the floor of her parlor. There was a tray of food next to her and it had been dosed with some kind of poison. She was dead.”

Maude left out the part where she deftly picked the old lady’s door lock to enter and that she knew exactly the type of poison—belladonna dilute. Maude suspected the dose was designed more to sicken and weaken than kill, but the old, the young and the infirm, like Mrs. Winters, would fall to even the weakened toxin.

“Why would anyone want to do that?” Jim said.

“How did you know it was poisoned?” Kate asked Maude.

“It just seemed … not right,” Maude said. She could feel Kate’s stare. The woman was an excellent observer and detective and she was on to Maude, but there wasn’t time to worry about that now. “I found a few other of Gillian’s clients either sick or dead—the Raeburns, the DeWolfes. The survivors said it was two women claiming to be helping me and Gillian with her route.”

“What did they say they looked like?” Highfather said.

“Older woman and her daughter. German. Said their name was Brecht,” Maude said.

“I met them about a week ago,” Jim said. “They’re new in town.”

A terrible realization settled over Highfather. He felt it was right, deep in his bones. “Got to be Zeal’s people,” he said. “Damn it, he’s good. He sent advance scouts, infiltrators in. He’s running this like a war.”

“If those ladies are taking over Gillian’s route, Jonathan,” Mutt said, “they may have poisoned a third of the town by now.”

“Maude, can you and Deputy Warne try to follow up on these Brecht women? Shut them down, Kate, and see how much damage they’ve done?”

Maude frowned and looked at Kate. The new deputy caught Maude’s slight look of aggravation before she nodded. “Of course, Jon,” Maude said.

“Lead the way, Mrs.…?” Kate said.

“Stapleton,” Maude said. “Please call me Maude. Let’s go.”

Highfather turned to Jim. “Okay, Deputy, you get to riding to Camp Bidwell, right now, you hear. We may be more outnumbered than we thought. I’m going to go see Bick and find out all I can about Zeal and this skull he wants.”

“Constance is waiting for you outside,” Maude said as Jim walked to the door. “She asked my permission to ride with you to the fort. I figure it’s the safest place for her to be right now, till this Zeal thing blows over, if you don’t mind the company, Deputy?”

“How?” Jim said. “How did she know…? Okay, ma’am, I’ll take good care of her.”

Warne penned a hasty note at Highfather’s desk for the commander of Camp Bidwell. She made sure the ink was dry, folded it and handed it to Jim.

“That should do the trick, Jim,” Kate said, and patted Jim’s shoulder. “Be safe.”

“Don’t take no risks. There and back, Jim,” Highfather said. “See you in a day or two.”

Jim nodded to the sheriff and then departed. Mutt took Maude’s hand as Warne grabbed a gun belt and a pair of extra revolvers.

“Be careful,” Mutt said.

Maude squeezed his hand. “You be careful, you hear me, Deputy?”

“Ain’t I always?” Mutt said. He wanted to kiss her. Bad. But he didn’t. Their eyes held each other and then they parted.

Highfather handed Kate a rifle as she loaded her pockets with spare shells.

“You trust this woman?” Kate said softly.

“I do,” Highfather said. “Mutt vouches for her and that’s good enough for me.”

“She’s hiding something,” Kate said.

“I know. So are you,” Highfather said. “So am I. This place is built on secrets, Kate. Watch yourself. I want you around long enough to collect a paycheck.”

Kate looked at him and Highfather felt something old and full of dust and ash, crack in him, like a ray of sunlight warming ancient ice. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I will. You have a care, too, Jonathan.”

He handed her the rifle and their fingers ran across each other, briefly.

The two women departed and Highfather and Mutt stood there for a moment looking at the battered old iron door.

“Hell of a woman,” they both said, in unison, and then looked at each other. The two men laughed.

“If we survive the impending doom, maybe we can double-date,” Mutt said.

“Can’t,” Highfather said. “You got blood all over my fancy suit.”

“Fair enough,” Mutt said. “Now what’s our play, Jonathan?”

“You’re not going to like it,” Highfather said, putting his hand on Mutt’s shoulder. “For starters, you’re fired, Deputy.”

*   *   *

Outside the jail, Jim found Constance, dressed for a desert ride as she had been the other day. She was stroking Promise’s nose and holding the horse’s reins. Maude and Kate followed him out the door. Warne handed him the folded letter.

“You knew we were going to the fort together?” Jim said. “In your dream?”

“In the one I had last night,” Constance said. “It’s more of the same dream, us riding in the desert. To the fort.”

“Okay,” Jim said, climbing up onto Promise’s saddle. He reached down and pulled Constance up. She slid up onto the saddle and coiled her arms around his waist.

“I love you,” Maude said to her daughter.

“I love you, too, Mother,” Constance said. Then to Jim, “Ready?”

“Let’s ride,” Jim said. He snapped the reins, squeezed his knees into the horse’s flank and Promise began a steady, powerful gallop toward the cool morning desert.

The Knight of Wands (Reversed)

Highfather rode Bright down Main Street, headed toward the Paradise Falls. It was two days until Thanksgiving, one day till Ray Zeal had promised to return. Highfather had been sheriff here at the tail end of the first boom, through the bust and now into the new boom. He knew Golgotha, felt her pulse and her breath. The feel of the town was different this morning, meaner. Highfather felt whatever it was more than he could ever define it.

“Hey, Sheriff Highfather!” Carl Hockrey shouted from the east side of Main. Highfather pulled Bright to a halt next to Hockrey and a circle of locals he was talking with.

“Carl,” Highfather said with a nod. “Fellas, what can I do for you?”

“We were just wonderin’ … well, a whole lot of folks were wonderin’ if you and your deputies are actually going to get between this Zeal fella and Malachi Bick tomorrow?”

Highfather looked at Hockrey with a stare that could freeze Hell. “My job is to protect the people of this town,” he said, “
all
the people of this town, from anyone lookin’ to break the law or cause harm to an innocent.”

“Shit,” one of the men said. A near-toothless miner named Dixon, Highfather recalled. “If Malachi Bick is innocent, then the Dove’s Roost is fulla virgins,” Dixon said. The men laughed. Highfather didn’t.

“Look, Sheriff, be reasonable,” Hockrey said. “That cockchafer Bick has cheated plum near everyone in this town to line his own pockets. He put that tanner, Gaby, out of business because he couldn’t pay back the money to Bick’s damn bank and nobody can say he hasn’t just about ruined old Auggie over at the general store. Bick’s got it comin’. Way most folks see it, Ray Zeal is just acting as kinda the hand of God here. He’s gonna wipe the slate clean—balance it all out and make it square. Nobody wants to see you hurt over a scalawag like Bick.”

“Anyone,
anyone,
comes into my town and tries to harm a citizen, I will stop them,” Highfather said. “Up to and including shooting them dead. Someone has a legitimate beef with Malachi Bick, they can take it up with me or Circuit Judge Mack when he comes through next month. You think I’m gonna let some shit-house crazy gunslinger and his crew take the law into their own hands, just because you and your friends want a good show? Ain’t gonna happen, Carl.”

“Well, I hope you and your short britches and that damned redskin are ready for some hate, hell and discontent.” Old Dixon nearly spat. “’Cause I hear tell this Zeal fella is a true curly wolf and he’s not afraid of some old wives’ tale about you being a dead man, Sheriff, and he’s coming.”

Highfather locked his eyes on Dixon’s laughing face. The old miner paused and the laughter fell away as he looked into Highfather’s steel gray eyes.

“He should be,” Highfather said. “And I’ll be waiting for him.”

“I … I didn’t mean no disrespect,” Dixon stammered.

“Spread the word,” Highfather said to the assembled men. “Anyone who tries to help Ray Zeal and his men, anyone who looks on this as open season on Malachi Bick or anyone else, I will personally kill them where they stand. We clear on this Carl, gentlemen?”

The men were sullen and silent. They nodded like scolded children and dispersed. Highfather rode on to his appointment with the most powerful and hated man in town.

*   *   *

“You heal damn fast,” Highfather said to Bick as the saloon owner rose from behind his desk in his office at the Paradise Falls. “Either that, or you weren’t beat as bad as the stories going around claim you were.”

“A little bit of both,” Bick said. “Please, Sheriff, have a seat. Drink?”

“No, thanks. You can get me some answers before my town tears itself in two, though.”

Bick was in bloodred shirtsleeves and his black vest was unbuttoned. His eyes looked tired and a shadow of beard marked his face. It was the most disheveled Highfather had ever seen him.

“
Our
town,” Bick corrected. “I am after all one of Golgotha’s most beloved citizens.”

Highfather laughed for what it was worth and sat down in one of the chairs in front of Bick’s desk. Bick finished off another drink. “That you are,” Jon said. “You heard what happened up on Argent the other night? I had a little tussle with a bull by the name of Nikos Vellas. You know him?”

“Yes,” Bick said. “By reputation only. I wasn’t aware he was in Golgotha, or I would have dealt with him myself. He’s a very dangerous man, Sheriff.”

“Was,” Highfather said. “Ain’t no more.”

“I heard,” Bick said. “Very impressive. You did what a lot of men died trying to do. Someday you need to explain to me how much of your reputation is ghost story and how much is truth.”

“Sure,” Highfather said. “On the day you give me the truth about you. Who the hell is Ray Zeal, Malachi, and why is he gunning for you?”

“The prevailing opinion is that he is my comeuppance,” Bick said with a dry chuckle. “The agency by which I will be laid low for my villainy. The justice of God.”

“Lot of folks in this town figure you’re long overdue for a good ass-whooping,” Highfather said. “Maybe you are. Most of them haven’t figured out yet that men like Zeal don’t just beat down, they kill, and even fewer have sussed out he’s lying about leaving the town be if they stay out of his way. Their hatred of you is blinding them.”

“You believe in God, Sheriff?” Bick asked.

“After this job, several,” Highfather said.

“No, no,” Bick said. “I mean, is there something, some singular power that gives you comfort in the darkest parts of the night? When all seems lost, when you are in the depths of grief or you see the face of evil in this world, staring at you? Do you believe?”

“No,” Highfather said. “I don’t. Any true comfort I ever found in this world was in people, not higher powers.”

“Perhaps that is the reason you do so well here,” Bick said. “You have no horse in this race.”

“My parents are very religious,” Highfather continued, “and I guess I was raised that way, too, but life either sets that in you, or grinds it down.”

“The war?” Bick asked, standing and refreshing his drink. “Is that what killed it in you?”

“Are you drunk?” Highfather asked Bick as he sat back down at his desk with drink in one hand and bottle in the other.

“I am having, for lack of a better term, a crisis of faith. You may not believe this, Sheriff, but even a villain like myself has faith in something … in God. My God. Living here, I know there are many, but mine … my faith is like … home for me.” Bick laughed and drank more. “Very much like home. And I am struck by how much evil and cruelty He allows here, especially my own.

“I was raised in a faith as well, Sheriff, and was told that God has a plan, a subtle, often shrouded one, but a plan, and the design of it was always so beautiful to me, but then I had a little talk with Ray Zeal, saw what he was capable of and how much God was willing to allow him to do, and I felt my faith shiver like glass in a strong wind. That was a long time ago, and I have fallen very far indeed from grace.” He laughed and drained his glass again. “Very far indeed.”

“I hear tell you had some girl with you when Zeal jumped you,” Highfather said.

“My daughter,” Bick said. “Newly arrived to visit from San Francisco. She hates me, only took a few days. I am nothing if not efficacious.”

“Look, Bick, I’m not here to nursemaid you or be your confessor. I’m sorry for whatever happened with your girl and that you are feeling low, but in about twenty-four hours, Zeal and his men are going to tear apart Golgotha, kill a lot of people and finish by killing you. I need answers, I need you to crawl the hell out of that bottle and help me save you.”

Bick blinked. “It really is that simple for you, isn’t it? Whatever evil, soul-destroying thing lumbers your way, you just shoot it or punch it. Save everyone and go on your merry way. How I envy you, Sheriff.”