CHAPTER TEN
The day was another scorcher. The drought out in the prairie
was the worst I’d ever seen. Everybody in Dodge was a little edgy about a
prairie fire, and I couldn’t blame them. All it would take was one fool with a
cigar and the whole of Dodge could burn to the ground. But that wasn’t the kind
of thing a Marshal can do something about. The law only reaches so far.
The kid was with Shiloh for the day – I’d convinced the
ex-cowboy to take the boy out hunting, with instructions to keep to traps and
away from guns. If he was determined to keep running, catching some game would
be a useful lesson. There was still no sign of anyone looking for him.
I sent Chester over to Clay Richard’s place to ask Francie to
come see me when she was feeling up to it. I knew if I went over to her place
the day after her husband had been shot I’d only make things worse for her in
town, and I probably wouldn’t get anything useful out of her.
While Chester was out I went through the answers to my
telegrams about the kid. There were a few runaways folks were looking for, but
none that matched mine. I wondered if I should even be bothering. Another
couple of years and he’d be off West without a care anyway. But I’d hate to
have his ma worrying about him.
Chester came in. “She’ll be here in a minute, Mr. Dillon. She
said she wasn’t feelin’ too well, and for me to go ahead.”
“I suppose that’s understandable,” I said. “After all that
happened yesterday. Francie’s always had a delicate constitution.”
Chester nodded and said, “And I ran into Mr. Green from over
at the Allafraganza. He asked if you could come over to the town hall ‘bout
one, Mr. Dillon.”
“Did he say what for?”
“He said they was havin’ a businessman’s meetin’, and they’d
appreciate it if you’d drop by.”
“I’m sure they would.”
Chester nodded and glanced out the door behind him. “Here
comes Mrs. Richards,” he said. “Do you want me to leave, Mr. Dillon?”
I stared at him. “You stay right where you are, Chester.”
“Yessir.” It was almost sheepish.
Francie had finally put on mourning clothes, though perhaps
there was a little too much ankle showing. She looked like she’d dressed
up for a play where she was acting the widow.
“Hello, Matt,” she said.
“Hello, Francie. Come in, come in.”
“I shouldn’t be here, Matt,” she told me. “You shouldn’t’ve
asked me here.”
“Couldn’t be helped, Francie,” I said, holding out a chair
for her.
She sat down and glanced at Chester, who was busy brushing
his hat. “Matt – I hear you shot Adam.”
“He didn’t give me a choice, Francie,” I said. It wasn’t
quite true. I’d pushed him, just like those bums had. I’d lost my temper. I’d
stopped the mob from rushing the jail. That was something. But it didn’t stop
me from feeling raw about it.
“I know,” she said, though she didn’t. “Matt – I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For asking you to –“
“Throw Ziegler to the mob?” I said. “That’s alright, Francie.
You weren’t thinking clear. But now I’ve got to ask you a few questions. About
Clay.”
“You already asked me, the day he –“
“I asked you where he might go,” I said. “There wasn’t time
for anything more. But now that it doesn’t matter, I’ve got a few more things
I’d like to know. Like this – why did he try and rob that bank?”
Francie shook her head. “How would I know?”
“You’re his wife, Francie. Wives know their men. Even if they
aren’t friendly,” I added.
“He wasn’t a bad man,” said Francie. “But he had his moods.”
“Most men do.”
“He beat me.”
“I know,” I said.
“I should’ve come to you, but –“
“I know. He was your husband.”
“Yes.”
She’d done well, not crying. But the tears were there behind
her eyes. I was sitting on the edge of my desk and she fell against me. Her
breath was coming in sobs and her shoulders shook. I held her and tried not to
smell her hair. It was the smell of my youth. Chester was focused on some
invisible spot on his hat.
“You had a fight with him, over me,” she said.
“I told him not to hit you,” I said. “That’s all. There
wasn’t any fight.”
“How did you know?”
“Francie,” I said, “everybody knew.”
She looked down at her hands. “And if I’d come to you?”
“I’d have put him in jail.”
She looked into my eyes. “Just that?”
“I might have hit him once or twice. But no more than that.”
“Matt!” Doc came bursting through the door. “Matt! I – oh.”
I didn’t recall ever telling him to call me Matt. “Yeah, Doc,
what is it?”
Doc face broke into a broad grin. “Am I interrupting?”
“What is it, Doc?” I said again.
“Heh. Autopsy’s finished. I examined his liver and lights as
–“
“This is Mrs. Richards, Doc,” I said.
Doc’s hat popped off his head like I’d shot it. “Oh!” he
said. “I beg your pardon ma’am. You know I meant no disrespect for the
departed.”
Francie sniffled and I said, “Can you come back in a few
minutes, Doc?”
“Sure, sure.” Again with the grin.
“Thanks, Doc.”
On his way out, the Doc bowed to Francie. “Please accept my
condolences, Mrs. Richards.”
“Chester,” I said, “close the door. Now, Francie, I’ve still
got to ask you – do you know why he tried to rob that bank?”
She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and said she didn’t.
“He was out the other night,” I said, “and he was celebrating
something. Do you have any idea what that was?”
“Celebrating?” she asked. “No. No, I’ve no idea.”
It’s always hard to tell with women, but I thought she was
lying. I’ve been lied to a lot. You get to know the feeling.
I tried for another few minutes, but there was nothing else
to get out of Francie – at least, nothing I wanted that she would tell me. She
had lots to say about Clay, but none of it helped me. I let her cry her fill,
then sent her home with Chester while I sat back and thought about what a man
could celebrate that his wife wouldn’t know about.
Or that his wife would lie about.
