I was still in pain a week after the beatings stopped. That's what happens when you have a professional thug do his best to extract information from you. Somehow it's even worse when you keep telling him the truth and he doesn't believe you.
It was just by some lucky twist-of-fate that I got away from Jed and his dim-witted partner Dickie, and trust me, I ran like the devil was after me. Well, maybe not the devil himself, but two of his trusted goons. They worked for the devil, who went by the name of Everett Richards. Before I ran for my life I managed to send a cryptic, four-word telegram to my brother, Bret, literally begging for his help. 'Reward. Outlaws. Fayetteville. Jamison.' See, cryptic?
We'd been sending economically worded telegrams back and forth to each other for so long that he'd know exactly what I meant. I'd managed to get my hands on the money the gang stole from the bank in Shreveport and lit out with it, fully intending to turn it over to the marshal and his posse for the reward that I was sure Wells Fargo had already offered. Unfortunately, the gang wanted 'their' money back. I was headed to Fayetteville, Arkansas to try and recover from Jed and Dickie's powers of persuasion, and I wanted my brother Bret to meet me there. Oh yeah, I'm Bart Maverick. My brother's named Bret. He's a little older than me, and sometimes a bit smarter. Not always, but sometimes.
So I ran as far towards Fayetteville as I could get before I had to stop in some town named Placerville. I was tired and hurt and hungry, and looked like hell (courtesy of the aforementioned Dickie and Jed) and I found a little boarding house and slept for four days. No, really, four days. Long enough so that my face wasn't near as swollen and purple as it had been at first, and I began to resemble the man I used to be. I thought it might be nice if my brother recognized me when he got to Fayetteville.
How did I know he was gonna meet me there? Well, see, he's Bret Maverick. That's the only answer I've got for you. There was only one time I ever sent for him that he didn't come, and because of that I got married. He won't do that again.
So on the fifth day of my stay in Placerville I just happened to be looking out the window in my room when I saw something that chilled me to the bone. Two people I knew all too well – Dickie and Jed, riding down the street looking every which way for the horse I stole from 'em when I made my escape. Fortunately for me I'd traded him to a rancher about fifty miles back for a sweet little mare that they wouldn't recognize. Unfortunately they still had my gelding, Noble, trailing behind them. He wasn't about to let either one of 'em ride him, but the horse had a mind of his own and a particular affinity for me, so they probably figured if they brought him along it'd be a wee-bit easier to track me down.
I did my best to stay outta sight while they rode past the boarding house. They stopped in front of 'Jessie's Watering Hole' and tied all three horses out front before disappearing inside. If they were checking to see if I'd been inside they were outta luck – like I said before, I slept for four days. When they didn't come right back out, I figured they'd decided to partake of the particular blend of Kentucky whiskey that the little saloon sold. Two hours later they were still partaking, and Noble was outside getting bored. Craziest damn horse I've ever seen, but he was definitely fond of me. I opened the window and whistled and his head came up and he tugged on his reins, wrapped around the hitching rail in front of him, until he'd worked them loose. Once that was accomplished, he walked himself over to the boarding house and stood there looking up at me.
"Hang on, old man, I'm comin'," I said out loud, and grabbed my never-unpacked war bag with all my belongings in it. I went down the back staircase and around the alley that led to the street and whistled again. Sure enough, Noble came trotting down the alley and followed me around the corner, where he gave me one of his 'bout time you showed up' looks. I threw the war bag across the saddle and pulled myself up on him, still not in the best of shape, and headed north. I hated leaving the little mare there, but two horses I didn't need and Noble can be the jealous sort.
I wondered how long it would be before Jed and Dickie discovered their tracking party was now one horse short, and we hurried right along until almost dark. By that time I couldn't sit in the saddle any longer and found a small mountain range with an abundance of caves. "Pick one, Noble," I told him, and he investigated two or three until he found one he liked. The entrance was obscured by a stand of trees and we went far enough inside to not be easily seen.
There was a sharp right turn in the cave and that's where I made a small fire and some coffee. I didn't have any food, but did have some jerky in the war bag and was happy to share it with my horse. It's not his favorite, but it beats eating nothing at all. "Let's see if we can catch a couple hours sleep, huh?" I asked him and he snorted and nodded. In no time I was asleep and I hope he was, too.
Around four in the morning I woke. It was still dark outside and I thought maybe we should get going, so I drank what was left of the coffee and saddled Noble before putting the fire out and trying to hide any trace of it. Just being cautious, in case my two pursuers should be smarter than I gave them credit for being. Probably a slim chance of that, but I'd rather be safe and alive. There was no doubt in my mind that if they found me again somebody would end up shoveling dirt on top of my cold carcass. I had no desire to end up as buzzard bait, thank you.
We headed out again and kept going until we got to the next town, named Alma, and I finally stopped to buy provisions and get Noble fed. He was much happier after that, and so was I. It took us two more days to get to Fayetteville and we were both tired of sleeping on the road and running by the time we got there. It had been over a week since I'd sent Bret the telegram and I was hoping he'd gotten there ahead of me.
For once my luck held. After taking Noble to the livery and paying extra to have him kept in a private stall, I found myself back at the hotel. There was a Mr. Breton Joseph in room 205 and I breathed a sigh of relief. I knocked softly on the door and was met with a "Yes?" from inside the room in a very familiar voice.
"Room service, Mr. Joseph," I answered; the door was opened cautiously and I found the barrel of a Remington Colt motioning me inside. As soon as I got in the door closed and Bret put the gun back in its holster.
"Bart, what in the hell happened to you?" he asked, grabbing me in a bear hug that I couldn't have broken free of if I'd wanted to.
"This? Oh, you shoulda seen it a week ago. At least it's not green and purple anymore."
"Seriously, son, let me take a look at ya," he told me as he reached up and turned my head from side to side. "Who did this?" I've heard Bret mad before, but his tone was downright hostile.
"A coupla good ole boys named Dickie and Jed," I answered. "Last time I saw them they were holdin' my horse hostage, tryin' to track me down. They're probably somewhere on my tail, still."
"The outlaws that robbed the bank?" he asked me as he kept giving me the once-over.
"Two of 'em. There's five altogether. They're part a the Richards gang."
"Everett Richards?"
"That'd be him," I told Bret. "Now you know why I'm runnin'."
"How'd you get into this?"
"Pure luck. They robbed the Wells Fargo in Shreveport and hid the bags. I happened to find 'em. I was gonna turn 'em in to the marshal, but him and the posse were already out after Everett's bunch. I went looklin' for 'em and found the gang instead. They were chasin' me while the posse was chasin' them. I finally double-backed and found the marshal – turned in the money bags and thought that was the end a that. Till Dickie an Jed showed up and wanted to know where the money was. They didn't believe I'd turned it in and did their best to talk me into tellin' 'em what I really did with it." I had to pause to catch my breath. "They got sloppy an I got away from 'em. They been chasin' me since."
"So that's Dickie an Jed's handiwork?" There was still anger in his voice, but he was a lot calmer than he'd been before.
"Mostly Dickie's. Jed described some other things to me that didn't sound like a lot a fun; when I had the chance to get away I took it."
"They still after ya?" For the first time since I got there I took a good look at my brother. His eyes were rimmed in red; He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. And he was thin – unusually thin for him. Almost Bart Maverick thin. Something told me there'd been a bad breakup with Althea Taylor in his immediate past.
"Probably. Sorry to bring ya into such a mess." I was sitting on his bed; he was standing over by the window. When he turned around to face me for just a second I could see the pain in his eyes and I knew my hunch was correct, but I had to be sure. "How's Althea?" I asked brightly.
His eyes got black and he looked like somebody had taken his puppy. "She's gonna marry Simon Petry."
"What?"
He changed the subject quickly. "When'd you eat last?"
"Uh, last night."
"Come on, we'll go get somethin' in the dinin' room. They got a private room we can eat in. Besides, they're just lookin' for you, not you an me. I'll tell ya about everything over supper."
Before I could say anything my stomach growled. Loudly. "There's yer answer," I told him, and picked his hat up off the bed. I put it on and pulled it down low over my face. Bret nodded and took mine. He set it on the back of his head, and it was obvious that he wasn't Bart Maverick.
"Lead the way, Mr. Jamison."