The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys
If I'd known that the simple act of going to buy a new pair of boots would almost get both of the Maverick brothers killed, I'd have figured some other way to get them. But when I set out for Parker's General Store that morning with my brother in tow, I had no idea just how close death was gonna get to us.
Bret and I are gamblers – at least that's what you'd call us. We call ourselves poker players – playing the sweet game of poker, if you're paying close attention, has nothing to do with gambling. Roulette is gambling. Faro, if you don't know exactly what you and the cards are doing at almost every moment, is gambling. But poker – played the right way, with a knowledge of the game and an immense amount of skill, that's not gambling. Bret and I had both been playing poker since we were old enough to hold the cards in our hands, and knowledge and skill came almost naturally. It was ingrained in our very beings, like breathing is to most men.
Pappy is a poker player, one of the very best to ever grace the game, and not a cheat or a card sharp. Everything he knew, he taught us. And we've spent the last few years perfecting those skills. Still, there are times when the cards just aren't running right, or you run into somebody on a hot streak – Lady Luck can be a fickle mistress – and your funds get mighty small. I'd been in need of new footwear for some time now, and I'd been patiently waiting for the Lady to turn and smile at me for several days when she finally decided that last night, Friday, was the night, and the town of Ellsworth, Kansas, was the place. I remember telling Bret, on the way back to the hotel this morning, "Bout time I can go get those boots."
Bret, of course, is my brother. Older brother, I find it necessary to add, since he finds it necessary to point out that I'm younger. Not that much younger, mind you, less than two years, which is why it seems to bother him so when I call him 'Pappy.' But that's another story. Yes, we look like brothers, even if his hair and eyes are darker than mine, and yes, sometimes we fight like brothers, but more often than not we've got each other's backs, and one is always looking out for the other one. Which is why it was so funny when he replied, "Good. Your footwear was embarrassing me."
Now, being poker players of some repute, we don't usually dress like we just came off a thousand mile trail-drive. Frock coats, fancy vests with ruffled or pin-tucked dress shirts, a good hat and the best boots we could afford. Bret didn't have much of a problem with that; he was a tall, solidly built man with an average size foot. I'm tall, too, but Brother Bret is always raggin' me that I'm much too thin to suit his taste. His taste, mind you. I do tend to run that way, but food has just never held the fascination for me that it does for the rest of the family, him included. So, like I said, I run thin. One result of that is my feet run thin, too.
A lot of the boots made just don't fit me right. They're too big, or too wide, or too big and wide, and I hate having to wear more than one pair of socks just to be comfortable. Consequently, it's harder for me to find boots that fit right and when they do they tend to be WAY more expensive. Which is another reason I'd been too short of funds to buy new boots. Bret knew that. I guess he'd been listening to me complain about it often enough that he was tired of hearing it and was relieved to know I was on the verge of doing something about it.
So I gave him a good-natured poke in the ribs and offered to buy him breakfast. "Come on, by the time we're done we can go over Parker's. I've already looked, they've got a pair of boots that fit just fine. You won't have to hear me complain about it any more."
Bret grinned and reminded me why he was so popular with all the women, as his dimples made themselves visible. "You're buyin', huh? That's a first. In that case, let's go eat." We finished walking to the café right past the hotel and every lady workin' in the place lit up when they saw us come in. Like I said, those dimples. Sara Jane hurried over with the coffee pot as soon as we sat down and it wasn't long before we was fillin' our bellies.
I know I talked about appetites before, but it is truly a joy to watch my brother eat. He loves food and it shows. I don't know where he puts everything that goes in his mouth, because there sure ain't an ounce of fat on him anywhere. I had to sit back and smile in admiration and envy. We talked about the poker we'd played the night just past and how much longer we were gonna stay in Ellsworth before we headed on to Salina and then Abilene. It was cattle season and the cow herders were flush with money, something we were more than happy to relieve them of. Breakfast was enjoyable and full of laughter; we were both in a good mood and looking forward to another night of successful poker.
When we were done with breakfast I paid without complaining (I had offered to buy), and we gathered ourselves together and walked on down the street to Parker's. I was lucky that Ellsworth was as big as it was; the stores stocked a lot of merchandise they might not have in a smaller town, especially the boots.
The size I needed was still there, but I tried them on one more time just to be sure. They fit perfectly and I kept them on as I paid for them, handing the old pair to the clerk behind the counter to dispose of. Bret had two or three small items in hand and, being in a generous mood, I paid for those. Both of us were now perfectly happy and we left, purchases in hand and on foot, and walked outside for a smoke before starting back up the street towards the hotel. It wasn't two minutes before all hell broke loose, and we found ourselves in the middle of it. Not by choice, mind you.
Unbeknownst to us a local gang of bank robbers known as the Carson's were also aware of the time of year it was and had picked the morning of that very day to attempt the robbery of the Ellsworth Savings and Loan. There were four of them, three cousins and a tag-along, and they'd just come running out of the bank with guns blazing and spotted us, conveniently standing right across the way. We barely had time to throw our cigars out into the street, much less pull our guns, before the Carson boys were in our faces, guns aimed right at body parts neither of us wanted shot.
"Get back inside the store," the unshaven leader growled and pointed his gun at us, and we weren't about to argue. There were four of them, all with Colts already warmed up and waiting to be fired again, and two Mavericks that had a burning desire to stay alive. Needless to say, we did as we were told and hustled back inside the store, where the clerk joined us in our captivity.
Outside the town marshal and several other already armed men came charging out into the street, intent on following the bank robbers until they were met by a hail of gunfire. The marshal and a deputy returned fire, the rest of the citizens used common sense and found something to hide behind. "We got ya trapped, Carson!" the marshal yelled into the store before he was driven back by several well-placed gunshots.
"Yeah, and we got hostages," Carson yelled back, looking at the three of us. "Two pretty prominent citizens, from the look of things!"
I swallowed hard, and I could see Bret's eyes get dark. One of the few times we'd been mistaken for 'prominent citizens,' and the clerk picked right then to laugh out loud. I glared at him and he shut up, but not before causing Carson to turn and look. "What was that for?" he questioned.
"Nerves," Bret shot back before the clerk could open his mouth again and get us both killed.
"Is there a back door?" Carson asked the clerk.
"Through that hallway," and he pointed to a curtain at the back of the store.
Carson turned to one of his gang. "Go check it out, Ben."
The gang member (presumably Ben) got up and hurried back through the curtain. I heard a door open and close almost as quickly, followed by two or three gunshots. Ben came running back, shaking his head. "There's a door, alright, but there's already guns out there."
"Damn," Carson swore, and turned towards Bret. "Who are you?"
Bret and I both understood just what Carson was asking us. How important were we in Ellsworth? In other words, were we worth keeping as hostages? I shot another look at the store clerk, prayin' that he understood, too, since his life might very well depend on Bret's answer. The amusement he'd displayed earlier in what my brother had most aptly described as nerves was gone, rightfully replaced by a look of fear. It was evident he'd understood the gist of the question, and the implications of its answer. He never said a word.
"Colonel Bret Maverick," my brother answered without hesitation, and Carson raised his eyebrows in surprise. I knew better than to react; Bret had decided that the best way to keep us alive and safe was to let Carson and the gang continue to believe we were, indeed, prominent citizens.
"And you?" Carson asked, turning his attention to me.
"My right-hand-man and younger brother," Bret answered before I could say anything. "I couldn't run the ranch without him."
I could see Carson weighing Bret's words. Was I important enough to keep alive, or did he only need one Maverick to extract him and his men from the mess they'd stumbled into? His decision came down in my favor, and he waved his gun at another of his men. "Tie 'em up so they can't get loose, Cory. And don't take your eyes off of 'em. They may be our only way outta here."
Cory, who looked like he was about eighteen or nineteen, did as he was told and tied first Bret, then me. Hands behind the back again, which I hate because of the strain it puts on already battered shoulders, but I wasn't about to open my mouth and say anything. We were alive and for right now that was enough.
The shooting had stopped and the gang, sans Cory who was now working on tying up the clerk, were gathered over by the front window muttering amongst themselves. Carson's was the only voice that could be distinguished and it didn't sound like anyone else had an idea that he agreed with. They argued back and forth for a while, and while they were distracted I whispered to Bret, "Any ideas, Colonel?"
"It kept us alive, didn't it?" he answered, and I grinned.
"That it did. I just wondered what else you had up your sleeve."
"I'll think of somethin'. Just remember we run the Maverick Ranch in Abilene." At least there was a Maverick Ranch just outside of Abilene. It belonged to the descendants of a distant relative, Samuel Maverick, and it was doubtful that Carson or any of his cousins would know which of the Mavericks actually owned it.
Finally Carson got up and came back over to Bret. "You got kin here?" he asked.
"Nope," Bret replied.
"Whatta ya doin' here then?"
"Whatta ya think?" my brother asked, somewhat arrogantly, the way a moneyed cattleman probably would. It earned him a punch in the face.
"The answer to that better be sellin' steers," the outlaw spit back, and Bret attempted to look properly chastised.
"It is," he answered, much more subdued than he'd sounded before.
"No disrespect intended," I apologized, like a younger brother used to cleaning up his older brother's condescending answers.
"You must be the one with all the sense," was Carson's reply as I stayed silent. "You handle the money for him?" I nodded. Another reason to keep me around for a while longer. "How much the two of you worth, anyway?"
"More than enough to get your bunch outta here," I lied. I shifted my legs around so that Carson could see that I was wearing brand new, and noticeably expensive, boots. He took a good, hard look, mulling something over in his head.
"Jasper, go find some paper for me to write on. I'm sendin' out instructions. We're gonna get outta this mess."
Jasper was obviously the tag-along; he was the only one that was something besides medium height, medium build, and medium ugly. He scrambled behind the stores counter and rooted around for a few minutes, eventually returning with a piece of paper, a pen and a small inkwell, which he handed over to the leader of the gang.
"If I was sendin' a telegram to somebody could pay some ransom, who'd it be and where'd it go? And make it quick," Carson added as an afterthought.
Bret never hesitated. "Colonel Beauregard Maverick, Abilene, Texas."
That's when I interrupted. "Ain't Pappy in Little Bend this week visitin' his brother?"
Bret agreed hastily. "That's right, Bart, I forgot. Send it to Little Bend, Texas, in care of Bentley Maverick."
"Two generations of brothers, eh? Ain't that cozy?" Carson asked disdainfully. "Jasper, go take this out to the sheriff," and he handed the folded up piece of paper to his errand boy. "An take this with ya," and passed along a white handkerchief. Jasper nodded and headed slowly and carefully out the front door, waving the handkerchief in front of him. I could hear a faint cry of, "Don't shoot – white flag!" and then the sound of men running and scuffling. Murmured voices followed and then everything went silent; like they'd hauled Jasper inside somewhere and were readin' the demands he carried with him.
Ten minutes went by, and then fifteen more, and still no response from anyone outside. I leaned over to my brother and whispered, "Now what, Colonel Maverick?" and he shrugged his shoulders as best he could.
"Sorry, son, I got no more ideas." Another twenty minutes passed before I heard Cory say excitedly, "He's comin' back! Ain't nobody with 'em, either."
I strained to try and see anything, but it was useless. In another few seconds Jasper came running back through the front door, a grin a mile wide on his face. "What happened?" Carson immediately questioned him.
"They must be big-shots, boss, 'cause the sheriff got an answer right away. We're gettin' outta here."
Carson pulled Jasper away, over to where Cory and Ben stood, and they began talking among themselves quietly; so quietly that we couldn't catch anything they were saying. "You think Pappy sent an answer?" I asked.
"Sure he did. That was the point of sendin' the wire to him. Pappy'd play along with anything he got. We need to find out what the plan is."
"An' just how do we do that, Colonel?"
"Don't know yet."
The store clerk, quiet since his laughter long minutes ago, finally spoke up. "We ain't gonna get outta this alive. Marshal Dunbar'll never go for anythin' that sets that bunch loose."
"Even to save lives?" I asked.
The clerk shook his head. "He's been after 'em for a long time. This is the closest he's ever gotten to 'em. He's a stubborn man; he'll never let 'em go."
I looked at Bret. If the marshal was as stubborn as the clerk said, why had Jasper come back at all, much less so convinced that the gang was going to escape their current predicament? "He must have some kinda plan," Bret whispered, "or he wouldn't a sent Jasper back here."
"Yeah, but what? Pappy couldn't promise anything to get us outta here. So what's the marshal got up his sleeve?"
"SHUT UP OVER THERE!" Carson yelled just then, and Bret and I took him at his word and shut up. The gang continued quietly plotting their next move for a few minutes before Cory came over and yanked me to my feet.
"You got horses?" the baby-faced bank robber questioned.
"At the livery," I answered. He stuck a gun in my ribs.
"Let's go get 'em." He shoved me out the door first, just in case somebody outside got overenthusiastic and shot whatever moved, keeping the gun as close to me as he could get it. We went down the sidewalk and straight to the livery; once we were inside Cory pulled the gun out of my ribs and waved the barrel at me. "Which horses?"
"The bay and the sorrel," I told him, and he shoved me down on the ground so he could saddle them. Bret and I had different mounts than usual, Blackthorn and Noble back in Little Bend at Uncle Ben's house while we made our sojourn through Kansas. Good thing, too. Once the horses were ready to go, Cory jerked me up again and back came the gun.
"Back to the store," he ordered, and followed me with the animals trailing behind. He tied them up outside and our trip was over.
"Give ya any trouble?" Carson questioned, and Cory shook his head.
"Not a bit," came the reply, and Carson grinned. It was the first time I'd seen anything on his face that wasn't unpleasant, and I once again found myself next to my brother.
Before I could sit back down, Bret was pulled to his feet. "Get up, Colonel," Carson growled, back in character. "We're leavin' town." He grabbed Bret by the shoulder and pulled him towards the front of the store, while Cory gripped my arm and did the same to me. I saw Jasper move towards the clerk with his gun drawn and started to protest, but got cracked across the mouth with Cory's gun butt and stumbled, almost going down. Bret yelled somethin' unintelligible but before he could make a move Jasper shot the clerk, who slumped to the ground.
"Get goin' before you get the same thing," Carson barked, and pushed Bret forward. When I followed him out the door I caught a glint of light off a badge, and I took a quick look. From the grim expression on the man's face, I assumed him to be Marshall Dunbar. His gun was drawn and aimed in our general direction, but he stood stock still and never even breathed hard. A quick look was all I had time for; Cory was doin' everything he could to get me up on my sorrel without untying my hands. Carson did the same for Bret.
Once we were mounted, the rest of the gang followed suit. Cory kept the reins to my horse, Ben now had hold of my brothers. We rode slowly out of town, Carson leading, followed by Ben, Bret, Cory, me, and Jasper. Once we were outside of the town limits Carson increased the pace and we rode for at least an hour that way. Not the most comfortable way to ride a horse, with your hands tied behind your back, but I have to admit it was better than being shot and left for dead inside Parker's General Store. Eventually we turned southeast and headed for Lindsborg, or at least in that general vicinity, and kept riding for quite a while after that.
We slowed down and not only were the horses tired, but the bank robbers were tired, too. I'd noticed for some time that Cory and Jasper both seemed pre-occupied and weren't paying close attention to either me or the sorrel, and I thought I saw an opening. I'd managed to work the rope around my hands a little bit loose and was close to getting free when Carson's horse stepped the wrong way on something and started to go down.
Jasper raced forward and I saw my chance. I kicked the sorrel in the ribs and we took off in the opposite direction. Cory lost his hold on the reins and we were gone, almost out of pistol range when I heard the rifle go off. I waited for the bullet that never came; whoever'd shot had taken aim at the sorrel and not me. The horse went down, and I went down with him. With no time to throw myself free I landed mostly underneath him and I felt the crack as my head hit the ground. Then – nothing.
When I finally woke up it was dark out, and I was sprawled on the ground with someone sitting next to me, my hands tied in front of me this time. My head and just about every other part of my body ached, and it took several minutes before I realized the body sitting next to mine was Bret's. He must have seen my eyes open because I heard a whispered, "Bart," and tried to look up. My vision was blurred and it hurt my neck to raise my head, but I managed eventually and saw him watching me. "You alright?"
"No," I struggled to answer him. "What happened?"
"They shot the horse and you went down under him. Sound familiar?"
"Oh, ow," was about all I could say at that moment. No wonder everything felt like it had after the pistol whipping I'd taken in Montana. I moved my legs gingerly and at least they responded, even if they did hurt like hell. I managed to raise my head a little, and that's when it became apparent that someone had inflicted a beating on Bret. "Who?" I whispered back. I didn't have to ask why.
"Carson, who else? He was unhappy with your escape attempt."
"And took it out on you?"
"No sense takin' it out on you; you were in bad enough shape as it was. I was the closest thing he could find to beat on."
"Sorry," I mumbled almost under my breath. I really thought I had a good chance of gettin' away or I would never have taken off like that, especially since it had gotten my brother beat on for something I did. Now both of us were in bad shape, and it was all my fault.
"It's alright, Brother Bart, you did what you could." I couldn't see his face any longer, but I could hear the tone of understanding in his voice. Awfully forgiving when he wanted to be, that big brother of mine, especially since it was my need for new boots that had gotten us into this mess. I tried to move around and everything started hurting again, so I laid still.
"Heard anything else?" I asked.
"Yeah, they're headed for just outside Lindsborg, supposed to be some kind of ransom waitin' for 'em there. Courtesy of Colonel Beauregard."
"Better be a posse waitin' for 'em, cause there sure ain't gonna be no ransom."
Bret tried to suppress a laugh. "Not from Pappy, that's for certain."
Cory walked over to where the two of us were with a canteen. "Alright, sit up. It's time for a drink."
Bret was already up; I struggled and finally managed to get into a sitting position. The baby bank-robber gave Bret a drink first, then brought the canteen over to me. It wasn't that easy to handle, even with my hands tied in front of me, but I managed. As I drank I heard my brother ask, "Any chance of somethin' to eat?"
"Maybe. Depends on what's left when we're done." So we waited. Turns out there wasn't much, but it was better than nothin' at all, and we ate everything we were given. After that there was nothing to do but sleep, and we both tried. What I wouldn't have given for a hotel window to stare out of.
Sunrise came at last, and along with it came biscuits and coffee. Soon we were mounted and on our way again, Bret and me sharing the bay. We rode all day, through increasingly flat countryside, until we reached a run-down shack that appeared to be our destination. I was never so glad to get off a horse as I was that one. Jasper hustled the Maverick boys inside; the three cousins remained outside talking. They weren't as quiet as usual, and I heard Carson say something about Ben going into town to see if the money had been received yet. The next thing I heard was "in the morning" and I knew we were in for another night of little food and less sleep.
Much to my surprise we were not only fed better than we had been the previous night, but we slept better. At least I did. When I woke the next morning I could smell the coffee, and it was easier and less painful to move around then it had been the day before. Carson and Cory were drinkin' over by the fire and Jasper was near the horses; one of which was missing, presumably carrying Ben into Lindsborg. It was time to do some fast thinking and see if one of us couldn't come up with a way out of the mess my boots had gotten us into. Only problem was, neither of us could think of anything.
It was probably near ten o'clock when Ben came riding back. Bret and I were outside; the shack was gloomy and nobody wanted to stay inside it to keep watch on us. I'd seen happier expressions on the outlaw's face.
"Well?" Carson boomed out, and Ben shook his head.
"They want somethin' before they turn the money over to us," was the answer.
"Whatta they want?"
"They want the Colonel."
Carson laughed then, an ugly sound that reminded me of Lon Tenley. A shiver ran down my spine. "No."
"They ain't gonna give us nothin' without a show of good faith."
I could see the wheels turning in Carson's head. "I ain't sendin' 'em the most valuable piece of property we got." He paused, and then the idea struck him. "But I'll send 'em the troublemaker." With that he turned and glared straight at me.
I started to protest, to say anything that would change Carson's mind and send my brother into town, when I felt an elbow in the ribs from that very brother. Bret gave me a look that could only mean one thing – "Keep your mouth shut." This was one time he may have been right.
"Saddle a horse," the leader of the group ordered to no one in particular. Cory scurried over to the horses and did just that, and in just a few minutes they had me mounted and ready to go.
"Stay safe, Colonel," I called out as Ben led me off towards town.
"Don't do anything foolish," my brother called back to me.
My mind was working at a feverish pace. The only reason I could see for the law in Lindsborg to try and get one of us into town was to free him so they could be led back to the other brother – and the rest of the gang. I was sure the gang was more of an objective than a Maverick was, even a Colonel Maverick, and it was probably gonna be up to me to make sure that both Mavericks came out of this unscathed.
It took us almost an hour to get there and riding down the main street of Lindsborg, you would have sworn that it was a Sunday mornin' and everybody was in church. There wasn't a man, woman, child, or even a stray dog out on the street, and we rode right up in front of the bank. Ben got me down, off of the horse, and immediately had a gun barrel stuck in my ribs. He pushed me in the front door ahead of him, and before either of us could say or do anything, unfamiliar hands grabbed me and yanked me out of the doorway. Shots were immediately fired and I heard a body hit the ground, and I knew that there was one less Carson cousin in the world.
The next face I saw was one I'd seen before – and still wore that same grim expression it had the first time I spotted it – Marshal Dunbar of Ellsworth. "You all right?" he asked as someone untied my hands.
"I am, Marshal, but they've still got my brother. You got a plan?"
"To rescue 'Colonel Maverick'?" I recognized the tone in his voice and I knew he was aware of the truth about 'the Colonel.' "I do," he started out, "and here it is . . ."
An hour later there were six of us riding back the way Ben and I had come, towards the shack Carson and the boys were hiding out in. There was one particular man in the group, Ben's height and build and wearing the dead man's clothes, riding the outlaw's horse; and the visual he created was the key to the whole plan.
When we got within sight of the shack everyone but the ringer stopped. He rode on slowly as Dunbar and I circled around the back of the cabin. Ben's double dismounted out by the horses and Cory came running outside; then I lost sight of the pair. A shot rang out just as I reached a window in back – Bret and Carson were in there, Carson's gun trained on my brother. Where Jasper was, I had no idea at that exact moment. Later on I learned that he'd caught a bullet in the leg while trying to escape and wasn't goin' anywhere.
"Drop the gun, Carson, it's all over," Dunbar demanded, but nothing in the life of a Maverick is ever that simple or easy. It was impossible to get a shot off without hitting Bret; just the way Carson planned it. The outlaw backed up to the door, all the time keeping my brother as a shield in front of him, and I knew I only stood one chance of getting Bret out of this alive. I snuck around to the front of the shack and waited.
Carson backed out the door with Bret still in front; he'd missed my departure from the spot next to the marshal. I was there waitin' for him, and the last thing he expected was my gun in his backside. "Turn loose of the Colonel, Carson, or this gun might accidentally go off." For a few seconds I actually thought it was gonna work; I felt the bank robber start to relax. It lasted for just a moment, then he whirled and shot at me. He was off balance from the quick movement and fired high, the bullet slashing me across the right temple. Dunbar shot from the back of the cabin but his aim was off due to Carson's movement, and his bullet caught my brother in the left shoulder. Bret dropped and for just an instant before I passed out I was lucid – I fired and hit Carson (who'd turned towards me when he shot).
I wasn't out for long; as gunshots go mine was certainly minor. I fought my way back to consciousness, instinctively knowing that Bret was hurt and needed me. "Settle down, you'll be alright," Ben's doppelgänger told me as he held a handkerchief to my head.
I pushed my way up into a sitting position anyway and immediately paid the price for stubbornness – my head spun. "My brother," I murmured, as the marshal knelt down next to me and took the other man's place.
"Sit still, Maverick, your brother's already on his way back to Lindsborg. I thought it best to get him there as soon as possible. He'll be good once Doc Washington gets the bullet out of him. You're not goin' anywhere for a while."
"I'm goin' to Lindsborg, marshal. To be there for Bret." Of course I was sittin' on the ground swaying as I insisted I was fine and was leaving.
"Oh yeah? Let's see you stand up and get on a horse. If you can do that by yourself, I won't try and stop you." There was a slight smirk on Dunbar's face as he spoke those words.
Of course, I went absolutely nowhere. I managed to claw my way upright, but as soon as I got up on two feet I went back down again. Dunbar did his best to break my fall and helped me back to a sitting position.
"You made your point," I told him, and he actually grinned.
"When we're all ready to go, we'll get ya on the horse. Nice shot, by the way." I assume he meant Carson, but all I really knew was that I'd hit him.
"Is he alive?" was my next question.
"Not hardly," came the reply. "You hit him square in the chest. There's a reward on him, ya know."
For once, I didn't care about the money. I just wanted to get to my brother. "That's not why I shot him."
"I figured as much. So Bret Maverick's no more a colonel than I am, huh? No relation to Samuel Maverick?"
"Oh, no. That part's true. Distant cousin. He's the one that gave Pappy and Uncle Ben the land in Little Bend. Haven't seen him but once in my whole life. What kind of an answer did you get from Pappy when you sent the wire to Texas?" Anxious as I was to get to Bret, I wanted to know just what Pappy had to say.
"I'd let ya read it, but I don't think you'd do so good right now. Here it is," and the marshal proceeded to read me Pappy's wire. 'We're the poor relation. Got no ransom money. Promise them anything, just get my boys back safe. Beauregard Maverick.'
I laughed, and had to hold my head to stop it from aching. That was Pappy, through and through.
By the time Dunbar and the rest of the posse, along with the bodies, were ready to leave, it was almost an hour later and I was feeling better. Correction – I wasn't feelin' quite as bad. Soon as we got to Lindsborg, Dunbar took me straight to Doc Washington's office, then went to the jail.
Doc was somewhere in his fifties, a big man with a full head of silver hair and a bushy mustache. "So you're the other half of the Maverick's, eh?" he asked as he examined the wound on my temple. I'd tried to persuade him to forego the exam so I could see Bret, but he just shook his head 'no.' "I just got him to sleep, and that's what he needs most. You can be there when he wakes up. Meantime, let me see if you bleed as easy as he does."
I gave up trying to argue and sat down in Doc's exam room. He cleaned the wound and put something on it that stung, of course, but pronounced stitches unnecessary. For once I escaped without them. When he was finished Bret was still asleep, but he promised if I went to give the marshal my statement he'd let me in there when I came back.
Against my better judgment, I walked over to the jail. As soon as I got inside my curiosity about Jasper was satisfied; with a bandaged leg he sat in a jail cell. The non-cousin Carson was the only one of the gang left alive.
"Sit down, Mr. Maverick. I need to hear the whole story," the marshal told me, and I took a seat next to the desk and began the tale. When I was finally through the only thing Dunbar could ask was, "Over boots?"
"Over boots," I nodded and agreed.
"There's that reward I told you about on Carson. Its a thousand dollars. Where do you want it sent?"
"To Ellsworth, Marshal. That's where Bret and I'll be goin' back to soon as he's well enough to ride. Our belongin's are at the Ellsworth House and we'll come get 'em."
"Good enough. I'll have Matt over at the hotel hold your things so's there's no more charges. You figure about a week before he can ride?"
"About that." I stood up and we shook hands. "Thanks for the save, Marshal Dunbar."
"Thanks for the shot," he answered, and I knew he meant the shot that got Carson. I walked back over to Doc's office, and Washington smiled when I came through the front door.
"Alright, son, you can go on back now. He'll probably be comin' around soon. I want to keep him here tonight, then you can take him to the hotel. I'll be in my office if you need me for anything."
I made my way to Doc's back room and let out a breath when I saw my big brother sleeping. I sat down next to his bed and he must have sensed that I was there, because it wasn't five minutes before he started to wake up. When his eyelids fluttered, a barely discernable smile crossed his face. "Welcome back, Brother Bret," I told him as I laid my hand on his right arm.
"Brother Bart," he murmured.
"That be me."
He gave me that wry smile again. "You're alright."
"None the worse for wear," I lied. It was almost the truth.
"Do me a favor," came out in almost a whisper.
"What's that, Bret?" I should have known better than to ask.
"Next time you need boots, go by yourself."
That's my brother.