Chapter 2 – The Newton Boy

I didn't know Bret was here in Memphis when I got here, and I was surprised as I could be when I ran into him on the Memphis Lady. I'd gone there to investigate a series of suspicious shootings that had taken place over the last two months. One night I found myself in the poker parlor playing lady gambler and who should sit down at the same table but your brother. Introductions were made all around, and I became Virginia Reisbach. Bret, of course, played right along with the deception. The table remained intact until two o'clock in the morning and, no doubt due to your brother's gentlemanly behavior, I won as much as anyone else. Of course, I allowed myself to get to know Mr. Maverick better, and we spent several more hours drinking coffee, talking and flirting. Ben Newton was there that night watching the two of us quite closely, so we put on a good show for him.

I met Bret in Memphis the next afternoon and explained why I was there. We spent a lovely afternoon at one of the finer restaurants, then drove around the city sightseeing. It was my first time in Memphis, and we had a wonderful day. Bret took me back to the Lady and he, I assume, returned to his hotel to prepare for another night of poker. I wasn't surprised to see him again that night, but this time we played poker at separate tables. I did fairly well again; your brother is an excellent teacher and he had schooled me well when we were in St. Louis. Ben played poker with Bret, and they seemed wary of each other. I got quite an earful from the other men about Ben's penchant for winning, but all remained calm and peaceful at each of the tables.

Bret's game broke up before mine did, and he slipped me a note on his way out. It was an invitation to spend the next day at the horse races with him. Newton had a thoroughbred running and was supposed to be there, and Bret thought it might not be a bad idea for us to show up, too. I trusted Bret's instincts, and he seemed to suspect something not quite right with Ben Newton. We had a great day at the races; Newton's horse won and Ben seemed to be in a really excellent mood. He even had us join him in his box, and he played magnanimous host. That's why I was so surprised by what happened later on board the Lady.

Newton came in late, and it was obvious that he'd spent the remainder of the afternoon celebrating his victory at the races. I wasn't playing cards when he arrived, but after a few minutes of bragging about his win a seat opened up at the table Bret was playing at and Ben sat down. He won two or three hands in a row and then the day's celebrations caught up with him, and he began losing every game he played. He started grumbling, then outright complaining, and finally blaming everyone and everything. One by one the men at the table dropped out, until it was only him and Bret. Bret never answered any of Ben's pointed remarks or accusations, and maintained his dignity. When he'd had enough he finally threw in his cards and got ready to leave. That's when Ben accused him of cheating, insisting that during the last game Bret had palmed the Ace of Spades and used it to win the pot. As even tempered as Bret is, that was enough for any man, and he told Ben he didn't cheat. The argument escalated until Bret stood up. That's when Ben pulled his gun and shot Bret point blank.

Of course Newton insisted that he was protecting himself, that he feared Bret was going to pull his own gun and shoot. It made no difference that Bret had done nothing to indicate the potential of violence; several of Ben's cronies were willing to swear they'd seen Bret go for his gun. I saw the bullet tear into him – it caught him right in the stomach. I was sure that he was dead when I saw him fall. Fortunately one of the men on the paddlewheel that night was a doctor. If he hadn't been there Bret would have bled to death before a doctor could get out there.

The doctor got the bleeding stopped and we moved him to this hotel room. He's been here ever since, unconscious for the most part. Doctor Wheeler couldn't find the bullet; it's still in there somewhere. He lost so much blood because of the location of the wound, and he hasn't responded to anything Doc has tried. He's been on the verge of an infection for days, but he's managed to avoid one so far. Doc says he's got a low-grade fever that doesn't go up or down; just stays the same. He wants to go back in and get the bullet out, but Bret hasn't improved and Wheeler doesn't feel comfortable making an attempt right now. He thinks there's still some bleeding going on in there somewhere, and came to the conclusion two days ago that Bret was slowly dying.

The marshal knows I'm Pinkerton. I think he believed me when I told him that Bret doesn't cheat and he wasn't getting ready to draw his gun. But Newton's got enough witnesses willing to swear to his version of things that there's nothing Marshal Tedford can do. I wired Arthur when I wired you . . . he told me to take whatever time I need. He's suspended the investigation until Bret . . . recovers.

By the time Ginny finished her explanation she was once again in tears. I reached over and took her hand, and it was cold and clammy. I'd never seen her so distraught. I don't know what I looked like, but I know how I felt – like somebody had ripped my insides out. I needed to start asking questions, or I was going to go looking for Ben Newton.

"The other shootings – the ones you came to investigate – was Newton involved in those, too?"

Ginny shook her head but she never let go of my hand. "Just one or two of them. And they were all different. There was no pattern to them, nothing I could put my finger on. Then Bret got shot before I could do any more investigating, and I've done nothing since. Nothing but sit here, day after day, and pray that he doesn't die. I can't lose him, Bart. I can't. And he wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for me. He'd have played his poker and stayed out of Newton's way."

I controlled the urge to agree with her. I knew exactly how she felt, but that wouldn't do either of us any good. "When's the doctor supposed to be here next?"

"Sometime this morning. He comes twice a day to see if anything's changed. I think he's just waiting for what he considers to be . . . the inevitable." We sat for a few minutes in silence, her hand in mine, each frantically trying to find a way out of this untenable situation. Eventually I went back over to my brother's bedside. I'm not sure what I expected, but nothing had changed. Once again I sat down by his bed and watched him, as he had watched over me so many times in the past. And waited for Doctor Wheeler to arrive.

More than an hour passed before there was a knock on the door. Ginny answered it, and a middle-aged man came in. He looked a bit startled to see anyone besides Malone. "Dr. Wheeler, this is . . . "

"Bart Jamison," I said, extending my hand. "An old friend of Maverick's."

Ginny raised an eyebrow but never said anything. "Any change?" the doctor asked her.

She shook her head. "None that I can see. But it's your opinion that matters."

The doctor set about his examination. It took him fifteen or twenty minutes, while Malone and I waited at the far side of the room. When he was finished he turned towards us and caught her eye. She hurried back over to the bed, with me close on her heels.

"Not much difference," the doctor began. "His temperature seems to be up a bit, but nothing else discernable. He's quieter – either he's resting easier or his body is giving up. I can't tell which at this point."

"What about the bullet, Doc?" I asked him.

"It's still in there, Mr. Jamison. I'd like to attempt another extraction, but I just don't think he could stand the strain. If that fever would ever break . . . "

"What are the chances of that happening, Doctor?"

"Not gonna lie to you. They get thinner by the day. If something doesn't happen soon, he'll be too weak when it does. Sorry to be so blunt, but you need to know what he's up against. It's not looking real good right now. I'll come by this evening. See if you can get some water down him today. Sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Mr. Jamison."

We shook hands again and Ginny walked the doctor to the door. When she returned I was wiping his forehead with a wet rag. His fever wasn't raging, the way mine had on more than one occasion, or Pappy's when he had pneumonia, but it was enough to cause discomfort. And to prevent the doctor from looking for the bullet.

"What now, Mr. Jamison?"

"Now we wait, Miss Reisbach. And pray that the Maverick luck holds."