Chapter 1 – Rory Emory Rides Again

Maude and Cristian had just come back from their latest trip to El Paso, and they were worn out. Doralice and me were mindin' the store, so to speak, and it must have been about nine o'clock when trouble first walked in. Tall and well-dressed, he was somewhere in his late forties. Short, reddish hair with a neat goatee and a trim mustache, he sounded like Jim Buckley – eastern accent, educated, smarter than the rest of us. I was running one of the roulette wheels, and Doralice was in her office doing bookwork.

Randy, the head bartender, came and got me first. I looked at the business card Randy handed me and sent him after Doralice. I closed the game and headed for our visitor. The card had read 'Zebulon Eustus Alexander, Esq.' and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I got to the attorney first and introduced myself, and we shook hands. "I was wondering if Mrs. Donovan was in. I know it's quite late, but I was given to understand that she's often here at this hour."

"Which Mrs. Donovan?" I asked politely. "Mrs. Maude Donovan de la Torres or Mrs. Doralice Donovan?"

"Mrs. Maude Donovan. She is the owner of the saloon, I believe?"

"She is," Doralice answered as she arrived. "She's also my mother. She isn't in this evening. Can I help you?"

"Delightful as that would be, Mrs. Donovan, I'm afraid my mission is with the owner, and the owner alone. Will she be in tomorrow? At a different time, perhaps?"

"She should be here sometime after noon, Mr. Alexander. May I tell her you'll be in to see her?"

He nodded. "Yes, please. And give her my card. Thank you, Mrs. Donovan, Mr. Maverick."

It was at that exact moment that I realized how much I disliked hearing 'Mrs. Donovan' when referring to Doralice. I was gonna hafta do somethin' about that, and sooner rather than later. But for now . . . there was a different matter at hand.

"What do you suppose that was about?" Doralice asked.

"I don't know," I told her, "but I've got a feelin' we ain't gonna like it."

My words proved prophetic. Doralice and me were at Maude's house, sleeping peacefully, when there was a loud pounding at the front door. Muttering and mumbling, I got out of bed and pulled the door open. There stood Art Sanders, one of Maude's daytime bartenders. "Sorry to do this to you, Bart, but Maude sent me up here to get you and Miss Doralice down to the saloon right away."

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes as I told Art, "We'll be there as soon as we can." Within twenty minutes we were on our way.

"Zebulon Eustus Alexander?" Doralice asked as we walked down the street.

"Don't forget the Esquire," I added.

"What do you suppose he wants?"

I shook my head as I held the doors open for her. "I don't know, but it can't be good."

Maude was waiting for us in her office. She had a glass of brandy in front of her, and I've never seen her quite as upset as she was right then. "Sit down, you two. Tell me again all about Mr. Alexander, please. From the beginning."

I let Doralice do the talking. I was too busy tryin' to figure out just what it was that Mr. Alexander wanted. It had to be somethin' significant; Maude's hand shook when she lifted the brandy glass to her lips. And in all the time I'd known her, I'd never seen Maude's hand shake.

"And that's all he had to say? Nothin' else?"

"Not a word," I replied.

"What did he want, Maude? What's got you so upset?"

I don't know who was the most shocked by the words that came out of Maude's mouth, Doralice or me. "He wants Maude's. Got a court order that says the saloon don't belong to me, or anybody else sittin' in this room."

"He's got a what?" tumbled out of Doralice's mouth. She looked perplexed.

"Did he leave you a copy? And have you sent for Cristian?" I tried to remain calm – this had to be a scam of some sort.

"Here," Maude handed me what Mr. Alexander left for her. "Cristian's in court in Fort Worth today. I sent a wire, but God knows when he'll get it."

I looked over the paper I held in my hands. Among all the 'whereas's and therefore's' I finally found what I was looking for – a name. Jedidiah Milford Pike. And it meant absolutely nothing to me. I handed it to Doralice and she continued to look perplexed, so I turned my attention to Maude. She was shaking her head.

"I have no idea who he is. Jedidiah Milford Pike. Never heard of the man in my life. According to that document, I got the land that this saloon is built on by fraudulent means, and everything built on it is forfeit to this Pike fella."

"Not the expansion, Maude. It can't include the expansion. You bought that fair and square from Mildred Doyle. Well, sort of fair and square." Maude, Cristian and me had conspired to make Miss Doyle believe I was Maude's financial backer, the 'real' owner of the saloon. We hadn't done it to defraud her; she just wouldn't sell to a woman without a man's money behind her. So, with help from Cristian, we presented Miss Doyle with legal papers showing that I was the man with the money. Once she was satisfied, the paperwork was destroyed and Maude's reverted to its rightful owner – Maude Donovan.

"I don't know what it includes, Bart. Cristian can figure that out. "

"What does this Pike expect you to do – just turn the business over to him lock, stock and barrel?"

Maude shook her head. "No, it looks like it takes effect in thirty days. At least it gives us some time to try and find out what it's all about, and who it's all about."

Doralice handed the order back to Maude, and we started to get up. "Bart, can you stay for a minute? There's something I need to tell you."

"Sure, Maude," I told her. "Wait for me?" I asked Doralice.

"You know I will. Art can fix me one of his special cups of coffee." Art had invented some concoction that my girl just loved. I don't know what all he did to it, but I know he used coffee, cream, sugar, a pinch of brandy, and his 'famous ingredient.' And Doralice was crazy about the stuff.

"Someday I wouldn't be surprised to find you bathin' in it," I laughed as I kissed her.

"Well, I might run away with him if he'd teach me how to make it," she giggled back. Small chance of that. Art was fiftyish, balding, plump, and married with six kids. Once she was gone and the door was closed I sat back down and gave Maude my full attention.

"I made a remark when we were first talking about ownership that you know nothing about, and I thought it was time I told you."

"What remark was that?"

"Got a court order that says the saloon don't belong to me, or anybody else sittin' in this room."

I still didn't understand what she was trying to tell me. "I assume you meant your daughter."

Maude shook her head and for the first time in her life, looked sheepish. "Nope. I meant you."

"Me? What has that got to do with me?"

"You own ten percent of Maude's, Bart. Remember the papers you signed before Cristian and I got married?"

I had some vague recollection of signing paperwork for her, just as a witness, I was told at the time. Maude shook her head. "I transferred ten percent ownership to you, without your knowledge."

I sat there for a minute, stunned. "Why, Maude?"

"Because every time I've ever needed a favor from you, you've been there for me. You haven't asked for anything in return, and you've refused any sort of payment I've tried to give you. All the way back to Marshal Rory Emory. I thought you had sort of a vested interest in the place, and this was the best way I could think of to give it to you. And you wouldn't have taken it any other way."

Sneaky, my friend Maude was. She knew me too well. I sighed and looked across the desk at her. "You didn't need . . . "

"That's just it, Bart. I did need to. But I never meant to get you involved in whatever this turns out to be. And I'm sorry if it causes any kind of a problem."

"Don't worry about it, Maude. We'll just let Marshal Emory take care of it." And we both started laughing, even though it wasn't funny.