Bret's Story

The day Bart's stage was set to arrive dawned clear. I only know this because I saw it before I went to bed, but when I woke up early that afternoon the day was still clear and warm. It was a good day for traveling, and I had no reason to think anything was amiss but three o'clock came and went with no stage coming in. I didn't think too much of it at first, things can happen, but by four thirty, I was starting to wonder.

That uneasy feeling I'd had since seeing my "average" friend hadn't quite left, but I'd mostly been ignoring it. I hadn't seen him again, and my luck had been running good and holding steady. I'd convinced myself I had overreacted about the man and my uneasiness was due to Buckley's impending arrival. I was now thinking that had been a mistake. I had no idea what the connection between the man and Bart's stage could be, or if there was one, but something told me not to ignore the feeling any longer.

It was almost six by the time I went down to the overland office, and I was a little anxious when I walked in. The feeling wasn't helped any when I saw the agent behind the counter. His greeting was cordial and most people may not have seen anything, but I know how to read people, and this man was troubled about something. It could have been personal, but given the overdue stage and my own uneasiness, I doubted it.

I smiled, pushing my own anxieties aside. "Evenin'. My brother was supposed to come in on the stage today. Heard anything about what's causin' the delay?"

The look I received told me the man was about to tell me something I didn't want to hear. "Hate to tell you, mister, but it ain't coming in anytime soon."

"I beg your pardon?"

The man shifted uncomfortably. "The nearest way station is only about thirty miles away. We usually hear if there's some kind of delay. Well, after a couple of hours with no word, the sheriff went out looking for it."

"Find it?"

He nodded. "About twelve miles outside of town."

"And?"

The man didn't answer right away. By the time he did I was properly worried. "I think it might be best if you ask the sheriff about this. He can tell you more than I can."

I didn't waste any more time with the man but hurried to the sheriff's office. I hadn't gotten much information but what little I did have left me feeling off kilter, and more than worried. All I could do was wonder about what kind of mess Bart had gotten into this time. He is the man who can barely cross the street without getting into trouble. Or maybe Jim had created the problem. God knew he was more than capable of that. If my brother was in trouble because of anything Buckley had done, I just might have to kill him. Buckley that is, not Bart.

When I got to the sheriff's office I was met by another man who looked like he had a burden. Except the stage agent had looked nervous; worried. The sheriff looked disgruntled and irritated.

"Sheriff?"

The man nodded. "Mark Jacobs. What can I do for you?"

"I was told you were the man to see about the stage."

Jacobs sighed. "Unfortunately, that's true. There's not much to tell, though."

I smiled. "What can you tell me?"

The sheriff leveled me with a look. "May I ask your interest in the matter, Mr. . . . ?"

"Maverick. Bret Maverick." I offered my hand which the man begrudgingly took. "My brother was supposed to be on that stage."

The sheriff sighed again. "Sit down, Mr. Maverick."

I sat. "So what can you tell me? Was there some kind of accident?"

"No. No accident." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm not really sure what's goin' on. There's about thirty miles between here and the way station. When nothin' was heard about it I headed that way. Found it about halfway between here and there, empty. No one around except the driver, and he'd been shot."

I grimaced, understanding why the others had been upset. "Dead?"

"Not yet. Doctor ain't givin' good odds on his chances though."

"What about the passengers?"

"Like I said; they weren't there. I did poke around a little, but couldn't find anyone or anything."

"That's not it is it?" I didn't mean to sound irritated but knew I did, and I could see the sheriff didn't appreciate it.

"No, Mr. Maverick, that's not it. There was a man dying in front of me; I thought he might appreciate me getting him to a doctor. Also, it's been my experience that running off on your own when you don't know where you're going or what you may meet up with isn't the best idea. I plan on going back out there in the morning with a couple of men and see what we can find. Gotta be an answer out there somewhere."

"You think the passengers were taken?"

"You'd better hope so. If not . . . well, I think at this point, kidnapping would be the better outcome for them."

"Why would they resort to kidnapping?" I agreed with the sheriff that kidnapping was preferable to killing, but what was the point? The Mavericks aren't known for having money, and despite Buckley's claims about his family, it didn't seem likely anyone would try to get a ransom for him either. If it were anyone else there would be no need for the two of them.

"I don't know; that's one of the things I'm trying to find out," Jacobs snapped. It was fast becoming apparent the sheriff wasn't happy to have me in his office. "It may not make sense," he continued. "But for the moment I'm having to go on what I saw this afternoon, and that's the way things look."

"I'm just lookin' for my brother, Sheriff."

"I can appreciate that, Mr. Maverick. All I'm lookin' for is a kidnapper and a possible murderer. I don't have nearly enough information to answer even half the questions I got much less your's. Now, if you doubt my ability to do my job, you are more than welcome to join my investigation in the morning. If you want to be deputized, that is. If not, would you mind letting me do my job, and I'll be sure to tell you as soon as I actually find something out."

Yep, the sheriff was definitely a man with a burden, and I was quickly becoming part of it.

I have mixed feelings about lawman. As a general rule, I try to avoid them. Like most people, they tend to see poker players as gamblers and gamblers as cheaters. It's bothersome when anyone thinks that way, but lawman can actually make life difficult for us, very difficult if they want to. It's usually best to keep your distance and try not to do anything to draw attention to yourself or give them a reason to seek you out. Right now, I wasn't succeeding in doing that. I think I was more like a thorn in his side.

For the time being, I had no reason to doubt the sheriff was a competent man or that he would fail to do his job. I also wasn't finding out anything about Bart. I figured it was in my best interest to leave the sheriff to his work and see what I could find out on my own. Leaving him alone now might also make him more open to any questions I might have in the future too.

Smiling I stood up. "I'd appreciate that, Sheriff. Thanks you for your time."

The sheriff nodded. "Mr. Maverick."

I left the sheriff's office and started back to my hotel, lighting a cigar as I walked. I went through everything the sheriff had told me again. It didn't take long. There really wasn't much. The stage had been stopped, the driver shot, and the passengers taken. I briefly considered riding out to the area myself and see if any clues had been missed, but quickly discarded the idea. It was all but dark now. I wouldn't be able to see anything the sheriff hadn't been able to see, and I could possibly disturb something important stumbling around in the dark. The lack of information had been irritating before, but thinking about it now I realized the sheriff had likely done everything he could for the moment.

Arriving back at the hotel, I threw out what was left of my cigar and went into the dining room for some supper. There would be no poker for me tonight; there was no way I could keep my mind on a game with Bart missing. I doubted there would be a lot, if any, sleep, either. If I was going to be up all night I might as well have a good meal. Maybe it would help me think and make some sense out of Bart's apparent kidnapping.

Kidnapping. I found myself studying on that word while I ate. Why would someone want to kidnap Bart? Again, I couldn't convince myself a ransom would be involved. Jim? That didn't make sense either. Buckley has enemies, I'm sure; probably some pretty unscrupulous ones. Men who could do something like this easily. But why bother? Why not just shoot him and be done with it? Given the driver's state, it seemed they had no qualms about killing. Someone else entirely maybe? I just didn't know.

Having no more answers than I'd had before, I finished my supper and went back up to my room. I lit another cigar and started pacing the room. The same questions kept coming to mind, and no matter how many times I went over everything I couldn't find any reason to this. Nothing about this made any sense, and I knew my mind wouldn't rest until I got some answers. The bad news was, at the rate I was figuring things out, it looked to be a long night. A really long night.