Chapter 4

1871

It was nearly eleven when Jarrod checked his watch. He had been working from his own office and completely lost track of time. He repocketed his watch and rubbed his eyes before he got up, stiff from sitting for too long. He closed the file on his desk and just left it there, knowing he'd be back to it first thing in the morning.

He had not brought his gunbelt to town today, thinking he would be better off without it. He donned his hat and went out, locking the door behind him. There wouldn't be anyone at the livery at this hour, so getting his horse ready to head home would be up to him. The pall of the day still hung over the street. This town was grief stricken for the Nobles, so grief stricken that the saloons were already going quiet. Jarrod spotted Sheriff Lyman making his rounds, walking away from him as he turned to head to the livery stable.

He was still plotting out the case in his mind when he went into the livery stable and headed for the stall where his horse was waiting. That was when he was jumped.

They didn't knock him down. Somebody just grabbed him, spun him around and slammed him back against a post. In a moment, without any words, someone was pounding him hard in the midsection, stealing his breath away. Another man and then another took over pounding him. Jarrod tried to get a kick in, but one of the punches had hit him in the diaphragm, paralyzing it, making it impossible for him to take a breath or even move in his own defense. They kept hitting him. He felt his ribs crush.

One of the men smashed him hard on the left side of his face, and he went down in the dirt. But even then they didn't let up. In a moment all three men were kicking him, kicking him hard. The world started to disappear into flashing lights and then darkness, and Jarrod heard the only words they said. "Lose this case, lawyer," one rough voice said, "or there will be more."

Then it was over. Jarrod finally managed to gulp a breath of air that brought his sense back around in time for him to get a look at who had just beaten him, but he was hurt and he knew it. He had broken ribs at least, and maybe a cracked cheekbone. He tried to get up, but the pain in his midsection knotted up like paper that was shriveling up in a fire. He struggled to his knees, coughing, suddenly frightened that a broken rib had punctured a lung.

He hurt and he could barely make it to his feet, but there was no one around to help him, and he couldn't find enough breath to yell. He finally stumbled up, fell toward the door and finally out into the street. He could see lights from the saloons but there was no one around the livery stable to help him, no one at all. He staggered from hitching rail to hitching rail, heading for the doctor's office. There was no light on there, but the doctor lived above his office and Jarrod knew he could wake him – assuming he was not out on a call. Jarrod knew he had to take the chance. He needed help, he needed a doctor. He was coughing and he was tasting blood and he was scared.

He made it to the door of the doctor's place and fell up against it. He pounded as hard as he could, over and over, and finally the door opened and he fell into the strong arms he knew belonged to Dr. Merar. "Sorry, Doctor," he said as best his could as Dr. Merar pulled him inside.

"Jarrod!" Dr. Merar said, pulling him further in. "What happened?"

Dr. Merar's wife was already lighting a lamp in the treatment room. Dr. Merar pulled Jarrod in there and put him on the table as gently as he could.

"I took a beating," Jarrod said. "Ribs mostly. I'm afraid I might have punctured a lung."

"Don't talk," Dr. Merar said, looked at the rip on Jarrod's cheek and decided it wasn't dangerous. Then he removed Jarrod's tie, opened his coat and shirt, took a look, and began to probe his midsection carefully, gently.

Jarrod grunted and groaned. "I have to. I got a quick look at them. It was Pittsfield's friends. They told me to lose the case."

"Don't talk," the doctor told him again.

Mrs. Merar carefully cleaned the blood away from Jarrod's mouth. Dr. Merar took another look once she had.

"You've bitten the inside of your mouth," Dr. Merar said. "That's where the blood is coming from. Hold still and don't talk anymore."

Jarrod did as he was told, only crying out once or twice when the doctor probed a sore spot. Jarrod's abdomen was already beginning to turn purple and blue. Jarrod's head was beginning to spin again even though he was lying down.

The doctor examined him completely and finally said, "I don't think you've punctured a lung, at least not yet. Are you dizzy?"

"A bit," Jarrod said. "Not bad."

"I'm going to try to get you up and tape those ribs," Dr. Merar said. He nodded to his wife, and together, they got Jarrod up into a sitting position, his legs over the edge of the table. They took his jacket and shirt off, and Mrs. Merar set them aside.

But God, it hurt. Jarrod sat as straight as he could to ease the pain in his midsection, and he groaned. Dr. Merar eased him to standing so he'd be straighter, letting him sit back against the table slightly. He wordlessly went about taping Jarrod up tightly, his wife helping, Jarrod as straight as he could get. He had to admit, taping was helping.

"You took a beating, but it's not as bad as it could have been," Dr. Merar said as he finished the job and began to put Jarrod's shirt back on. "Iva, would you go find the sheriff?"

"Oh, no, no," Jarrod protested. "I'm not having your missus go out onto that street."

"You're not going yourself," Dr. Merar said.

"Yes, I am," Jarrod said. "If my friends are still out there, it's me they're going to deal with, not your good wife." Jarrod reached for Mrs. Merar's hand and gave it a pat.

They helped him get his jacket back on. Jarrod left his tie off and his shirt half buttoned. He stayed leaning back against the table to let the world stop spinning.

"You can't go home in this shape," Dr. Merar said. "Riding a horse could send you into a lung puncture."

"I'll go to the hotel after I talk to the sheriff," Jarrod said. "Don't worry. I'm not going to do anything foolish – unless the men who did this to me go after me again. Then I'm gonna hit back."

"Don't you come reeling back in here, Jarrod Barkley, or I will be sending for your mother."

"Well, now, that's a threat I'll take to heart," Jarrod said with as good a laugh as he could muster. He gave Dr. Merar's arm a pat and stood up on his feet, away from the table. He felt stable and able to walk. "Don't worry. There may not be anyone waiting to beat me up any more. I'm going to find the sheriff and go straight to bed. Harry can deal with my attackers."

"You come back and see me sometime tomorrow," Dr. Merar said. "That taping's probably going to work loose."

Jarrod nodded. "Understood. Good night, Doctor, Mrs. Merar," and out of habit he reached to tip the hat he was not wearing. He realized it was probably over on the livery stable floor, but he wouldn't let it concern him tonight.

"Stubborn Barkleys – " Jarrod heard Dr. Merar muttering as he went out the door.

At first he felt stronger with every step, but he was still in a lot of pain that started to sap the strength away before he made it very far down the street. He was glad to see a light on at the sheriff's office and headed straight there, forced to grab the hitching rail in front for support before he went in. When he went in, he found Sheriff Lyman at his desk.

The sheriff looked up at him, and immediately stood up at the sight of him. Jarrod was slumping over, a nasty bruise rising up on the side of his face, blood at the corner of his mouth. The sheriff said, "What the hell happened to you?" and got him to a chair.

"I took a beating," Jarrod said. "It was Pittsfield's friends, all three of them. They told me to lose the case."

"You're sure?"

Jarrod nodded. "I'm sure. I'll sign the papers in the morning, but you go find them and arrest them tonight. I want to see them in your jail when I come in tomorrow."

"I just saw them in Harry's saloon," the sheriff said. "You're not gonna make it home in this shape."

Jarrod shook his head. "I'm going to the hotel."

"Have you been to the doctor?"

"I just came from there. I'll be a lot better in the morning." He started to get up.

"Let me help you to the hotel," the sheriff said, taking him by the arm to support him.

Jarrod gave him an uncomfortable grin. "You go pick up my buddies. I'll make it to the hotel just fine."

"I can at least get you across the street," Sheriff Lyman said.

Jarrod let the sheriff help him across the street. The hotel was to the left then, Harry's saloon to the right. Jarrod insisted he could make it to the hotel on his own and the sheriff let him go, but kept an eye on him until he saw him go into the building. Then he went to Harry's saloon.

Inside the hotel, the desk clerk was packing it in for the night, but he took one look at Jarrod and came rushing to help him. "Mr. Barkley! What happened?"

"A bit of a disagreement," Jarrod said. "Can you give me a room for the night?"

The clerk helped Jarrod lean up against the desk while he went around and fetched a key. "I hope you can make it up the stairs."

"I'll make it," Jarrod said.

"Shall I get the doctor?" the clerk asked as he helped Jarrod to the steps.

"I already saw him," Jarrod said. "I look a lot better than I did," he said with a little grin, becoming a little self-conscious with all the worry and attention he was attracting.

The clerk got him to his room, and Jarrod laid himself down on the bed right away. The clerk pulled Jarrod's boots off and set them on the floor.

"Don't fuss anymore," Jarrod said. "I'm just gonna go to sleep. See somebody wakes me about seven in the morning, all right?"

"I'll wake you myself," the clerk said, and leaving the room said, "Get some sleep, Mr. Barkley," and then closed the door.

"Yeah," Jarrod sighed to no one in the dark. He hurt and he was dizzy again, but now at least he was in a bed, and despite the pain and the anger that was starting to rise up inside, he fell asleep fast without getting out of his clothes.