I'm back! I was in the hospital and rehab for three weeks instead of two, but I am at home anddetermined. Thanks for reading my Maverick fiction!
Bart stopped at the livery to check on his horse, who'd been in rough shape when they arrived last night. The gelding's name was Noble, and they'd been together a long time. Bart had ridden him hard out of necessity, and was determined to make sure 'the old man' had sufficiently recovered. They were alike in a lot of ways, and there was genuine affection between the two.
The gambler arranged for another rubdown, a task he would normally perform himself when time wasn't in short supply, then spent a few precious minutes in the stall. "I'll be in tomorrow, I swear," he promised, and chuckled softly when Noble nickered in response. "And yes, I'll find an apple for you somewhere." It was almost a standing joke between the two; Bart produced the treat and the horse ate it in practically one bite.
He left the livery and returned to the jail, not sure if Frank Hopper would let him in again to see his brother. He was in luck – the sheriff was out for supper and his part-time deputy was currently occupying the office.
The deputy's name was Billy Connors and he seemed a pleasant enough fellow. The gambler once again surrendered his Colt and he was allowed inside the cell, as he had been earlier in the day. "Just couldn't stay away?" Bret asked, and Bart grinned.
"I had a visit with Joanie Maxwell. You were on the right track – she was hooked up with Fletcher. Course her view of the relationship was a little different than what I expected." They sat side-by-side on the cot in the cell and Bart told his brother everything he could remember. When he was finished Bret remained silent for a minute or two, before asking one question.
"You think she believed what she was tellin' you?"
"You mean about Fletcher lovin' her and wantin' to run away with her? Yeah, I do. She wanted to leave Hobbs, that's for certain. She's desperate to go anywhere else. But there's somethin' that bothers me. She seemed to wanna hang the shooting on you just because she couldn't think of anybody else that woulda shot him. And she admits he was cheatin' at poker – says you had no right to complain because all gamblers cheat. I thought you'd get a kick outta that."
"So long as everybody in town don't believe it. You move into Miss Nellie's?"
The younger man nodded. "Yeah, I'm in your room. First poker game's tomorrow night. I'll get a chance to talk to Tommy Sampson then."
"Let's hope. You got plans for tonight?"
"I'm goin' out to the church with Porter – there's a revival tonight. Anything I need to know about Reverend Ralph?"
"Don't turn your back on him."
Hopper returned from supper and Bart knew it was time to go. Both men stood and embraced before the younger man pulled back. "Look, Bret, there's somethin' you need to know. Ain't gonna be no walkin' up the steps to the gallows – I'll find a way to get you out."
There was something in those coal black eyes for just a moment; Bart saw it flash there and then vanish. "I know you will, Brother Bart. I know you will."
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The gambler and the attorney took Freeman's buggy and rode in relative silence out to the church. Maverick was taken aback by the number of wagons, carriages, and buggies that surrounded the building, and expressed his surprise to the attorney. "Not much to do in these parts," Porter explained. "Drink and gamble or go to church."
"Or sell guns to the Comanche's."
Freeman nodded. "I would imagine there's not a lot doing that."
"As long as we find out who is. Anything I should watch out for?"
"Tread lightly around Mrs. Barkley. She's very protective of the Reverend."
"Oh?"
"She's a long-time congregation member. And a widow woman who thinks it's her job to defend Reverend Fletcher. Stay away from her tongue and you'll be fine."
The revival was typical of others that Maverick had attended; singing, praying, preaching and testifying. It went on for almost two hours and ended soon after nine o'clock. "Introduce me to Reverend Ralph, would you, Porter?"
Ralph Fletcher was a big man, taller and considerably heavier than Bart. He was clean-shaven and mostly grey-haired, with a firm handshake and the gentlest eyes the gambler had ever seen. A good attribute for a man of the cloth.
"Sorry to meet you under these circumstances," Bart explained. "I'd be much obliged if we could talk sometime tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Fletcher repeated. "I'm fairly busy tomorrow."
"My time's a little short. I'll come around anytime you can spare."
The reverend looked the gambler over carefully, then nodded. "Alright, Mr. Maverick, I do understand. Can you be here at eight o'clock tomorrow morning?"
"Yes, sir, I can. Here at the church?"
"I think that's the best place for a meeting, don't you?"
Bart returned the nod. "I'm sure you're right. Until tomorrow morning, Reverend."
The drive back to the boarding house was a bit livelier than the trip out. "So, you're meeting Reverend Fletcher at eight o'clock. Do you want me to go with you?"
"No, Porter, I think this meetin' should be private. If he has anything to say, he's more likely to say it to me if my brother's lawyer ain't there."
"Alright, you have a point. Just make sure you're on time, he's a real stickler for punctuality."
"Don't worry, I will be."
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"I'm gonna lock up for the night, Maverick. You need anything before I go?"
Bret looked up from his cot before answering. "Nope, sheriff, unless you got any of that coffee left."
Hopper glanced over at the coffee pot. "I might." Once he'd poured a cup, he brought it to the cell and handed it to the prisoner.
"Thanks."
The sheriff stood there for a minute before speaking. "Why'd you do it, Maverick? Why'd you shoot the kid in the back?"
"I told you more than once, sheriff. I didn't shoot Fletcher."
"Sure. And I'm just supposed to believe that somebody broke into your room at the boarding house, stole your gun, and killed Danny with it."
"Yeah, because that's what happened."
"If you were playin' poker, why weren't you wearin' your gun?"
"I don't need a gun to play poker."
"I ain't never seen no gambler play without one somewhere."
"I didn't have my revolver on that night, Hopper. I didn't say I was unarmed."
"So you did have a gun somewhere."
"Never said I didn't. But not the Colt. I had a derringer with me. That's not what Fletcher was shot with."
Frank Hopper walked away from Maverick's cell. "Alright, I ain't gonna argue with you no more. But if you didn't shoot him, who did? And why did they steal your gun to do it?"
"I'd like answers to the same questions, sheriff. That's why I sent for my brother. He'll find out who's behind it."
"And what if he don't?"
Bret looked at the lawman like he'd just asked the world's dumbest question. "Then I guess you get to hang me."
Sheriff Hopper picked up his keys and headed for the front door. "Night, gambler."
"Night, lawman."
The door opened and closed, and Bret heard the key turn in the lock. He moved across the cell to his window and stared out at the night sky. "Don't fail me, little brother. I still got a lotta poker games left to play." He finished his coffee and set the cup down on his cot. "And a woman left to love."