A Day in the Life

Chapter 10 – Five P.M.

Thank God Jimmy Fillmore was back on duty at the hotel; at least I could get hot water for a bath. And boy, was that arm sore, which I was reminded of when I took it out of the sling. Suffice it to say that bathing wasn't easy and trying to dress one-handed was not for the faint-of-heart. I wasn't going to see Laura-of-the-violet eyes looking like a trail bum.

I'd just finished dressing when there was a knock on my door. "Coming," I called as I took the Remington out of its shoulder holster and slipped it inside the sling, into my left hand. When I opened the door it was Davis Henderson, Milt's Senior Deputy. Whenever Milt was called away for any reason, Davis took over until he returned. Milt had been at Fort Lincoln the night of Sandy's death, and Deputy Henderson was the one that handled the entire investigation. I'd wanted to talk to him since this morning, but he was out at Ellington Ranch dealing with a hot-tempered cowhand.

"Mr. Maverick? Sorry it's taken me so long – " he stopped short when he saw the sling and bandage on my temple. "My God, did that just happen?"

I opened the door wider and switched the derringer to my right hand. "Come on in, Davis. And yes, I picked all this up this afternoon. You haven't seen Milt today?"

He walked in past me and I closed the door behind him. "Nope, I just got back from the Ellington Spread. What happened?"

"Bushwhacked. That's not why I left a message for you. Have a seat."

Davis Henderson was still young, about my age, but he'd worked for Milt for a long time. He was fair and honest, and all the things that most deputies I've run into aren't. And I knew he'd tell me the truth, no matter what I asked.

"That night Milt was at Fort Lincoln, about six or seven weeks ago?"

Davis gave an involuntary shudder. "Yeah, I remember."

"The shooting at the Palace?" I knew it had bothered him; I could see it in his face.

"Yes, sir?"

'Dear God, Davis, don't sir me,' I thought, but I didn't say it out loud. "Can you tell me what happened?" Davis gave me a look that I couldn't decipher, and for once I added an explanation to my question. "It could be the difference between life and death – mine."

"I only got the call because Milt was gone. You know Milt, he wants to personally handle every shooting. Local boy – Sandy Jenkins – got into it with a card sharp. No offense, Mr. Maverick. Everybody agreed with Sandy – the gambler was cheating – but Sandy handled it wrong. Looked like he was goin' for his gun, and the gambler shot him. Everybody that saw it said the same thing. Self-defense. End of another life too soon."

"That's the whole story? Nothing else strike you?"

"Other than the fact that the gambler disappeared as soon as he was cleared?"

"What was his name?"

"Grainger. Let's see . . . . . Ralph? . . . . . Richard? . . . . . Reggie . . . . Reggie Grainger."

Hmmmm. Sounded like one of Dandy Jim Buckley's friends. Except the sloppy cheating part. Buckley was no fool. He might hang around with all of the scum. He might even be one of the scum. But Jim Buckley would never abide a sloppy card cheat.

As I was pondering this Reggie Grainger character, I started walking around the room, forgetting the wounded arm. I remembered it quick enough when my head decided it wanted a rest and laid down on the job – I staggered and almost fell, and caught myself on the corner of the bureau. Right against the arm.

Lord only knows what kind of a face I made, because Davis jumped out of his chair and grabbed me by the other arm to help 'right the ship.' He guided me over to a chair while telling me "Maybe you better sit down for a while, Mr. Maverick." Talk about feeling suddenly old!

"Thanks, Davis," I muttered, while the arm did some protesting of its own. I was baffled. There were two characters floating around this town - a card cheat named Reggie Grainger and a blackmailer named Baxter. And both of them were giving my chosen profession a bad name.

" . . . . . get going if you don't have any more questions, Mr. Maverick," I heard this last part of Davis's statement, and quickly thought of one more.

"Give me a description of this Grainger, would you, Deputy?" If I was gonna get treated like an old man I was gonna put this back where it belonged, on a professional level.

"Sure, Mr. Maverick. Tall fella, taller than you. Dark hair, light eyes. Kinda oily lookin'."

"Right or left handed, Deputy?"

"Uh, right-handed. But he wore a double gun rig."

"Anything else you can think of?"

Davis sat there pondering for a minute before he answered. "Yeah, he had a scar on his face. Underneath the right eye. Like somebody knifed him. Scar looked plenty old."

"Thanks, Davis. If you think of anything – "

"I'll let you know, Mr. Maverick. Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why all the interest in somethin' that happened almost two months ago?"

How much of an answer to give him? "I'm playin' a hunch, Davis. Just playin' a hunch."

That was true. Just where it was gonna lead me was the question.

He got up from his seat and walked to the door. "You know you can trust me to keep my mouth shut, don't you? I don't have a Cora at home to talk to."

Milt's habit of telling his wife everything seemed to be well-known. "Understood. Thanks."

I closed the door behind him and checked my watch. Ten minutes of six. Just enough time to avoid being late. On my way down the stairs I thought about Laura Sternhagen and those spectacular eyes. 'Focus, Bart, focus,' I repeated over and over in my mind. As I walked through the lobby of the hotel, I noticed the bowl of fresh lilys on one of the tables. With no one watching, I stole one. What? Laura was a beautiful girl. I wasn't going empty-handed.