Doralice

Chapter 13 – Subterfuge and Coffee

"Bret, your brother wanted me to give you this." She handed Bret the envelope and he took it, then turned and ran back upstairs as fast as he could. Bart's door was open, and his gambling coats were all still hung in the closet; there was a pile of shirts on the dresser and Bart's wallet, with it's engraved 'Bart Maverick' on the outside, lay on top of them. His boots, hat and gun were all gone. "Damn it, Bart, what did you do?" He ran back down the staircase and out to the barn. Noble was gone.

Bret walked back in the house; Beauregard and Ben had awoken and were sitting in front of the fireplace while Lily Mae put the finishing touches on supper. Pappy watched him and asked the question. "What's wrong, Bret?"

Bret leaned against the stone fireplace and read the letter. When he was finished he walked past Pappy and dropped the letter in his lap. As Beauregard read it aloud to Ben, Bret continued into the kitchen and asked the housekeeper, "Did he tell you what he was doing, Lily Mae?"

She nodded her head and stared down at the floor. "Yes, he did, Bret. And asked me to give you the letter."

"What time was that?"

"Around eight thirty this morning."

'Damn,' thought Bret, 'that's why he gave Noble a rubdown. He never went to bed. He was waitin' for us to sleep.' "Did he pack a bag?"

"Yes, he did."

"How was he dressed, Lily?"

"Not workin' clothes, Bret. Dressed like he was goin' out for a ride. He didn't take much with him."

"He had his gun on?"

"Yes. I gave him a hug and I felt it."

"Why didn't you wake me, Lily Mae?" Lily sat down at the table and put her head in her hands. "Don't cry, Lily, it's not your fault." Bret knelt down next to her chair and put his arms around her. "It's not your fault."

Lily Mae sobbed, her heart broken. "Oh, I knew I should! I just knew I should. He didn't want you to follow him, told me to take care of all of you for him. Told me that he loved me and then he just – he just left."

Bret held her and rocked her, just as she'd done for him the day they buried his momma. "It's alright, Lily. You didn't do anything wrong. You just did what he asked you to."

"Bret!" Pappy yelled from the front room. "Come in here."

"Are you alright, Lily Mae?" Bret asked as he stood up. "Pappy's callin' me."

"Go, Bret, go on. I'm all right."

Bret laid his hand on her shoulder and then went to his father. There were tears in Beauregard's eyes, and his voice was shaky. "Is this because of us?" Pappy asked his oldest son.

"No," Bret answered. "No, he spent the last twenty-four hours talkin' himself into it. It's what he wanted to do all along Pappy, he couldn't leave her down there to hang. Don't you know what kind of a man you raised?"

Pappy cleared his throat and looked up. His eyes were dry and his voice was steady as he said, "I do now."

XXXXXXXX

Bart rode out of town, almost directly south, headed for Reynosa, Mexico. In his mind he kept repeating: 'Rory Emory, Rory Emory, Marshal Rory Emory, Rory Emory. Marshal Emory,' until it became a litany. He rode until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, then he found a spot in the rocks and made camp. He was glad to have Noble with him; at least he had an equine lookout. It only took moments to fall asleep, a dreamless and dark slumber.

It was late afternoon when he woke, with Noble snorting his displeasure at something Bart couldn't see. He made a small fire and heated some beans, just to put something in his stomach. As soon as he'd eaten he put the fire out and gathered his belongings together; in just a few minutes Noble was re-saddled and they were off again. Bart passed the time by trying to imagine what Doralice Medina would look like now, since he'd only seen her as a girl of sixteen.

He laughed to himself, thinking how his believing he was Doc Holliday for almost a year had prepared him to 'play' a lawman. From there his mind drifted back to his family, and he wondered just how mad Bret would be at him for leaving without anything more than a note of apology. Bret knew him well enough to understand; he wasn't sure Pappy would. If he was lucky his brother would explain to everyone why he had to go. If he wasn't lucky, it wouldn't matter anyway.

Everything in front of him looked the same as he rode, the only change being it got drier and hotter as he traveled. He held to the same schedule, trying to ride all night while it was cooler and sleep during the day. He pushed both of them, himself and Noble, to get there as soon as possible, lest the order come down to move Doralice to Monterrey before he arrived. He read over the little information Cristian de la Torres provided on Rory Emory so many times he knew it well: only child, father killed in the war, mother died soon after, deputy marshal in San Antonio for four years, finally commissioned by the Texas Rangers in 1867, and then the Texas State Police when they 'replaced' the Rangers. Married once, wife killed by escaped prisoner, no children. The facts played in his head right along with the name, until he could recite them without thinking. He might have to do that, if he was to pull off this masquerade successfully.

His first test came in the little town of Kingsville, Texas. He'd stopped to get a decent meal; his belly was more than tired of beans and jerky and he needed something he couldn't heat over a fire. He was in the middle of breakfast when the local sheriff wandered in and made his way to Bart's table.

"New in town?" the sheriff inquired.

"On my way through," Bart replied.

"Don't get too many strangers through here," the sheriff continued. "One of two types. Outlaws runnin' from somethin', or the lawmen chasin' 'em. Which one are you?"

"Neither."

"Oh? Do I need to run you in until I figure it out for myself?"

Bart tried a different tactic. "Join me for coffee, sheriff?"

"Howser. Sheriff Howser. Don't mind if I do, thanks. But you still haven't answered my question."

Bart started to reach for his wallet and the sheriff quickly drew his gun. "Easy, Howser. Just gettin' this out." He pulled the wallet, with the badge attached, from his jacket and set it on the table.

"Well why didn't you say so? You got a name, Marshal?"

"It's not something I advertise, Sheriff. Emory. Rory Emory. On my way to pick up a prisoner."

"Got far to go?"

Bart nodded. "Reynosa."

"Reynosa? Say, you wouldn't be the one comin' for that gal they're fixin' to hang, would ya?"

Another nod. "You know about that?"

"Sure." Howser sat back and drank his coffee. "Don't see too many women hung, specially one that looks like that. Murdered her husband, eh? What's that all about?"

"Don't know, don't care. All I know is she's wanted back in Austin. Got an extradition order."

"Good luck with that. Just because you got a piece'a paper don't mean you're gonna get 'er. Course I'd be real surprised if she still looks the way she did when they arrested her. Federales probably passed her around a bunch by now."

Bart ate the last piece of bacon on his plate and drained his coffee cup. The thought of a woman being treated like so much chattel was enough to make him lose what appetite he had left. "I'll get her. One way or the other."

Howser got up and pushed his chair back under the table. "Well, I gotta go. Thanks for the coffee."

Bart nodded. "Thanks for the information." He picked the wallet up from the table and put it back inside his coat. Everything within him hoped the sheriff was wrong about the Federales treatment of Doralice Medina. Could they be that inhuman? Would they be? He paid his bill and went out to collect his horse, wondering what kind of an unpleasant surprise awaited him in Mexico. There was only one way to find out. Noble whinnied and Bart seconded the notion. "Let's go see just we have waiting for us, old man."