Chapter Fifteen

'Round Up the Posse, We're Going After the Bad Guys

By the time Garret had Jordan safely ensconced in the back room he called his infirmary, the whole town was in a state of controlled chaos which spilled over into outright mayhem when Sidney and Peter were sent out to the Cavanaugh place to pick up the remains of the sheriff.

Rene' Walcott nominated herself to get to the bottom of the situation. She strode into Garret's office to demand answers from the young marshal and found the gentleman in question pacing a hole in the threadbare rug on the parlor floor.

"Marshal Hoyt, a word please."

Rene' Walcott had an air of power about her that couldn't be denied. Woody had served under officers, both in the war and with the law, that couldn't hold a candle to the little shopkeeper. He had no doubts if Mrs. Walcott had been born a man she would have been governor of the territory by now...if not king and supreme ruler.

"Ma'am," Woody said feverously finger combing his hair.

"Is it true? Is Sheriff Malden dead?"

"Yes ma'am. He was shot in the back at the Cavanaugh place."

"Curious. Max disappears without warning. Now the last man he was seen arguing with is dead. Was he there Marshal Hoyt?" Rene's voice was cool and crisp, reminding Woody of a fancy city-lawyer he once admired while watching one of his cases go to trial.

"No. There was no sign of him at the claim. It looks like he rode out just like he said he did."

Rene' glanced at the closed door of Garret's infirmary. "Did Miss Cavanaugh do it?"

Woody pictured the scene in his mind. The over turned furniture, the fired Henry. It was three men against one...against Jordan. He hoped to hell she had the pleasure of at least taking one of them out. "We'll probably never know everything that happened out there, ma'am. But I can safely say if Jordan had anything to do with Malden's death it was in self defense," he said proudly.

Walcott blinked twice before she asked, "How is she doing?"

"Dr. Macy says he'll know more when the swelling goes down..."

The swelling scared him, almost as much as watching Jordan hanging from that tree. The ride back to town took forever as far as Woody was concerned. He didn't dare push too hard in case Jordan had injuries they couldn't see, but as she faded in and out of consciousness he worried that her airway was being closed by her own body's reaction to the stress of the rope. She was as limp as a rag doll when he passed her down to Garret to carry in to the office. The raspy sound of her struggling to take in each breath still echoed in his ears.

Rene' nodded and assured Woody that Jordan would have everything she needed while she recuperated. Woody knew she'd have more questions later...and was hoping to ask Jordan herself.

Malden's and Cahill's bodies arrived shortly after Rene' left. With Garret busy with Jordan, Sidney and Peter were left to take care of the arrangements. Woody would have preferred to take their corpses out to the prairie and let the coyotes have them, but Tyler was a civilized town. No matter how they felt, Sydney went to work on the pine boxes leaving Peter to dig a set of graves.

Peter laid Cahill out on the table and took a good look at the damage Woody's shot had done. "Fancy shot Marshal," he said rolling a piece of chewing gum around in his mouth and poking a callused finger in the hole in Cahill's chest.

"He'll look pretty for Lord Nigel's camera-box. He didn't live long enough to bleed out...like Malden did." Peter pulled a soiled handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped the blood off and motioned to the sheriff who was laid out on the other side of the room. A Henry fired at close range can make a mess of a man's belly. "He made a mighty big stain on Jordan's floor."

The voice from the doorway was cool and elegant, but had and edge of anxiety to it. "She can cover the stain with the rug from my parlor and if she doesn't like that I'll buy her a new one..."

Tallulah Simmons brushed past both Woody and Peter to look at Tom Malden's body. Woody noticed the usually well manicured Lu Simmons looked a little harried. "I had to see for myself. They really are dead."

Woody laid a hand on her shoulder which made Lu immediately square them. She turned away from the carnage and patted the roll of hair on the back of her head like she had just walked with a slick summer breeze instead of standing in a room that was thick with the smell of death.

"Where's Jeffers?" she asked almost matter-of-factly. "You missed one Marshal."

On the ride back to town Woody and Garret agreed not to say anything about the third man in hopes that someone would slip. He wasn't prepared for that person to be Lu. He had a hard time believing his landlady, a woman that over the last few weeks had become something of a confident and friend could be involved.

"Who?" he asked softly.

Lu twisted a laced-edged handkerchief in her fingers. Woody couldn't help but notice how different it was from Peter's...but with the way she was crushing the white linen it would soon be a ragged and torn as Peter's. For a woman that looked cool as highland mountain breeze, he could tell it was an act. She was nervous, scared...and something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"His name is Carl Jeffers. He left town to make his fortune out west and discovered that selling guns was easier then panning for a few grams of gold dust. He and Kevin Cahill over here, moved the operation to Tyler last fall. They were careful to keep out of town, but it didn't take long for Malden to catch wind of what has going on and even less time to weasel himself in as a partner. With the local law in their pockets Jeffers got greedy. That's when the bodies started showing up..."

Woody couldn't believe his ears. Lu was singing like a robin in the springtime. He led her over to a settee to make her more comfortable hoping to keep her talking. "Partners...or competition?"

"Is there a difference?" she answered with a mirthless laugh. The laughter faded quickly and Lu wrapped her arms around herself like a small child would on a stormy night. "One by one ...then two or three at a time. The bodies kept on showing up. The sheriff would stop by my place after ...after bringing the bodies in to town. He didn't have to say anything. I could smell...death on him. I knew he killed them. Just the thought of taking a life can arouse some men. Killing is almost like being with a woman to them."

Woody reached out to touch her, offer some kind of comfort, but Lu flinched as if she had just awakened from a deep-dark dream. She brushed away his concern by simply arching a wheat-colored blow in his direction. Once again she was the refined madam that Woody knew.

"Malden talked in his sleep, Marshal. He talked about how he was going to take care of Cahill and Jeffers and take over. He wasn't worried about the Cavanaugh's and their questions. He made some veiled threats and was cocky enough to believe those would keep them in line."

"Why didn't you say anything before, Lu?"

"You mean, why I didn't say something before Jordan was hurt? I am truly sorry. Jordan's a good woman... but you know that already...don't you Marshal? Jordan tries not to notice I'm a whore," Lu added with a sad smile. "I was afraid, Marshal. They would have killed me and nobody would have batted an eye at a dead hooker."

Woody visibly flinched. Jordan wasn't the only person in town that tried to ignore how Mrs. Simmons made her living. Good manners made the fine people of Tyler trade small talk with the pretty 'widow'. But he doubted if anybody would swear vengeance over her grave. Woody knew if he were sheriff around here he'd make sure the law treated Tallulah Simmons and her girls the same as any other ladies in his jurisdiction. But she had no idea that he'd feel that way. He couldn't blame her for not trusting him.

"You're safe now Lu. Do you know where I can find Jeffers?"

Lu told him about a place just past the river bend that Malden had talked about. She was sure that's where Cahill and Jeffers had their hold up.

Woody knew he could be riding into a trap, but he had a good feeling. He had to trust her. Woody escorted Lu over to the saloon and asked Nigel to keep an eye on her while he took some men to ride out and check it out. He left Matt Seeley rounding up a posse and went back to the doctor's office to be nearer to Jordan.

He was one step away from closing his case. Normally, the adrenaline rush he always got when he was this close would have him itching to finish up his business and ride out for his next assignment.

But just the thought of leaving Tyler was sitting heavy on his heart. It wasn't just the pretty lady doctor that made his feet drag, it was the whole town. This dust bowl in the middle of nowhere felt like the closest to 'home' then any other dot on the map since before his father died.

Garret was helping himself to a cup of coffee when Woody walked back in the doctor's office. "A little pick-me-up, Marshal?" Garret asked holding up the pot. "I came to Tyler hoping to find a nice quiet place to live my life. I'm getting too old for all this."

Woody nodded and sat down for the first time all day. When Garret started to add a spot of Irish in his cup, Woody held his hand over the rim. "How's she doing?"

"The swelling's stopped, her breathing is easier. I gave her something to sleep. She'll feel like she's been trampled by McCoy's prize bull tomorrow morning, but I think she'll be fine. Madder than a hornet...but fine."

"I can imagine getting hung would ruffle any woman's feathers a little," Woody quipped over the rim of his coffee cup.

"True," Garret grinned. "No. I was thinking about her locket. It's missing. It must have snapped off her neck somewhere. She's going to be devastated. She loved that thing."

Woody remembered a locket she wore around her neck the night of the dance. It was heart-shaped and gold-colored. He couldn't recall much more. Too be honest, he was too busy trying not to notice her cleavage to really look at it.

"It was her mother's," Garret continued. "It's all she has left. That...and her nightmares."

"Nightmares?" Woody had nightmares about the war. He didn't think anybody that was unlucky enough to live through that hell escaped those occasional night terrors. He was sure Jordan saw her share of things she's as soon as forget.

"Jordan's mother was murdered when she was just a child."

Woody looked at the closed door of Jordan's room. He had seen her stop by her mother's gravesite after church and even saw her sneak over between dances the night of the social. He had just assumed that she died of natural causes like so many other frontier women did. "Murdered?"

"They never figured out who did it. Max sent the traumatized child away to live with her grandmother in Boston a few months later. I don't blame him. If my daughter saw the bloody body of my wife lying dead on the floor, I'd get her away as soon as I could. But Jordan never truly forgave him."

Woody didn't want to think of what she had gone through traveling alone to a life she didn't know. "This locket. Could she have taken it off..? Could be in her room at home?"

"I doubt it. She never took it off as far as I know."

Woody made a mental note to backtrack the trail from the claim to the mine shack. Before he left town, he'd make sure Jordan had her locket. It was the least he could do.

"Marshal?" Matt said poking his head in the door. "We're ready."

Garret looked at Woody as the young man knocked back the last drags of his coffee and reach for his hat. "Ready? Ready for what?"

"We're going after a man named Carl Jeffers," Woody said double checking the rounds in his Colt. "He's the bastard that got away."

Garret ran the name around in his head trying to place it. "It'll be dark in a few hours."

"It's not far. We'll be back by then. Just keep an eye open in case I'm wrong," he said quietly. Garret nodded. He knew what needed to be done if necessary.

Before he left, Woody quietly let himself into Jordan's room. He wasn't surprised to see Lily sitting vigil next to Jordan's bed. The abrasions and bruises ringing Jordan's neck were a vivid reminder of what almost happened. The ointment Garret had smoothed on them made the colors splash out more, making the untouched skin surrounding it look unnaturally pale. Woody swallowed back a wave of nausea.

He needed to touch her and make sure she was still there. He was glad she was sleeping. He didn't want to look in those beautiful chocolate-colored eyes when he fixing to kill a man in cold blood. In gesture that was both hesitant and intimate, he trailed his fingers over the tips of her hair that was spread over the pillow.

"He's going to pay Jordan. I said I'd keep you safe. He's never going to touch you again."