Chapter 19 – Glassy-Eyed and Shaking

Bret walked into the room and a hush fell over it. Bart had forgotten what a truly impressive figure his brother cut when he wanted to. Two inches taller and twenty pounds heavier and a lot of bravado, that was his brother. For the first time Bart noticed that the walk was a little slower, the hair a little more grey. Then Bret looked his way and smiled; the dimples were still there and he was as handsome as he ever was. He could still set the hearts fluttering when those dimples appeared, by the roomful. But that's not what he was here for, and his face returned to a more serious expression.

"Have a seat, Mr. Maverick. We're all using first names here, I'm Warren. May I call you Bret?"

"Certainly."

"Now, it's my understanding that you were at the scene of the shooting. Please tell me what you saw and heard that afternoon." The judge stopped shuffling papers and gave Bret his full attention.

Bret cleared his throat before beginning. "I heard Cole's horse before I saw him. He was ridin' like somebody lit him on fire, wavin' that shotgun in the air. He was barely off his horse before he was poundin' on the front door, yellin' that Bart was under arrest. Saw the front door open and Cole fired both barrels of that shotgun, then I saw him hit and fall. By the time I got to the place where he went down, there was already a pool of blood. I looked in the door and saw Bart on the ground with his wife hoverin' over him. Lucien Walters and me stood guard over the body until the sheriff could get there. Then I went into the house to see to my brother. That's all."

"When the sheriff arrived you told him you hadn't seen anything. Why did you lie to him?"

"I didn't lie. Dave asked if I'd seen the shooting. I hadn't seen the actual shooting, so I told him 'no.' Wait, I think what I actually said was 'nope.'"

The judge read from the paper he held in his hand before asking his next question. "I'd like to ask you some questions about that time back in Silver Creek. Tell me what you found when you opened the door to the cell your brother had spent the night in."

Bret sat very still for a few minutes, then he cleared his throat again and shut his eyes. "When Beckham Dooley and me finally got the cell doors open, Bart was huddled against the back wall of the cell. He still had hold of the bars on the window; he didn't know who I was. He reached out with his hand and I reached for him, but as soon as our fingers touched he pulled away. I couldn't think of anything else to do, so I opened my arms and walked towards him. When I finally reached him, he more or less fell into my arms. At first he was stiff as a board, but eventually I heard a gasp and he collapsed into my arms. I held onto him until he was steady enough to lean on me and walk out."

"And when you took him out of jail, Marshal Cole was there, wasn't he? And you had to walk past him?"

"That's correct."

"And how did your brother react?"

"There was no reaction. It was like he didn't recognize Cole."

"And how long was he like this? Unable to recognize people?"

"Around twelve hours."

"And when he came out of it?"

"He was glassy-eyed and shaking, for at least the next thirty-six hours."

"And he was attended by a physician during that time?"

"Yes, Beckham Dooley."

"When that thirty-six hour period was over, did he return to normal? That is, was he like himself again?"

Bret shook his head. "No, he wasn't. He didn't smile, or laugh, or tell jokes, or seem to enjoy anything."

"And he was this way for how long?"

"Until after the fire burned down our saloon. About five or six weeks."

"Alright, that's all the questions I have for you, Bret. Thank you for your honest answers. You are dismissed." Bret got up and left the jail; he went outside to wait for Bart and Dorlice.

The room sat in silence for several minutes while the judge looked over his notes. Finally he looked up and spoke to Bart. "I see here that both your twin daughters, Isabelle and Maude, were on the witness list. I won't be questioning them. I have more than enough information to make my decision. Please be here in the sheriff's office in two days; that's Wednesday, at nine o'clock. I will render my decision at that time."

Bart wanted to talk to Dave Parker for a minute, so Doralice went outside and sat with Bret.

"Can we talk now, Dave?"

"Yep, finally."

"Did he ask you about Cole's state of mind before he left here that day?"

"Yeah, we had a long discussion about all the things that had happened when the Marshal was here, and how bent on revenge he was that afternoon."

"How do you think it went?"

"I think it went pretty well. Anybody could plainly see there ain't no reason to hold you over for trial. But you just never know with these judges. You got thirty-six hours to sweat it out, partner."

They shook hands, for the first time in days, and Bart joined his wife and his brother outside. "What's Dave got to say?" Bret asked.

"Thinks it went well. Just gotta wait, I guess."

"Smithson came out when the judge dismissed everybody. He'd like you to come on down to his office."

"You wanna come with us?" Bart asked as he took Doralice's hand.

"Nope, I'm goin' on home. I have to prove to my wife that I still live there."

"Give her our best."

Bret nodded and mounted his horse.

"Wadda you think Smithson wants to see us for?"

"I don't know, gamblin' man. I guess we better go find out."

They found the attorney waiting for them. "Come in, you two, and have a seat." Once they were seated, he began. "I was visited by the town council yesterday afternoon. They brought me something I wasn't expecting. At least not from them."

"Oh, dear. A notice that we were no longer wanted in Little Bend?" Bart smirked when he asked the question, but he half expected it.

"No. It seems that your manager over at Maude's, Billy Sunday, went around to all the town merchants and took up a collection."

"What kind of a collection?" Bart was almost afraid to ask. They weren't poor, by any means, but Smithson's bill would put a strain on their assets. Still . . .

"A collection to help pay your legal fees. Seems he felt you shouldn't have to pay for an attorney to defend you, when you shouldn't have been charged with anything."

"Oh dear, I'll have to have a talk with Billy."

"Bart, the town council thought it was a good idea. They kicked in what the merchants were short, and the result is . . ."

Bart was almost afraid to hear the results.

" . . . you don't owe me a thing."

"Uh, what?" Doralice asked. Her husband just sat there with his mouth open.

"Your bill is paid in full."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Don't you know how much this town thinks of you? Wasn't that cheering to boost your spirits the day this started enough to tell you how proud the townsfolk are of you? You and your brother started out as what some people would call 'tin-horn gamblers,' and you made yourselves into respected members of the community. Be proud that you're so well liked."

"Smithson, we can't accept this."

"You should, Bart, you haven't seen my bill."

"That much, huh?"

"That much."

"I . . . I don't know what to say."

"Say thank you, Bart," Doralice suggested.

"Thank you."

"Can we go home now, my love?" His wife asked.

"I think we better, blue-eyes. Somebody in town might see me and want their money back."