Chapter Eleven
Jess rested his left elbow on top of the bar, his hand cupping his chin, without a glass of whiskey or mug of beer in front of him. Doc Sweeney had strongly advised against any strong brew from passing down his irritated throat until it fully recovered, and even though Jess had come through the swinging doors with the intent to disobey, the tainted scent of the saloon alone was enough to change his mind as every breath sent a shaft of heat down his throat. He reluctantly asked for a cup of water when the bartender, Freddie, asked, "what'll it be?"
Jess had been positioned at the bar for almost an hour, his glass of water remaining untouched as he watched and listened to the talk amongst the other patrons. The fires were the main topic as Jess had figured, but so far only talk of fear had pricked his ears and nothing about suspicion or blame. He sighed, touching the cup of water for the first time, but not bringing it to his lips. His movement caught the eye of Freddie, who still held out hope that Jess would be spending some of the coins that were concealed in his shirt pocket.
"The fire bug's got you just as provoked as everyone else in town, looks like," Freddie held a bottle of whiskey in his hands, trying to persuade with a little temptation. "Surely you need more to keep your stamina going than a little bit of water."
"I have plenty to keep going on, Freddie," Jess replied, not adding that what was really pumping his adrenaline was the same agitation that swirled around the townspeople, only his was differently defined.
"Glad to hear that the sheriff's getting better, anyhow," Freddie nodded, filled a fresh glass for a man at the corner of the bar and then returned to Jess, sloshing the whiskey bottle as he talked. "But from what I hear, he's going to be out for a spell. If you're going to be taking over full time until he returns to service, you'll definitely need some of this."
"Not today, Freddie," Jess cleared his throat, hoping that the noise would be a sufficient enough excuse for his refusal. It had been no secret that he had rescued Mort and sustained fairly serious injuries, but the fact that he'd chosen to ignore most of his pain made him look far more recovered than he was. Jess wished he could have the drink, but if he wanted to keep his voice, he had to avoid any fire in his mouth, liquid included.
"Well, some other time then," Freddie finally placed the bottle back where it belonged.
From a corner of the room, a stranger sat with his own bottle in front of him and struck a match, the sound of it lighting up turned Jess' head in his direction. There was nothing about the man that resembled the one that he witnessed fleeing the scene when Mort's house burned, but the tiny flame in his hand was enough to prick his senses, but Jess wasn't the only one. As he returned his gaze to the bar, Jess noticed every other eye was on the man in the corner, as he now lit a cigarette, blew out the match and then set the black-tipped sliver of wood into a chipped plate in the center of the table.
"I guess we're all a little on edge," Freddie frowned as he turned away from the nonchalantly smoking man in the corner. "What with all of the whiskey in this place, just hate to think what one little misplaced match could do."
"Yeah," Jess looked down at his boots, feeling like it was well past the time he should be getting back to the office.
"You know," Freddie stared almost blankly at the bar top, his words keeping Jess rooted to the spot, "I had a friend die in a saloon fire sometime back. It was intentionally caused by a fire nut. They say the man who did it didn't care what he burned, just as long as he burned something, but another friend of mine thought my buddy's saloon was specifically targeted because he caught the man playing with matches a day earlier. I've never thought much on it until now, though. Sure makes you wonder why any person would do such a thing."
"Why indeed," Jess said, his irritation mounting as his mind went instantly back to Bannister and his gang. They had no reason, only to be wickedly cruel to an innocent family. "I gotta get going Freddie. Thanks for the whisk- I mean, water."
"Anytime, Jess," Freddie said with a smile as Jess waved his hand and strode out the door.
As soon as Jess stepped into the sheriff's office, his hands shuffled the papers on the desk until he found what he was looking for. Once he held the notice from the Nebraska marshal in his hands, he read it twice before dropping the sheet of paper back onto the desk. There was no mention of any of the fires being targeted, but ever since Freddie's wonderings got Jess' own into motion, he couldn't help but run the possibility through his mind. He knew there was no evidence that indicated that the Laramie fires were anything but random burnings, but having the town sheriff as the latest victim seemed too strange to be coincidental.
Jess glanced at the paper on Mort's desk once more to jot in his memory the name of the marshal and then he exited the jail, heading in the direction of the telegraph office. He really didn't know how to phrase his question to the Nebraska lawman that had investigated the fires, so he stood still with pen and ink poised for a few minutes before he scrawled out his request. "Let me know when you get a reply," Jess instructed when he finally shoved the note to the telegraph operator.
"Marshal Pennington in North Platte?" The telegrapher raised an eyebrow.
"That's what I wrote," Jess said, ready to exit the building. "It's important, get it out quick."
"I'll do that, Jess, but there's a lot of ground to cover between here and there and from what's been relayed back and forth this morning, there's been some lines down due to some storms over that way. Tomorrow might come before you get your reply."
"Just do as I ask, all right?" Jess answered, noticing immediately that some of his normal gruffness, however still quieted, had returned to his voice.
Jess exited the telegraph building, reluctant to return to the sheriff's office to spend the remainder of the day that was quickly turning into evening alone. He saw the shingle that bore Doc Sweeney's name and he turned in that direction to see if Mort was awake. His stride still wasn't its normal pace, as he walked he tentatively took slower steps to help aid the burn mark that was chafing against his backside in his snug fitting pants. As he paused to adjust his gun belt around that same tender portion, Jess caught movement down an alleyway.
Suspicions highly aroused, Jess feigned that he'd seen nothing and continued onward, only to slip through the next opening beside the bakery until he was coming around the rear end of the alley where he'd thought he'd seen someone lurking. When Jess placed his back against the wall, he knew he heard footsteps and his gun now became fitted into his hand. Before he took a step to reveal himself to the intruder, the crackle of flames assaulted his ears. He firmly bit his lip and gripped his gun even tighter, his resolve to overcome any anxiety set in place. Jess stepped into the opening of the alleyway just as a tall, lean man set a burning crate against the bakery wall.
"Hold it!" Jess' shout was far from its full volume, but it momentarily froze the arsonist in place.
The man stared at Jess, his mind reeling as to how to escape. He saw the gun pointed at him, but he was unarmed, with no weapon except the fire and this he knew could do just as much damage as bullets. His hands were cloaked in thick gloves and without any fear of the flames, as he could say he easily loved them, he grabbed the burning crate and hurtled it at the unsuspecting deputy.
Jess jumped backwards as the flaming wood hit his chest. He fired his gun but only heard the sound of the ricochet as the bullet bounced from the side of the building. The arsonist was fleeing, but Jess couldn't run after him as he was consumed with stamping out the remainder of the flames before anything else could ignite. It took him a long thirty seconds to put out the fire and when his boot crunched only smoldering coals he raced into the street, hollering to anyone around to help him chase down the fool that had caused the turmoil to Laramie. If his voice had been strong he might have received the necessary aid, but it took too long for anyone to turn in his direction. As Jess came to the road that wound past the livery stable with a small group of men behind him, all signs of the arsonist were gone.
Jess turned abruptly, calling out instructions for everyone that was willing to mount up and start a broad search, but darkness fell fast upon them, nothing to see but the ordinary landmarks that surrounded Laramie. The man was gone. They returned back to town feeling defeated, the one feeling this emotion the strongest was Jess. He slowly walked back to the bakery where the crime began, checking everywhere for more evidence, but only a burned match lay in the dust.
A frown set on his face, with nothing more to note than before, Jess walked out into the street where the night sky spoke of rain. Jess felt the moisture touch his cheeks and breathed a sigh of relief. If rain soaked everything in Laramie, fire couldn't be started. If for only one night, the town would have relief. He went to the sheriff's office and sat at the desk, propping his feet up he dropped his hat over his eyes and although he would have rather stayed awake, Jess let sleep come and for the first time since the fires began, he slept until dawn without any violence wreaking havoc in his mind.