Two or three more weeks passed and it became evident that the only route into or out of Sioux Falls was almost passable. I'd been waiting nervously for that to happen, knowing full well and good that Jed and Dickie were out there somewhere, looking for my head on a platter. So I had mixed emotions about spring and being able to leave Sioux Falls.
And then there was Maggie Sawyer. Maggie and I were as involved as ever, and I'd gotten almost as attached to her as I had to Jody, our 'adopted' sister, who's really our cousin. Of course, I had different feelings for Maggie than Jody, but I wasn't about to act on them. Still, I was going to miss the warmth and closeness we shared.
It became evident to me that Bret had feelings of some kind for Constance, and if they weren't romantic feelings they were sure close to it. Maybe if his failed relationship with Althea Taylor hadn't been so fresh in his mind, those feelings might have gone farther. Even so, I knew Bret was as ready to go as I was.
I was on my way back to the hotel one morning when I got that feeling again, the one I hadn't had for quite a while – the one that made me think someone was watching me. I stopped and stood still for a minute, straining to hear anything other than normal, early morning sounds, and when I didn't I resumed walking. I'd gone about another twenty feet when I stopped to light a cigar and heard something I hadn't heard before – the distinctive jingle of a pair of spurs. The kind of spurs that Jed had worn when I encountered him in a previous life.
I quickly got rid of the cigar and pulled my gun out of its holster, but before I could turn around there was a gun barrel in my back and a familiar yet unpleasant voice in my ear. "Didn't think we'd forget about ya, did ya?" It was Jed Hightower. "I've spent all winter thinkin' about the things I'm gonna get to do to make ya tell us where the money is, Maverick. You're not still hangin' on to that story about turnin' it in the marshal in Shreveport, are ya?"
"Sorry, Jed, that's exactly what I did. Believe me, if I had it, I'd give it to ya." I was supposed to meet Bret back in the room to see if it was possible to make it through the pass yet. If it was, the stage with the reward on it could be here as early as next week. When I didn't show, would he think to come looking for me? And would it be too late by that time?
"Yeah, sure ya would. Alright, hand me the gun. Now, let's go. Straight ahead and right at the buildin' past the hotel. Dickie's already there waitin' for ya." Jed shoved the gun further into my back and pushed me forward. We walked past the hotel and I did as told, turned right at the next building. That led to an alley that ran back to the next street, and we hadn't gone far when Jed directed me to an old, boarded up building. The door opened and I got to take another look at Dickie, who appeared more disgruntled than ever, besides having grown a full beard. He was almost drooling, he seemed so eager to start beating on me. Wherever you were, Bret, hurry!
"Ya found him!" Dickie practically cackled as Jed hustled me inside.
"Of course I found him, ya numbskull. Did ya think I'd come back without 'em?"
"You still singin' that same tune, Maverick?"
"You mean the one that says I turned the money in? I wish I didn't have to."
I swear, Dickie rubbed his hands together in anticipation. How's that for scaring the life out of you?
Jed pointed me at a chair sitting on one side of the room. "Sit down, Maverick, and put yer hands behind ya. Unless you wanna tell us where the money is?"
"I told ya, Jed, I turned it in months ago to the marshal in Shreveport. Do you think I'd let you beat on me again if I had another answer?" I was trying to stall them as long as I could to give Bret more time to figure out something had happened to me.
"Oh, shut up," Dickie proclaimed as he tied me to the chair. Just like last time, I tried to work my hands so that the rope wasn't as tight as it should be; unfortunately, it seems they'd caught on to that little trick. Dickie took the hat from my head and plunked it down on his own. "Such a nice hat," he told me just before back-handing me. Damn, that hurt. I turned my head and spat out blood. What was Jed doing on the other side of the room?
He moved a few inches to the left and quite suddenly I could see what he was up to, and it wasn't good. On the dirt floor he had a nice little fire going, and sitting right in the middle of it, getting red-hot, was a branding iron. I closed my eyes and swallowed. I knew what that was for without asking.
While I sat there contemplating how much that was gonna hurt and all the places I didn't want him to put it, I heard a bird singing outside. It took me a minute to realize that, while the snow was beginning to melt, it still wasn't spring and that was no bird, it was my brother. Now the question became - which would get there first, Bret or the branding iron?
"Get him ready, Dickie," Jed called over his shoulder, and Dickie pulled my coat open, then ripped my shirt front apart. That answered the question of where Jed was gonna put it.
'Oh God, Bret, get here in a hurry,' I thought, and squeezed my eyes shut again. I sat there braced for the searing pain that never came. Everything went dead quiet for just a minute and I could smell the branding iron.
Just when I was sure I was gonna know what it felt like to be branded and no longer a maverick, Bret's voice broke the silence. "If you touch him with that, Hightower, it's your turn next. Put it back in the fire and drop the gun. You too, Smithfield, we've got ya surrounded."
I had no idea if there were twenty men with him or he was alone, but he sounded serious to me. Jed lunged with the branding iron and I tipped the chair over on the ground as fast as I could. A shot rang out and Jed dropped to the ground, the branding iron hissing harmlessly as it landed on the dirt floor. Dickie wisely dropped his gun and put his hands in the air, and I looked up as Bret and Dan Manning came through the front door.
"You could have gotten here a few minutes sooner," I told my brother for the second time in my life. He was laughing as he walked across the dirt floor and bent down to lift the chair back upright and untie me.
"I did my best, Brother Bart, I did my best." And just like the first time we'd both said those words, on the third step of the gallows they'd built just for me in Silver Creek, Montana, we embraced and laughed.
XXXXXXXX
"I've got good news and bad news for ya, boys," Dan Manning told us three days later as we sat in his office waiting for the stage to arrive. The pass was finally open and to our immense relief, that stage was supposed to be on the way in.
Bret and I exchanged glances and both sighed at the same time. Why was there always bad news along with the good news? "Alright, Dan, let's hear it," Bret finally said.
"The state of Mississippi has approved the four-thousand-dollar reward for Hightower and Smithfield."
"Is that the good news?" I asked. Sheriff Manning nodded.
"And the bad news?" Bret asked.
"You have to go to Natchez to claim the reward." Manning was smiling. "And the five thousand six hundred dollar reward Wells Fargo owes you has been wired to Natchez, too."
"I don't . . . . . "
"I can't . . . . . ."
"You can't both talk at the same time," the sheriff stated.
I looked at Bret and nodded. "Why the change?" my brother asked.
"Don't know."
We traded glances. There was no debate. "Looks like we're goin' to Natchez," I told Bret.
"Yep. South'll be a nice change," he answered, and we both shivered. It was about time we got to a warmer climate. I know what you're gonna say. Sioux Falls was my choice. Yep, that's right. But I didn't expect to be here for almost five months.
"When's everything gonna be available to us, did they tell you?" was my last question.
"After the first of next month," Manning answered. Today was March Twenty-fifth.