(Author's note: I took the literary liberty of compressing the timeline appearance of Crowbait Bob, Sam as head barkeep, and Percy Crump as the mortician.)
That Tuesday evening, a few hours after Christine and her children had eaten with the other boarders down in the big dining room, Ronny crept from his bed and sat on the top step of the main stairs, peering down between the banisters he held on to. He did this almost every night, wanting to listen to the group of male boarders who sat around after dinner, drinking, smoking big cigars, talking, and often playing cards. The boy missed the Army stories his tall, hearty father would tell, and would press the soldier for details of battles when his disapproving mother wasn't nearby.
Ronny's sleepy eyes open wide when rotund Jamison Parker suddenly started talking in his usual loud voice. "SAY! Did you fellas hear about the 'treasure box' that Kitty Russell over at the Long Branch inherited from ol' Crowbait Bob?!"
"You know, my Molly was saying something about that the other day," skinny little Edgar Lister said thoughtfully, taking off his wire-frame glasses and carefully polishing the lenses with his clean white handkerchief. "Wasn't it full of money? I heard Miss Kitty might sell her share in that saloon now and move to Saint Louie."
The two other men looked up from their cards and waited for Parker to answer. Retired banker Bert Levinson lit a new cigar and glanced over at old and elegant Emerson Daily who was delicately taking a sip of brandy.
Parker, reveling at being the center of attention, leaned back in his chair, put his thumbs in the front of the armholes in his vest, and smiled. "YEP! It sure enough WAS full of money! CONFEDERATE money!" He roared with laughter and slapped the table with one meaty hand.
"Was that all there was, Parker?" Lister asked. "Molly said she heard from Sally who heard from that saloon girl Enid-you know, the one who looks like an otter-that the handsome gambler who hangs around the Long Branch had offered Miss Russell one thousand dollars for the unopened box!"
"Well," Parker said, dragging out his answer, "I heard from a very reliable source that after Miss Kitty had a drink with the Marshal," Parker said with a broad wink, "and Chester, that she was over at the bar talking with that big head barkeep, Sam, and showed him what she had kept from the box." Now the portly man ran his hand over his thinning hair, carefully patting it down over the large bald spot. Looking around at his companions, he wanted to prolong the eager questioning look on their faces, and took a big swallow of his whiskey from the heavy glass in front of him.
"Come ON, Parker! WHAT did she keep? Quit dragging it out like a gossipy old woman!" Levinson barked as the other two men nodded in impatient agreement.
"All right! All right!" Parker grumbled, frowning. "All that silly, sentimental woman got from Crowbait was a lock of some woman's hair, and an old medal from the Mexican War! Useless junk!"
Ronny had started nodding off, his blond head sagging against the banisters, but his eyes opened wide when he heard "an old medal from the Mexican War."
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Christine Penmark lay in her lonely bed, staring at the ceiling, unaware that her son wasn't asleep in his bed. She had been having the same, unsettling nightmare lately about being chased when only a tiny child by a beautiful, but frightening woman. Christine had always had a nagging feeling that she was adopted, and did not really "belong" to her late mother and especially to her beloved father who now lived in Topeka. For the past five years, he had been a consultant at the Osawatomie State Hospital for psychiatric patients.
"I keep hearing that woman calling for me as I hid in the tall weeds. What name was she calling? Inga-something." As she strained to remember, Christine nodded off, then suddenly sat upright, her eyes open in horror. "INGOLD! Ingold DENKER! DENKER! My mother was Bessie Denker!" Denker was the serial murderer who always got off due to her beauty fooling everyone until her last witnessed crime. She disappeared before being captured. Christine knew that the man she knew as her father had been involved somehow in the Denker case. Hearing a slight noise, the distraught woman got out of bed, walked to the door connecting her room to the children's, and carefully opened it a crack. Seeing Ronny getting into bed after a probable visit to the washroom made her smile for a moment before a jolt of fear hit her mind. "RONNY! Could he have inherited any of Bessie Denker's evilness?" she dared wonder. Then she pushed such unsettling thoughts from her fevered brain, "No, my Ronny is such a special boy, and being different from others doesn't mean badness," Gazing at the boy's beautiful face, so angelic as he slept, reassured her, but as she quietly closed the door, she still felt a niggling worm of worry.
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The tired man slowly led his equally exhausted Buckskin into the stall in the stable. Dropping the reins, he patted the horse's flank before taking off his big Stetson and slapping it free of trail dust against his thigh. "Been a long day, huh, Buck? I'll get some oats for you in a minute or two," he said as he looked around for Moss or his helper. Hearing a slight rustling noise from the hayloft, he quickly glanced up, his right hand reflexively already on his gun's grip. The small rock cracked against his right forehead and Matt fell to his hands and knees on the hay-covered dirt floor before passing out. He awoke with his head in Kitty's lap, her right hand gently daubing at the cut on his forehead with a dampened hankie.
"Matt…Matt…wake up, Matt." As she sat on the floor of the stable holding the dazed man, her eyes anxiously glanced towards the doors, hoping to see the old doctor approaching. Moss had found Matt and as he had hurried towards Doc's, Kitty had been standing outside the Long Branch, taking in some fresh air. The old stableman had paused only long enough to point behind him and blurt, "Your Marshal! He's lying in my stable!" Without a word, she had picked up her skirts and run.
"Kitty," Matt said after he opened his eyes, blinked away the blurriness, and focused on the lovely face bending over his. He started to sit up, and suddenly Doc's familiar old mustached face was peering into his.
"Now you just stay put, Matt!" he ordered, pressing down on the younger man's shoulder with a strong hand. "Moss! Bring that light closer!" He barked, looking over where the stable owner was standing, holding a lantern by its metal handle. "Now hold it a little higher…higher…right there," Doc instructed as he peered into the Marshal's eyes. "Hmmm…equal and reactive pupils. Matt, how many fingers?" he asked, holding up two fingers off to the side.
"TWO, Doc! Let me up now!" the exasperated man snapped. He hated feeling weak and hated being the center of attention, but knew his old friend was only doing his job, and was genuinely worried about him. "Thanks Doc," he added in a softer voice, "I'm really fine now."
Doc stood up and shook his head, knowing the young man wouldn't allow any more pampering, but reassured at his big friend's irritation.
"What happened, Matt? Who hit you?" Kitty's voice was calm but her eyes were still full of shock and concern that had momentarily overwhelmed her at the sight of this big, capable man lying unconscious in the dirty hay beside his horse.
"I'm fine now, Kitty," he said, gently pulling away from her arms and getting to his feet. Touching the lump on his right forehead, he winced, looked around the ground, and picked up a small rock with blood on it. "So this is what he hit me with!" he said, frowning. Dropping the rock, he strode over to the wooden ladder on the wall leading to the hayloft and climbed up. With his head through the square opening in the hayloft floor, Matt carefully scanned the area, then climbed down again.
"You find anything, Matt?" Doc asked, standing with Kitty and Moss, all watching the Marshal curiously.
Matt brushed the hay from his shoulders and pants, then straightened up, hands on his hips. "Only that the flattened straw near the front edge is mighty small for a grown man," he said, his eyes locking on Kitty's.
"Matt. Your badge. It's missing," she said in a soft voice as four pairs of eyes stared at the two small pin holes in the Marshal's shirt, over his heart. "Maybe it came loose when you fell," she said in a false and hollow tone, sensing that the silver emblem would not be found in the stable. Doc had told her how young Ronny Penmark's excitement over inheriting Anthony Sparrow's medal had bothered him so as the boy stood over dead Cornelia Sparrow's body. "NO! It cannot be true! No child is capable of such mayhem for…for…trinkets!" Kitty told herself. "It's purely a coincidence! Evil is always visible in a person's face!" Shaking her head at her own wild and silly thoughts, the young woman joined the others in searching the straw and dirt floor for Matt's badge.
To be continued…