The stage left Little Bend early the next morning, and I was on it. I hadn't gotten any decent sleep the past two nights and it didn't look like I was gonna get any here, at least for a while. Every seat was filled, and for this time of day I seemed to be the only one in need of peace and quiet. We rode all day like that, and it wasn't until Amarillo that three of the passengers got off.
I slept from Amarillo to Harding Station in New Mexico. That was a stopover for breakfast, and I was starved by that time. What I would have given for anything that Doralice cooked. I won't say the food was terrible, but it tasted like terrible's first cousin. At least the coffee was good, and with a full but disgruntled belly, I went back to sleep. We had different passengers but the coach wasn't full, and this bunch wasn't as chatty. I woke up later that day and was drawn out of sheer politeness into conversation with a man on his way to Grand Junction.
"Pretty little town," the man told me. His name was Chester Ellis and he was a tailor. I asked him how long he'd lived in Grand Junction and he said it had been about three years.
I was almost afraid to ask about Dandy, but I finally did. "Are you familiar with Dandy Jim Buckley, by any chance?"
He gave it some thought before shaking his head. "No, I don't know anybody by the name of Buckley. Is he a friend of yours?"
"He . . . is." I hesitated before I finished my answer, and I felt guilty about the hesitation. "But I don't know if he lives there or is just stayin' for a while."
"Well, if he lives there you'll be able to find him. The place isn't that big."
I wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. We stayed overnight in Pueblo, Colorado, and started out the next morning for Grand Junction. By the time we got there it was cold and dark, and the only thing I wanted was a bath, followed by a soft bed. Fortunately, the Grand Junction Hotel had both. And they had a dining room that served decent food, as I discovered the next morning.
Once I had something edible in my stomach I went back to the front desk. I was too tired when I checked in to inquire about Dandy, so that was my goal now. The clerk allowed me to check the roster of guests after receipt of a crisp twenty-dollar bill, but there was no Buckley registered in the last thirty days. "What about before that?" I asked. "He could have been here but moved out since."
"You're welcome to look," I was told, and I followed the guest list for the last six months. Nothing there, either. "The name's not familiar to you at all?"
The clerk shook his head. He was a nondescript fellow, medium height, medium build, medium bland, and he finally took pity on me. "Look, Mr. Maverick, I've only been in town for two months. You need to go see Sheriff Bosworth. If Jake can't help you, nobody can."
So I headed off to the sheriff's office. Ellis, the tailor, had been right. The town wasn't that big.
Jake Bosworth wasn't a large man, but he had a manner about him that made you want to obey him. I introduced myself and we shook hands, then I went about explaining that I was looking for an old friend of mine, Dandy Jim Buckley.
Bosworth looked somewhat startled to hear the name, but didn't hesitate to give me an answer. "James Buckley, sure I know James. Ain't too many in this town don't. Just never heard him called . . . what was that, again? Dandy Jim? Been a long time since you've seen him, Mr. Maverick?"
"Yes, sheriff, it has. Years, as a matter of fact. But a mutual acquaintance of ours ran into him and told me where he was, and I wanted to come up and see him. We've got some . . . um, unfinished business, you might say, and I heard . . . well, what I heard was worrisome."
There was a change in attitude, a subtle change, as soon as I mentioned unfinished business. I'm not sure what the sheriff was expecting from me, but it was almost as if he got . . . protective.
"I can get a message to James, Mr. Maverick. That's about the best I can do for you. Then, if he wants to see you, he can contact you. Are you staying over at the hotel?"
"Wait a minute, sheriff. I don't know what kind of an idea you got when I said unfinished business, but I assure you that I intend to do no harm to Jim. I've come a long way to see him, and I didn't endure the trip just to sit in a hotel room. Can you get a message to him now? Tell him Bart's here and I'd really like to talk to him?"
Bosworth whistled, and a boy of no more than fourteen or fifteen came through the back door of the jail. "Take this to Mr. Buckley," he instructed as he handed the boy a piece of paper folded in half. "And wait for an answer." The kid nodded and ran out the front door, paper clutched in hand.
The sheriff started asking questions, as if he was trying to kill time until the boy could come back with the answers. "You were a business associate of James Buckley?"
"In a manner of speaking." I was trying to answer the sheriff without giving too much away. Assuming that Dandy would rather not have his personal life too well-known.
"What kind of business were you in?"
I gave that one some thought. "Merchandise distribution." That was just a small exaggeration.
"And what was the merchandise you dealt with?"
"Why do you need to know this, Sheriff? That was all years ago. Neither of us is in the same business anymore."
"Let's just say . . . I want to be sure that James isn't taken advantage of." One more time Bosworth gave me a look that made me wonder what Jim was mixed up in. Before I could start asking a few questions of my own, the front door opened and the kid reappeared, out of breath. He left the note with Bosworth and went out the back door. Jake Bosworth opened the paper and read it, then got a smile on his face. "Mr. Maverick, James would like to see you. Are you free at the present time?"
"I am, sheriff, since the only reason I came to Grand Junction was to see Dandy, I would definitely say I'm free at the present time. "
"Alright, sir, come with me." I followed the sheriff outside and down the street; there was another street with a row of houses behind the buildings. Bosworth took me to a house that sat behind a white fence. It was blue, with white shutters and two big trees in the front yard. "This is it, Mr. Maverick," he announced.
"This is Buckley's house?" I don't know why that seemed so odd to me, but it did.
"Yes. He has a live-in housekeeper named Mrs. Murtaw. She's a lovely lady, tries to take care of everything James needs."
"Is he married?" I finally asked.
"No, no, James isn't married."
"And what about his son? Does Jack live with him?"
Bosworth shook his head. "No, Jack doesn't live in Grand Junction. But he does come to visit quite often. He's a good boy." I don't think the sheriff had it quite right. Jack was no longer a boy, but rather a man. I think I'd been stalling, wanting to see Jim but not wanting to see him, and it was time to quit acting like a five-year-old and face the man that had been my very good friend.
"Well, thanks, sheriff. I appreciate the help."
"Mr. Maverick . . . look, whatever your differences were in the past, don't be too hard on James. He's been through a lot, and most of us are pretty fond of him."
"I . . . I don't know what to say. I'll be fair, sheriff, that's the best I can promise."
"Good enough. Good luck, Mr. Maverick." We shook hands and Bosworth headed back towards the jail. I opened the gate and went up the steps, knocking at the door until Mrs. Murtaw appeared. She was in her fifties, brown hair, tall and slim, with a ready smile.
"Hello. You must be Mr. Maverick. Please come in. Mr. Buckley is in the study waiting for you."