"How's the fever?" Hank asked of Jake, beginning to tuck into an early supper that Steve had retrieved from the kitchen of Artly's hotel.
A small man with bad eyesight, Artly could do little for law enforcement in his own town, except offering a discount on both room and board to anybody wearing a star. He sold any meals destined for the sheriff's office at half the usual price.
Taking the plate Steve indicated was his, Jake sat on the deputy's desk and said, "Going down, I think."
"Any signs of consciousness?" Hank inquired, noting the fourth plate Steve had thoughtfully retrieved.
"Not really," Jake shook his head, "Just this look on his face like he knows something we ought to."
"Prob'ly dreamin' he didn't get through to Hank," Steve suggested.
"He could probably worry about that just as well if he was awake," Hank remarked, "At the time he told me, I didn't believe him, and he knew it too."
"How could you tell?" Steve asked.
"He's what you call... psych," Jake said, as if he were reminding Steve, "Reads people's minds."
"It's psychic, and I do not," Hank corrected, "It's in the eyes. If you spent half as much time looking at the eyes of those girls you're so fond of, you'd know why they always slap you and walk out."
"If he looked at their eyes instead of other things, they wouldn't slap him and walk out," Steve put in.
"Everybody looks at a gal's eyes," Jake protested, "I figure they must be dressin' up because they want somebody to look at the rest of 'em for a change."
"No, you look at them that way because you enjoy not bein' hitched and know it will offend them," Steve told his brother, then looked at Hank, "You see, if he offends them, they won't ask him to go steady or marry."
Hank shook his head and took a bite of fresh roll to avoid having to respond.
Jake and Steve were both permanently single, but they had radically different ways of going about it. Jake chased after anything in a skirt until it slapped him, whereas Steve would give females no more than the time of day and a tip of his hat as demanded by politeness. It was well known around town that both men were unobtainable, but that they made good gentleman company to parties. Steve would make no move on a woman, ever, for any reason, but he would defend her from other men if she needed it, and some of the prettier, more delicate girls needed such protection. Jake would dance, hold hands, kiss and go as far as the girl would let him, but a scolding "No!" was enough to restrain him and make him behave, making him quite an exciting but also perfectly safe choice. Jake would also protect a girl if some dude got grabby, but it took a tougher, more adventurous female to handle him. But the safest thing about the both of them was that -guaranteed- there would be no jealousy when a woman inevitably found another man she wanted to get serious about, or even just fool around with.
"If you didn't believe him, what made you look into it?" Steve asked after a couple of minutes.
Hank paused with his fork lifted, looking thoughtfully towards the closed door to the jail room. Then he turned back to his plate and took the bite he'd been started on. He chewed carefully and swallowed before he replied, giving himself time to compose his response.
"I don't rightly know," Hank admitted, "There was somethin' about him. A look in his eyes that I couldn't ignore. Besides, it was easy enough to check out his story. Easier than I expected, actually."
"So..." Steve glanced at Jake, who looked back at him, "what you're saying is that it was a gut instinct?"
Gut instinct had about as much credibility as psychic powers in Hank's book, and the brothers knew it, and it amused them to yank his chain about it as often as possible.
"No such thing," Hank said sharply, "It was just that... well, it seemed strange that he'd come here, knowin' I'd arrest him. He came here, ready to beg if he had to, not for himself but for the Cartwrights. He didn't ask me to let him go, nor even spare the energy to protest his own innocence until I pressed him on it. It didn't seem right that he'd go to such trouble to tell a lie if it didn't get him anything," he paused, then added, "Most men won't beg for somebody else's life, especially not when their own is bleeding out of them on the floor. It got me to thinking, and I realized some things didn't seem to add up like they should have if those Elodie deputies had been honest."
"And I s'pose..." Steve glanced at Jake again, who smirked and looked studiously at the wall to hide it, "That the fact them deputies treated you with disrespect had nothin' at all to do with it."
"I should never have told you about that," Hank muttered, and Jake burst into laughter as a result.
They were just finishing their supper when the sound of hoof beats alerted them to the arrival of the Elodie deputies. In a moment, Jake had left the desk in favor of leaning against the door to the jail room, feigning nonchalance and utter disinterest in his surroundings. The deputy's desk was across the room at an angle to the sheriff's desk, so Steve didn't get up, though he leaned back slightly and his right hand dropped below the desk out of sight, and Hank knew he'd laid it on his pistol.
"Easy, boys," Hank warned them.
They both glanced at him, but didn't relax. They joked as much as they liked, but when it came down to it, they were ready to fight, kill or die as needed. They didn't really care why Hank dislike the Elodie deputies, the fact that he did was enough for them to be on their guard.
A moment later, the two deputies from before came in. Hank noticed that they both looked haggard and more than slightly irritated about something. The one on the right had a black eye, the other had a nose that looked rather dark and swollen, like someone had taken a poke at it. They hadn't given their names, and Hank wouldn't have bothered to remember them if they had.
"We came to take Canaday off your hands," said the taller one, the one whose nose might be broken; he nodded towards the door Jake stood in front of, "He back there?"
"Yes," Hank replied, "But I'm afraid I can't let you take him."
"Why the hell not?" the shorter man demanded hotly.
"Well, you see, he's been shot," Hank drawled with purposefully irritating slowness.
"Yes, we know. Our sheriff shot him, we told you that," the taller man reminded him.
"So you did," Hank said, pretending to be reaching back into a lethargic memory to recall that fact, "But, you see, I had a doctor look him over, and the prognosis is that he can't be moved. Taking him back to Elodie would kill him," Hank suspected that would still be true even if Canaday hadn't been shot, but he elected not to say so, nor indicate he suspected any such thing, instead continuing with more shaded honesty, "So, you see, I couldn't in good conscience hand him over to you."
"Do you have... any idea what that man has done?" the taller man asked, with thinly veiled anger.
"Other than run from you after being shot? Not really," Hank replied, "You didn't give much in the way of details, but I don't see how it matters just now."
Hank would later make claims that he saw the irrational look in the tall man's eyes, noted the subtle twitch of his hand, the burst of anger that twisted his face. But nobody would believe it. It would always be said that he just somehow knew, inexplicably. Whatever warned him, sixth sense or scientific observation, Hank ducked just in time to avoid being shot as the taller deputy drew and fired.
A second shot answered the first, but the Elodie deputies were moving. The tall one backed toward the door, avoiding Steve's bullet by inches, while the other lunged for Jake and they fell to wrestling. Hank started from behind the desk, his pistol drawn and leveled on the Elodie deputy in the doorway. A third shot was fired, but it didn't come from any of the men in the room.
This shot came through the window, and struck Hank in the gun arm, just above the elbow, forcing him to drop his pistol. Before he could recover, the bigger of the Elodie deputies was on him, and he was faintly aware of a third one plunging into the room; barely avoiding being shot by Steve.
As Hank was pinned in the corner, he saw Jake being wrested away from the door. He hoped that there were only three men from Elodie, and wished he'd paid closer attention to those horses so he'd know how many there were. He hadn't counted on even numbers, and hadn't expected the deputies to be so easily enraged. Nor had he anticipated one of them being strong enough to heft Jake off the door.
Hank shoved his assailant back and went for his gun, but the man was on him again before he could reach it, and the attempt ended up sending the gun spinning across the room, out of reach. Now the Elodie man was on Hank's back and he couldn't get him off. He felt the hand going around his throat, but there was nothing he could do about it. His left arm was angled towards the floor because he'd been reaching for his pistol, the other arm was useless to him now.
He knew that, if he blacked out, the man on him would be free to pick up the gun he'd dropped and finished off Jake and Steve, who were preoccupied now with adversaries of their own. But he couldn't get free, and couldn't get any air. The first thing to go was his hearing, which dimmed until the only thing he could hear was the roar of blood trying to get out of his head. His vision went next, skewing, then darkening until he could only see the reflection of lamp light on the floorboards.
And then, quite suddenly, the body on top of him shuddered violently and fell back, starting to drag him with it, then suddenly loosing its hold on his throat. Hank gasped and looked around wildly, trying to assess what had happened, even though his senses took time to restore themselves.
The first thing he noticed was that the closed door Jake had leaned against was now open. The second thing he noticed was there was a man standing in it; or, more properly, sagging against it. It took him a moment longer to recognize Canaday, who by then had stumbled over to where Hank was lying. Canaday all but fell on the desk, but his concern was clearly for Hank.
"You okay?" his voice was a strained, painful sounding whisper.
Hank tried to ask how Canaday had gotten out of his cell, but found that his throat wasn't prepared to make sounds just yet. Instead of answering, he grabbed onto the edge of his desk and heaved himself up. Canaday, fully half of him resting on the desk, offered Hank his pistol.
Taking the pistol, Hank made his way around his desk and over to where Jake was currently losing the fight with the deputy on him. Hank fired a shot into the floor right near them, sending wood splinters in all directions, and causing the Elodie man to freeze where he was. Jake immediately shoved the man off, and drew his own pistol, aiming it at his former adversary and current prisoner. Hank looked over at Steve, who was just then socking his own adversary in the head, which dropped him like a sack of bricks. Steve issued a self-satisfied snort, and looked around, dusting off his hands.
"Where's the other one?" Steve inquired of Hank, his voice somewhat breathless.
"Over behind my desk," Hank replied.
Steve looked in that direction, and noticed Canaday lying across Hank's desk.
"How did he get out?" Steve asked, drawing a look from Jake, who jumped slightly at the sight of their escaped prisoner slumped over Hank's desk.
"I don't know," Hank said, glancing at the bullet wound in his arm, "But I'm glad he did, otherwise that one would've been the end of me."
"You shouldn't," Canaday spoke weakly and rather slowly, but with sense of humor intact, "leave keys... in reach... of prisoners."
Jake's eyebrows climbed, and the Williams boys exchanged looks with each other and Hank, the last of whom merely shrugged helplessly, having no idea what Canaday was talking about.
The only still conscious and living Elodie deputy said sullenly, "Slippery as a snake, that one. Knew you couldn't hold onto him for long anymore'n we could."
"You're one to talk... about snakes," Canaday grumbled, offering the Elodie man a glare.
"Jake, Steve, put those two away," Hank instructed, nodding at the Elodie men.
"What about him?" Jake inquired, nodding at Canaday.
"I don't think he's going anywhere," Hank replied.
Jake glanced at Steve, who merely shrugged. They removed the conscious man first, locking him up, then the two of them ferried the unconscious one into the jail room.
In the meantime, Hank checked the dead man, and found Canaday had shot him in the side of the neck, directly below his right ear.
"Nice shot," Hank observed, offering him a helping hand off the desk.
"I almost missed him entirely," Canaday confessed, accepting the help.
Having nowhere else to go with Canaday, Hank helped him drop into a chair. Canaday moaned quietly once he was down, and let a breath hiss through his teeth. Hank wanted to ask him again how he'd gotten out, but Jake and Steve returned before he could, looking perplexed.
Steve was carrying a belt and the ring of keys to the jail cell.
"I found these on the floor," Steve told Hank, who turned a questioning look on Canaday.
"You didn't think I got out by magic, did you?" Canaday inquired, with a wry grin.
It was Jake who figured out what he'd done.
"You swung the belt, using the buckle as a weighted end and knocked the keys off their peg," Jake surmised, "And then somehow hooked the ring with the buckle to drag them into your reach. Then all you had to do was unlock the door."
"Give the man a raise," Canaday said, with a nod at Jake, "And... in the future... keep your keys to yourselves. Not all criminals... are as helpful... and friendly as I... am."
Despite his evident levity about the situation, Canaday looked pale and strained, and when he checked the wound at the man's back, Hank found it was bleeding again. Hank realized Canaday had taken a significant risk with his life, not even knowing if Hank and his deputies intended to help him or not. He also realized that Canaday must have been awake and feigning sleep, otherwise he would not have had the time to figure out how to escape, nor would he have realized Hank and his deputies were in trouble.
Though the term snake did not appear to be applicable, the Elodie deputy wasn't wrong about how hard it would be to hold Canaday against his will. No wonder they'd been so riled up. Canaday not only knew what sort of crooks they were, he'd probably embarrassed them handily when he escaped.
"So..." Canaday ventured slowly, looking up at Hank, "Do you believe me now?"