CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Trouble Starts
A thick man with greasy hair sat in the dark back corner of the saloon. Having been there since morning, he was about to leave when three ranchers walked in. Interesting. Very interesting. He knew all three of them. In fact, two of them were responsible for his missing front teeth.
He watched as they got a bottle of whiskey, three glasses, and a deck of cards.
"Glad that's over!" the dark-haired man who'd knocked out his right front tooth said. Workman. Jonathan Workman.
"You and me both!" the dark blond—the one who'd knocked out his left front tooth—sat at the table and counted the cards.
The man wasn't sure he'd ever heard Dark Blond's name, but someone had said he was Workman's brother. Sure didn't look much alike.
The third man, the blonder of the two blonds, he knew well. Sam Sampson. He'd worked with Sam for years. But why would he be here with them?
Chester Mulligan sipped his whiskey. Yeah. That's right. Sam and Workman had become friends, but he was sure Workman was no longer at JR's. You didn't hit a foreman and keep your job. Everyone knew that.
And why would they be in Sacramento? Together?
Mulligan watched as the three men played cards and laughed and argued and laughed some more. And every time they laughed, Mulligan's blood pressure rose. It was their fault he was unemployed. Their fault he had to move to this Godforsaken city where he knew no one. And their fault he was missing his two front teeth.
Mulligan swirled the bottle. There was still another shot or two in there. All he needed to do was lean back and figure out a plan.
The doors swung open and three more ranchers entered. They glanced around the bar, then pointed to the table where Sampson, Workman, and Dark Blond sat. Although staggering slightly, they were quiet as they took the table directly behind Dark Blond.
Mulligan knew them too. Unlike the three at the table in front of him who looked fresh and clean, these three looked like they'd been on the trail for a week or two—and smelled like it too. Sweeny was the one who took a seat directly behind Dark Blond. Diego and O'Connell sat down on either side of him, keeping their backs to Sam's table. They'd also been the laziest of the hands, always looking for an excuse to sit around and often hiding a bottle. Mulligan had overlooked their transgressions. They had never been a threat to him, so there was no reason to complain about them. But why would they be in Sacramento as well?
"I'll tell you one thing," Sweeny said loudly, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I got me a hankerin' for JR's little filly. Whoo-ee! Now, that little girl has got her some melons!"
"You talkin' 'bout Miss Margaret?" Diego asked.
"You betcha. She's one fine lookin' slut. And I'm a-gonna git me some of that."
"JR don't let her leave the big house," O'Connell said.
"Yeah, but JR ain't there all the time. If you go down to the back of the big house after dark, you can see right into her bedroom window. And, whoa, boy, has she got her some fine bosoms. And you should see the haunches on that girl. Mighty fine. Mmm-mm. Just don't seem fair for one filly to have both a curvaceous top and a curvaceous bottom and that itty-bitty waist in between." He chuckled. "I bet she's one tiger in the bedroom! Mmm-mm."
"She ain't gonna have nothin' to do with the likes of you," O'Connell said.
"Hey, I ain't askin' fer her pre-mission. I'm gonna take what I want from that li'l floozy. And I want it all!" He laughed. "And if you boys stand out back of the house there, you'll be able to see me take her and hear her screams." He made vulgar movements. "The more they fight, the better the satisfaction."
Dark Blond stood with such force his chair slid across the bar floor. In one fluid motion, he grabbed Sweeny by the shirt collar and slammed his fist into his jaw. Sweeny flew across the table and fell into an empty chair. He was limp.
Workman and Sam both jumped up.
Dark Blond jumped over the table and grabbed the unconscious Sweeny and hit him again.
Workman and Sam each grabbed one of the Dark Blond's arms.
O'Connell swung around to hit Workman, but Workman released Dark Blond and ducked the hit. Workman then slugged O'Connell, sending him to the floor. Sam still struggled to hold Dark Blond. Diego grabbed Sam, but before he could swing, Sam slammed his elbow into his face, knocking him to the floor.
Dark Blond was again on the unconscious Sweeny. Workman jumped over a chair and grabbed Dark Blond.
A gunshot went off.
Everyone froze.
The bartender held a rifle. "Ain't nobody move," he said.
In less than a minute, the sheriff stormed in, his pistol in his hand. "What's going on?"
The bartender pointed at Dark Blond, Workman, and Sam. "Them three. No one else landed a punch. And you might wanna send the doc. That one—" He pointed at Dark Blond. "—kept beating on that one—" He pointed at Sweeny. "—long after he was unconscious."
The sheriff sighed and motioned with his pistol. "Okay. You three. March."
Mulligan leaned back in his chair and laughed out loud. He couldn't have planned it better himself. Now it was time for him to offer his services to his new partners. Between them, they could ensure Workman and his brother rued the day they messed with him.
XXXXX
Heath paced the jailcell. "Gotta get outta here. Gotta get outta here. I gotta get outta here!"
Sam sat in the corner on the edge of one of the cots, his elbows on his knees and his head down.
Nick went to the bars. "Sheriff!" he bellowed.
The sheriff opened the door to the cell area. "Quiet down in here."
"I want my lawyer!" Nick shouted.
"You can send for him tomorrow."
"He's in Stockton," Nick yelled. "I got to telegraph him now."
"Tomorrow. Now, quiet down."
"I want my lawyer!" Nick bellowed. "I got a right to talk to him!"
"You'll get your rights tomorrow. Now, shut up." The sheriff went back to his office, slamming and locking the door behind him.
Nick's jaw worked. He slammed his fist into the bars. And immediately regretted it. "Damn, damn, damn, damn," he muttered, holding his fist, his expressive face crinkled in pain.
"You okay, Nick?" Sam asked quietly, looking up.
"Yeah," Nick answered, although his face said otherwise.
"I gotta get out of here!" Heath said again. "I gotta go make sure that ass don't get to Margaret." He raised his voice. "I gotta get out of here!"
Nick rubbed his aching head. "Heath, please sit down and be quiet."
"He said he was gonna have his way with her!" Heath continued to pace. "He said he'd been watching her through her bedroom window."
"He ain't gonna go nowhere tonight," Nick said.
Heath looked at Nick, his steel blue eyes reflecting his panic. "I can't let that brute get to Margaret," he said softly.
Nick sighed. "He probably ain't even gonna wake up for a month."
"I gotta get out of here," Heath whispered.
Nick patted his arm. "It'll be okay, little brother. Jarrod will get us out."
"Nick, I can't let that monster get to her."
"He won't, Heath. He was intentionally trying to bait you into fighting him." Nick ran his hands through his hair. "You already stopped him."
"But, Nick, what if—"
"Don't let him get in your head, boy. We got to deal with facts, not what-ifs."
Heath finally sat down on the second cot, staring into the distance and chewing his lip.
Nick glanced at Sam, who still sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
Nick dropped down on the other end of the cot Sam sat on. "We've been in worse situations. We'll get through this."
They sat quietly for several minutes.
"Hey, Nick!" someone yelled.
Nick looked around.
Sam pointed at the open window.
Nick ran to the window. He wasn't tall enough to look out. "Who's out there?"
"It's Gib Johnson."
"Gib! Over here!" Nick yelled. "What're you doin'?"
"We saw 'em take you away. You need anything?"
"Yeah." Nick looked for something to stand on.
Sam dropped to the floor on all fours in front of the window.
Nick grinned. He took off his boots and stepped onto Sam's back.
"Can you telegraph Jarrod?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," Gib said.
Nick took a handful of money from his pocket and pushed it through the window bars. "Send it as urgent, immediate delivery. Tell him me, Heath, and Sam are in the Sacramento jail. Need him here immediately."
"Sure will, boss."
"And JR!" Heath yelled.
"Gib!" Nick shouted.
"Yes, sir?"
"Also send a telegram to Jackson Reynolds at JR Ranch in Roseville. Tell him somebody made a threat against Margaret and to keep an eye on her hisself. Don't trust none of the hands. Sign it Heath. Again, immediate delivery."
"Can you write that one down for me?"
"I got it." Heath took out his notepad and wrote out what he wanted. He handed the page to Nick, who shoved it through the window.
"Got it!"
"Make sure to mark 'em both urgent, immediate delivery. Thanks, Gib." Nick stepped off Sam's back.
Sam returned to sitting in the corner with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
"You okay, Sam?" Nick asked again.
"Ain't never been in jail before," Sam said.
Nick would've laughed if he hadn't been so frustrated. Instead, he just sat down next to Sam and put a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be okay. Jarrod will be here on the first train in the morning. He'll get us out."
They each sat quietly, lost in their own thoughts, interrupted only by the sheriff occasionally coming in to deposit another drunk in one of the other cells.
Nick considered how fortunate he was to have Jarrod to call on, to have the confidence that he would come and take care of things. That was something he'd never again take for granted. He made a mental note to let his big brother know how much he appreciated him.
Around midnight, the sheriff brought in a pair of drunks. After shoving them into a cell, he turned to Heath. "Just talked to the doctor. He don't think Sweeny will make it through the night. You best be praying."
Heath said nothing. He just stared at the sheriff.
Nick's stomach churned. If Sweeny didn't make it, Heath would likely hang. He went over and sat next to Heath, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Jarrod will take care of it," he said softly, although he and Heath both knew there was only so much Jarrod could do.
Sam dropped to his knees next to the cot and bowed his head. His lips moved as he prayed silently.
XXXXX
