The Marshal Meets His Match

Chapter Three

Wyatt studied Miss McIsaac, and replayed the morning’s events in his mind. Questions concerning the holdup had driven him from his bed before dawn. After time spent praying and searching the Scriptures for wisdom, he set his Bible aside and pored over the wanted posters and notices filed in his desk. He had glanced through them as time permitted over the first days on the job, but early this morning, he’d studied each one carefully, looking for any descriptions that matched what he knew of the bank robber.

Sounds of an awakening town had finally caused him to push back from the desk, stretching as he stood. He needed more information about the holdup and the culprit; rushing to follow the trail of the thief hadn’t left time for a comprehensive investigation. Talking with witnesses again might provide additional information to tie to the wanted posters. Buckling his holster around his waist and settling his prized Stetson on his head, Wyatt blew out the lamp on his desk and walked out the door. He’d learned the café was a favorite morning spot for many of the single tradesmen in town, and Wyatt decided to combine two chores at once: breakfast and information gathering.

The food was tasty and plentiful, but Wyatt didn’t learn anything particularly useful, and he answered as many questions as he asked. Finishing his breakfast, he left the gathered diners speculating among themselves about the how and who of the robbery, and more importantly, when the marshal was going to find their missing savings.

His next stop was the bank, and though the doors were closed and locked with a sign that read Closed Until Further Notice, his knock brought Mr. Phineas Samuels to the door.

“I’d need to discuss the bank robbery if you have some time this morning.”

Mr. Samuels motioned him inside and closed the door before speaking. “I see you failed to catch the scoundrel who robbed my bank, Marshal.”

He ignored the accusation in the banker’s voice and followed the man across the front room holding the cashier’s desk to Mr. Samuels’s office. As they entered, Mr. Samuels waved Wyatt toward a chair before circling his desk and taking his own seat.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Samuels, but we lost the tracks in a passing cattle drive. That’s why I’d like to go over the events of that day again. I need all the information I can find. Maybe I can match him to accounts of other holdups and alert surrounding marshals to keep an eye out for anyone matching his description. Would you start at the beginning and tell me everything you can remember, please?” Wyatt perched his hat on his knee and pulled a small notebook and pencil from his shirt pocket.

“I don’t see how that’s going to help you now. Seems to me you’re shutting the barn door after the cow has escaped.” Mr. Samuels rocked back in his chair, folding his soft pudgy hands over his brocaded paisley vest.

“Humor me, if you would.”

The man’s tone was irksome, but Wyatt kept his demeanor passive. The balding, wire-rimmed-spectacle-wearing banker perched behind his massive desk like a king on his throne, and Wyatt felt sympathy for anyone who’d ever had to ask this banker for a loan.

Mr. Samuels grudgingly began to recite the events of the day of the bank robbery. “Mr. McIsaac and I were finishing up our business here in my office when a man walked in, pulled a gun and demanded that I open the safe. I argued, but he threatened to shoot me, so I opened the safe. When he turned his back and started grabbing money and throwing it into a bag, Mr. McIsaac pulled his own gun from beneath his jacket to stop him. Unfortunately the thief turned in time to see it and shot him. I thought he was going to shoot me next, but instead, he hit me on the head. Next thing I remember was you and Franks coming in.”

“How did he get into your office without the teller seeing him?” Wyatt questioned.

“My bank teller quit a couple weeks ago to move closer to his widowed mother. I hadn’t replaced him yet, so it was just Mr. McIsaac and me in the bank that morning.”

“What did he look like?”

“He had a black hat pulled low over his head, a blue bandanna covered the rest of his face and he was wearing a dirty leather jacket over brown shirt and pants.”

Wyatt looked up from his notes when Mr. Samuels stopped speaking. “Did you notice anything else?”

“Yes, I did. I saw the horse he rode away before I blacked out. It was wearing the McIsaac ranch brand.” Mr. Samuels rocked his chair back. “If it wasn’t for the fact that McIsaac was shot, I’d wonder if he had anything to do with it. Or maybe one of those derelicts he’s hired as ranch hands decided the pickings were better here!”

Wyatt hid his surprise at this bit of news. “Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet. If you’d been hit on the head, how did you see the horse he rode?”

“I managed to get to my feet to call for help as he left, and I saw him through the window but then I must have blacked out.” The man puffed up like a little banty rooster. “I am the victim here, Marshal! Are you questioning my word?”

Wyatt hastened to smooth his feathers. “No. I’m simply trying to get the events straight in my mind. How much did he get away with?”

“Everything in the safe! You saw it that day. He cleaned me out! I’ve had to close the doors because I have nothing to do business with. And then you couldn’t manage to catch him or get the money back! I’m beginning to have serious doubts about the town council’s choice for marshal!” Mr. Samuels slammed his palms down on the desktop as he stood.

“Everything?” Wyatt let his surprise show this time. “How could one man carry everything from the safe? How much was everything?”

Mr. Samuels instantly went on the defensive. “This is a small Western bank, not a big Eastern city bank. We don’t have the same amount of capital as bigger cities, and until I’ve contacted my investors, I’m not at liberty to divulge the dollar amount of what was stolen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my papers. I’m explaining to my backers what’s happened to their money!”

“If I’m to recover the stolen money, I need to know how much was taken, Mr. Samuels.”

“When you have a suspect in custody, Marshal Cameron, I will divulge that information to you. Until then, I’ve told you everything I know. Good day, Marshal!”

“I need to know the amount that was taken, Mr. Samuels,” Wyatt said implacably.

“I said good day, Marshal!” The man was sulled up tighter than a mad, wet hen.

Wyatt eyed him for a moment before reluctantly deciding to retreat from this particular battle until the man had calmed down. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Samuels. If you think of anything else that might be helpful, let me know.” He picked his hat off his knee, stood, nodded to the disagreeable man and walked out the bank door.

Outside he returned his hat to his head and tucked the notebook back into his pocket.

Whew!

If other townsfolk felt the same way, it was going to be rough around here until the culprit was apprehended and the money returned. He already knew one person in particular who was definitely not going to be happy to see him when she found out the reason for his visit.

Miss McIsaac’s father was still unconscious as far as he knew, but their ranch had been implicated in the bank job, and he needed answers. He really needed to talk to Mr. McIsaac, but only God knew when—or if—that would happen. Looked like Miss McIsaac would have to do.

Sending up a quick plea for help, he’d headed toward the Kilburns’.

* * *

Now Wyatt watched Miss McIsaac’s reaction carefully as he motioned toward the back door. “If you’ll step outside into the garden, I have a few questions I need to ask you about the bank robbery.”

Her face showed the fatigue of the past several days’ vigil, and there was a hint of redness around her eyes as if she’d been crying. But aside from the wariness that had appeared when he’d come in, Wyatt saw no other emotions at his words. If her ranch was somehow involved in the robbery, no hint of it showed on her face.

“Oh, goodness, there’s no need for that. Sit down and enjoy your coffee.” Mrs. Kilburn placed her hand on her husband’s arm. “Come, dear, I’ll help you straighten that mess you call a desk.”

Miss McIsaac’s voice halted their departure. “I’d rather you both stayed. Whatever the marshal has to say, he can say it in front of all of us. If he has a problem with that, he can leave.” She enforced the last remark with a defiant look in his direction.

There was that feisty spirit he’d seen at the livery. “If having the Kilburns here makes you more comfortable, that’s fine with me. I would ask, however, that you keep this conversation confidential.”

Dr. Kilburn pulled out a chair for his wife. “I always protect the privacy of my patients, and as Ian and his daughter are under my care, my wife and I consider it our responsibility to protect their privacy.” Mrs. Kilburn nodded her agreement.

“Very well. Miss McIsaac, would you care to have a seat, and I’ll get straight to the point?” The woman still stood in the same spot, gripping the towel.

Slowly and deliberately, she turned and hung up the damp dishrag, smoothing it unnecessarily before turning back around, running her palms down her skirt and walking to the work-worn table. He saw her stiffen as he reached to hold a chair for her, sliding it in smoothly when she sat opposite of Mrs. Kilburn. Seating himself at the end, to the right of Miss McIsaac, he reached for the coffee the doctor placed in front of him. Taking a quick sip, he fired up another quick prayer that God would give him the right words. Swallowing the hot, bitter brew, he began.

“I just spoke with Mr. Samuels concerning the bank robbery, and another detail came to light that I really need to discuss with your father, Miss McIsaac. Since that’s not possible at the moment, I need you to tell me everything you know.” Pausing, he watched Miss McIsaac dart a look at him from the corner of her eyes before returning her gaze to the cup wrapped in her slender hands. Was she avoiding his gaze because she knew something, or because she found his presence as unsettling as he found hers?

Her long honey-colored hair was smoothed back into a braid that fell halfway down the back of the high-necked, wheat-colored blouse and dark green riding skirt she’d worn the day of the holdup. Distractedly he wondered how she managed to look so neat and fresh after several days in the same outfit. Forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand, he pulled the notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Tell me what you saw after you left the livery stable that day.”

A hint of pink warmed her cheeks, and he felt a glimmer of satisfaction. So, he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t forgotten their first encounter.

She raised her cup slowly, took a sip and lowered it, gazing into its contents. “I heard a shot fired before I reached the street. When I rounded the corner, I saw something happening at the bank. I had just headed toward it when you and Franks passed me.”

“That reminds me. I told you to stay back, yet you still showed up at the bank. You don’t follow orders very well, do you?”

Miss McIsaac set her cup down into the saucer with a little more force than necessary, but still didn’t look directly at him. “My...” Her voice caught, and Wyatt saw her swallow hard. “My father was in that bank. Nothing would have stopped me from getting to him...” The words even you hung in the air unspoken.

“How did you know your father would be there?”

“I didn’t know for sure he was still there, but he’d told me he had business at the bank, and when he was through he’d meet me at the mercantile. When I heard the shots and saw the commotion at the bank, I was afraid he was involved.”

“What do you mean, ‘involved’?”

Miss McIsaac went very still then turned her head slowly and finally looked him full in the face. Wyatt felt the heat immediately.

“What exactly are you trying to imply?” Fire may have been in her eyes, but her words were encased in ice.

Wyatt softened his tone and replied calmly, “I’m not implying anything. I’m simply asking what you meant by ‘involved.’”

Miss McIsaac searched his face for several moments before looking down and releasing a heavy sigh. “I mean, I was afraid he was still there when the holdup occurred. Unfortunately I was right.” Her voice caught again, and he saw the muscles along her jaw clench.

“Did you see or notice anything as you ran to the bank?”

“I saw a man riding away from the bank, firing his gun.” She painstakingly aligned the bottom of the cup with the ring of flowers on the saucer.

“Did you notice anything familiar about him?”

“No. Why should I?” Miss McIsaac glanced back up at him, her forehead creased in a frown.

“Did your father ride his horse to the bank?”

“No. We drove the buckboard in, parked it at the mercantile. Faither walked to the bank.”

“Did any of your ranch hands ride in with you?”

“No. Are you trying to get at something, Marshal? Why don’t you just ask what you want to know? Quit beating around the bush?”

Wyatt searched her eyes for a long second, ignoring the confused glare in them, and continued to watch her when he finally spoke. “When I questioned Mr. Samuels, he said the thief rode off on a horse that wore the McIsaac brand.” He heard the soft exclamations of surprise from the Kilburns’ lips as Miss McIsaac shoved her chair back and lunged to her feet.

“That’s a lie!” She gasped, shaking her head.

Dr. Kilburn stood and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, child. The marshal is just doing his job. He has to investigate what he’s been told. Let’s sit back down and hear the man out.”

She sat with a thud. “There is no way it was one of our ranch hands. I’d trust every one of them with my life.”

“The banker didn’t seem to recognize the man who robbed him, but he did say the horse was a McIsaac ranch horse. Did the horse look familiar to you at all?’

She shook her head.

Wyatt wondered if she truly hadn’t recognized the horse or if she merely refused to tell. He’d known this wasn’t going to go well. He’d been correct. He was beginning to feel like ducking when those eyes turned toward him firing sparks. Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t singed, yet. But the day was still young.

“I’m sorry to have to question you when your father is unconscious, but I need to gather as much information as I can to bring you father’s shooter to justice.”

“It’s not your questions that bother me. It’s the implication that our ranch was involved in the holdup. It’s not true!”

“Again, I’m not implying anything. I have to follow any and all leads I have and, unfortunately, that means asking you these questions. It also means I’m going to need directions to your ranch.”

“You are not going to harass our hands with baseless accusations.”

“I’m not going to accuse anyone, but you haven’t been home in three days, and if it was one of your ranch horses, your hands might know something about it. If you won’t give me directions to your place, I’ll get them from someone else because I will follow up on this.”

“Then I’m going with you. You are not questioning our hands without me there.” Miss McIsaac got to her feet again, and Wyatt could feel anger radiating from her.

He could sympathize; he was beginning to feel the emotion himself. He pushed back his own chair and stood. “This is my job. I can handle it without your interference. Besides, you can’t leave your father, can you?” Wyatt saw a retort die on Miss McIsaac’s lips, and her shoulders slumped. His shot had found its mark.

Dr. Kilburn interrupted then. “Actually it might be a good idea for Miss McIsaac to go with you. She needs to get away for a little while. This would give her a chance to check on the ranch.” Turning to Miss McIsaac, he continued, “Your father is stable, and it could be a while before he wakes up. Even when he does, it will be some time before he’s ready to travel. This will give you a chance pick up anything you’ll need for an extended stay.”

She looked indecisive. “What if something happens while I’m gone?”

“You can make it to the ranch and back in just a few hours. I don’t expect any changes with your father, good or bad, in that amount of time, and a change of scenery will do you good. If anything does happen, I’ll send someone to bring you back.”

Miss McIsaac looked at Wyatt. The glare was gone, replaced by a steely determination to accompany him. He doubted he’d seen the last of her temper, but the change of scene was already doing him some good.

His irritation cooled. “All right, you can ride along. I’ll go get a buggy from Franks and be back to pick you up in about half an hour.”

Grabbing his hat from the back of the chair where he’d hung it when he’d entered, he thanked Mrs. Kilburn for the coffee and headed to the front door.

* * *

Meri leaned against the edge of the livery stable doorway and worked to control her rapid breathing. She’d overheard the marshal tell Dr. Kilburn that he would ask the gunsmith to keep an eye on the town before getting a buggy from Franks. After a quick check on her father and a hurried explanation to the Kilburns, Meri had taken advantage of the marshal’s plan and slipped out the back door.

Cutting through alleys at a run and keeping an eye out for a certain lawman, she’d made it to the livery unseen where Franks had helped her saddle two horses. She had no intention of riding with the man in a buggy all the way to the ranch. Horseback would be quicker, and it would allow her to keep her distance.

The intense fear and uncertainty of the past few days lifted enough to allow her to feel a tiny amount of smug satisfaction. She’d managed to regain some control of her life. Even if that control were only that she’d ride to the ranch on a horse instead of behind a horse.

The thought of sitting shoulder to shoulder with the marshal sent a funny shiver along her spine. That would be too much like courting, not that she knew anything about it. She wasn’t girly enough to attract that kind of attention. When you could outride, outshoot and out rope the boys, they tended to treat you like one of the boys. And when it came time to go courtin’, they went after the sweet-smelling, dainty town ladies.