The Marshal Meets His Match (16 page)

“You were pretty thorough, but I think you missed a couple that apply.”

“Oh?” It was amazing how quickly her suspicion returned.

“Proverbs 27:6 and 17.” He waited.

Her eyes narrowed as she sifted through her memory. Shaking her head, she said ruefully, “I don’t recall what those verses say.”

“‘Faithful are the
wounds
of a friend…’ and ‘Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.’ Danny and Billy certainly had the wounds to show for their sharpening session today!”

Meri snickered, and Wyatt grinned, pleased with himself.

“You are terrible, Marshal!” Laughter wove itself through her voice.

He grinned, pleased with the sound. “Just following your example, Mac.”

Lingering humor ruined the effect of her scowl. “My name is not Mac.”

“And mine’s not Marshal. It’s Wyatt, or Cameron, if you prefer.”

Meri edged around him. “On that note, I think I’ll say good day.”

“Not so fast.” Wyatt touched her arm to stop her, unsuccessfully ignoring the spark that jumped between them. “I’ve not forgotten that you snuck out on me.”

The way she looked at her arm made him wonder if she had felt that spark, too. “I never said I was going with you.”

Was there a hint, just a hint, of coyness in her reply?

He assumed a serious expression. “I’ve always tried to be an ‘honorable’ man, so I’m going to ‘cease from strife’ and not argue the point—”

Meri rolled her eyes.

“—but since my job is protecting the citizens of Little Creek and danger seems to be just around the corner lately, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I allowed you to walk the streets alone and unarmed.” Reaching for her hand, he tucked it around his arm and guided her steps toward Dr. Kilburn’s house.

Meri was remarkably quiet, and surprisingly, she left her hand on his arm. After several moments she spoke. “I’m not exactly unarmed, you know.”

Wyatt heard a trace of amusement. “Are you carrying a hideout gun?”

“I’m talking about a different kind of weapon,” she hedged. He noticed she didn’t say no. “It’s called the ‘…sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God…’”

“Ah. In that case, I’ll escort you to protect the town from
you!
”

A snicker escaped her, and Wyatt laughed. She cast furtive glances in his direction as they continued to walk along in silence until they reached the doctor’s house. Stopping, he nudged her around until she was facing him. “If the town council hears about this, I may lose my job.”

There was a slightly dazed look in Meri’s eyes as she wrinkled her brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“If they hear how you keep charging in and facing down danger on your own, they’ll decide they don’t need me and hire you because you’re cheaper.”

She waited, eyes narrowed expectantly.

“The town has to buy the ammunition for my gun, but the last time I checked, swords don’t need bullets!”

Warm brown eyes rolled again, and he saw her bite the inside of her lip to hide a smile. “Don’t worry, Marshal. Your job is safe from me. I do
not
want to deal with the nuisances of town life.”

Wyatt nodded sadly in agreement. “There
are
some nuisances, like people who don’t listen to the marshal—” he looked pointedly at her before continuing “—but I must admit that there is some compensation.”

“Like what?”

“Some nuisances are prettier than others…Mac.”

Her eyes sparked, and he removed his hat with a flourish, sweeping her a low, courtly bow. Then he turned and walked swiftly back toward his office, whistling retreat as he went.

Chapter Eleven

T
he initial replies to the telegrams Wyatt sent out had been disappointing; there were no reports of anyone matching the description of the suspect. Tuesday morning, however, Wyatt received some much-needed information. A marshal in an adjoining county wired that the bank teller was living and working there, and a man matching the thief’s description had been seen.

Leaving his new deputy in charge, Wyatt saddled his stallion, Charger, and rode out to gather further information on the identity or whereabouts of the bank bandit. He spent part of the long ride in prayer over the case, asking the Lord to guide his steps and open his eyes to the truth about the theft. When he wasn’t praying, his thoughts ranged between mulling over the case and picturing Meri’s smile the previous day.

It felt good to be astride his own horse again. Charger had developed a troublesome limp on the last of their journey from Texas to Little Creek, and Wyatt had given him ample time to recover. Now fresh and raring to go, Charger eagerly covered the long distance as fast as Wyatt would allow him and listened willingly whenever Wyatt shared his thoughts aloud.

Midafternoon, they arrived at the office of the marshal who’d sent him the telegram. After a discussion of all the particulars of the bank robbery, the two men walked over to the saloon. However, upon talking with the bartender and several of the regulars, Wyatt learned little he didn’t already know.

The man in question had come in for a meal and a drink, but hadn’t spoken beyond giving his order. His clothing matched what the thief had worn, but the description of his physical appearance was vague enough to have been anybody. And the horse he’d ridden was sorrel, not gray. A quick stop at the livery stable confirmed there was a gray horse in town, but as she had just presented her proud owner with a lovely filly a couple of days previous, she couldn’t have been the horse Meri had seen Saturday. The livery stable owner didn’t know of any other gray horses in the area.

At this dead end Wyatt turned his attention to the bank teller Mr. Dunn. Like Wyatt, the marshal was newly hired and knew little about Mr. Dunn. He did know Dunn was the newest employee of the bank and resided at a local boardinghouse. He pointed toward the bank and said although it was near closing time, Wyatt might be able to catch Mr. Dunn there.

Mr. Dunn had already gone for the day, but the manager invited Wyatt into his office, curious about the holdup. Wyatt filled him in on a few details and asked what he knew or thought about Mr. Dunn. The man informed Wyatt that in the time Mr. Dunn had worked for him, he had found him a hardworking, conscientious employee. In addition Mr. Dunn’s family lived in the area, and the bank manager had known them for years. They were well respected in the community, and he was glad to have been able to hire their son. He also confirmed that Mr. Dunn had been at work the day of the holdup in Little Creek. Wyatt thanked him for his time and upon receiving directions to Mr. Dunn’s lodgings, departed.

At the boardinghouse he was informed Mr. Dunn had a room there but ate his meals at his folks’ place and was probably still there. Wyatt was feeling hungry himself when he finally located the Dunns’ residence. An older gentleman answered his knock, and after introducing himself and explaining his errand, Wyatt accepted the offer of a meal while they talked and was ushered into the kitchen of the small home.

The older man introduced himself as Mr. Dunn, the local schoolteacher. He then presented his wife, his youngest daughter and his son George. Requesting everyone to be seated, he spoke the blessing over the food. “Enjoy the meal while it’s hot. We’ll discuss your business after we’ve eaten.”

With a minimum of conversation, everyone dug into the simple but tasty fare. When Mrs. Dunn served a delicious dried-apple pie, Mr. Dunn turned to Wyatt. “We heard about the robbery, but how can we be of help?”

“I’ve been unsuccessful in tracking down the culprit, and since your son was employed at the bank, I’m hoping he can shed some light on a few inconsistencies I’ve run across in my investigation.” Turning to George, he continued, “I’ve heard a couple of different reasons why you left Little Creek. Would you tell me your side of the story?”

George, a bookish-looking young man wearing wire-rimmed spectacles, set down his fork and wiped his mouth before responding succinctly. “Because I was fired.”

“Your former landlady said as much. The banker had a slightly different story.”

The young man scowled. “I can only guess what that old skinflint told you.”

“George!” Mrs. Dunn’s shocked reply softened her son’s face, and he shot her a look of apology.

“I’m sorry, Ma, but he was a hard man to work for.”

“Would you elaborate, please?” Wyatt asked.

“I went to Little Creek to work in the bank because I wanted to try and make it on my own. I knew I could get a job in this town because everyone respects my father, but I wanted to make it on my own name. Mr. Samuels was okay to work for the first couple of years, but after his wife died, I couldn’t seem to do anything to please him. It was as if he no longer trusted me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had more responsibilities when I started working for him. The longer I was there, the less he let me do. He wouldn’t let me near the safe, and the only money I handled was what he placed in the teller’s drawer. He got so suspicious that if he needed to leave the bank, he’d send me home early and lock up ‘til he got back. He frequently accused me of accounting mistakes and finally outright accused me of stealing before he fired me. He didn’t even give me a chance to defend myself. By that time I was so tired of it all, I just let it go and moved back home.”

“Why didn’t you quit sooner?”

“He didn’t used to be that bad. I was going to tough it out ‘til he got better, but then he fired me. I thought I could make it on my own. Guess I was wrong.”

“Maybe the grief over his wife’s death was more than he could handle.” Mrs. Dunn patted her son’s arm soothingly.

“Maybe—” his voice was doubtful “—although he sure was more attentive to her after her death then he ever was before.”

“What a thing to say!” Mrs. Dunn chastised again.

“I’m sorry, Ma, but he was. When he did talk about his wife, which wasn’t often before she died, he wasn’t very complimentary, and he spent all hours at the bank. After she died, he was constantly talking about how he missed her, and he’d send me home so he could lock up and visit her grave. I think he spent more time with her after she died than before.” Addressing Wyatt, he asked, “How much did the bank robber get?”

“Mr. Samuels said the man cleaned out the safe, but he won’t divulge the amount taken until the culprit is apprehended. I was hoping you could tell me how much was normally kept in the safe.”

“Like I said, Mr. Samuels wouldn’t allow me near the safe, and he certainly didn’t tell me that information. The only money I ever saw was what was in my drawer for the day. Mr. Samuels put it in the drawer each morning and took it out each afternoon. For all I know, that was the only money in the bank!” George Dunn said sarcastically.

Wyatt changed the subject and gave the description of the thief. “Did you ever see anyone that matched that description or acted suspiciously?”

George thought for a minute before replying. “No. I rarely dealt with anyone I didn’t already know. Mr. Samuels made me send any newcomer directly to him.”

“Were there any ‘newcomers’ recently?”

“No. Wait. Somebody came in one day when I was coming back inside from dumping the wastebasket. Mr. Samuels hustled him into his office and sent me home. I heard him lock the door behind me when I left.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

“I didn’t see anything but his back before he entered Mr. Samuels’s office. Anyway, he hurried me out of there and didn’t say anything about who it was. I didn’t ask, either, as he didn’t take kindly to questions. About a week later, I was out of a job.”

Wyatt had been scratching notes as George talked and now returned the little book and pencil to his pocket. Thanking the family for the meal, he asked George to send word if he remembered anything else that might be of use and stood to take his leave. “One more question. I know you were here at work the day of the holdup, but did you have anything to do with the robbery? Revenge on Mr. Samuels perhaps?” He watched George closely.

“No! I don’t like the man, but I’m not a thief!”

The man’s shock seemed genuine, and Wyatt didn’t press him further, taking his leave of the family.

Deciding against riding back home in the dark, he stabled his horse at the livery and bedded down in an empty stall at the invitation of the stable owner. Crossing his hands behind his head as he lay on his bedroll, he sifted through the information he’d learned.

There were so many odds and ends that didn’t seem to fit anywhere. Was George Dunn telling the truth or was it a case of sour grapes over losing his job? Then again, the banker had said George left to be near his widowed mother, and there was clearly no widowed mother. Why would the banker lie? Or had George lied to the banker and about the banker?

Wyatt had seen the empty safe in the minutes after the holdup; he’d seen the bandit riding away; he’d seen the wound on the banker’s head from his fall; he’d seen Mr. McIsaac bleeding on the floor. A robbery had occurred, but every clue led to dead ends and conflicting testimony. If only he could get some solid answers.

He fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming he was in pursuit of the bank robber. Every time he neared the elusive thief and reached to grab him, the man melted away leaving only questions in Wyatt’s hands. Before daylight he rolled his bedroll, saddled Charger and hit the trail for Little Creek. A little before noon he reached town, his first stop, the bank to speak to Mr. Samuels.

But its doors were locked, and his knock brought no response. At the man’s house the housekeeper informed him Mr. Samuels was out of town visiting investors in the hopes of replacing the bank’s capital, since the marshal couldn’t seem to find the stolen money. Ignoring the not-so-subtle dig, Wyatt politely inquired about the banker’s return, but was informed condescendingly that Mr. Samuels would come home when he’d finished his business and not before.

Again Wyatt was left with unanswered questions as he rode Charger to the livery where he was met by the blacksmith and Jonah.

“I saw you ride up to the bank and figured I might catch you here,” Jonah said.