The Outlaw Takes a Bride (10 page)

“No foolin’?” Cam asked, bending sideways to look past his pinto.

“No foolin’.”

“I guess you can’t hold their heads, then.”

Johnny eyed the heaving, twitching cow ponies. “Hold ’em steady. I can probably unhook the tugs with one hand.”

The next five minutes were the most excruciating of his life, but he finally freed the horses from the wagon, and Cam led them to the corral. Johnny sagged against the fence, panting. A breeze ruffled his hair and cooled his damp forehead. He didn’t want to move again.

Cam closed the gate and trudged back to Johnny. His eyes narrowed as he sized up the damage.

“Really broke it, huh?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Johnny said. “I landed on it hard.”

Cam poked his forearm with one finger, and Johnny flinched.

“Don’t do that.”

Cam grunted and walked a couple of yards to stoop and retrieve his hat. “So now what?” He scooped it up and patted it onto his head.

“Well, we sure can’t take the wagon into town tomorrow.” Johnny eyed the wreckage with distaste.

Cam edged his way around the wagon, taking in the breakage. “Nope, we can’t. Guess I’ll have to stay home. You can take Paint and let Sally ride him.”

“Oh, no,” Johnny said. “With this arm, there’s no way I can ride Reckless and lead that ornery pinto, too. It’s six miles, Cam. I’d never get there in one piece, leading that cantankerous pony. Besides, they’re so jumpy now, there’s no telling what either one of them would do if a lady with skirts from here to Fort Worth climbed on his back.”

“True. I don’t know as a woman’s ever ridden Paint.”

“Not to mention that we don’t have a sidesaddle.”

Cam huffed out a big breath. “I guess there’s nothing for it, then. We’ll have to rent a rig at the livery.”

Cam helped Johnny limp to the cabin and ease down onto the bunk. The pain from his arm as he got situated almost put Johnny out, but he managed not to yell like a girl.

“I’ll make you some willer bark tea,” Cam offered.

“Where you going to get willow bark? I didn’t see any over there.”

“There’s some willer trees down by the watering hole in the creek, where the stock drinks.”

“Hmpf.”

“If I go get it and make the tea, will you drink it?”

“I s’pose,” Johnny said.

“Good. It should help you sleep. Maybe in the morning, your arm will feel better.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s not poked through the skin, is it?” Cam asked.

“Don’t think so.”

“Maybe we should get your shirt off. Let me take a good look.”

Johnny flapped his good hand to keep him away. “Oh, no you don’t. Just go get that bark.”

Cam stepped back. “All right, then.” He walked out the door.

Johnny closed his eyes and tried to relax his jaw, but he couldn’t. His arm hurt so bad, he had to keep his teeth clenched. This was not good. At least he’d had Cam with him when this happened. Otherwise, he might still be lying out there in the dirt.

Cam was a good friend. Even though Johnny didn’t always see eye to eye with him, Cam stuck by him. Now he was trying hard to find the best way to handle this mess. Just the thought of jogging along on a horse for six miles made Johnny’s arm hurt worse. But Cam would think of something. He was out there now peeling some bark off a willow branch to dull Johnny’s pain. And he had even dug the grave for Mark. Yes, Cam was about as good a chum as a man could ask for. Johnny let out a big sigh.

Of course, if Cam hadn’t been here, he might not have tried hitching those cow ponies to the wagon.

“How you doing?” Cam asked the next morning.

Johnny tried to sit up and groaned. “I hardly slept all night. I think I need to see if there’s a doctor in town.”

Cam grimaced. “I’m sorry we’ve got no wagon now. That wheel is smashed to bits. You’ll have to ride Reckless.”

“Help me up.” Johnny held out his left hand. Cam tugged him up until he sat on the edge of the bed. “Hurts like crazy,” Johnny said between clenched teeth.

“It looks swollen, too.” Cam looked around. “Let me find something to use for a sling. You don’t want to ride a horse with it flopping all around.”

“That’s the honest truth.” Holding on to his elbow seemed to help. Johnny sat on the bed until Cam came back with two linen towels.

“It’s all I could find. Dish towels.”

“Tie ’em together,” Johnny said.

“We can’t put it on you until you’re washed and dressed up purty for Sally.”

If Johnny were a swearing man, he would have cursed then. He thought about refusing to cooperate, but what good would that do? Cam had seen the train arrive the day before at about two o’clock, and they assumed it would arrive near the same time today. Gingerly, he turned toward Cam.

“You’ll have to undo my buttons.”

His upper arm was a tender mass of red, purple, and black, swollen to nearly twice its normal size. He tried to move his fingers, but the pain was so bad that he quelled the impulse.

“I don’t know if you can even get your clean shirt on over that,” Cam said.

“I guess I’ve got to.”

Cam frowned. “Whyn’t you go without it? We can bring it along and put it on you after the doc tends to you. And if it won’t fit, we’ll be near the haberdasher and can buy a new one.”

Somehow they got him into clean pants. Cam stuck Johnny’s boots on partway, and Johnny shoved his feet in the rest of the way. Cam combed his hair and buckled his belt for him.

“We’d best eat something and go into town as early as we can,” Johnny said. “You’ll have to milk the cow. I’ll see if I can wash the dishes with one hand.”

He drank about a quart of willow bark tea with his breakfast of cornmeal mush and eggs, but his arm still hurt so bad he had to stop frequently and inhale and exhale slowly. Cam scrambled around cooking, making the bed, hiding his own bedroll in the barn, milking the cow, and saddling their horses. At the last minute, he eased the left sleeve of yesterday’s plaid shirt over Johnny’s good arm and draped the other side of the garment over his shoulder and around him. In a moment of inspiration, Cam fastened the loose edge of the shirtfront to the makeshift sling.

“That gonna do it?”

Johnny nodded. “It’ll have to. Get my hat, and bring Mark’s white shirt and Sunday coat.”

With the bankbook safe in Johnny’s pocket, they went out to the corral where Reckless and Paint were tied to the fence. The horses looked as innocent as could be, unaware of the havoc they had caused.

Cam boosted Johnny into the saddle. Johnny nearly pitched off the far side, and he feared at first that he’d pass out, but after sitting for a minute, he got control of the pain. For once, Reckless didn’t fidget, for which he was grateful.

“Look on the bright side,” Cam said. “Having a busted arm could be the perfect excuse to postpone the wedding.”

Johnny said nothing. He still hadn’t settled it in his mind that he would marry Sally Golding, yet he couldn’t think of an honorable way out that wouldn’t land him on the gallows. Maybe Cam was right, and they should try to delay things. Maybe something would happen that would let him out of Mark’s promises.

Finally they were on the road to Beaumont. If they found a doctor and he wouldn’t give credit, they would have to go to the bank for money to pay him. So long as he could get the arm set, Johnny was past caring about money. Every step Reckless took jarred him and sent pain rioting through his whole body. Last night he hadn’t thought about any damages but his arm, but now bruises on his leg, hip, and ribs served as constant reminders of the accident, and his head throbbed. Trotting was out of the question.

The sun was high overhead when they arrived at the livery stable. Cam swung down and ambled inside, while Johnny chose the easier course of staying in the saddle. A moment later, Cam and the livery owner came out the door of the large post-and-beam barn.

“I don’t give nobody credit.” The owner turned his head to one side and shot a stream of tobacco juice into the weeds near the fence.

“I guess we can get some cash out of the bank.” Cam looked to Johnny, and he nodded. What else could he do?

“Awright then. You come back here with two dollars cash, and I’ll have a rig ready for you.” The owner squinted up at Johnny. “You’re Paynter?”

“Yes, sir,” Johnny said.

The man nodded. “I’m Benner. Guess you know that.”

Johnny wanted to give an easy smile and say of course he did, and everyone in town knew Mr. Benner, but he couldn’t. Between the violent ache in his arm and his aversion to lying, the reply stuck in his throat and he only nodded.

“Done something to your arm, I see,” Benner said, nodding toward Johnny’s makeshift sling.

“Mark had a little accident out at the ranch,” Cam said. “We’re going to see the doctor now.”

“Oh, well, if you can find Doc Neale in, you’ll be lucky. He keeps his horse here, and he came in for it about seven this morning. Haven’t seen him since. Gads all over the place to tend to folks.”

That didn’t sound too good.

“We’ll stop by his office and see if he’s there,” Cam said. “I’m new in town myself. What time does the train come in?”

“Two fifteen.” Benner spit again, punctuating his sentence. “She’s usually on time.”

“Then we’ll come for the rig about two,” Cam told him. “We’re meeting somebody at the depot.”

“Fair enough. I’ll have it ready to go. And you have the cash ready.”

Cam laughed, but Johnny didn’t feel like it. He just wanted to lie down and die somewhere.

Benner went into the barn, and Cam walked over to his horse. “Guess the next stop is the bank.”

“All right,” Johnny said, “but watch for the doctor’s shingle on the way. I’m about done in.”

The bank was easy to spot—a stone-fronted building on the main street, far grander than the mercantile on one side and the barbershop on the other.

“You’ll have to go in,” Cam said. “I’ll help you down.”

Johnny eyed the front entrance to the bank with apprehension. “Those folks in there would know Mark, at least by sight. What if they know I’m not him, Cam?”

“Don’t borrow trouble. If you act confident, they won’t question you. Nobody else has.”

It still didn’t sit right with Johnny, and he felt far from confident, but he put all his weight on his left foot and swung his right leg over Reckless’s hindquarters. Hanging on to the saddle with only his left hand gave him little purchase, and he plummeted to earth. Cam jumped between the horses just in time to keep him from sprawling in the street. In steadying Johnny, he nudged his right arm by accident, and Johnny let out a tortured exclamation.

“Sorry,” Cam said, standing back.

Johnny hung on to his elbow and clenched his jaw. After a few seconds he was able to breathe again.

“I can ask in here where the doctor’s office is,” Cam said.

Johnny nodded curtly. “Do I look decent?”

Careful not to bump his arm again, Cam straightened his shirt and the sling. “There you go.”

“The bankbook.”

Cam took it out of his pocket for him and placed it in his hand.

“Let’s get this over with.” Johnny walked slowly up the steps, still holding his arm against his side.

“Remember, we need to pay for the buggy and probably the doctor. And the preacher.”

Johnny scowled at that.

“Better get ten dollars, to be on the safe side,” Cam said.

Johnny paused in front of the door, and Cam opened it for him. As Johnny walked past him, Cam hissed, “Remember, you’re Mark now.”

A couple of other customers were inside the bank, one standing before the teller’s cage. Johnny walked over and stood behind him.

“May I help you, sir?” the teller asked as the customer he’d been helping turned away.

“Yes, thanks.” Johnny stepped closer. He wasn’t used to dealing with banks, but he placed the bankbook on the counter at the bottom of the metal grille in front of the teller. “I’d like to withdraw ten dollars. Mark Paynter.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Paynter.” The teller studied his face for a moment then smiled. “You’ve grown a beard. That’s it.”

Johnny managed to smile. “Sure enough.”

The teller opened a cash drawer below the counter and took out some bills. He counted out a five and five ones and slid them through the opening at the bottom of the grille.

“Thank you,” Johnny said.

“And if you’ll just sign here…” The teller pushed a small slip of paper out. On it was written, “Withdrawal, ten dollars.”

Johnny stared down at it.

“There’s a pen right there,” the teller said, nodding to the ledge on the counter beside Johnny.

His heart pounding, Johnny reached for it with his left hand. “I, uh…I can’t write it with my right hand today.”

The teller held up a hand. “Of course. I’m so sorry. Go ahead and use your left hand if you can. Or just make your mark, if you can’t do the whole signature. I’ll vouch for you.”

Make your mark
. Johnny almost laughed. He held his breath and concentrated as he painstakingly formed the letters. He couldn’t even hold the small piece of paper steady, but the teller slid his fingers through the slot and held it down.
Mark Paynter
. It was sloppy, it was barely legible. And it was a lie on paper. That had to be worse than the spoken lie. Johnny was sure he had committed some sort of crime. How many did that make?