Do Not Forsake Me(48)

Thirteen


Jeff made a note that it had been eight days since the shooting. He’d stayed away from the family, realizing they needed time alone. He knew the prison wagon would arrive today for Marty Bryant, and he wanted to witness the man’s departure. The formidable-looking iron wagon sat in front of the jail as he hurried over to watch the proceedings. He noticed Katie Harkner sitting in the seat of a small supply wagon, which was tied across the street in front of the very hardware store where Jake had been shot down. She wore a lovely pink dress.

“Mrs. Harkner,” he greeted, tipping his hat. “You look very pretty this morning.”

She’d been staring at the jail and seemed startled when he greeted her. “Oh! Mr. Trubridge.” Katie glanced back at the jail. “Thank you. Lloyd is in the jail right now, signing some papers. The prison wagon is a few days late, and he has to officially put Marty Bryant on it.”

“I’m sure Lloyd will be all right,” Jeff told her. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

“Thank you.”

Jeff walked across the street, wondering how the shooting had affected Lloyd’s new wife. She’d surely never expected to see her husband in a shoot-out on the first day of their marriage.

As he neared the jail doorway, he heard Marty Bryant cussing a blue streak. “I’m still wounded from when you and that sonofabitch you call a father brung me in,” he growled. “I can’t ride in that wagon.”

Jeff walked inside to see Marty’s wrists and ankles were cuffed. He was the one originally brought in seven days ago with a wounded arm. He still wore the filthy clothes he’d had on then, as well as his eye patch. He needed a shave, and his hair hung in oily strands over bloodshot eyes.

“Dr. Stewart said you were good enough to travel,” Lloyd told him. He was bent over the sheriff’s desk signing papers, and Sheriff Sparks stood holding a shotgun on Marty.

“’Course he’d say that. He’s your goddamned brother-in-law!” Marty argued. “Don’t put me in that wagon, you asshole!”

Brad Buckley groaned from the jail cell, where he still lay with a cracked breastbone.

“You’ll pay for this, kid,” Marty threatened. “You and your pa both. You tell him that! My family will figure out a way.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before, Marty.” Lloyd straightened. “Get your ass outside.”

Jeff stepped aside, observing quietly.

“How in hell am I supposed to walk with these things on my ankles?” Marty barked.

Lloyd stepped closer. “Let me help you.” He turned the man around and kicked him in the rear end, sending him sprawling out the front door and down the steps.

More like something Jake would do, Jeff noted. He cautiously walked to the doorway and watched Lloyd pick Marty up and give him a shove toward the wagon, where two other hapless-looking men sat inside. The wagon guard opened the barred door at the back of the wagon, and Lloyd literally threw Marty inside. The man landed facedown on the floor between the benches on either side of the wagon. He screamed another round of curses, yelling that his eye patch had come off.

Jeff dared to step closer as the wagon guard locked the wagon doors. He grimaced at the sight of Marty’s eye. It bore an ugly scar that was stitched shut, and the socket was caved in, the eyeball completely missing.

“Someone will put it back on when you get where you’re going,” Lloyd told him, seemingly unaffected by the man’s misery. “This is what happens when you put your filthy hands on an innocent young girl, Bryant. You’re goddamn lucky Jake didn’t shoot your balls off. He doesn’t care so much about following federal marshal rules, so be glad you’re alive and your privates are still attached and not stuffed in your pockets.”

Jeff’s eyes widened at the words.

“You just remember, you and your pa are gonna have to go after the Daltons again, boy,” Marty yelled. “That will leave your family all alone. I’ll get out, Harkner. Somehow I’ll escape, and I’ll pay Jake back for putting my eye out! And I’ll pay you back for treatin’ me this way!”

“You’re going to prison, Marty, probably headed for a hanging. Jake and I can handle the rest of your worthless family.”

“You’re a dead man, Lloyd Harkner! So is your pa. Too bad he didn’t bleed to death this time around. I hope it was my bullet that hit him!”

Lloyd stepped back and waved at the wagon driver, who nodded to him. “Afternoon, Lloyd. How’s your pa?”

“Mean as ever,” Lloyd answered.

The driver laughed as the guard climbed up beside him.