Lawman

Now it was Sam’s turn to grin. “That Goliad a’ yours took exception to pullin’ up after he beat Johnson’s stud in a race from their barn to Bryan. That was after he bred their mare, mind you. But don’t worry about me— nothin’s broke, I’m just a little sore.”

“He won’t do that if you give him a treat before he runs—an apple or a lump of sugar or something,” Cal said.

“Now you tell me,” Sam said ruefully, but the twinkle in his eyes showed he didn’t blame Cal. “I think ol’ Goliad’s gonna win us as much money racing as he is in stud fees. Not bad for an old warhorse.”

But Garrick, who’d been sitting silently, pushing his breakfast around on his plate, didn’t let the talk drift to Sam’s favorite topic, horse racing.

“Did you meet up with the Widow Gillespie before you played hero in front a’ the whole town?” he inquired.

Cal finished chewing before he replied. “I did.”

“Is she still, urn, in a ‘delicate condition’?”

“Garrick! I’m sure Cal did not bring up the subject to her!” Annie scolded.

“Annie, you’re becoming a prissy old woman!” Garrick retorted sourly.

Annie gasped and seemed about to reply in kind when Sarah intervened. “Garrick Devlin, you will apologize. I will not have you speaking to your sister in this fashion.”

“Mama, it’s just the truth. Ever since her husband died she’s been as fussy as an old hen.”

Annie sniffed and pulled a lacy handkerchief out of her pocket.

“Sweep your own doorstep first, mister,” came their mother’s firm reply. “You haven’t exactly been sweet as pie yourself these days.”

Annie looked mollified, Garrick sullen.

Cal spoke up before anything else could be said. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I’ve got to be getting back. They’ll be expecting to see my face around Gillespie Springs.”

“But Cal, you never told us anything more about Olivia,” protested Annie.

He’d hoped he was going to get by without doing so, but that hope died as he saw the curiosity written all over Annie’s face. He might as well get it over with; the gossip would get back this way before long, anyway.

“Olivia miscarried yesterday,” he said, rising. “Thanks for breakfast, Mama.”

Annie’s mouth dropped, then she clucked sympathetically. “She must have been in town and saw it all?” she guessed.

Cal didn’t bother to set her straight. His inquisitive sister didn’t need to know his role in the matter.

“I expect it was the excitement—the bank robbery and all,” she said knowingly. “Still, it’s probably for the best that she—”

“Goodbye, Mama, everyone,” said Cal firmly, reaching for his hat on the peg by the door. He did not want to discuss the matter any further. He’d spent too much of last night tossing on the lumpy mattress and wondering if Livy’s losing the baby was for the best or not.

“Now you be real careful, Caleb, you hear?” his mother added, just before he shut the door.

“I will, Mama. Don’t you worry,” he told her gently.

He arrived back in Gillespie Springs to find one of his jail cells occupied by a scared-looking lad perhaps ten years old, while an angry, balding man paced in front of the cell.

The man stopped pacing as Cal entered. “Oh, there you are, Sheriff Devlin. 1 took the liberty of arresting this young hooligan until you returned.”

“Oh? And what law did he break?” Cal inquired, studying the white-faced boy huddled on the cell’s cot. The boy stared back, looking more frightened than before as his eyes rested on the black eye patch Cal wore.

“I’m Fred Tyler, and I own the general store. I caught him red-handed, filchin’ the licorice sticks!”

Cal stepped over to the barred alcove, and the boy cringed. “What’s your name, son?”

“D-Davy. Davy Richardson,” the lad quavered, his eyes big as saucers as he gazed up at him. Cal knew he was frightened all the more by the patch and the scars on his face, and felt a rush of sympathy for the boy. But he steeled himself to remain impassive.

“We haven’t met, but I’m Sheriff Devlin,” he told • him. “You know how long a jail sentence a thief usually gets?”

The boy hung his head. “No, sir.”

“It’s about five years,” Cal announced, though he had no idea if this was true. “Did you take the licorice?”

The boy was silent.

“Ask him to stick out his tongue, and you’ll see what the little thief’s been up to,” Tyler suggested from behind him.

Cal felt a flash of irritation at the proprietor’s self-righteous tone, but he didn’t turn around. “Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The boy looked at him for a second, then defiantly stuck out his black tongue—at the storekeeper.

Cal had to struggle not to laugh. “I guess that’s all the proof I need. Davy Richardson,” he said in a stern voice, “I hereby sentence you to five years.”

The boy blanched still further and gulped. “Don’t I get a trial or nothin’? I’m sorry, really I am!”

Cal allowed his face to relax slightly and let himself appear to consider the question. “Nope, no trial. A black tongue is pretty much all the evidence I need to convict you in this case. But I’d consider commuting the sentence…”

“C-commuting? What does that mean?”

“That means I’ll change your sentence to sweeping out the general store, then the jail office here, and when you’ve done so, I’ll declare you’ve paid your debt to society.”

Tyler huffed, “He won’t stick around five minutes to sweep. You’re lettin’ him off too easy, Devlin.”

“Oh, yes he will,” Cal said with certainty. “You know what happens if you don’t finish the job, Davy?”

Davy shook his head warily.

“I’ll form a posse and hunt. you down, and then you’ll get ten years, in addition to the hidin’ your father’ll probably give you when he finds out.”

“I ain’t got no father. He’s dead,” the boy informed him matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry, I’ll finish the job. Now let me outa here—please?”

“All right,” Cal said, removing the keys from the desk with an appropriate flourish. He unlocked the cell, and the boy sprang out as if he’d been there five years already.

“Now hold up there,” Cal said, when the boy would have followed the proprietor out the door. “On your way over to the general store, drop this off at the saloon,” he said, handing him the dirty plate and silverware that had been there ever since yesterday, when Sheriff Watts had been eating what turned out to be his last meal. “Tell them the new sheriff is ready for his dinner whenever it’s convenient, please.”

“Yes, sir!”