XVI
Calliope's drooping head and dragging hooves made clear how much their flight from the sidewinder had worn her out. She had given her all, truly and for every stride. He was well aware he owed his life to that. Any other horse would have been too slow a runner or too rough a ride. Jennie and Everett would have fallen with him, as the rifle he carried had proven itself the only thing capable of piercing the creature's thick scales. The thought of his own death didn't bother him too much, he knew what awaited, but the others falling before their time would've been a greatly terrible thing.
Thanks to her, that hadn't happened. Even for a horse of her caliber it seemed like quite the burden to carry, but she'd done it perfectly. He shaded his eyes beneath his hand and guessed the distance to town. They were maybe a quarter-mile out. He could walk that far. Caff swung his leg over and slid out of the saddle, landing with a grunt as the impact jarred his various injuries. Calliope whickered and flicked her ears as he patted her neck, which he decided to interpret as a grateful gesture.
He did not share his horse's weariness. Instead he was fair abuzz with a sort of giddiness that bubbled within and kept threatening to become laughter or a big, idiot grin. Something he shared with Jennie, he learned. Looking over, he saw her mostly failing to keep a wide smile hidden beneath the brim of her hat. He also saw Everett's sleeping self lolling against her. It was somewhat worrisome that the boy hadn't woken up yet. Caff had heard of folk who would pass out like that and never wake up again. They'd just waste away. It would be a damned thing for that to happen, after surviving all of this.
Gus Swanson would be absolutely beside himself to see his son returned, alive and in once piece. If that piece had some dents or wrong angles in it, that would be okay. Children bounced back fast and hard from illness or injury, and though Everett was growing, he wasn't grown. He had a good shot at full recovery, as far as Caff knew. That was good. Real good, that.
He spied a welcoming party, there at the end of the road east out of town. It'd be a safe bet that the two people more or less holding each other up were the boy's parents. It was an even safer bet that the person standing near a hitched wagon was Barney Crabtree, dragged out here to wait with them. Caff lifted a hand to wave at them, ignoring the ache in his shoulder to do it. Barney waved back. The Swanson's eyes were fixated on Jennie. Gus let out a cry of some relieved emotion and broke away from his wife's embrace to race towards his son. His wife Susan followed swiftly, and the pair of them descended on Jennie before she had the chance to dismount.
It was Caff that Barney came to, measuring his sorry state with a keen eye. “You look terrible,” Barney declared. Caff snorted. He'd been hearing that, lately. “That cut will need cleaning and stitching. Come along, I've brought my bag.”
He stopped Barney before the man could turn, gesturing over to where Gus had taken his son into his arms and begun to weep into the boy's matted, stained hair. “Kid has more need. Got at least a busted foot, and he passed out, too.” Barney clicked his tongue, which served to remind Caff that his own hurt quite a bit. At least it wasn't bleeding anymore. “I can wait, is the point. Go on.”
Barney nodded. “Right. Priorities. Triage.” He pointed at Caff and said, “Don't think about hiding. If that gets infected, it'll be much worse.” He was waved off and given a promise not to go anywhere. Only then did he go and join the Swanson family at the bed of his wagon and begin treating Everett. Caff sighed and wished he hadn't run out of cigarettes. He wasn't in the mood for one, just for some kind of distraction from the solid bruise his body had become.
After escaping the Swansons with nothing more than a fierce hug from Susan, Jennie joined him. She had a look on her face that crossed poleaxed with comforted, and he laughed. She gave him a sour look. He merely grinned, which earned him a roll of her eyes. The pair of them watched Everett's parents fuss and get in Barney's way for a moment, then she said, “Good shootin', earlier. Said you were better with that rifle, didn't I?”
Caff nodded. “You did, and thank you.” He should probably return the compliment. So he said, “That was good riding on your part. Couldn't have been easy.”
Jennie grinned smugly and said, “It weren't, but Iris and me had it handled.” Her grin faded after a moment, then she asked, “Think he'll be okay? Everett, I mean?”
He hummed and said, “Barney's a wonder. He'll have the kid back on his feet in no time.” The sight of that foot, limp and rolling at the end of Everett's leg, came to mind. “Well. Probably.”
Jennie grunted, then rolled her head around and sighed. “Wonder what he knows that's got...you know...” she made a vague gesture, “all eager to shut him up.”
“Their name, if we're lucky.” Caff answered. She nodded her agreement. “I mean, he was there when Ruby died. I didn't–I couldn't hear what was said. He did, so...” he trailed off and shrugged.
“Don't we know Rupert done it?” she asked.
He nodded. “We do. It's just...I can't help but think he ain't the one who gets into people's heads and changes them, you know?”
She considered the idea for a while. Then, with a sort of hesitance, she said, “He don't strike me as being all that...” she trailed off, searching for the right word and finding it in, “smart.”
He snorted. “Me neither.”
Jennie sighed and said, “Ah, hell.”
- - -
Then it was Caff's turn to be subjected to Barney's mercy. Having the cut cleaned out hurt just about as bad as getting it in the first place. Then he got it stitched, which blew both experiences clear out of the water. He cussed and hissed his way through all six of them and felt no shame in it. At least it was done with and over now. It was a strange feeling, having those threads in his skin. He couldn't quite find a way to put it beyond that. Though he itched to touch them, Barney had given instruction that they were to be left be or else. So he refrained, and bore the rest of getting looked over with as much patience as he had left.
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He hadn't busted any ribs, but Barney checked anyways. It was still nice to hear. He had a thought: if this changer-of-minds was keeping an eye out, they would soon learn their effort to kill Everett had failed. He didn't know how they'd be doing it, or if they even were, but it made sense. It made further sense that they'd try again. Maybe the same way, reaching out and changing someone to make a weapon of them, or maybe they'd try something else. Everett and his family were in danger. Now that he thought on it, so was Rupert. So was Elijah, for that matter. Of the three, it was Everett who was out in the open. Everett who was vulnerable, in a way Rupert and Elijah were not.
Caff grunted as Barney poked a sore stretch of muscle on his back. This was becoming more ground than he and Jennie could reasonably cover. With Everett now in danger, that made three places they needed to be: keeping him safe, watching the Jail, and solving this thing. He trusted and had great respect for his deputy's ability, but she could not be in two places at once. If he put her on the Swansons and went about trying to figure this out alone, that left the Jail undefended. If he stayed at the Jail instead, nothing changed and whoever was pulling these strings had free reign to try again.
He could bring in a third. Town Sheriffs had the authority to deputize people in situations they deemed necessary. He just had no idea who would be suitable. He'd gotten lucky. Jennie had come to him and been more than qualified. She'd be a better Sheriff than him, in point of fact. He liked Leland well enough. Just wasn't sure he trusted the old man. He liked and trusted Barney, but the good doctor lacked the ability to defend himself in a heated moment. When that moment came – which Caff was sure it would – he would have it do so to someone who'd survive. Barney'd been lucky when he evaded Ruby's corpse and whatever had driven it. Luck was fickle, and he was not sure he'd be desperate enough to put friend's life in its hands.
For now, he and Jennie would have to soldier on. It would be a truly miserable time, but he saw no other option. None that he liked, anyway. He leaned back on his hands and felt the splintered bed of Barney's wagon press into his skin. Between him and the Swanson family, it was pretty full. Everett was laid out, still out, with his head in his mother's lap near the front and his feet in his father's at the back. Caff and Gus sat next to each other, legs dangling. Jennie had gathered Iris and Calliope and was leading them over. Barney went to the front of the wagon and clicked his tongue, gigging the sleepy mule pulling it into a slow walk onward.
Nobody seemed in a mood for talk. Caff's tongue still hurt, and he could still taste blood even after washing his mouth out with water from a canteen. Susan had taken a handkerchief, dipping it into that same canteen, and was cleaning the grime from her son's face. He took it to be a thing done to reassure herself. Maybe it reminded her of past times, or maybe it was force of habit. Gus had got his weeping done and over with, it seemed. He had busied himself in keeping the splint on his son's wrecked foot in place as the wagon squeaked and bumped down the road. They'd get to Barney's office soon enough. Hopefully Everett would be awake by then, and they could have that long-delayed talk.
Which actually reminded Caff of something. He dropped off the back of the wagon and went to join Jennie some ten feet behind. She had Iris and Calliope by the reins and had been trudging along behind. Her shoulders and head were dropping, steps dragging, and the horses weren't much better off. She hummed when he approached, lifting her weary gaze to meet his. “Go ahead and see to the horses,” he said. “then meet me back at the Jail.”
She blinked at him, and it seemed to take a moment for her words to sink in. When they did, she asked, “You sure?”
He gestured ahead of them, to where Everett lay in the wagon, and said, “No telling when he wakes up. I'd rather have you at the Jail, keeping an eye on, than here kicking your heels.”
She nodded and cleared her throat. “Makes sense,” she agreed. “We left them two alone long enough.” Caff grunted. Jennie breathed in deep, held it for a count, then let it hiss out her nose. “Okay. Okay. I'll see you.” He nodded, and when the road split off so did she. Iris and Calliope would be seen to a well-earned drink at the finest of stable troughs and a feast of the choicest feed. He'd bet money on it.
He caught back up to the wagon and hopped up to sit next to Gus once more. The man's eyes were closed, lips moving in soundless prayer. Caff didn't know if he was pleading for Everett to wake up, giving thanks for the boy's survival, or some other thing. If it was the first, it worked. As the wagon came to an abrupt halt in front of Barney's office, Everett's sleep came to an end. It wasn't a sudden, gasping event. Caff had half-expected such a thing to happen, but no. The boy's return to wakefulness was a slow and groggy thing, like waking from a too-short sleep after a hard day. It took him a while to see his mother's face above him, even longer for him to croak, “Ma?” past dry, cracked lips. He lifted his hand, which Susan quickly gathered between her own. She nodded, tears brimming fresh in her eyes. “Am I dead?”
Gus sobbed once, a heave of his shoulders, then rasped out, “No, son, you ain't. Gave it your best shot, though.”
The sound of his father's voice had Everett lifting his head and narrowing his eyes blearily. He seemed to think quite hard for a moment before recognizing who he was looking at and smiling. “Hey, Pa.” he mumbled. Then he frowned, smile leaving. “M'sorry, I'll do better next time.”
Susan laughed and bent to kiss her son's forehead, smiling as relieved tears tracked down her face. “You'd better not,” she warned as she pulled away.
Everett blinked a few times. Some clarity returned to him and, with no small effort and his mother's guiding arm, he sat up. He saw Caff then, surprise and confusion crossing clear across his features. “Sheriff” he asked. “Am–am I in trouble?”
Caff folded his arms and nodded, “Oh, surely,” he said drily. This earned him two of the narrowest-eyed glares he'd ever received from Gus and Susan. He continued, “but not with me. Scared your folks something fierce, young man. I would not want to be you in a day or so.”
Everett looked between his parents. They had relaxed their ire with Caff, but he seemed to have reminded them of something. Everett's mother nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. Gus did as well, but any fool with eyes could see his heart wasn't in it. Caff sort of expected the boy to argue about it, try and stave off the oncoming punishment. It wasn't really his fault, in the end. Instead, he nodded and leaned against Susan. “Okay,” he said. Then his gaze turned inward, to memory. “Sheriff? Did that–I mean...did I...?”
“Scare Miss Blakely and ride out into the desert? Nearly die?” Caff prompted. The boy nodded. “You surely did.”
“Oh,” said Everett. He frowned, deeper than the one before. “Why'd I do that?” From the looks on his parents' faces, it was a question with an eagerly awaited answer.
Caff sighed through his nose and looked around. Wasn't too many people near. Made it harder to be eavesdropped on. That didn't mean he wouldn't make it as hard as possible for this changer-of-minds to learn anything. To that end, he said, “Let's have that talk inside. Barney, you terribly mind if we used your office for this?” Barney shook his head. Caff nodded gratefully. “Gus, Mrs. Swanson, if you wouldn't mind helping young Everett along.” They could refuse him. They could. He wouldn't blame them for doing so, not in the least. It was just that he really hoped they did not.
Luck was on his side today. Probably on account of it being declared a win. After a conversation carried out entirely in shared looks, they agreed, and so the four of them made their way through to the back room of Barney's office. It was exactly as Caff remembered it, minus that horrid smell. Now it just smelled like medicine. The metal screwed into the wooden tabletops gleamed, they were so clean. Everett was guided to sit upon one, and Caff was relieved to see it wasn't the one Ruby's corpse had laid on earlier.
“What's this about?” Gus asked. Caff measured how much to tell. Not all of it. He didn't have the time or inclination to lay out straight that particular bag of snakes.
What he said was, “Everett's witness to the murder of Ruby Pendleton. Apart from her killer, he was the last person to see her alive. Now, I have a pretty clear picture of what happened that night. I'm only missing a piece or two. Everett,” he adressed the boy directly. He didn't flinch, not exactly, just sort of drew in on himself. Out of shame or guilt, it was difficult to say. “I don't need the whole story. I imagine you aren't eager to relive it, and I'm not eager to make you.”
Everett, looking down at his lap, murmured, “What do you want to know?”
Caff felt a kind of exhilaration then, a hope. He asked, “The man who killed her...did he say anything about anyone else? An – an employer, or a leader?” The seconds dragged out in utter silence. He waited, teetering on the edge of confirmation. Then slowly, reluctantly, Everett nodded. “Who?” Caff asked. “What's their name?”
Everett looked up at him. His eyes were lost and confused. He licked his dry lips and said, “Artemus Talmadge.”