Cally And The Sheriff

The old barn had a leaky roof and the tiny chicken coop was barely tight enough to keep critters out, but this was home. This was where she was safe and happy, tending her garden and her animals, which were her only friends. That was as much as she had ever expected to do. But she had always expected Pa to be here with her.

Cally slid off Jewel’s back and led her into the barn. She had already done the chores, but she checked on Belle, the milk cow, and made sure the barn door was securely closed.

Royal was beside her as she walked to the house. Queen came to her feet at the threshold, and followed them inside. As soon as the door was closed, Queen spread herself out against the door, resuming her previous position, this time inside.

Cally moved a chair out of her way and sat down on her bunk. Its side and head were against the paper-covered dirt wall, and Pa’s bunk was across from it. The two were so close, a tall man might sit on one and rest his feet on the other. The trunk under the window barely fit between the two bunks. Clothes hung from pegs above the beds and on either side of the window.

A woodstove, table, two chairs and some crate shelves filled the rest of the house. Once in a while Cally noticed how tiny and crowded it was. Not lately, though. Lately it seemed almost empty.

She shook herself and rose, quickly getting ready for bed. As soon as she blew out the lamp, Royal came to lie on the floor beside her bed. The two dogs made her feel safe, and she slept almost instantly.

Early in the morning, Cally opened the door, letting the dogs out and the fresh air in. She dressed in the same clothes she had worn the day before and started her morning chores. By the time the sun was completely over the horizon, she had milked Belle and staked her and Jewel in grass for the day. She had fed the chickens, letting them out of the little coop into the pen, and had checked the fence, as she did every morning, for any signs that a raccoon had tried to find a way in.

Her own breakfast came last. She fixed a small bowl of corn meal mush, adding fresh cream. She carried it outside and sat in the old rocker to eat it. She liked to think of the little area in front of the house as her front porch, though its floor was dirt like the rest of her yard—and house, for that matter. Pa had built a little sunshade above the door, and set out an old table. Since the house was so crowded, Cally worked outside as much as possible. She would be confined enough to the small space inside all winter.

She thought of Pa, confined to his tiny cell, and gritted her teeth. It had been weeks since his arrest, but she still expected to find him sleeping on his cot every time she stepped into the cabin.

With a sigh she looked out at her garden. That and the animals would be the hardest things to leave. She loved her garden, and it had been good to her this summer. Her vines were loaded with ripe tomatoes waiting to be picked, and she had several jars of cucumber pickles, corn and beans already stored for winter.

“Stored away for whoever finds them,” she said aloud. “‘Cause we ain’t staying.” Last night she had almost given up, but this morning she was as determined as ever to save Pa. There wasn’t anything else a daughter could do. She would go into town again toward evening.

But what weapons did she have left? The ax? The shotgun? The one knife she used to cut her food?

Royal sprawled on the ground and yawned noisily. She turned to stare at him. He twitched his ears at her scrutiny. “You wanna take on that coldhearted sheriff, boy?” she asked. She tried to picture it but couldn’t. Sure, the dog could be threatening enough if she was in danger, but she wasn’t sure he would actually attack.

Royal yawned again, giving her a good look at his sharp white teeth. The thought of them sinking into somebody’s—anybody’s—flesh made her shiver. Could Royal just scare the sheriff into letting Pa go? She remembered Haywood’s cool gaze. He was so sure of himself, she couldn’t imagine him scared. She was afraid she knew what he would do. He would shoot poor Royal, cold-blooded killer that he was.

She couldn’t put Royal in danger. She would have to think of something else. Maybe she was going about this wrong. Maybe she should burn down the sheriffs house at the edge of town to create a distraction. She shook her head. She couldn’t quite see herself being that destructive.

With a sigh, she got up to take her bowl inside. Queen raised her head, and Cally stopped to ruffle her soft brown fur. Queen let her tongue fall out of her mouth to show her pleasure.

She was about to step over Queen when Royal barked. The dog was watching a tiny figure leave the road at the creek.

“Early for company,” Cally commented, stepping over Queen and entering the soddy. She didn’t look toward the empty cot. In a moment, she stepped outside carrying Pa’s double-barreled shotgun. Pa had taught her that she could never be too careful, and she had no reason to expect friendly callers.

Cally returned in the rocking chair and laid the gun across her lap. She watched the figure become a horse and rider and eventually Sheriff Haywood on his sorrel mare. The moment she recognized him, she stood, bringing the stock to her shoulder.

Andrew pulled the mare to a stop at a respectful distance. “Morning, Miss DuBois.”

Cally didn’t answer.

Andrew took in the shotgun and the steady hands that held it. “Mind if I light down?”

“No need. You ain’t staying.”

Andrew wasn’t surprised at the unfriendly words. The gun he hadn’t counted on, though he probably should have. He would have to get it out of her hands before he told her what he had come for. He caught himself rubbing the cut on his arm and slowly settled his hand on the pommel.

“Miss DuBois, I’ll only keep you a moment. If you like, I’ll stay in the saddle, but I’d appreciate it if you would put the shotgun down.”

It seemed to take the girl forever to decide. Andrew was almost tempted to smile at the picture she made. The squat little soddy seemed a perfect backdrop for the ragamuffin and her long-haired dogs, which could nearly pass as coyotes. The girl’s face was hidden by the brim of the floppy hat, but he would bet she had him sighted down the barrel of the gun.

He found himself wanting to sketch the scene and mentally shook himself. It had been too long since he had indulged in his favorite hobby. How could he possibly want a picture of this scruffy trio?

Finally Cally lowered the shotgun and leaned it against the wall behind her. He knew she didn’t trust him and had a feeling she would stay within easy reach of the gun. “State your piece,” she said.

Andrew took a deep breath. “It’s your father, miss. I came to tell you he…died last night.”

Chapter Two

Andrew watched Cally stare at him. She had gone as pale as she had in his office when she nearly fainted. “Miss?” he asked. He wanted to rush to her side, but he didn’t want to be shot.

“It…it’s not Saturday. Why? I…I don’t understand.”

The stammered words helped him make up his mind. Andrew swung off his horse and strode to her, ignoring the dog’s low growl. “I’m sorry, miss. You better sit down.”

“You better explain, mister.” Cally straightened and looked him in the eye. Andrew blinked at the change. Her face was still pale, but the green eyes gazed steadily into his. He had been inches away from taking her in his arms, prepared to comfort a weeping child. He eased back a little instead.

“We’re not sure what happened, miss. I got Dr. Briggs as soon as I knew something was wrong. Doc said he thought it might have been his heart.” The doctor had also said the old drunk might have been so used to alcohol he couldn’t live without it, but Andrew didn’t think that would be much comfort to the daughter.

Cally stared hard at him as if trying to determine if he told the truth. “I’ll drop over to the doctor’s when I’m in town. Hear what he has to say,” she said.

Andrew watched her. She was trying to be brave, but he wasn’t fooled. The poor girl shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. “You could ride into town with me.”

“I got work to do. I’ll be along later.” She was suddenly occupied with the larger of her two scruffy dogs. “Where is he?” she whispered.

“He’s laid out it the back of the Furniture House.” Andrew considered her a moment. “Miss, can I send for anyone? A friend?”

“Got none. You can leave, now. I won’t shoot you as you go.” Her voice was soft but it didn’t crack.

With a nod, Andrew walked to his horse, but turned back. “Miss, your father asked me to look out for you. I hate to leave you alone.”

“I was alone before you came. I’ve been alone for weeks.”

She spoke without looking at him. The hat brim hid her entire face, and all Andrew could see of Cally besides the ill-fitting clothes was the small rough hands that rubbed the dog’s neck.

“I’ll be out tomorrow,” he said. He wasn’t sure she had heard. He mounted and turned the mare toward town. One of the dogs barked once to encourage him on his way.

Cally didn’t look up until she knew he had left. She watched his horse become a blur as her eyes filled with tears. “We won’t need a plan now, will we, Royal?”

Royal leaned against her leg to offer comfort. She rubbed the soft warm head. “It don’t hardly seem possible, Pa’d just die.”

Cally brushed at her tears with her shirtsleeve. Turning, she lifted the shotgun and carried it inside, hanging it in its place above the door. Back outside she slumped into the rocking chair.

She stared at the ford over the creek where Haywood had disappeared. This was somehow his fault. A sheriff was supposed to take care of his prisoners, not let them die in their cells.

The tears were forming again, and she squinted her eyes to try to stop them. The realization that she wouldn’t have to leave her home came to her and she brushed it away guiltily.

Royal’s whine drew her attention. The dog slunk to her side, cautiously placing his head on her lap. She ruffled his fur and looked into the big, sad eyes. “I gotta talk to the undertaker,” she muttered. “And the doctor.” Her tears dried quickly. “Yes, I want to talk to that doctor.”

When Cally rode into Salina an hour later, she wondered if she shouldn’t have waited until evening. There was much more activity than she was used to. The little two-wheeled cart Jewel pulled bounced noisily over the rutted streets, drawing even more stares in her direction.

When she slid off Jewel’s back in front of Lafferty’s, Royal crowded her against the mule, and Cally had to push the dog out of the way before she could reach the hitching post.

The door to the feed store stood open, and Cally stepped inside. “Mr. Lafferty?”

“Would that be Cally, come to visit an old man?” Mr. Lafferty walked slowly toward her from the darkness of the back of the store.

Royal barked a cheerful greeting.

“Heard about yer papa, lass,” the old man said. “‘Twas a sorry thing.” He laid a bony hand on her shoulder and added softly, “Still, I’m glad he didna hang.”

Cally felt the tears sting her eyes and pretended it was the oat dust that caused it. “I’ve come to town to see him. Sheriff Haywood says he’s at the Furniture House.”

She was grateful Mr. Lafferty knew her well enough to realize that was a question. “It’s just three doors down from me, lass. It has the tall red sign. The carpenters are undertakers as well, y’see, and they’ll fix yer papa up nice. Would ye want me to be goin’ wi’ ye, lass?”

“No, thanks,” Cally said quickly. The fewer witnesses, the better.

Mr. Lafferty’s weak eyes narrowed, and she wondered what he was thinking. After a moment he patted her shoulder. “Ye know ye can be countin’ on me if’n ye need anythin’.”

“I know,” was all she could say before the lump in her throat choked off her voice. She touched the old hand briefly then hurried into the sunlight. The brightness brought more tears to her eyes, and she hid beside Jewel as she brushed them away.

Rubbing the mule’s nose, Cally looked up and down the street, quickly locating the tall red sign. She studied it and felt a wave of dread. Once she saw Pa’s body there could be no more hoping he wasn’t dead.

It would make more sense to talk to the doctor first, she decided quickly. Cally had been to Dr. Briggs’s home after a couple of Pa’s fights and knew it was just a few blocks away. She started down the street with Royal trying valiantly to turn her back.

“It’s all right, boy,” she murmured, patting Royal’s head. The dog relented but growled low in his throat whenever someone passed too close to his charge. Several ladies stepped clear off the boardwalk to let them pass.

Andrew saw the little scarecrow and her dog as soon as they came into town. He had been expecting her and had positioned himself casually across from Lafferty’s feed store. Cally was at least predictable.

He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to watch her. He told himself his job included protecting Miss Cally DuBois from the rougher element of town. And protecting the gentler element from Miss Cally DuBois. He felt guilty even as he thought it. She was harmless now, surely.

When she left the feed store, Andrew guessed she was headed for the doctor’s. He let her get well ahead of him before he angled across the street, stepping around a corner in time to see her enter the small frame house that belonged to Dr. Briggs. A moment later, the door reopened, and the huge dog was virtually pushed out.

Andrew smiled as he remembered the first time Cally had come to visit her father. His reaction to Royal inside his office had been immediate and severe. He could imagine the doctor’s was at least as strong.

The huge dog whimpered and turned in circles on the porch. Finally he sat, his eyes fixing squarely on the sheriff. Andrew had never intended to interrupt the girl’s conversation with the doctor. He had only wanted to see to her safety and offer to help her any way he could. For one brief moment as he looked at Royal, it seemed presumptuous to the point of stupidity to think she needed his protection.

He decided to wait for Cally across the street from the doctor’s office. He took one step toward a shade tree, and the dog came to his feet. One more step and the hairs on the dog’s back bristled as his shoulder muscles tensed.

Andrew stopped. Royal relaxed.

Andrew took another step, and the dog bared his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

Andrew felt a surge of anger. He wasn’t even walking toward the dog! Cally was inside, certainly out of his reach. He wondered, irrationally, if the dog recognized him, if Cally had given Royal orders to attack him on sight.

“It would be just like that little hellion,” he muttered under his breath. Well, he wasn’t going to let a dog keep him from doing his job! If he wanted to march up to the doctor’s door and wait for Cally DuBois on the front steps, her trained beast wasn’t going to stop him.

He took three determined steps directly toward the dog before he stopped. There was nothing like a snarling dog, poised to spring, to cool a man’s anger and remind him of the advantages of patience.

Andrew took a step backward. He and the dog stared at each other and waited for Cally to finish her conversation with the doctor.

When Cally first heard Royal’s reaction to danger she worried that a patient was being kept from the doctor’s door. She hurried to a window in time to see the sheriff stop in his tracks. It almost made her smile.

“And that’s when Haywood came to get you?” she prompted, turning back to the doctor.

“Yes. I did try to revive him, Miss DuBois. But when the heart stops…” He shook his head.

Cally couldn’t bear the pity on the man’s face. She turned and opened the door, mumbling, “Thank you, Doctor,” as she went. She had to nudge Royal out of her way before she could step out of the house.

Without a word to Royal, she walked toward the sheriff, knowing her dog would keep himself between her and any stranger. She wanted to see the cool, self-assured sheriff back away.

The closer they got to Haywood, the more Royal bristled, barking a warning between deep menacing growls. The poor dog was trembling when Cally finally stopped, laying a hand on the dog’s back to reassure him. She felt guilty for using Royal that way. Especially when it hadn’t worked.

Haywood removed his hat. “Miss DuBois,” he said softly.

“Sheriff,” Cally said, trying hard to sound as calm as he did.

“I wanted to offer my assistance.”

Cally wanted to scream. She looked directly into the sheriffs eyes and decided they were the color of dirt. The thought gave her enough strength to accuse him. “You killed my father.”

He had the grace to look surprised—for a second, anyway. Then he looked angry. She had to admit it was quite a thing to say, but, oh, how she wanted to hurt him! She was prepared for him to answer in kind, some cutting remark that she could use to feed her anger.

He disappointed her again.

“Is that what the doctor told you?”

“Yes,” she lied, telling herself it was a small lie and didn’t really count. “You gave him a drink. That’s what killed him.”

Haywood blinked. That was all. Blinked! She had watched his dirt-brown eyes as long as she could. The cool gaze was giving her the chills. She lifted her chin with the last of her courage and went around him, walking purposefully toward the Furniture House.

Royal gave the sheriff a parting glance before joining her.

Cally wanted to mutter her frustration aloud to the dog as she walked, but the streets were too crowded. She didn’t need to attract any more stares than she was already getting. Men and women in all manner of fine clothes were walking on the boardwalks or crossing the street, and they all seemed to think she was the most interesting thing to look at. Hardly any of them spared a glance at the tall buildings, wagons and horses or each other.

Under the tall red sign, Cally stopped and braced herself. With squared shoulders, she stepped through the open door of the big furniture store. A man with a drooping mustache hurried to meet her. “Young man! Leave that dog outside!”

Cally glared at him for a moment. With a wave of her hand and a soft word, Royal returned to the threshold and sat, effectively blocking the doorway.

The mustachioed man scowled. “What can I do for you?”

His tone implied he hoped it wouldn’t take long. So did Cally. “Sheriff Haywood said my pa’s here.” The man’s scowl deepened. “I’m Cally DuBois,” she added.

His demeanor changed drastically. “Oh, Miss DuBois. I’m so sorry. Please, come this way. We’ve laid the poor soul out in the back.”

The dog growled, and they both turned to see two ladies hurry away. The undertaker glared at the dog but smiled sympathetically when he turned back to Cally. “We have a nice selection of coffins, and you’ll be wanting the services of our hearse.”

Cally’s irritation at the man’s phony thoughtfulness made her bold enough to ask, “Will the county pay for it?”

The man’s mustache drooped a little lower. “I wouldn’t think so.” He opened a door and led her into a storeroom. Lighting a lamp, he crossed to a long narrow table where the body lay covered with a sheet.

Cally barely glanced at it. She felt her stomach tremble and wanted to run away. But this was what she had come for, and there were things to be settled. “If he’d hanged, would the county have paid then?” she asked.

“Perhaps. Now, our services can include mourners if your father wasn’t…ahem…well, if he didn’t…”

Royal growled again, and the man leaned to the side, trying to see the front room.

Cally knew he imagined more potential customers scurrying down the street. She was as eager as he was to have this done. “He died in jail,” she persisted. “Why won’t the county pay for his funeral?”

“Look, Miss, if the man was a derelict, the county will bury him in potter’s field. But I can’t imagine a good daughter letting such a thing happen. I am more than willing to discuss some financial arrangement so your father can be buried properly.”

Cally’s eyes narrowed at the man’s harsh tones. “Maybe the sheriff killed him so the county wouldn’t have to pay for his funeral.”

The mustache twitched. “That’s an outrageous accusation! The sheriff wouldn’t be paying, in any case.”

Cally shrugged, as if dismissing a small matter. “I’ll take Pa home,” she said. “My cart’s outside.”

The mustache seemed to take on a life of its own. “Why, you can’t. That is—you’ll still need a coffin.”

Cally had already turned to go. “I’ll make him one…from his cot. He won’t be needing it anymore.”

Cally marched out of the Furniture House, hoping her courage would last until she left town. She untied Jewel from the post in front of Lafferty’s, barely noticing the trace of oats on the mule’s nose, and led her forward until the cart was directly in front of the furniture store.

The undertaker watched her from his threshold, sputtering. Finally convinced of her determination, he drafted a passerby to help and went back inside. Cally rubbed Jewel’s nose while she waited, trying not to think.

In a few minutes they returned and loaded the body into the cart. If the stranger spoke to Cally or even tipped his hat, she didn’t notice. The sheet had slipped to reveal one worn boot hanging over the end of the cart. Cally stared at it, swallowing hard.

The undertaker delivered a parting shot. “I daresay you’ll regret this, Miss DuBois.”

It brought Cally back to her senses. Without responding, she swung onto Jewel’s back, turned the mule in a wide circle and headed out of town.

Andrew watched her go, fighting the urge to follow. The girl intended to take her father’s body home for burial. She intended to dig the grave herself, wrap the body, toss dirt on her own father’s chest. He couldn’t picture it. In fact, he couldn’t allow it.

He had other responsibilities, however, and couldn’t simply leave town. First, he would have to let his deputy know where he was going. Sick wife or not, the man could relay a message if someone needed to find him. And he would leave a note on his office door as well.

In less than half an hour, Andrew was on his way to the DuBois farm. He wanted to kick his horse into a run. It was a ridiculous notion, he knew. He needed to arrive in time to help her, but there was no need to beat her home. As slow as that mule was, he could almost do that anyway.

But he hated to think of Cally making the trip alone, even though it was scarcely two miles. His concern for the girl perplexed him. She had been riding into town every day for weeks, and he had never once worried about her safety. What had caused the change?

Will you look out for my Cally, Sheriff?

He heard the words as if they were spoken by a ghost. Was that really all it took to make him feel so protective, or had something about the girl touched him? He felt a twinge in his upper arm and muttered to himself, “Yeah, the tip of her knife is what touched me.”

In a manner of speaking, as sheriff he looked out for everyone in the county, but he had never been anyone’s guardian. He didn’t know where to begin. Exactly what were his responsibilities to Miss Cally DuBois? It would surely take some time to decide, but for now he knew he couldn’t let her bury her father by herself.

Cally rode the mule to a little rise near her house. A weathered wooden cross barely marked her mother’s grave. All the way home, she had tried to remember what had happened when her mother died. Had neighbors come? Had Pa sent for a preacher? Had he bought a coffin? Or had he made one? It was all a little hazy.

She decided it didn’t matter. She had no choice but to do this herself. When she had unhitched the cart in the shade of the apple tree and led Jewel to grass nearby, she decided it didn’t seem right to leave Pa alone while she went for the spade. “Royal, stay with Pa,” she said.