New!
THE CONDEMNED
Book 1 – Rowen
*Note: For purposes of this blog, the content here will be kept to PG standards. However, upon publication, the full novel will include more adult content.
Chapter 10
Remains
“First time
in a saddle?”
Zwick’s dry
humor broke through Rowen’s musings. He cast the man a wry smile. “That
obvious, huh?”
“I can tell
you this much. You’re going to be sore for days once we’re done here. My advice
to you is try to get back in the saddle for a few minutes every day until it
starts to feel natural and your ass stops painin’ you.”
“Thanks.
I’ll do that.”
He, Zwick,
and a volunteer named Jed Blount were heading straight for the Weatherly ranch
to look for Postill. Sheriff Melfry, along with Deputy Slone and the other two
volunteers were on their way to Chamberlain to search for Chapman and his gang.
Rowen
glanced down for the umpteenth time at the rifle sitting in its holster on the
side of his saddle. Although Melfry had determined that their hunt for the
doctor wasn’t going to be as dangerous, he’d ordered them to arm themselves and
keep on the lookout for anything suspicious.
“The
instant you see something that doesn’t add up, get your asses back to town
immediately, you hear me?” the man ordered.
“You
mean, in case we find out Chapman might have had something to do with Doc’s
disappearance?” Zwick clarified.
“Anything,”
the sheriff firmly stated.
“What if
we get to the Weatherlys’ and she’s there?” Rowen queried.
“Then
we’re fine and good,” Melfry replied. “Check to see if she’s planning on
staying longer. If not, just give her an escort back home.”
“How
will we notify you if there’s no emergency there?” Rowen insisted.
“We’ll
find out when we get back,” Melfry assured him.
Rowen
frowned as he recalled the decision.
Zwick
caught it. “Something wrong, Mr. Taylor?”
“What if we
find Chapman and his men?”
The big man
grunted. “Guess we’ll have to deal with that if and when it happens.”
“Can’t we
explain we’re just looking for Miss Postill?”
“Attitude,
Mr. Taylor,” Blount intervened. “As long as we don’t draw our guns and keep a
straight face, if we do manage to come across those men, we should be good.”
“I hope
you’re right, Jed,” Zwick remarked.
Rowen eyed
the rifle again. “I can’t believe you’re allowing me to come with you.”
“Whaddaya
mean?” Blount asked.
“I mean,
I’m still a stranger to you guys. And now you’re trusting me enough to have a
rifle.”
Blount let
out a bark of laughter. “Something tells me where you came from isn’t real big
on trusting others.”
That got a
grin out of Rowen. “You have no idea.”
“Don’t get
any big ideas,” Zwick warned, half in jest. “We’re not a bunch of backwater
idiots who takes in every stranger who comes our way. We take a lot into
consideration before we decide to let someone stay, or send them on their way.”
“What kind
of consideration?”
“Like your
attitude, for one thing. How you act and what you say during a confrontation.”
“And don’t
forget, you were the sheriff’s guest for two weeks,” Blount pointed out.
It was
starting to become clear. “Wait a minute. Are you saying Sheriff Melfry kept
you all informed as to how I was acting while he kept me in that jail cell?”
Rowen queried.
Neither man
answered aloud, but they didn’t have to. The telling grins on their faces said
it all.
“And then
there was Doc’s attitude toward you,” Zwick added. He tapped the side of his
nose. “That woman’s like a bloodhound. She can smell insincerity a mile away.”
The man threw him a hard look. “Sheriff was blown away when she was willing to
go inside that cell to tend to you without him having to be inside with y’all
to make sure she didn’t come to any harm.”
“Even
though I was too weak to move?” Rowen countered.
“Doesn’t
take much for a man to hurt a woman these days,” Blount said.
“So, what
you’re telling me is that the reason I’m with you guys right now is because she
approved of me?”
“Not just
her,” Zwick was quick to point out. “You working for me was also factored in.
Mrs. Mayflower added in her two cents, too.”
“You guys
have been watching me like a hawk, then.”
Zwick
snorted. “Do you blame us?”
“No. Not in
the least.”
“Hey!”
Blount’s sudden shout drew their attention to what he was pointing at ahead of
them. “Is that Doc’s buggy?”
Both men
dug their heels into their horses’ ribs and took off. Rowen gave his mount a
kick in the ribs, and the animal bounded forward to where he was almost thrown
off.
Next
time, Rowen, hold onto the saddle for dear life before you try that again!
When
he finally managed to catch up with the other two men, he immediately knew
something was wrong. Rowen watched them dismount to examine the abandoned
wagon.
“Yep.
That’s Doc’s buggy,” Zwick confirmed. He pointed to the seat. “I put those
trays under there for her doctor’s box so it wouldn’t fall out of the buggy.”
Rowen
scoured the countryside. “Where’s her horse?”
“Probably with
the people who cut the reins,” Blount bitterly answered, holding up the remains
of the leather straps.
Turning
back to the buggy, Rowen spotted it the same time Zwick pointed it out. “Are
those bloodstains?”
“Yeah.”
A
half-dozen splotches of different sizes dotted the floorboard in front of the seat.
“Is it her blood?” he asked, his throat closing in on him.
“I can’t
say for certain,” the man replied. “But I can’t say it isn’t, either.”
Blount threw
down the reins with disgust. “We better get our butts to the ranch and hope
she’s there.”
“Can’t we track
the horse? Or…” Rowen stared at the ground even though he already knew his
untrained eyes wouldn’t be able to detect anything. Regardless, there had to be
something they could do to find her. Or to hunt down the men responsible.
“There’s
nothing to track. Ground’s too hard,” Zwick stated, dashing his hopes.
“Yeah,”
Blount agreed. “We better hurry.”
The men
mounted their horses, and they all took off at a gallop toward the Weatherly
ranch. It wasn’t long before they noticed the distant black smoke rising in the
air. Soon after, they detected the smell coming from the fire. Rowen silently
prayed it wouldn’t be as horrific as he feared it would be. He prayed everyone
was safe. That somehow the family living there was not on the property. Or if
they were, that they’d escaped the flames.
More than
that, he prayed Luka was unharmed. That maybe, maybe, her status as a
physician had saved her from what his gut was telling him they’d find.
As they
drew nearer, it was evident that both the house and barn had been torched. Apparently
the fire had been set last night. Today the flames weren’t as high or as fierce
as they’d been earlier. What was left was mostly charred and blackened wood.
Skeletal remains that showed where the two structures had once stood.
Zwick and
Blount were out of their saddles before their horses came to a full stop. Rowen
pulled up his mount and slid down to the ground, then rushed over to join them
in front of the smoldering ruins. Zwick held out an arm to prevent him from
going any closer to the destruction.
“Is she…
Is…” Rowen couldn’t get the words out. They were stuck in his throat where they
burned along with the wood smoke filling his lungs.
“I see two
bodies inside,” the big man admitted.
Rowen tried
to see them but, again, all he noticed was the fire’s results. Still, he had to
ask. “Is Doc one of them, you think?”
“No.”
That one
word gave him a moment of hope. “Are you sure?”
“Doc was
wearing that print skirt I like seeing on her,” Zwick confessed. “That body
over there is wearing what looks like a nightgown. See the bit of material
around the neck? That’s probably Irene.” He gestured to a location off to their
right. “And that one over there in breeches, that’s got to be Langley.”
“Why didn’t
they try to get out?” Rowen queried. “Why did they stay inside?”
“Once this
place cools down enough, we can examine it further,” Blount stated. “But I
wouldn’t be surprised to discover they were tied up to make sure they didn’t
escape.”
“So what
you’re saying is somebody deliberately killed these people, is that it?” Rowen
clarified. “This couldn’t have been an accident?”
Zwick
tossed him a raised eyebrow. “The house and the barn are quite a ways apart
from each other for both of them to get caught up in the same accident.”
“Maybe some
embers floated over to light it on fire,” Rowen offered. He still couldn’t
accept the fact that someone would deliberately execute the couple.
Blount
cleared his throat. “Anything’s possible, but there was no wind last night that
could’ve sent those embers over that far.
“Can you
spot any sign of Doc?” Zwick questioned as they continued to search.
“Not yet.”
“What if
she’s underneath the rubble?” Rowen suggested. He noticed Blount going around
to the back side of what used to the house. Every so often, the man would squat
to examine something before resuming his walk. Rowen was about to ask he what
he was looking for but instead turned to Zwick. The guy was heading over to the
barn. Undecided whether to follow the big man or stay where he was, he chose a
third option. Taking Blount’s lead, he started searching the ruins, going in
the opposite direction from where the man was moving. He gave special attention
to the ground for signs that might look suspicious, like more blood droplets.
“The barn’s
a goner!” Zwick called out as he headed back toward them. “I don’t know if the
people responsible let them out on purpose, but I spotted two head of cattle
out in the pasture. I know Langley also had a mare, but she’s nowhere in sight.
I’m guessing it was taken, too. Mr. Taylor! See anything?”
“No. Of
course, as ignorant as I am about these things, I could be looking right at
something important and not recognize it for what it is,” Rowen admitted.
“Don’t beat
yourself up over it,” Blount advised. “We all start out that way. Hamp, I’m
pretty sure Doc isn’t here.”
“Which
means either she was here but left before whoever’s responsible for this
travesty showed up, and she got waylaid on her way back to town, or she never
made it this far ‘cuz they got to her before she arrived,” Zwick surmised.
Rowen
stared at the man. “You said ‘they.’ Are you thinking Chapman and his men might
be responsible?”
Zwick shook
his head. “They might be, or they might not be. We need more evidence before we
can come to that conclusion.”
“We need to
get back to town and let Melfry know what’s happened,” Blount advised.
Rowen and
Zwick agreed. Getting back on their horses, they left the ranch.
TO BE CONTINUED
New!
UNCLE BUFORD'S WORLD FAMOUS BAR-B-QUE
A Short Horror Story
by Linda Mooney writing as Gail Smith
On their way to Boston, Jeff and June stopped at the
rundown-looking establishment sitting off on the side of the road because they
were both hungry and intrigued by its sign.
To their surprise, the food was as good as advertised. They just weren't ready for the "after taste".
Excerpt and Buy Links: https://lindamooney.com/UncleBuford.htm
Monday October 12, 2026
Welcome to HERE BE NEWS, where we bring you all the latest from the fantasy romance authors at Here Be Magic:
THE CALL OF THE SEA
A Collection of Dark Fantasy Tales
https://www.amazon.com/Call-Sea-Collection-Fantasy-Tales-ebook/dp/B0HJRLK3FR/
The Call of the Sea cannot be ignored...
Beneath the waves lies another world, one filled with creatures of myth. Mermaids and sirens who find themselves torn between the land and the sea. As they struggle to choose, they will encounter danger, betrayal and love that cannot be.
PG Forte writes magickal tales of love from yesterday, today, tomorrow. A little steampunk, a little supernatural, a little sci-fi...and a whole lotta heat!
New!
BREAKFAST WITH EMORY
A short horror story
by Linda Mooney writing as Gail Smith
For more years than I can count, Old Man Hunley came into the store every morning for breakfast. He always bought the same thing--a quart of milk and two pieces of toast from Mom. Then he'd go sit at his favorite table in the corner, pull a package wrapped in wax paper from out of his pocket, put the contents on the toast, and make a sandwich out of it.
That was Emory Hunley's routine for years, day in and day out, regardless of the weather, until the morning came when he didn't show.
Monday October 5, 2026
Welcome to HERE BE NEWS, where we bring you all the latest from the fantasy romance authors at Here Be Magic:
THE CALL OF THE SEA
A Collection of Dark Fantasy Tales
https://www.amazon.com/Call-Sea-Collection-Fantasy-Tales-ebook/dp/B0HJRLK3FR/
The Call of the Sea cannot be ignored...
Beneath the waves lies another world, one filled with creatures of myth. Mermaids and sirens who find themselves torn between the land and the sea. As they struggle to choose, they will encounter danger, betrayal and love that cannot be.
THE CONDEMNED
Book 1 – Rowen
*Note: For purposes of this blog, the content here will be kept to PG standards. However, upon publication, the full novel will include more adult content.
Missing
The next
morning, Rowen was awakened by the smell of something frying and…
He sat up
in his small bed. “Coffee? Is that coffee?”
He’d slept
in his new albeit worn and a bit ragged around the waist pants. After pulling
the equally worn donated but clean shirt, he made his way to the dining room
this time to join the two other guests indulging in their morning repast.
“Good
morning, Mr. Taylor!” Mrs. Mayflower brightly chirped at him as he walked in.
“Have a seat anywhere you like. Would you care for some coffee?”
“Yes,
ma’am. Please. And good morning to you, as well!”
The woman
disappeared into the kitchen and promptly returned with a battered pot that had
definitely seen better days, but apparently it still made a damn good cup of
coffee. As she poured him some into a cup, she motioned with her head toward
the table.
“Help
yourself. We don’t take requests here. You eat what’s served, but you can eat
as much as you want. Got that?”
“I do.
Thank you.”
He was
aware that the couple seated a few feet away were dressed in what he took as a
finer style, not ordinary everyday wear. Keeping to himself, he was about to
get up to serve himself when the woman reached over, picked up the platter, and
handed it to him.
“Here. No
need for you to get up.”
He thanked
her, helped himself to a serving of eggs and ham, and set the platter to the
side.
“Are you
just passing through?” the man inquired, attempting to make conversation.
“Actually,
I’m planning on making a home here,” he replied. It took effort to take his
time and not to gulp down the food. After the stew he’d had last night, it was
as if his stomach had reawakened from a long sleep and was joyfully begging for
every morsel he could feed it. But he also knew that if he obliged it, he’d pay
for it later with either a major stomachache or the loss of what he’d eaten
altogether. The food in this time period was vastly different from what he was
accustomed to eating in both taste and texture. He was also aware that the
sanitary conditions were also looser or, in some cases, nonexistent, meaning he
could inadvertently consume something that could make him sick. He reminded
himself that these people had been eating slightly tainted or undercooked food
all their lives. Their bodies had built up a tolerance. He, however, hadn’t.
But that
didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy what was served to him. When was the last time
I had home-baked bread? Or real eggs, not powdered ones? Oh, my God. And
churned butter! And jam made from real fruit! He snickered. I’ll be
amazed if I don’t gain thirty pounds in the next few days.
“Found
something amusing, Mr. Taylor?”
He glanced
up to find Mrs. Mayflower standing by his chair, her hand holding the coffeepot
hovering nearby. Her expression was unreadable. Rowen was quick to reassure
her.
“I can’t
remember the last time I had food this good, ma’am.” He chuckled again. “And to
think, not too long ago, I was wondering when I’d ever eat again, much less
have a decent roof over my head.”
The woman
smiled and leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “Word around town is you’re a
hard worker. Keep it up, son. Hard work can sometimes be a blessing.” She
refilled his cup then went around the table to serve the other guests.
When he
finished and was getting up from the table, the female guest obviously eyed his
attire. “Will we be seeing you at service this morning, Mr. Taylor?”
Service?
To cover up
for his confusion, he played the work card. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I need to get to
work.”
Her male
companion stared at him with unconcealed disapproval. “What type of business
makes you work on a Sunday? Tell me now so I can be sure to avoid doing
business with them!”
Rowen bowed
his head for a moment to give him a chance to hide his smile. When he looked
back up at the couple, he replied in his best serious tone. “Animals need to be
fed, sir. I can’t allow those creatures to go hungry or thirsty just because
it’s Sunday, can I?” Even though he didn’t mention the livery stable by name,
he figured the man would guess what business he was implying.
Without
waiting for the guy to answer, he smiled at the couple, bid them a good day,
and left. At first, he intended on heading back to his room but, on second
thought, decided to head for the stables instead.
He’d barely
taken a half dozen steps across the dirt street when he heard someone call out
his name. Whirling around, he saw Obediah Goodall trotting toward him. Before
he could greet the man, whom he hadn’t seen since he and his son rescued him
and brought him here to Calllistown, Goodall bellowed at him.
“Sheriff
Melfry is rounding up a search team. Do you got a gun, son?”
“No, but
Mr. Zwick lets me use his when there’s a need.”
The big man
threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Hamp’s over at the sheriff’s office now. We
need every hand we can spare. Are you with us?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good! I’ll
see you there,” Goodall promised and moved on. Confused and curious, Rowen set
off for the sheriff’s office.
Three other
men were inside with Melfry and Deputy Slone, one of them being Zwick, who
threw him a smile when he caught sight of him. Rowen went to stand beside him.
“What’s
going on?”
“Doc never
made it home last night,” the man informed him.
Rowen
continued to stare at the man. “That’s why the sheriff is rounding up a posse?”
He couldn’t help the tone of his voice. But when Zwick’s expression hardened,
he tried to explain himself. “I don’t understand. Are you saying she’s never
stayed overnight someplace before?”
“Oh, she’s
done that, but she always lets us know ahead of time,” the stables owner
explained.
“But what
if she’s not planning to stay overnight but does so anyway?”
Zwick let
out a loud sigh. “One thing you need to know about Doc. She’s smart. She plans
ahead. If she thinks for one second that she’ll have to stay somewhere
overnight, she lets someone know. Usually Obediah or Faith.”
“Why them?”
“Cuz that’s
where she lives. When Abe moved out, Obediah wanted to rent out his boy’s room,
but he was cautious about letting a strange man into their home. When Miss
Postill showed up and needed a place to stay, things couldn’t’ve worked out
better.”
Rowen shook
his head, still confused. “But something could have happened. I mean, the woman
she went to go tend to might have had a problem or complications, and Miss
Postill had to spend the night with her. Or it could have been something else.”
Deputy
Slone walked up to join them. “You’re right. It could have been something else.
But we’ve been given another tidbit of information that concerns us, Mr.
Taylor.”
“What’s
that?”
“Those men
we encountered yesterday? The ones we had move on out of town?”
A dark
cloud of worry permeated his brow as Rowen stared at the officer. “You mean
Ossie Chapman and his gang?”
He got a
curt nod. “Yep. They never made it into Chamberlain last night.”
The cloud
began to blow a cold wind through him. “Are you thinking those guys might have
something to do with Doc missing?”
The big man
snorted. “We don’t dismiss any possibility until we can prove
otherwise.”
“How do you know those men didn’t
get to Chamberlain?”
“Mossie
said so,” Zwick stated.
“Who’s
Mossie?”
“He’s
Holden Deerling’s son,” the deputy explained. “Deerling’s the telegraph
operator over in Chamberlain. Every day, the boy goes to each outlying town to
drop off and collect messages and letters to take back to his father.”
“Let me
guess. The jailhouse here is the pickup and dropoff point,” Rowen surmised. He
scoured his brain to remember someone arriving with a package or bag who might
fit the description.
“Nope. The
mercantile. I go there every morning to pick up the latest wanted posters and
the like since we’re the first stop on his route. I was there when Mossie
showed up. So, out of curiosity I asked him how the marshal reacted when
Chapman showed up.” Slone shook his head. “He said the guy never got there. He
didn’t even run into them on the road.”
Rowen
mutely nodded. It made sense. “Why don’t you guys have your own telegraph
station here?”
“Because
there ain’t enough people who know how to use one or read those messages,” the
deputy stated.
“You guys ready?” Sheriff Melfry demanded, interrupting them. “We’re wasting valuable time. Let’s get over to the livery and saddle up.”
TO BE CONTINUED
PG Forte writes magickal tales of love from yesterday, today, tomorrow. A little steampunk, a little supernatural, a little sci-fi...and a whole lotta heat!
THE CONDEMNED
Book 1 – Rowen
*Note: For purposes of this blog, the content here will be kept to PG standards. However, upon publication, the full novel will include more adult content.
Missing
The next
morning, Rowen was awakened by the smell of something frying and…
He sat up
in his small bed. “Coffee? Is that coffee?”
He’d slept
in his new albeit worn and a bit ragged around the waist pants. After pulling
the equally worn donated but clean shirt, he made his way to the dining room
this time to join the two other guests indulging in their morning repast.
“Good
morning, Mr. Taylor!” Mrs. Mayflower brightly chirped at him as he walked in.
“Have a seat anywhere you like. Would you care for some coffee?”
“Yes,
ma’am. Please. And good morning to you, as well!”
The woman
disappeared into the kitchen and promptly returned with a battered pot that had
definitely seen better days, but apparently it still made a damn good cup of
coffee. As she poured him some into a cup, she motioned with her head toward
the table.
“Help
yourself. We don’t take requests here. You eat what’s served, but you can eat
as much as you want. Got that?”
“I do.
Thank you.”
He was
aware that the couple seated a few feet away were dressed in what he took as a
finer style, not ordinary everyday wear. Keeping to himself, he was about to
get up to serve himself when the woman reached over, picked up the platter, and
handed it to him.
“Here. No
need for you to get up.”
He thanked
her, helped himself to a serving of eggs and ham, and set the platter to the
side.
“Are you
just passing through?” the man inquired, attempting to make conversation.
“Actually,
I’m planning on making a home here,” he replied. It took effort to take his
time and not to gulp down the food. After the stew he’d had last night, it was
as if his stomach had reawakened from a long sleep and was joyfully begging for
every morsel he could feed it. But he also knew that if he obliged it, he’d pay
for it later with either a major stomachache or the loss of what he’d eaten
altogether. The food in this time period was vastly different from what he was
accustomed to eating in both taste and texture. He was also aware that the
sanitary conditions were also looser or, in some cases, nonexistent, meaning he
could inadvertently consume something that could make him sick. He reminded
himself that these people had been eating slightly tainted or undercooked food
all their lives. Their bodies had built up a tolerance. He, however, hadn’t.
But that
didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy what was served to him. When was the last time
I had home-baked bread? Or real eggs, not powdered ones? Oh, my God. And
churned butter! And jam made from real fruit! He snickered. I’ll be
amazed if I don’t gain thirty pounds in the next few days.
“Found
something amusing, Mr. Taylor?”
He glanced
up to find Mrs. Mayflower standing by his chair, her hand holding the coffeepot
hovering nearby. Her expression was unreadable. Rowen was quick to reassure
her.
“I can’t
remember the last time I had food this good, ma’am.” He chuckled again. “And to
think, not too long ago, I was wondering when I’d ever eat again, much less
have a decent roof over my head.”
The woman
smiled and leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “Word around town is you’re a
hard worker. Keep it up, son. Hard work can sometimes be a blessing.” She
refilled his cup then went around the table to serve the other guests.
When he
finished and was getting up from the table, the female guest obviously eyed his
attire. “Will we be seeing you at service this morning, Mr. Taylor?”
Service?
To cover up
for his confusion, he played the work card. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I need to get to
work.”
Her male
companion stared at him with unconcealed disapproval. “What type of business
makes you work on a Sunday? Tell me now so I can be sure to avoid doing
business with them!”
Rowen bowed
his head for a moment to give him a chance to hide his smile. When he looked
back up at the couple, he replied in his best serious tone. “Animals need to be
fed, sir. I can’t allow those creatures to go hungry or thirsty just because
it’s Sunday, can I?” Even though he didn’t mention the livery stable by name,
he figured the man would guess what business he was implying.
Without
waiting for the guy to answer, he smiled at the couple, bid them a good day,
and left. At first, he intended on heading back to his room but, on second
thought, decided to head for the stables instead.
He’d barely
taken a half dozen steps across the dirt street when he heard someone call out
his name. Whirling around, he saw Obediah Goodall trotting toward him. Before
he could greet the man, whom he hadn’t seen since he and his son rescued him
and brought him here to Calllistown, Goodall bellowed at him.
“Sheriff
Melfry is rounding up a search team. Do you got a gun, son?”
“No, but
Mr. Zwick lets me use his when there’s a need.”
The big man
threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Hamp’s over at the sheriff’s office now. We
need every hand we can spare. Are you with us?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good! I’ll
see you there,” Goodall promised and moved on. Confused and curious, Rowen set
off for the sheriff’s office.
Three other
men were inside with Melfry and Deputy Slone, one of them being Zwick, who
threw him a smile when he caught sight of him. Rowen went to stand beside him.
“What’s
going on?”
“Doc never
made it home last night,” the man informed him.
Rowen
continued to stare at the man. “That’s why the sheriff is rounding up a posse?”
He couldn’t help the tone of his voice. But when Zwick’s expression hardened,
he tried to explain himself. “I don’t understand. Are you saying she’s never
stayed overnight someplace before?”
“Oh, she’s
done that, but she always lets us know ahead of time,” the stables owner
explained.
“But what
if she’s not planning to stay overnight but does so anyway?”
Zwick let
out a loud sigh. “One thing you need to know about Doc. She’s smart. She plans
ahead. If she thinks for one second that she’ll have to stay somewhere
overnight, she lets someone know. Usually Obediah or Faith.”
“Why them?”
“Cuz that’s
where she lives. When Abe moved out, Obediah wanted to rent out his boy’s room,
but he was cautious about letting a strange man into their home. When Miss
Postill showed up and needed a place to stay, things couldn’t’ve worked out
better.”
Rowen shook
his head, still confused. “But something could have happened. I mean, the woman
she went to go tend to might have had a problem or complications, and Miss
Postill had to spend the night with her. Or it could have been something else.”
Deputy
Slone walked up to join them. “You’re right. It could have been something else.
But we’ve been given another tidbit of information that concerns us, Mr.
Taylor.”
“What’s
that?”
“Those men
we encountered yesterday? The ones we had move on out of town?”
A dark
cloud of worry permeated his brow as Rowen stared at the officer. “You mean
Ossie Chapman and his gang?”
He got a
curt nod. “Yep. They never made it into Chamberlain last night.”
The cloud
began to blow a cold wind through him. “Are you thinking those guys might have
something to do with Doc missing?”
The big man
snorted. “We don’t dismiss any possibility until we can prove
otherwise.”
“How do you know those men didn’t
get to Chamberlain?”
“Mossie
said so,” Zwick stated.
“Who’s
Mossie?”
“He’s
Holden Deerling’s son,” the deputy explained. “Deerling’s the telegraph
operator over in Chamberlain. Every day, the boy goes to each outlying town to
drop off and collect messages and letters to take back to his father.”
“Let me
guess. The jailhouse here is the pickup and dropoff point,” Rowen surmised. He
scoured his brain to remember someone arriving with a package or bag who might
fit the description.
“Nope. The
mercantile. I go there every morning to pick up the latest wanted posters and
the like since we’re the first stop on his route. I was there when Mossie
showed up. So, out of curiosity I asked him how the marshal reacted when
Chapman showed up.” Slone shook his head. “He said the guy never got there. He
didn’t even run into them on the road.”
Rowen
mutely nodded. It made sense. “Why don’t you guys have your own telegraph
station here?”
“Because
there ain’t enough people who know how to use one or read those messages,” the
deputy stated.
“You guys ready?” Sheriff Melfry demanded, interrupting them. “We’re wasting valuable time. Let’s get over to the livery and saddle up.”
TO BE CONTINUED
