Chapter Twenty-One

When Jimmy awoke, he found himself in a cell.  He sat up quickly and soon regretted it, both his head and side protesting vehemently.  He lay back down for a moment and then got up, slowly this time.

“How’d I get here?  Why am I here?” he demanded, walking to the cell door, giving the bars a shake while balefully eyeing the lawman sitting at the desk in the small office.  Nice show of bravado, he decided, while he was the one sitting behind bars, still shirtless.  He noted that his midsection was wrapped tightly.

A young blond man looked over at him.  “A neighbor called about a ruckus over at the Snyder place.  We came and found you two out cold and then hauled you in.  You are being considered for a murder charge,” he said flatly. 

“That man killed Ester and was ready to kidnap Priscilla.  He was going to kill me!” Jimmy exclaimed.  “And I’m in jail?!.”

“You ain’t alone,” the lawman replied.  He motioned to another cell across the room.  Jimmy followed his hand and saw Tyson Drake there.  “He says you killed Ester and Leopold.  He was trying to save everyone.”

“What a hero,” Jimmy snapped.  “And what was I doing there?”  He looked at Drake whose head was wrapped in a swath of white cloth.  He realized his shot must have only grazed him, but at least it was enough to slow him down or knock him out.  No one else had been harmed. 

The lawman shrugged.  “You and the dead man were robbing this family.  He only happened to come upon you.  He shot one fella and just nicked you.  But the funny thing is he only knew the dead man’s name,” he said looking pointedly at Tyson. 

“Priscilla, the girl, and I were staying with Martin and Ester. We were lost, they found us, oh never mind,” Jimmy said his exasperation growing.  “Ask Cill what happened.  Ask Martin and Ester.”  He stopped; a pain ripping through him as the memories came rushing back. 

Jimmy sat back down on the cot heavily and squeezed his head between his hands.  Ester was dead.  Dear, sweet Ester.  Why did he run off without help, he berated himself mentally once more?  “How’s Martin?” he asked hopefully.

“In surgery.  We’re waiting for him to come to and then Sheriff Buckley will decide.”

“Cill?”

“The brown haired gal?” the lawman, a deputy Jimmy realized, asked.  “She is just sitting in the doctor’s office.  She hasn’t said a word.”  A look of worry crossed the deputy’s face.  “Ain’t natural.”

“Get word to Sweetwater,” Jimmy said quickly.  “Her father is there.  She needs her family,” he finished quietly.

“Heard from an Express rider that a fella named Teaspoon is on his way here and he is from Sweetwater,” the deputy told Jimmy.  He paused, “If it helps any, I believe your story over his.”

“And?” Jimmy looked at the deputy expectantly.

“We wait,” the deputy replied with a shrug.