“There’s a man here, and he’s hurt. I don’t want to move him alone. I need you to go to town and bring back some men. Some good men who are trustworthy.”
Betsy shivered. Good men who were trustworthy? Did she even know who that was anymore?
Her feet were rooted to the spot. Was it Bullard, or had Bullard shot someone else? The memories of Stony Watson’s funeral came flooding back. Who would be in the casket this time?
“Who is it?” she asked. “I have to know before I go.”
Even from a distance she could hear Joel’s troubled breathing. “I don’t want you to worry.”
She’d commenced worrying when she heard the gunshot. Why couldn’t he just answer the question?
Joel appeared out of the shadows, went to the horses to grab a canteen from his saddle, and returned to Betsy. He looked at her face, then took her by the arm. “Betsy?” he said. Another jostle and her focus came back. “I need you, Betsy. Can you do this?”
“I have to know. I’ll be sick fretting over—”
“It’s the sheriff. He’s been shot, and he’s more dead than alive. That’s why you have to go.”
The sheriff? Betsy’s mouth opened, but there were no words. Just disappointment in the men she’d trusted. And anger. Burning anger.
“I’ll bring help. Town is too far. My pa, Jeremiah, Caesar—their farms are close.”
“Then go there. And stay with the ladies if you’d rather. This will be gruesome business.”
It’d be near daylight before she could get everyone rounded up and back here. Sheriff Taney needed help before that. She’d stop by Jeremiah’s and let him go after her pa while she raced to town and Doctor Hopkins. Thank goodness he was staying in Uncle Fred’s cabin.
As her horse picked up speed, her thoughts slowed. Hopkins working on the man who’d let Bullard escape? Would his hands be steady enough? Could he still practice his vocation?
And what about her? The exciting danger that had spelled intrigue in her stories was no longer a harmless threat. Even if she obscured the details, she didn’t have the heart to dress this story up for entertainment. It was more serious than that. Would her Dashing Deputy be up to the challenge?
Chapter 30
The next morning found Betsy anxious and conflicted. The Bald Knobbers had always represented excitement and freedom to her. They claimed to be fighting for justice, and she’d wanted to believe them, even as she knew the complaints of those they’d disciplined. But those complaints seemed paltry now. Sheriff Taney had been shot. Doctor Hopkins’s house had been burned. Those switches on his porch were no empty threat after all.
But who had made the threat? And who shot Sheriff Taney? Was Bullard the culprit, or had a well-meaning vigilante mistaken the sheriff for the criminal? If only Taney would come to and tell them what happened.
Before Aunt Sissy called her to breakfast, Betsy had already put the finishing touches on the story. Unlike the earlier articles, this one bulged with dark injustice and frustration—the same frustration that she’d seen on Jeremiah’s face as he’d saddled his horse, the grimness of Doctor Hopkins as he jumped on bareback and rode to help Sheriff Taney, the sadness in Uncle Fred’s eyes as he lit the candle and told Aunt Sissy to go back to bed. Someone’s life teetered on the brink, and another man had stained his hands with blood.
And unlike her earlier stories, this one contained the truth about her Dashing Deputy. He was still Eduardo Pickett—no use in changing the name at this point—but he was facing real problems instead of single-handedly capturing bad guys and wooing women. He was more like the deputy she knew, and she found the realistic description of him even more endearing than the counterfeit.
Betsy folded the manuscript into thirds and then halved it again before stuffing it into an envelope. But what about her promises to Joel? Betsy tucked the envelope into her waistband and entered the cabin, where Aunt Sissy was dishing out porridge while Uncle Fred slept. Technically she’d kept her promises. Joel’s name wasn’t in the article, and the article wouldn’t reach Pine Gap, but she knew he would object. Why wouldn’t he want his heroics to be known? She didn’t understand, but somehow sending this article felt like a betrayal. And yet this one was important. It was the truth.
“I just don’t understand these men.” Aunt Sissy pushed a bowl of porridge in front of Betsy. “I’ve never seen such selfish behavior.”
“Selfish?” Betsy blinked. “Why would you say that?”