“Why does Betsy need checking on?”
Joel met his gaze and realized some weak excuse about his job wouldn’t cut it. His greatest fear was being accused of acting ungentlemanly toward a woman. After his antics the night before, he needed some accountability. “My intentions are honorable,” he said.
Josiah whistled. “Intentions for Betsy?” He shot a glance at Katie Ellen, who was making herself comfortable on the wagon seat, then whispered conspiratorially, “I have to applaud you, Deputy. You sure don’t shy away from lost causes.” Then he grew more serious. “But this investigation, you might not like the answer you find.”
“My wishes have nothing to do with it. I can’t let a criminal go free.”
“Josiah, it’s getting cold.” Katie Ellen rocked as she inched the blanket higher over her shoulders. “Give me that baby.”
Josiah handed the baby over, hopped into the wagon, took up the reins, and released the brake. “I’m praying for you, Deputy—that you’ll put an end to this violence and that you’ll put a nice beginning on that other quest of yours.”
“Praying is the best thing you can do,” Joel said and then walked inside the jailhouse. Catching the men responsible for this outrage would go far in vindicating him. If he didn’t succeed here, he’d have no good recommendation to fall back on. This could be his last chance.
“He’s coming to,” Doctor Hopkins said from the side of the cell cot.
Joel rushed forward. Sheriff Taney’s skin had bleached overnight, leaving it an unnatural, bluish shade. He groaned and tried to roll to his side, but Doctor Hopkins held him down.
“Don’t get up, Sheriff. You’re hurt. Stay still,” Hopkins instructed.
Taney fell flat against the cot. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I’m at the jail?” He licked his lips. Joel passed Hopkins a dipper of water.
“You were shot,” Joel said as Hopkins gave him a drink. “We’re keeping you here for protection.” To the doctor, he said, “Doesn’t look like getting winged in the shoulder would’ve set him back this far.”
“He’s covered with scrapes and bruises. Looks like he took a beating, too. Did you see that knot on his head? It must’ve knocked him senseless,” Doctor Hopkins said. “Otherwise he would’ve been able to get on his horse and ride for help instead of lying there bleeding out.”
After a few swallows, Sheriff Taney pushed away the dipper. He lay so still that Joel figured they’d lost him again, but when his eyes opened and fixed Joel with a cold glare, Joel knew he was feeling strong enough.
Maybe he could remember after all.
“Do you know what happened, Sheriff Taney?” Joel asked. “Did you get a look at the man who shot you?” It’d been dark last night, clouds and all, but there was a chance.
“I saw,” said Sheriff Taney. “It was Fowler. Him and his .38.”
Joel recoiled as if he’d been punched in the jaw. His gut hadn’t twisted like that since Mr. Blount had showed up and demanded his badge from Sheriff Green in Garber.
“That’s the concussion talking,” Doctor Hopkins said. “We might never know for sure—”
“Did you find the bullet?” Joel asked.
Doctor Hopkins nodded. “He’s right about the caliber.”
“And I’m right about the shooter,” Sheriff Taney growled. “And this deputy didn’t do anything to stop him.”
Hopkins shot Joel a nervous glance. Again he held the dipper to Sheriff Taney’s mouth, but Taney was done. His scratched, weathered face eased. His mouth drooped open, and his breathing slowed.
“That’s right,” Hopkins was saying. “More sleep will do you good.” One more look at the bandage covering the sheriff’s shoulder, then he turned to Joel. “Don’t put any stock in what he’s saying. After a head injury like that, he probably doesn’t remember at all.”
Fowler wouldn’t have shot the sheriff. He had character that went beyond that. Besides, Fowler couldn’t have shot the sheriff. Joel had been with him and his gang on the other mountain when Betsy claimed to have heard the shot.
From what Joel could tell, the sheriff hadn’t done anything to oppose Fowler or his gang. He hadn’t done anything to oppose anyone, actually. Joel left the cell to stand before the window and study the mountains just beyond the bars. Could Fowler be responsible for burning Doctor Hopkins’s house and the sheriff had evidence to prove it?
“Find Fowler and see what he has to say,” Doctor Hopkins suggested. “But Sheriff’s thinking is muddled. Don’t let it trouble you.”
Finding Fowler was good advice, but Joel believed Taney to be as clear-thinking as he ever was. He had the gun caliber right. If Sheriff Taney could remember the size of the bullet that shot him, it seemed that he could remember the man who pulled the trigger.
“Does Bullard resemble Fowler?” Joel asked.
Hopkins shook his head. “Not even on a dark night.”