Oklahoma's Gold (11 page)

"Don't be too hard on Caleb."

A gruff voice from behind Emma nearly caused her to drop the cloth on the floor. She swung around quickly to see Doc standing in the doorway. She hadn't realized he had arrived and heard all she had been saying. It rather embarrassed her to let anyone know she, Emma Thomas, talked to herself, making her seem like a crazy woman. That's all she needed the town folk thinking. Lord knew they probably thought bad enough things about her. However, it appeared Doc didn't seem to think anything strange about her behavior, so she just went on as usual.

"I'm just worried about Daniel," she explained, now placing the cloth on her patient's forehead. Her hand trembled with the effort. Emma shifted her body in front of Daniel so that Doc wouldn't notice the nervous action. "And I just want all this dadblamed foolishness to end," she added.

"What foolishness, Emma?" Doc asked with a puzzled look.

Emma soon realized he really didn't have a clue to what she meant. She shook her head in amazement and a tiny feeling of doubt entered her mind. Was she overreacting? But that feeling only lasted a second and was replaced by her usual confidence.

"The attack on Fred, all those incidents at so many ranches, you know what I'm referin' to. The fires, horses bit by snakes, all that." She realized her fists were placed on her hips, her well-known ready-to-do-battle stance. That gave her the extra shot of adrenaline she needed to continue on with her speech. "And do I see anyone but me tryin' to do something about it? No siree. Not a warm-bodied soul in this whole damned community has lifted a finger. And it steams me somethin' fierce." She marched across the room to close a shade from the blinding sunlight that announced daybreak was finally here.

"Well, get on with your examination," she ordered, then sat in a chair, arms crossed to indicate the subject of "foolishness" was now closed.

Doc looked exasperated, but didn't utter a sound, as he opened his bag, took out a stethoscope, and placed it on Daniel's chest. The reposed figure moaned softly at the touch as Doc listened for several seconds.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Emma, Doc removed the stethoscope and looked over at her.

"His pulse is strong and steady," he began and then proceeded to examine the wound. He gingerly felt around the crown of the head with his fingertips. "And it doesn't look like there's any swelling, but he'll need to go to Lawton General anyway for x-rays, just in case."

"The hell I will," Daniel uttered as his eyelids fluttered open. The words and gesture startled both Emma and the doctor.

"Now, Daniel. I won't take no for an answer. As your physician I have to insist. A brain concussion is a serious matter. Swelling on the brain is not all that uncommon."

"I'm fine. If I could just …" He began to raise his head off the bed but winced in pain and quickly placed it back on the pillow. "I just need a few minutes to rest."

Emma sighed. Stubborn to the core, just like herself. She walked over to Doc and whispered, "Let me talk to him."

"Emma, we can't wait," he began but stopped when he realized she was right. He'd been faced with this kind of bold, stubborn independence many times. Most folks around here had it. Came with the territory and lives they led. You needed that tough exterior to battle the elements, to make the ranch or farm work for you. Many a tragedy occurred, but the one steadfast motto they had kept them going. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." And there were plenty of strong ones around. Doc shook his head. Stubborn, too
.

"Call me sometime this mornin'. I'll go ahead and set things up for the x-rays." He looked at her sternly in one last attempt to intimidate, but she wasn't caving in. He walked across the room, glancing back once. "This mornin', Emma," he said, then went out the door.

As he reached his car another pulled up alongside. Caleb got out and grabbed his gun and holster from the seat. As he strapped it around his waist, Doc could not help say what he was thinking. "Plan on shootin' some desperadoes today, Caleb?"

The sheriff scowled back at him.  "Mind your own business, Doc," he growled and marched up the steps to the house.

Doc chuckled to himself as he got into his car. Placing his bag on the seat next to him, he realized how everyone was acting a bit too dramatic for his taste. There was no big conspiracy or shady operation going on here. He was certain these were all a bunch of isolated acts. Accidents such as brush fires were common enough. Of course, it did puzzle him about Daniel's mishap. He wasn't robbed. Then again, his attacker could have been scared off too soon to take anything from his victim. Probably some drifter, hoping for something to get him to his next meal.

He smiled, shook his head, and began to whistle as he drove down the long, dusty drive of Emma's property. He glanced at the bunkhouse and corral as he passed them. The scene looked peaceful and right as it should be. Just perfect. Doc smiled, then continued on with his tune; the sounds of Willie Nelson's "On the Road Again" emanated from his lips.

Chapter 18

Caleb brushed the dirt back and forth with his boot and succeeded only in kicking up dust, Emma surmised. But he continued to do so, stopping every once in awhile to bend over and pick at the ground with his hand, all the while silent, pretending Emma wasn't even there. Finally she'd had enough.

"Shouldn't you be questionin' the hands instead of playin' in the dirt?" she snapped.

As if he suddenly remembered she was there, he turned his eyes and stared her way, but it was like he was staring right passed her, she noticed.

Lifting his hat, he scratched the back of his head. "Yep. I'll be gettin' to that," he said, then, once again his boots began to shuffle the dirt.

Emma was just about to order him to stop when he yelped, nearly making her jump.

"Found somethin'!" he exclaimed as he examined the object in his hands.

"Found what?" she asked.

"This," he answered, as if that explained everything. "Well, at least a piece of somethin'," he added as he studied the small beaded cloth with frayed edges. "And it just might belong to the suspect." Caleb appeared to be grinning, triumphant, like a kid bringing home the blue ribbon trophy from the rodeo.

"Now just how did you come to that conclusion?" She looked puzzled. "Sounds a bit far-fetched."

He walked over to Emma and pointed to the object in his hands. "See. The colors, the design, the materials. We seen that before."

"So? We sure have plenty of Indian relics around. This here would be common enough," she said while pointing her finger at the cloth.

"Yeah, well, remember the necklace we found after Fred's attack?"

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" She started realizing where Caleb's thinking was leading. "Now how's Joseph supposed to attack Daniel from the jail cell? Maybe his spirit did it for him," she added sarcastically. "What do you think, nephew?"

"Ah … no, ma'am," Caleb said quietly, lowering his head. "I wasn't thinkin' that at all. You see, we released Joseph yesterday evenin'."

"Released?" Emma looked alarmed.

"Yes, ma'am. Due to lack of evidence." His last few words trailed off to a mumble while he stood there looking sheepish.

And he should. Emma set her jaw firmly. Hadn't she been saying there wasn't squat for evidence? Hadn't she?

"But now …" Caleb began, interrupting Emma's train of thought. "Well, it seems a bit too convenient."

"Oh, Caleb," the old woman said in such a soft, motherly voice that he was immediately on guard. "If you are goin' to do this job right, you need to take a better look," she advised and went on to explain. "First off, you don't know how long this beaded whachyacallit has been here lyin' in the dirt. Even if it did belong to Joseph, that doesn't mean anything incriminatin', does it?" Before he could answer, she continued. "And we do have other Indian hands and their family members comin' and goin'. Could belong to any of 'em, Caleb." She patted his shoulder and added, "You should keep an open mind on this one, son."

Though her voice sounded gentle and not at all critical, Caleb with all his insecurities could not help but feel indignant. "I guess I'll be handlin' the case as I see fit, seein' as I'm sheriff," he remarked stiffly.

Emma sighed, but felt too tired at the moment to argue. She bid him good day, and without offering any more to drink, turned to walk back to the house.

Caleb just stood there, staring down at the beaded cloth, all thoughts of Aunt Emma and their conversation swept from his mind.

Neither one of them were aware of the lone figure standing in the shadows at the side of the bunk house, a safe forty to fifty feet away from where Caleb stood now. After a minute or so, he crept away as quietly as he had come, having gotten what he needed or wanted. It was fortunate they found the piece of cloth. A sly grin formed on his otherwise expressionless face. Just another ace up his sleeve.

Chapter 19

"Looks like part of a moccasin paint bag, used by medicine men back in the old days." He studied it closely then handed it back to the sheriff who stood outside Stumpy's. He'd just caught Joseph coming out of the bar, and to the Indian's annoyance, had started asking questions. "But it's not mine, if that's what you're wantin' to know." He shook his head. "No way would I be a part of that mumbo jumbo."

"Are you sure, Mr. Whitedeer?" Caleb tried hard to keep his tone professional, hoping it would intimidate and get at the truth, but Joseph seemed totally untouched.

"Something like that is for the elders who believe the old ways are better. It's full of superstition." He shook his head once more and spat on the ground. "Mumbo jumbo."

Caleb realized he was getting nowhere with this approach, so he tried a different path. "Where were you at approximately three a.m. this very mornin'?"

Joseph looked confused, but answered all the same. "Why, sleepin' comfortably in my own bed and enjoyin' it since I have spent many nights without it, thanks to you," he grumbled, then spit on the ground once more, a dribble of chewing tobacco landing at Caleb's feet.

Only momentarily distracted, the interrogator soon continued firing his questions.

"Do you have any witnesses to verify your story?"

"Why yes, sir. You can ask my wife who spent the night with me. I'm sure she will remember. After all, it was a very happy reunion," Joseph commented with a slight grin on his face.

Caleb cleared his throat and quickly looked away, getting the gist of what the Indian implied. His discomfort and embarrassment extended to even being in the same space as Joseph Whitedeer. The Indian reeked of alcohol and tobacco. And it was evident by the sour stench, that taking a bath had not been one of his priorities after being released from jail. How his wife could stand such a smell, he'd never know.
If
his story was to be taken for the truth. He had his doubts. Probably wouldn't hurt to talk to Mrs. Whitedeer, either. And he had a hunch that he should not let Joseph know of his intentions.

"Well, then, I guess you're cleared and free to go," he said as convincingly as possible. "Just stay out of trouble, now. Or I'll be right back on you. Here me?" He glared at the Indian and spit on the ground himself. Only this time
his
dribble landed on the tip of Joseph's shoe. He could see the anger rising up in Whitedeer, but a sneer and sly grin quickly replaced it.