“Billy, go now, please,” Kathleen said. “I think I hear my father coming up the stairs.”
“I’m not going until you tell me you love me.”
“I do, I do love you. Now, please, go. Go quickly.”
“Kathleen?” Billy heard Garrison call from within the house. “Kathleen, are you up here?”
“Good night, Kathleen,” Billy called. Moving quickly, he darted through the moon-splashed garden, then climbed over the fence.
Kathleen watched him until he reached the fence, then breathed a sigh of relief that he was gone before her father appeared.
“I thought I heard voices. Were you talking to someone out here?” Garrison asked, as he came onto the balcony.
“I was talking to the moon, Papa,” Kathleen said, pointing to it. “Have you ever seen it more beautiful? It is huge, and golden.”
“Yes, it’s what they call a harvest moon,” Garrison said. He chuckled. “You know, I proposed to your mother under such a moon.”
Her father suspected nothing, and Kathleen was relieved.
“Why, Papa,” Kathleen said, laughing. “I had no idea you were such a romantic.”
“I said I proposed to your mother under such a moon,” Garrison said. “I didn’t say I stood out on the balcony talking to it.”
“Is it true you met Mama while you were a cadet at West Point?”
“Yes, that’s true,” Garrison said. “Her father owned a livery stable near there.”
“Mama was a Northern girl, but you were a Southerner, from Virginia.”
“That’s true.”
“Grandpa could not have been too happy with you when you resigned your commission in the Union Army so you could fight for the South.”
“Whew,” Garrison said, shaking his head and chuckling. “That’s putting it lightly. From the day I resigned my commission, your grandfather never had another thing to do with me.”
“And yet, you and Mama loved each other and your marriage was strong.”
“Yes, it was very strong, until the day she died,” Garrison said. Then, suddenly, he realized where Kathleen was going with this conversation. “No, it’s nothing like that,” he said. “It’s nothing at all like the situation between you and the Clinton boy.”
“Yes it is, Papa. It’s exactly like that,” Kathleen insisted.
“No. Your mother and I were already married when the war split up our family. And it was the war, Kathleen—the war, something that was far bigger than any of us.”
“Papa, didn’t you tell me that you and the Clintons were at war?”
Garrison shook his head. “It’s not the same thing,” he said again. He shivered. “It’s getting cool. I think I’m going to bed. I would recommend that you do the same thing.”
“Yes, Papa.” Kathleen kissed her father on the cheek. “I love you, Papa,” she said. She thought, but did not verbalize, no matter what happens.
Chapter Eighteen
The next day, Falcon was visiting Titus Calhoun’s office, playing a game of checkers with the marshal, when Sheriff Belmond and Ike Clinton came in.
“Calhoun, I hear a few of my boys may have gotten drunk and a little out of hand yesterday,” Clinton said.
“They were a lot out of hand,” Calhoun replied.
“And you’ve got them in jail, do you?”
“I do.”
“Well, no harm done,” Clinton said. “I’m willing to pay for any damage they may have done to the newspaper office.”
Falcon looked up at him. “How did you know it was a newspaper office?”
“I guess word just got around,” Clinton replied.
“Or you sent them in town to tear up the newspaper office,” Falcon suggested.
“Are you saying I’m behind this?” Clinton demanded.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Falcon replied. “I think you put them up to it because you didn’t like Mr. Denham’s article.”
“That ain’t true,” Ike said. “More’n likely, the boys read it and was pissed off by what they read.”
“Really?” Calhoun said. “They read it and were pissed off because they didn’t like what they read? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Clinton said.
“That’s interesting,” the marshal replied. He pulled open one of the desk drawers and took out a paper. “This is their arrest form,” he said. “Here is where they signed.” He pointed to the bottom of the page.
“What is all this about? What do I care about the arrest form, or where they signed?”
“Look at their signatures,” Calhoun said.
Clinton looked at the form.
“If you notice, all four men made their mark where they were supposed to sign,” Calhoun said. “Not one of them can read or write, Mr. Clinton. Yet you insist they tore up the newspaper office because they didn’t like what they read.”
“I don’t know,” Clinton said, clearly agitated. “Maybe somebody told them about the article.”
“You sent them, didn’t you, Clinton?”
“Did they tell you I sent them?”
“No.”
Clinton smiled broadly. “Then you got no case, do you? All right, I’m here for them now. Turn them loose. I’m paying the bail.”
“That’s not possible,” Calhoun said. “Bail hasn’t been set yet.”
Now it was Clinton’s time to smile, and he turned to Sheriff Belmond.
“Tell ’em, Belmond,” he said.
“I spoke with the judge this morning,” Belmond said. “Bail has been set at twenty dollars each for the four men.”
“Twenty dollars?” Calhoun said. “Bail is set for twenty dollars?”
“For each of them.”
“That’s preposterous!” Calhoun said. “It should be at least five hundred dollars apiece.”
Belmond shook his head. “It’s not your place to set bail. Pay the man, Mr. Clinton.”
Clinton counted out four twenty-dollar gold pieces, then put them on the desk in front of the checkerboard. “Whoever is red has a jump here,” he said, pointing to the board.
“Sheriff Belmond, you know damn well that twenty dollars is not an equitable bail for these men,” Calhoun complained.
“Like I said, it’s not for you to decide. Now, let the men out.”
After a long, angry glare at Belmond, then a surrendering sigh, Calhoun walked to the back of the jail cells. A moment later, he returned with the four men. Two of the men had their left eyes blackened, and swollen shut.
“What happened to you two?” Clinton asked.
“Ask that big son of a bitch,” Clyde said, pointing to Falcon. “He laid his pistol upside my head for no reason, and without warnin’. I wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t about the same thing he done to Cletus, if you think about Cletus’s black eyes.”
“Clyde is correct,” Clinton said. “You seen my boy’s eyes, Belmond, you know what they look like. Looks to me like this fella enjoys bullyin’.”
“They were resisting arrest,” Calhoun said.
“Resisting arrest? What does resisting arrest have to do with MacCallister?”
“I made him my deputy,” Calhoun said.
“That’s sort of convenient, isn’t it?” Belmond asked.
“About as convenient as having bail set at twenty dollars, I’d say. Anyway, as I said, they were resisting arrest.”
“We wasn’t doin’ nothin’ of the sort,” one of the other prisoners said.
“You’re the one they call Jesse, aren’t you?” Calhoun asked.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Well, Jesse, I say you were resisting arrest, and I have got half the town as witnesses who will swear that you were. So, if you want to take this all the way to court, I’m willing to do so.”
“Shut up, Jesse,” Belmond said. “That goes for the rest of you, too. Don’t say another damn word, or I’ll throw you into jail myself.”
“I was just—” Jesse began.
“You was just nothin’,” Belmond said. Then to Calhoun: “They have now been bailed out of the city jail. That ends your responsibility toward them.”