Savage Arrow

“Seems so,” Jessie murmured. “When they saw that only my clothes were in the trunk, they were furious, but fortunately they didn’t shoot me. They were masked. I could never identify them.”

“Yep, all masked men look alike,” one of the men said, kneading his whiskered chin.

“Poor Tom,” another one said, then tightened his jaw. “We’ve got to go and get him.”

“And I’ll send out a search party for the hooligans that did this to Tom,” the sheriff said, edging his way through the crowd until he reached Jessie’s side. “Ma’am, I’m sorry your trip to Tombstone was marred by the likes of these outlaws.” He removed his wide-brimmed cowboy hat and half bowed toward her. “My regrets are real, ma’am.” He straightened his back and plopped the hat back on his head. “While the men are getting Tom, some will retrieve your luggage. I’ll have it back to you before nightfall.”

Then he idly scratched his brow. “Might I ask what brings you to our lovely town of Tombstone?” he asked, staring directly into her eyes. “Where can we deliver your luggage once we rescue it?”

Jessie looked slowly around her at the men. Their attitude had changed at this question and their eyes seemed to glisten suddenly.

She recognized their prurient interest in her. Did they actually believe that she was there to work in a saloon, dance hall, or worse . . . ?

“I’ve come to Tombstone to live with my cousin Reginald Vineyard,” Jessie said, noting disappointment in some of the men’s eyes. Others seemed taken aback by the mention of her cousin’s name.

“I’ve arrived on an earlier stagecoach than Reginald had expected,” she murmured. “Could someone among you direct me to his house?”

“You won’t find Preach at his house right now,” the sheriff said, looking past her, down the long road, at the white church that sat at the far end. He turned slow eyes back to Jessie. “It’s Sunday. Preach is always at the house of the Lord on Sunday.”

The men’s way of calling her cousin “Preach,” made Jessie’s eyebrows rise. She never would have guessed that Reginald would become a preacher. Although as children he had been good and kind, he had not been one to go to Sunday school or church services with his family and Jessie’s, who always attended together.

As an only child, Reginald had been spoiled rotten, always getting his way with his parents. His mother and father had sa

id that he would only have to go to Sunday services when he wanted to.

And Reginald had never wanted to.

Jessie thought it odd that the boy she remembered should have dedicated himself to the church. But perhaps he’d had a change of heart after his great silver find. Perhaps becoming so rich so quickly had brought him close to the Lord. Maybe he felt blessed for having been led into a life of luxury.

Jessie hadn’t set eyes on Reginald for many years, but she recalled that the last time she had seen him, he had turned into a mousy little man.

She had actually dreaded coming to live with him, but she, too, was an only child, and all of her family was dead.

As far as she knew, Reginald was her only living relative, as was she his.

As children, they had ridden horses and played and fussed.

He’d hated it when she got the best of him in everything they did, because of his tiny size.

She was also petite and had never regretted it, but for Reginald, being small had become a curse.

He had to look up at most men from his four-feet-eight-inches height. Even Jessie was taller than he.

And he wore spectacles with such thick lenses, they made his eyes look twice their size. His eyeglasses had often frightened the girls away, while the boys mocked him and called him “four-eyes.”

She was suddenly aware of singing. She turned and looked down the long street. At the far end was a lovely church with a tall bell tower.

The windows were open. The people were singing hymns that Jessie recognized at once, and not just from her childhood churchgoing.

Her dear departed husband had been a preacher.

Living in the wild and woolly city of Kansas City, her husband had died on the streets of the city, shot down by lawless gunmen.

She had had no choice but to come and live with her only living relative in Tombstone, but she had been afraid that this town would not be any tamer than Kansas City. The name itself had sent chills up and down her spine, but she had no place else to go, no one else to turn to.

She knew she ought to be grateful to Reginald, who had invited her to come and live with him. In his telegram, he had bragged about his house, saying it was the finest in town, which was only right since he was the richest person there.

She could not help being proud of her cousin, for he had shown them all that size wasn’t all. He was a small man with a huge fortune!