Taken at face value, it could have been just idle curiosity on Henry’s part, or a simple attempt to keep up the conversation. But when they added this piece to the previous knowledge that Henry was looking for a town to “own,” it gave the information a different slant.
After all, someone with the authority of a mayor could be said to control a town, which in many cases could carry more power than “owning” a town. Had Henry changed his mind about how he meant to obtain the power he was looking for, or was politics the way he meant to go all along?
But a town that had a mayor was usually well-established. So now they seemed to have more places to search.
Casey was disgruntled over their conclusions. “We know he came this far, but it means we’ll have to start checking out the offshoots of the rail line as well from here on,” she pointed out.
That was true, and likely meant even more time before they finally found Curruthers. But more time also meant that Damian would be in Casey’s company even longer, and he wasn’t as disappointed about that as he should have been.
On the one hand, he would like to find his father’s killer and return home, to return to the life he was accustomed to. But on the other hand, he had to admit, the thought of running Rutledge Imports without his father was rather depressing. He’d always known that someday he would have to—he’d been groomed for it—but he’d never thought he would step into his father’s shoes this soon.
And then there was Casey.
He’d known it was going to be difficult keeping his hands off her, but he hadn’t counted on wanting her every minute of the day. Luella Miller had helped to distract him for a while, but not long enough. The Chicago debutante might be exceptionally beautiful, but her incessant, vain chatter had very quickly become extremely annoying, to the point where all he wanted to say to her was, “Please shut up.”
As to his quiet Casey with her closely kept secrets, he found it hard getting her to talk at all, especially about herself. Yet he constantly wondered about her, about her motives for doing what she did, about her background, about why she was hiding from her family, if she had even more family than just that ominous-looking father of hers.
But most of all was his desire to make love to her. And the other night on the train he’d succumbed, he couldn’t keep his distance any longer.
He’d been unable to sleep, and unable to stop watching her sleep. And seeing her face all soft and yielding again as she slept was just too tempting to resist this time. And then she’d woken. He wasn’t used to pretending, but he’d done so to keep the peace when she came awake and had sounded so accusing.
Acting out his dreams. He all but snorted every time he thought of that lame excuse. But in the throes of passion, he hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly, and at least Casey had believed him. He couldn’t stop wishing she had remained asleep, though, because her response to him had been all that he could have hoped for—at least until she woke up.
The next evening brought them to the small town of Langtry, where the train was laying over for the night so the passengers could get a decent night’s sleep in the local hotel. Damian found rooms and retired early. Casey said she’d do her investigating that night, since they were leaving early in the morning.
Damian fell right to sleep.
But the next morning when he went to look for her, Casey wasn’t in her room. She wasn’t at the depot or with the horses. In fact, Damian had no luck finding her anywhere—until someone suggested that he check the jail. And there she sat behind some sturdy-looking iron bars, her face composed—as usual. Yet on closer inspection, her golden eyes banked a furious fire.
“Is this serious?” he asked when he was allowed to approach her cell.
“Ridiculous, is what it is,” Casey growled.
“You didn’t shoot someone you shouldn’t have, did you?” was his first conclusion.
“My gun didn’t clear leather.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Hell if I know” was her unsatisfying reply. “I was having a whiskey in the Jersey Lilly saloon last night, standing at the bar minding my own business, when a fight broke out. I was still standing there minding my own business when it was over, and half the folks in the room were down on the floor, dabbing at their bloody noses.”
“So if you didn’t do anything—”
“I was getting to that,” she cut in. “Old Judge Bean, drunk as a loon, was there and started ranting that his court had been destroyed.”
“Are you trying to tell me the saloon here doubles as a courthouse?”
“That’s not so unusual, Damian. Lots of small towns that don’t have their own courthouse, let alone their own resident judge, make use of a saloon when the circuit judge comes to town, because it’s usually one of the bigger open rooms in a town. But most judges don’t spend all day and night in their courts whether court is in session or not.”
“Why do I get the impression you know this Judge Bean personally?”
“I don’t, but I sure got an earful about Roy Bean from the other jail guest I had to share this cell with for a few hours last night, until his wife came to drag him home. Seems the judge uses his Revised Statutes of Texas to suit his own purpose, which is passing out fines whenever he gets short of drinking funds. He does his fair share of hanging horse thieves and murderers without batting an eye, though—as long as they aren’t one of his drinking pals.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Means he twists the law to suit himself, and gets away with it. If one of his pals shoots someone, he figures out a way to acquit them. In one of his more infamous decisions, he ruled that the victim shouldn’t have gotten in front of the gun his friend had been firing.”
Damian shook his head. “I’d say your cellmate was pulling your leg, Casey.”
“I’d like to think so, but I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Because I vaguely recall hearing about Judge Bean before, from a young cowboy who’d passed through Langtry several years ago. He was here when a man just dropped dead in the street in front of the saloon where the judge was lounging on the porch. The judge immediately waddled down—”
“Waddled?”
“He’s got such a large drinking gut that he can’t quite walk a straight line,” she explained. “But as I was saying, he waddled down to act as coroner first. Then, after searching the dead man’s pockets and finding some money and a revolver, he assumed his judicial authority again to hand down a posthumous fine for carrying a concealed weapon. The fine, of course, equaled the amount of money he’d found.”
“And he gets away with this?”
“Why wouldn’t he, when he’s the only law around here? But as I was saying, he was having himself a fit last night because his court got all smashed up, and he arrested everyone on the spot. Then someone pointed out to him that his jail wasn’t big enough to hold the whole room, so he amended his ‘official’ arrest to just me.”
Damian frowned. “Why?”
“Believe me, I asked that myself, and was told that seeing as how he knew everyone else involved, he knew where to find them to collect his fines. Hell, half of them were his damn drinking cronies, so he probably won’t fine them at all. But me he didn’t know, so I’d be spending the night in jail to make sure I didn’t take off before he convened his court in the morning.”
Damian sighed. “So this is just a matter of you paying a portion of the damages before you get released—even though you had no part in creating those damages?”
“That’s about it.”
“Knowing how you like to keep things to yourself, did you even point out that you hadn’t been involved in that barroom brawl?”
Casey glared at him for that. “Do you think I like spending the night in jail? ’Course I mentioned it. But he made an ‘official’ ruling that everyone there was going to chip in for the repairs, with no exception.”
“Himself included?”
Casey snort
ed. “With all the fines going to him, and him then paying for the repairs, he probably figures that’s doing his part.”
“I suppose we’re going to miss the train because of this?” he remarked.
“Maybe not. Someone has already gone to rouse the judge. I was told it won’t be much longer.”
“Well, whatever you do, Casey, don’t rile the man, or you’re liable to end up back in here.”
“I’ve already figured that out,” she mumbled sourly. “It still goes against the grain, being fined for something I didn’t do.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll pay the fine.”
“That’s not the point.”
He smiled. “No, but it will get us out of here and on our way.”
As it happened, Damian should have stayed away from that courthouse-saloon altogether. But then, they couldn’t have known that Judge Roy Bean would be in one of his more ornery moods that morning.
Chapter 24
The Jersey Lilly, where Judge Roy Bean held court whether court was in session or not, was a typical-looking saloon with one exception, the built-in jury box. Bean wasn’t a typical-looking judge, however. He could barely get the top button of his waistcoat closed, he was so fat, and the other buttons were a lost cause.
The judge was approaching seventy, and his bloodshot eyes attested to his passion for rum. Rope burns around his neck spoke of his having met up with a lynch mob at some point in his past. Likely true, since there were rumors that he’d been in a few less-than-honorable gunfights that had ended with him still standing and the other fellow needing a pine box. All this before he got appointed justice of the peace.
Casey had been so upset over getting arrested the night before that she hadn’t actually noticed that there wasn’t all that much damage done to the saloon, certainly not enough to account for Bean’s ranting and raving. But then, she wouldn’t be at all surprised if his fury had been contrived just to support a new opportunity for levying fines.
In the large room, one table was missing a leg. One chair had been busted over someone’s back. But that was all, other than broken bottles. And she couldn’t recall having seen anything worse than that last night, such as something that might have been removed in an effort to clean up. Actually, it didn’t look like any effort had been made at cleaning up the place yet.
Even that early in the day, some of the judge’s cronies were bellied up to the bar having their morning eye-openers, waiting for him to finish “business” and join them. From what Casey had heard, even if there was a trial and the jury box filled, drinking was encouraged.
Bean himself had a tall glass of rum placed next to his gavel on the table he sat at to pass out his verdicts. No special podium for him. Guess he had figured the jury box was enough to give his saloon the distinction of a courthouse, that anything more would have been a waste of his good money. His court was so informal that even his bailiff shared a corner of his table, sipping a cup of coffee rather than standing alert to protect the court as he should have been doing.
Casey was escorted into this travesty of a courtroom by one of the court deputies. Damian had followed right behind her and, in fact, moved to stand beside her in front of Bean’s table, which drew the judge’s immediate attention.
“Just find yourself a seat, young man. I’ll get to you as soon as I finish with the little lady here.”
Casey stiffened, wondering how the hell the old coot had discerned that she was a female when everyone else looked at her and saw differently. He actually made a cackling sound, having noticed her reaction, and apparently was pleased as punch that he’d managed to surprise her.
“I’ve got good eyes, missy,” he bragged. “Always could and always will take notice of a pretty lady, don’t matter what silly duds they cover themselves in. I’ll admit I don’t get many before my court, though,” he added with a disapproving frown that almost made her blush.
The judge then raised a bushy gray brow in Damian’s direction. “Why’re you still standing there, son? You hard of hearing?”
“I’m with—her,” Damian explained. “Here to pay her fine so we can be on our way.”
“Well, now, you shoulda said so,” the judge replied with an avaricious gleam in his eye. “For participating in the destruction of private property, as well as disturbing the peace—one hundred dollars. Pay the bailiff.”
“One hundred dollars!” Casey practically screeched.
“You got a problem with that, missy?” Roy Bean asked with a warning look.
She sure as hell did, but Damian’s nudge reminded her that she better keep it to herself. And it was probably fortunate that the wad of bills that Damian pulled out and counted off added up to only a hundred and sixty dollars, or Bean was sure to have come up with some other excuse to fine them some more. As it was, Damian handed the money to the bailiff, who immediately handed it to the judge, who showed no shame when he stuffed it into his own pocket.
“So she’s free to go?” Damian wanted everything clarified.
“Yes, yes,” Bean said impatiently, eager to get out of his judiciary role now that he had a pocket full of money again. “But why’d you pay her fine? You her husband?”
“No.”
“Her lawyer?”
“No.”
“But you’re traveling together?”
From Damian’s look, he was starting to get worried about these personal questions, so Casey spoke up. “We’re searching for a man who committed a murder back East, to bring him to justice.”
“Commendable.” Bean nodded. “And you’re welcome to bring this killer before my court if you find him. I’ll be glad to hang him quick and proper. But you’re still traveling together, which speaks for itself, missy, now don’t it?” the judge said with a frown.
Casey frowned right back at him. “Speaks for itself how? Just what are you implying, Your Honor?”
“It’s pretty obvious you two have been cavorting in sin, traveling alone together, and I really can’t tolerate that. No, sir. Never could, never will. But I’m glad to say that’s easily rectified. So by the powers invested in me, I pronounce you man and wife, and may God have mercy on your souls.” He banged a gavel before adding, “That’ll be an extra five dollars for the marriage. Pay the bailiff.”
Casey was rendered speechless.
Damian got out, “Now wait a minute—” before Roy Bean narrowed one of his bloodshot eyes on him.
“You aren’t really thinking about arguing with me about due process and moral duty, are you, young fella?” the judge demanded ominously.
At that point Casey dug in her own pocket to toss the five dollars at the bailiff, grabbed Damian’s arm, and dragged, yanked, and otherwise got him out of there before they both ended up back in that lousy jail cell.
Out on the porch, though, she ran out of steam, since Damian wasn’t cooperating in being rushed. And she was still too dazed herself over what had just happened to point out that they really ought to get on the train pronto.
“That wasn’t what it sounded like, was it?” Damian asked her.
“If you mean that it sounded like he hitched us together then, ’fraid so, that’s what he did.”
“Very well, at least tell me it wasn’t legal.”
“Sorry, wish I could. But he’s a bona fide judge, legally appointed.”
“Casey, things like that just don’t happen,” he said in a frustrated tone. “Usually the bride and groom have to say a few words—like they agree.”
He was being sarcastic, and she couldn’t blame him one bit. “Not in all cases,” she was forced to remind him. “And not when faced with the kind of arbitrary power that Bean wields. That ornery old coot was determined to be ornery, and there isn’t a thing we can do about it—here.”
“Why’d you pause?”
“Because it’s occurred to me that we’re getting upset over nothing.”
“I’d hardly call suddenly being married nothing.”
“Well, no, ’co
urse not, but the thing is, we can get unmarried just as easily. In fact, all it will take is to come across another judge and explain what this one did. And for sure it’s easier to find a judge than it will be to find Curruthers, so let’s just get the hell out of Langtry before something else goes wrong, okay?”
He had no trouble agreeing with that, and they did manage to collect the horses and make the train just as it was whistling its departure. But Judge Bean’s bailiff had no trouble catching up to them either and held the train up even more. He had Casey’s gun to return to her—she was amazed that she’d been walking around half naked without it and hadn’t even realized it. He also had a couple signatures to collect for the court records, concerning their marriage.
Casey turned stubborn at that point. “And if we don’t sign?”
“Then I’m instructed to escort you back to the court,” the man told her.
She had her weapon back, barely sheathed. The decision was really hers, whether to comply or just kick the bailiff out of the train car.
She was leaning toward the latter when Damian said, “We’ve already decided to remedy this, so just sign the damn book, Casey.”
She supposed he was right. And since he’d already said her name aloud, she signed the book “Casey Smith.” Seeing what she’d done, he signed “Damian Jones.”
At least they had something to smile about as the train pulled out of that hellhole.
Chapter 25
Even though she realized that it was only temporary, being married to Damian preyed on Casey’s mind something fierce. There was something nice about it—in her mind. He was probably hating it, and in fact, the first thing he asked in each town they came to was if there was a judge, or where the nearest one could be found.
Casey hated that an event that was supposed to be really special had been accomplished in only a few seconds, without the courting, without the asking—without the bedding afterward. And for some fool reason, her thoughts kept coming back to the bedding part.