Chapter 8

I went to supper at Mary O'Connor's, and it was the usual thing. The O'Connors were nice enough people, but it seemed to me that all Mary really wanted was a reliable source for sex. That was not the only thing I was looking for in a wife, so she was stricken from the list before we got to dessert. Martha did a good job of compressing the visits to the long list of potential brides by pushing them to Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. At least, we were through the first pass in a reasonable length of time.

The important point was that Sally Olson still led the list by a couple of furlongs, so I was now ready to get serious. In the interest of keeping peace in Hespers, Martha had kept me away from Sally except at the Sunday Socials where I was able to talk to her and some other women without hurting any feelings. Nevertheless, I was greatly relieved when my weeks in purgatory were finally broken by the last meal with a prospect.

Martha spoke to Parson and Mrs. Olson about me and Sally getting to know each other better, and both parents were willing to give us that chance. Of course, that meant that we were still chaperoned very closely to make sure that there was not a blemish on Sally's reputation. The result was that every night that I was in town, mostly the weekends, Sally and I sat in the swing on her front veranda with at least one parent keeping an eye on us. Both Sally and I had blameless reputations, so this was something that was more catering to the local social mores than to anything else. Of course, neither one of us knew any better, so we went along with the routine.

I managed to hold out for three months before I finally caved in and asked Sally to marry me. She agreed immediately, but we still had to get the permission of her parents. It was not until later that I realized that the permission was a foregone conclusion: after all, they had an old maid for a daughter who was finally interested in a man and had one interested in her. My request was on a Friday, and the Olsons were in such a hurry that Parson Olson was able to announce the happy agreement from the pulpit on Sunday. Martha deserved a lot of the credit for the quick action, and I was on the spot to thank her for her good work in our behalf. Martha blushed and giggled a little bit, but that was all of the reaction that I got out of her.

Sally and I were married the following Saturday. That was Sally's doing. She simply announced to her parents that she was going to move in with me on Saturday night, wedding or no wedding. Everybody believed her, so there was no fooling around. Preparations for the wedding started Sunday afternoon, and everything was ready by the following Saturday. I was lucky: all I had to do was to provide $197.53 to pay for the wedding. By this time, I knew that I did not have to pay for the wedding, but I did want to do something nice for Sally, and I had the gold, so I did not begrudge the money one bit.

A pot-luck reception was held after the wedding ceremony on the church grounds, and everyone there pronounced the whole affair a grand success. After the reception, Sally and I rode to our house in the fanciest carriage in town. We went into the house with me lifting Sally over the threshold to the applause of most of the townsfolk. We were not seen again by the public until we showed up at church the next morning. Anybody who cared would have known what we had been doing because of the funny way Sally walked Sunday morning. As an extra wedding gift to us, Martha had spent the night with the Olsons.

I probably did the right thing for the wrong reason over the next few days. I followed Sally around like a new puppy, and the only time that she could escape from me was when she went to the outhouse. I could recognize Sally's pleasure at being Mrs. Oakley over the first couple of days because she never missed an opportunity to touch my arm tenderly or show some other sign of affection, but, by Thursday, I could see that she was getting tired of me being underfoot all of the time.

In fact, it became so obvious that Martha took me aside and said, "John, Sally knows how much you care for her, but you are in danger of making a mess of a good thing. Next week, you have got to go out looking for bad men so that Sally will not get tired of the sight of you. It will not make any difference if you catch anybody or not, but you need to give Sally some room to breathe. Unless it is an emergency, do not come back before late Friday afternoon. She has to get used to the idea that you will not be around all of the time. Okay, now that is an old woman's advice, but I hope that you will take it."

I was really shocked that I was having such an adverse affect on Sally, and I promised to make myself very scarce the following week. As a token of my good intentions, I spent most of that afternoon in the local saloons. Actually, that was a good idea since I had missed over a week of local gossip, and I needed to pick up on anything that would give me a lead to follow next week.

I did hear that there seemed to be a new highwayman operating on the road to Bowman, so that would be a good place for me to check out the first part of the week. The yahoo had robbed at least one traveler on the far side of Newcomb by about two miles. Well, if I did not goof off, I might find him on my first day. That would be a good omen if it turned out that way.

The trip to Newcomb was made without difficulty, and I stopped in at the saloon to find out if there were anything new on the bandit. The bartender knew me and the kind of information that I was looking for, so he wasted no time in telling me what a pit of Hell the road to Bowman had become. It turned out that the bandit was greedy, but a lousy shot. Any person riding along the road was sure to be shot at, but there had been only three fatalities and two other woundings. Shit! I had to get going or I was going to let a lot of people down.

I got as much detail as I could from the bartender, though that was not all that much. At least, I was very familiar with the road from my days as a shotgun guard on the stagecoach. I already knew the most likely places for an ambush, and I could ignore those places that did not offer enough cover to the bandit. Even the dumbest of yahoos would know to keep his ass covered as much as possible.

My plan was to ride to a likely place for an ambush and dismount before I got close enough for an ambusher to notice me. It did mean a lot of walking, but my knee had been getting stronger at a rapid rate, so I figured that I could give the walking bit a try. I would use my cane in my right hand while carrying my sawed-off shotgun slung to my back. My left hand would be holding a pistol in such a way as to keep it hidden. That was to be my ace in the hold.

The trees were spaced out very well for my convenience, so I should be able to make my approach to each ambush site in reasonable safety. From the talk of the very poor shooting by the ambusher, I assumed that he was still mounted when he fired. If so, that would make him that much easier to spot.

The biggest problem was that there were too many different ambush spots for me to cover them all in one day. On the other hand, I could not afford to assume that not finding the bandit in a particular ambush spot would mean that he would not choose that spot the next day, so I was going to have to work out something, though I did not know what it was at the moment. All I needed was to be shot because I became too careless: caution was the name of the game!

I tested my plan on the first clump of likely trees that I came to. I had no way of knowing if these trees were clear or not, so I had to assume the worst. I tethered my horse back in the woods away from the road. I did rig up a way for the horse to pull loose if I could not get back to him—I did not want him to die because I had been foolish enough to be shot.