Hel Morgan

Nine

Morgan closed the door slowly behind him, careful to make no sound. Elizabeth slept in the bedroom, and he had no wish to wake her up. He was tired and rubbed a stiff hand across his face, feeling the thick stubble of his beard scratch against his palm. They had argued until she was in tears, and he wasn't far from balling himself, nothing resolved. It had boiled down to one thing, Wheaton had offered her children, and without intending to, Elisabeth had used that against him. Blind with fury, he'd told her if that's all that mattered to her, why was she still with him and not whoring herself with Wheaton.

The shattered look on her face had stopped their fight. After delivering a well-deserved slap, she'd fled to the bedroom and he'd followed, trying to apologize, only to be staunchly and rightly rejected. To the sound of her bitter tears, he'd put several fist-sized holes in the wall, eyes moist. Disgusted with himself. By dawn, he'd not slept and wasn't hungry, so picking up the gear at his feet Morgan walked slowly away, not looking back. If she meant to forgive him, it wouldn't be today, and Hel wasn't sure he deserved it.

The sun was not quite up yet and the jailhouse key clicked over smoothly in the lock, the door swinging inward. Hel stepped inside, the inner office cool from the night air and swung the door shut behind him. Dropping his things into a corner he sank down on the thin, hard bench, closing his eyes. He was still there when Luke Skye came in not long after. The deputy pulled up short at seeing his boss laid out in the office. Luke couldn't recall a time when he'd ever seen the marshal vulnerable, and he just stared, shocked.

"Close your mouth, Luke," the deep voice growled at him. "An' close the door, a man needs his sleep."

Hurriedly the deputy swung the door closed and swiped off his hat, puzzled.

"What are you doing here? Didn't you go home?" he asked.

"I reckon you'd best mind your own affairs," was the stiff response, but as yet the lean, long body of the marshal had not moved. Slightly worried, more than a little curious, Luke set about making a pot of coffee and went in to see Duke Fisher. He exploded back into the main room a moment later.

"Morgan, Fisher's gone!"

Hel catapulted from his near-sleep stupor into fully awake and functioning action. He ran to the cells, his sharp eyes widening in disbelief. The door was still locked, but the cell was empty. His eyes swung toward his deputy, but the young man's eyes widened.

"He was here locked up snug and tight when I left last night! I swear it!"

"Anybody been in to see him?" Disbelief and frustration thickened the marshal's voice. One more day and Fisher woulda been off his hands!

"Not a soul, just like you told me, boss."

"Get a flyer up, then wire San Bernardino and Belleville to let them know Fisher's escaped. Make sure they have a current sketch of him! Now!"

Luke jumped to obey, and catching up a rifle he ran toward the telegraph office. Hel unlocked the cell and went inside, looking carefully around. With care he knelt down and looked beneath the mattress frame, not trusting Fisher to have hidden there to lure him inside. It was empty, not a thing out of place, except the missing prisoner.

Swearing bitterly Morgan turned around and left the cell at a brisk jog. He caught up his rifle and stuffed his pockets with extra ammunition, just in case. With no way of knowing how long a head start Fisher had, the first stop should be the stable. If the horses were all accounted for, Duke was likely still in town.

He hurried to the livery stable, quickly looking inside before ducking into the shadows, flattening against the wall. The air was thick with the smell of manure and straw, light filtering hazily through the slat planks of the roof. Moving with care, Morgan searched the stable, checking every stall and horse against the catalogue in his mind. He knew every horse, and accounted for each rider in his mind. Slipping back outside he signaled Red Hesh over. The man ambled to him, a piece of straw sticking from the corner of his mouth.