The Librarian

Episode 10

Reverend Potts was delivering his welcome preach, regaling the audience with a moderate variation of the same information he delivered each year. A small group of children from the church choir performed a suitably brief number then ran wildly for the food table set up against the kitchen wall.

Aaron intercepted Harriet as she returned from seeing Amanda and noticed the set to her features.

"Is she alright? Is there anything wrong?"

As he waited for an answer he saw her back straighten and she inhaled slowly. Following her eyes, he saw the cowboy across the room glaring back.

"Harriet?"

"Is Sheriff Becker here?"

"Somewhere I guess. Why?"

"That man was with the gang that attacked and killed the family I was with when I came out here."

"What? I never heard- there was gossip but—"

"Would you see if you can find him - please." Her eyes never wavered and her mouth became a thin, grim line.

He paused, asking if she would be okay, blinking at the emptiness in her eyes when she looked at him. A reply wasn't necessary and he moved off through the crowd, looking for the sheriff.

"I'd know that face anywhere," Wenderby sneered as he approached, thumbs hooked in his belt. He stopped a few feet away and looked her up and down, ending his inventory at her eyes. His own flickered slightly under the solid stare she gave him back.

"So yer a librarian now. Give up murderin' cowboys have ya?"

"Not completely." The words came out flat and harsh. Her hand stole into the purse she carried, gripping the small Derringer out of sight.

"We have some trouble here, Miss Folio?" Sheriff Becker came to her side and stared at the two cowboys.

Higby touched Cass's arm and moved away but Cass stayed right where he was.

"You know yer librarian here is a cold blooded, murderer?"

"Those are pretty strong words, cowboy. I'd think hard before you open that mouth again." The room around the group had gone silent, their attention drawn to the strange tableau they witnessed.

"Miss Folio? Care to say something?" Becker asked.

"He was one of the men that attacked the wagon I came west in. He and his cowardly friends slaughtered the family I was traveling with. A father, mother and their little daughter." A loud gasp went up in the hall; many had heard the rumoured story.

Higby looked about nervously. Thoughts of what he had become involved in raced through his head and he began a cautious retreat.

"Hold it right there, mister." Becker began drawing his gun but Cass beat him to it, firing and hitting the sheriff in the arm. Screams and shouting filled the air as people began running wildly. Aaron stepped toward Harriet as the cowboy's gun swung in her direction.

The sound of the shot was muffled but the impact of the bullet was not and Cass stepped back in surprise as a second shot hit him in the neck. He spun slowly toward Harriet and gaped at the smoking hole in her purse then collapsed face down on the hall floor.

"Harriet! Harriet, my God, what—?"
"Somebody please call for the doctor." She said quite calmly then stepped past the body and walked unsteadily to a chair against the wall.

Becker stood holding his arm and gawped at the dead man, his own blood seeping through his fingers,.

"Doc's comin'." Someone yelled and the milling crowd began finding their way outside. Reverend Potts stood by the door, perplexed, his fingers laced in prayer.

Aaron squatted down beside the chair and gently lifted the damaged purse from Harriet's fingers. He removed the gun from inside and examined it, open-mouthed.

"You carried a gun in your purse?" Was all he could say.

"It belonged to that family." Her answer was dull and flat.

He turned as he heard the doc calling for water and clean cloths. Becker was being helped to another chair and a couple of the church women were stripping off his jacket and shirt. Amanda came tentatively from the kitchen, staring at the body on the floor and then she ran to where Harriet was seated.

"Harriet! Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"She's alright, Miss Holden, perhaps you could sit with her a moment." Aaron handed her the purse, pocketing the Derringer and went to where the doc was tending to Becker.

"Is he okay, Doc?" He looked at the white face of the sheriff.

"Will be. Went right through the fleshy part, it'll be sore though. You won't be hoistin' beers with this arm for a spell, Dan." He tied off the bandage, gave his patient a swallow from his flask then walked over to Harriet.

Aaron leaned down and whispered into the sheriff's ear. "She had a Derringer in her purse. It's in my pocket."

"Danged grateful she did or I'd be lyin there instead of him. What was it about agin'?"

"Remember those stories floating around about the attack on a wagon train? Apparently the wagon she came west in was attacked by that cowboy and some friends. I think it was a case of him seeking revenge."

"So this ain't about Black Creek?"

"I don't think so. The other one that we thought was a rumour."

Both men looked over at Harriet, who was held tightly in Amanda's arms while the doc just stood shaking his head.

****

Rain pounded the streets of Tuckerville creating a sloppy, muddy river out of the road. That and the gusting winds had turned the place into a ghost town. Businesses closed and shutters were locked leaving the few outdoor amenities to the mercy of the driving rain.

Pritchard's general store sign hung down from one support, swinging helplessly against the building front. Loose chairs and benches skidded across the boardwalk, some ending in the puddles of mud. A pair of wagons sat abandoned, their horses hurriedly led away to the livery.

Aaron cursed as he and John stuffed rags against the window frame where a surprise leak had been exposed and was soaking into a large bundle of Aaron's paper stock.

"This would have been some nasty if it had happened when the auction was here," John said, mopping the floor beneath the window.

"This is bad enough thanks." Aaron tore the bundle open and hurried to separate the spoiled pages from the rest. "Guess we can trim these down for flyers so's it isn't a total loss."

"We gonna include this in Friday's edition along with Miss Folio's shootin'." John stood the mop in the bucket and set in the corner.

"Have to I think. That or two papers next week. It won't be news if it's a week late. Might do the storm first because I still have to interview Miss Folio for the sheriff - he made me a special deputy while he's laid up."

"Thought he wasn't hurt bad?"

"He wasn't. It's an excuse; he just doesn't know how to talk to her."

"Is it true she just shot right through her handbag and killed him dead?"

"She fired to save the sheriff, it wasn't like she just decided to shoot the man."

"Still . . ."
"Still nothing, John, and I don't want to hear gossip about it either. This is a newspaper office, and we won't last long in business if we don't stick to facts."

John sat up on his stool and moved some type pieces around. "Can't we say what we think? It's your paper."

"That would be just our opinion. Think about it, John. You just asked about what Miss Folio did, implying she just shot the man. If you were writing it up that's how the story would be told. You weren't there, I was, and the way I said it happened was the true facts."

"Uh, I get it. Yeah. Yeah that does change what happened doesn't it?"

"If we want to give readers our opinion it would be a separate article under the heading Editor's Opinion."

"So, what's your opinion of this storm?" John grinned at Aaron's frustrated expression.