Summer 15th, Year 1868
9:47 AM
Tag: Marshall

So far, the morning had been a fairly quiet one, at least when compared to the night before when a few disorderly drunks had caused a ruckus in the saloon and had to be escorted to a jail cell. They were still in there now, sleeping off the liquor and dead to the world going on around them. The young deputy who was sitting at the desk, supposed to be watching them, was almost dead to the world himself - he'd been right glad for that ruckus last night, it had gotten his thoughts off certain personal troubles for a little while. But of course that wasn't to last, he was right back again to worrying on it now.

See, tomorrow - the 16th - was the day that Jane LaHaye was supposed to leave and go visit a cousin out east, possibly to never return. Not that she'd said it in so many words, but Wyatt could sense a hesitation in her demeanor. He didn't want her to go, didn't even really want her to go just for a visit. Bad things could happen out on the ranges and he'd have no control over it, over her welfare. What if the train got held up by bandits, or her cousin's house got pillaged while Jane was there visiting? ... Granted, he didn't actually know the location of her cousins house. If it were in the smack dab middle of a large town, that last one would be much less likely. Yet still..

Wyatt sighed to himself. He had to go and see her some time today, talk to her. Maybe finally get up the gall to say what he needed to say. Maybe then she'd reconsider leaving. Wyatt frowned, snorted to himself, and leaned back in his chair. She'd already told him how she felt about him, now it was his turn. He was jus' takin' his sweet ol' time about it. He still couldn't hardly stomach the thought of leaving her a widow one day, which was more than likely given his line of work...of course...one didn't have to be a lawman out here to wind up dead. It could happen to anyone. So might as well carry on with the things important to you, before they got away. Yeah, he thought as he lifted his head to stare blankly into the cell at the yet passed out men lying within, gonna have to go out and talk with her, either sometime today or early tomorrow, 'fore she leaves..

---

Summer 15th, 1868 10am

It had been a while since the marshal, or any of the lawmen in Buffalo Creek for that matter, had seen any real action. After the uneventful hanging of Ezra Walker, though it probably wasn’t quite as uneventful to the people of this town as it was to Davion and Cyrus, not much had happened outside of a few drunk and disorderly charges. There was a rough customer at the brothel a few nights ago but that fiery Scarlet had handled the situation by the time Davion got there, which he was grateful for seeing as how he had tried his damnedest to stay away from that place for obvious reasons. He was however, appreciative of the lull in activity, more time to spend with his wife and child. His daughter was pulling up on the coffee table now and it wouldn’t be long before she was fully mobile on two legs rather than crawling on her hands and knees. She was also teething which was a nightmare for he and Bonnie but a little rum usually quieted the baby fairly well, they may not have been experienced parents but they were certainly trying.

With the marshal descending into his boredom he thought about it now and it had almost been a whole year since he was bashed over the head and Jane LaHaye was kidnapped. He still saw her from time to time thought it seemed like he saw her less and less, as if she was avoiding town or was simply not working as much at the saloon. Despite Murphy’s encouragement it also seemed like Wyatt was no closer to making a move on the sheriff’s sister as he was last summer when they laid under the stars talking about rescuing her from the natives.

“Ya know? I always thought it peculiar that such a respectable bounty hunter like Allen just went an’ killed somebody then rode into town with the body.” his own words echoed in his head, he had never admitted his skepticism of that case to anyone, but that night he told Wyatt just what he thought about it all, “I filled out the paperwork myself an’ according to the coroner, that rancher had three day old maggots in the gunshot wound, that ranch’s only two hours from the town Allen rode into, and . . . the rancher’s clothes were too small for him.”

Davion went down to the livery, checked on Argo then stopped by the post office to see if he had any wires from Texas, nothing. He groaned a little, somewhat disheartened his once action packed life was now dull and lackluster. He was a family man now, a federal marshal that hung out in a single town like a district marshal. He still aided in prisoner transport on occasion, that was never a highlight of his job anyways however, like sending the CEO of a corporate business out to buy lunch for everyone like a common gopher.

He stalked into the sheriff’s office, tipped his hat to Wyatt and peeked into the cell room where he had incarcerated Henry Scarborough and Daniel Helm a few months ago. He still kept a wary eye on the banker, ready for him to slip up and do something stupid, his wife was staying home now, ready to drop that baby any moment. Davion took a seat in the corner, the same chair he had sat in reading the paper while Daniel Helm fumed in his cell in the next room. He unlocked the gun cabinet and took out a sawed off side by side and got some cotton and gun oil and went to work. This was a recently confiscated firearm and she needed a little TLC. After a few moments he glanced over at Wyatt, “Have ya seen Mr. Allen lately?” he said it almost accusatorily, as if Tanner had seen the outlaw and failed to tell him about it, “I’d like t’have a word.” he left the sentence wide open for anyway the deputy may want to go about interpreting it.

Hm...What if she don't want to see me? His subconscious thoughts kept nagging at him, tossing various unpleasant possibilities into his line of conscious reasoning. It was always a possibility, women could be very unpredictable. He knew he'd never learn to understand them, not even if he were given all the time in the world. Not that he'd want to understand all them, no, just one. Jane. And he still had a long way to go with that. Sighing to himself, he frowned and turned his attention to the papers scattered across his desk. What was it he was supposed to be looking at, again..?

Just then, the door opened and in stalked the Marshal. Wyatt returned the silent greeting with a nod of his own, watching as Davion went and took a seat in the corner, working on cleaning up some recently confiscated firearms. After a moment Wyatt returned his gaze to the papers, but still his eyes were reading very few words. He was thankful for the diversion when he heard Davion speak. ... Though it had to be on the subject of Allen, huh. ... Just a little over a week ago, the man had been in town after having been away for about two seasons, just to talk briefly with Tanner. Perhaps Murphy had heard about it.

"He was in town 'bout a week ago," Wyatt said, careful to keep his tone nonchalant. Also being careful not to give any more information than was required, not knowing the Marshal's thoughts regarding that particular fugitive. Wyatt himself could get in a fair amount of trouble for keeping in touch with the man every now and again as he did. Not that was willfully keeping him hidden or anything. "Oh yeah?" Wyatt inquired curiously, tilting his head and raising a brow as he leaned back in his chair, giving Davion his full attention.

---

Summer 15th, 1868 10am

Holding the bore of the shotgun to the light coming from the window Davion surmised that the gun had been fired fairly recently as a coating of black powder residue flecked the slick and normally reflective barrel. He ran a cotton swab down both sides as Wyatt seemed to drift out of his ponderings and lifted his gaze to his fellow lawman seated across the room. He perked his brow in interest when the deputy admitted the outlaw was in town about a week ago, his working hands stopping for a moment before he continued to inspect the firearm. Normally when there got to be too many guns in the cabinet Davion liked to take them across the street to Hanna’s and resell them, it was getting close to that time so they all had to look presentable.

Clint Allen was in town about a week ago. What was an outlaw doing strolling down the street in town, well . . . Henry Scarborough certainly had no problem with that now did he? Davion lowered the gun a little and studied a knot in the wood of the floor, “Yeah . . . a civil conversation.” he felt the judge of these parts was a pretty good friend of his by now, maybe he could talk to him, perhaps even talk to them together, “Remember last summer, how could ya forget right?” he laughed nervously, “But I told you, that I thought Clint Allen was innocent, I still b’lieve he is, I’d like t’talk to ‘im.” he had woven a yarn about almost admiring the sure shot bounty hunter, talking to him in Texas like he was meeting a celebrity and in a way he sort of was, Clint Allen was a well known name in Texas, he had heard the man could shoot a dime off a rock at one hundred paces. Maybe he could ask him if that was true. Leaning back a little in his chair he turned to face the door for a second upon hearing an obnoxious snore in the lockup, “It ain’t fair, ya know? Man like that, done nothin wrong but he has t’live like a criminal, hide all the time. That ain’t no way t’live. If I can I’d like t’help ‘im clear his name cause honestly I dunno if there’s too many lawmen out there that believes he’s innocent.” save for Davion and Wyatt. He glanced to the gun again, snapped the action shut and looked over it, this would be a good one to sell off, they were saving up for a telegraph machine in the office so they could get their wires directly rather than walking up the road for them, “But, if you c’n think of any way t’get in touch with ‘im, let ‘im know I wanna talk to ‘im.”

A civil conversation, well. Glancing over at the Marshal, Wyatt considered how he still didn't know him all that entirely well but he did seem like a good guy. Heck, he didn't really know Allen all that well, so what was it to matter anyhow? He did remember hearing how back in Winter, about that case involving Scarborough and how he'd somehow gotten off. Thanks largely to the Marshal and the Judge, no doubt. Hm... Last Summer? Wyatt's gaze flickered up to meet Davion's, his lips parted as his mouth had dropped slightly open. Remembered it? Yeah, but he was still trying to forget it. Wyatt snorted and clipped his mouth shut, his eyes narrowing as he sunk down a little deeper in his chair, as if he were a coiled spring ready to pounce. Then, Davion had gone on.

Wyatt allowed some of the tenseness to melt away from him as he listened to Davion. The Marshal still believed in the ex-bounty hunter's innocence. 'Least that was somethin' going for 'im. Wyatt diverted his gaze to the floor as he silently agreed with the Marshal, having to always look over your shoulder, fearing for your life when you had done nothing wrong; no, that was no way to live. It wasn't right. “How d'you purpose t' go about that one?” Wyatt asked, looking up towards Murphey. He would've liked to help too, somehow, but honestly had no idea regarding the first thing to even do in trying to clear Allen's name. Davion, of course, with his years of experience in his line of work, could no doubt think of a few things.

Sitting back in his chair again, Wyatt let out a little sigh. “...I heard he'd be hangin' around Smith's place, he's 'sposed to watch things while Smith is sellin' his cattle.” Wyatt informed the Marshal, referring to Timothy Smith, whom he had met along with Clint and Smith's widowed sister-in-law, Rosealye, coming out of the Mercantile about a week ago. Then, thinking back to seeing them there, and, if he remembered correctly, how Clint and Rose had been walking arm-in-arm, with a quirky little smile Wyatt added, “He seemed t'be a little sweet on the young widow.” Naturally, it would be more than just the land and animals that Clint would be watching.

---

Summer 15th, 1868 10am

With his wife and child walking around in town he was genuinely concerned about having wanted men walking around in the same streets, what with Ezra and Heck strolling the boardwalks like nothing was wrong, like they weren’t wanted for murder, it scared him in a way he had never been scared before. Bonnie was already talking about having more children, but first she wanted a dog for whatever reason. Little did he know but in a few days he would be arresting Henry again, much to his enjoyment. Life as a lawman had his ups and downs and letting the banker get away with murder may once again prove to be his undoing but oh well, he truly gave far too many second chances. Bonnie, or Mary rather, had gotten off scot free, Henry had gotten off, he let the stage robber Cross Anthony slide. As a result of his leniency he now had a wife and beautiful daughter, Anthony had saved his life, and Henry . . . well he could go to hell for all he cared, maybe it would be rewarding down the road but so far, he seriously doubted it.

Hearing of Timothy Smith’s place Davion got that look of deep and methodical concentration on his face, trying to recall a Smith but had nothing. Most of his job included him just standing around town, sitting on the front porch of the saloon and occasionally helping to build new buildings, herd cattle to auction and oversee business transactions. After all, he wasn’t a town marshal he was a fed, he was needed for such things as prisoner transport, supervising trials at the court house in Denver, arresting fugitives and sometimes even executing them.
“See now that’s why he needs t’be pardoned, if he takes a likin t’some pretty lady an’ he’s still wanted how the hell can’e ever be a happy man?” he straightened up a little and stretched his legs out with a yawn but curled his nostrils and looked over to the closed prison room door and back to Wyatt, “Either one o’them’s dead or somebody farted . . . nah, he ralphed, god that’s rank, I don’t get paid enough t’clean that up.” shaking the brain fogging stench from his mind he stood and stepped away from the door for some fresh air, “You wanna go with me, I dunno where Smith lives an’ I’d hate fer Allen t’see me an’ take off, he knows you.”

Thinking over what the Marshal said, Wyatt found himself silently agreeing. At least Clint's troubles did appear to, at least for the moment, get his mind off of Jane's leaving tomorrow. Just then, a very foul-smelling stench wafted over to greet the deputy's nose. Reeling backwards in his seat, Wyatt coughed and covered his nose, sending a none-too-pleased look over at those within the prison cell, but did not voice his thoughts respecting that particular smell.

“Yeah, sure I'll take ya.” Wyatt replied with only about half a moment's thought. To get away from that lovely stench, plus getting in a good ride for his day's work, sounded pretty darn good to him right about now. Jumping up, he snatched his hat off the desk and donned it as he strode forward. “He lives in the forest.” Wyatt said once they were outside. He paused for just a second, enjoying the fresh air, well at least air away from that smell, and then went on his way towards the livery. It didn't take him long to grab his tack and saddle up his bay, he was right ready to be on his way.





((OoC: GUH Sorry it is so short...and crummy... ;-; I will try and post a thread with them up in the forest soon...if I'm taking too long and you'd like to start it, then please feel free. xD ^^

Edit: ...annnd just realized, posted in wrong account. PFF. ))