Buried Secrets

17

They pushed supper back a couple of hours, but the cuckoo clock chimed seven o'clock later that evening, and still Marshal Clubb and Basil hadn't arrived. So, finally, everyone sat around the table and ate in silence.

Hunter finished first and walked his plate to the sink. "I don't like this... Something ain't right."

Oren glanced at Irving and Gilbert before turning to Hunter. "There any chance they might have stopped—"

"None," Hunter interrupted with a shake of his head. "Stanway's a stickler for abiding by the letter to whatever plan he's laid out. If they was supposed to be here directly after watching Mr. and Mrs. Lynch depart on that twelve o'clock train, they wouldn't have made any old detour along the way. Not without it being part of the schedule to begin with."

Gilbert frowned, hesitating before he said, "You wanting to take one of us and ride out—"

"That's just the thing," Hunter admitted with a heavy sigh. "Ain't nothing any of us can do except wait and hope they eventually show up. Or we risk the safety of Mrs. Barnett and jeopardize the rest of—"

A thunderous knock rattled the front door, and a man frantically shouted, "DOC TUCKER... DOC TUCKER, PLEASE... HELP!"

Nobody moved. They didn't even dare breathe.

Hunter slowly withdrew his revolver and pressed a finger to his lips. Then he softened his steps while creeping down the hallway to the front door amidst the continued knocking and pleas for aid.

Since the Marshal hadn't ordered anyone to remain seated, Oren followed suit with his loaded rifle.

"DOC TUCKER," the man yelled, pounding against the door with such force that the narrow lead-pane windows on either side vibrated. Hurried footsteps echoed on the porch, and the man called out, his voice cracking with emotion, "Wayne, I don't think he's—"

"Can I help you, mister?" Hunter asked, swinging the door open with one hand and holding his gun behind his back with the other.

The man spun around so fast he tripped before catching himself and racing forward. "Is Dr. TUCKER in? My little boy—he's hurt himself real bad," his voice broke on a sob, and tears poured down his mottled face. "Please—"

"Is it Dallas or Hayes, Enoch?" Irving said, stepping onto the porch with his medical bag and settling a calming hand on the man's right shoulder. "Did you bring him?"

"Dall-Dallas. No," Enoch stammered. "He's still in the field where we found him. With Annie. We was afraid of moving him."

"That's all right. You did good." Irving glanced at Oren and Hunter and said, "I'll ride over with him and see what I can do to help—It's the farm less than a mile east of here."

They nodded, watching Irving and Enoch quickly climb into the wagon and speed off the property at a worrisome pace. Hunter remained on the porch a few moments longer, scanning the horizon no doubt for any signs of Clubb and Basil.

But Oren returned to the kitchen and informed Opal and Gilbert at the table of the newest developments.

"Oh, poor Dallas," Opal murmured. She gathered the remaining dirty dishes and took them to the sink. "I wonder what mischief the little rascal got himself into this time."

"Something pretty serious by the sound of it," Oren said.

"Seems to be plenty of that going around these parts," she muttered, filling the sink basin with hot water from the kettle on the stove, then working the pump to add cool.

Oren sighed and nodded while glancing around the room. "Where'd Mellie run off to?"

"The back porch," Opal motioned to the kitchen window with her chin. Her lips curled in a sly smile. "Once Irving told us he recognized Enoch's voice, she said she needed fresh air. I don't blame her."