Fortunately for Brendan, the Marshal was not as quick to jump to conclusions as Granny Miggins, and was going to give Brendan a chance to explain what had happened. With a last angry wounded look at Granny Miggins and ignoring her dig about him making up a tale, Brendan went ahead of Speed into the house.
As Charlie appeared at the top of the stairs, Brendan frowned at Speed. "She's fine. A little shook up, probably. But she ain't hurt." He led the way to the table where the whiskey bottle and glasses still sat. They'd been undisturbed by Crabbe's fall on the table. The normalcy of the scene contrasted with the bloody body on the floor. The only thing out of place was the little derringer on the edge of the table where Brendan had left it.
"There." Brendan pointed, taking a few hesitant steps toward Crabbe. "I don't know what happened. He was pointin' the gun at me, then all of a sudden...he wasn't. He kinda grabbed at himself and fell - hit his face."
By this time he was level with the table, and patted it with the palm of his hand to illustrate. "And there was a shot," he finished. "Don't know if that was what did for him or not."
"The law is the law."
"Mining's not everyone's choice of hobbies, it just happens to be mine."
"Grabbed at himself?" Speed asked, then clutched at his chest, where the heart might be, "Like this? And was the gun in his that hand?" He had seen more than one heart attack while in New York. So it was certainly possible the man succumbed to heart failure, as some were calling it.
He rubbed his chin. "So Bridget will confirm what you've said?" He was not looking forward to having to question the girl, what with her difficulties. "We'll get Charlie as witness, let her have her say and go on from there. But there's no bullet hole, busted his head alright, but I don't see evidence where you hit him. So there's no reason to hold you that I can see." He paused, "anything else about this you'd like to say while we wait on Charlie to come down, hopefully with Bridget.?" Assuming, of course, that she was upstairs.
I took an oath for this job. The oath says bring him in. That's what I'll do.
Seeing that he had no choice but to go and get Bridget, Charlie headed back to her room. Part of him wanted to leave the girl alone but he knew that couldn't be done. She was a witness to whatever happened here tonight.
After opening the door slowly, Charlie went into the room. He had to think about what he would say so that he didn't scare her. There was no way of knowing how she would react to him as their dealings had been few and far between. Maybe the best thing to do was to tell her the truth.
In a calm voice, he spoke up, "Bridget, it's Deputy Charlie Wentworth...I need your help. Well, Brendan needs your help more than I do but I need it all just the same. Could please come down with me to talk to the marshall?"
Brendan’s eyes widened as he watched Speed mimic the deceased Crabbe’s actions. That was exactly what he’d done, thinking back on it.
”Yeah,” he said slowly. “Just like that.”
A heart attack. It all seemed so simple. But it didn’t help matters that Crabbe had still shot himself, and that the only witness to the event was Bridget.
Brendan shrugged. “I know she would, but I dunno if she can.”
He drew in a deep breath, beginning to relax a little. Now that the immediate danger of being lynched had been averted, he could think about what to do next.
But it seemed Speed wasn’t quite done, asking if he wanted to add anything to his story. Brendan hesitated. Up until now he’d left out why Crabbe was pointing a gun at him. The marshal was probably wondering why. Would he keep asking questions until Brendan spilled the beans?
Brendan decided to risk silence and shook his head, his lips tightening. “Nuh-uh,” he said brusquely. With a glance at the stairs, he ventured, “I’ll go help Charlie with Bridget if need be.”
Want... dolls!
In a calm voice, he spoke up, "Bridget, it's Deputy Charlie Wentworth...I need your help. Well, Brendan needs your help more than I do but I need it all just the same. Could please come down with me to talk to the marshal?"
Bridget recognised Charlie. He had helped take her to church that time, out in the countryside by the nice lake. They had all danced together at the hoe-down a few months ago. That had ben a lovely time. She wasn't scared of Charlie. But she wanted to go to sleep, so that she could wake up and it would be morning and everything would be alright.
So, she pulled her covers over her bloodstained nightclothes even tighter and pretended to be asleep: but she couldn't help emitting the odd little whimper, still traumatised by what she had gone through this evening.
"The law is the law."
"Mining's not everyone's choice of hobbies, it just happens to be mine."
Brendan decided to risk silence and shook his head, his lips tightening. “Nuh-uh,” he said brusquely. With a glance at the stairs, he ventured, “I’ll go help Charlie with Bridget if need be.”
"That surely would be helpful." Speed agreed. But he was troubled by what he didn't know. It was clear to him that it was more than possible the man had a heart attack, but what wasn't clear was the reason for the gun in Crabbe's hand, and the reason for it, Connolly was slow to give him the answers he needed, and that was certainly not helping, and adding to the suspicion that the young man had more to do with the death than he had let on so far.
Brendan nodded once at Speed and headed for the stairs. He took his time so as not to make loud clomping noises on the stairs that might startle Bridget. As he stepped into the bedroom, he heard the little whimper Bridget made. It twisted up his insides and he brushed past Charlie, whispering, "Let me."
He approached the bed quietly and cleared his throat. "Bridget, it's me." He knelt down and put his hand gently where her head would be. Keeping his voice soft and calm, he continued, "I need you to do somethin' for me. Marshal Guyer's here, and he wants to ask you some questions about me."
He waited a minute, stroking Bridget's head underneath the covers. "If I carry you downstairs, can you talk to him?"
There was a lot riding on the way Bridget reacted. Brendan knew what most people didn't: the redhead wasn't stupid, she just had a hard time talking. She should be able to understand everything Speed asked her, but would she be able to respond? And then the even bigger question: could he convince her to come out from under the covers and go back downstairs?
Want... dolls!
She heard his voice when he entered, and waited with a sinking feeling of inevitability. He was going to talk to her, he would probably make her talk to the other men.
He approached the bed quietly and cleared his throat. "Bridget, it's me." He knelt down and put his hand gently where her head would be. Keeping his voice soft and calm, he continued, "I need you to do somethin' for me. Marshal Guyer's here, and he wants to ask you some questions about me."
She pushed her hand out from beneath the covers and grabbed on to his shirt, which felt wet and cold where the blood she had transferred to him was drying.
He waited a minute, stroking Bridget's head underneath the covers. "If I carry you downstairs, can you talk to him?"
He felt her head nod as he stroked her hair, but he didn't need to carry her, she twisted her already twisted body and slid out her two legs, the real and the false one. Her artificial limb looked more manmade than ever in the glimmering half light of the lamp. She leant on Brendan heavily as she pulled herself up and he supported her downstairs, he having to help her because she was in shock and emotionally crippled by the events of the evening, rather than because of her physical disabilities.
She gave Charlie a brave smile, but looked worried as they descended the staircase and she had to look once again at the reality of Lorenzo, dead on the floor, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. She clung to Brendan closer then and buried her head in his chest. In all of this nightmare, only her love for the cowboy bore her through.
I took an oath for this job. The oath says bring him in. That's what I'll do.
So, she pulled her covers over her bloodstained nightclothes even tighter and pretended to be asleep: but she couldn't help emitting the odd little whimper, still traumatised by what she had gone through this evening.
Charlie stood there, not quite knowing what to do next. Bridget had obviously heard but she chose to hide under her bedsheets. He couldn't forceably drag the girl from her bed, so he just stood there trying work out what his next move would be.
As he stepped into the bedroom, he heard the little whimper Bridget made. It twisted up his insides and he brushed past Charlie, whispering, "Let me."
Thankful that Brendan had come up, Charlie waited to see if he could coax Bridget out.
He approached the bed quietly and cleared his throat. "Bridget, it's me." He knelt down and put his hand gently where her head would be. Keeping his voice soft and calm, he continued, "I need you to do somethin' for me. Marshal Guyer's here, and he wants to ask you some questions about me."
He waited a minute, stroking Bridget's head underneath the covers. "If I carry you downstairs, can you talk to him?"
A sigh of relief escaped as Charlie watched Bridget get up. In a way he was glad he didn't have to deal with trying to her come downstairs but he knew he have to learn to deal with problems like this especially if he was going to continue to be a lawman.
She gave Charlie a brave smile, but looked worried as they descended the staircase and she had to look once again at the reality of Lorenzo, dead on the floor, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. She clung to Brendan closer then and buried her head in his chest. In all of this nightmare, only her love for the cowboy bore her through.
Charlie smiled back not knowing whether she saw it or not. He followed Brendan out of the room and to the stairs. There was something not quite right with this situation. Maybe it was the way Bridget clinged to Brendan or maybe he was just imagining it given the circumstances. Whatever it was, he was certain that it wasn't going to be all that clear cut.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Charlie could see still that Granny Miggins was still hovering around. He then acknowledged the marshall before stepping back a little as he waited for his next set of instructions.
"The law is the law."
"Mining's not everyone's choice of hobbies, it just happens to be mine."
"Hello Bridget. Thank you coming down. Why don't we all have a seat while we talk?" He suggested. It was clear that she was upset, and with her that would be far more than the average person, so he thought to be calm and reassuring with her.
"Now, what I know is, Mister Crabbe appears to have had a heart attack, and at the time he had a gun, a small one. But I don't know why, or how the gun went off." He began, speaking softly and evenly. "What I hope is that you might be able to tell me what happened." What he could deduce from the position of Crabbe's hands, which had fallen away from is body, it was hard to tell exactly how he had been shot, though mixed with the blood were black specks of powder, and a burned spot near the entry wound.
Speed looked at the young women, hoping she could tell him what she saw.