Beauty for Ashes Page 0,80
wounded animal.”
“No, ma’am. ’Course not.” The sheriff addressed the crowd. “We need somebody to take this man in until he’s tended to and fit to travel. Now who has an empty room to spare?”
The people crowding around looked at one another, murmuring and shaking their heads.
Mr. Gilman pushed through the crowd. “I heard the commotion, but the crowd’s so thick I couldn’t see a thing. After all that planning, I missed the end of the race.” He bent over Griff. “What in the Sam Hill happened to you, boy?”
“Horse spooked and throwed ’im.” McCracken pushed his hat to the back of his head. “He’s out cold. You got room for him out at your house? Every place in town is full.”
“So’s my house. Me and the missus are playing host to the other horse owners, and Sabrina invited a few of her friends too. I sure do hate it, but we’re busting at the seams.”
“Mr. Gilman,” Carrie said. “This entire event is your doing. You hired Mr. Rutledge to ride Majestic. And now you’re unwilling to help him in his hour of need?”
“Not unwilling, ma’am.” His voice carried above the hum of voices. “Just out of room.” He looked around the hushed crowd. “What about you, Jasper? You’ve got that extra room.”
Jasper Pruitt spat a steam of tobacco juice into the street and shook his head. “Jeanne’s mama is stayin’ with us. We don’t have room either. Besides which, this man’s a layabout that’s been gamblin’ and who knows what all down in Two Creeks. I wouldn’t feel safe havin’ him under my roof.”
Carrie’s anger exploded at that. “You people go to church on Sunday and listen to sermon after sermon about helping your fellow man, being the hands and feet of our Savior. And then when an opportunity presents itself to do just that, look what happens.”
The banker motioned to the sheriff. “Eli, can’t you find a place for him in the jail?”
Carrie frowned. “The jail, Mr. Gilman?”
“Just temporarily, of course. Till we can find someplace better.”
She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Sheriff, kindly bring my wagon over here.”
“Carrie.” Mariah hurried over and whispered in her ear, “What are you doing?”
“Taking him to the farm, of course. I can’t leave him here in the street or confined with common criminals.” She glanced at Griff, who still lay pale and motionless in the street. “Not after all he’s done for us.”
Mariah raised her hands in a gesture of surrender and turned away. The sheriff made his way to retrieve Carrie’s wagon as Mr. Gilman mounted the steps and addressed the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, this man will be all right once he’s had medical attention. His accident is an unfortunate blemish on this fine day, but please don’t let it interfere with your enjoyment of the rest of the festivities. There’s plenty more to see and do before the dance in the park tonight.”
The band struck up a lively tune. The crowd murmured and drifted away. Sheriff McCracken drew Carrie’s wagon to a stop. He and the undertaker and a couple of burly sawyers lifted Griff into the wagon.
Caleb arrived, red-faced and out of breath. Joe, teary-eyed and dirty, trailed behind his brother, his broken slingshot dangling from his pocket.
The sheriff strode over to his office and returned to press a small brown bottle into Carrie’s hand. “This will help the pain. I’ll send Doc Spencer out there as soon as he gets back from Owl Creek.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Carrie allowed the sheriff to help her onto the wagon seat. She picked up the reins and the boys clambered up, their expressions solemn.
“For what it’s worth, Miz Daly, I admire what you’re doing. I’d have bunked him here in the jail, like Gilman said, but it’s crammed with drunks and rowdies. It isn’t a fit place for an injured man.”
Carrie nodded and turned the wagon for home. As they passed the train station, the whistle blared, reminding her of Majestic. Surely someone would look after the horse. Griff would be more worried about the colt than himself. She guided the wagon around a rut in the road, but she couldn’t avoid jostling her injured passenger. Griff moaned. Joe leaned against Carrie and sobbed.
Carrie’s anger flared again. “Stop your whimpering, Joe Stanhope. This is all your fault.”
“I know it,” he blubbered, his thin shoulders shaking. “I was only tryin’ to help Griff win the race.”
“By shooting that infernal slingshot at Majestic?”
“No. That old hound dog was running for the horses. He already