A Gold Rush Robbery – Extended Epilogue

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One year later

“Deputy! Deputy Sheriff!” a voice rang out from the market.

Patrick turned around, hearing his new title called. He’d worked a year as a town marshal but had quickly been promoted to deputy sheriff in his new hometown.

“Thief. Look, thief!” a lady cried out from behind a stall, pointing at a man who was forcing his way through the crowds, her box in his hands. “He stole my money. All of it. All of my takings.”

“I’m on it, ma’am,” Patrick called back. “Everyone, get out of the way.”

His bellow to the crowd worked and they parted, letting him through. He sprinted through the town square, his hand reaching for the gun in his holster. He wasn’t as quick with a pistol these days and shot rarely, but something he had learned as deputy sheriff was that sometimes, the threat of the shot alone was enough to make a thief fall still.

“Stop!” he called to the thief.

The man darted down another alley off the main square and Patrick was forced to follow, jumping over a stall to cut the distance between him and the thief in half. The stall owner complained loudly.

“Sorry!” Patrick shouted his apologies and ran on, following the thief down the lane. When he got the thief in his sights, he snatched the gun from his holster and pointed it into the sky. He shot at the air, far away from anyone.

The thief tried to stop, skidding to a halt, but his legs got tangled beneath him in his haste and he fell forward, dropping face-first to the earth. The box he’d been carrying split open and the coins fell out.

Patrick ran toward him and grabbed the scruff of his jacket, pulling him back.

“Argh, my face,” the thief complained, lifting a hand to cradle his bruised jaw.

“Enough,” Patrick ordered and took a rope from his holster, tying it around the man’s wrists. “You’re under arrest for stealing.”

Once he had the thief tied up, he turned the focus to the broken box. Ignoring the pieces of the box, he collected the money into a handkerchief and stuffed it in his pocket, intending to give it to the stallholder.

“Come on, up you get.”

“My face, my face!” the thief wailed again. “I think you broke my jaw.”

“Then how is it you’re still talking?” Patrick pointed out. He steered the thief out of the lane and across the market square. People turned to look, gazing in his direction and muttering to others. When he caught whispers praising his quick work, Patrick smiled to himself.

As a deputy sheriff, he was doing some good in this town, and for a change he felt like he knew everything about the people he chased down. There was nothing hidden, and if anyone ever came to him wanting to make a case for another’s arrest, he investigated fully. He was determined never to have a situation like Seymour Baldwin’s again.

He dropped the money back off with the stallholder, who thanked him profusely, then led the thief down the road.

“Come on, fella, let me go. It was just one little steal,” the thief complained, trying to dig his heels into the ground. He was so short and small in comparison to Patrick, it did little good.

“You stole someone’s money. That’s breaking the law,” Patrick pointed out. “A loaf of bread and you could at least argue you were hungry, but you weren’t, were you?”

The man didn’t answer and stared forward, renewing his effort to stop Patrick from taking his away.

“What about a barter, eh? Exchange of information,” he offered after a minute or so.

“Information about what?”

“A wanted man.”

He’d caught Patrick’s attention now. They stopped moving down the street, and Patrick shifted the thief to face him, his rat-like face twitching.

“Who?”

“Seymour Baldwin.”

Patrick felt his stomach drop. It had been a long time since he’d heard that name, and so many authorities had lost interest in finding Seymour that the old wanted posters were curling with age. No one was going to any great lengths to find him around these parts.

“Where is he?”

“I saw him this morning.” The thief pointed down the road. “He’s at the lodging house across town. So, you going to release me?”

“You clearly don’t know how to barter. If you want something, you hold back your information until you’ve got what you want. Now, come on. You’re under arrest.”

The thief argued all the way to the jail, but Patrick didn’t waver, not once. He put the thief behind bars, and when his sheriff asked if the thief had had anything interesting to say, Patrick lied.

“Nothing.” It sickened him to lie to his boss, but he knew it was done for the right reasons.

When his day was done, he crossed town and went to the lodging house. It wasn’t difficult to find Seymour in the book of people who had registered for the night. He hadn’t used his name, but had simply signed with an S.

There you are.

Patrick hurried up the stairs, moving toward the room specified in the register, and knocked on the door. With folded arms, he waited for it to be answered.

“Shh, shh, all will be fine,” a voice muttered from inside, speaking to someone else.

The door opened and the face of Seymour Baldwin appeared. Behind him, his wife and daughter stood, holding hands and looking as terrified as they had the last time Patrick had seen them. When Seymour saw Patrick, he jumped back, his lips parting.

His appearance had transformed these days in his effort to hide. He had a full beard, and his hair had grown longer to curl around his ears.

“Well, well, Seymour Baldwin,” Patrick muttered. There was a darkness to his tone that must have terrified Seymour, for he stepped further back. Then Patrick laughed and offered his hand. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Patrick.” Seymour took his hand without hesitation. “I thought for a minute you had come to arrest me.”

“No.” Patrick shook his head. “I told you; you’re the one man I let go, and I’m not changing my mind now.”

“Look at you.” Seymour gestured to the deputy’s badge pinned to his shirt, gleaming silver. “So, you changed your life, after all.”

“Someone might have pointed out a good reason for that.” He nodded slowly, not mentioning Seymour’s name, though they both knew the truth. “Didn’t think I’d find you in my new town.”

“We’re passing through.”

“Then pass quicker.” Patrick stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “You’ve been seen and recognized by a thief I’ve just locked up. It won’t be long until he gives the same information to my sheriff, and anyone else might recognize you, too. You need to move on.” Seymour smiled broadly at him. “What is it?”

“Just surprised you’re still helping me after all this time.”

“Well, someone has to. God knows where you’d be by now otherwise,” Patrick said with a laugh.

“I know exactly where I’d be,” Seymour said more somberly, though a smile showed through. “It’s alright, we’re leaving town this evening. We’re getting on a boat that’s leaving California in a few days’ time.”

“A boat? To where?” Patrick asked.

“England. I’d hoped after a while the law would give up finding me.” Seymour shook his head. “I hear though that Xavier Stuart’s trial is coming up soon. When that happens, people will be talking of me again.” He looked at his wife and daughter. “We’re going to start afresh.”

“Good, I’m glad for you.” Patrick smiled as he looked at Minnie and Penny standing together, hand in hand. They both looked excited about the prospect of traveling to England. “Then get going, Seymour. I hope this is the last I see of you.”

“Ha! So despised me, did you?” Seymour laughed as Patrick moved to the door. “Ah, in another life, we could have been friends.”

Patrick hesitated on the threshold, looking back at Seymour.

“In another life.” He nodded his head in parting. “Get out of town, Seymour, tonight.”

“I will.” He laughed and waved his hand.

Patrick hurried out of the lodging house, not wanting to alert any suspicions by being seen by the other residents. Once he was free of the house, he hurried home, thinking how strange it was to see Seymour again.

In the last year, things had changed a lot for him. He was back with Estelle and Jake, living a happy life. Frequently, he hummed or sang one of the songs that Seymour had sung on their journey. Estelle had first asked him why he sang those songs, and he’d told her the tale of everything that happened with Seymour. Once she had calmed down, fearing just how close he had come to death on that journey, she had declared an admiration for Seymour.

“He was willing to risk a lot to do what was right. Perhaps he is a little like you, more so than you think.”

Those words had stayed with Patrick ever since.

He took his horse and rode home, to their house on the edge of town. Leaving the horse in the stable, he entered through the kitchen door to find the place filled with the scents of beef stew.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called out, waiting to see Estelle. He’d called out such words often to the dark house where he had lived alone, wryly mocking himself for his loneliness. Now, this statement was called out with love.

She appeared with a fresh stew in her hands that she placed over the fire.

“You’re just in time,” she said eagerly. “Jake has something he wishes to tell you.”

Jake appeared in the doorway, holding a paper in his hands.

“It’s from school, look.” He thrust the paper into Patrick’s grasp. It was his latest grades, showing just how well he did, though a small line had been added at the end from the teacher.

“Jake certainly has a longing for adventure, and frequently gets into scrapes with the boys.”

Patrick laughed at the sight and patted his son on the head.

“You’re more like me than you think, kid. Though all your smarts, they come from your ma.” He praised his son another time, and as Jake took the paper to the table, waiting for dinner and smiling at his grades, Patrick turned to his wife.

She stirred the stew as he wrapped an arm around her, planting a soft kiss on her neck.

“There is something I must tell you,” he whispered. “A good story.” He thought of Seymour, intent on telling her.

“Then I can’t wait to hear it, but first, there is something I must tell you.” She angled her head, smiling up at him, and took his hand from where it rested softly on her waist. She shifted it to her stomach instead, patting his fingers.

“Estelle…” he murmured, his eyebrows lifting when he realized what she was hinting at.

“It seems our happy family is to grow,” she said, her smile beaming. “Can the new deputy sheriff take some time off work to prepare a new room for the little one, do you think?”

“Of course, he can,” he said without hesitation, and pressed his lips to Estelle’s for a kiss.

Now that he knew such happiness was possible with his family, he wondered why he hadn’t left being a bounty hunter sooner.

It seems I have a lot to thank Seymour for. More than I had a chance to tell him.

He just prayed that in England, Seymour found the peace and happiness he had been searching for, as well.

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Grab my new series, "Legends of the Lawless Frontier", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!

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