Sage and Sulfur

            After the man was drug outside by Grizzly and his posse, Mr. Albright resumed playing cards with the men at the table who were left. Henry let fifteen minutes go by as he laughed uneasily and played cards before his eyes found Fisher’s. He raised his eyebrows at Fisher who motioned his head towards the door. Henry stood and as he did so, Grizzly eyed him suspiciously.

            “Leavin’ so soon, Brown?” Mr. Albright said, setting his cards down on the table to reveal a royal flush. Henry had assumed the name Brown to remove any links from his father. He wanted to be free from the press and from his father’s dashed dreams for Henry to follow in his footsteps. Plus, Holly hated the law.

            “Business at the inn,” Henry stood and moved towards the door.

            Fisher moved in front and Henry followed him into the upstairs corridor. They walked past the beefy man patrolling the gambling room upstairs. As they rounded the corner of the upstairs corridor, a door stood slightly cracked. Fisher walked down the stairs with Henry at his heels. They left the saloon’s piano and whiskey stained floor to the fresh air outside.

            “Let’s get a whiskey next door,” Fisher pointed up the street to a nearby saloon.

            “I’ll meet ya later. Gotta check on the inn.”

            Fisher’s face was slightly pale as he walked away from Henry, leaving him standing on the steps of the inn. After he was out of sight, Dogwood and Buchanan stepped towards Henry. Without a word, Henry turned back on his heel, sucking in his breath, and led his father upstairs.

            “Son, what the…?” Dogwood began but sealed his lips shut as he hurried to follow his son upstairs. Sam was quiet as the sound of their boots were masked by men’s laughter and chatter below. Henry quickly entered the room where the door was ajar. Dogwood’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Grizzly dead in the chair with a kiss of lipstick on his cheek, a whiskey in his hand and a bullet for his gun. His fur was perfectly placed and he barely fit in the wooden chair. Buchanan quickly shut the door behind him.

            “He drug a man out back only twenty minutes ago,” Henry spoke into the silence.

            “This wreaks of,” Dogwood leaned over and sniffed the fur, pausing before he finished, “sage?”

            Henry and Sam both walked forward and smelled the fur that was draped across the grizzly looking man.

            “Sage and sulfur,” Henry pulled back to meet his father’s eyes.

            “Pottery?” Sam was skeptical so he leaned forward once more to smell the fur.

            “It’s just sage,” Sam said dismissively. Dogwood let the silence once more fill the room before he abruptly left it. Henry rolled his eyes at his father’s ability to shortly end a conversation to follow a trail. Sam hurried after Dogwood as Henry shut the door behind him. Dogwood stood outside and rubbed his beard as passerby’s meandered back and forth through the bustling streets. The smell of fresh rain suddenly filled his nostrils as it poured onto his hat. He stepped under the covering in front of the saloon as the street cleared with passerby’s running to get out of the way of the downpour. Many people stood nearby so Dogwood kept his mouth closed, not wanting to discuss anything else until out of earshot. But the rain did not ease and thunder rumbled against the wooden building. Passerby’s pushed by the narrow wooden decks that flecked the front of the storefronts.

            Despite the rain, Dogwood saddled his horse. Reluctantly Sam and Henry followed him, hoping that Dogwood would decide to call it a night. Dogwood however made his way to the edge of town as the rain continued pelting his coat, his badge, and his face. His horse could barely see through the sideways rain as lightning now lit up the sky.

            “We should take cover!” Henry called through the rain, shivering as it drenched him to the skin. But Dogwood ignored him, moving his horse to a trot through the now empty muddy streets. Dogwood pulled up to a factory that towered at the end of town. He slung his reins out front of a dilapidated hitching post, grabbed his long rifle from his saddle bag, and pushed the rickety front door open of the factory. The smell of must, sulfur, and sage entered his lungs. Henry and Sam hurried in after him but nearly retched at the stench that greeted their noses. Dogwood pulled his rifle up as the darkness moved in front of him.

            “A light,” Dogwood commanded and Sam fumbled to find a match. Henry glanced around in the darkness and grabbed a short board and ratty rag that he draped over the board. As Sam finally found the match, Henry lit the rag which bathed the room in a soft light. Sam pulled his own rifle up behind Dogwood as Henry followed his father’s every move. As the rag grew to a full flame, a raccoon appeared where Dogwood’s rifle was held. The raccoon fled and Sam lowered his rifle. Dogwood however climbed up a flight of stairs to his right as Henry hustled behind him to shower him with light.

            “How did you know of this place?” Sam asked barely above a whisper as his boots clacked up the steps.

            “Henry’s mom used to work here when it was runnin’. She would always come home smelling like sulfur.”

            “She also died from the toxins,” Henry pointed out and Sam gulped at his words, refocusing back on the task at hand. Dogwood lowered his rifle as they climbed to the second floor and found a tattered mattress, a bunch of empty lipsticks scattered across the floor, and a handful of furs in a corner. There were clumps of burned sage and a handful of used matches sitting on a wooden board by the mattress.

            “A painted lady is livin’ here,” Sam glanced at the clear evidence.

            “Painted ladies can make more in a single night than some men make all year,” Henry thought of Holly and inwardly cringed at her profession. Holly didn’t believe in marriage and despite him calling her his wife, she didn’t recognize them as married. He was just her man.

            “Not the lady livin’ here,” Sam chuckled, scoffing at Henry’s glorification of his woman’s profession. Dogwood took the makeshift lantern from Henry and squatted down near the mattress. His green eyes skirted the sleeping space and the multiple lipsticks that were strewn about the room. The rain hammered loudly against the roof as he hoped for better clues. With another man dead, pressure was mounting. Then he stood up, handing his son the lantern, and again brusquely left his son and Sam standing in the room. They were relieved to finally leave behind the smell of the old pottery factory.

            “Did you see all the pottery in the corner?” Henry asked as the rain outside finally had subsided. Dogwood nodded.

            “It was a gray clay,” Sam said as he surprised Dogwood for the first time in the short time they had known each other.

            “Who has mostly gray clay?” Henry offered, unsure who would still be making pottery in the old factory upstairs.

            “Martha, of course,” Sam once again stunned Dogwood. Henry was also unable to disguise his shock.

            “Martha?” Henry and Dogwood said in unison.

            “C’mon,” Sam sighed and mounted his horse, “we’ll go there in the mornin’.”

            The following morning, Dogwood once again watched passerby’s in the tiny restaurant in the hotel he and Sam were staying. Sam sipped his coffee and read the paper with Grizzly’s murder on the front page. A few minutes later they stood in front of a pottery shop with the bell clanging as they opened the door. A dumpy woman with a mousy face and dark brown hair greeted them. She smiled warmly to say hello until she recognized Marshall’s face. Fear overwhelmed her momentarily and painted her face in white. But then it left her and she smiled once again warmly.

            “Mr. Dogwood, what can I do ya for?” The woman asked politely, going behind the counter where her hands were still shaking.

            “Are you Martha?” Dogwood asked politely, following her to the counter.

            “That I am.”

            “Do you make everything yourself?”

            “Oh yes sir,” Martha nodded and from behind the counter pulled a beautiful gray colored piece of pottery that had flowers painted on it. It looked similar to the ones they had seen in the factory in the corner only yesterday.

            “Beautiful,” Dogwood said politely, admiring it as she held it out for him to touch. He ran his fingers along it and then handed it back to her.

            “You know who loves these?” Martha gushed as she absorbed Dogwood’s compliment.

            “Who?”

            “There is this lady who comes in such fine dresses. She has auburn hair and the fairest green eyes,” Martha said as she set the fine piece of pottery back on a shelf behind the counter. Sam and Dogwood exchanged glances, leaving the shop with the bell clanging behind them before Martha could turn around to say anything else.