“And you’ve profited by it,” Howden-Smyth returned with an edge in his voice. He turned his head to look at Olsen. “That brings us to you, Frank.”
“Vince MacDonald and his friends did us a favor by deserting when they did,” Olsen said. “I don’t think we can count on that happening again. And the other men at the fort have figured out by now what happens when they break some regulation.” He laughed. “This situation has done wonders for discipline, I’ll say that. No one wants to wind up in the guardhouse.”
“Well, then, you’re simply going to have to crack down harder. Find more rules for them to break, and when they do, increase their sentences.” Howden-Smyth looked at Glennon and Bannister. “The same way I expect you gentlemen to be more stringent about law enforcement here in town.”
Anger welled up inside Olsen, and Glennon didn’t look too happy, either. The lieutenant said, “Listen, we have a deal, but that doesn’t mean we’re working for you. You don’t give us orders.”
Behind Howden-Smyth, Van Slyke leaned forward slightly, and Navasota Jones glared and shifted the shotgun a little on his arm. Howden-Smyth motioned casually to them, however, and crossed his legs as if nothing could ever disturb him.
“Quite right, my friend,” he said. “I was simply pointing out the facts and stressing my opinion of what should be done about them. As you say, we are all in this together. It will benefit each and every one of us to make sure the maximum amount of ore is brought out of that mine and transported to the railroad as efficiently as possible.” He spread his hands. “That’s logical, is it not?”
“It is,” Olsen admitted. “And I suppose I can talk to the major about tightening up even more on the discipline at the fort.”
“And if anybody here in town gives me a reason, I’ll throw the book at ’em, like you said,” Bannister agreed.
“Excellent! That’s all I wanted.” Howden-Smyth puffed on his cigar again, then asked, “Speaking of Major Sughrue, how are he and his lovely daughter today?”
“Fine when I left,” Olsen said. “They were about to walk out to the cemetery and visit Mrs. Sughrue’s grave.”
“It must be a dreadfully lonely life for a gentle, cultured young woman such as Evelyn. I look forward to doing something to ease her burden. In fact . . . seeing as you fellows are my friends . . . I don’t mind sharing the news with you. Very, very soon now, I intend to ask the young lady to do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
“Well, congratulations,” Bannister said heartily, the tension of a few minutes earlier seemingly forgotten.
Howden-Smyth held up a hand again, palm out. “Not yet. I haven’t asked, and the lady hasn’t answered. Who knows?” He chuckled. “She might refuse.”
Howden-Smyth wasn’t going to allow that, Olsen thought. If Evelyn said no, the Englishman would find some way to pressure her into giving him what he wanted—if, in fact, he didn’t just take it. But if Howden-Smyth wanted to maintain that façade of chivalry, it was none of Olsen’s business. As long as it didn’t affect the flow of gold . . .
“Since our business seems to be concluded”—Howden-Smyth got to his feet—“I suppose you and I can start on to the fort, Frank. Miss Sughrue and her father should be back from their visit to the cemetery by the time we get there.”
“Yeah, plenty of time for that,” Olsen agreed.
Glennon stood up as well and reached for his hat, surprising Olsen. “I’m coming with you,” the lawman announced.
“What in the world for?” Howden-Smyth murmured.
“It’s Sunday, ain’t it? And the work detail doesn’t go out on Sunday. That means those Jensen boys ought to be there.”
Olsen’s voice hardened as he said, “You’re not going to release them.”
“I never said I was going to. But if there’s ever any investigation into how two civilians got locked up in an army guardhouse as deserters, I want to make sure it’s known I checked on them while all the details were being sorted out.”
“There’s not going to be any investigation,” Olsen said. “Nobody’s ever going to care what happens to a couple of no-account drifters like that.”
“I’m just being careful. I’ve got a reputation as an honest lawman to think about, you know.”
“And me as an honest jurist,” Bannister added.
It was all Olsen could do not to laugh in their faces. Like most men, they had to tell themselves lies in order to get through the days—and the nights. The dark nights of the soul when all of a man’s past sins and shortcomings came crawling back up out of his conscience like worms leaving a rotting corpse . . .
It was a good thing he didn’t have to worry about that. He jerked his head toward the door and said, “All right, then. Come on.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Howden-Smyth had come to town in his fancy buggy, of course. Olsen had never seen the Englishman on the back of a horse, although he supposed Howden-Smyth could ride if it was necessary. As they all headed toward Fort Gila, Olsen rode on the buggy’s left side, Marshal Glennon on the right, and the two gunmen, Van Slyke and Jones, brought up the rear.
The thought of Apaches lurked in the back of Olsen’s mind. Since his close call a few days earlier, he had been wary of leaving the fort alone. When one of Howden-Smyth’s men had shown up the day before with the message summoning him to the meeting in Packsaddle, Olsen had been tempted to refuse. It wasn’t like he could take a detail with him to town. Some of the men undoubtedly had figured out that what was going on at the fort wasn’t exactly on the up-and-up. Costello had known, certainly, and had made the mistake of revealing that he had figured out too much. But there was no need to rub the others’ faces in it by being seen conferring with Howden-Smyth, Glennon, and Bannister.
So he had ridden to town alone, taking the fastest horse at the fort and staying as alert as possible every step of the way. He hadn’t worried as much about the return trip, because he assumed that Howden-Smyth and whichever gunmen he brought with him would be riding along, too.
Having a pair of killers like Van Slyke and Jones with him eased Olsen’s mind somewhat, but he still kept his eyes peeled. From time to time, the skin on the back of his neck crawled a little, as if he were being watched, but he knew that could be just his imagination.
It was past the middle of the morning by the time they came in sight of Fort Gila, and as soon as they did, a sense that something was wrong struck Olsen and made him stiffen in his saddle. He couldn’t tell why he felt that way until they drew closer and he realized the gates stood wide open.
That didn’t necessarily mean anything bad, but it wasn’t common, either. The gates, and the wall itself, were more symbolic than anything else. They wouldn’t keep out a determined attacking force.
He signaled to Howden-Smyth to stop and said, “Wait here, Eugene, while I ride ahead and take a look around.”
Howden-Smyth brought the buggy to a halt, forcing Glennon, Van Slyke, and Jones to stop, as well. He frowned at Olsen and asked, “Why in the world would I want to do that, Frank?”
“Because something’s not right at the fort. The gates shouldn’t be open.”
Glennon said, “You think the Apaches have been here?” He jerked his head from side to side, looking around nervously. He could handle being a corrupt, small-town lawman, but he was no Indian fighter.
“No, I see troopers moving around in there.” Olsen could have taken out his field telescope and used it to take a better look, but he didn’t believe there was any immediate danger, even though something was wrong. “Just wait here. It won’t take me long.”
“Forget about that,” Van Slyke growled. “If there’s Apaches around, you need to be behind that wall, boss. I say we all get to the fort as fast as we can.”
“I agree,” Howden-Smyth said. Without warning, he slapped the reins against the backs of the two buggy horses. “Hyaaahhh!”
The horses bolted ahead, pulling the buggy behind them. Olsen bit back a curse and joined G
lennon and the two gunmen in galloping after the racing vehicle.
Someone in the fort must have seen them coming and spread the word, because a good-sized group was waiting for them just inside the gate when they rode in. Major Flint Sughrue, wild-eyed and clearly upset, hurried forward as Olsen reined in and dismounted.
“Frank, I’m glad you’re here,” Sughrue said. “Evelyn’s been kidnapped!”
“What!” Howden-Smyth exclaimed from the buggy seat. He put a hand on the buggy’s frame and vaulted to the ground. “How in blazes—”
“MacDonald got her,” Sughrue went on as he gripped Olsen’s upper arms. He didn’t seem to have even heard Howden-Smyth’s outburst. “He escaped, and some of the other men deserted, and they took Evelyn with them!”
Olsen didn’t like being grabbed like that, but he resisted the impulse to shove Sughrue away from him. Instead he worked his arms loose carefully and said, “Just tell me what happened, Major.”
“I told you! It was MacDonald! He took Evelyn—” The words choked off. Sughrue, pale as a sheet, lifted shaking hands to his face. “I promised Amelia I’d take good care of her. I swore it! Swore it to my poor wife on her deathbed . . .”
The major began to sob. Olsen looked around at the troopers and asked, “Where’s Lieutenant Driscoll? Major Sughrue could use a sedative, and then someone else can explain to me exactly what happened here.”
Corporal Cochran stepped forward and said, “MacDonald and the others took Lieutenant Driscoll with them, too, as well as those Jensen boys.”
“The Jensens helped MacDonald escape?”
Cochran shook his head. “No, as a matter of fact, they tried to stop him. But MacDonald took them along, said he’d use ’em as bait to distract the Apaches if he needed to.”
That sounded like something Vince MacDonald would do, all right. The sergeant was ruthless as well as brutal. At first, Olsen had seriously considered taking him in on the road-building scheme, but in the end he’d decided that MacDonald couldn’t be trusted.
MacDonald had certainly proven him right about that.
“Someone help the major back to his quarters,” Olsen said. “He should lie down and rest.”
“We tried, Lieutenant,” Cochran said. “He wouldn’t go until you got back.”
Howden-Smyth had listened intently to the exchange. Now he said, “Why didn’t you send a rescue party after them? Those hostages should be freed as quickly as possible!”
Sughrue dropped his hands from his face and cried, “No! MacDonald said . . . said he would kill Evelyn and . . . and Driscoll if anyone came after them. But he promised he would let them go if we did like he said—”
“Nonsense,” Howden-Smyth broke in. “You can’t trust the word of a man such as that. The only thing he understands is force. Swift, merciless force.”
Sughrue lunged at the Englishman and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. “No! Didn’t you hear me? We can’t! He’ll kill Evelyn—”
Olsen saw Van Slyke and Jones moving forward quickly from where they had dismounted. They were ready to counter any threat to their boss, with lethal force if necessary. Sughrue was still useful, so Olsen took hold of him from behind and pulled him away from Howden-Smyth before the gunmen could step in.
“Major!” he said. “Major, please listen to me. We’ll figure out the best way to rescue Evelyn. I give you my word, we’ll get her back safely.”
Olsen had to wrestle Sughrue back. He looked over his shoulder at the troopers and snarled, “Somebody give me a hand with him.”
“Are you officially relievin’ the major of command, sir?” Cochran asked.
“He’s obviously not fit to command while he’s in this state,” Olsen replied. “So, yes, blast it, I am!”
Cochran nodded and motioned to some of the men. They stepped forward and took hold of Sughrue. Carefully but forcefully, they led him away toward his quarters.
With strain and anger showing on his face, Howden-Smyth straightened his coat where Sughrue had grabbed him and asked, “What are you going to do about this, Frank?”
The Englishman had been mighty quick to give orders earlier, Olsen thought, but now he looked to others to take care of his problems. Olsen turned to Cochran again and said to the corporal, “Tell me everything that happened and everything MacDonald said.”
Cochran did so, taking only a few minutes to fill Olsen in. When Cochran was finished, Olsen said, “So Parnell turned traitor, did he? Well, he’s going to regret that. They all are.”
“You’re going after them, aren’t you?” Howden-Smyth asked.
Olsen rubbed his chin and frowned in thought. “MacDonald threatened to kill the hostages, and he’s the sort of man who’d keep his word about that.”
“But surely you don’t believe that he actually intends to release them! Why would he give up that advantage? The best chance to rescue them is to go after them now, before they have a chance to get farther away.” Howden-Smyth’s well-manicured hands clenched into fists. “I simply can’t abide the thought of Evelyn being helpless in the clutches of a man such as that. There’s no telling what might happen to her!”
“It’s true that MacDonald doesn’t have much to lose at this point,” Olsen agreed. “And the bigger the lead they have, the harder it’s going to be to catch up to them—”
Marshal Hank Glennon had dismounted, as well, but he hadn’t said anything until now. He interrupted Olsen. “All that talk MacDonald did about heading for the border and letting Miss Sughrue go in Moss City sounds like a trick to me.”
Olsen and Howden-Smyth turned to look at him. “What do you mean, Marshal?” the Englishman demanded.
“Just what I said. I think MacDonald’s trying to lead any pursuit astray. He probably didn’t believe that nobody would come after him, no matter what he threatened, so he figured it would be best to send ’em in the wrong direction.”
Olsen thought about that and nodded. “You might be right about that. It would be a good strategic move. MacDonald never struck me as very smart, but he can be cunning when he needs to be.”
“Then if they’re not going to Moss City,” Howden-Smyth said, “how are you going to find them?”
“Only one way. We’ll have to track them.” Olsen looked at Cochran. “Get a detail of twenty men together, Corporal, with good mounts and supplies and ammunition for a week. We’re going after those deserters.”
“You’re not going alone,” Howden-Smyth said. For a second Olsen thought he was going to declare that he was coming along, too, and Olsen didn’t like that idea. But then the mine owner continued, “Chet, you and Navasota will accompany the rescue party.”
“I can’t have civilians along—” Olsen began.
“Chet Van Slyke is the best tracker I’ve ever seen, and he and Navasota will be valuable allies in any fight. I insist that you accept their help, Frank.”
Olsen still didn’t like it, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have a couple of extra guns along. After a moment, he nodded curtly in acceptance.
“When I get back to the mine, I’ll send more men after you, just in case you need them,” Howden-Smyth went on. “Those villains must be run to ground, Frank, and as swiftly as possible.” He looked around and his gaze lit on Glennon. “Marshal, you go, too.”
“Me?” Glennon said, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t have any jurisdiction out here.”
“What about the Jensen brothers? You were concerned about their welfare earlier, even if it was just for appearance’s sake, and they’re hostages, too.”
Glennon didn’t seem to like the idea at all, but he sighed and nodded. “All right. I reckon that way we’ll have both sides covered, military and civilian law alike.”
“Good. Just bring back Miss Sughrue safely, that’s the most important thing.”
He sounded like he actually meant that, Olsen thought. So something was important to Eugene Howden-Smyth besides money. The concern might not be because of any real worry about Evelyn’s we
ll-being, though. Howden-Smyth had his eye on her and already considered her his property. He wasn’t the sort of man who would put up with it when somebody took something of his.
Olsen glanced at Cochran and saw that the man hadn’t moved. “You have your orders, Corporal,” he snapped. “Carry them out!”
“Yes, sir!”
Olsen looked toward the hills in the direction MacDonald and the others had gone. It would be best to catch up to them quickly and get back here to the fort by nightfall.
Because there were other dangers lurking in those hills, and Olsen knew it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
For probably the thousandth time since that fateful day he and his brother had ridden into Packsaddle, Ace Jensen wished he had his hat. The sun beat down with a fierce intensity on his bare head as the fiery orb rose to its zenith and then continued its journey across the western sky.
Chance looked equally miserable as he rode alongside, but no matter how bad off they were, Ace thought, this ordeal had to be worse for Evelyn Sughrue. A lot worse. Her fair skin shone pink as it began to burn. She seemed to be shrinking into herself as the horse underneath her plodded along.
The worst that MacDonald and the others could do to Ace and Chance was to kill them. Evelyn might be subjected to much more torment, so much that she would consider death a relief.
For now, however, she was safe, and MacDonald might consider it to be to his advantage that she remain so. Ace hoped the brutal noncom was smart enough to see that.
“Sergeant, how long are you going to make us ride like this?” Lieutenant Driscoll asked in a voice that cracked with the strain he was feeling.
“I want to put some distance between us and the fort,” MacDonald answered without looking around.
“But you told them not to follow us.”
MacDonald laughed. “That old man might be shook up enough to do what I told him, but Olsen won’t be. Whenever he gets back from wherever he went and finds out what happened, he’ll be mad enough to come after us. Besides, he can’t afford to lose this many workers for his precious road. But he’ll kill us if he has to, make no mistake about that, because he can’t afford to let anybody get away with runnin’ off like this. If they did, folks might stop bein’ so scared of him.”
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