The Unexpected Champion

by Mary Connealy

  The man raised his voice. “Go to the mine. There are people there who deal with hiring. As I said, this office is strictly for the business of mining, buying and selling, ordering equipment and supplies. We handle the payroll, but it’s all given out up at the mine, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Well, now, that’s the thing. I been to the mine. They don’t want me. I came here to talk to the big man. I said as how I was gonna get Mr. Payne to hire me on, then he’d be out there and tell ’em what’s what.”

  “Uh, sir, I’m afraid—”

  “Now, I put in good years.” John talked over him, like he was an old man who couldn’t hear. “Gave you the best years of my life, Mr. Payne. I think your company owes me. I’ve slowed down some in recent years, I know, but there’s always work a man can do.”

  “I’m not Mr. Payne, I’m Howard Lund. I work—”

  “My Mayme Belle here’ll tell you I can still do a man’s work.”

  Penny nodded her head, still scowling. She daydreamed about getting the old codger out of the house, because he was a nuisance to have around after all these years of her having the house to herself while he was in the mine. She decided if she could read Lund’s mind, he could just as well read hers.

  Lund barely spared her a glance. Then he nearly shouted, one slow word at a time, “I am not Mr. Payne.”

  John jerked as if the words were stones pelting him. “Oh, sorry about that. I know he’s the big man around here. I reckoned you was him. If I could just talk to Mr. Payne, I can’t believe he wouldn’t know my name. I worked for him for years.”

  “You can’t talk to him.” Lund sounded very satisfied to deny the request at the top of his lungs. “He’s not in.”

  It wasn’t really yelling, no anger behind it, rather a nasty pleasure in brushing off an old, crippled man who’d fallen on hard times after giving his life to a company.

  Penny would’ve liked to slam a fist into Lund’s smug face.

  “Could you tell us when Mr. Payne will be back?” Penny asked, keeping her voice as thin and soft as possible, a bit high pitched. She had no idea how to sound old . . . so she settled for quiet.

  John turned in a painfully slow way to look at her. “Good idea, Ma.” He turned back to Lund. “We’ll wait.”

  John turned to look at a chair near the wall. “I don’t mind sittin’ a spell. Knees are actin’ up.”

  He turned toward the chair. Penny looked around the room and saw no other chair besides the one Lund was polishing with his backside. “I can get a chair, too. There’s bound to be one in the back room.”

  She headed for the door, curious about what filled up this building. “I’ll be glad to get it on my own.”

  Lund was out of his chair like a shot. He jumped in front of Penny to block her way. “That room is private.”

  Penny narrowed her eyes and dropped her head like a maddened bull. “You’re lying to us, Mr. Lund. You won’t let me back there because Mr. Payne is here, and you’re just denying us a chance to speak to him.”

  “I am not lying.” The man looked flustered, and suddenly Penny was more than curious about what was in that room. She was sure there were secrets back there.

  Because she figured John could just break in later, she didn’t push to get past him. “What about Mr. Logan then, or Mr. Pratt?”

  “Logan is dead and Pratt spends the winters in San Francisco. He isn’t back yet.”

  John had come up beside her. “We’ll be glad to wait. We don’t want to have to come back.”

  She gave Lund an expectant look.

  He erupted. “No. You can’t wait here.”

  John shrugged. “Well, I’ll go to his house, then. Is it a far walk? Because my joints are aching something fierce.”

  “Mr. Payne hasn’t lived in town since he built his mansion on Lake Tahoe.” Lund said it with pride, as if he owned it.

  “A mansion?” John said. “He lives in a mansion while Ma and I can barely afford food?”

  It crossed Penny’s mind that if John wanted to make them poor to the point of hunger, he shouldn’t have made her fat.

  “Surely a rich man like that would offer a man a chance at honest work. If you could tell me where on Tahoe, maybe someone would give us a ride.”

  John sounded afraid and sad and doubtful that anyone would help. How did he do all that with only a few words? Penny clearly needed acting lessons.

  “Mr. Johnson, I’m sorry.” Lund sounded sincere. He had a spark of humanity in him after all. “There is a society here in town that works with injured miners and people in need—”

  “Charity.” John spat the word. “I’ll go without before I go begging to them.”

  “No, they don’t just give charity. They can help you find a job, perhaps one that doesn’t require hard work like lifting and swinging a sledgehammer, for example. They are kind, good people.”

  Lund gave out those directions generously, and John and Penny went on their way. When they were a few steps away from the mining office, John looked sideways at her and grinned. Anyone with working eyeballs would’ve known that grin was from a young man. But they were alone on the street, so it was probably all right. Still, she thought she should have a serious talk with him about maintaining his pretense at all times. The character he played needed to be kept in place.

  “Let’s get our horses out of the livery where I stabled them. We need to get to that hut, pack up, and head out.”

  “Head out?” Penny had been thinking about being a detective, not about the actual case.

  “Yep, we’re going to Ringo, Nevada.”

  “Ringo?” Penny felt her brow furrow as she thought back. “I think we went through there after we were driven off of the land we were homesteading in California. We picked new plots of land, then headed for Trace’s ranch to get Ronnie and Maddie Sue. But why go back there? What’s in Ringo?”

  “You were on your way to homestead, so you weren’t asking questions, but Ringo is a town close to the north shore of Lake Tahoe.”

  “Yes, Lund mentioned that. But Tahoe’s got hundreds of miles of rugged forest around it. It could take us years to find a house tucked up along that lake.”

  She realized they’d reached a building with a corral off to the side. John had stabled the horses when they first arrived while she stayed in their boardinghouse room. She didn’t even know where the horses had gone and realized now she hadn’t given them much thought. Proof, she realized with a start, that she trusted her husband.

  It was a wonderful thing to discover. But that didn’t change her doubts about going to Ringo with the minimal information they now had.

  “We don’t have years, John.”

  He hooked his arm through hers and guided her around to the side of the livery stable, made some quick adjustments to his clothes, and turned back into a young, thin, fit man.

  “Can I take off my disguise now, too?”

  “Nope. The liveryman never saw you. He’ll probably think you’re my mother.”

  She punched him in the arm.

  He beamed at her. “Hey, that must mean you’re really starting to care about me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve finally learned to pull your punches.”

  Cam rounded a boulder, low as he could bend, and came nose to muzzle with a Winchester rifle. And not Trace’s, either.

  The man had it turned aside from where he’d been aiming, and when he saw Cam, he brought the rifle up and pulled the trigger.

  On an empty chamber.

  Cam’s rifle was loaded, but instead of shooting an unarmed man point-blank, he brought the butt of his gun down hard and fast. When the outlaw collapsed to the ground, Cam yelled, “Trace, I got him.”

  Then Cam wondered if he’d been right about three men. He ducked behind some scrub pines and waited as fast, quiet footsteps closed in on him.

  Trace appeared out of the forest.

  “I’m back here,” Cam hissed. “I’ve
got one tied up here and another back in an aspen copse.”

  “I got one right at the beginning. He’s tied up over yonder.”

  “I reckon we’d best haul them into Dismal.”

  Cam lifted his Stetson off his head and brushed his brown hair back, then anchored his overlong hair with his hat. “Let’s haul them in. The sheriff can lock them up. We can try asking them a few questions, maybe they’ll name their boss, but they’re hired guns, which makes them guilty enough to lock up and throw away the key. Reckon they won’t tell us much.”

  They were a while scouting out the men’s horses, then throwing them over the saddles. Cam and Trace searched them and found gold coins in their pockets. Probably taken as payment to find and kill Cam. The coins were strangely carved twenty-dollar gold coins of the same type they’d found in Raddo’s saddlebags.

  “Will you look at this?” Trace had a small paper sack he’d found in a saddlebag and was staring down into it.

  “What?” Cam tightened his last knot and went to Trace’s side.

  Trace slapped the sack against Cam’s chest in an outburst of temper. “It’s candy.”

  Cam looked in and his temper exploded. “This is the kind of candy a child would want, not an adult.”

  “Yep, they were gunning for you as cold-blooded as can be. To kill you.”

  “If you’re coming to kill, why bring candy unless—” Fury closed Cam’s throat. He wanted to roar his rage into the sky. He wanted to tear their prisoners apart with his bare hands. Instead he went silent and cold as ice.

  “They were coming for the children,” Trace said.

  “Has to be. But why? Hostages? To use them as bait in a trap for you, your men, and Deb?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Trace looked from the bag to Cam. “The only one who wants those children is John.”

  “John’s working for the Chiltons,” Cam reminded him.

  “Have we been suspicious of the wrong people? Could there possibly be two sets of three men causing trouble at the same time? Penny said their kidnapper wanted to know about Raddo. But these men, we’ve assumed they were the three that took Penny and John, but maybe not.” Trace shook his head, skeptical. “But what are the chances of that?”

  “You think these men were sent by the Chiltons?”

  “They’d already sent John, though.” Trace rubbed the back of his neck in an agitated way as he looked at the bound outlaws. “Why send more men?”

  “John couldn’t be behind it, could he?”

  Trace shook his head. “John might push hard if he wanted to solve a case or do a job he was hired to do. But hiring out murder? I think I’m a good judge of men, and I don’t believe it.”

  “So, then, are the Chiltons behind this?” Cam tried to believe it. “They made Abe’s life a misery. I want to believe any awful thing anyone says about them.”

  “But not this?” Trace must’ve heard Cam’s doubts.

  “They badgered Delia to the point she refused to see or speak to them. But hiring murder?” There was silence for a few long moments, then Cam said, “Honestly, I’m surprised they even hired John. And he told me they paid him ahead of time, gave him money for expenses, too. The Pinkerton Agency insists on that. They wanted Ronnie mighty bad, and I never got the impression they cared one speck about the tyke.”

  “They planned to haul Ronnie across the country. In the care of a man he doesn’t know. I’d say they aren’t overly concerned about the boy.”

  “They want him bad for some reason. The Chiltons are nasty people, and they’re certainly fools. But murderers?”

  Cam thought a moment longer, then shook his head. “I just can’t see it. All those years they hated my brother mighty bad, but they never tried to have him killed. At least there were no attempts Abe ever spoke of, and he’d’ve told me. So why now?”

  Cam stopped talking, stopped moving, almost stopped breathing. His head came up, and his eyes met Trace’s.

  “What is it?” Trace asked.

  “Why now?”

  Trace caught Cam’s tension. “What happened that made it so important to get Ronnie?”

  “They’ve never wanted to even know the child.”

  “But you said they always wanted Delia back. Maybe that wanting just extends to their grandson.”

  “Wrong way to look at it.”

  “Then what’s the right way?” Trace’s eyes snapped with impatience.

  But Cam needed a few minutes to sort it out. Finally, he said, “What happened is, Delia died. Deb wrote me a letter right after Abe and Delia were killed. I got to your place right as winter was slamming down on our heads and got trapped. McCall didn’t make it. He had to wait for spring. Your wife’s letter to the Chiltons got to them, and they sent McCall right away. The Chiltons wouldn’t spend that money out of sentiment.”

  Trace nodded thoughtfully. “What if you’re just trying too hard to explain something simple? With the boy’s parents dead, they saw themselves as the natural custodians. They got Deb’s letter and took it as their duty to fetch the boy home.”

  “Maybe it’s that simple, but Ronnie came from that marriage. If they thought Abe was beneath them, then wouldn’t his son be also?”

  “He’s their only grandson. The only one they’ll ever have. Why wouldn’t they want to raise him?” Trace seemed to be enjoying arguing his side of things.

  “No, I think we need to look deeper. We need to see if the Chiltons had a solid reason for wanting their daughter, and now their grandson, back. Something more substantial than love or hurt pride. From what I’ve heard of those two, it probably comes down to money.”

  “What money? You said Abe was poor and the Chiltons are rich.”

  Cam dragged his hat off his head and slapped his thigh with it as he thought it all through. “Maybe there’s . . .” Cam stopped and thought for a few more seconds. “Could there have been money left for the boy? Maybe by a grandmother or another family member?”

  “You’re just guessing now.”

  “I am, but knowing the Chiltons, there has to be gain for them. It’s got nothing to do with loving a little boy.” Cam slapped his leg with the hat again. “I know some honest folks back in Philadelphia. I’m going to send some wires. Find out if Delia had a claim on anything. And after she died, Ronnie inherits that claim. That would be a good enough reason to send McCall, and maybe others.”

  “You’ve conjured up a decent story, but it might not contain a bit of truth. If you’ve got it wrong, maybe your friends back east will know something that’ll explain what’s going on. Let’s get these men to town.” Trace started moving. “Once you’ve got your wires sent, we’ll do some tracking. We’ll see who we find at the end of the trail these varmints left.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  “I’m interested to see who we find at the end of the trail.” John came out with their horses.

  Penny was still fuming about the fat clothes. They were warmer and harder to maneuver in than her regular split skirt, but she could shed them in just a few minutes, and in the meantime, John fought down a smile, not wanting to set off any yelling or punching.

  He couldn’t figure out how to boost her up on the horse dressed like she was, and he didn’t want her to remove her disguise just yet. She was too pretty and too noticeable. Without the big, baggy dress, she might be identified as Penelope Call from the restaurant on their first evening in town, only two days ago.

  Penny tried to hurry, but the waddle slowed her some. Still, she pressed on, and John could see that the time she’d spent moving around with soldiers had trained her well.

  “Shouldn’t we take what we know to the law instead of just riding out after Payne?”

  “As a rule, I’d talk to the sheriff.” John stayed with her, leading both horses. “But I got such a strong impression of fear when Payne was mentioned yesterday. It gave me a notion that those folks wouldn’t expect the law to be on their side in any trouble they had with Luther Payne. A
nd that makes me hesitate to go to the sheriff.”

  John looked over at her. She met his gaze, and they walked a few paces in silence. When they reached the edge of the main part of town, they left their mounts behind. There weren’t any riders up on these slopes, so their horses would draw notice. They staked out the horses to graze and headed up to the hut to fetch their stuff.

  “I’d prefer to turn this over to the law. I don’t want to set myself up as a vigilante. Let’s just find where Payne lives, and once we know that, I can see how a lawman in Ringo acts. Maybe Payne’s influence isn’t quite so strong away from the mines.” John frowned as he considered with some doubt whether Payne would leave much to chance.

  Inside the hut, Penny shed her oversized dress and the padding, then they made short work of packing and were back to the horses in no time flat.

  Then they hit the trail for Ringo. John had a few ideas about how to ferret out the information about where a mansion might be located on that big old lake. He had a feeling it wasn’t going to be hard to find. How many mansions could there be?

  “Florence and Edmond Chilton?” Penny staggered back, and if the wall hadn’t been there, she might’ve sunk to the floor. “They’re registered here?”

  Mr. Bolling’s eyes gleamed with bright pleasure. “Sure enough. And they headed out of town for Luther Payne’s house early yesterday and haven’t come back.”

  Bolling pointed to a stack of luggage. “They left their belongings behind, too. Maybe Payne took ’em in, but why wouldn’t he have sent his men back to get these satchels? Those fussy city folks’d be wanting a change of clothes.”

  Penny glanced at John, who glanced at her and then looked right back at Bolling. “I can tell there’s more, Mr. Bolling. By your tone and the way you’re fighting a smile, you know a lot more about this.”

  Bolling chuckled, and for a peaceable-looking man, there was a mean ring to it. “Those Chiltons came in here with their noses in the air, insulting me and my place and this town and the whole western part of the United States. I took ’em to the worst room I had. The one where I store some of my supplies, a room where I fight the rats to keep them away from the food.”