Keegan made a face. He opened a drawer in the desk and took out a piece of paper.
“This is a copy of the photograph she provided,” he said as he turned the picture on the desk so Bo and Scratch could see it.
The dark-haired young woman in the photograph was very attractive and appeared to be about twenty years old.
Bo nodded and said, “She’s a looker, all right.”
“She still is, in my opinion,” Keegan said. “And she’s approximately the same age as Hugh Craddock. I’m convinced it would have been a good match, except. . .”
“Except for the fact that he still wants to have children,” Bo said, guessing that was the problem.
“And this Miss Hampshire’s gettin’ a mite long in the tooth for that,” Scratch added.
“It’s certainly not beyond the realm of possibility,” Keegan said with a shrug, “but I suppose I can’t deny that most women bear their young at an earlier age. Still . . .” A note of exasperation came into his voice. “It wouldn’t have hurt him to try.”
Bo rubbed his chin and asked, “What do you think he’ll do? Is he likely to make more trouble?”
“My hope is that he’ll come to his senses and either give Miss Hampshire a second chance or at least allow her to return to Vermont with her dignity intact.”
“Might be hard goin’ home without a husband when you set out to get one,” Scratch said.
“Yes, well, there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“Do things like this happen often?” Bo asked curiously.
Keegan smiled and said, “It’s a surprisingly exciting profession. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re dealing with people’s emotions, though. Naturally, they can get quite, ah, passionate about such things.”
He got to his feet and went on, “Don’t concern yourselves about that, however. I’ve dealt with problems like this before. I appreciate you stepping in to help me yet again, and now I have more reason than ever to want to repay you with a good home-cooked meal. Come along, gentlemen. I sent word to Lantana that we’d be having guests for dinner, and if I know her, she’s prepared a feast!”
* * *
Cyrus Keegan’s housekeeper and cook was a heavyset middle-aged black woman, and as Keegan had promised, the meal she prepared was delicious. Roast beef, potatoes, gravy, greens, corn on the cob, and some of the fluffiest biscuits Bo and Scratch had ever eaten, followed by peach pie, all washed down with strong coffee flavored with chicory, New Orleans style.
“Lantana, you’ve outdone yourself,” Keegan praised her as she topped off their coffee cups following the meal.
“Ma’am, food like this is almost enough to make me think twice about my wanderin’ ways,” Scratch chimed in.
Lantana laughed and said, “Go on with you, Mister Scratch. I ain’t knowed you and Mister Bo but for a little while. I can tell, though, that you fellas ain’t the sort to ever let grass grow under your feet.”
Keegan said, “Certainly, at some point, age will dictate that you stop your continual drifting.”
“You mean when we get old?” Bo asked with a smile.
“I reckon that wagon train’s already rollin’,” Scratch said.
Keegan looked a little embarrassed as he went on, “I just meant that there comes a time when we all have to slow down, whether we want to or not. The mind and the body can only do so much, you know, before they wear out.”
“Maybe we’ll reach that point,” Bo said, “or maybe we won’t.”
“As much as we’ve knocked around, chances are we’re livin’ on borrowed time already,” Scratch added. “The odds’ll catch up to us one of these days.”
“Well, now, that’s not what I meant,” Keegan said, clearly flustered.
Scratch laughed and said, “Don’t worry about it, Cyrus. Bo and me understand. We just learned a long time ago to take life one day at a time and deal with what it brings us as best we can.”
“And that’s a mighty good way to be,” Lantana said.
Later, the three men sat on the porch of Keegan’s neat little house on Bluff Street, overlooking the winding Trinity River below, and smoked cigars that the matrimonial agent had handed out. Dusk had settled over the rolling Texas plains to the west, although an arch of red and gold remained in the sky, a lingering reminder of the sun, which had set a while earlier.
“A beautiful time of day,” Keegan mused.
“That it is,” Bo agreed. “Thank you for inviting us this evening.”
“Yeah, we’re much obliged to you, Cyrus,” Scratch put in. “And to Miss Lantana for that fine feed.”
Keegan puffed on his cigar for a moment, then took it out of his mouth and said, “Actually, I had another motive for inviting you gentlemen here tonight, over and above my genuine gratitude for your assistance.”
“Uh-oh,” Scratch said. “That sounds a mite ominous.”
“Oh, no, it’s not, I assure you,” Keegan said hastily. “I just want to issue another invitation. I’d like for both of you to come to my office tomorrow morning.”
“If you’re thinkin’ about openin’ up your files and tryin’ to find prospective brides for us as a way of thankin’ us, we’ve already told you we ain’t interested.”
“No, no, nothing like that. I have a business proposition for you.”
Bo said, “I don’t think Scratch and I are really cut out to be matrimonial agents, Cyrus.”
“Yeah, we’d be more likely to go into business tellin’ fellas how to avoid gettin’ hitched!”
“Believe me, I understand,” Keegan said. “But it’s nothing like that. If you’ll just stop by the office in the morning, I’ll explain everything.”
Bo puffed on his cigar and frowned in thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t suppose we have anywhere else we need to be. Unless, of course, Marshal Courtright summons us to the inquest for those robbers we shot.”
“If you have to attend that, then I will, too,” Keegan pointed out, “and we can go back to the office later.”
“All right, Cyrus,” Scratch said. “I reckon that meal we had tonight more than squares up any debt you owed us, so we’ll play along with you.”
“Thank you,” Keegan said with what sounded like heartfelt relief. “I was really hoping you’d agree.”
Bo warned him, “We haven’t agreed to anything yet, except that we’ll come by the office and see what it is you’ve got on your mind.”
A few minutes later, they finished their cigars and said their good nights.
“Tell Miss Lantana again how much we appreciate that grub,” Scratch said. “Maybe you should find her a husband, Cyrus.”
“And give up that cooking?” Keegan exclaimed. “I should say not!”
As the evening deepened, Bo and Scratch walked along tree-lined Bluff Street, back toward downtown, half a mile away.
“Should’ve brought the horses,” Scratch commented. “Cyrus may be used to makin’ this walk, but we ain’t.”
“We’ll be all right,” Bo said. “It doesn’t hurt us to stretch our legs a little once in a while.”
“Maybe not, but that don’t mean we ought to risk it.”
A few moments of silence went by, and then Scratch asked, “What in blazes do you think ol’ Cyrus has got on his mind?”
Bo shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t think of any sort of business that would involve us with a matrimonial agency, but then, I don’t know anything about running an operation like that, either.”
“What’s there to know about it? You pair up lonely old maids with fool bachelors who ain’t got a lick of sense. Most times when somebody wants to hire us for anything, it’s because we’re handy with trouble . . . and with our guns. How could that have anything to do with a bunch of mail-order brides?”
“I suppose we’ll find out,” Bo said.
CHAPTER 6
They were approaching Cyrus Keegan’s office on Rusk Street the next morning when the door swung open and Marshal Jim
Courtright stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“There you are,” the dapper lawman said. “I asked Keegan to pass this information along to you, but since you’re here, I’ll just tell you myself. The inquest on those would-be bandits you killed yesterday will be held at ten o’clock over there at the courthouse.”
He nodded toward the imposing structure visible over the roofs of the nearby buildings and went on. “I wouldn’t worry too much about the verdict. The one we have in custody whose name is Max Bartell has been singing his fool head off, blaming the other three for everything under the sun, including those earlier killings, in the hope that he won’t wind up climbing onto the gallows himself. So there’s not much doubt about the inquest’s outcome.”
“That’s good to hear, Marshal,” Bo said. “We’ll be there.”
Courtright nodded and walked off. Bo and Scratch went on into the office and found Cyrus Keegan sitting behind the desk.
Keegan smiled and said, “Good morning, gentlemen. Did you sleep well?”
“Sure did,” Scratch replied. “Hard not to after a fine meal like the one we had yesterday evenin’.”
“Did you happen to run into Marshal Courtright outside? He just left here.”
“We talked to him,” Bo said. “He told us about the inquest.”
“Good. We can walk over to the courthouse together, if you’d like. But until then, we have time to discuss the proposition I have for you. Please, sit down . . .”
A second chair was in the corner. Scratch pulled it over, and he and Bo sat down in front of the desk.
“Would you care for a cigar?” Keegan asked.
Bo said, “I reckon we’d rather hear about this idea you’ve got percolating around in your head, Cyrus.”
“Yeah, you’ve got us plumb curious,” Scratch added.
Keegan leaned forward, clasped pudgy hands together on the desk in front of him, and said, “Simply put, I find myself in a situation where I need help. I have five ladies bound for a town in New Mexico Territory called Silverhill, and I’m reluctant to send them out there, into unknown waters, so to speak, unaccompanied. In the past I always made such trips myself, but honestly, after that broken leg I suffered a while back, I’m just not up to it anymore.”
From what Bo had seen of Keegan so far, he didn’t think the man would have been capable of handling much trouble to start with, even when he was younger and sprier. Some men were cut out for such things, but Cyrus Keegan wasn’t one of them.
Keegan went on, “I was able to make arrangements with the two young men I mentioned before . . . those Jensen boys . . . to deliver a group of prospective brides to San Angelo for me, but they’ve moved on and never came back to Fort Worth, so I can’t hire them again. You two remind me of them in many ways, so I hoped I might convince you to take up the challenge.”
“You want us to escort a group of young women all the way to New Mexico Territory?” Scratch asked with a frown.
“I thought you might be interested in the job since you like to travel,” Keegan said. “And frankly, I’m a bit worried about sending young men along on a trip with young, unmarried women, as I did before . . .”
Bo smiled and said, “But since Scratch and I are old geezers, you figured it’d be safe enough for us to go along with these ladies.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to call you old geezers, but to be blunt, I did think that any interest you took in the ladies would be more avuncular in nature.”
“More what?” Scratch asked.
“He means we’d be like uncles to them,” Bo explained.
Scratch snorted and said, “More like grandpas.”
“That would work, too,” Keegan said. “At the same time, no matter what age you are, you’re quite competent when it comes to dealing with trouble. I’ve seen ample evidence of that with my own eyes, twice now.”
“Are you expecting trouble on this trip?” Bo wanted to know.
Keegan unclasped his hands and spread them on the desk. “Not at all,” he said. “But from what I’ve read about it, this Silverhill is a mining town and has grown a great deal in the past year, following the discovery of several rich silver veins in the nearby mountains.”
“It’s a boomtown, in other words,” Bo said.
“I think you could call it that.”
Scratch said, “Some of those boomtowns can be mighty rough. Are you sure you should even be sendin’ gals into a place like that?”
Keegan looked a little defensive as he said, “They’ve been fully informed as to where they’ll be going. And the gentlemen from Silverhill who engaged my services all seem like fine, upstanding businessmen.”
“If they’re telling the truth,” Bo said. “Don’t you ever run across fellas who lie?”
Keegan sighed. “It’s an occupational hazard in my line of work,” he admitted. “When it comes to establishing romantic relationships, many people, ah, shade the truth to a certain extent. But over the years I’ve developed a pretty good feeling for such things. I can weed out the ones who are blatant liars, men and women both. I believe everything in this particular arrangement is on the up-and-up, but still, Silverhill is a long way out there, and I’d prefer that the ladies not make the trip alone. What do you say, gentlemen? I’ll pay all your expenses, of course, plus a reasonable fee.”
Bo and Scratch looked at each other.
Scratch shrugged and said, “You know I’ve always figured you ought to do most of the thinkin’, Bo. You ain’t really steered us wrong yet.”
Bo was still hesitating, frowning in thought, when the office door opened again. Keegan looked up to see who was there. A smile broke out across his face as he said, “Perhaps this will help you make up your mind, fellows. Here are the ladies now.”
Bo and Scratch looked around and then came quickly to their feet as five young women in their twenties filed into the office. The two drifters took their hats off and held them politely in front of them.
The leader of the group, or at least the first one into the office, was a tall, slender young brunette dressed in a dark blue suit and a matching hat that was free of adornment. She had high cheekbones and blue eyes almost the same shade as the traveling outfit she wore.
The next prospective bride was shorter, but not by much, and had an athletic spring in her step. Thick blond hair was piled up under the green hat, which went with her dress.
The third young woman had raven hair and eyes almost as dark. Right behind her was a tall, chestnut-haired beauty, and lastly, another blonde, this one with curls that gave her a bit of a Southern belle look.
Each of them was undeniably pretty. Scratch’s rapt gaze was proof of that.
Their presence in the office meant that the room was a little cramped, too.
The slender brunette, who had come in first, said, “If you’re busy, Mr. Keegan, we can come back later . . .”
Keegan was on his feet, too. He held up both hands, palms out, and said, “No, that’s quite all right, Miss Spaulding. I’m very glad you and your friends are here. I’d like you to meet Mr. Creel and Mr. Morton.”
Five pairs of eyes swung toward Bo and Scratch.
The curly-haired blonde said, “You’re not two of the men from Silverhill who sent for us, are you?”
The faint note of dismay in her voice made Bo smile. He said, “No, ma’am. You can put those worries to rest. Scratch and I aren’t in the market for brides.”
“Scratch?” the other blonde repeated.
“That’s me, ma’am,” the silver-haired Texan said. “Scratch Morton. This here’s my pard, Bo Creel.”
Bo nodded politely and said, “Ladies.”
“Let me complete the introductions,” Keegan said. “This is Miss Cecilia Spaulding.”
The cool, reserved brunette, who had led the way into the room, nodded to Bo and Scratch but didn’t say anything to them.
“Miss Beth Macy.”
That was the fresh-faced, athletic blonde. She said, “Hello,” prompt
ing Scratch to nod to her and say, “Ma’am. I mean, miss.”
“Miss Luella Tolman,” Keegan went on.
Luella Tolman was the young woman with hair black as midnight and a sultry, somewhat exotic look about her. In a low, throaty voice that probably sent shivers along the spine of most men, she murmured, “Gentlemen.”
“Miss Rose Winston,” Keegan said.
That was the coltish, wholesome chestnut-haired young woman. She looked like she ought to be a preacher’s daughter, Bo thought as she smiled at them and said, “Hello.”
That left the curly-haired blonde, and Keegan introduced her as Miss Jean Parker.
Scratch told her, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss. A plumb pleasure.”
Jean Parker was all business, though, as she asked, “Mr. Keegan, what do these two men have to do with us?”
“I’m trying to persuade them to provide you with an escort on your journey to Silverhill,” Keegan explained.
Cecilia Spaulding said, “I thought you told us we’d be taking the train. We shouldn’t have any real need of an escort.”
“The train will take you only as far as El Paso. Silverhill is still a significant distance over in New Mexico Territory from there. You’ll have to use some other form of transportation for that part of the trip, probably a wagon.”
“I can drive a wagon if I need to,” Rose Winston said. “I spent a lot of time on a farm when I was growing up.”
“I can handle a team, too,” Beth Macy added. “I drove my father’s buggy all the time.”
Handling a buggy horse was considerably different from getting a team of sometimes balky mules or draft horses to do what you wanted, Bo thought. But a lot of it was just putting in the effort and being willing to learn, so he didn’t argue with Miss Macy’s claim.
Keegan said, “I just believe it would be safer for you ladies if you had a couple of men along to handle any, ah, unexpected difficulties. As you know from your correspondence with the gentlemen who live there, Silverhill is a mining town, and those can be rather . . . boisterous.”
“You wouldn’t send us to a place where it’s not safe, would you, Mr. Keegan?” Cecilia Spaulding asked.
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