Jo and the Pinkerton Man

by Dorothy A. Bell

  “We only get two performances,” Dodie said, drawing a horse in the dust with her finger. “I love this circus. This is what I want to do. I’m not going back to that stupid girl’s school. And I’m not going home to marry Jimmy Terrel. He’s a dolt. His ears are too big and he’s got freckles. Mick’s parents, the Millers, they’re headed south. They have relatives in Boise who own an arena. They put on carnivals and shows all the time. Mick says the weather is about to turn bad, too cold to hold shows outside. Magi and I, we could do our act in an arena.”

  Ryder wisely clamped his mouth shut. Royce opened his mouth, looked at him, and then he, too, pressed his lips together and held his tongue.

  “Well, we have a performance to give in an hour,” Ryder said. “We have to paint the horses and get ourselves ready.”

  “Paint the horses?” Royce asked.

  “Yeah, you remember I said we were going to give the full Indian experience. We put on war paint and scream our heads off. Scare the bejesus out of ’em.

  Royce groaned and sat back down on the tailgate. “Right now, you sure are scaring the bejesus out of me,” he said, shaking his head.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Inside the great hall, out of the wind and cold, Jo, Miss Ott, and Miss Ames divided the students into three groups, older students paired with younger girls. Everyone had on their winter coats, hats, gloves, and scarves, and each of them was allowed to carry one blanket for extra warmth. The sun had come out, but the wind had a bite to it that cut right to the bone.

  Jo moved between the excited, chattering girls in her group to speak with Twyla-Rose and Grace. “We need to stay together, so sit near me, in front or in back. I want to keep you all in my sight at all times. And, whatever you do, do not scream out you-know-who’s name. It is vital she stay undiscovered. Your father, Twyla-Rose, I believe cautioned you. As I told you, there is more going on here than a circus. We must all be very vigilant and look out for one another.”

  At the front door of the great hall, Miss Ames waved her hand and began to move her group of girls out the door. Miss Ott followed. Jo scurried to the front of her group to lead her girls outside and across the road where the carnival had set up a show ring.

  Seated on makeshift bleachers constructed of hay bales and rough boards, nothing could’ve prepared Jo for the opening act. Riding bareback, a man and a boy astride dappled white and gray horses emitted a series of high-pitched, warbling screams that ripped the icy cold air. The horses, decorated from their heads to their chest with red, yellow, and black paint cut up the turf as they charged onto the field.

  The man warrior, black hair flying, wore a breastplate of bone and beads that covered his chest. One bare arm raised wielded a tomahawk. The slash of white paint running from his hairline across his eyelid and cheek to his jaw emphasized the golden red of his skin. And there was a lot of skin: bare arms, legs, and back.

  The boy, riding low to the mare’s powerful neck, moved as one with the powerful animal, his hands holding tight to the smoky mane fanning his face. The boy’s face, painted half white and the other half black with red and yellow paint underlining his eyes, screamed a wild battle cry. He wore a costume of buff-colored leather decorated with black and white feathers and beads on the fringed sleeves and leggings. In contrast to the man, not an inch of skin did he show.

  The girls and Miss Ames and Miss Ott jumped to their feet screaming. Jo, surprised, put her hand over her mouth, unable to breathe. Twyla-Rose and Grace jumped to their feet too, but they were laughing, pointing at their frightened comrades. No one noticed. Hysteria had set in.

  Jo stood and searched the crowd for the Joneses. She found them to the side, near the band platform. Mrs. Jones, a hand to her throat, clutched her husband’s coat front. Mr. Jones, a scowl on his face, had his arm around her shoulder. Next to them, a robust man in a wide-leg stance and hands on hip, who bore a striking resemblance to Mr. Jones, grinned from ear to ear.

  The Indians circled around the field, whooping and screaming. The warrior drew up his legs and took up a squat position on his horse’s back. He came to his feet, arms out, head back, balancing on the horse’s rump. Tomahawk raised, he sent up a terrifying, screaming prayer before letting it loose. The tomahawk whistled through the air in a blur and hit the bull’s eye dead center twenty or fifteen feet from the bleachers. The horse slowed to a safe trot, and the warrior jumped down and ran alongside the horse, grabbed a handful of the horse’s charcoal-colored mane, and vaulted over the horse's shoulders. Jogging alongside the horse, he lagged behind and leapfrogged onto the horse’s rump to remount.

  A series of cries went up, and the boy rider charged across the field and handed off a bow and arrow to the warrior. The warrior raised it above his head and shouted another battle cry. He circled the field, came around to the bulls-eye, leaned over the side of his horse, and drew back the bow, letting the arrow fly. It took out a stuffed owl on the post to the side of the bulls-eye. Feathers and stuffing flew in all directions.

  The students went wild. Some were near tears with hysteria, and others jumped up and down, screaming and clapping.

  The boy warrior, taking center field, set his horse into an easy, rocking trot. The lovely animal pranced with pride, her neck bowed, tail up. The boy crouched on the horse’s back somersaulted forward and stood on his head, legs in the air, arms down the sides of the horse’s shoulders. Quick as lightning, he dropped and somersaulted back, landing on the ground on his feet behind the horse. The horse stopped, backed up, and the boy leapfrogged onto his mount’s back and off they went again in a slow trot. The man came alongside with a large hoop and held it in place over the shoulders of the boy’s horse. The boy jumped back and forth and then tumbled through the hoop to straddle the horse and set her into a gallop.

  The warrior tossed the hoop around the pole and the remnants of the owl. He matched his horse’s stride with the boy’s horse. They circled in tandem, slowing their horses to an easy trot. The man came to his feet and straddled both horses. He reached out for the boy. The boy climbed up the warrior’s back and stood on his shoulders. They circled the field amid shouts and cheers.

  The boy leaped down from the warrior's shoulders, plopping down on his horse and wrapping his arms around her neck. The man leaped off the side of his horse. His feet barely touching the ground, he swung himself back on the horse’s back. The two warriors set up a warbling cry, sending shivers up and down the spine. The horses set out at a full run around the field. They skidded to a halt before the girls, dust rising up around them. Eyes wild, the horses came up on their hind legs, front legs and hooves scraping the air. The girls, Miss Ott, Miss Ames, Twyla-Rose, and Grace cheered and clapped.

  The warriors galloped off the field.

  Jo sank down on the wooden bench, exhausted, tears running down her cheeks. The man had far too many facets. How could Ryder McAdam possibly love a plain, homespun nothing? A schoolmarm. She simply wasn’t worthy. Her life would be in a constant state of upheaval. A teacher couldn’t have upheaval. A teacher had to project propriety, self-control—command respect. Ryder McAdam wouldn’t—could never give up being a Pinkerton man. Oh, Ryder McAdam, you are way too much man for me to handle.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dodie raced to the back of their wagon, sending up whoops of victory. She jumped off her horse and danced around in a tight circle, chanting and singing.

  Ryder slowed his mount and prayed his sister would regain her senses before she gave the game away or reverted one hundred percent to the wild. Leg over the horse’s head, he slid off of Sarge’s back and reached for the chamois cloth he’d left on the front wagon wheel. Sarge had worked up a lather and needed his attention.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ryder spotted Mr. Abel Jaynes circumvent the crowd. Taking purposeful strides, he headed in their direction. Ryder waved Dodie away and set to giving Sarge his rub down. Dodie ducked her head and led Magi behind the wagon.

  “Well, well, you put
on quite a show,” said Mr. Jaynes, his dark eyes cruel and dead belying the grin on his lips. He rubbed his big, tanned hands together. “I watched you practice, of course, but you put your routine together nicely. You had those poor little girls jumping out of their drawers, frightened and thrilled to pieces.”

  Ryder stood quiet, unblinking.

  “Come, come, Wind Rider, or whatever your name is, I don’t buy your inscrutable savage façade for a moment. You and your little brother are as wily as a pair of foxes.”

  Ryder remained impervious, holding his tongue, eyes steady.

  “Ah. I see,” Mr. Jaynes said and shrugged his broad, thick shoulders. “I should get down to business. I have a little task I’d like you to perform. If you have success, you and your brother would be a welcome addition to our little show. Yes, indeed. I’d pay you handsomely. You’ve got something, boy. We could rake in the rubes by the droves.” He coughed and waved his hand. “But first, to prove your loyalty, I would test you, make use of your skills. I have relatives here in this little hamlet who have been unjustly incarcerated.”

  Mr. Jaynes cleared his throat and shifted on his big feet. “You do comprehend what I’m saying?” Mr. Jaynes said, tipping forward and peering deep into Ryder’s eyes. “Jail, I have family in jail.”

  Ryder rolled his shoulders back and refused to give any ground or hint he’d understood anything at all.

  “Ah, good, good. To free them I need a stealthy, efficient expert. After your performance, I feel you and your…skills are exactly what the job calls for.”

  Ryder folded his arms across his chest and looked down his nose at the man.

  Mr. Jaynes shook his head, a smirk on his lips. “Oh, come, come, man. I could turn you over to the Indian agent today, have you and your brother hauled away to the reservation mission easy as snapping my fingers.”

  Ryder put up his chin. Mr. Jaynes nodded. “I suspect you’re running from something. Most circus travelers are. We all have a past we’d rather not face.”

  Ryder allowed himself to blink.

  Mr. Jaynes nodded. “The jailor is a simple man, one deputy. They sleep on the job, leave the door to the office unlocked when they go next door for their meals. They allow visitors at all hours. If you can send a knife with the same accuracy you send an arrow and your tomahawk, the chances of our discovery will be minimal. My relatives will be set free, and you’ll have cash in your…your…” He eyed Ryder’s lack of apparel, hesitated, and finished saying,” pouch, a guaranteed home, a family if you will, and we’ll be on our way with no one the wiser.”

  “How much,” Ryder asked.

  Mr. Jaynes blanched and chuckled. “Ah, I like your style. A hundred dollars.”

  Ryder snorted.

  “Five hundred,” countered Mr. Jaynes.

  Ryder turned his shoulder and tipped his head.

  “Very well, a thousand dollars, but that’s as high as I’m willing to go. After all, I’m offering you sanctuary too. We protect our own.”

  Ryder drew himself up, prepared to speak. “I know this sheriff, his deputy, and this jail. They are not as dumb as they look. I’ll be in charge. I don’t want mistakes.”

  Mr. Jaynes smiled. “Ah, been there before have you?”

  Ryder neither nodded nor blinked. He worked his jaw, though.

  Mr. Jaynes waved his hand over his head. “Very well. As you wish…this time.” A sneer replaced his affable smile. “I’m the boss of this outfit. Don’t push me. I won’t tolerate insubordination. You will do as you’re told. You, and your little brother…understand?”

  Ryder nodded.

  “Good. I’ll have the money for you after you get my family out of jail.”

  Ryder shook his head and scowled. “No. No good. Before, I want money before.”

  Mr. Jaynes laughed and slapped him on his bare shoulders. “I knew you weren’t as dumb as you let on. Right then, right. Tomorrow after the last performance you’ll get your money. We’ll set the plan in motion after we move out of town. I don’t want the circus connected with the jailbreak.”

  Ryder, arms folded across his chest, observed Mr. Jaynes return to his post beside the band platform. The man turned his shoulder, looking behind him at the circus wagons to say something to Mr. Jones, and then the two stepped out of sight.

  The juggling clowns had taken the audience’s attention with their flying torches, and the musicians provided the pace and a rhythm. Ryder led Sarge to the far end of the wagon and took the chamois to the horse’s neck and chest. “You heard all of that?” he asked no one.

  “Yeah, we heard,” Royce said, poking his head out the back of the wagon. He jumped to the ground. Sherriff Telt Longtree followed.

  Telt peered around the edge of the wagon, his gaze to the circus. “Your men down at the jail have been giving a fine performance. But I doubt any of them will volunteer to take a shiv to the heart.”

  Ryder snorted. Music, a quick march, echoed across the open field, signaling the clowns had started their water bucket routine. “We can’t talk here. The orchard, behind the school—if you enter from behind the stable in town, there’s a wagon track, it leads to an old tool shed. Dodie and I’ll meet you there tonight. We have to stay put, wait for everyone to get settled in for the night.”

  Dodie stepped up, inserted herself into the conversation. ‘We’d appreciate some food. Ryder can live on beans and hardtack, but I can’t.”

  “Telt and I are taking Twyla-Rose out to dinner. We’ll get you some food,” Royce said, his arm around her. “You scared the hell out of me. I suppose you think that’s pretty funny. But one of these days, little girl, you’re going to get seriously hurt.”

  “And you,” he said, his full attention on Ryder, “you are a show off. You could’ve broken you damn neck out there. Or hit one of those girls with your tomahawk or your damn bow and arrow. I’ve seen you miss your target, remember? And where would that leave your fine Miss Buxton?”

  “You say the same thing every time. The last time it was Mother I would leave bereaved and heartbroken,” Ryder replied. “The point is, I didn’t miss the target today.” He shrugged his shoulders, in hopes he could push aside the truth in his father’s statement.

  Their routine did involve a lot of risks—he knew that. And yes, he had to think of Jo now. She trusted him, trusted him to keep her safe. For such a long time he hadn’t thought about anyone but himself and his job, which he approached more like a game rather than a career.

  “I’ll bring Jo out to the orchard too. She needs to know what’s going on.” He tossed the chamois onto the wagon wheel to dry and said to himself more than to anyone else, “Wish I knew what was going on. Jaynes went right over to Ira Jones after he talked to me. I’ve been waiting for something to break, and I think it did, but I don’t know what the hell to do about it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Despite his reassurances, Jo did not have a lot of confidence in Ryder’s plans. Or the protective strategies he’d put in place to keep her safe. Or to prevent his demise should the Jaynes brothers turn on him, escape his trap.

  Immediately after the performance yesterday, doubts had set in. First and foremost, she doubted they had a future together. She doubted Mr. and Mrs. Jones would even be implicated in a crime at all. It really didn’t matter one way or the other. She couldn’t stay because they hated her. If they were complicit in committing a crime, and she survived, she doubted the city would allow the school to stay open. They couldn’t finish out the year with only three spinster teachers in place. She really doubted Ryder could stop the jailbreak or the Jaynes brothers—there were too many of them. Mr. O’Bannon and Sheriff Longtree were somewhere close by to protect her and catch her abductors. But they didn’t know when, how, or where her abduction would take place.

  At midmorning, the field across from the school had begun to fill up with buggies, wagons, buckboards, riders on horseback, kids riding four and five to a horse, and folks on foot. Flocks of folks ringed t
he field. When the bale and board seats filled up, they sat on the grass, in their wagons, or perched in trees.

  According to Ryder, at fifty cents a head for adults and ten cents a head for kids between four and fifteen, the circus stood to make a tidy profit. Not to mention the take from the concessions, the popcorn, the cotton candy, the balloons, the whirligigs, and the carnival games. Yup, Circus International happily fleeced the rubes in Cherry Grove.

  Her fear was, with so many people milling around, the noise and chaos, who would notice a little abduction?

  Vulnerable as a goat on a rope in a hyena cage, Jo sat in her little tent, a novel in one hand and the fingers of her other hand worrying the carnelian stone. She’d read the first paragraph of the first chapter five times and couldn’t remember a word. The girls, consigned to their quarters again and unhappy about it, had invited her to join them in a bridge tournament. Jo declined, claiming she thought she might be coming down with a cold. The afternoon had proved sunny and unusually pleasant with the smell of fall in the air and a slight breeze twisting the leaves off the trees. On a day like this, at home, at the hot spring, Jo would’ve been out clearing the garden. There was a garden, but with the girls confined to quarters, it stood neglected, the squash and pumpkins lingering on the vines.

  The high-pitched screaming warble of the warriors’ act echoed across the field and over the schoolyard. She didn’t have to be there to envision Ryder, black hair flowing and bare thighs hugging the horse’s flanks, charging around the field. His grace and power captured her breath and held her heart. All through the night he’d assured her in every way he could that he would not leave her, let her go, or forsake her, but how could he keep his promise? How could she keep hers, when their lives would take them down different paths? The cheering crowd signaled he’d once again hit the target with his flying tomahawk. She closed her eyes, a smile on her lips, thinking about him.