A bony, cold hand clamped over her mouth. Eyes flying open, Jo stared into the maniacal face of a giddy Mrs. Jones. Jo kicked, and Mr. Jones fell on her, pinning her down. Mrs. Jones pressed an oily, sickeningly sweet, smelly linen napkin to her nose.
She had to breathe but didn’t dare. Kicking, thrashing, she had to breathe, she had to. Her lungs filled with the vapor. Her stomach churned as the sweet odor filled her head. Desperate, losing the battle, she slipped under, falling into the darkness.
Eyes closed, muffled voices reached her. The weight lifted from her chest. The hand over her mouth gone and the horrible cloth away from her nose, she dared to breathe. Barely aware of the scuffle, the squeals and jostling of bodies around her, Jo struggled to right herself. A loud clunk and clank alerted her someone had fallen over her stove. A cry of pain and curse words suggested burned flesh.
“Got’em with the kettle of hot water. He’s out cold,” a familiar voice—the sheriff, Mr. Longtree said.
“I’d like to punch her, but I think I’ll give her a taste of her own medicine,” said Mr. O’Bannon.
Jo opened one eye. Mr. O’Bannon had Mrs. Jones pinned, bent backward over her traveling trunk, the oily, smelly cloth pressed to her pointy nose. Promptly, all fight went out of the crone, and her eyes closed in a swoon.
“Miss Buxton? Good, you’re coming around,” said Mr. Longtree.
Mr. O’Bannon retrieved the kettle, gave it a slosh, and poured a dribble of warm water into a cup. “Try this? It’ll help to get the taste out of your mouth.”
Jo welcomed the moisture, and after a few deep breaths made it to a sitting position.
Mr. Longtree stood over Mr. Jones, brows furrowed. He waved his hand and said to Mr. O’Bannon, “You better toss the cloth in the stove, or we’ll all pass out pretty soon. I don’t suppose your son mentioned what we’re supposed to do with these two once we’ve caught’em.”
Mr. O’Bannon grunted, held the stinky cloth at arms length, and tossed it in the stove. It ignited in a flash and a poof. “Ryder does have a problem sharing details,” he said, closing the stove lid.
“Last night, Dodie said she helped clean out an equipment wagon or something they haul in back of the lion wagon?” Jo said, groggy, rubbing her head.
Both men pulled back and stared at her. A slow, sly grin broke out on Mr. O’Bannon’s face. “She did. You’re right, Miss Buxton. I remember her saying that. I wonder, do you suppose they meant the little cart to house you, Miss Buxton?”
Mr. Longtree tipped his hat back from his forehead and rubbed his jaw. “Ryder’s got Pinkerton men in the crowd watching the circus wagons. Jaynes is looking to pull out right after the last act and get well beyond town. This old biddy is going to wake up and start screaming, and the old man too, for that matter.”
“I’m ashamed of myself for thinking it,” said Jo, “but they were probably going to drug me, tie me up, gag me, and stuff me in a cramped little wagon, forget about me for God only knows how long, and then sell me like a side of beef to some barbarian. Right now, tying them up, gagging them and stuffing these two in a small, airless place for a couple of hours doesn’t really pinch my conscience.”
Both men laughed at her. “Done,” said Mr. O’Bannon.
“Wait,” said Mr. Longtree, “how do you propose to get them over to the lion wagon without being noticed?”
Mr. O’Bannon ran his hands through his curly, sandy hair.
Jo attempted to get on her feet. She wanted more water. Mr. O’Bannon took her cup from her and put a finger on her shoulder and poked. Weak and woozy, she flopped back in place. He grinned at her and said, “You sit, I’ll get you a drink.”
“We’ll think on it while we tie them up,” Mr. Longtree said.
“I’ve got clothesline under my cot,” Jo said. “And a dishcloth over there by the stove should do for a gag.”
Thinking aloud, Jo said, “You know, in books, the criminals always hide in plain sight. Lots of people milling around over there. Mr. Jaynes has never seen you two. If we had her all wrapped up so he couldn’t see who it was, and got her in the wagon, he’d think the deed was done. But I don’t know about Mr. Jones. I suppose he’ll be missed no matter what.”
Mr. O’Bannon eyed her, a speculative grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye. “I’m beginning to understand my son’s attraction to you, Miss Buxton. You have a devious and interesting mind.”
“Okay, here’s what we do,” said Mr. Longtree. “We wrap her up in your blanket, Miss Buxton, keeping her face hidden. I’ll toss her over my shoulder, and deliver her to the equipment wagon behind the lion wagon, like I knew what I was about. Royce, you toss Mr. Jones over your horse’s ass, and get him out of sight. Maybe out to the shack behind the stable, or even better, the stable. Assign one of the deputies to guard him. I’d like to toss his ass in jail, but the kid, what’s his name…”
“Gerald,” Jo said. “And you can use my blanket but not the quilt. My mother made that for me.”
The sheriff nodded his agreement. “Yeah, Gerald. Or someone else with the circus might run and tell Mr. Jaynes. I don’t think we can risk it.”
Mr. O’Bannon handed her the cup of water.
Jo accepted the cup and drained the contents. She licked her dry lips before saying, “I should speak with the girls. They should know what’s going on. This might be the end of their schooling here. We’ll want to contact their parents right away.” She put her hand to her forehead. “I’ll be glad when this day is over. The clown music is playing. Two more acts, maybe an hour to go and the circus is over, and the sun isn’t even down.”
A bare, brown leg came over the back of the tent, then a shoulder, and a head of shiny black hair framed a warrior’s face decorated in war paint.
»»•««
Jo, a little pale but unhurt, sat on her cot. Trussed up like a Christmas goose, Mr. Jones lay unconscious near Ryder’s feet by the stove. Mrs. Jones lay prostrate over the traveling trunk. Royce shook his head at him. Telt started to laugh, but checked himself and swallowed it down, hiding a smile behind the back of his hand.
Jo, her silver eyes dilated, huge in her pale face, held out her hand to him. He stepped over Mr. Jones to take her hand.
“Good, you got’em,” he said to Royce.
“Jo, I was worried. Got dizzy, nearly fell off my horse when our act finished. I had a vision, I think. I saw you, a hanky or something over your face. I couldn’t see your face.”
“The old crone, she doctored up a cloth with something. We tossed it in the stove. Gassy thing, smelled horrible,” said Royce.
Ryder nodded. “Wrap Mrs. Jones up in Jo’s extra blanket. I’ll get her over to the lion wagon.”
“You? Ryder, no. What if Mr. Jaynes sees you?” Jo asked, her hand on his wrist.
“Better me than Royce or Telt. I’ll get points for helping out Mr. Jones. Poor man. It seems he couldn’t manage to carry you, his back went out. His wife took him home to put some liniment on him. I came along and made myself useful like a good little Indian. I don’t ask questions, you see. I do as I’m told.”
“Yeah, fine, fine, but we still have the problem of what to do with Mr. Jones. We can’t put him in the closet too. He has to go somewhere,” said Royce.
“Pinkerton’s sent a special railroad car on a side track. It’s waiting for the prisoners. Pinkerton wants this wrapped up, and thought it best to put all the culprits in one cage where we could keep an eye on them, keep them contained.”
Ryder shook his head. “Oh, and I got a telegram, well more than one. The Port authorities raided Omar Jaynes’s ship yesterday. They found more incriminating evidence of a slave trafficking operation. Communications link Ira, Ester, Abel, Jacob and Georgio and Rose. Omar’s in custody. Eight men, five young boys, and seven young girls are home safe with their families.”
“This has become a major operation,” Ryder said. He grabbed Jo’s writing tablet down off the shelf and put pencil to paper. “Here, give th
is to the guard, he’ll take charge of Mr. Jaynes, alias Jones,” he said to Telt, handing him the slip of paper.
Jo took hold of his arm and tugged him down to sit beside her. He felt the tears on his arm before he realized she was crying. Trembling and sobbing, she folded into his chest. He put his hand on her back. “Wait now, don’t fall apart on me.”
“It’s all so dangerous, Ryder. So many things could go wrong,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“But so many things could go right. Got to get going,” he said to her and pushed a tear off of the side of her nose with his finger. “Jaynes will track me down if I don’t show up soon. Got to get my instructions and get paid the big money.” He winked at her, but instead of laughing, she punched him in the chest and shoved him away.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jo breaking down into tears worried Ryder. He’d helped Telt get Mr. Jones onto Royce’s horse, and to hopefully save them from being seen, he’d given directions back to town through the orchard. He had old lady Jaynes lashed to Sarge’s back, and he had his story ready.
No, it wasn’t the abduction or even the jailbreak that had Jo upset. He suspected it had more to do with what came next. What happened once the dust settled? He wished he knew. He’d been thinking about it, thinking hard. He didn’t have the solution. He would not lose his Jo. Simply let her go and slip away, he would not.
Deep in thought, Ryder crossed the road, circumnavigating the crowd, going around the end of the magician’s wagon. Gerald stepped in front of him. Ignoring him, Ryder kept walking, leading Sarge to the small, enclosed wagon behind the lion’s cage. Only ten more feet and he’d be home free.
Gerald fell into step beside him. “That the teacher?”
Ryder focused on the wagon and the latch. Sarge snorted and bobbed his big head.
“Gerald,” Abel Jaynes said, coming up on the boy’s heels. “You have things to do. Help Rosa with their wagon. We’re moving out within the hour.”
Abel opened the door to the small cart behind the lion’s cage and stood aside. “You’ve been gone awhile,” he said to Ryder. Ryder untied the bundle from the back of the horse and dumped it in the closet. He closed the door and set the lock. “Man hurt his back, asked for help. I had horse. Lady took man home.”
Abel nodded and reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. “Get the paint off your face, and put some clothes on. Anyone see you?”
Ryder glared at the man, sensing a trap. “Man with broken back, and his woman. I water horse.”
Abel shook his head. “Anyone over at the school, the students, did they see you?’
“No one saw, no one look.”
“Damn Ira and his puny spine,” Abel said, grinding his heel into the dust. He narrowed his eyes and gave Ryder a hard look. “I have another little chore for you. Across the road, at the school in one of the cottages. The one on the end. It’s empty. The back door is jimmied. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting in. Under the third bunk, there’s a box of rifles and a box of ammunition. I don’t care how you do it. Don’t let anyone see you or catch you—put them in the wagon. And don’t try to keep them for yourself or run off with 'em. I’ll track you down and throw you to the lion for his dinner.”
Not really speaking to Ryder, the man gazed off into the distance. “Your wagon isn’t painted. That’s good…good. Doesn’t look like it belongs to the circus, good. We don’t need Ira. Maybe this is better. Pull the wagon around back of the jail and leave it.”
Ryder opened his mouth. Abel waved his hand to silence him. “I’m the boss, remember. Pack your gear. Put it on your horses. I don’t give a damn what you do, just leave the wagon and team in back of the jail. You be ready as soon as it gets dark. Put something over your face. And hide your God damn hair, for God’s sake. Both of you. You and the kid, get the paint off your faces, and your horses. As a matter of fact, don’t take those horses to town. Very distinctive, those horses. Folks would spot’em in a minute.” Without waiting for a response, Jaynes turned and walked away.
Ryder nodded to his back.
Too many strokes of luck could spell disaster or a setup. With his lower lip between his teeth, Ryder considered his options. Head down, ignoring the spectators, the excited children, and the pointing fingers, he waded through the crowd headed for their camp.
“Where have you been?” Dodie asked, jumping out of the wagon and landing in front of him. She’d taken off her war paint, leather trousers and shirt, opting for dungarees and a corded coat. She’d hidden her hair beneath a sweat-stained slouch hat. “Jo? Is Jo all right?”
He tipped his head and picked up a bucket of water, poured some into their galvanized wash pan to get the paint off his face. “She’s fine,” he said, scrubbing his forehead, nose, and chin. “Royce and Telt caught the Joneses in the act. They’ve got the mister. And by now, they’ve got him caged up down at the railroad station. We wrapped up the old lady in Jo’s blanket, covered her up good. I brought her over on Sarge’s back. Mr. Jaynes waylaid me and very obligingly helped me deposit my burden in the equipment cart assigned for Miss Buxton.”
“No kidding,” Dodie said, a big grin on her face. “So the Joneses are out of business.”
“I’d say. I’ll have to get a warrant to get into their office and pull records and ledgers. Pretty sure I won’t have any trouble there. Got a wire this morning, Pinkerton’s got Omar Jaynes and his ship. They found a lot of incriminating records on the ship. The problem is, we don’t know the fate of the school. Jo’s worried. Worried for the students. Worried she’ll be out of a job. And…” He shrugged his shoulders and put his face in a towel, unable to finish the sentence.
“And…she doesn’t know where you two go from here,” Dodie filled in for him.
He hung the towel up on the handle of the bucket and shook his head at her. “Can’t think about that now. We have a problem. And not a lot of time to think about it. I have to get the paint off of Sarge. We’re moving camp. Hustle.”
»»•««
All their gear loaded in the wagon and Magi and Sarge tethered to the back, they crossed the road and headed into the orchard. At the shed, down the lane from the stable, he jumped down and started handing Dodie the gear from inside the wagon. “We’ll keep this stuff here for now. And the horses. Plenty of water nearby. They like the orchard grass. Took care of your nemesis, Festering Ester and her husband, so they won’t be bothering you. You can go back to the school.”
Dodie pulled her mulish, stubborn face and stamped her foot. He shook his head, reading her mind. “Not to stay, but for now. I want you to stay with Jo and the girls. You could help Jo explain to the others what’s been going on.”
“Where are you going?”
“Don’t worry about me. Pinkerton’s got this town covered like a plains dust storm. I have a little chore I have to do for Mr. Abel Jaynes. If you see this wagon at the south cottage, pay it no mind. And for God’s sake don’t point it out to anyone. We’ll meet up here tonight. Telt and Royce, and Jo and Twyla-Rose and Grace. With any luck at all, we’ll have the Jaynes family, the entire Payasos gang, all tucked up and in a train car before midnight.”
Dodie shook her head at him. “You are way too cocky, you know.”
“Yeah, I’m beginning to think so too. Could be time to start making a smarter plan.”
“Any kind of plan would be good,” Dodie said, leading Sarge and Magi over to the tall grass beneath the apple trees. “You can’t just wait for stuff to happen. Sometimes you have to make it happen to get what you want.”
He climbed up on the bench of the wagon and smiled down at her. “You are a wise young woman, little sister. I’ll take your advice under consideration.”
She snorted and tossed her head at him. He grinned and flicked the reins, setting the team in motion.
The last performance of the Circus International ended right at dusk. The attendance, Ryder knew from conversations he’d overheard, had far exceeded th
e performers’ expectations. The town’s people, and those who’d traveled in to see the spectacle, lingered to gather their families.
Those who’d come by wagon jockeyed around, turning back to town. The enticement of further social entertainments lay in that direction. A potluck and music at the church awaited. Ryder blended in, now dressed in a dark coat, hat, and trousers. He chose the south end of the school grounds upon which to turn his wagon around. He feigned a problem, jumped down, and entered the south cottage. He had no problem finding the rifle box and loading it and the ammunition box into the wagon, but the traffic slowed him down, and he feared Mr. Jaynes would arrive before he got there. No one paid him any attention when the sheriff’s wagon swung off the main street. He left the sheriff’s team with their noses in their feed bags and the brake set on the sheriff’s wagon behind the sheriff’s office. He smiled to himself, enjoying the irony.
In the deep shadow of the alley between the sheriff’s office and the mercantile, Ryder waited, a black scarf over his face as per Mr. Jaynes’s instructions. The door to the office stood open, lamplight spilling into the street. Two stocky deputies sat playing cards at a makeshift table near the potbellied stove, their feet tapping to the beat of the jig coming from the church across the street.
Ryder had no idea where Mr. Jaynes or Gerald were. He’d expected them to be here by now. Mr. Jaynes had balked at Ryder’s insistence there be no side arms. But he’d won his point—the jailbreak had to be a silent one. If they could get out of town with no one the wiser, if their luck held, the prisoners’ escape wouldn’t be discovered until morning. A posse couldn’t possibly form up before midday, and they could be long gone by then.
At the back end of the alley, Ryder heard footsteps. Mr. Jaynes, cloaked in dark coat and hat, approached. “I checked the wagon. Good job,” he said.
Ryder waved the hand holding two very sharp and shiny knives in front of Mr. Jaynes’s nose. “Stay here. Two deputies. I whistle, you come.”
Jo and the Pinkerton Man Page 17