Crouched, staying low to the front of the building, he entered the door and tossed the first knife. The deputy, the one with the sandy hair, his broad back to the door, jerked and slumped forward, the shiv between his shoulder blades. Quickly, Ryder let the second knife fly, and the big barrel-chested deputy, a knife in his chest, fell off his chair and landed on the floor.
Ryder blew a short, sharp whistle. Mr. Jaynes and Gerald inched their way through the door, their eyes big above the scarves over their noses and mouths. Nodding, Ryder showed them he had the keys. He silently made his way down the hall to the cells, moving to the end where the women were held. The redhead aided the wounded blonde to her feet. They started to squeal with glee, but Mr. Jaynes moved to the bars and shushed them. A finger to his lips, he shushed the men in the cells behind them.
Ryder unlocked the ladies’ cell door. “Woman is hurt, she go first,” he said. Mr. Jaynes and Gerald entered the cell to give the lady their support. Ryder gave them a shove, closed the door, and locked it in one swift move.
“Shoot the bastard,” shouted the bald prisoner behind him, his arms reaching through the bars.
Mr. Jaynes pulled a small derringer from his inside coat pocket and pulled the trigger. Ryder stepped aside and ducked but too late. The bullet hit him in the shoulder. Using his left arm, he tossed his third knife. Finding its target, it hit Abel Jaynes in the right thigh. Able crumpled and grabbed his leg, and the pistol dropped to the floor.
“Abel, you son of a bitch. Clumsy, stupid bastard. You had him,” said the bald-headed culprit. “Never could hit the broad side of a barn. And what the hell kind of gun is that? A pea-shooter? Jesus, Christ-a-mighty.”
The two other gentlemen in the cell next to him yelled obscenities so vile and despicable Ryder couldn’t make any sense of them.
Royce, his padded shirt decorated with the knife sticking out of it, and Telt, a knife sticking out of his padded chest, rushed down the hall, guns drawn and aimed at Gerald. “Back up, son. You too, ladies, back up,” Telt ordered.
Ryder unlocked the cell door. Royce picked up the pistol and then patted down the pimple-faced kid. He divested Gerald of a pocket knife and a switchblade and backed out. Telt quickly locked the door.
“We got Georgio and Rosa,” a man shouted from out front. “They’re bringing in the wagons now.”
“Thanks, Jackson,” Ryder hollered back. “I’ll be out in a minute.” He pulled his scarf down from his face. The men in the cells behind him let loose a stream of abuse, all of them shouting and cursing at once.
“You? You, deceitful, side-windin’, snake-eyed-shit-for-skin, piss-ant, egg-suckin’ son of a bitch!”
The other two men in the cell next to the bald-headed man flopped down on their cots, heads in hands, muttering curses and bemoaning their fate.
The one prisoner who hadn’t said a word growled and pressed his face between the bars. “You are a boil on the backside of my ass, you stinkin’ Pinkerton cock-suckin, redskin.”
Ryder turned to the one man standing, pleased to see his face had gone purple with rage. He grinned and tipped his hat which let his long braid loose to fall down his back. “Thank you, Jacob. I do what I can. I accept your compliment.”
“Pinkerton?” Abel said, still holding his leg. The redhead had gone down on her knees to tend to it. “An Indian? You? You’re a Pinkerton cull?”
The woman grimaced and pulled the knife from Abel’s thigh. Ryder had his eye on her. He took a step forward and said in a quiet and threatening voice, “Slide it nice and easy under the bars.” She called him a nasty name and did as she was told. Quickly she tied a strip of her petticoat good and tight around Abel’s wounded thigh.
Abel sucked in his breath and glared at Ryder, pure hatred shining in his eyes. “I had plans for you, you traitorous piece of no-good spit. I took you and your brother in, gave you my protection.”
Royce shed his padded shirt and tossed it aside. “You’re bleeding,” he said to Ryder and would have taken Ryder’s arm to bind it, but Ryder stopped him, shaking his head. He said, “Stings a bit, he grazed me.”
Meeting Mr. Jaynes’s hate-filled stare with equal loathing, Ryder said, “Ah, and what about all the children and the men? What about all the young girls you abducted, drugged, and sold? What about them? Did you offer them your protection? Did you save them? Did you believe you were giving them a better life as slaves? You, sir, are scum, a traitor to humankind.”
“What?” Mr. Jaynes jumped to his feet. “Abductions? Girls?”
“Oh, yeah, I know about your little operation. Mr. and Mrs. Jones, ah, Jaynes, your brother and his wife, they showed their hand this evening. We have them. We have Omar and his ship. Yes, we have Ira and his lovely wife, Ester. We have Giorgio and Rosa, and of course Gerald here. I think if we pressed him he’d give up some details. Pinkerton has records of transactions and contacts. Did you really think all we had you on was a failed jailbreak and a few robberies? No, Mr. Abel Jaynes, the leader of the Payasos robbery, abduction, smuggling gang, we have a long list of crimes we’re gonna charge you and your brothers, their wives, and children.”
“Indians don’t talk like that,” said Mr. Jaynes. He narrowed his eyes and came close to the door. “You’re an Indian. Where did you learn to talk like that? Who the hell are you? What are you?”
The room began to tilt. Ryder braced himself with one hand on the door behind him. Royce draped Ryder’s good arm over his shoulder. “Come on, lean on me. Shut up. That bullet more than grazed you. You’ve got a hole in your shoulder. The bullet went clean through. You’ve done your duty. The world is a better place. You’re dripping blood all over the floor.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The fate of the school remained unresolved. Jo did her best to assure the girls a solution would be found. They’d nodded and made all the right noises, but she could see by their woebegone faces they weren’t reassured at all. She went so far as to suggest to Miss Ames and Miss Ott the three of them form a cooperative of sorts and run the school themselves. But Miss Ames and Miss Ott weren’t positive they should, or could, manage such an arrangement.
Too many unanswered questions hovered around their fate. Jo begged them to wait a few days before they abandoned the idea. First and foremost, she insisted, they notify the parents of events and take responsibility for the girls. Demonstrate they could handle the situation.
At sundown, Jo, Miss Ames, and Miss Ott scratched up a meal of fried potatoes and eggs to serve the girls in the great hall. Dodie joined them in the middle of the meal. The girls, surprised and beside themselves with joy, recognized her as the daredevil on horseback at the circus. They gave her a hero’s welcome with a round of cheers and hurrahs. The meal turned into a celebration, all business and difficulty forgotten. By the time they’d finished their meal and cleared away their dishes, the circus spectators had cleared out, and the circus wagons were gone.
In the dark, Jo, Dodie, Twyla-Rose, and Grace sat shivering before a sputtering campfire in the middle of the orchard, sipping what Dodie claimed was coffee. The stars had long since disappeared behind a heavy bank of clouds. A cold frozen mist had started to sift tiny white pellets on the ground. “Well,” said Dodie, slapping her hands to her thighs, “I’m going into town. Something’s not right. They should’ve been here by now. If we sit out here much longer, we’ll freeze to death.”
“Agreed,” Jo said, and popped up, adjusting her gloves and wiggling her fingers to keep the circulation going.
Grace tossed the contents of her cup into the grass. “I’m going to bed. Whatever is going on, they don’t need me.”
“I’ll come with you,” Twyla-Rose said. “You two should come with us. Daddy will come get us in the morning. We’ll hear all about it then. Maybe he’ll have an idea what we should do about the Joneses and the school.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” said Jo. She gave the girls a hug. “Thank you for keeping the girls from panicking when I broke the news to
them. For a minute there I thought we might have to resuscitate Miss Ott, but she came out of the swoon just fine. Funny, Miss Ames, I thought, looked almost relieved. She has a beau, you know? She’d like to get married. If we ran the school, we could make our own rules, our own curriculum, make it more interesting, engaging, progressive. I’d love to try it. I hope we can convince the powers that be of the possibilities.”
“Good night,” Dodie said to them, already dousing the fire with the remainder of her pot of coffee. “I’ll see you in the morning,”
Dodie gathered up Sarge and Magi and leaped up on Magi’s back. She maneuvered the horse to a chunk of firewood. Jo balanced herself, and Dodie reached down to assist her up to ride bareback behind her. Jo adjusted her skirt and cloak, and Dodie set the horse in motion, leading Sarge. They started down the lane that led to the back of the stable. “I’m going to join the circus,” Dodie said.
Jo stayed silent a moment to allow the notion to sink in. “I see.”
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking Daddy Royce won’t let me. He’ll tie me up and drag me home.”
Jo snorted. “I doubt he’d go so far as to drag you home. But yes, I think he will object. And I think Ryder will object too.”
“It’s not like I would be alone, on my own doing shows. I’ve made friends with a family, the Millers, and they have a concession stand and a band. They joined the circus in Umatilla simply because it generated more revenue for them to be with a larger outfit. But they aren’t part of Circus International. They were going to leave Circus International anyway and head south. I’ve already told them I’m coming with them. They’re waiting for me in town. We’re heading for Boise for the winter. They have relatives there. They have an arena. I could perform. Magi and me, we could be an act.”
“Dodie…Melody, I don’t know what to say. You once called me your sister. And as your sister I want you to be happy. I know this is what you want. What you think will make you happy. But it’s…it’s so, I don’t know, so daring. You have a lot of guts. I can’t think of anything else to say. I admire intestinal fortitude. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Listen to me talking. I applied to a school I knew nothing about and look at the mess I’ve gotten myself into. I thought I’d be safe. You never know how things will turn out. You never know.”
Dodie huffed, her breath forming a white cloud above her head. “But you had to take the risk. You had to. If you hadn’t, we would never have met. You wouldn’t have met my brother. You wouldn’t have found out what you’re really meant to do.”
Jo put her face closer to Dodie’s head and asked, “And what is it you think I’m meant to do?”
“I think you’re meant to be the leader. The matron of a very fine school for young women, young women who want to learn and be independent thinkers and doers, is what I think.”
Jo leaned back to absorb the idea. The notion took hold and formed into a solid desire. Yes, it was exactly what she wanted to do.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. Leaving the horses at the stable, they walked over to the sheriff’s office. Several wagons had pulled up in the churchyard. A few campfires glowed in the dark with folks huddled around them. However, for the most part, the people in town had retired for the day. Even the saloon was quiet, no piano playing, no drunken brawls. It didn’t seem right. Something wasn’t right.
A young deputy sat with his feet up on the desk, smoking a cigar, a whiskey glass full of amber liquid in his hand. He swung his legs down and set the cigar and glass aside the moment they crossed the threshold. “Yes, ma’am, what can I do for you?”
Jo drew herself up in an attempt to appear intimidating and not scared out of her mind with worry. “We are hoping you can help us locate Mr. McAdam.”
The man swallowed hard, coughed, and came to his feet. “Yes, ma’am, they took him to the hotel.”
“Took him to the hotel?” Dodie said, and leaped at the man, almost jumping up on his desk.
“Whoa, son, he’s fine. Sent the doc right over. He lost some blood but….”
Jo didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. She’d turned and headed out the door, Dodie right behind her.
What passed for a hotel was really more of a boarding house. Spare rooms were scarce. Jo marched in and demanded of the wizened, elderly man behind the registration desk where they could find Mr. McAdam. He started to lecture her on why he would not give her the direction of a gentlemen’s room when Telt and Royce entered from a side parlor, each with a tumbler of whiskey in their hands.
Telt waved his hand at the old coot. “Family,” he said.
Silenced, the old man nodded, rolled his eyes, and sat back down in his chair to read his paper.
“We got him a room in a corner attic space with a cot,” Royce said. Jo shoved him aside. Holding her skirts up, she flounced up the stairs.
Dodie glared at him and stomped up the stairs after Jo.
“You left us sitting out in the cold and dark, Daddy,” said Dodie, tossing her accusation over her shoulder as they proceeded up the second flight of stairs to the attic room. “We didn’t know what had happened. Why didn’t you send someone to tell us Ryder was hurt?”
“We thought you’d have enough sense to go somewhere warm,” he said in his defense. Behind him, Telt groaned.
“Sense?” Jo said, punctuating the word. “Sense…would be for men not to put themselves in positions where they are sure to get injured. What happened? How bad is it?” She stopped at the landing, looking down at them.
Royce shook his head at her. “It’s a bullet wound to his right shoulder. Went through the muscle. He bled like a stuck pig. We staunched up the wound as best we could. We tried to get him to a doctor, but he wouldn’t see the doctor until he had all of his prisoners safely tucked away in the railroad car.”
Jo threw up her hands. “Sense? Don’t talk to me about good sense,” she said and opened the narrow attic door. A small fire burned in a tiny little fireplace in the corner of the room. She felt a draft coming down from the peak over the dormer and shivered. Ryder lay flat on his back, his black hair damp with perspiration across his forehead and neck, muttering to himself. “Need a hat. A green hat. Big feather. My Jo needs a hat. Feather…fly…my Jo.”
Dodie turned on her father, hands on hips, eyes blazing. “And you two, what were you doing? You were downstairs tossing back shots of whiskey. He has a fever, damn it. Someone should’ve been up here taking care of him. Go away. Just go away.”
The men backed out of the room. Dodie closed the door on their backs. “I’ll get some water in a basin and a cloth.”
Jo picked up a small brown bottle off the stool beside the bed and read the label. “The doctor must have left this. We don’t know if he gave him some already. I don’t want to take the risk of double dosing him. Yes, we’ll need a basin and a pitcher of cool water and some clean clothes.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jo dipped the washcloth in the cool basin of water and laid it across Ryder’s fevered brow. Dodie, her head lying on a pillow she’d made from Jo’s cape and wrapped in one of the blankets Ryder had kicked off the bed, had fallen asleep hours ago on the rug by the fireplace. The sun broke through the cold fog and filled the room with a cheerless, gray light. A wet slush of snow lay on the main street below.
Ryder’s wound wasn’t fatal, but the fever and the infection could kill. He’d stopped thrashing and muttering an hour or so after Jo had begun to nurse him with her cold water baths.
He took a deep shuddering breath, smiled, and opened his eyes. “Have to find my Jo a new hat,” he said to her and went to sleep. A sound sleep, a peaceful sleep. She felt of his forehead, sweaty and damp, but cool, and laid her head down on his thigh and wept.
»»•««
Ryder woke weak and clammy, the sheet beneath him wet and sweat soaked. The little fire in the fireplace blazed away, but he felt a draft coming from somewhere above his head. Jo lay with her head
on his thigh with her arms stretched out on either side of his torso. He wanted to lay a hand on her head, but hesitated, afraid he’d wake her.
Royce stood in the doorway. “So you’ve come to. Dodie wanted me to check on you. She’s in our room just below you. She slept on the floor up here. She dragged herself down to our room around midday.”
Ryder put his finger to his lips and asked in a whisper, “What time is it? What day is it?”
Royce came closer to the bed on tiptoe. “It’s almost four o’clock, Sunday.”
Ryder relaxed against his damp pillow. “Good. The train? What about the train?”
Royce put his hand on his shoulder. “Telt and I saw the train off this morning. Prisoners were fed and watered, tucked in, and well-guarded. They should arrive in Portland before dawn tomorrow.” He handed Ryder a telegram. “This came for you about an hour ago.”
Ryder started to take it and winced, forgetting about the wound. “You read it,” he said with his eyes closed, seeing flashes of red behind his eyelids as the fire shot up the back of his neck.
Royce snorted and flicked the telegram open. “Pinkerton pleased-stop. Gather records-stop. Send all ASAP-stop.” Royce, brows puckered asked, “What’s ASAP?”
Ryder shook his head. “As-soon-as-possible. Pinkerton is cheap. He hates long telegrams.
Jo? I thought I told you not to bring her here.” Ryder said, one eye open, struggling to ignore the hot fire in his right shoulder.
Royce shook his head at him. “Didn’t bring her. She and Dodie marched into town with a mission, and there was no stopping them. Telt and I took a blistering, I can tell you. She’s been here all night. Wouldn’t let anyone else touch you, not even Dodie. Twyla-Rose and Grace told us at breakfast she wants to run the school. She wants the other teachers to partner up and keep it running.”
Ryder slumped back and closed his eyes. Of course, she would. Why would she want to hitch her wagon up with an unreliable fool like himself? A half-breed, an Indian? That would be crazy. Jo deserved better than a part-time, here-and-then-gone-again man. He couldn’t ask her to do it, give up her dream of being a teacher to become what? His sometimes wife. But he couldn’t let her go. It would kill him to think of her with another man. The world would frown on her, shun her, cast her aside in disgrace if she stayed a single lady and took an Indian, a Pinkerton man for a lover. His Jo, how to keep her and let her go? He didn’t have the answer.
Jo and the Pinkerton Man Page 18