He leaned back against the wall and let his chin drop to his chest. Sleep never quite arrived, but he heard sounds in the town that weren’t part of any dream. Horses and boisterous music from the dance halls and the joyful cries of cowboys come to town to whoop it up. Somewhere mixed into that stew pot of humanity floated Crazy Water Benedict. The bank robbery was going to happen, as sure as the sun came up every morning. But when? And what did the other prisoner have to tell Benedict?
Almost asleep, Luke heard a scratching sound outside the barred window. He looked over to see the marshal still snoring at his desk. The other prisoner had also drifted off to sleep. Climbing up to look out again, he hunted the shadows for whatever caused the curious, rhythmic sound. Craning his neck, he managed to look straight down the outer wall. A floppy-brimmed hat hid the face of whoever used a rock to scratch at the wall.
“You can’t dig through that way. The wall’s too thick,” he said.
“Shut up. You got yourself into a real pickle this time.” The shadowy figure dropped the rock.
Luke’s heart skipped a beat. A woman! This had to be the woman back in Preston who had gotten him out of jail.
“I need help. The marshal wants to hold me for a week.”
“What’s so bad about getting fed three times a day and having a roof over your head?”
“The Rhoades gang!” The words exploded from a reservoir of hatred deep inside him. Trying to hold back his emotions wasn’t possible. “They’re planning a robbery, but you don’t care about that. Get me out of here!”
“You’re going to stop them? All by yourself?” The woman laughed. This further irritated him.
“You sprung me before. Do it again. I’ll owe you.”
“Tell me everything about the man in the next cell. Everything.”
“He was talking to Benedict. Crazy Water Benedict. He’s—”
“Never mind that. Tell me what you know.” Her testy voice made Luke want to snap at her, but she was outside the jail and he was locked in the cell.
“I think he was telling Benedict something about the bank. He doesn’t have a wanted poster on him. The marshal would have recognized him if he rode with the gang. From a few things he said, he might be a local who’s joined up.”
“Is that something you believe?”
Luke thought a moment. He shifted around hoping to get a better look at her. The broad-brimmed hat prevented him from seeing any part of her face.
“I don’t know. Rhoades is mighty picky about who he lets ride with him. Ever since the war, he’s never had a big gang. But they’re crazy fanatical following him.” He paused a moment and thought a little harder. “He buys information about train schedules and the best spot to hold up a stage. The guy I had the dustup with in the saloon doesn’t dress like a cowboy. More likely he works somewhere around town.”
“At the bank?”
“I didn’t see him when the marshal introduced me to the bank president.” Luke waited for a reaction. He got none. The woman either cared nothing about that or she already knew about his sightseeing tour of the vault.
“He doesn’t have the look of a teller, either,” Luke went on. “Rough-and-tumble. Maybe a clerk at a store near the bank. He could be a lookout. Yeah, that’s possible.” He thought out loud now. “Rhoades will use him to warn them when to rob the bank or if the law gets too close.”
“There’s a mining supply store at the edge of town. He doesn’t have to be a full member of the gang. If what you say is true, Benedict is only paying him off for whatever he finds out about the gold shipment schedules and anything else affecting the timing for the robbery.”
“If he worked there, how’d he pass along anything about the bank to the robbers without somebody getting suspicious? The wanted posters have been sent to every lawman in the entire state.”
“You’ve blundered into some good information, Mister Hadley.”
“You know my name. What do I call you? I suppose you got me free from the Preston jail by sweet-talking Marshal Hargrove. How can I properly thank you?”
“Consider us even stephen.”
“Wait!” He strained even more to look out. All he saw was the woman’s shadow-cloaked shape melt into deeper shadows. She was gone.
Luke spun around and sat on the bed. It wouldn’t be long before she got him out just like she’d done before. He was still impatient and almost jumped out of his skin when the outer jail door opened.
The marshal came awake in a flash, his hand going to his six-gun. He saw whoever was outside but Luke couldn’t. But it had to be the mystery woman. His benefactor had come to help him out of another jam.
“Ma’am, this is real unusual,” the marshal said, looking over his shoulder into the cells. “I don’t usually conduct business this late at night.”
“Please, Marshal, make an exception.”
Luke’s heart pounded. It was her! Finally!
“I do so want to help out my friend. Letting him spend the night in a jail cell, even one as clean and pleasant as yours, will put him in such a bad mood.”
“I can believe that. The fine’s likely to be steep.”
“Would a hundred dollars cover it?”
“Purty near. At least for his share of the destruction. They busted up the saloon good and proper.”
Luke caught his breath. A gloved hand stretched out into the jail just far enough for him to see five twenty-dollar gold pieces resting in the woman’s palm. The marshal took it, bit down on one coin to be sure it was gold, then tucked the money into his vest pocket.
“He’s a lucky man to have a friend like you, ma’am.”
Luke bounced with energy now. The marshal was right. And Luke didn’t even know the woman’s name or why she was championing him. He intended to find out before he hit the trail to rescue his wife.
He stepped back from the door so the marshal could open it. He let out a cry of outrage when the lawman opened the other man’s cell.
“You’re free to go.”
“Wha . . . ? What’s that?”
“Clear out. You’ve been bailed out.” The other cell door swung wide. The man shot out, waited impatiently for the marshal to return his six-shooter, then ran into the night.
“She was bailing me out! You let the wrong man go!”
“No sir, that’s not true. The little lady was quite specific about which of you to let go.”
“So how do I get out?”
“Might be paying for all the destruction you caused would smooth ruffled feathers.”
“I have money!” Luke had a wad of greenbacks as well as a few coins. The profit he’d made from selling his farm to the railroad for right-of-way had been paid out in gold dust. He had sewn it into the hems of his coat for safekeeping, letting a few grains free every now and then when he needed spending money. The coat still weighed him down, so he had a young fortune left, in addition to the coins and scrip. The princely sum had financed his hunt for Benedict without need of taking a job just to eat.
“I’ll see what the tally is in the morning.”
“Morning! Now. I want out now!”
“The saloon owner’s in bed by now. He don’t like to be disturbed. Besides, there’s no reason for you to be in a hurry. You just curl up and get some shut-eye. I’ll find out what the damage’ll cost you, and you can be out of here before I have to feed you lunch.”
“Lunch!”
“If you don’t quiet down, you might be spending more time ’n that, compliments of Crossroads.”
Luke sank to the bed, stunned. He felt betrayed. Worse, the trail was getting colder every minute he was stuck in the cell. Lady Luck had to deliver a powerful amount of good tidings for him to find the other man.
If he ever found who the woman was, he’d make her pay for this betrayal.
CHAPTER SEVEN
&nb
sp; LUKE HADLEY SPENT the night in the cell, getting madder and madder. By the time the marshal acknowledged him around noon the next day, he was ready to chew nails and spit tacks. The woman had paid the fine—bribe!—and let the outlaw go free. Luke felt his chances of finding Rhoades and Benedict and the other cutthroats in that “family” slipping away with every second he spent in the cell.
“Come on with me. You said you got money?” The marshal stood back a pace from the cell door and fixed a cold gaze on his prisoner.
“I do. You want it?”
“I’m not that kind of lawman.”
“Then why’d you let one of Rhoades’s men go free last night?”
“He wasn’t any kind of outlaw. Whatever gave you that idea?” Wilkes looked as if he wanted to spit. Luke felt the same, but for an entirely different reason.
“You know him?” A cold lump formed in Luke’s belly. The notion that the marshal was in cahoots with Rhoades had never crossed his mind. Crossroads looked peaceable enough and Wilkes had been friendly enough with the banker. The tension there came from a small army outside the marshal’s control guarding the bank.
“I know Nelson well enough. He’s a drifter and came into town a couple months back. He’s worked pretty steadily and kept his nose clean until you bloodied it.”
Luke wanted to rage but knew it’d do him no good.
“Who was the woman who bailed him out?”
The lawman shook his head.
“I don’t have any idea, but she convinced me you were the dangerous one. Now, are you living up to your promise to pay for the damage or do I keep you in that cell until I can figure how to make you work it off? From the look of the wreckage, you’d be scrubbing floors and mucking stables for a month of Sundays. Then again, I’m sure the mayor would go along with punishment worse than that.”
“You’d put me on a chain gang?” The very notion of being shackled and forced to break rocks or swing a pick for a month or two infuriated him. He was no stranger to hard work and had cleared more than one field of stone and stump by himself, but by the time he got free, Rhoades and his gang would be long gone. It had been hard enough finding the general terrain where they roamed. As bad as it was for the Tomlinsons and the Willum girl, Rhoades had tipped his hand burning down the way station.
Or by blowing it up. Luke’s thoughts drifted for a moment. The road agents had horses. Rhoades had to feed his peculiar desire to use dynamite wherever possible by buying—or stealing—the explosive.
“You still with us? You got a far-off look in your eye that’s not going to be satisfied unless you pay up. The notion of locking you onto a chain gang isn’t something we do around here. Besides, you’re the only prisoner. That’s not much of a gang.”
Luke snapped back to the here and now. Buying his way out of jail was the first step. Tracking down any place Rhoades might steal dynamite was next.
“I’ll pay whatever is fair.” Luke knew his willingness to pay for the damage went beyond that. He’d pay whatever got him off the hook and out of this jail cell.
“That’s what I wanted to hear. Come along now, and don’t do anything stupid. You’ve already done enough of that for a lifetime.”
Luke walked ahead of the marshal to the saloon. Every step he worried the lawman had a pistol trained on him. Any stumble and a .45 slug would shatter his spine or blow the back of his head off. Reasons for Wilkes’s precaution became apparent when he pushed through the batwing doors and stared at the saloon interior. He hadn’t any good notion of how badly busted up the place was. The light of day caused his heart to sink. He had a pocketful of greenbacks but paying for the destruction would take most of it. But that was all right if he walked free.
“Mister Underwood there, he’s the barkeep and part owner. You got a bill done up, Billy?”
Underwood glared and muttered under his breath. He reached under the bar and pulled out two sheets of foolscap. Luke winced at the sight of the tiny rows of numbers marching from top to bottom of both sheets. Beside each number rode an explanation of what had been destroyed in the melee.
“I didn’t cause all the damage,” Luke protested. “That table! The one with the bullet holes in it. I saw a gambler fire his derringer and . . .” His voice trailed off. His protest fell on deaf ears. The way the marshal tapped his fingers on the butt of his now holstered Colt reminded Luke of his real purpose. Saving a few dollars meant less than getting free.
He grabbed the sheets and ran down the list. More than three hundred dollars seemed excessive in a place that got busted up on a regular basis. For all he knew, more damage was done to the saloon every Saturday night than he’d caused. Grumbling but making sure neither the barkeep nor the marshal heard his cursing, he pulled out the sweat-stained wad of greenbacks and started counting them out on the bar.
“There’s your blood money.” Luke saw how Underwood bristled at that and immediately regretted the gibe. He mumbled an apology.
“You satisfied, Billy?” The marshal leaned over and put his elbows on the bar.
“I am, Marshal Wilkes.”
“Then serve me a shot of your best rye whiskey, and I’ll be on my way. Mister Hadley will pay for it. Pour one for yourself, if you’ve a mind. He’s feeling right generous about now.”
“Make it three shots,” Luke said. He fumbled in his vest pocket and found two bits in silver. He dropped the coin on the bar. It spun around twice, its silver melody mocking him.
“Two. I ain’t drinkin’ with the likes of you.” Underwood slapped it flat with his hand, poured two shots and stalked off, counting the stack of greenbacks again to be sure Luke didn’t cheat him.
“Make this your last drink here,” the marshal said. “Not banning you officially or anything like that. That’d be up to a judge, and he won’t come this way for a spell. Just offering up a bit of common sense. I don’t think Mister Underwood there has taken a shine to you. No, sir, not at all.”
“Or the galoot I was fighting with.”
“Nelson might not have the sense God gave a goose, but he’s not dumb enough to come in here again. We got plenty of other drinking emporiums in Crossroads. You keep your nose clean, hear?” The marshal lavished one long last cold stare in Luke’s direction, then left.
The barkeep came back, his expression stormy. “You follow him out. I don’t want you in here.” The bartender laid a six-gun on the bar, his intent plain. If Luke hightailed it, nobody got shot up.
Luke touched the empty holster at his side. He had to retrieve his sidearm from the marshal, not that he wanted a shootout with the barkeep. He needed information and swapping lead wasn’t the way to get it.
“Yup,” Luke said, “me and Nelson tore up this place good.” He saluted Underwood with the full shot glass and downed the last of his whiskey. It burned all the way to his empty belly. It had been a while since he’d had a decent meal, and he hadn’t been fed in the jailhouse. In that regard, Preston came out ahead in the race for best Kansas jail. He wiped the stray drop off his lip and carefully put the glass on the bar. “I should go patch things up between us.”
“The way he’s so reckless, he’ll blow himself up before you get the chance. Good riddance to him. And to you. But you go on, find him. Let him blow you both to kingdom come.” Underwood rested his hand on the gun. If Luke thought the marshal’s glare was cold, he felt polar shivers from the barkeep.
He didn’t quite dance on his way out, but he felt more optimistic than he had in weeks. He had learned the name of the man who’d talked with Benedict. Even better, he had a good idea what was being bandied about. Rollie Rhoades enjoyed blowing up buildings and bridges—and stagecoach depots with people still inside. It sounded as if Nelson could supply him with explosives. There couldn’t be too many places, even in a prosperous and growing town like Crossroads, where farmers went to buy up dynamite to blast stumps or builders got their explosiv
es to crush rocks in the roadways.
In spite of his eagerness to find Nelson, he went back to the jail. The marshal had broken down his six-shooter to clean it. The smell of gun oil made Luke’s nose wrinkle. Soon enough, he’d have to clean his own Model 3 because it had been fired to send a bullet smack-dab through Benedict’s vile heart. He could put off oiling the six-shooter until after that deadly reunion.
“I wondered if you were leaving this behind.” The lawman opened a drawer and took out Luke’s gun. He slid it across the desk. “Don’t get too antsy about using it, not in my town. I try to keep things peaceable. That commotion last night is as grievous as I ever want to see in Crossroads. You understand me?”
“Thanks, Marshal.” Luke broke open the action and checked to be sure a fresh cartridge rode in each cylinder. He had no reason to think he would use the gun anytime soon, but he wanted to be ready. If his path crossed Rhoades’s, there’d be lead flying. What he would do when he found Benedict depended on what it took to find Audrey.
“Don’t make me run you out of town—or worse.”
“Worse? What? You said you didn’t cotton to chain gangs. You’d tar and feather me?” Luke laughed at that. The marshal kept a serious expression.
“I don’t want to take you out of town in a pine box. Our cemetery’s getting mighty full. Get along, now.” Wilkes grumbled to himself as he carefully oiled his pistol. Luke saw the weapon had been used hard and cared for so it wouldn’t fail when needed.
Seeing the well-used six-shooter provided better advice than what the marshal put into words.
Iron riding at his hip once more, he felt ready to take on his weight in wildcats. The first place he went was the general store. The clerk looked up when he came in and turned white.
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