Frenchy nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "And if the Indians have started raidin' around here, I reckon the folks in town need to know." He looked up at the horsemen. "Lon, you feel up to ridin' into Wind River?"
"Sure, Frenchy," Lon answered without hesitation. For one thing, the chore would get him away from that smell.
"Find that marshal and tell him about it. He don't have any jurisdiction out here, but he's about all the law there is in this part of the country right now. I figure he'll want to wire the army and let them know what happened out here, too."
"You think it was them Shoshone who done this, Frenchy?" asked another man.
"Don't know who else it could've been." Frenchy looked at Lon. "Go on now, kid. But keep your eyes and ears open and ride careful. You don't want to run into the bunch what did this."
"No, sir," Lon muttered. "I sure don't."
He turned his horse and heeled it into a trot that carried him rapidly away from the burned-out farm. He knew he could find the trail to Wind River even in the darkness, so that wasn't worrying him.
But as he rode he asked himself what kind of men could slaughter an innocent family like the one back there at that farm. Lon felt cold inside, colder than the night air around him.
And the chill grew as he realized he had no answer to the question he had asked himself.
Chapter 3
Cole started toward the Chinese as they clustered together on the boardwalk in front of the Territorial House. Before he could reach them, a shout came from across the street.
"Hey! There's a bunch of those damned Chinamen now!"
Cole saw half a dozen men standing on the opposite boardwalk and looking at the newcomers to Wind River. None of them appeared to be very happy, either. Casebolt was a couple of doors down the street on that side, and Cole called to him, "Billy!" When the deputy looked over, Cole gestured toward the group of men. Casebolt started toward them.
The deputy was too late. Already the men were stalking out into the street, heading for the Territorial House. From their clothes, Cole judged them to be railroad workers, which made them among the last people he would have preferred to witness the arrival of the Chinese.
Casebolt stepped down off the boardwalk after them and said, "Here now, hold on, you fellers—"
They ignored him and began shouting curses at the foreigners. Quickly, Cole moved to put himself between the Chinese and the railroad workers. He rested his right hand on the butt of his revolver and raised the left.
"Hold it!" he told the railroad men. "Whatever you boys are thinking about doing, you'd better just move on and forget about it. There's not going to be any trouble here."
The men stopped, but they didn't look any less angry. One of them said, "Stay out of this, Marshal. It ain't any of your business."
"The hell it's not," Cole shot back coldly. "You were planning to jump these people, and don't waste your breath and my time denying it."
Another man pointed at the Chinese, his finger shaking from the fury that gripped him. "Look at em!" he demanded. "They're just a bunch of yellow heathens, come here to take the bread out of the mouths of white men! How can you stand there and protect 'em and call yourself a lawman, Tyler?"
Cole forced down the anger welling up inside him. "We don't know how come they're here," he said, trying to sound reasonable, "and anyway, I told you to move along."
Billy Casebolt added from behind the railroad men, "You'd best do what the marshal says, fellers." He had his own gun drawn, and the workers looked uneasily over their shoulders at him. If push came to shove, the two lawmen had them in a cross fire, and they knew it.
Cole could see their anger and the desire to cause trouble fading in their eyes, but before it had a chance to go away completely, a new voice said stridently, "We are not afraid! You will please to move, Marshal. We will fight our own battles."
Surprised, Cole glanced behind him and saw one of the young men who had been riding in the back of the wagon. He had stepped forward, a little apart from the others, and was ignoring the older man plucking at the sleeve of his tunic. His smooth features were set in taut lines, and his dark eyes blazed with emotion.
"Take it easy, son," Cole told him. "It's my job to handle things like—"
He didn't get to finish his sentence. The young man's hand made a quick move, and steel shone in his grip. He brandished the dagger and exclaimed, "We can take care of ourselves!"
One of the railroad men yelled, "The Chinaman's got a knife! He's tryin' to stab the marshal!"
Cole knew that wasn't true; the young man's dagger was nowhere near him. But that didn't stop the deep-throated shouts of rage that came from several of the railroad men as they charged forward. Cole twisted to the side as he drew his gun, but before he could bring it to bear, one of the men crashed into him, knocking him aside. "I'll save you, Marshal!" the man yelled.
Cole knew better. They were just using the sudden appearance of the knife as an excuse to stampede past him and attack the Chinese. "Stop it, you fools!" he called. Casebolt shouted at them, too, but they ignored him as well.
More knives had appeared in the hands of the young Chinese men. They looked frightened but determined as they moved to protect the older man and woman, drawing themselves into a ring around their elders.
The railroad men were too infuriated by the very presence of the Chinese in Wind River to be thinking too straight—or worrying about knives. After weeks of rumors about how the Chinese were going to come in and take over the jobs of the Union Pacific work crews, nobody was in any mood to stop and think.
Instead, they just attacked.
One of the workers swung a big fist at the young man who had spoken. The Chinese youth ducked under the blow easily and lashed out with the knife. The railroad man let out a howl of pain and jerked back, clutching his arm. Blood welled up between his fingers.
A few feet away on the boardwalk, another one of the Chinese wasn't fast enough to avoid a punch. A railroad man's fist crashed into his face and rocked him back, so that his feet got tangled with those of a couple of his companions. Two of the Chinese lost their balance and went to their knees. A railroad man kicked one of them in the chest and sent him sprawling.
The older man and woman were shouting rapidly and excitedly in their native tongue as the fracas ebbed and flowed around them. Cole didn't understand any of the words, but he could tell how agitated the couple was. He wondered if the young men were their sons. Not that it mattered right now; the important thing was to break up this fight before it got any worse.
Cole had drawn his gun instinctively. Now he shoved it back in its holster and reached out to grab the shoulders of one of the railroad men. He jerked the burly Irishman around and slammed a hard right cross against his jaw.
The punch staggered the railroad man but didn't send him down. The man caught his balance, grated a curse, and lunged at Cole, wrapping both arms around him in a bear hug. The momentum of the charge earned both men off the boardwalk and sent them crashing into the dust of the street.
His breath knocked out of him by the fall, Cole gasped for air and at the same time got the heel of one hand underneath his opponents chin. He forced the man's head back until there was no choice but to release Cole.
The marshal rolled away and surged to his feet, his chest still heaving. He was ready when the railroad man started up. A right and a left sent the man tumbling backward again.
On the boardwalk, Billy Casebolt was also struggling with one of the railroad workers. There was a lot more wiry strength in Casebolt than his scrawny frame would indicate. He had his left arm looped around the man's neck from behind and was using his right to drive punches into the side of the man's head. The railroad worker suddenly bent over almost double, however, taking Casebolt with him. The man reached back, grabbed the deputy's shirt, and heaved as hard as he could.
Casebolt found himself flying through the air for a dizzying instant before landing with stunning force on the boardwalk.
A foot slammed into his side in a vicious kick before he could get out of the way.
Due to the involvement of the lawmen in the battle, the odds had shifted enough so that the young Chinese men were holding their own against the other railroad workers. Another of the Irishmen was bleeding from a knife slash by now, and as they were forced back one of them reached into his pocket and brought out a short-barreled Smith & Wesson revolver.
Cole was turning away from the man he had just knocked out when he saw the lamplight from the hotel shine on the barrel of the pocket pistol. The railroad worker was lifting the gun toward the Chinese men, his face contorted by hate as he prepared to fire.
Cole's .44 leaped into his hand and roared first, and the railroad man yelped in pain as the slug burned across his forearm. The Smith & Wesson slipped from his fingers as he stumbled backward and grabbed his bullet-creased arm.
Spotting Casebolt on the boardwalk about to get stomped by another of the railroad men, Cole leveled the revolver and eared back the hammer. "Back off, mister!" he ordered loudly.
"Better do it, Feeney," advised the man Cole had just wounded. His voice was thick with pain. "The son of a bitch creased me, and it was mighty slick shootin'."
"I was aiming to break the bone," Cole told him curtly. "But next time I won't miss."
The man looming over Casebolt slowly lowered his foot and stepped back. He scowled at Cole as he moved over to join the other railroad workers. Cole kept them covered while Casebolt climbed to his feet, punched his hat back into some semblance of its original shape, and settled it on his sparse gray hair.
The deputy winced a little every time he moved, and Cole figured he had some bruised ribs, at the very least.
"You all right, Billy?" he asked.
Casebolt nodded. "I will be, soon's we get these here varmints in jail."
"Jail?" one of the men exclaimed. "What the hell for?"
"Disturbing the peace and assaulting an officer of the law, for starters," Cole said. "Maybe attempted murder. You meant to kill these folks when you jumped them, didn't you?"
"We just wanted to hand 'em a good beatin' so they'd leave these parts and never come back," one of the men replied sullenly. "It ain't fair we have to go to jail just for defendin' our own rights!"
A crowd was beginning to gather, drawn by the gunshot and the preceding commotion. Quite a few of them were railroad men, and mutters of agreement came from them.
Cole glanced around but didn't see too many friendly faces. None, in fact.
The crowd had the makings of a mob, he sensed, and this disturbance could turn into a full-fledged riot if he wasn't careful. He spotted the men who had been fighting in Hank Parker's tent saloon earlier, and they added their voices to the growing shouts of disapproval.
Cole exchanged a glance with Casebolt, who swallowed hard. The deputy had drawn his gun again, but two guns against thirty or forty angry men wouldn't amount to much. Still, Cole wasn't in the habit of letting anybody buffalo him, even if he was outnumbered.
"What's going on out here?"
The new voice cut through the clamor and got everyone's attention immediately because it was female. An attractive woman whose thick dark hair fell to her shoulders strode out of the hotel and looked around at the people gathered on the boardwalk and in the street. She wore a dark blue gown that was elegant in its simplicity. There was a touch of imperiousness in her attitude as she folded her arms, arched a curved eyebrow, and waited for an answer to her question.
"You shouldn't be out here right now, Mrs. McKay," Cole said. Reluctantly, he moved his gaze away from her and back to the railroad workers who had been fighting with the Chinese.
"I heard a shot right in front of my hotel," Simone McKay said. "Naturally I'm going to investigate." There was no fear in her eyes, but perhaps a little uneasiness appeared in them as she surveyed the hostile crowd.
Following the deaths of both her husband and his partner, Simone had inherited everything that had been established by Andrew McKay and William Durand. She owned the hotel, the general store, the newspaper, and practically all of the land on which Wind River was built. Some of the businesses merely rented the buildings where they were housed, while Simone held the notes on other merchants. She was a very rich woman.
But none of that would ever bring back the husband she had lost, Cole knew, and he was aware that Simone was still in mourning for Andrew McKay. With each week that passed, however, he saw more life returning to her eyes, more animation creeping back into her lovely features. One of these days, she was going to be ready to have a man in her life again. Cole hadn't given that time much thought, but in the back of his mind, he knew it was coming.
At the moment he was more concerned with keeping Simone out of the middle of the trouble threatening to break loose. She was in no mood to be kept out, however. When Cole hesitated in answering her question, she turned to Casebolt and demanded, "Well? What about you, Deputy? Can you tell me what's happening out here?"
"Uh . . . well, ma'am, some of these fellers were a mite upset with those Celestial folks there—"
Simone swung toward the Chinese as if noticing them for the first time. "Is one of you named Wang Po?" she asked.
The older man stepped forward. He clasped his hands together in front of him, bowed slightly, and said in excellent English, "I am called Wang Po. And you are Mrs. McKay?"
"That's right. I wasn't expecting you and your family for another few days. You made good time on your journey."
Cole stared at Simone for a few seconds, then said, "Wait a minute. You know these folks, Mrs. McKay?"
"Of course I do," replied Simone. "I sent for them."
The crowd had fallen silent during the exchange, their curiosity getting the better of their anger. Now one of the men called out, "We thought they came here to work on the railroad."
"Hardly," Simone said, raising her voice a little so that everyone could hear her. "I've hired Wang Po and his family to work here in the hotel."
"They're not going to lay track for the Union Pacific?" Cole asked, as surprised as everyone else. Even though he had been defending the Chinese from the angry railroad workers, he had leaped to the same conclusion about why they were here in Wind River.
"Certainly not. What makes you believe that's why they came here?" Simone wanted to know.
"Well, the Central Pacific uses coolies for work crews," Cole began.
"I beg your pardon, Marshal," Wang Po cut in, "but we are not coolies."
"Of course not," Simone said. "I've hired Wang Po and his wife to be my cooks, and their sons will help out around the hotel. There are plenty of chores that need doing."
Another man in the crowd called out, "Cooks? You expect a Chinaman to cook for white folks? Hell, those heathens don't even eat the same things we do!"
Before Simone could answer, Wang Po himself looked at the man who had protested and said, "I cooked in a hash house in San Francisco for several years after my family and I came to this country during the Gold Rush. After that I was the cook for a ranch in the San Joaquin Valley. I can fry up the best steak you've ever eaten, my friend, and my biscuits will melt in your mouth. If you want tortillas and enchiladas, I can do that, too. And my coffee will put hair on your chest." Wang Po regarded the man serenely and added, "That seems to be a commodity you could do with a bit more of."
"What'd he say?" the railroader demanded, but the question was drowned out by laughter from some of the others in the crowd.
Billy Casebolt edged forward. "You know, all this talk reminds me that I ain't had supper yet. You reckon you could whip somethin' up this evenin', Mr. Po?"
"Most assuredly," the Chinese man replied. "That is, if Mrs. McKay here will kindly show me to the hotel's kitchen . . . ?"
"Of course," Simone said warmly. "You and your family come inside. I've had quarters prepared for all of you."
"Wait just a damned minute!" called out one of the men in the crowd as Simone, Casebolt, and the Chines
e turned toward the front door of the hotel. As the bystanders looked at him he went on, "If you believe that story, you're nothing but a bunch of damn fools! They came here to work on the railroad. There ain't enough chores around the hotel to keep half a dozen able-bodied men busy!"
Cole had thought of that himself, but he didn't want to lose the progress that had been made toward heading off a riot. He said sharply, "You'd better think about what you're saying, mister. You just called Mrs. McKay a liar."
That charge brought a few angry mutters from the crowd. The railroad men had no particular reason to be fond of Simone, but they subscribed to the same rough code that most men on the frontier followed, and that included respecting women—any and all women, as long as they were decent.
The man who had objected now grimaced. "Hell, I didn't mean to do that. It just don't make sense to me, that's all."
"Mrs. McKay doesn't have to explain herself," Cole snapped. At least, he added silently to himself, she didn't have to explain herself to a bunch of troublemakers in the street. But later on, as soon as he got a chance to talk to her privately, he wanted some answers to his own questions.
As the law in Wind River, it was his right to know what was going on in town.
Cole turned to Simone. "Go ahead and take your new help inside, ma'am." He wanted the Chinese off the street and out of sight, where they wouldn't stir up so much commotion.
Simone gave him a quick smile, then led Wang Po and his family into the hotel. Casebolt started to follow, intent on sampling the work of the hotel's new cook, but Cole called him back. "We've still got our rounds to finish up," he reminded the deputy. He had decided not to press charges against the men who had tried to attack the Chinese. With the crowd in a better mood now, he wanted to keep it that way.
"Yeah, I reckon you're right," Casebolt said reluctantly. "Maybe the dinin' room'll still be open time we get finished."
Some of the men in the street were beginning to drift away now. Obviously, there wasn't going to be any more violence, and the lure of the saloons was too strong to be resisted for very long. Cole watched the crowd break up and was glad things hadn't gotten any worse. For a few minutes there, they had been plenty bad enough.
Thunder Wagon (Wind River Book 2) Page 3