McCrory's Lady

by Henke, Shirl Henke

  He stood up and slipped from the room as Eden fought sleep, too drained to protest further. The ledger lay on the desk where Eden had placed it. He took the wrapped bundle and slid it inside a drawer. Win Barker and his cohorts would have to wait. There was a more important matter to be attended to first. Cursing Colin McCrory for his mule-headed Scots pride, Wolf set out in search of him.

  * * * *

  Win Barker sat behind his desk, staring at the telegram. Lazlo was dead and that breed gunman was on his way to Tucson to give McCrory Lamp's incriminating records. What should he do? One hour earlier, another wire had arrived all the way from Washington. His agent back East had just learned that a complete investigation was being instituted in the Bureau of Indian Affairs by Secretary of the Interior Schurz. That idiot Potkin must have inadvertently given out some damning information about conditions on White Mountain Reservation. Even if Barker blasted McCrory out of the water by revealing his past as a scalper, it would not save the ring. Their days of lucrative contracts with the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the Army were numbered.

  As if that were not enough, he had made a deadly enemy in Colin McCrory, especially when the Scot learned of their bungled attempt to kill his daughter. “McCrory will come gunning for me in revenge—or to keep me from telling about his past. And he'll have that breed with him!”

  Barker cursed furiously, mopping the sour sweat from his brow onto a grimy handkerchief. Damn that bastard from Prescott, sitting all safe and secure. Win Barker took all the chances and dealt with the riffraff and cutthroat killers while the politician manipulated things from behind the scenes. “No one even knows who he is!”

  Trembling with fear and fury, he stood up, looking wildly around the messy office. Ledgers and papers lay scattered everywhere. Maybe, the best thing would be to pack up all the cash he had on hand and hightail it for Mexico—or New Orleans. He had a good amount of money in the wall safe and lots more in the bank. He could arrange to have it transferred from Tucson to wherever he decided it was safest to resettle.

  But what of the records—the accounts, bills of sale for reservation cattle, requisitions for food and blankets? Frantically, he started to stack the books and papers into piles. “I'll burn them before I go. That's what.

  Maybe for a little while everyone will think I died in the fire,” he muttered to himself as he built a pyramid of documents on his desk.

  “What a superb idea, Win. But why disappoint Colin McCrory by only pretending to die? Why not give him—and all the other Apache-loving fools in Washington—a dead ringleader?”

  As the figure materialized from the shadows in the hallway, Win Barker dropped a fistful of papers and dived for his desk drawer where he kept his Navy Colt.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Outside in the alley behind the huge mercantile, Colin and Ed watched a shadowy figure open the back door with a key and slip furtively inside. They waited a few minutes, then followed silently. Just inside the door, Colin nearly tripped over the body of Barker's guard. He knelt, using the dim light streaming in from the alley to check the fallen man. “He's dead,” he whispered. “His skull's been caved in.”

  Ed stepped gingerly over the corpse and followed Colin into the dark interior. The crowded warehouse was littered with boxes and crates of every size and description. The killer had lit a kerosene lamp and made his way through the labyrinth. Ed stumbled on a keg before Colin could grab her.

  “Ouch,” she hissed. “I'd better light my candle. We saw his lamp move upstairs.”

  “All right. Light it.” Colin had his gun drawn and ready. “Something about this whole situation is definitely not right. Whoever that was, he might just be your unknown man from the legislature.”

  “What would he be doing in Tucson now?” Ed speculated, shielding the candle's flickering glow. They made their way toward the low rumble of voices emanating from upstairs. Sounds of a struggle quickly ensued. The solid thud of a body hitting the floor was followed by the rustling of papers and the sounds of something splashing.

  “What do you suppose is going on?” Ed asked.

  Colin squeezed her arm to silence her. “Wait here,” he commanded, reaching for the candle.

  Ed jerked her hand back, causing the hot wax to splash across her fingers. She let the candle fall with a muffled gasp of pain and they were cast in sudden darkness. “I'm coming with you,” she whispered.

  Knowing it was useless to try to stop her, Colin shoved her behind him and began to ascend the creaking stairs. The sounds coming from the office had stopped completely now. Fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled in warning as Colin reached the top stair. Ed almost collided with him when he paused. He cursed silently, then took a cautious step toward the lighted office.

  Barker was sitting in his big chair, apparently looking out the front window. The lamplight reflected the pink sheen of his sweaty scalp between his thinning gray hair. His body was turned in profile, slumped at an awkward angle. Was he dead? Where was the intruder? Colin did not step into the room. Warning bells went off in his mind as the pungent smell of kerosene wafted out into the hall. Barker made a low groan and stirred in the chair, but before Colin could decide whether to approach the door or not, the sound of a shotgun being cocked at his right side made him freeze.

  “That will be quite far enough. I thought I heard someone downstairs, and since I knew the guard was dead, I hoped the intruder might be you. Drop the gun, McCrory. This handsome little piece will take out your unlikely companion right along with you.” He had a sawed-off Greener .10 gauge shotgun pointed at them.

  Colin could scarcely believe his ears. “So at last we learn who Barker's cohort in the legislature is.” He dropped his gun as the man in the darkness motioned him and Ed into Barker's office.

  Edward Stanley materialized from the shadows. The cold smile on his smooth face did not extend to his dark, calculating eyes. Hard eyes. “It would seem there will be two more fatalities in the fire. Such a tragedy.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “This will tie up all the loose ends. I heard you had been snooping around the capital asking questions, Miss Phibbs. Now you turn up here with McCrory.”

  “You can't expect to kill all of us and just walk away,” Ed said with amazing sangfroid.

  “I think he has to,” Colin interjected. “The guard outside recognized you, didn't he, Edward? You've been here before.”

  “You're hoping to cover up your association with Barker by setting a fire to destroy all the witnesses and records.” Ed moved a step to the left, away from Stanley as she sniffed the kerosene drenching Win's unconscious body.

  As she spoke, Colin imperceptibly moved nearer to Stanley. A shotgun at close range could only throw a pattern wide enough to take out one of them if they moved far enough apart. The kerosene was another problem. “You're the real power behind the ring, not Barker. He was just your go-between, wasn't he, Edward?” Colin's voice was even, almost conversational.

  “Barker was a greedy fool, but useful in his time. As was Caleb Lamp. A pity that when your daughter and her Apache watchdog arrive, they'll find you've gone to your death in a fiery inferno along with the man you were so intent on exposing.”

  A sudden fear far beyond his own predicament gripped Colin. “What do you mean about Eden and Wolf coming here?”

  Stanley chuckled, enjoying himself. “Oh, they've found Lamp's real books—which quite thoroughly incriminate dear Win here. With him dead and Eden prostrate with grief, I’ll take over. After all, who better to handle the investigation into all the ghastly malfeasance than a prominent member of the legislature?”

  “Who just hopes to be appointed territorial governor,” Colin added cynically.

  Stanley nodded, beaming malevolently. “I’ll be a hero.” His smile erased itself abruptly. “Pick up that kerosene can and finish splashing it around the office.”

  Colin and Ed exchanged a swift glance of understanding. Then, Colin bent over and picked up the can, again a half step cl
oser to Stanley.

  Ed calculated swiftly. They had only one chance—to start the very fire Stanley wanted. He had just handed Colin the weapon with which to seal his own doom. The kerosene. The mercantile interior was wooden, but the walls were stout adobe. It took up a full city block. A fire would level the place without spreading to the adjacent buildings. The only trick was for her and Colin to escape the inferno.

  “Your Mamá wouldn't approve of what you're doing, would she? Old Sophie's had you in leading strings all your life. Everyone in Prescott laughs about it behind your back.” Ed's calliope voice had never been more distractingly shrill, piping high, then low as she moved farther to Stanley's left.

  He whirled on her with an oath. “Don't speak of my mother, you scrawny hag!”

  Just as his attention was distracted, Colin splashed the kerosene across Stanley's body, then seized the barrel of the shotgun. It fired with a deafening roar, spraying the ceiling with pellets and raining plaster down on them.

  Colin held onto the gun barrel in a tug of war with Stanley, who stumbled against the door, slamming it closed behind him. As the two men wrestled, Stanley cocked the weapon to fire again. Without relinquishing his grip, Colin yelled, “Now!” He shoved Stanley and dived away.

  Ed Phibbs struck one of the matches she had taken from her pocket and threw it into the puddle of kerosene. The flash of the fire exploded, licking all around the big cluttered room filled with dry books and papers. Win Barker's soaked body went off like a Fourth of July flare, but he was not conscious enough to know what happened before he died. Edward Stanley was.

  The lightning-swift river of flames flashed across the floor as Stanley cried out and dropped the shotgun. He whirled and began to claw at the door. But he was too late. When he yanked it open, the draft only heightened the speed of the devouring blaze which raced up his back, creating a human torch.

  Stanley raced down the stairs, his screams echoing in the big empty warehouse as he crumpled halfway to the bottom. Fire enveloped the office along with thick, choking smoke. Colin saw that the narrow wooden stairs were impassable. Grabbing Ed's arm, he shoved her through the door and out into the hall. Flames licked at her baggy trousers but did not catch as she jumped across the trail of fire that Stanley had left in his wake.

  Colin yelled over the roar of cracking timber, “Quick, there must be another way out of this barn!”

  “I'm game to jump if we have to,” she yelled back as they ran down the hallway to the only door still accessible to them.

  Colin threw his weight against the solid wood several times as the flames drew closer. With an oath he turned to Ed, who quickly knelt and busily employed her skeleton key to the lock. It opened with a creak and they peered inside at a small storage room.

  * * * *

  Down the street Wolf Blake had heard the loud belch of a shotgun blast. When he had turned the corner onto the street facing Barker's Mercantile, flames were leaping up from the roof and smoke billowed from the entire second story of the block-long building.

  After searching all over town for Colin, Wolf had finally concluded that the only logical place he could be was with Barker. What the hell had happened between them to cause this conflagration? With an oath, he broke into a run; some gut instinct telling him that McCrory was trapped inside. When he reached the building, a crowd was gathering and a few hardy souls were starting a bucket brigade until the volunteer fire fighters could set up their equipment. It was evident to Wolf that their efforts would be futile, but at least the fire could be confined to Barker's warehouse. The adobe buildings in adjacent blocks were safe.

  He raced around into the alley where a back door stood ajar. Inside, the big mercantile's huge inventory was an inferno. By the light from the blaze he saw a dead body. It was not Colin. Just as he stepped back from his examination, two voices yelled from above him. McCrory's deep baritone was interspersed with the high-pitched bray of that peculiar newspaper woman.

  “Up here, someone!”

  “We need a rope!”

  Wolf stepped out of the door and looked up at a small narrow window with smoke pouring forth. He could barely make out Colin's face, “I'm here, Colin. Can you jump?”

  “Too narrow for me. I'm going to help Ed out. Try and break her fall.”

  Colin's face disappeared and Ed Phibbs' long bony legs appeared, kicking against the wall for purchase. She had a death grip on one of Colin's wrists as he leaned sideways out the window, lowering her until her feet dangled a couple of yards above Wolf's outstretched arms.

  “Let go,” Blake yelled.

  Ed did and dropped flailing into Wolf's arms, knocking them both to the ground. As they disentangled and sat up, Ed coughed out, “You've got to get something to break open that sash and free Colin. That little closet has the only window left that's not burning!”

  “Hold on, Colin,” Wolf yelled up as he rose and raced around the corner in search of a horse—any horse. He commandeered one from the hitching post across from the mercantile and leaped into the saddle, galloping back into the alley.

  Colin could feel the heat through the closed door, which was beginning to buckle. As soon as it did, the flames would engulf the small room. The smoke blinded him, choking off his breath as he pried at the hard bricks around the window with Ed's crowbar. So far, he had only succeeded in dislodging one.

  Then he heard Wolf's voice calling up to him.

  “Here—tie this rope to the bar and wedge it between the mortar you've loosened.”

  The reata snaked up and Colin seized it, quickly tying the end to the steel tool and jamming it in between the small break in the bricks he had made. Wolf looped the other end of the reata around the saddle horn and began backing the horse away until the rope was tight, straining against the crowbar that held it. He yelled at Ed to run for cover.

  Colin prayed as he never before had in his life. Maggie! I can't leave it this way between us. His hands were slick with sweat as he held the steel in place until the rope was taut and the tool began to bend under the pressure. It was a cheap crowbar and could just as easily snap, ending his last desperate chance. But it held. Colin backed into a corner just as the old adobe around the sash gave way with a sudden rumble. The whole window broke apart, raining bricks out into the alley in every direction, opening a space nearly three feet wide.

  Just then the door gave way. Colin leaped into the cool, clean darkness, inches ahead of the hungry flames that engulfed the smoke-filled room. He landed in the dusty alley on the hard-packed ground, rolling on his left shoulder in an attempt to break his fall.

  Wolf freed the rope from the saddle horn and guided the nervous, prancing horse to where Colin was picking himself up. He offered his hand, and Colin swung up behind him. They raced out of the alley to escape the flaming debris which was starting to fall.

  Eden's eyes frantically searched the crowd as she yanked and clawed her way through the melee of spectators and fire volunteers. “I'm looking for two men!” She had described Wolf and Colin to several of the onlookers and already knew that Wolf was somewhere nearby. What if her father was inside and her love had gone in after him? Wild-eyed with terror, she looked at the inferno lighting up the night sky and forced the unthinkable from her mind.

  “Wolf!” She had screamed until her throat was raw, pummeled and shoved by the milling spectators whose eyes glowed with the avid fascination that fire always seemed to evoke. Suddenly she saw him erupt from the alley behind the mercantile. Her father was mounted behind him. Ed Phibbs, clad only in singed baggy pants and a torn, soot-stained blouse, stood as near the corner as she dared, cheering them on. Eden fought her way free of the crowd and flew to them. Wolf reined in sharply and Colin slid to the ground, soot-blackened and coughing.

  “Father! Wolf! Oh, thank God! Are you hurt? What happened?”

  Colin took her in his arms and said in a hoarse voice, “I'm fine, Babygirl, just fine, thanks to your intended here.”

  “If you don't mind, I
think it best if we save the explanations for later and adjourn somewhere less public,” Ed interjected with as much dignity as her disheveled appearance would allow

  “The Palace is close. Miss Phibbs, you could stand to borrow a dress, I think,” Eden said as relief flooded her senses. They were alive. Now, her father could go get Maggie and all would be well.

  As they repaired to the hotel, ignoring the stares of the curious, Colin and Ed explained what had transpired with Barker and Stanley.

  “Edward Stanley was behind the whole ring? I can hardly believe it,” Eden said in amazement.

  “And I always thought he was just a henpecked son tied to Sophie's apron strings.”

  “He took great umbrage when I mentioned that very idea to him,” Ed said dryly.

  “A good ploy. It infuriated him enough to cause him to lower his guard so I could throw the kerosene at him,” Colin said.

  “You saved my father's life, Ed.” Eden squeezed the gangly woman's shoulder fondly.

  “My plan, desperate as it was, almost cost his life, I fear.”

  “Neither of us would've made it out of the building without your future husband, here,” Colin said, looking over to Wolf. “I owe you, Blake. That was quick thinking under fire—literally.”

  “Does that mean we have your blessing, Father?” Eden knew it did as she slid into step beside Wolf and he took her arm.

  “A thought just occurred to me about your future—after you're married, of course,” Colin said as they neared the hotel.

  “I'm going to give up hiring my gun, Colin, but I don't want Crown Verde charity,” Wolf said as politely as his pride would allow. “My father wants to talk to me.”

  “So Eden's told me. But if that doesn't pan out, I have another idea—not working for your father-in-law either,” he added quickly, throwing up his hands.

  “We can discuss that later,” Eden interjected as they approached the hotel. “Right now, I have to get some clothes for Miss Phibbs and you have to read a letter.”