It was two in the morning, a Tuesday night, and El Paso was winding down early, the sporting crowd saving themselves for Friday. A strangely solemn quiet had descended on the town, and a waxing moon rode high in the heavens. Across the street from the hotel, behind a row of stores, a scattering of outbuildings and cabins were bathed in moonlight, like so many old men in white nightgowns who’d wandered off and lost their way. A tiny calico cat strolled past Buttons, hunting for rodents of the smallest kind, ignoring the human who was much too big to eat. Buttons glanced at his watch. Ten after two. Would this night ever end?
* * *
Room 14.
Lucian Carter looked up at Red Ryan’s hotel and the windows stared back at him with dark, blank eyes. Behind one of those windows in room 14, Ryan lay at death’s door, and if he wasn’t dead yet he would be soon. Carter adjusted the lie of his guns, but he had no intention of using them. Way too much noise. The knife was better, and Ryan was already cut up, so who would notice yet another wound? What was it the French called it? Ah yes, the coup de grace . . . hilt deep into the heart. Hilt deep . . . that reminded him of Stella Morgan, and Carter smiled. She would be proud of him. Ryan, Lyons, and Ogden the nosy detective, all killed on the same night. And the bag? One of them would have it, and he’d return to Stella with it in triumph, just in time for the morning train.
Carter consulted his watch. Ten after two. Time was short. He had to make his move. He was supremely confident. His father had taught him the assassin’s profession well, and he’d always said that Lucian was the most gifted of his students, and now the prodigy would prove it.
* * *
Buttons Muldoon saw the man emerge from the shadows and stand on the edge of the boardwalk, his eyes fixed on the hotel. A few moments later, as though he’d just made his mind up about something, the man stepped into the street, and it was then, in full moonlight, that Buttons recognized the slim figure of Lucian Carter. He didn’t try to outguess himself. Carter was there for one reason and one reason only . . . he planned to kill Red.
Buttons grabbed the Greener and moved quickly to cut Carter off before he reached the hotel. “Hold up there,” Buttons said.
Carter turned and his face registered shock. He hadn’t even seen that fat fool lurking in a doorway. Now he’d have to go to the gun, kill Muldoon, and beat a hasty retreat before a crowd gathered. Carter didn’t think about it any further. The situation was clear cut, and he knew what had to be done and he did it.
He went for his guns.
Then a spiking instant of alarm . . . in the uncertain light he hadn’t seen the scattergun!
Carter cleared leather with dazzling speed, but he couldn’t outdraw Muldoon’s trigger finger. Even as his brought his Colts level, Carter was hit by both barrels of the Greener. Buckshot tore into the left side of his pelvis, and he staggered back. He’d been hit hard, and he knew it. Like a wounded animal, Carter fought back, but he was unsteady on his feet, and his fusillade of shots missed Muldoon, who had his own revolver in his hand and was getting his work in. None of Buttons’s bullets took effect, but it didn’t matter, because all Carter wanted was to get out of there. He staggered away, Buttons, not the most forgiving of men when he’d been wronged, taking pots at him until Carter merged with the gloom, leaving behind him a trail of blood.
Then Red was on the hotel porch, along with a half-dozen other guests in night attire led by Pollock the manager, looking stunned. “Ryan, you again,” Pollock said.
Red nodded in the direction of Buttons to the street. “Not me, him.” Then, “Who was he?”
“Lucian Carter. I reckon he was here to make sure you was dead.”
“Are you hit?” Red said.
“No, but he is, took two barrels of buck.”
Red stepped into the street and looked at the blood pooling in the street where Carter had taken the hit. “He’s badly wounded, Buttons,” he said.
“Man who takes both barrels from a scattergun usually is,” Buttons said.
Pollock stepped beside Red and said, “My God, man, are you two trying to ruin my business?” He waved a hand in the direction of his guests. “Look at them. These people are terrified.”
“A man named Lucian Carter came here tonight with the idea of killing me,” Red said. “Me and Buttons can hardly be blamed for that.”
“Well, I am blaming you, Ryan,” Pollock said. “I want both of you out of my hotel—now!”
Buttons was outraged. “Mr. Ryan is sore wounded. You’d throw a sick man into the street?”
“Yes, I would,” Pollock said. “Out now, before I send for the law!”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Buttons said.
“Tr y me,” Pollock said.
* * *
Red Ryan and Buttons Muldoon sat on the step of the hotel porch, their meager belongings around them.
“Well, I guess he meant it,” Buttons said.
“Seems like,” Red said.
“I should’ve plugged him,” Buttons said.
“Maybe you should, but it’s too late for that now,” Red said. “He locked the door behind him. What time is it?”
“Gone four,” Buttons said. “I wonder if Ma’s Kitchen is open?”
“That’s just what I was thinking,” Red said.
“It’s a walk, can you make it?” Buttons said.
Red rose to his feet. “Just watch me,” he said, wincing.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Lucian Carter knew he was hit bad. Gore stained the front of his pants, and as he staggered through the empty, shadowed streets of El Paso he left a scarlet snail trail of blood behind him. Like a wounded animal seeking its lair, he had but one thought . . . he must get to Stella Morgan. His face twisted in pain, he knew everything would be fine once he reached Stella. She’d take care of him and send for a doctor. Yes, the wound was serious, he was aware of that, but with proper treatment and care he’d recover.
Carter stumbled on. Stella, bright, luminous, was his light at the end of this tunnel. Stella, his angel of mercy . . . the woman who loved him.
A gusting wind picked up and tugged at Carter, teasing him unmercifully as he tottered forward through the deserted streets on leaden feet. The pain in his lower belly was now a living thing that gnawed at him with fangs of fire. His head reeled, the world spun around him, and he stumbled and fell . . .
Then, glory be, salvation!
Carter looked up and realized he was outside Stella’s hotel.
Slowly, painfully, Carter climbed to his feet. He staggered toward the entrance and lurched inside. There was no clerk on duty, but a single gas lamp glowed behind the desk. He stood and waited until the pain subsided a little, and he shuffled to the stairs. Outside, the spiteful wind howled in frustration as Carter regarded the mountain he had to climb . . . the staircase that soared before him, the last few carpeted steps before the landing deep in shadow. He thought about crying out for help, but immediately dismissed the idea. A shout would draw too much attention, and questions would be asked. Once he was safe in Stella’s arms, she would make the decisions from there.
Lucian Carter had it to do.
One cruel step at a time, in agony and bleeding like a stuck pig, he began to climb the stairs. It took Carter an eternity of pain to reach the landing . . . then the gaslit hallway . . . stumbling, groaning . . . then Stella’s door.
Safe at last. Stella would cry over him, care for him, make him well again.
Carter pounded on the door and, his voice weak, he said, “Stella, let me in . . .”
He’d thought Stella would be asleep in bed, but to his surprise the door swung open almost immediately. Carter staggered inside. “Stella, for God’s sake help me,” he said.
Then he saw the man sitting at the table with the carpetbag in front of him, and painful as a blow to the gut, Lucian Carter knew he’d been betrayed.
* * *
Stella gave Carter no time to react. The man looked dead on his feet, and the push she gave him ha
d the desired effect. Carter cried out in pain as his back slammed against the wall, and as he fell Stella reached inside his coat and relieved him of his Colts.
She turned her head and said, “He’s been shot.”
“Is it bad?” Pip Ogden said.
Stella nodded. “Yes, it’s bad.”
“Then we have to get rid of him.”
“How, Pip? He’s here.”
Carter tugged on the hem of Stella’s nightgown. “Help me, Stella,” he whispered. “I need a doctor.”
Stella pulled away from Carter’s clutching hand and said, “We can keep him here. He’ll die soon, and by the time his body is found we’ll be on our way to Washington.”
Ogden shook his head. “I don’t want to take that risk. It’s just possible that the body could be found early. I don’t want T. C. Lyons showing up at the station asking why there’s a dead man in your hotel room and why I’m with you on the train.”
“Then what do we do with him?” Stella said.
“Before he bleeds all over the floor, out a back window with him,” Ogden said. He saw the puzzlement on Stella’s face and said, “It will look like he’d been shot and crawled into an alley to die.”
“There’s a linen closet with a window, but we’ll need to cross the hallway,” Stella said.
“Then let’s get it done.”
Ogden rose, took his revolver from his coat pocket, and stepped to Stella’s side.
Carter looked up and said, “Help me. I’m hurt, and I need a doctor real bad.”
Ogden smiled. “Sure, I’ll help you.” He raised his Colt and slammed the barrel into Carter’s head. The man groaned and fell on his side. “Stella . . .” he whispered. “Stella . . .”
“He won’t give us any trouble now,” Ogden said. “Look in the hallway and make sure it’s clear. If it is, open the closet door and then the window. I’ll drag him over there.”
“Stella . . .” Carter said, his eyes pleading.
“Lucian, shut the hell up,” Stella said. “You’ll be out of your misery very soon.”
She opened the door, saw that the hallway was clear, then crossed to the linen closet. The window was a large casement, and Stella opened it wide. She looked down and saw to her joy that Lucian, wounded as he was, would land on a jumbled pile of bricks that pretty much guaranteed a fatal fall.
“Is the coast clear?” Ogden’s hoarse whisper from the doorway.
“Yes. Hurry.”
Ogden dragged the semiconscious Carter into the hallway and then through the open door of the linen closet. He lifted the upper half of the man’s body into the window frame but got stuck. “Stella, you’ve got to help me,” he said.
Stella made a face. “Ooh . . . he’s covered in blood.”
“I know, but I can’t get him through this damned window by myself, so help me lift him,” Ogden said.
Stella and Ogden got ahold of Carter’s legs and pushed him through the window.
“He hit the ground hard,” Ogden said. “He’s done for.”
“Lucian still had enough life in him to squeal though, didn’t he?” Stella said.
“Yes, he did,” Ogden said. “Quick, close the window and let’s get back to your room. We’ve got some planning to do.”
* * *
“Why did you bring back my carpetbag, Pip?” Stella Morgan said. “You could’ve kept it and made your escape. Why are you here?”
“You want the main reason?” Ogden said.
“I’m all ears,” Stella said. She smiled. “Now that I’m over my surprise.”
“Because I want you, Stella.”
“You want to be my lover?”
“More than anything else in the world. I thought that from the first moment I set eyes on you, and then I told myself that I was being a fool. How could a man on a policeman’s salary ever possess a woman like you? But when Red Ryan brought me the bag and I saw what it contained, I knew I’d found a way.”
“That’s the main reason,” Stella said. “What are the others?”
“Others? There is only one other. After twenty years of servitude as a police officer, of harsh discipline, being overworked, badly treated, made to know my place and that place no better than a common laborer, when I retired I’d receive a pension of two-thirds my annual salary, enough to die a slow death in genteel poverty. When I came here to El Paso I saw a way out, and I took it.” Ogden took Stella’s hand. “So, dear lady, that’s why I’m here. In the carpetbag alone, there’s money enough for both of us.”
Stella thought that through. A trained detective would be a great help in the kind of criminal enterprises she planned once she reached Washington. But how far would Ogden be willing to go? She could control him with her body, but could she trust him? Once a lawman, always a lawman, isn’t that how the saying went? No, the risk was too great. She had what she wanted, the carpetbag and Seth Roper to supply muscle when needed, and that last was just a half-formed idea. The truth was, she didn’t really need anybody. After all, it was cheaper to have a killing done than share her fortune with a thug like Roper. She summed it up in her mind: Ogden would have to go, but not here in El Paso. The runt’s death would be her first order of business after her arrival in the capital.
“I’d love for you to be in Washington with me, Pip,” she said. “But there are many beautiful women in Washington, and I fear you would soon tire of me.”
“Never, Stella,” Ogden said. “I’ll devote the rest of my life to making you happy.”
And the rest of your life will be very short, Pip, you ugly little pip-squeak.
“Then I’m very content,” Stella said. “All this is very sudden, but I know we can have a wonderful life together, you and I.”
Ogden rose from the chair, took Stella by the hands, and raised her to her feet. He pulled apart the top of her nightgown and let it slip from her shoulders and cling to her hips. “I love you, Stella. Do we have time?” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Of course, we do, dear Pip,” Stella said, dropping her gown to her ankles. “All the time in the world.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Seth Roper made up his mind as he tossed some clothing into a bag and checked his watch for the sixth time within the past fifteen minutes. Leaving with Stella Morgan was not an easy decision to make. Remaining in El Paso where he was the premier gunman had its attractions, as there were opportunities to make money, especially a protection racket that had been perfected up Fort Worth way by his sometime acquaintance Jim Courtright. But there was a downside to that plan. When a man sat himself up on a pedestal as top gun there were any number of wannabes who wanted to knock him off it. One day, someone would come along who was faster or just luckier and leave him with his beard in the sawdust.
Roper was a realist, and Stella was obviously a better bet. She would hustle her bustle and make him rich without the need to put his life on the line every time a wild kid with a quick gun and a chip on his shoulder rode into town.
Three hours until train time.
Roper closed the bag and pondered how to kill time. Visit Stella? No, she’d be packing, and he’d only be in the way. Kill Lucian Carter? Nah, that too could wait. Breakfast? Sure, why not? Ma’s Kitchen opened early and steak and eggs would sustain him until he and Stella had a romantic supper in the dining car.
Roper buckled on his gun, left the hotel, and walked into the dark, windy morning.
* * *
“Red, do you see who just came in?” Buttons Muldoon said.
“I see him,” Red said. “What’s he doing up so early? No, no need to answer that. My guess is he’s leaving on the seven o’clock train.”
“Him and Stella Morgan,” Buttons said, an odd tone of defeat in his voice.
Roper looked across the restaurant. A few workmen sat at tables eating breakfast along with several bleary-eyed representatives of the sporting crowd suffering from the whiskey hunger. Roper met Red’s gaze and stepped to his table.
“You gent
s mind if I join you?” he said.
“If we said no, you’d do it anyway,” Buttons said. “Pull up a chair.”
A waitress filled a coffee cup for Roper and took his order. When she left, he said, “Heard you had some trouble earlier, Ryan.”
“You heard right, Roper,” Red said. “But I doubt it came as a surprise to you, since you hired it done.”
“Yet another of your false accusations, Ryan, though I was sorry to hear about Skull Jackson,” Roper said. “Sheriff Lyons done for him, huh?”
“Yeah, he did,” Red said.
“Who would’ve thunk it?” Roper said, shaking his head.
“I think Lyons surprised himself,” Red said. “He was no match for Jackson.”
“Did he cut you up bad?”
“Some. Before Lyons stopped him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I mean sorry that Lyons stopped him.”
“Why are you up so early, Roper?” Buttons said. “It ain’t like you to be an early bird.”
“Leaving town on the seven o’clock train. Me and the widow Morgan.”
“I thought she wouldn’t leave without the carpetbag,” Red said.
“Maybe she has it,” Roper said.
“She doesn’t,” Red said.
Roper shrugged. “Well, I’ll be at the station anyway. There could be something in it for you, Ryan, if you tell me where the bag is located.”
“I don’t know where it is.”
“I’d say Stella would go as high as five thousand, cash.”
“She won’t go without the carpetbag, Roper,” Red said. “You’ll be at the station alone.”
“We’ll see. Ah, and here’s breakfast.” Roper smiled at the waitress and then picked up his knife and fork. “I can talk while I eat.”
“We’ve got nothing to talk about,” Red said.
Roper chewed on steak and then said, “You don’t look too good, Ryan. Lost a lot of blood, huh?”
“I’m just fine.”
“You don’t look it. Shedding blood is bad for a man, makes him weak and slows him up real bad, if you get my meaning.”
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