The Marshal's Mission

by Anna Zogg

  “I need more water,” Lenora was saying to her son when Cole got within hearing range.

  “I’ll get it,” he volunteered. Since the house was closer than the stream, it made sense to get water from inside.

  “Thanks.” She wiped her forehead with her arm before gripping the wooden paddle again. Then to Toby she said, “Please bring me more soft soap for the laundry.”

  Cole made a couple trips with the bucket, and while they were occupied, slipped into the house. A large pot sat on the stove with the two jackrabbits cooking. Good. He could always claim he was checking her stew. Without hesitation, he went into Lenora’s bedroom first.

  Straightaway, he found the small trapdoor in the floor under a braided rug. However, it led nowhere and contained only two dollars and some ammunition. With as much speed as possible, he restored the rug and was soon out of her room.

  He quickly checked Toby’s loft. Again, Cole found nothing except the opening in the ceiling. Amos had been clever in the way he constructed the panel and stashed a rope on a hidden shelf. A search of the rest of the house yielded no other finds.

  With as much nonchalance as possible, Cole strolled out of the house. Lenora and Toby didn’t seem to notice.

  “I’m going to take a short ride,” he announced.

  Toby’s head shot up. “Where? Can I come?”

  “Nah, I’m just going to exercise Sheba. Nothing exciting.”

  The boy’s face fell while Lenora appeared relieved.

  In no time, Cole saddled up his mare and trotted her around the ranch yard. For a few minutes, he acted as though he was taking her through her paces, but soon he got back to his real reason—looking for any place Amos might have hidden the bank money.

  Reports indicated the robbers had used a satchel. Had Amos buried it next to the biggest tree near the yard? How about beside that large boulder? Or at the corner of that fence?

  Cole found several possible hiding places, but in the months that had passed since the robbery, the ground had hardened, obliterating any sign of newly turned dirt. Besides, he had to take into consideration that the man was dying. Would he really have had the strength to dig more than a shallow hole?

  In that case, Cole would see a satchel poking up through the dirt. After riding around for over an hour, he turned back toward the ranch, no closer to solving the mystery of the money.

  As he brushed Sheba, he concluded Hackett was wrong about the bankroll being there. In which case Cole needed to expand his investigation.

  It’s about time for my departure.

  Toby had told him everything possible about his pa while Lenora had shared little else new in the several conversations they’d had. With the ranch being so far from town, Cole had learned all he could from this location. Besides the never-ending job of fixing fences, the ranch was in top-notch shape.

  After finishing a couple more tasks, he really needed to go. No excuses. He would leave Sheba and Rowdy in Toby’s capable care before riding off. But where?

  The obvious answer came to him—he should offer himself out as a hired gun to either Jeb or his notorious father, Eli. However, Cole needed to be careful. If they suspected he was sympathetic toward Lenora in the least, he had no doubt they would shoot first, talk second.

  However, if that move got him closer to answers, he was willing to take that chance.

  * * *

  Still dressed in his nightshirt, Toby peered through the mop of hair that fell over his eyes. “Are we riding again today, Cole?”

  Lenora grinned at the eagerness in his voice as she brushed back his bangs. In the next few days, she needed to give him a haircut.

  “If it’s okay with your mother.” Cole’s gaze met hers as he sipped his coffee.

  “Is it, Ma?” Toby turned wide eyes to her.

  “I don’t see why not.” She had to smile at the way his face lit up when she answered. Truthfully, she liked the two of them spending time together. Her boy needed a man’s example to follow—and what better person than Cole?

  Not only had Toby begun to fill out because he was eating more, but he was beginning to put on some muscle from the hard work he and Cole had been doing. What made Lenora smile the most, though, was the way the youngster mimicked the man, even walking like him and picking up some of his mannerisms.

  When guilt pricked her conscience—because he wasn’t taking after his father—the emotion passed as quickly as it had come. She didn’t want Toby to be like his pa. And she refused to feel bad about it one moment.

  After he finished his breakfast, he seemed to fly up into the loft to change.

  “I want your nightshirt, so I can fix that tear along your sleeve,” Lenora called after him. Had he been wrestling cattle in his dreams?

  Instead of bringing it down, the clothing dropped through the loft’s window that opened to the room below. Squelching a sigh, she shook her head. She hadn’t rightly specified how he was to give her his nightshirt. After picking it up, she glanced to see Cole’s response.

  For some reason, he wasn’t grinning. His brow wrinkled as he gripped his cup. “I plan to round up some cattle so we can get on with branding.”

  “Good.” Lenora took a seat to finish her breakfast. “I know we’re late taking care of that chore. But it’s gotta be done.”

  “I plan for us to only be gone a few hours.” His jaw flexed. “If we take Blister, we’ll get more accomplished. Then be back quicker.”

  “I’ve got some mending and sewing to do, so I’ll stay close to the house till you return.” When his tight expression didn’t relax, she thought she understood. “Really, Cole. I’ll be fine. I’ll have my rifle handy. I always do.” She pointed to her reliable friend, propped up by the door.

  He scratched his chin. “If you need anything, fire a couple shots.”

  “Will do.” She rose and cleared dishes from the table.

  In a short while, Cole and Toby had food, water and had saddled their horses. Blister barked in excitement when he realized he was going with them.

  In truth, she looked forward to a change of pace. She so wanted to stitch a bandanna for Cole—and perhaps a scarf for herself?—but they’d been so busy with ranch needs that she’d not gotten to them. Maybe she could get some cleaning done while they weren’t underfoot. Best of all, she wouldn’t have to prepare a big noon meal. She would be content to eat leftovers and pan bread.

  After they departed, she turned her attention to the stove and blackened it with wax until it gleamed. Next she cleaned the house. With those chores finished, she brought out her sewing and spread it across the table. The amount of fabric she’d purchased would be enough for two bandannas and a small scarf as she’d planned.

  She ran her hand over the dark red cotton printed with small white dots. Would Cole think the design too feminine? He couldn’t fault the fabric’s softness. In no time, she’d cut the material and sewed the edges to keep them from fraying.

  The sun had crested the halfway mark, signaling that noon had long passed, before she put her sewing basket away. She opened the door, allowing in fresh air as she waited for Toby and Cole. Their return had to be soon. She started a fresh pot of coffee, smiling as she anticipated his reaction to the bandannas. Would he be as pleased as she hoped?

  After surveying the number of items she’d mended, she sighed in satisfaction.

  A new pair of pants awaited Toby along with several pairs of darned socks, a repaired shirt and his nightshirt. She had created an apron from material scraps and her new scarf. And she’d repaired one of Cole’s shirts.

  Lenora lifted her scarf and draped it across her neck, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric. When she twirled in happiness, she caught sight of something by the door.

  Shrieking in terror, she reeled back.

  Standing on the threshold
was Jeb Hackett. Watching her.

  While she clutched the scarf to her chest, he chuckled. “Don’t stop. I enjoyed seeing you dance.”

  How had he come up to the house so silently? She’d not heard a horse or even his footsteps on the porch.

  “I...” Anything she planned to say died in her throat.

  “Didn’t hear me coming, didja?” His grin spread.

  Unable to find her voice, she shook her head.

  “That’s cuz I wanted to surprise ya.” His gaze flickered over her form.

  She glanced at her rifle, leaning next to Jeb.

  “You wanting this?” He lifted the weapon and examined it. “Amos’s favorite, if I recall. Not good for a lady like you, though.” With deft fingers, he removed the shells and set the gun back where it was.

  She finally found her tongue. “Did you—you come up the road?”

  Maybe Cole had seen him. And perhaps he was now galloping her way?

  God, please...

  “Nope.” Jeb grinned as he pocketed the bullets. “I came the back way so’s I could visit my old friend, Amos.” He pointed in the direction of her husband’s tombstone.

  Lenora’s heart chugged to a stop. Had he found the money? Impossible. But did he suspect where it was? Again, impossible. She’d hidden it where no one would ever think to look.

  “Where’s your manners? Ain’t ya going to ask me to sit?”

  “Of course.” Edging away, she indicated the seat nearest to him. Once he settled, she would escape.

  As if anticipating her plan, Jeb pulled the chair away from the table and positioned it closer to the open door.

  “Been a long time since we had a chat, you and I, all by ourselves.” He rocked the chair back on two legs, pushing against the table with his foot.

  She pulled the scarf off her neck and set it on the rest of her mending. “I suppose.” With his dirty boot so close to the clothing, she gathered everything into the middle of the table.

  “Don’tcha even want to know what I’m here to talk about?”

  “I can’t imagine.” She sounded breathless, even to herself.

  “I checked out that story you told me—of selling out.”

  She gulped, fingers tightening in the stack of mending.

  “Frank Hopper and me had a nice talk. I told him he shouldn’t even think of buying your ranch.” Jeb smirked. “Besides, you weren’t counting on that, were you? I knew you wouldn’t be so foolish as to try to leave the area.”

  Again gulping, she slowly shook her head.

  “Didn’t think so.” He ran his hands down his thighs. “But the real reason I came over is to talk about Amos.”

  Lenora grabbed her apron and tied it about her waist, like a protecting shield.

  Where was her knife? Stupid to not have strapped it to her calf like usual. But somehow she knew a blade would be useless against Jeb. She shivered as she imagined him turning it on her. “Amos is dead. There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Something been bugging me for months now.” As though pondering, Jeb rocked back and forth on the two chair legs. “He, the boys and me took a little trip into Cheyenne last November. If’n you didn’t know. There we, uh, acquired some money. Gambling and such.” He grinned, apparently amused by his own fabrication.

  “I already guessed that’s what Amos was going to do. Before he even left. He knew I couldn’t abide his gambling.”

  Jeb’s grin widened. Because he saw through her act?

  “Well this particular day, our winnings were larger than usual. Amos was in charge of making sure the money got safely home. Funny thing though, the cash went missing.”

  She twisted her hands in her apron. “You know he didn’t have time to spend it. He was found dead.”

  Nodding, Jeb studied her with narrowed eyes. “Bushwhacked. Or so the story goes.”

  “Then that’s where you should look. For the man—or men—who held him up.” She stuck to the story that Jeb and his henchmen had circulated. Somewhere to the northwest, they had said, Amos had been ambushed.

  “Well, that’s the odd part.” Jeb ran his fingers and thumb down both sides of his mustache. “We didn’t see no footprints or evidence of his being bushwhacked. And Amos, laying all peaceful next to his horse. But no money.”

  Lenora gripped the table’s edge. No one had ever told her how they’d found her husband.

  Jeb went on. “Someone knows something. And I’ve been asking around for months now. Even roughed up my own men too, to make sure they told the truth. But nobody’s seen the satchel. And ya know, that used to be my ma’s. Even had her initials engraved on the clasp.” When he leaned forward, the chair thumped as it rested on all four legs. “Then I got to thinking. What if Amos stopped here? He worried about you not having anything to live on. So he came here and dropped off my money.”

  Her blood grew steadily colder. She clamped her teeth together to keep them from chattering. “Your money?” The words squeaked out.

  “I meant our money.” His lip curled.

  What could she say? She drew herself up. Jeb had no proof, no way to confirm his suspicions. Even though he had guessed the truth, he would never find the satchel.

  “Do I look like I’m living high off the hog?” She injected indignation into her tone. “I had barely enough money to pay for my supplies last week. Or didn’t you hear?”

  Of course he would have. Mr. Richards had all but proved he did what the Hacketts said.

  Brow wrinkling, Jeb stared at her as though making up his mind about something. Slapping his hands on his knees, he rose. “Sorry to hear that.” He turned and studied the row of tin cans lining one shelf. “Now where did Amos always hide his stash?” Without error, he grabbed the baking powder tin and shook it. The lone coin inside clattered.

  He turned, eyebrows raised. “Sounds pretty empty.” Jeb pried off the lid and peered inside. “Two bits and one dollar is all?” He dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. After peeling off a couple, he carelessly tossed them into the can and placed it back on the shelf. “There. Done my duty for my friend’s widow.”

  She pressed her lips together, determined not to thank him.

  His glance raked the room, then settled on the stove. “Coffee? Don’t mind if I do.” He grabbed a tin cup and poured the steaming, black brew.

  Her hope that the interview had ended died as he settled back onto his chair.

  “Have a seat, ’Nora.”

  Fists clenching, she controlled her temper with effort. “No, thanks.” She took a shaky breath. “I thought we were done talking.”

  “Not by a long shot.” He tasted his coffee, then jerked back as though he’d burned his lip. “I know you have that satchel. Don’t know where you—or Amos—hid it, but I’m gonna find it.”

  What could she say? His speculations bordered on the truth.

  “I can see your brain working, ’Nora, trying to create a lie. But it won’t work on me.”

  She crossed her arms, determined not to answer.

  “So here’s my proposition. Either you give me my money, or I’ll take you and your ranch in trade. Even though this place isn’t worth that much.” Sneering, he set his coffee on the edge of the table. “’Course, I’ll have to shoot that mangy dog of yours first. And maybe your kid as well if he doesn’t learn to shut his mouth.”

  Her heart hammered against her rib cage.

  “But you...” His head tilted as he sized her up. “You’re worth more’n any bankroll.” Again, he tilted back on his chair, voice growing husky. “Poor Amos hadn’t a clue. When he came back from Minneapolis, I was disappointed you two were already married.”

  She squeezed her crossed arms against her chest, trying to keep from hyperventilating.

  “But now
you’re alone again, although not for long.” He rocked back and forth on two legs once more. “You’re gonna marry me, ’Nora. I decided. Not one of my boys, but me.”

  Without circumspection, she darted forward and slapped the cup off the table. Hot coffee splashed across Jeb’s torso. With a yelp, he flew backward.

  Lifting her skirts, she bolted past him and out the door.

  A growl of rage followed the crashing chair. After nearly tumbling down the stairs, she regained her equilibrium and darted across the yard. Footsteps pounded behind her.

  My shotgun. In the barn.

  Thumping feet drew closer. Something swiped at her arm, tearing her sleeve. She wrenched from his grasp. Off balance a moment, she righted herself.

  Almost there.

  Rasping breath drew closer. She’d taken a few more steps when Jeb latched on to her left wrist. Pain shot through her as he wrenched it. With brutal force, he twisted. She screamed as he forced her to her knees.

  “Like I said,” he panted above her, “I knew there was a spitfire underneath those petticoats of yours.”

  His grip tightened.

  “Stop,” she shrieked. “You’re hurting me.”

  His face hovered over her, mouth thinning under the handlebar mustache. His teeth flashed with cruelty. “I want that satchel now. Either that or you. Your choice, ’Nora.”

  She clawed at the fingers that imprisoned her wrist. Gravel bit into her knees. Her whole existence focused on her agony. No words could form. A wail of pain rose to consume her.

  “So be it.” He jerked her to her feet, then swiveled. At the sound of gunfire, he crouched. As he grappled for his pistol, Jeb ducked behind her and let loose a stream of curses.

  Wholly consumed with pain, Lenora tried to pry out of his relentless grip. When he shoved her, she crumpled to the ground. Face buried, she didn’t lift her head at the sounds of creaking leather and Jeb’s horse neighing in protest.

  “I’m not done with you yet, ’Nora,” he yelled.

  Horse hooves galloped out of earshot as two other sets drew closer. Blister’s frantic bark filled her ears.