At least the men weren’t standing out on the street when the wagon rolled by, to witness the Jensen brothers leaving town with the five women. There was no point in asking for trouble.
Especially since it was liable to find them anyway. It always did.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Marshal Jim Courtright slid Lew Shelby’s gun across the desk and leaned back in his chair to watch the man in black pick up the fancy revolver. “You’ve been fortunate so far, Shelby. You haven’t done anything in Fort Worth to merit a hanging. But you’d be wise not to push your luck.”
Henry Baylor took hold of the lapels of his frock coat and said, “That sounds a bit like a threat, Marshal.”
“No threat,” Courtright said, “just a warning. I’m getting tired of being summoned to deal with some sort of fracas and finding you fellas there. Why don’t you mosey on over to Dallas? It’s only thirty miles, and I’m sure you’d like it there.”
“We like it here just fine.” Shelby thumbed bullets back into his gun, which Courtright had unloaded the previous night, just as he’d unloaded the weapons he collected from the other three men. “Besides, I need to look up a couple gents and have a word with them.”
“If you’re talking about those Jensen boys, they’re gone. I’m told they rode out early this morning.”
Actually, Courtright hadn’t been told any such thing. He didn’t know if Ace and Chance Jensen were still in Fort Worth, but he hoped they had taken his advice and put the town behind them. If he could convince Shelby and Baylor that was the case, maybe they wouldn’t even bother looking.
Shelby pouched his iron, shoving it into the holster with added vehemence. “Which way did they head?”
Courtright’s eyes narrowed as he said, “You don’t think I’d tell you, even if I knew, do you? But as a matter of fact, I don’t know. Don’t have any idea. Nor do I care, as long as they’re not in Fort Worth anymore.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth about that, Marshal?”
Courtright tensed and came slowly to his feet behind the desk. He brushed back his coat a little, so his hand wasn’t far from the butt of the gun on his hip. “Are you calling me a liar, Shelby?” he asked in a cool, dangerous voice.
Baylor put a hand on Shelby’s arm and shook his head. “Lew’s not saying anything of the sort, Marshal, and we’re certainly not looking for any more trouble. We’ve had our share for a while.”
Courtright had a reputation as a gun-handler, and he could tell by the look in Shelby’s dark, deep-set eyes that the man wanted to challenge him . . . felt the need to find out which of them was really faster.
Baylor was too cautious to allow that. He and Shelby had done well for themselves in Fort Worth so far. A gunfight between Shelby and the local law could have only one out of two possible outcomes, and either would damage the gambler’s future plans.
Shelby gave a little shake of his whole body, sort of like a wet dog but not as violent. Courtright realized the man was shaking off the killing rage that had gripped him for a moment.
“Anyway, your Kiowa friend broke into the Jensen brothers’ hotel room last night, tried to kill them, and wound up stealing their bankroll,” Courtright went on, now that the moment of impending violence had passed. “So they’ve already suffered enough of a loss that evens the score.”
Baylor arched an eyebrow. “Is that so, Marshal? We don’t know anything about it. How could we? We were locked up last night, remember?”
“I’m sure it won’t be long before you find the Indian, or vice versa.”
“I’m tired of listening to this,” Shelby said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Still holding Shelby’s arm, Baylor steered the gunman toward the door of Courtright’s office. Loomis and Prewitt, both as taciturn as ever, picked up their guns from the desk as they left.
Courtright straightened his coat and sat down again, glad to see them all go. As far as he was concerned, they could keep going—right on out of his town.
Outside the jail, Shelby stopped and flexed the fingers of both hands. “I want those damn brothers. And when I’m through with them, sooner or later Courtright and me are gonna settle things between us, too.”
“Courtright’s high-handed manner will catch up to him sooner or later,” Baylor said. “As for the Jensens, I believe the marshal. It seems very likely they’ve left town.”
“We could ask around, find out which way they went. The Kiowa can track them. You know that.”
“Go to that much trouble simply so you can shoot them?” Baylor shook his head. “I have no objection to you killing anyone, Lew, you know that—as long as there’s a good reason for it. And by good reason I mean—”
“Something that makes money for us,” Shelby said with traces of impatience and disgust in his voice. “I know, I know. But you don’t understand, Henry, sometimes there are more important things than money. Like a man’s pride.”
“We’ll talk about it later. Right now, we should head for our usual haunts so the Kiowa won’t have any trouble locating us.” Baylor’s voice hardened a little. “I want to discuss that two hundred dollars with him.”
* * *
“Fifty thousand dollars,” the man said as he gazed at the amber liquid in the glass he held.
It was a little early in the morning for whiskey, but some things merited taking a drink no matter what time it was. Brooding about the betrayal that had stabbed a knife in his guts was one of those things.
“Here’s to the cold-blooded bitch who stole it from me.” He tossed the drink back and thumped the empty on the bar in front of him. He was a big man, heavy through the shoulders but lean-hipped from all the riding he had done, mostly to shake off posses that were chasing him for one reason or another. His black hat was tipped back on rumpled fair hair above a slightly lantern-jawed face.
“You ain’t tellin’ us anything we don’t already know, Earl,” said one of the two men who had accompanied him into the saloon in Dallas.
At that hour, they were the only customers except for a drunk who lay facedown over one of the tables, snoring. The only other person in the place was a sleepy-looking bartender wiping idly at the mahogany with a rag.
“Yeah, you talk about her all the time,” said the other man who had come in with Earl. As the big man swung a glare toward him, he added hastily, “Not that that’s a problem or anything. Whatever you want to say, Earl, me and Cooper are mighty happy to listen. Ain’t we, Coop?”
“That’s right, Ben,” the first man, whose name was Seth Cooper, quickly agreed. Neither he nor his companion, Ben Hawthorne, wanted to make Earl any angrier than he already was.
Earl was usually pretty proddy to begin with. Having his woman take off with fifty grand in loot he and the rest of the gang had stolen from various banks in Texas, Arkansas, and Missouri had made him just about loco.
Cooper and Hawthorne understood that. They were glad their leader had picked them to come with him while he tracked down the thief. That showed Earl trusted them and might result in bigger payoffs later on.
For the time being, the rest of the gang had scattered to the four winds. They were supposed to rendezvous in Fort Smith in two months. Earl, Cooper, and Hawthorne would go there when they had recovered the stolen loot.
They had tracked the woman all the way from Missouri to Dallas, but they didn’t know which direction she had gone from there. Cooper and Hawthorne had been all over town, questioning hotel porters, livery hostlers, ticket clerks at the railroad depot and the stagecoach line, anybody they could think of who might have seen her. They’d been making the rounds for two days without any luck.
That lack of success was grating on Earl’s nerves. And that meant it was only a matter of time until he exploded. Cooper and Hawthorne didn’t want to be around when that happened.
The hinges on the saloon’s batwing doors squealed a little as a man pushed through them. He wore a white shirt and dark brown vest, with garters around the shirt
’s sleeves, and sported a black eyeshade, as well. It didn’t take much looking around the room for him to spot the three outlaws at the bar.
The newcomer headed toward them. “Are you fellas looking for a woman?”
The question made Earl look around with a snarl on his face. “What the hell is it to you?”
“I just got back to work at the telegraph office today after taking a few days off,” the man replied, unfazed by Earl’s bad attitude. “The gent who took my place told me some men were asking around about a woman.” He described the object of the owlhoots’ search and then added, “About a week ago I handled some telegrams for a woman who looked like that. When I heard somebody was looking for her, I asked around until I was told you might be here getting a drink.”
Earl reached out with his left hand, grabbed the man’s shirtfront, and jerked him closer. “Who the hell was she sending telegrams to?” he demanded.
The telegraph operator’s eyes widened with fear, but he stood his ground and replied in a firm voice, “I figured it might be worth something to you.”
Earl’s right hand pulled the gun from the holster on his hip, shoved the barrel up under the telegrapher’s jaw, and dug the muzzle into the soft flesh there, causing a gasp of pain. “It’ll be worth your life if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”
The drunk still snored away in the corner. The bartender edged toward the far end of the bar, still pretending to wipe the hardwood with the rag but obviously not wanting anything to do with what was going on.
“Earl,” Cooper said, “you can’t go stickin’ a gun in a fella’s throat like that. Somebody’s liable to come in, see what you’re doin’, and call the law on us.”
“We can’t afford that,” Hawthorne put in. He took a coin from his pocket. “Ten bucks, mister. That enough to pay for what you know?”
The telegrapher managed to nod, which was no easy feat with Earl’s gun pressed against his throat.
Earl growled, lowered the weapon, and stepped back. “Talk,” he grated.
“The lady . . . the lady wired a man in Fort Worth.” The telegrapher rubbed his sore neck for a second, then went on. “A man named Keegan. He runs a . . . a matrimonial agency, whatever that is. The lady made some sort of deal with him and was going to meet him in Fort Worth. I couldn’t really make heads or tails of it beyond that.”
“Fort Worth’s only thirty miles from here,” Cooper said.
“Get the horses,” Earl snapped. “We’re ridin’.”
Hawthorne handed the ten-dollar gold piece to the telegrapher, who said, “I hope you boys won’t tell anybody how you found out about this. All telegraphic communications are supposed to be confidential. I’m betraying a sacred trust.”
“Sacred trusts come cheap around here, then,” Hawthorne said. “We won’t say nothin’, don’t worry about that. All we want to do is find the woman.”
“Could I ask—”
“No. You sure as hell can’t.”
“I told you to get the horses,” Earl said with a scowl. “We’re gonna find this man Keegan, and he’ll tell us what we need to know. Either that, or I’ll break every bone in the son of a bitch’s body.”
* * *
Steam billowed around the train sitting alongside the platform in New Orleans. It would be pulling out soon, but not all the passengers were aboard just yet.
In fact, one of the passengers, a slender young man in an expensive suit and hat, watched with a frown of disapproval as porters lifted his trunk and bags from a cart and carried them into a private car.
“These men are lazy,” he snapped to his companion. “If their sloth causes me to miss this train, Leon—”
“There’s no way you’ll miss the train, Mr. Kirkwood,” the man called Leon said. “The conductor knows to hold it as long as necessary.” A faint twitching at the corners of his mouth might have been a smile . . . or it might not have been. “Trains don’t go off and leave passengers who can afford a private car.”
“Well, I suppose you’re right about that,” Kirkwood said.
He was twenty-five years old, with a delicately handsome face adorned by a thin mustache. His companion was twice as old and at least seventy pounds heavier, a bulky man whose thick arms and shoulders strained the fabric of his cheap black suit. A black bowler hat sat on a mostly bald head above very prominent ears and a chin as square and sturdy as a block of stone. Opponents in the prizefight ring had tried pounding that chin for years and never succeeded in doing anything except breaking their knuckles.
One of the porters emerged from the railroad car and said, “That’s the last of ’em, Mist’ Kirkwood. You’s ready to go. I’ll go tell the conductor.”
Kirkwood jerked his head in a nod of acknowledgment. He didn’t thank the porter. Who wasted time and breath thanking a servant for doing his job?
Kirkwood climbed aboard, followed by Leon, who moved with unusual grace for such a big, bulky man. Inside, the car was comfortably, luxuriously appointed.
Kirkwood tossed his hat onto a chair and then sat down on a well-upholstered divan. “I need a drink.”
Leon moved to a small bar located near the front end of the private car. He picked up one of the several snifters that sat upside down on a silver tray. His fingers were so thick and strong it seemed like the delicate glass would snap and shatter just from him handling it.
His touch was deft, however, and he had no trouble pouring brandy from a crystal decanter into the snifter. He took it to Kirkwood and handed it to the young man, who swirled the liquid, sniffed it delicately, and took a sip. “Acceptable, I suppose. How long will it take us to reach Fort Worth?”
“We have to go north to St. Louis first,” Leon said, “and change trains there. Then on down into Texas. We’ll be there tomorrow morning, if there are no delays.”
Kirkwood took some papers from an inside coat pocket, unfolded them, and studied them, even though he had already read over the detective’s report a score of times. “There had better not be any delays. According to this, she arrived in Fort Worth several days ago. Do you think she’ll still be there, Leon?”
“I don’t know, sir. But if she isn’t, we’ll find her.” The big man nodded solemnly. “We’ll keep looking until you find her, just as you vowed that you would.”
“And when we do, she’ll see the error of her ways. She’ll regret breaking our engagement. She’ll promise to come back and remain faithfully at my side from now on.” Kirkwood lifted the snifter and drank down all the brandy. He licked his lips. “If she doesn’t, you have my permission to twist her pretty little head right off her shoulders, Leon. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”
Leon just grunted.
CHAPTER NINE
Agnes Hampel proved to be quite skilled at handling the team and wagon. She must have learned quite a bit hauling hay on the farm where she was raised, Ace thought. He could tell that having Chance riding alongside distracted her at times, but for the most part she kept her attention on what she was doing.
Ace needed to have a talk with Chance and let him know how Agnes felt. Whenever pretty girls were around, Chance sometimes completely ignored other things that were going on—and there were four beautiful ones riding in the back of that wagon.
Once they were across the river, the road split into several trails, with arrow-shaped signs nailed to a single post to identify each route. Ace drew rein and frowned at the signs, which read DENTON, JACKSBORO, and WEATHERFORD.
He looked across the backs of the team and asked Chance, “You know which way we’re supposed to go?”
“I haven’t been here before. How would I know?”
Lorena leaned out past Agnes. “I have a map I bought when I found out where we were going. I didn’t expect to need it, since Cyrus Keegan claimed he knew the way, but I was curious. Now I’m glad I did.”
She retreated into the wagon to find the map in her belongings and then climbed out onto the seat and motioned for Ace to come closer. He broug
ht his horse in until his leg was brushing the side of the driver’s box.
“Here’s Fort Worth,” Lorena said as she rested a fingernail on the map. She traced a path with it across the paper. “And here’s San Angelo.”
Ace leaned closer to study the map in Lorena’s hand. As he did, he smelled the scent of lilac water coming from her, along with something else indefinable that stirred his senses. He was conscious that their heads were only a few inches apart. “Looks like we need to go through Weatherford. Then we head on out to Abilene and angle southwest from there to San Angelo.”
From the other side of the driver’s box, Chance said, “Abilene’s in Kansas. You should know. We had some trouble there a while back, remember?”
Ace wasn’t likely to forget. “Well, there’s an Abilene in Texas, too. There it is, right on the map.”
Agnes said to Chance, “You can crowd on in here, if you need to see the map better.”
Chance shook his head. “No, I trust Ace to know where he’s going. He’s always been the level-headed one.”
Agnes looked disappointed that Chance didn’t want to lean across her to study the map. He didn’t appear to notice her reaction.
Ace straightened in his saddle. “All right. We head for Weatherford, then. That was pretty smart of you, Miss Lorena, buying that map.”
“I like to be prepared for whatever comes up.”
“Yes,” Isabel said from inside the wagon, “I imagine you do.”
Lorena sent a quick, over-the-shoulder glare at the sultry brunette then folded the map. “I’ll ride up here for a while if that’s all right with you, Agnes.”
“Sure. I won’t mind the company.” Agnes flicked the reins again and got the team moving onto the trail that led to Weatherford.
It was a nice spring morning, although a low line of dark clouds far to the west promised the possibility of rain later. That time of year, storms were common all up and down the plains that ran through the middle of the country from Canada to the Rio Grande. Good weather for the whole trip would have been welcome, but Ace knew better than to expect it.
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