Deadly Trail

by William W. Johnstone

  Mabel looked at the newspaper again, rereading the last line in the article.

  “The railroad is offering a reward of one thousand dollars to anyone who can offer assistance in the safe recovery of Miss McKenzie.”

  With one thousand dollars, Mabel could leave this place and buy a small house somewhere. She could start over, maybe take in some sewing or washing. With that much money, she would never have to be “on the line” again.

  And there was something else, something that had nothing to do with the reward money. She felt sorry for the girl, and if there was any way she could help her escape, she was going to do it.

  Mabel returned to the saloon, and even though she was carefully avoiding Strayhorn’s table, she continued to watch it from wherever she was in the room. She had no specific plan in mind, but she needed to be alert for any opportunity that might come her way. She moved about the saloon, engaging in banter with the customers, sometimes refilling their glasses for them, but always keeping an eye on the person in Decker’s clothes, the person that Mabel was convinced was the governor’s niece.

  “Here comes the half-breed,” Mabel heard someone say and, looking toward the front door, she saw Goneril.

  Mabel had never been with Goneril, had never drunk with him, and had never so much as spoken to him. In a town that had more than its share of robbers and murderers, she found Goneril to be particularly frightening. The only good thing was that he seemed as disinterested in Mabel and the other whores as they were frightened of him.

  Goneril looked neither left nor right, but walked directly to Strayhorn’s table. Mabel moved close enough to be able to overhear the conversation.

  “Hey, Strayhorn,” Pauley said. “I thought you hired Goneril to take care of Jensen.”

  “I did,” Strayhorn replied.

  “Then what’s he doin’ here in Dorena?” Pauley nodded toward the man who was coming toward them.

  Goneril didn’t wait for a greeting, but began talking right away. The tone and timbre of his voice reflected his anger.

  “What’s the idea of sending Teech and Decker after Jensen?” Goneril asked angrily.

  “Did they kill him?” Strayhorn asked.

  “No, they didn’t kill him. And their being in the way kept me from killing him.”

  “That sounds to me like it’s between you and them,” Strayhorn said.

  “Not any more, it isn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re dead. Both of them.”

  “Jensen killed them?”

  “Jensen killed Teech,” Goneril said. “I killed Decker.”

  “You killed Decker?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “You hired me to kill Jensen. I didn’t want the competition.”

  “Teech and Decker were a couple of hotheads,” Strayhorn said. “I tried to keep ’em from going after Jensen. But they went out on their own anyway. Don’t worry, nobody else is going to try.”

  Goneril pointed at Strayhorn, then looked at all of them. “I killed Decker, and I will kill anyone else who gets in my way. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Pretty clear,” Strayhorn said.

  Goneril stared at them for a moment longer, then he turned and left the saloon.

  “Teech and Decker,” Strayhorn said after Goneril was gone. “They were so cocksure of themselves.”

  “Teech had been with you for a long time, hadn’t he, Strayhorn?” Pauley asked.

  “Yeah, Teech was my cousin, but after his ma run off and his pa got hisself kilt, my ma brought him in and raised him like one of her own. So Teech was more like a brother than a cousin.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about that.”

  Inexplicably, Strayhorn looked at the other two and smiled. “Hell, far as I’m concerned, it just means that we only have to split the money three ways now. That’s five thousand dollars apiece, boys.”

  “If the governor pays,” No Nose said.

  “He’ll pay,” Strayhorn said. He looked at Layne. “He better pay.”

  “Mr. Strayhorn, I need to—uh—” Layne began, but she didn’t finish her sentence.

  “You need to what?”

  “I need to—uh—the water,” Layne said, pointing to the glass. She cleared her throat. “I have to . . . ,” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  No Nose laughed. “What the hell,” he said. “I think the little lady’s tellin’ you she needs to take a piss.”

  “There’s an outhouse out back,” Strayhorn said.

  “Are you just goin’ to let her go by herself?” Pauley asked.

  “Where the hell is she going to go?” Strayhorn replied. “She knows what would happen if anyone else in this town got hold of her.”

  Overhearing the conversation, Mabel moved quickly to step out the back door. She was waiting, just out of sight, as Layne came into the alley. She saw Layne stop and stare at the odiferous outhouse in obvious dismay over its condition and her situation.

  She hesitated.

  “It don’t get to smellin’ no better by you a’waitin’, honey,” Mabel said.

  “Oh!” Layne gasped, startled by Mabel’s sudden and unexpected appearance.

  “Go ahead, honey, I’ll keep an eye open for you,” Mabel said.

  “What?”

  “I said I’ll keep an eye open for you,” Mabel repeated. “You bein’ a woman and all, I don’t reckon you’d be wantin’ any men to come in on you while you are takin’ care of your business now, would you?”

  “No, I . . . ,” Layne paused in mid-sentence. “You know I’m a woman?”

  “Honey, I not only know what you are, I know who you are,” Mabel said. “You’re the governor’s daughter, ain’t you?”

  “I’m his niece.”

  “I knew it,” Mabel said. “Strayhorn and them others snatched you from the train, didn’t they? And they’re holdin’ you till they get some money from the governor.”

  “Who are you?” Layne asked.

  “I’m just a whore, honey,” she said. “But even whores know right from wrong, and what they’re doin’ with you is wrong.”

  Layne’s eyes welled with tears, which then began sliding down her cheeks as she nodded. “I’m so afraid,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, don’t you worry none, honey, ’cause I’m goin’ to get you away from them,” Mabel said.

  “What is your name?” Layne asked.

  “My name is Mabel. Mabel Franklin.”

  “Mabel, I know you mean well, but you mustn’t help me,” Layne said. “Strayhorn told me what would happen if I try to escape. And if you help me, it will be just as dangerous for you.”

  Mabel made a little motion with her hand. “Take care of your business,” she said. “And leave the rest to me.”

  When Layne came out of the privy a few moments later, Mabel was still standing there.

  “Come with me,” Mabel said.

  “Where? Strayhorn told me that everyone in town was an outlaw.”

  Mabel chuckled. “Honey, not ever’one in town is an outlaw. Fact is, we used to be a pretty nice town till people like Strayhorn moved in. They killed off the law we had and took over. “They’s some good folks in the town. They’re just scared to do anything, that’s all. Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace where you will be safe,” Mabel answered.

  Mabel started up the alley with Layne. They had gone no farther than twenty yards or so when two men came around the corner.

  “Oh!” Layne said.

  Mabel grabbed Layne and pulled the young woman against her. She leaned against the back wall of the dry-goods store, then lifted one leg and wrapped it around Layne. Grabbing Layne’s hand, she put it on her bare thigh, then pulled Layne’s head down to her neck. When Layne tried to fight her, she tightened the hold with her leg.

  “Damn, Mabel, you got one that can’t even wait to get you into your crib?” one of the men asked.

 
“Honey, if he’s got the money, he can have me anywhere he wants,” Mabel answered.

  Both men laughed, then continued on up the alley.

  Mabel waited until they turned a corner before she lowered her leg.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she said.

  “No, that’s—that’s all right,” Layne said. “I didn’t understand what you were doing at first.”

  “Come on, we’ve got to hurry before Strayhorn comes searching for you.”

  When they reached the end of the alley, Mabel crossed the street and went down into the Mexican quarters.

  “I have a friend here who will help us out,” she said.

  Going up to one of the little adobe houses, Mabel knocked on the door. The Mexican woman who answered the door looked surprised.

  “Señorita Franklin?” she said.

  “Frederica, I need help,” Mabel said. “Please, let us in.”

  “Sí, come, come,” Frederica said, stepping back to allow both to come in.

  “This is Frederica Arino,” Mabel said to Layne.

  As soon as Layne stepped into the house, she took off the man’s hat she was wearing and let her hair fall.

  “Oh, mi, usted es una mujer! You are a woman!” Frederica said, repeating it in English.

  “Yes, she is a woman, and she needs your help,” Mabel said. “We must not let Strayhorn find her.”

  “Strayhorn,” Frederica said with a snarl. She looked over at her daughter, who looked away in shame. “Strayhorn es un bastardo. Escupí sobre él. Yes, I will help your friend. I will help anyone to hide from Strayhorn.”

  “Gracias, Señora Arino. Estoy en su deuda,” Layne said.

  “You speak Spanish?” Mabel asked in surprise.

  “I studied Spanish in school,” Layne replied.

  “Oh, this is going to be so easy!” Mabel said. “Frederica, you can—”

  “Sí,” Frederica interrupted, smiling broadly. “I know what to do.”

  A younger version of Frederica came into the room then, accompanied by a young boy.

  “This is my daughter, Maria, and my son, Esteban,” Frederica said. “She will help me.”

  “Maria, soy pleased hacer su conocimiento,” Layne said.

  The young girl made a slight curtsy. “Y yo usted,” she said.

  “Esteban, go to the house of your aunt Carmelita.”

  “But I want to stay here, Mama.”

  “Do as I tell you,” Frederica said in a more demanding tone. “And don’t come back until I come for you.”

  “Sí, Mama,” Esteban said, leaving reluctantly.

  “Well,” Mabel said. “I had better go as well. I should be back before I am missed. I would not want anyone to find me over here.”

  “Mabel, I don’t know how to thank you,” Layne said.

  “You just do what Frederica says and you’ll be fine,” Mabel said, patting Layne on her hand.

  Mabel started out the front door.

  “No, this door,” Maria said quickly, taking her to the back door. She pointed. “This way, then you will come out behind the farmacia.”

  “The drugstore, yes. Yes, good idea. I’ll buy some belladonna. That will be my reason for being gone from the saloon.”

  Half an hour later, with the help of Frederica and Maria, Layne had undergone a complete transformation. Gone were the men’s clothes, replaced now by a bright yellow dress with black lace around a low-cut bodice. It was cinched tight at her waist. Her hair hung in long black tendrils secured with a tortoise-shell comb. Her skin had been slightly darkened with a tea made from onion skins, her cheeks were heavily rouged, her lips painted red, and her eyes accented with a dark shadow.

  Suddenly, they heard shouts, curses, and gunshots from the street. Looking through the window of Frederica’s small house, Layne could see Strayhorn walking up and down in the middle of the street. Strayhorn fired his pistol into the air again.

  “Layne McKenzie!” Strayhorn was yelling. “I know you ain’t left town! If you know what’s good for you, you’d better get out here now! If you don’t show yourself in one minute, I’ll kill you when I find you! Do you understand that, you bitch? Money or no money, I will kill you if I have to come find you! Get out here now!”

  Layne shivered in fear.

  “I’ll give one hundred dollars in cash to any man or woman who brings that bitch back to me!” Strayhorn shouted. “And don’t be fooled! She’s wearin’ a man’s clothes!”

  “Do not worry, he will not find you.” Frederica gave Layne a basket. “Here, we will go to market now.”

  “What?”

  Frederica pointed to the market, which was right across the street. Strayhorn was standing in front of the market.

  “We will go to market now.”

  “No!” Layne said. “Strayhorn is out there! He will see me!”

  “No, Señorita,” Frederica said. She moved Layne over to stand in front of a mirror. “This is what he will see. You are no longer Layne McKenzie, you are my younger sister, Juanita Arino.”

  “I am afraid,” Layne said.

  “Señorita, he will not see you,” Maria said.

  With a deep breath and a squaring of her shoulders, Layne accepted their assurances, and agreed to go out with them.

  “Speak to me only in Spanish,” Frederica said as the three of them left her house and started toward the market.

  Seeing Frederica, Strayhorn came toward them. Layne felt her stomach draw tight in fear.

  “Hey, you, Frederica!” Strayhorn said to Frederica. “I’m looking for an American woman who ran away from me. Have you seen her?”

  “What does she look like?” Frederica asked.

  “What does she look like? Hell, she looks like an American,” Strayhorn answered. “Only, she ain’t like one of the ugly American whores, she’s prettier than that. If you seen her, you would know she was someone new.”

  “I have not seen such a person.”

  “What about you?” Strayhorn asked Maria.

  “I have seen no one, Señor,” Maria answered.

  “What about you, girlie? Have you seen a gringo woman?” Strayhorn asked, looking directly at Layne.

  “She does not speak English,” Frederica said. “I will ask for you.”

  Turning to Layne, Frederica said, in Spanish.

  “Usted ha visto a una mujer estadounidense hermosa?” Frederica asked.

  “Señor, he visto nada,” Layne replied.

  “She says she has seen nothing,” Frederica said.

  “I know damn well that bitch is somewhere,” Strayhorn said. “If you see her, I will give you one hundred dollars to bring her to me.”

  “May we go to market now?” Frederica asked.

  “What? Yes, yes, go on, get out of here,” Strayhorn said. “Layne McKenzie, it is too late for you now!” he shouted as Frederica, Maria, and Layne walked away. “When I find you now, I am going to kill you!”

  “He didn’t recognize me,” Layne said quietly as they walked away. “He looked right at me, but he didn’t recognize me.”

  “You are safe with us,” Frederica said.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  After a full day of looking for Layne McKenzie without success, Strayhorn came back to the saloon.

  “You lose your girlfriend, did you?” Mabel teased.

  “Shut up.”

  “You didn’t have to bring in your own girlfriend. I told you, anytime you want a real American woman, I’ll take you to my crib,” Mabel said.

  “I’d rather be with a goat,” Strayhorn said.

  “We like to please here in beautiful Dorena,” Mabel said. “If you prefer goats, I’m sure we can accommodate you.”

  Everyone in the saloon laughed.

  “Get out of here!” Strayhorn shouted angrily.

  “Sure, honey, whatever you say,” Mabel said, walking away from the table. She had baited him only to see if he suspected her in any way of arranging for Layne to disappear. She was confident now t
hat he did not.

  Strayhorn ordered steak and eggs from the kitchen, and when it was put on the table in front of him, he reached for the steak and picked it up in his hands.

  “Strayhorn, you really need to work on your table manners,” Matt said. “Haven’t you ever heard of a knife and fork?”

  Gasping, Strayhorn looked up to see that the person who had just delivered his food was not the bartender, but Matt Jensen.

  “You!” Strayhorn said in surprise.

  “Go ahead, take a bite,” Matt said. “I wouldn’t want to send a man to hell on an empty stomach.”

  Strayhorn held the piece of meat just in front of his mouth, staring wide-eyed at Matt. “Where did you come from? How did you get here?”

  Matt shook his head. “That’s not how it works,” he said. “I ask the questions, you answer them. Where’s the girl?”

  Strayhorn suddenly dropped the steak and made a mad grab for his pistol, but Matt was quicker on the draw. Instead of shooting Strayhorn, though, he brought his pistol down hard on Strayhorn’s head. Strayhorn fell facedown in his food.

  Matt bent down to take Strayhorn’s pistol. Then he dragged Strayhorn’s limp, unconscious form over to one of the supporting posts, where he propped him and, putting one arm to either side, handcuffed him to the post.

  All conversation had come to a stop when Matt knocked Strayhorn out. Most of the other patrons looked on in curiosity, making no comment until they saw Matt put on the handcuffs.

  “Hey, what the hell you doin’ there? Are you a lawman, mister? ’Cause if you are, you got no jurisdiction here,” one of the others said.

  Matt looked up at the speaker. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “The name is Murdoch. Jess Murdoch, and I’m the man that’s goin’ to teach you better than to come into Dorena to serve paper. Who the hell are you?”

  “My name is Jensen. Matt Jensen.”

  “Jensen?” someone said in a high, choked voice.

  “They say he’s kilt more’n twenty men,” another added in a harsh whisper.

  The man who had challenged Matt began shake.

  “Listen, don’t pay me no never-mind, mister,” he said in a frightened, quivering voice. “I was just funnin’ you is all. You go on about your business.”