The Devil You Know

by Jo Goodman

  He chuckled and thought he probably was. He checked his pocket for cartridges and found he had five left. He slipped them into the cylinder and then walked half the distance to the target. Fanning the hammer as deftly as he had ever fanned a deck of cards, his excess of enthusiasm exploded poor Mr. Roundbottom’s head.

  The shots echoed for what Israel thought was a long time, but then he realized that there was only silence around him and that echo he heard was in his head. He lowered the Colt slowly and let it hang at his side for a few moments before he holstered it. He closed his coat, buttoned it, and turned to bring Willa full into his line of sight. He was not surprised that she was staring at him as if he were a stranger to her. Just then he was a stranger to himself.

  Willa stepped away from the horses and began walking toward him. He put a hand up to stop her. After a long minute spent mastering his heartbeat, he went to her.

  “Who was that?” she asked when he was standing in front of her. “I don’t believe it was Mr. Roundbottom you killed in that rather stunning fashion.”

  Israel turned to look at the shards of snow and ice that had been Malcolm Barber’s head. He could not tell Willa that. It would frighten her. “You’re wrong,” he said. “I told you. Roundbottom was a very bad man.” He met her gaze directly and watched as she began to doubt her interpretation of what she had witnessed. He was on the point of telling her the truth, no matter how she might take it, but then her scrutiny ended and she slipped her arms around him, pressed her cheek to his shoulder, and stayed there.

  Israel’s arms circled her. He was not her shelter now. He had instantly recognized what was different about this embrace. She was holding him. He was holding on.

  They parted at the same time as if by unspoken mutual agreement and headed for the horses. Israel gave Willa a leg up for no other reason than he wanted to. As soon as he was in the saddle, they turned Felicity and Galahad and started home.

  The wind struck them squarely in the face on the way back. No new snow was falling, but what was lifted into the air by each gust made it equally hard to see. They both lowered their hats and pulled up their scarves so only their eyes showed. Israel stopped once to remove the spectacles and put them in his pocket, and while carrying on a conversation was not possible now, he had no difficulty hearing Willa’s short burst of laughter.

  They were in the barn before they could properly talk to each other. Israel handed Willa a blanket and told her to put it around her and he would take care of the horses. She was shaking with cold, which served to shorten her argument but not stop her from mounting one. Israel fought back by prying Felicity’s reins from Willa’s frozen fist and ignoring everything she said.

  Willa sat huddled on a bench outside the stalls while Israel worked. She found another blanket to put over her lap and legs. “I really did have a reason for finding you,” she said when her teeth had stopped chattering.

  “I figured. You want to tell me now?”

  “Annalea told me this morning after you were gone that Mr. Easterbrook’s horse had the Big Bar brand on its left shoulder.”

  Israel poked his head out of Felicity’s stall. “Say that again.”

  “You heard me, you just can’t believe it.” She repeated herself anyway. “Annalea spent a lot of time putting it together in her mind. I’m thinking you can appreciate that perhaps better than anyone. I have no idea what Easterbrook’s connection is to a Mississippi showboat, but that’s in his past. The Barbers are paying his wages now. There is no other way he could have come by one of their working horses.”

  “Stole it?”

  Willa closed that door with a highly doubtful look.

  “All right. So you don’t think that’s likely. What is everyone thinking then? That he’s acting on his own or that he was sent here by one or both of the Barbers?”

  “The Barbers,” she said succinctly.

  “And?”

  “We are divided on the ‘one or both’ part of your question, and if it’s only one, which one. Happy thinks Malcolm is behind Easterbrook’s visit. Zach, because of that conversation he had with Eli a while back, thinks Eli is responsible. Cutter made a case for it being Malcolm and Eli, along with Easterbrook, who took you for that ride.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I know better than anyone what Malcolm Barber is capable of, and I don’t see him as part of this. I believe that if you did something to rile Mal, he would have killed you where you stood. Even if I could be assured that he was part of the trio that got you out to the ridge, I cannot convince myself that he would have left you alive. Oh, I know they thought you were dead, but Mal would have made sure of it.”

  “So it’s Eli, then.”

  “Yes. Only my opinion. We all have one.”

  “And the third person?”

  “I don’t know. Someone else from Big Bar probably, but we don’t know everyone who works there. There’s Buster Rawlins, who’s been around for a long time. We know him on sight. Cowboys come and go; it’s the nature of the work. Most of the hands that the Barbers hire come from somewhere else, same as our men. Cutter, being a local boy, is more the exception than the rule. That’s why I kept him on.”

  “Does any of this connect to Monarch Lake?”

  “We talked about that again. None of us can draw a straight line to it. I’m inclined to think it’s a red herring.”

  Israel patted Felicity on the jaw and moved to Galahad’s stall. “That’s interesting.”

  “Hmm. Maybe ‘distraction’ would be a better word for it. I’m not sure how purposeful anything going on there is. You heard Zach and Cutter when they got back last night.”

  “I was at the table while they were talking about it,” he corrected, removing Galahad’s saddle. “I had other things on my mind.”

  “Well, they found evidence that someone had been out that way, but the wind swept snow across the trail.” She shrugged. “Had they been able to follow it, it would have likely led them to Big Bar, not some rustler’s hidey-hole. The important thing is that there was no evidence that anyone is trying to divert the water supply. How that could be accomplished at this time of year is a mystery to us anyway. If Malcolm still wants our water, he’ll wait until the thaw or he’ll make another legal run at it. On the other hand, it’d be very much like Malcolm to hassle us for the pleasure of it.”

  Israel began brushing Galahad. “This is not the first time that someone’s ridden out from here to investigate a disturbance at the lake.”

  “As I said, it’s a distraction.”

  “Mm-hmm. A dangerous one.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “All right. A potentially dangerous one. What if Zach and Cutter had been out there when Easterbrook showed up? You and I weren’t here. Happy and Annalea would have had to fend for themselves.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, but fending for ourselves is what we do. It’s what we’ve always done. You taking off this morning like you did, to do what you were doing, well, that says to me that you want to fend for yourself, too.” Her slim smile appeared as he turned to look at her. “Not only for yourself, but for all of us.”

  Israel’s eyes dropped to Willa’s slanted smile. He put down the grooming brush and advanced on Willa, lifting her to her feet when he stood in front of her. “Your mouth, Wilhelmina, now that’s a red herring.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Eli Barber studied his cards for a long minute before he moved money into the pot. He was aware of the collective sigh that circled the table, and he looked up, settling his gaze one at a time on the three men who had waved him over to play. It occurred to him that they were regretting it. Not only was he winning, but he was taking his time doing it.

  He had no reason to hurry the play along. His three companions at the table would all be going home tonight, while he would be going back to the V
iceroy for the third consecutive evening. As he had anticipated, the weather had turned again. He had been wrong, though, about the ferocity of the storm. The roads out of Jupiter were blocked within hours of the first wave of snow and folks in town were mostly staying indoors or trudging through hip-deep drifts to get to the mercantile, the apothecary, or most often, the saloon. Even the train’s arrival had been halted. Rumor had it that it was taking shelter in a snow shed somewhere east of Lansing.

  Eli was playing with men he knew by name but did not know well. They were all better acquainted with his father, as was true of most people in Jupiter. Malcolm was everyone’s friend, although no one’s intimate. Eli was no one’s friend and everyone’s acquaintance. He knew he stood in his father’s shadow, but he also knew, just as everybody did, that someday that would change. Folks in Jupiter had a long memory, and the older ones among them could recall a time when Malcolm Barber had been in his father’s shadow. Eli accepted that and enjoyed certain liberties because no one who considered the future ever crossed him.

  Eli followed the play around the table, and when it came back to him, he set his cards down and turned them over. “A full house, gentlemen.” He smiled and shrugged helplessly as they tossed their cards in mutual disgust. “Seems as if I win again.” He used his arm to shovel his winnings toward him. “Another?”

  They all nodded but with different degrees of enthusiasm.

  “All right, then,” said Eli. He passed the cards to Paul Beetleman on his left. Beetleman, a squat, square man with protruding lips, was a member of Jupiter’s council and a funnel for information of what was going on in and around the town. Eli kept his voice casual and addressed the players at large instead of Beetleman in particular. “Any of you hear anything about how the Pancakes are faring this winter?”

  It was Danny McKenney who answered. He sat deeply slouched in his chair, putting Eli in mind of Jesse Snow when Jesse had a few beers in him. McKenney, however, was merely spineless in body and spirit and never stood if he could lean and never leaned if he could lie down. Eli could not imagine how he had drummed up the courage to ask Wilhelmina to marry him, although the man was well suited to any position that called for kneeling.

  “Haven’t seen anyone from the valley in a while,” said McKenney. “I swear they hibernate. My old man does same thing come winter. All of them like bears. You’re lucky you got out when you did, Eli. You’d be holed up at Big Bar, just like your father.”

  “So I would.”

  Beetleman’s eyes went to the stairs and followed them to the second floor. “Seems I recollect seeing one of your hands with you earlier. He’s probably glad he got out as well. Can’t imagine that he’s not enjoying himself with Louise.”

  “Mary Edith,” Eli corrected absently.

  “What’s his name?” asked Noah Cuttlewhite. Unlike McKenney, Cuttlewhite was sitting straight up, elbows tucked close to his sides, feet flat on the floor. This attempt to be taken seriously, as well as add inches to his height, was undermined by a jaw as smooth as a baby’s bottom and a receding chin. “I think I’ve seen him around a time or two.”

  “Jesse Snow,” said Eli.

  “Guess he’s not much for cards,” McKenney said, studying his hand.

  “Would you be,” asked Beetleman, “if Mary Edith led you up those stairs?”

  McKenney made a dismissive sound. “Can’t afford her now. Eli has all my money.”

  “Surely not all,” Eli said, looking at the pot. “You’re still in, aren’t you?”

  “Barely.” He threw a few coins in the middle of the table. “I did hear tell that Willa got her knot tied, if you take my meaning.”

  “I think we all do,” said Beetleman.

  Eli did not move, but he felt as if had suddenly snapped to attention. “How’s that again, Danny?”

  “Willa. She finally said yes. Couldn’t believe it myself, not until I had it straight from Mrs. Hamill.”

  “Mrs. Hamill?” Eli asked. “Oh, of course. Cutter Hamill’s mother. Yes, it would make sense that she’d know.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” It was Beetleman’s turn to play and interject something into the conversation. “But she only knew that much. She said she couldn’t pry a name out of her boy. For all we know, Willa Pancake might be married to Cutter himself. Wouldn’t that twist his mother’s corset?”

  Eli smiled because the situation demanded it, not because emotion provoked him. It was the same every time he got close. Mrs. Hamill either truly didn’t know, or she was keeping the secret so close that nothing short of threatening one of her children would get it out of her. Eli responded the same way he always did when he reached the end of this inquiry. In Jupiter, speculation was sometimes more useful than fact.

  “Where do you suppose Willa met this fellow she married?” It was rare that anyone answered with more than a shrug. Eli had never been able to pose the question to someone who had actually asked Willa to marry him, but here was Danny McKenney, and even as indolent as the man was, he had probably spared some thought for the matter.

  Cuttlewhite shrugged, but Beetleman said, “A drifter, most likely. No one from around here, or we would have heard of it.”

  McKenney closed his cards and tapped the corner of them on the table. “Probably someone passing through, looking for work, and ending up in the catbird seat. Still, I thought I should find out what was what on account of having thrown my hat in that ring a while back.” His heavy-lidded eyes settled on Eli. “I figure that’s something you and I have in common, which is probably why I brought it up in the first place. Hasn’t been on my mind for a spell.”

  Eli was about to ask what McKenney knew, but he hesitated and Beetleman asked the question for him.

  “Well, I figured if she was married, then someone had to do the deed. It’s a legal contract, right? Maybe a religious one, too, although Willa hasn’t much been one for church since her mama died.”

  Eli wanted to grab McKenney by his slack collar and shake information out of him. Drawing on a well of patience previously untapped, he sat there quietly and pretended a renewed interest in his cards.

  McKenney shrugged his sloping shoulders. “So I did what made sense to me. I asked the justice when he was here if he performed the marriage, and when he said he didn’t know a thing about it, I went to the preacher and asked. Abernathy only knew what I did and hadn’t given any thought to how it had come about, but when I posed the question, it sure did tickle his curiosity. He reminded me the Pancakes set a whole lot of store by the preacher who was there before him. Remember William Beacon?” When he saw everyone nod, he went on. “So Abernathy supposed that it might have been Pastor Beacon since he’s only in Lansing and that’s not too far. If he’s right, there’d be a record of it with the church and by now a legal record in the county courthouse.”

  “There’s some good thinking,” said Eli.

  Beetleman and Cuttlewhite spoke up at the same time. “So what did you find out?”

  McKenny regarded them as if they’d each sprouted a third eye. “Not a damn thing,” he said. “It’s one thing to ask after local folks, but paying for a ticket to Lansing, or God forbid, riding the distance on horseback, well, there’s nothing I need to know that costs me money to get it—or puts calluses on my ass for that matter.”

  Beetleman shook his head. “It is hard to believe you are Old Man McKenney’s son.”

  Far from taking offense, McKenney grinned. “I know. He says the same thing. Only my mama knows for sure and she’s taking that secret to her grave.”

  Beetleman’s chest swelled and shook with laughter. Cuttlewhite snickered. Eli smiled and was able to maintain it because he was seriously considering calling McKenney out for cheating and killing him right there. It was only out of respect for Old Man McKenney that he didn’t.

  Eli said in bored tones, “Is someone going to ask for a c
ard? Whose turn is it anyway?”

  Cuttlewhite stopped snickering. He held up a hand. “That’s me.” He asked Beetleman for two cards and then said to Eli, “I thought a player like yourself would be keeping track, even with conversation going on around you.”

  “I’m no card sharp. I don’t even play around here much. Did you hear differently?”

  “I never heard you called a sharp before, and I know you don’t have a regular place at a table, but my parents mentioned they saw you in what looked to be a real serious game on the train coming from Denver. Someone told them it had been going on since Saint Louis. There was a train switch in Denver and the players made the switch, too. My mother didn’t hold much with that, but Father told her it was dedication to a craft.”

  Eli forced an appreciative chuckle. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He waited for Cuttlewhite to finish looking at his hand before he spoke again. “When was this? I don’t remember seeing your parents. I’d know them.”

  “Oh, it’s been months now. They were visiting my sister. She had a baby. That’d be sometime in October. Mother didn’t think you saw her or Father. They’d been warned by the conductor to pass through the car quickly so as not to disturb the gentlemen playing.”

  “How about that? I must really have been playing dedicated. I don’t recall anyone passing through. Did your parents recognize anyone else at the table?”

  “I don’t think so. They didn’t say, so I would guess they didn’t. They thought the game might have broken up around Lansing.” He whistled softly. “Saint Louis to Lansing. What I wouldn’t have given to sit at that table.”

  McKenney said, “You can hardly sit at this one, Noah. I swear you’re ready to either jump out of your chair or out of your skin. It’s time for you to show us what you got.”

  The tips of Cuttlewhite’s ears turned pink, matching the flush that slowly rose above his collar and disappeared under his scalp. He spread his cards in his hand and then set the fan on the table. “Three of kind. Anyone have anything better than that?”