by Jo Goodman
"Right where we want them," Ethan said calmly. He took his last cartridge out of his pocket, set the fuse, and waited.
"Damn, look at that," Ben said, pointing to the engine. "Houston's got it goin'!"
No. 486 rolled forward slowly, in fits and starts, straining against the track that had already damaged her wheels. As she began picking up speed Ethan threw his last stick. The fuse was so short it exploded in midair. They could see four men take refuge on the train. A fifth joined them a few seconds later.
Ethan scrambled down the rocks, half running, half sliding. The train was pulling away. He ran behind it, leaped, and caught a ride on the back of the caboose for a few hundred yards. Then he jumped. He hoped Houston had already done the same. It was too late now. The train was crossing the trestle and it was vibrating as fiercely as Ethan suspected it would.
He found the fuse cords quickly, marked by the stone mound he had made earlier, and struck a match. They caught immediately, burning at an even rate toward the packs of dynamite nested in the trestle beams. He watched the progress of the train, a bulky shadow a shade darker than the surrounding night. The rattling of the cars, the steady churning of the engine, receded as distance yawned between Ethan and the train.
From behind him, down the tracks, Ethan heard Houston shout for him. "In a minute," he called. "I want to be certain this—"
The explosions, almost simultaneous, cut off Ethan's sentence.
"Blows," he finished when the dust and timber settled. No. 486 was safely on the other side but there would be no coming back. Standing on the edge of the abutment, he shook his head as he examined the damage he had wrought. "I guess it wasn't too cold."
Houston called him again. Ethan turned. "I'm coming."
They found Obie lying on the canyon side of the track where the passengers had pushed him after he'd been shot. He was unconscious, not dead. Ethan and Houston supported Obie between them and headed for where their horses were hidden. Ben was waiting there with the mules. He helped them strap Obie into his saddle then mounted himself. Jake and Happy joined them a few minutes later.
They were somber as they rode. There was no sense of victory in eluding the posse, only a question of how the law had come to be there in the first place.
Happy said what the others, except Ethan, were thinking. "Your wife's behind this, Ethan. She's the reason Obie took a bullet, hell, the reason we all almost took one."
"You're crazy, Happy. Michael didn't do this."
"You're the one who's not thinking straight," Ben said, taking up his brother's argument. "We caught her listenin' at the door the night we were makin' our plans. I never did believe she didn't hear nothin'. Tonight's bad business is proof I was right."
"Michael couldn't have done it," Ethan said. "She's been drugged the whole time we've been gone. I gave her the first dose myself so she'd be easy for Dee to handle. She'll still be drugged when we get back. There's no way possible she could have told anyone, even if she knew anything. Which she didn't."
Houston slowed his horse and let Ethan come up beside him. "So what do you think happened?"
"The possibility that makes the most sense to me is Cooper set us up."
"Cooper?" It was clear by his tone that Houston hadn't considered that. "Why?"
"I don't know why. Perhaps he's not as happy with the arrangement he has with us as he appears. Or perhaps he simply wanted to remove any suspicion from himself by making certain we were killed during this robbery."
Houston was silent for a long time. The others were also considering the possibility of betrayal at Cooper's hands. "It's worth looking at a little more closely," Houston said.
* * *
Obie died on the trail. They buried him near a stretch of limber pines and covered the grave with needles. They agreed that Kitty could have Obie's share from the robbery. There had to be a story to cover for his disappearance and Kitty would have to support it. The money they would offer her was meant less to compensate for the loss of her brother than it was a bribe for her cooperation. No one anticipated there would be trouble from Kitty. She was a realist.
They returned to town separately. Jake and Houston went to the jail first, tending to the business of the town before they tended to their own. Ben and Happy took the mules and money and headed for their cabin. It was left for Ethan to go to the saloon. It was left to him to tell Kitty.
She seemed to know. When he walked into the saloon alone and sought her out even before asking about Michael, Kitty knew what Ethan was going to tell her. She took the arm he offered and allowed him to lead her into Dee's office. Kitty sagged weakly against the door as Ethan closed it behind them.
Detra stepped into the office from her apartments. "What's happened?" she demanded, her eyes darting between Ethan and Kitty. "Is it Houston?"
Ethan gave Dee a quelling glance. His expression softened when he faced Kitty again. "I'm sorry, Kitty," he said. He helped her away from the door and into a chair. She leaned against him heavily, barely able to support herself.
"How?" she asked weakly.
"It was an ambush." He heard Dee suck in her breath but paid her no attention. He hunkered down beside Kitty's chair and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "Obie was on the train when it happened and none of us could get to him. The passengers pushed him off. We found him, bandaged the wound, and carried him back. He'd lost too much blood, Kitty. He couldn't make it all the way back to Madison."
Numbness stole all expression from Kitty's face. She stared blankly at her hand in Ethan's as if there were no connection between hers and the story he told.
"We buried him on the way back," said Ethan. "I can take you there some time if you'd like." He paused. "No one in Madison can know how it really happened, Kitty. You understand, don't you? We have to tell people that Obie—"
Dee interrupted. "Damn it, Ethan. This isn't the time to work out a story between you. Can't you see she's in shock?" Her skirts rustled as she rounded her desk and came to stand just behind Kitty. She placed a hand on Kitty's shoulder. "Come with me, Kitty. You can lie down in my bedroom. You don't have to talk to anyone about this right now." Kitty allowed herself to be nudged out of the chair. Dee's dark blue eyes locked angrily on Ethan's. "I'll be back as soon as Kitty's settled. Don't go anywhere. I want to talk to you." When she saw his brows rise slightly at her tone Dee offered the information that would assure his compliance. "It's about Michael."
Ethan was sitting on the edge of Dee's desk when she returned, negligently turning the pages of her open ledger. The first thing she did was close the book over his hand.
"Nothing in there is your affair," she said.
"I was just passing time, Dee."
She put the bookkeeping ledger in the middle desk drawer and locked it. "I knew this would happen," she said, lowering her voice to prevent Kitty from hearing. "If there was an ambush, that bitch wife of yours is to blame."
Ethan stood. "What are you saying? Michael's here, isn't she?"
"She's here now, but she caused us some trouble a few days ago."
"It was your responsibility to see that wasn't possible. What kind of trouble could Michael cause when she was drugged?"
"She disappeared for a few hours. We couldn't find her. Don't look at me that way, Ethan. It happens sometimes. The powders I gave her don't always have the same effect on people. Remember how quickly she slept the first time? I told you I would reduce the dose and I did. Too much, it seems. It took time to find the proper blend." Detra paced the length of the room as she talked. "It's not my fault that any of this happened. I told you from the beginning that you shouldn't have brought her here. She's not one of us, Ethan, and she never will be. I know she talked to someone while she was gone."
"How do you know, Dee? Did you see her?"
"No, I didn't, but-"
"Did someone say something to you?"
"No, but-"
"Where was she while she was gone?"
"I don't know, but-"
Dee started to say something, felt Ethan's hard stare on her, and thought better of it. Her mouth snapped shut.
"I'm going to see Michael myself. You better have taken good care of her, Dee." He held out his hand for the key to his room.
Dee gave it to him. She watched him leave. "This isn't the end of it," she said softly as the door closed behind him. "Not the end at all."
The saloon was quiet with only a dozen customers there at midday. Someone called to Ethan as he mounted the stairs. Ethan pretended he didn't hear. He had no desire to engage in any conversation about Obie or Kitty or his trip to Stillwater. The key grated loudly in the silent hallway. Ethan pushed open the door.
Michael was lying in the middle of the bed on her back. Her face was pale, her eyes closed. Bluish color tinged her lips. The skin on the back of her hands seemed remarkably white, almost translucent. Her breathing was shallow, quiet.
Ethan tossed his hat on the wing chair as he approached the bed. He shrugged out of his coat and threw it aside also. "Michael?" Sitting on the edge of the bed, Ethan reached for one of her hands and took it in his. Her skin was cool. "Michael? It's Ethan. I'm back." He watched her head turn slowly toward him. There was a faint smile and her lids fluttered open. Her eyes were unfocused.
"Ethan," she said softly. She felt him move, leaning closer to hear what she said. "I'm glad. No more drugs."
"No," he said. "No more drugs." He slipped an arm under her shoulders and helped her sit up. She leaned heavily against him. "We have to leave here tonight, Michael. It's time."
"Time," she repeated sleepily.
"Michael. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
How much had Dee given her? Ethan wondered. Surely there'd been no need for Michael to be all but oblivious to her surroundings. "Michael, Dee says that you went somewhere while I was gone. Did you talk to anyone? See anyone?" He watched her struggle to make sense of his questions. Could he trust her answer? "Never mind. It doesn't matter. We're leaving together."
The door to the room banged open. Houston and Jake stood on the threshold, Dee just behind them. The men looked grim. Detra's smile was complacent.
"We need to talk about her," Houston said, jerking his chin toward Michael. "Dee says she's the reason Obie's dead."
Chapter 11
They sat around Dee's dining room table. By some unspoken agreement they took the same chairs they had while planning the robbery. Obie's chair was left in the circle, unoccupied by anyone. It served as a reminder of betrayal and as focus for their anger.
Michael was forced to sit beside Houston and across the table from Ethan.
"This is ridiculous," Ethan said. "Look at her. She can barely sit up. You can't expect that she'll be able to defend herself."
Happy stared out the window at the darkening sky. A storm was moving in. A few inches of snow would cover their tracks. He wondered if it mattered. Had Michael done more than warn someone about the robbery? Had she identified them to the law? "I don't think it matters much if she can defend herself," he said. He glanced at the cuspidor beside his chair and spit. "She got you to speak for her, don't she?"
"I wasn't here," Ethan said. "Neither were you. It seems to me we have Dee's word and nothing else."
"My word should be good enough," Dee said sharply, glancing around the table. "I tell you she was missing for a few hours. I know I locked her in at night but somehow she got out. It was three in the morning when I went to check on her and found her gone. It was nearly six when I caught her sneaking in the back door."
Michael pulled the shawl she was wearing more closely about her shoulders. She stared at her lap, shaking her head slowly. "It's not true," she said quietly. "Not true. I never—"
"Oh, for God's sake," Dee said, throwing up her hands. "How can you deny what—"
Ethan slammed the flat of his hand on the table. Dee's chin came up defiantly but she stopped talking. "Let Michael at least finish," Ethan said. "Let's hear what she has to say."
Michael raised her eyes. She looked at Houston, not Ethan. It was an effort to speak. "Detra's lying. I never left my room. I couldn't. I was too sick. I barely remember anything since—"
"There!" Detra said triumphantly. "You see. She says herself that she barely remembers. Well, I tell you she was gone. I don't know who she spoke to on her little trek from the saloon but you can be certain she spoke to someone. You wouldn't have had a posse meet that train otherwise."
Ethan pushed back his chair. "This is ridiculous. You assured us that your damn powders would keep her bedridden for the length of our trip. Now you're saying that it didn't happen that way."
"It was a problem with the amount," Dee said. "When she came back I increased the dose. It was only this morning, when I anticipated your return, that I could reduce it again. You can see for yourself that she's shaking off the effects. In a few hours it will be as if she'd never taken anything at all."
Ethan found that difficult to believe. Michael's speech was slurred, the cadence uneven. He had forced her to drink three cups of coffee while they waited for Happy and Ben to join them and she still had little command of her posture. Though she denied Dee's accusation, she seemed to not understand the gravity of her position. It worked in Dee's favor. "Michael says it didn't happen," Ethan said.
"Are you sayin' Dee's a liar?" asked Ben.
"I'm saying that something's not right here. Even if Michael was gone for a few hours in the middle of the night, where would she go? What would she say?"
Houston held up his hand, stopping Ethan. "You know damn well she knows too much. She heard our conversation the night we were planning. She had plenty to tell someone."
"Who?" Ethan asked. "Who the hell would listen to her?"
"Ralph Hooper," Dee said. "Why not? He's one of her favorites. Or Billy Saunders. Someone not only listened to her, someone believed her. Can't you see the evidence that's in front of your face, Ethan?"
"There is no evidence," Ethan said.
"I heard plenty," Happy said. "It ain't safe to have her around. I said so from the beginnin', didn't I?"
Michael tried to get up. Houston pulled her back and kept his hand on her forearm. "I didn't leave," she said again. "Never left at all."
Silence greeted her words.
Ethan stood and went to the window. He faced the others and pressed his back against the cool panes of glass. His arms were folded in front of him. "I still say there's no evidence," he said finally. "We can't ask Billy or Ralph or anyone else for that matter without giving ourselves away. I think it was Cooper himself who betrayed us, not my wife."
Houston and Dee exchanged glances. There was a slight nod from Houston and Dee rose, left the room, and returned less than a minute later with a half a dozen newspapers under her arm. She gave one to Ethan and dropped the rest on the table.
"Perhaps these back issues of the Chronicle will convince you, Ethan," Houston said. "Dee did a little investigating on her own and received these a while ago. I wasn't sure then. I was still willing to give Michael the benefit of the doubt. I can't ignore this."
Ethan unfolded the paper. "What am I supposed to look for?" he asked, knowing the answer. "This issue's dated more than two weeks before the 349 robbery."
"That's right," Houston said. "And I think there's a story in the bottom right corner that's particularly interesting."
Ethan bluffed with impatience. "Just tell me what the hell it's about. I don't want to hear about your mysteries now."
Houston passed out other issues to Ben and Happy and Jake. He pushed one in front of Michael. "Look at the reporter's name, Ethan," he said. "Every issue I have has at least one story by her, one story that she reported from the touring Chronicle car."
Jake found one in his copy. "The Plains Truth by Mary M. Dennehy," he read with some difficulty. "Is that what you meant, Houston?"
"Precisely what I meant." Houston l
ooked at Michael. "That's your work, isn't it?"
Michael stared at the article he pointed to in her paper. She wondered what she was supposed to say. "Yes," she said finally. "I wrote that." She retained the presence of mind to look sorrowfully in Ethan's direction. "I'm sorry, Ethan. I couldn't tell you. I wanted to... I was afraid."
Ethan could hardly believe she was trying to save him. His startled expression was real enough. "Michael, I don't think this is—"
She rested her head in her hands. The pain in her eyes was genuine, but it was physical, not emotional. "I should have said something... let you know why I was with the Chronicle... I couldn't... I just couldn't. Not after what you did to Drew."
"He wasn't your fiancé," Houston said. It was not a question. He was satisfied that he already knew the truth.
Michael shook her head. "He was a friend. A colleague. Please, I need to lie down. I don't feel well. I think I'm going to be sick." A small choking sound convinced everyone. Dee rushed her out of the dining room and into the apartment's tiny kitchen.
"Well?" Houston asked, leaning back in his chair. "What's to be done?"
"Jesus," Ben said. "A reporter. She's a goddamn reporter."
Happy tossed his paper toward the center of the table, disgusted by the revelation. "How the hell did you figure this out, Houston?"
Ethan wanted to know the same thing. He skimmed the article quickly and discovered the answer. It was the journal that Michael kept that had betrayed her. He remembered what she had said about writing being as individual as a signature. This was her work. Houston had read the notes she kept and recognized it as well. He only listened with half an ear to what Houston was telling the others.
"Dee's really the one you have to thank," Houston said, finishing his explanation. "She ordered the papers from New York. Woman's intuition, I suppose."
A woman scorned, Ethan thought. That's what had prompted Dee's search for information about Michael. Now he was faced with the problem of what to do about it.