Then she saw the man coming back down the street.
"There's a man across the street staring at us," Fern said as she pulled out of Madison's arms. "This is the third time he's come by."
For a moment Madison seemed unable to focus on anything beyond herself, but when he at last looked across the street, his body immediately became taut with suppressed energy. He pulled his watch from his pocket.
"He's come," he said excitedly, almost jumping to his feet.
"Who's come?"
"The man who can prove Hen didn't kill your cousin."
Madison had already forgotten her. All he could think about was Hen. She looked across at the man. "Are you sure it's safe?" If he was willing to give evidence, she didn't understand why he wouldn't come out of the shadows.
"No, but I can't throw it away a chance because of something that might happen. Will you be all right until George and Rose return?"
The last of the magic moment vanished. Madison was his old efficient, energetic self once more, and she was just someone he was talking to.
"If I need help, I'll call Mrs. Abbott."
Madison smiled absently, clearly anxious to be gone. "A formidable weapon."
"Go before he changes his mind," Fern urged. "You'd never forgive me if I caused you to miss gathering a piece of evidence."
Madison turned back, a bemused look on his face. "You have no idea how much I might be persuaded to forgive you," he said. For a moment, Fern though he would linger, would say something else, but he turned, went down the steps, and along the walk. The moment he left her side, the man across the street disappeared between two houses. Fern's apprehension grew. If this man feared for his safety so much he wasn't willing to meet Madison even on a dark street, what kind of danger might Madison be in?
He had become very precious to her, very necessary. He had given new meaning to her life. Under the influence of his attention, his prodding, she had been reborn, had begun to feel like the woman she should have been. He was her champion, her talisman. He was her life.
She loved Madison.
A cold shill knifed through her leaving her feeling sick and miserable. What good would it do to love him if she couldn't stand for him to touch her? She couldn't keep him at arm's length forever. He wouldn't accept it. She didn't want to.
She could never be his wife
And she did want to be. She saw it as clearly as if she were standing by his side, exchanging their vows.
Piss and Vinegar! What was she going to do now?
* * * * *
As Madison followed the man into the darkness between the houses, his mind was more on where he had been than where he was going.
He hadn't intended to put his arms around Fern; neither had he planned to kiss her like he was starved for the feel of a woman. He tried to tell himself it was something he would have done with any one of several women, but he knew it wasn't true. He tried to tell himself Fern was upset, that she needed comforting, that there was nothing unusual in his wanting to give comfort, but he knew that wasn't true either.
He had wanted to do much more than comfort her, more than sit with his arms around her. A simple kiss wasn't nearly enough.
It ought to have been too much.
He emerged from between the houses and started up Spruce Street.
He really shouldn't find her so irresistible. He didn't. Well, maybe the way she looked when she was about to yell at him. Even that seemed incredible. He could remember hating his father's raised voice, or his quickened step on the oak floor of the back hall.
He would love to take her back to Boston and turn her into a respectable young woman. He could hear her screams now. Just thinking about it made him smile.
But he hadn't been drawn to that part of Fern, no matter how beautiful or fascinating she might prove to be. He knew only the Fern who wore pants, swore like a Texan, and was a tough as a piece of Spanish rawhide.
He turned on Second Street and headed west.
What in hell did he like about her? Aside from her rounded hips, her long slim legs, and the pleasant pressure of her breasts against his chest.
For one thing, they were very much alike. Each had been badly hurt and was trying to deny it. Both of them were afraid to allow themselves to care for anyone; they tried to deny they wanted to.
He liked her spunkiness. Both of them felt alone in the world, she more than he even though she lived with her father. But she hadn't let that defeat her. She had forced the world to accept her on her own terms, terms which should have been impossible for a woman.
Yet even that didn't account for everything. He was forced to acknowledge he was attracted to her for herself alone. God only knew why. He couldn't think of any aspect of her physical appearance without wanting to change it, yet it exercised an attraction he couldn't shrug off. He couldn't imagine why the local farm boys weren't standing in line at her door. She must have done a wonderful job of scaring them off.
Odd, she had never tried to drive him off. She had tried to drive him out of town, but not away from her. Only now did he realize the two were really quite different.
He saw the man waiting for him in the shadows of the school house, and his thoughts snapped like a thread. He slipped his hand into his pocket and his fingers closed over the butt of a gun. He didn't expect trouble, but he meant to be ready in case it came.
"I nearbout left," the man said. "I wasn't supposed to have to show myself."
"I had some unexpected business."
"I saw your business."
"Never mind," Madison said, irritated as this invasion of his privacy. "What do you have to tell me?"
The man looked about nervously. "I don't like being in town. I don't trust people who live all in a heap like this. It ain't natural."
"Maybe not," Madison agreed, impatiently, "but that's something neither you nor I can change. What can you tell me about Hen's whereabouts that night?"
"I can tell you he weren't nowhere near the Connor place."
"Where was he?"
"About ten miles south, over in the direction of Newton. Don't know if he went there, but he was coming from thataway."
"When?"
"I can't be sure."
"You've got to be as specific as possible. The time is important."
"Couldn't have been no earlier than ten o'clock and no later than eleven. Probably somewhere in the middle. I'm right good at reading stars. They're the only timepiece I've ever had."
Madison could hardly contain his excitement. Dave Bunch said he saw Hen's horse leaving the Connor place about ten fifteen. If this man could put Hen ten miles away fifteen minutes later, there was no way anyone could believe he killed Troy Sproull.
"Will you state that in court?"
"I ain't going to no court!" The man seemed on the verge of leaving. "Somebody killed Troy and tried to blame it on your brother. They ain't going to like it much if I come along and punch a hole in what looks like an open-and-shut case. What's to stop them from killing me?"
"I'll guarantee your protection."
The man laughed scornfully. "What the hell would a fancy city fella like you know about protecting me from the likes of a man who could kill Troy and then watch somebody else hang for it?"
Madison had to fight to control his spurting anger. This man was just like the twins. When would people learn that neat, clean clothes and a sophisticated manner often had nothing to do with the man inside. Some of the most wickedly cruel men in history had been well-groomed and highly educated.
"George will add his guarantee to mine."
"He's not much better," the man scoffed. "Now if Hen was out of jail, you'd have a guarantee worth something. He'd sooner shoot you for asking a question then answer it."
"Maybe you have more confidence in Marshal Hickok."
The man spat out a curse. "He can't never get his nose out of a card game. I could be murdered and my body carried all the way to Mexico before he'd know what happened."
&nb
sp; "Will you talk to a judge?" Madison asked.
"If you give me enough money."
"Look, I'll pay for your protection. I'll even pay to have you resettled somewhere after the trial, but if it ever came to light I paid you to give evidence, your testimony won't be worth a hill of beans."
"Why not? It's the truth."
"Nobody would believe you. They'll think you were saying what I paid you to say."
"You mean you're not going to give me any money?"
"I just told you what I can do," Madison said.
"But that ain't enough. I want gold. I heard your old man stole plenty of it during the war. Shouldn't be no trouble to give me a pocket full. Nobody has to know about it."
"That's a false rumor that got started in Texas," Madison said, exasperated. "But it makes no difference. I couldn't give you the gold if I had it."
"I ain't sticking my neck out for nothing," the man said, turning to go. "When you get serious, you go tell Tom. He'll know where to find me," he called over his shoulder as he headed off into the night.
"Would twenty dollars a day be enough?"
The man stopped. He didn't reply, but he was listening.
"It's legal to pay a man for his time if giving testimony keeps him away from his work."
"How many days would it take?"
"It could run to several hundred dollars if you agree to stay in town until the trial."
"I ain't staying at no hotel."
"It's the best I can do."
The man remained standing for a full minute. "I'll let you know," he said, then turned to go.
"Wait! What's your name? How can I find you?"
"You can't," the man answered without turning around.
Madison knew if this man disappeared, Hen's best chance of getting out of jail went with him. Without pausing to consider the consequences, he sprinted forward on cat feet. Before the man could sense anything was wrong, Madison had his hands around his throat. Pressing his windpipe closed to stifle any cry, Madison searched for and found a pressure point. The man slumped to the ground like a dead weight.
"I can't afford to let you disappear," Madison said. "Hen's life may depend on it." He lifted the man over his shoulder and headed toward the Drover's Cottage.
"You need a hand?" the clerk asked when Madison entered the lobby staggering under the weight of his witness.
"It would help if you could open the door to my room," Madison said, breathless from the long walk.
The clerk hurried ahead. "A friend of yours?"
Madison nodded.
"He sick?" he asked.
"No. Drunk. From the looks of him, you'd think he could hold his whiskey better."
"Sure looks like he ought to."
"Thanks," Madison said when the clerk held the door for him to enter his room. He fished in his pocket for a coin. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention this. My friend would be terribly embarrassed to think everybody knew he passed out cold."
"I wouldn't think of it," the clerk said, his eyes growing large at the sight of the coin in his palm.
"And tell them not to clean the room tomorrow. I imagine he'll be sleeping late." A wink sealed the bargain, and the clerk left grinning.
"Unless I can find somewhere else for you to stay, they won't be cleaning this room for many days to come," Madison said to the unconscious man. "You're going to stay where I can find you until Hen's hearing."
* * * * *
"Is he a credible witness?" George asked.
"As credible as Dave Bunch," Madison replied. "Besides, their evidence isn't in conflict. Bunch never said he saw Hen, only his horse. I think the killer painted a horse to look like Hen's so anyone seeing the horse would naturally assume Hen was riding it."
"It would have to be that," Hen said. "Brimstone won't let anybody ride him except me."
Much to everyone's surprise, Marshal Hickok had let Hen out of jail the moment Madison told him he had a witness who could place Hen ten miles from the Connor place at the supposed time of the killing.
"I never really figured Hen for a sneak killer," Hickok had said.
Now they were sitting around the table after dinner. Fern still hadn't recovered from the shock of finding herself seated across from the man she had hated for so long. It made her uneasy.
He could kill. She could see it in his eyes.
Not because of simple hatred or anger. He would never lose control enough to do that. Fern didn't believe he had any emotions. His eyes were as blue as the sky on a perfect summer day, but they held none of the warmth, the heat, or the passion of his brothers.
It was like looking at two beautiful pieces of glass, perfectly made, perfectly colored, but totally devoid of humanity. He might only kill if he must, but there would be no hesitation. And no regrets.
She turned to Madison and George. With a twinge of horror, she realized that if what Madison said was true, if the brothers were three faces of the same man, Madison and George were just as dangerous. Maybe they would try harder to avoid it, but they would kill.
It made her shiver.
"Do you think he'll testify?" Fern asked. She had thought of Hen as the murderer for so long it was hard to believe it was someone else.
"Yes," Madison answered. "He's angry now because I've got him tied up, but that's not what concerns me. So far the killer has had everything his own way. He could sit back and watch. But if he finds out we can prove Hen is innocent, if he thinks we have a clue to his identity, he'll have to do something."
"Do you have any idea who he is?" Fern asked.
"No," Madison admitted. "I just know the killer had something to gain by killing Troy and causing Hen to hang for it."
"What?" Rose asked.
Madison shrugged. "I don't know. Nobody much liked Troy. Even Fern's father fired him, yet somehow he seems to have had money."
"Troy never spent much," Fern said.
"That's what I heard at first, but I found out he liked to gamble. Nothing big, but more than a man could afford on the wages Sam Belton paid him. He was getting money from somewhere."
"Are you thinking blackmail?" George asked.
"It's got to be considered."
"But who?" Fern asked.
"That's what I was hoping you could tell me," Madison said. "You knew your cousin better than anybody. You also know the people in this town. Go back over everything you can remember for as long as you've been here. See if you can think of anything Troy could possibly hold over someone's head."
A scene immediately took shape into Fern's mind, the vivid detail causing her to cringe inwardly. Surely that couldn't be the reason. That man left Kansas years ago.
Or had he? Blackmail was exactly the kind of thing Troy would do. Fern felt a shiver of fear. If the man had come back, she could have walked by him on the street.
"But why Hen?" Rose asked. "He hadn't been in town more than a few days. He never stays long when he brings up a herd."
"Do you think it has anything to do with that rumor about the gold?" George asked.
"No. I don't see how getting Hen hanged would get the killer the gold. No, he's trying to hurt you and the family, or he's trying to get at Texans in general."
"Texans? Why would anybody do that?" Rose asked. "They make a fortune off us."
"Not everybody wants a cattle market here," Madison pointed out. "According to Fern, many of the farmers and ranchers hate us."
Fern's own words rang in her ears with a humiliatingly loud clang. No Kansan had stated his dislike of Texans any louder than she.
"Not to mention anyone trying to sell homesteads to immigrants. Then there are the owners of the stockyards at Ellsworth and Newton," Madison said. "It would be to their advantage to drive the Texans out of Abilene. It could mean a couple of hundred thousand dollars in business."
"In other words, it might be just about anybody in the state of Kansas," George said.
"It's not quite that bad," Madison said, "but yes, it could be."
"What are you going to do?"
"Spread information. Some true, some not quite so accurate. We've got to make the killer uncomfortable. We've got to force him to make a wrong move."
"We can't do anything until tomorrow, so I'm going to bed," Rose said getting to her feet. "You must be tired too," she said to Fern.
Fern didn't feel the least bit tired. She doubted she would be able to sleep for hours, but she wanted to be alone to think.
Who could have killed Troy and why? The notion that Troy had been blackmailing anyone was fantastic. She wouldn't have paid any attention to it if anybody other than Madison had mentioned it. But everything he mentioned had a disconcerting way of proving to be true. She had to know if he was right this time as well.
And she meant to find out tonight.
Chapter Fifteen
Fern waited impatiently in her room. Rose had sent the brothers to the Drovers Cottage so their discussion wouldn't keep everybody awake. Rose had gone to bed, but Mrs. Abbott still moved about the house.
Fern peered out the window into the dark and windy night. Now was a perfect time to slip out of town unobserved.
She intended to go to the Connor place, and she didn't want anyone to know. She needed to know about the soddy. She had to convince herself Madison was right when he said no one could have seen to shoot Troy. Maybe the witness was lying in hopes of getting money. Everybody knew the Randolphs were rich.
Finally, she heard a door close at the back of the house and knew Mrs. Abbott had gone to her room. Without wasting a second, Fern slipped out of her room, tiptoed along the hall and out the front door Mrs. Abbott had left unlocked for George.
Madison had stabled her horse at Tom and Richard Everett's Twin Livery Stable. That was practically across town. She would have to pass the Drovers Cottage. She could only hope no one recognized her.
Fern walked quickly along Second Street, being careful to avoid shafts of light coming from several windows, until she came to Buckeye Street. She paused only a minute before she turned left and started north toward the railroad tracks at a brisk pace. She pulled her hat further down over her eyes. She had worn her darkest, baggiest clothes. She didn't want anyone to recognize her.
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