"But we don't know what or who we're up against," Celia protested. "I'm sure I could be a much more effective agent if you'd let me be a shady lady."
"Really?" Landrum said, eyebrows raised.
"We have to break ties with the past," Glidinghawk pointed out, "or we are finished as a team. You've been shady enough for ten lifetimes already, Celia."
"Horse droppings," Celia muttered to herself as she remembered the warning behind Glidinghawk 's words.
Just then, there was a loud knock on Celia's door. She opened it and glared into the barroom-ruddied face of her supposed half-brother. "I see you've been doing up the town," she said acidly.
"Just happy to be alive," Landrum grinned, ignoring her tone. "And how was your day?"
"Enchanting, I assure you. Midday dinner with the boarders - which I'm sure you're heartbroken you missed, by the way — was a gallant affair. This is November and the widow DeSoto managed to serve green beans. Not garden green, mind you. Mold green."
Landrum chuckled. "Sorry you have to bear with this, but you're stuck until we hear from Amos Powell. Then we'll move on, unless this mission is right here in Bozeman."
Celia's face drooped with disappointment. "No word yet? We've been here six days."
A frown marred Landrum's face, making the sabre scar on his cheek stand out. "I thought our orders would be here waiting by the time we arrived. Maybe Powell hasn't found a replacement for Fox yet." He shook his head. "Bad as Fox could be, I hate to think about ending up with a military liaison right out of West Point again."
"I wonder what they did to Fox."
"Poor bastard. He could've gotten a court-martial. Maybe he's the one who's in jail now."
Celia nodded thoughtfully. "I can't say the young second lieutenant was the easiest man in the world to warm up to, but I was getting used to him."
"I warmed up to him plenty when he sprung me from jail," Landrum conceded. "If only he hadn't been such a pompous ass afterwards, boasting about his ties to the Army."
"Yes, he did have a way about him," Celia agreed. "As Glidinghawk said, Fox is a man who knows how to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory."
Landrum laughed loudly. Too loudly.
"Shush," Celia whispered. "Mattie DeSoto already has the notion we're too friendly to be related."
"And she could be right," Landrum said, tipping Celia's chin up and smiling down at her emerald green eyes.
Celia was placated . . . almost. It just didn't seem fair that she was stuck here while Landrum and Glidinghawk had the run of the town, such as it was.
"Why won't you let me go out and hunt up a game of faro while we wait to be contacted? I could make some money for all of us, and God knows we need it."
"I wish I could let you, but we have our cover to protect. Whatever this mission is, I have a feeling it's our last chance. Amos Powell is on our side, but he warned me that if we made a spectacle of ourselves again, he couldn't save our jobs."
"Damn the Army anyway."
"Little sister, I'll personally wash your mouth out with soap if I hear you blaspheme like that again."
"I learned it from you," Celia retorted.
Under the banter, she was unhappy. The waiting had gotten on her nerves, not to mention the unfairness of being put in a woman's place.
"At least Glidinghawk and I are poking around, learning what we can about the area. He's made friends with a local band of Indians, and I've been picking up gossip at the saloon."
"An odious chore for a man of your inclination, I'm sure," Celia said with a nasty smile.
"I can't complain."
"Well, I can!" Celia exploded. "I'm sick of this smelly old boardinghouse and this proper younger sister stuff. What's wrong with you? We'll all be old and gray before we get moving. Another day of this and I'll go screaming through the streets."
"Patience. Amos will be in touch."
"It can't be soon enough for me." Celia shook her head of red curls impatiently. "And there must be something wrong with you to put up with this waiting. It's not like you."
Celia was right. Ever since he had escaped the noose, Landrum had assumed a maddening good will toward the worst of situations. His former impatience had given way to a general affection for the world.
"I know this is hard on you," Landrum said softly. "But it's part of the job. Be a good girl. I'm sure we'll be working soon."
A gong sounded from the dining area of the clapboard house. "Supper!" Mrs. DeSoto's cook shouted.
"Green beans again, I'll wager," Celia sniffed unhappily.
"I think I might go out for a shot and a beer before finding some food," Landrum said. "I don't have an appetite right now."
Celia caught his arm as he started to turn away. "Not without me you don't! Proper or not, if you don't let me out of here soon, I won't be held responsible for my actions."
"Is that a threat?"
"A promise." Celia's face was dead serious.
Landrum thought about it for a couple of seconds. The whiskey he had had earlier must have mellowed him, he decided. And there was a time when a leader had to know when to bend the rules.
"The hell with it," he said. "Let's go."
CHAPTER FOUR
"Where to, brother?" Celia asked, happy as a caged bird about to be freed.
Landrum was deep in concentration. He couldn't very well drag Celia along to the saloons. They weren't the kind of places one took a sister. And he wanted a drink.
The trouble with a town like Bozeman was that if you eliminated the saloons and the hurdy-gurdies, there weren't a lot of places to go unless you were interested in church socials. Neither Celia nor himself had a religious bent, at least as far as Landrum had been able to figure.
"I saw a dining room in the hotel up the street," Landrum suggested finally. "We could have a meal there."
Celia made a face. That wasn't her idea of thrilling, although the hotel fare had to be better than the slop served here. Food was costly in mining country, and Mrs. DeSoto was notoriously cheap. But then again, the price of rooms was reasonable, and Powell's Army had been instructed to keep their expenses to a minimum.
The boardinghouse dinner gong sounded again.
"Let's get out of here and then decide."
Mrs. DeSoto called out as they passed the dining room, "You don't sit to supper at the proper time, you don't get fed."
The boarders sat in various stages of dishevelment, elbows bent, looking with dismay at the evening meal. Landrum could see the slight tinge of green Celia had mentioned earlier hazing the pot of beans.
"I think we'll forego the pleasure tonight," he said as he whisked Celia out the door. Once out of earshot, both of them started laughing.
Arm in arm, they headed down the street. In front of the Imperial, Landrum steered Celia toward the entrance. The night was chill, and their breath plumed whitely in front of their faces.
"Not yet," Celia begged as she pulled back. "That could be as dull as the boardinghouse. At least let me see what the sinful spots around here look like."
"Like any other two horse town," Landrum said. "Come on. It's cold out here. You ought to like the hotel dining room. Supper costs two bits a plate."
"Just let me walk a while. I've been cooped up too long. There wasn't any rule at Miss Parsons' that said a respectable woman couldn't even walk by a saloon. I think you're carrying this too far. Besides, I've never seen one called the Hanging Post before."
"There's not much to see," Landrum said, but he grudgingly fell in step beside Celia.
Landrum had given Amos Powell his word that he would try to keep Celia from being noticed, but it wasn't easy. Let a redhead like her loose in any saloon, and her presence would be known clear across the territory. Women, like food, were dear out here, especially attractive ones.
As they approached the Hanging Post, Celia and Landrum could hear the jovial rumble of men talking and laughing and swearing. What was it about the sight of batwing doors, Landrum wonde
red, that seemed to quicken his blood and lighten his step? Saloons were all alike, he had found, but that did not stop then-overpowering lure.
"Come on, Landrum," Celia goaded. "Let's have just one drink to ward off the chill."
"I gave my word . . ."
"I'll buy," Celia said quickly, digging into the rabbit fur muff covering her hands for a half-eagle.
"Damnit all, Ceil, you know my weakness."
She grinned up at him. "I think I share it. Maybe we are related after all. Come on."
Landrum groaned. He could almost taste the whiskey sliding down his throat. He was getting dry, and once again he thought Why not? He said firmly, "Just one."
Once he'd said it, Landrum felt like a weight had slipped from his shoulders. Cloistering Celia really wasn't fair, and he couldn't bring to mind anyone else he'd rather drink with than her.
As the two of them walked through the bat-wings, there were hoots from men he'd hoisted a few with earlier. "What have we here?" a boisterous townie leered, looking Celia over from her trim ankles to the top of her scarf-covered head in lusty assessment.
"Lay off," Landrum said, his voice suddenly steely under his smooth-edged Texas accent. He stood tall and lean in the center of the rough-beamed saloon and stared at the men lounging against the bar and poised around the billiard and gaming tables.
When he chose to use it, Landrum had a commanding presence. Within moments, he had the drinkers' complete attention. A hush descended, making his voice seem even louder.
"I want you all to know that this is my sister," Landrum announced. "Miss Celia Colfax. And while she's here to have a drink for medicinal purposes, I don't want to hear any rough language or improper comments."
Celia had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing at his words. She didn't know if it was his little speech or the bulge of his Colt .44 that the men respected, but they stayed silent until after she and Landrum had taken a table slightly away from the bar.
Their talk, when it resumed, was unnaturally subdued.
"This isn't my idea of having a good time at a saloon," Celia whispered, downing the brandy Landrum had ordered for her. "I guess there's no way I'm going to talk you into letting me buck the tiger."
"Right. No gambling for you," he replied softly. He finished his shot and set the empty glass down with great reluctance. "Let's go."
They rose from the straight-backed chairs. Celia was disappointed. This was just like so many other places selling libations, only not as nice. She recalled saloons in Fort Griffin and Dodge City that made the Hanging Post look like a poor relation.
In fact, the brief sojourn had been so uncomfortable that she was anxious to leave. She looked straight ahead, trying to avoid catching anyone's eye-and bumped right into a slight young man wearing a ridiculous brocade vest and swallow-tailed coat.
"Pardon me," he said automatically.
That prissy voice! Celia would know it anywhere.
Landrum looked down at the man. Celia looked up. Preston Kirkwood Fox looked them over with astonishment and pleasure written all over his face.
"Why, it's-"
Preston's words stopped in midair.
Landrum tried next, but his brain wasn't working quite right. He had been expecting a contact from Amos Powell, but he had never thought it might be Fox. Certainly not Fox sporting the foppish clothes of a tinhorn dandy.
There were places a man could get away with an outfit like that, but by God, not in miner's country, Landrum thought wildly. Not when worn by a twit whose mustache was so sparsely populated by hairs that it made his upper lip look lonely.
Celia sensed all the saloon patrons waiting, listening intently. She began hesitantly, "Oh, it's . . ."
"Brother Preston!" Landrum boomed, finally recovering. "Sister Celia, doesn't your brother look — " Landrum swallowed hard, " — wonderful?"
"Yes, he looks fine," she answered weakly.
Landrum slapped Fox hard on the back and about-faced him, pushing him slightly ahead as he again boomed, "And just in time to have dinner with the family."
The minute they were out the batwing doors, the buzzing of speculative voices sounded from behind them.
"We don't seem to have the knack for being ordinary and uninteresting," Celia commented dryly.
"What was all that about?" Fox demanded. "I mean, I just got there. You could have bought me a drink if I'm supposed to be your brother."
Landrum stopped Fox short and pulled him close, so that their noses were inches from one another. "Just once, we are going to run a mission the way Powell wants us to," he said softly, urgently. "We are not going to blow our covers, or make spectacles of ourselves, or start the rumor mills churning."
"I understand," Fox said eagerly. "I'm undercover now, too, code name Operative D." His pale gray eyes widened. "I bet I almost fooled you about who I was."
Landrum was like a man straddling a fence, not sure which side to fall off on, anger or amusement. He was glad to see Fox, and ever since his own life had been saved at the eleventh hour, he had found laughter a damn sight easier than anger.
At the moment, he found former second lieutenant Preston Kirkwood Fox decked out in an ill-chosen gambler's garb the funniest damned thing he'd ever seen.
Laughing, Landrum pulled the startled Fox closer and gave him a bear hug. "That's right, Brother Preston," he declared. "You had us pure-dee fooled, all right."
Watching with a slight frown on her pretty face, Celia said, "Now that you two have had your little family reunion, I believe you were saying something about dinner, Landrum."
With his arm still around Fox's shoulders, Landrum turned toward the Imperial Hotel. "Come on, Preston," he said. "We're going to sample the fare at the hotel."
"I have a room there already," Fox replied. "I'm afraid I signed the register as James Smith."
Landrum waved off the comment. "Well, now you're Preston Colfax, and don't forget it. You're Celia's brother and my half-brother. Now, how about explaining what you're doing in that Godawful get-up?"
Fox stiffened slightly. "I told you, I'm working undercover now. I'm a full member of the team. And as such, I've decided to assume the cover identity of a gambler."
Celia tried to suppress an unladylike snort of derision. She said, "I've seen a lot of gamblers, Preston, but I'm afraid not many of them looked much like you do now. Only the cheapest tinhorns dress like that."
"And cheap tinhorns aren't going to last long in Montana Territory," Landrum added, his demeanor growing more serious. "We're posing as a family of miners looking for gold, so you're just going to have to change your cover, Preston."
"See here," Fox exclaimed, pulling away from Landrum. He glanced around to see if anyone else was within earshot before continuing, showing at least a little common sense. "Colonel Powell gave me the orders for this mission. The way I see it, that means I'm in command."
Landrum looked at Fox for a moment, his lean face hard in the slight glow from a lantern in a nearby store. Finally, he said, "Then you figured wrong, Fox. I'm still in charge, no matter who delivers the orders from Powell." A part of him felt bad about being so rough on the man who had pulled him out of that Dodge City jail, but he was not about to surrender any authority to Fox.
After a minute's hesitation, Fox dropped his defiant stance and muttered, "All right, all right. I suppose you're in charge . . . for now."
Landrum shrugged slightly. He would accept that. "Let's get that supper," he said. "Then we can head back to the boardinghouse where Celia and I are staying and go over Powell's orders. Gkdinghawk ought to be back by then."
The three of them continued on to the Imperial Hotel, not talking much now. Landrum and Celia were still in a state of semi-shock to find out that not only had Fox not been court-martialed for his actions on the last mission, but that was he was now a full-fledged member of Amos Powell's undercover army.
Celia had a bad feeling about this development, and she could tell as she exchanged a glance with
Landrum that the Texan shared her misgivings.
The dinner at the hotel was hardly sumptuous, consisting of a few very thin slices of beef, watery potatoes, and wilted vegetables, but it was still an improvement over what they would have gotten at the widow DeSoto's. Celia found herself enjoying it, if only because she was finally out of the squalid confines of the boardinghouse.
She and Landrum kept up a conversation peppered with comments about some of their supposed relatives. It was all part of the ruse to make anyone eavesdropping on their table talk think they were indeed siblings. After a few moments, Fox seemed to pick up on what they were doing and joined in, although he was somewhat awkward about it.
As glad as he was to see two of the other members of Powell's Army, Fox resented Landrum's high-handed attitude and Celia's barely-concealed scorn. Even after what he had done back in Dodge City, Fox realized, he had still not proven himself to them.
Would he ever, he wondered? No matter what he did, would they ever fully accept him?
When the meal was finished, Landrum turned toward him and asked, "You have any bags with you, Preston?"
"I have a valise up in my room," Fox replied. "I haven't unpacked it yet. I was in a hurry to visit some of the local saloons and begin establishing my cover as a gambler." There was still a hint of sulkiness and resentment in the words.
"Well, go up and get the bag and bring it along," Landrum told him. "You're our baby brother, after all, so it wouldn't look right if you stayed here while the rest of us are down at the boardinghouse."
Fox looked pained, and Celia's full lips curved slightly at the thought of spit-and-polish-Preston in Mattie DeSoto's less than fastidious establishment.
"Are you sure that's necessary?" Fox asked. The Imperial had been pointed out to him as the best hotel in Bozeman, and if it was the top of the line, he hated to think about what the rooming house would be like.
"It's necessary," Landrum said flatly. "I want you out of those clothes as soon as possible, too. Wear work clothes as much as you can."
Fox grimaced. "I'm afraid I don't have any," he admitted. "I spent all of my money on this outfit."
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