Squire's Quest

by Judith B. Glad

  He stopped where the street dead-ended at the tracks and watched a switch engine push cars past. The roundhouse was lit as bright as day, and down the tracks to the east he could see an approaching train. Freight, most likely. There were no westbound passenger trains scheduled in the evenings.

  For two cents I'd be on the morning train for Boise. It's been too long since I was home. Katie's got three kids now, and I haven't seen a one of them.

  He and his next-older sister had always been close, despite the long spells they'd been apart. Now he realized how much he'd missed her these past few years.

  He couldn't abandon Cal, though. Not until this robbery business was sorted out.

  Maybe I could talk her into going with me. Wouldn't Ma have a tizzy, if I brought a girl home?

  The sudden realization of what his parents would think if he did left his mouth dry. She's a friend, that's all. I don't want to marry her.

  He'd wanted to bed her ever since he'd seen what a beauty she'd grown up to be. Never mind what his head said about how he wasn't ready to settle. All his body knew was she was soft and sweet and smelled good. She was a woman, and one he had feelings for.

  They just weren't getting-hitched feelings.

  "Ready for that beer now?"

  He didn't bother to turn. "I reckon so."

  "Let's go then."

  Inside Stromberg's Saloon, Merlin pointed to an empty table.

  Mick said, "I'll buy."

  "No, you won't. You'll pay for your own, but I'm not taking anything from you. Not until we get this sorted out."

  They picked up their beers at the bar and settled. He stared at Mick across the rim as he sipped. "Why would you think Cal could have had something to do with the bank robbery?"

  "She was in Ogden the day it happened. She left town that night in company with the man who's been identified as the leader of the gang."

  "You didn't tell me that before."

  "I didn't, no. There was a shooting in Green River a week ago. We followed a likely suspect there, but lost him. Until he got himself shot in a fight over a woman." Digging into his vest pocket, Mick pulled out a cigar. He raised his eyebrows in question as he held it up.

  "Never got the habit," Merlin said.

  "It's a filthy one," Mick agreed, "but it soothes a man."

  "If you say so. How much do you trust the fellow who said Lemuel Smith was the boss?"

  "No farther than I could throw him. But his description of the man who gave the orders matches what we got from the one bank teller who kept his eyes open." He drained his mug and wiped the foam from his bushy moustache. "When he named the boss Smith, we figured it was a made-up name."

  "I met Cal when she wasn't much more than twelve. She called herself Smith then, and so did her pa."

  "Huh! Wonder why he didn't use a different name."

  Merlin cogitated for a moment. "If you wanted to take on a different name, what would be the first one you'd think of?"

  Mick's laugh rang out over the saloon noise. He slapped the table. "I'll be damned if you're not right. Of course. I've been assuming it was a fake name."

  Merlin thought back to his first impression of Cal's pa. "When we got to Virginia City--" Mick started to interrupt and he held up a hand. "When we got there, we asked around for Lemuel Smith. What I heard made me hope we wouldn't find him, not if it meant I had to turn a little girl over to him. He was tied up with saloons, a whorehouse. There was a whisper he might be dealing in opium, but I don't know..."

  "In other words, a fine, upstanding citizen."

  "Uh-huh. I would have got Cal out of there, once I learned what kind of man he was reputed to be, but it was too late. He turned up, and she was determined to be with her pa. Can you imagine what the good citizens would have said if he'd accused me of having intentions toward her? A rootless young man wanting to keep a little girl from her own father?

  "His reputation might have been bad, but they knew him and I was a stranger in town."

  "You'd have been lynched."

  "Right." Merlin went to the bar for another round. When he got back, he said, "Next one's on you. Now then, tell me how Cal was any help with the robbery."

  "I think she's hiding some of the loot." It was Mick's turn to hold up a hand demanding silence. "The freight agent here said a crate consigned to Lemuel Smith came in on the sixth of December. He held it for a week before a letter came. It instructed him to release it to a Miss Calista Smith, and described her. The letter said she was employed at Lambert House."

  Stunned, Merlin sat back and stared at Mick. "Have you asked her about it?"

  "I will."

  * * * *

  "What's got your goat, girl?"

  Callie nearly dropped the bowl of eggs when Abner spoke. She'd thought she was alone in the kitchen.

  "Nothing. I'm just tired." Setting the big bowl on the wide table where she usually worked, she went back to the pantry for other ingredients. The bar chocolate she'd asked for two weeks ago had come in on today's train. Back in Virginia City, her chocolate cake had been a favorite, but she hadn't made it since coming to Lambert House. Frau Trebelhorn had been reluctant to order any of the expensive baking chocolate she needed. "I guess this means I've proven myself," she said as she set down the box containing the chocolate and bottles of precious flavorings and spices.

  "Them lines between your eyes ain't from tired, girl. They's worry lines." Abner's hands never stilled as he scolded. "Maybe you ain't sleepin' like you should, but it ain't the only thing wrong with you. Is it that one-eyed fella? Is he givin' you trouble?"

  "Merlin? No, he's..." What was Merlin? More than a friend. She'd sensed he'd like to be a lot more than a friend, but he'd never made a move in that direction. "He's nice. I guess I'm a little worried about my pa."

  Abner was one of the few who knew how she'd come to Cheyenne. "You got no call to worry about that man. He don't pay no mind to you, does he?"

  "He's my pa," she said. "I owe him my duty." Sometimes she wished she didn't believe that quite so much, for surely Pa should have had some care for her, instead of abandoning her in a strange town. Weren't there two sides to the father-daughter coin?

  A knock came on the outside door, loud enough they both jumped.

  "I'll get that. You've got your hands full." Abner set the big spoon down beside the soup pot. He wiped his hands on his apron as he headed back into the storeroom.

  She heard the back door open, heard Abner say something. He yelled, and then she heard a crash, as if something large had fallen.

  Before she could much more than turn around, a big man came through the storeroom door. He held a handgun, a big one. "Where is she?" he demanded. "Where's the Smith girl?"

  "I-- Who?"

  His expression told Callie he'd recognized her. "Don't give me that shit." He grabbed her wrist and pulled. "Let's go."

  She twisted, trying to get free. "Let me go. I'm not--"

  "Shut up."

  Unable to slow him with her struggles, Callie did the only thing she could think of. She went limp.

  He slowed, but didn't stop. Her head banged against the frame when he dragged her through the storeroom door and she was sure her backside had picked up a splinter or two. She saw stars for a moment, but her vision cleared in time for her to spy Abner crumpled beside the open back door.

  Her captor let go her wrist, but quickly set his handgun against Abner's head. "Stay where you are, or I'll shoot the nigger."

  She froze in place. "What do you want?"

  "The money. Where is it?"

  "M-m-money? I don't have any money. Just a few dollars I've saved."

  He slapped her, not hard, but enough to make her ears ring. "Your pa left it with you. Where is it?"

  "Pa left nothing with me. I haven't seen him since we got to Cheyenne." Suddenly she was mad enough to spit fire. She pushed herself upright and glared at him. "He went off and left me alone in the depot. I had eight dollars and thirty-seven cents. That's all
."

  "You're lying."

  "You can ask the ticket clerk. He was there. He let me sleep in the waiting room that night. And he knows all I had was my valise." When his gaze sharpened, she said, "My clothes. That's all was in it."

  He chewed on one end of his straggly moustache while he appeared to think. "Where do you sleep?"

  "Here. Behind the curtain." If only he'd aim the gun away from Abner's head. "My valise is under the bed. You can see--"

  "Show me." He holstered his gun and kicked Abner in the head.

  On legs that would barely hold her up, she led him to the cubby. Pulling the empty valise from under her bed, she held it out to him. "My clothes are there." She pointed to the lowest shelf above the head of her cot.

  He pushed her to the end of the cubby, against the wall. His big frame blocked her only way out, but she wasn't sure her legs would have moved if she had tried to run.

  First he ripped the lining from her valise, then tore it apart. He found nothing, because there was nothing to find. Tossing the scraps on her cot, he started pawing thought her meager wardrobe. One at a time he ripped her two shabby dresses into pieces. He had to know there was nothing hidden in them, so he was doing it out of meanness.

  He started on the bed next. The threadbare comfort Frau Trebelhorn had lent her resisted his attempt to rip it, so he pulled a big knife from his boot and sliced it into broad ribbons. Her pillow quickly came apart, and its tired feathers went flying around the cubby. Next was the thin pad serving as her mattress. Its stuffing was wool waste, and gray clots of packed fibers soon littered the floor.

  When he was done with the bed, he eyed the shelves.

  "No," she said, without thinking. "None of that's mine."

  "So? You could've hid the money there." He swept boxes and cartons onto the floor, emptying the lower shelf, and then reached for a jar of currants.

  "I'd keep my hands off that if I were you," someone said from behind him.

  Callie tried to see past, but his bulk still filled the narrow entry.

  The man froze. He didn't turn to see who was behind him.

  "There are two of us here, and we're both armed. If you're smart, you'll turn around real slow and come out of there."

  Instead he grabbed her and pulled her close, her back solid against him and his hand, holding the big knife, close to her throat. With a quick turn, he was facing out. "Shoot me and you'll kill her," he snarled. "Step aside and I won't cut her throat."

  Merlin stood by the back door, holding a shotgun. The other man had to be the Pinkerton. He had a rifle to his shoulder, aimed right at her. The sight of them gave her hope. And strength.

  Beggars can't be choosers, she decided, and stomped as hard as she could on her captor's left foot.

  He jerked. The knife sliced into the side of her neck. And the rifle boomed, deafening in the confined space.

  "Cal? Are you all right?" Merlin pulled her out of the man's grasp as he collapsed to the floor. His arms went around her and held her against him. "Did he-- Great God, he cut you."

  He pushed her toward a flour barrel until he could lift her atop it. "Sit. Let me look." His fingers were icy as they explored the side of her neck.

  "It doesn't hurt," she said, and heard the quaver in her own voice. "Am I bleeding?"

  "Only a little. It's more a scratch than a cut." He sounded relieved.

  She certainly was. Feeling suddenly dizzy, she reached out to him, her fingers catching at his canvas coat. "He thought I had money. Why would he think that?"

  The Pinkerton man came up to stand next to Merlin. "Probably because Lemuel Smith's your father. Isn't he?"

  Biting her lip, she nodded without looking at him.

  "And you were in Ogden on the second of December?"

  "Yes, but--"

  "Let her be, Mick. She'll answer your questions, but not now. Can't you see she's had a bad time?"

  Callie gave Merlin a grateful look. Then she remembered. "Abner?" She started to slide off the flour barrel. "He's hurt. I've got to--"

  "We'll take care of him," the Pinkerton said. "Is there coffee in the kitchen?"

  He wanted coffee at a time like this? What a terrible man.

  "Of course."

  "Take her in there, Merlin, and settle her down. I'll take care of the colored fellow."

  As Merlin picked her up, she saw the Pinkerton kneel beside Abner and lay a hand on his forehead.

  In the kitchen, Merlin sat her on the low stool beside the pantry door. "I'll get you coffee."

  "No." she had to clear her throat, because her voice wouldn't work right. "No coffee. Tea. There's hot water in the kettle, and leaves... Never mind, I'll get them."

  She spilled more tea than she got into the pot because her hands were shaking so badly. Without argument, she went back to the stool and let Merlin pour the steaming water into the pot. If she'd tried, she'd have scalded herself. "He believes I have the bank money, doesn't he?" she said, when she finally had a cup of blessedly hot tea to clasp within her icy hands.

  Merlin sipped from his coffee cup before answering. "I don't know. He's pretty sure your pa was one of the robbers--maybe the leader--but he's not told me what he can prove and what's only supposition."

  "Do you think I helped Pa?"

  Again he gave her a long, level stare. "The Cal I used to know wouldn't have done it. I don't believe you've changed, but it has been six years. If I was asked to swear you were innocent, I couldn't in all honesty do it."

  He set the cup on her work table and came to squat before her. "Cal, I want to believe you're still the same person I knew then. If you are, help Mick find your pa."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Her lips were dry, stiff. She licked them. "You're asking me to bear witness against my own father."

  "I'm asking you to tell the truth. Not to say he did something wrong. Just to help Mick find him."

  How could she answer him? As she sipped her tea, she wondered if there was a trap buried in his words. She hadn't seen Pa do anything wrong, so how could telling what she knew do any harm? If Pa was innocent, he was in no danger.

  Trouble was, she couldn't be sure he was innocent. She had to admit she didn't know him very well. Mrs. Flynn hadn't liked him.

  I'm not sure I like him, either. He's not a kind man. But he is my pa.

  Voices and the sounds of movement in the back room drew her attention. Through the half-open door, she saw two men carrying a third. The man who'd wanted money? Is he dead? The back door slammed, and everything went quiet.

  After a while the Pinkerton man came into the kitchen, supporting Abner, who slumped against him. The cook had a big lump high on his forehead and a streak of what looked like blood down his cheek. When they got to the stool in the corner, Abner half-collapsed onto it.

  "Abner?"

  "I'm all right, Miz Callie. Got me a hard head, so don't you worry." He wiped his face with his apron.

  The Pinkerton man squatted in front of him. "You ever see that fellow before?"

  "Nossir. I never did."

  "How about you, Miss Smith. Have you seen him?"

  "I--" Callie worried her bottom lip. "Maybe. There was a man on the train... I'm not sure."

  "Is Lemuel Smith your father?"

  "Yes. But I haven't seen him--"

  He stood and came over to stand in front of her. "I'm Michael X. Conner, Miss Smith. I work for the Pinkerton Agency, and we've been hired to find the men who robbed Stodgkins' Bank in Ogden on the second of December, 1875. Here is my identification."

  She looked at the leather folder he held out. It held an official-looking paper, but the words made no sense to her. "Pa didn't--"

  "Miss Smith, we've caught one of the robbers. He's in jail in Ogden. He had some of the stolen money, but only a small portion of the total. He claims Lemuel Smith was the leader, the mastermind, if you will. That he planned the robbery and hired the men who helped him."

  "But he wasn't even in Ogden until that day.
We were traveling."

  "Please, Miss Smith. I'm not trying to get you to betray your father. All I want is to trace his movements. You say you got to Ogden on December first. When did you arrive?"

  "Late in the afternoon."

  His eyebrows went up.

  "We went to the depot, then Pa took me to a hotel. The Metropole, I think it was called." Remembering the icy room, the thin, moth-eaten blankets, she shook her head. "It wasn't a nice place, but I didn't care. I was so tired, I went right to sleep."

  "Alone?"

  "Mick!" There was a hard note in Merlin's voice.

  "Yes. Pa said he couldn't get two rooms together. He was down the hall."

  He continued to question her about what she'd done in Ogden. Some of his questions made no sense. Why was it important whether her father had come to her door or met her in the hotel lobby in the morning? Had she written to her father from Virginia City? Who had her father spoken to on the train?

  "I don't know. Men. Just men. The man in the dining car. The conductor. A drummer who was across the aisle--he dealt in harness and tack, he said. A cattleman, or at least he looked like one. He had a sheepskin coat and wore chaps. He was in the seat ahead of us." She swallowed, or tried to. "Could I have more tea? My mouth--"

  Merlin refilled her cup. Mr. Conner waited while she sipped, but she could tell he was impatient to get on with his questions.

  The double doors from the dining room swung open. Frau Trebelhorn stood between them, one hand on each, as if barricading the dining room against invaders. "What has happened? I was told there were loud noises and even shooting."

  "Everything is under--"

  "Just a little--"

  "Be silent! I did not ask you. Abner! Why are you sitting. It will be the dinner hour soon. And Calista, your baking should be finished. Why are you here?"

  Before Abner could more than open his mouth or Callie could find words, the Pinkerton man had pulled out his leather notebook again. "I am Michael X. Conner, of the Pinkerton Agency. I am here on official business. May I assume you are the person in charge?"

  "Why yes. But--"

  "Mrs. Trebelhorn, isn't it? Your husband is the owner?"