“You want some of the posse to go along with you?”
John shook his head. “We’ll try it alone.”
Rogers looked back at Dolly doubtfully, then shrugged. “Well, good luck. Wonder what the Kid has in mind?”
“With him it’s hard to guess. He’s probably headed for Mexico,” John said evasively.
“You two be careful,” Rogers said, sounding concerned.
“We will.” John turned his horse, nodded to the other men, and rode back so that he could speak privately to her.
She saw deep concern on his face. “I heard him,” she said at his questioning look. “What now?”
“I think I know where the Kid’s hiding.”
“Where?” She glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear her words.
“A widow’s place near town. Come on, let’s push on. It’ll be dark soon.”
“Let’s ride then; my mare can take it.”
“Yes,” John said. “We’d better ride.” It was long shot the Kid would be at the widow’s farm, but the best one he knew about.
A dog barked. In the distance, a bull bellowed. Afoot, they had left their horses in the dark timber and stood at the corrals behind the shed of a barn. There was a yellow light in the Parker house.
“The woman’s home anyway,” she whispered, trying to make things out in the silver moonlight.
“Good thing she doesn’t have any dogs,” he commented softly. “We’ll slip through the barn then stay low along the fence. We need to separate her from the Kid.”
“Why?” she said as they cautiously entered the barn and traveled the dark cavernous length of it.
“In a minute,” he hissed.
Metal clanged beneath his foot. He put out an arm to halt her. Then bending low, he picked up a broken leg-iron cuff. Even in the dim light, he could identify the object. “He’s here. Be careful.”
“Yes,” Dolly agreed. Her mouth was dry, and several questions flashed through her mind. This was no time to voice them. She felt for the butt of her .32.
They ducked low and moved along close to the fence. The back door of the house opened. They froze. A figure outlined by the light from inside, obviously a woman, stepped out. They watched for a moment. She was headed for the privy. Perfect, he decided. The ideal opportunity to separate the woman from the outlaw. It was a dangerous situation, and for a fleeting second he regretted having Dolly with him, but the feeling passed. He would have to use her to hold the woman captive. If Mrs. Parker shouted, it would sure give the Kid enough warning.
Dolly turned to John and pulled on the kerchief around his neck. John nodded and quietly untied it. He was slightly reassured by the glint of gunmetal in her hand. Gesturing her toward the outhouse, he moved carefully toward the door.
When he swung the door open, John quickly clamped the kerchief on the shocked Beth Parker’s mouth. Dolly shoved her pistol into the woman’s midsection.
“Shut up, lady,” she ordered. “And get back inside.”
He not so gently pushed the widow onto the rough seat. Dolly pointed her gun at the woman’s face. Even in the dimness, he could see that Mrs. Parker’s eyes were open in fright as he gagged her with the kerchief.
“Where’s the Kid?” Dolly hissed.
He released the gag long enough for her to gasp out, “Asleep in the front bedroom.” That was all the information that he needed. He quickly trussed the kerchief around her mouth. “Don’t let her try anything,” he warned Dolly.
“I won’t. You be careful, John Wesley.”
“I will. If he’s asleep, maybe I can take him alive.”
“Yes,” Dolly agreed, her attention on the prisoner. “Don’t even think about moving a muscle,” she said to her.
John crossed the yard and silently climbed the steps. The door creaked lightly when he pushed it open with the Colt in his right hand. There was a lamp on in the living room. He closed the door gently so that a night breeze would not alert the Kid. Gun ready, John crept across the living room with careful steps. He stopped at the edge of an open door.
He could make out a figure on the bed. Stepping inside the room, he aimed his pistol at the sleeping outlaw.
“Kid, wake up!”
He knew immediately that the Kid would try for the .45 on the nightstand. The .45 in John’s hand belched an orange flame. The explosion was deafening and rocked the outlaw back on the bed. Acrid black powder smoke billowed up John’s nose. Death’s hold twisted the Coyote Kid.
“Damnit, Kid,” he swore as he looked down at the lifeless body of Bobby Budd. “Why did it have to be me, Kid? A hundred men could have shot you.”
“John?” Dolly called from the back door. Her heart was hammering in her chest. Was he all right?
He ran a hand over his face and sighed deeply. “Yes, I’m all right.” Slowly he backed out of the room and turned to face her and the ashen-faced Mrs. Parker.
“He’s dead. It’s over,” he managed to say.
He holstered his revolver and shifted his gaze away from the accusing look in Mrs. Parker’s eyes. A man was dead. In many ways, the Kid was not unlike himself. This was not the time to judge him. His ways were all wrong, but he too rid the West of the criminals. It was over. The Coyote Kid was gone.
“John?” Dolly asked quietly, placing her hand on his forearm. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes. Let’s go find the doc. He seems to serve as the undertaker around here.”
“What about her?” She indicated the unmoving woman sitting stone-faced on a kitchen chair.
“She’s suffered enough. I’m sure he held her hostage.”
“But she—” John’s fingers on her ips silenced her protest He shook his head and frowned.
“Do you want to go with me, Dolly?” he asked quietly as he looked directly into her eyes.
“Oh yes, John Wesley. Should I get the horses?” she asked eagerly.
“No. Let’s walk. We’ll get the horses later. Right now I want to walk and think.”
“Do we need anything?” she asked in a softer tone.
“No.” He opened the door, then followed her outside.
Dolly smiled at him. She tentatively reached out and lightly clasped his hand. When he did not resist but closed his hand on hers, she felt a renewed hope. It was a small thing, yet the easy connection that joined them seemed a major victory.
“There will be newspaper reporters and photographers here soon,” he began. “They’ll take pictures of the Kid propped up with a gun in his arms as if he were alive.”
Dolly spoke softly as they walked in the starlight. “And you disapprove of all that?”
“The man is dead. It’s over. I can’t see any good served by that kind of a circus.”
She nodded, then closed her eyes. Her son’s killer was dead. Josh’s death had been avenged. Yet she could not derive any satisfaction from the knowledge. She would think about it later, she promised herself. “John?”
“Let’s just forget about it for a while, Dolly. It’s been a strange sort of job since it started.”
She squeezed his hand. “I guess my presence hasn’t helped any.”
“No, that’s not true,” he said, as if surprised. “Quite frankly, I’m not sure I could have managed without your help.”
She did not allow her happiness to show. “What’s next?” she asked quietly.
“You can return to Ben,” he began, but immediately added, “Of course, you don’t want to do that.”
He was silent as they walked, their linked hands the only communication between them.
“Dolly,” he said hesitantly. “Let’s get this matter of the Kid settled and then … then we’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Yes.” She knew this was not the time to press him. She had a major concession literally at her fingertips. For the present, that small connection would have to suffice. But somehow, she vowed, she would win him. She knew him well enough to know that he was strangely hurt b
y the Coyote Kid’s death. And in an odd way she understood the feeling.
His prophecy came true. At the flash of powder, another photograph was made. She stayed on the opposite side of the street in the shadows of the cafe roof. Several newspapermen and photographers were assembled at the jail. The Kid was mounted on a board. Sheriff Rogers strutted like a pigeon in front of his jail. Even Gar was dragged out of the jail and photographed with an empty rifle. The posse had brought him in the previous day.
Dolly watched the activity, yet remained inconspicuous so that the reporter Rawlings would not recognize her and start asking too many questions. John had gone to the post office to mail his report and to get the letter he was expecting from the major.
He returned carrying one in his hand. When he reached her, he spoke flatly. “The major wants me to hurry back to Prescott.” He avoided her eyes and looked away toward the road leading out of town.
“What are you going to do next for the major?” she asked as they walked to get the horses that were hitched at a nearby rail.
“He says that killers are operating near the Utah line. They’ve murdered a Prescott man. He wants me to investigate the case.”
“Are you taking the stage to Prescott?” she asked absently.
“Yes.”
“I’ll bring your horses up there for you.”
“No. The horses are yours. I’m giving you both of them for helping me.”
“Thank you.” She carefully made her voice sound neutral. She didn’t trust herself to look at him as he explained the stage route. How it ran from Fort Apache to Globe to Phoenix and then north to Prescott.
“I’ll take you to Fort Apache, and then the horses will be mine?” she questioned him quietly.
“Yes.” They undid the reins and started to mount up. When he was in the saddle he looked across at her. “Where will you go?”
“Oh, I have a little money saved,” she said brightly, “and with three good horses I can go anywhere.”
“Yes.” He noticed that a nun was walking away from the jail. He hadn’t remembered seeing a Catholic church anywhere. Somehow her appearance there seemed strange in this town, but he shrugged away his concern.
They turned their horses and rode out of Snowflake for their camp. He was not happy with Dolly’s answers. She acted too smugly congenial and it niggled him as they rode. It was over, they would soon part. He hated it in many ways, but in truth, he was not responsible for her. There simply was no place for her on this job of his.
She enjoyed the mare’s lope, and the wind in her face. Yes, she could go anywhere she liked. But she already knew her destination. She would arrive in Prescott after his stage had had time to get there. She glanced at him and smiled. I’ll be at the Capitol, John Wesley, she said silently.
He noted the smirk on her face, then he looked off at the rugged distant peaks. His new job had proved to be quite different from being a town marshal, lots of riding, being in the back country, but he liked those parts of it better than what he had done in the past. Open country, freedom, and lots of clear sky.
ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES BY DUSTY RICHARDS
The Lawless Land
Servant of the Law
VENGEANCE WILL BE HERS
Outside on the boardwalk, she drew her gun and quickened her pace toward the saloon. The memory of her son’s lifeless face urged her onwards, oblivious of the stares she was generating. Her shoulder brushed the batwing doors aside as she entered the saloon. A red-hot need for vengeance was kindled in her mind. She raised the pistol and took aim at the man leaning against the bar next to John Wesley.
The first shot from her pistol crashed into the bottles behind the bar. Everyone in the room shouted and ducked for cover. Everyone but John Wesley.
“Mrs. Arnold!” he shouted. “You can’t shoot him; he’s my prisoner!” He walked toward her, blocking her view of the cowering, handcuffed Kid at the bar.
Dolly stared at him with burning hatred in her heart. “Get out of my way! I’m going to kill him!” She tried to move sideways to get a clear view of the Kid. The pistol was clutched tightly in both of her hands. “Get out of my way, John Wesley Michaels. I want that wretch dead.”
“THE LAWLESS LAND is a gritty, fast-paced story about an outlaw gang’s brutal depredations in Arizona Territory and the brave man who decides to stop them … A classic Western.”
—W. Michael Gear and Kathleen O’Neal Gear,
authors of People of the Mist
SERVANT OF THE LAW
Copyright © 2000 by Dusty Richards.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
eISBN 9781429939911
First eBook Edition : June 2011
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / December 2000
Servant of the Law Page 26