"On the contrary, your actions in the bank yesterday prove that you're still the same man inside, despite the physical problems you've had to go through," Baldwin said. "And with the money I'm prepared to pay you, you'd be better able to afford treatment for your condition. Again, no offense, but you can't be making much at Dumont's and Doc Reese's."
In Logan's experience, a man who made a habit of prefacing his statements with No offense didn't really give a damn if he offended anyone or not. That was doubly true when a man was wealthy like Marcus Baldwin.
But despite that, Baldwin was right about one thing: even working two jobs, it was going to take Logan a long time to save up enough money for the treatments he wanted. That was time he didn't have. So he was curious enough – and desperate enough – to ask, "What sort of job are you talking about?"
"I'm sending a shipment of money on the train to Little Rock. It's the payroll for one of my mills up there. To be honest with you, I'm worried about the safety of that money. You may not be aware of it, but there have been a number of train robberies in this area in recent months." Baldwin made a face and shook his head. "That blasted Jesse James and his brother and cousins. The whole family is just a bunch of criminals! And yet people tend to glorify them. Common criminals, and otherwise law-abiding people help them hide from the authorities."
Logan didn't mention that he had had his own encounter with Jesse James on his way to Hot Springs, and he didn't want to argue about what had led Jesse and his relations to start riding the owlhoot trail in the first place.
Instead he said, "That's the sort of job I used to take from time to time. I've ridden herd on more than one payroll. But that was a different time."
He looked meaningfully at his withered left arm, and then at his cane and right leg.
Baldwin leaned forward in his chair, clasped his hands together on the desk, and said, "On the contrary, I believe that your actions in the bank yesterday prove that you're still capable of doing what needs to be done, regardless of your physical limitations. You possess qualities that are equally important: experience, instinct, and nerves that are cool under fire."
Maybe Baldwin was right, Logan thought. He had told himself that he needed to start making better use of his skills again. That was one reason he had planned to buy a gun today. And yet at the first opportunity, he had let self-doubt crop up again. He had insisted that failure was inevitable, when as a matter of fact he didn't know if that was true.
Those thoughts were going through his mind and he was leaning toward accepting, but Baldwin didn't know that. The timber magnate must have thought Logan needed some more convincing, because he said, "There's another reason I want to hire you, Mr. Handley. Something more precious to me than any amount of money will be on that train tomorrow. My daughter Gillian is going to Little Rock, too."
"Are you talking about me again, Father?" a female voice asked from behind Logan. He turned slightly in the chair to look back over his shoulder and saw a young woman coming into the room. He hadn't even heard her open the door. That was how graceful she was.
Not to mention beautiful. Her skin was creamy, and her features were as perfect as any to be found in a cameo. Waves of pale blond hair framed her face. She was even more lovely when she smiled, like she did when she held out her hand and said, "You must be Mr. Handley. I'm Gillian Baldwin, and my father tells me that you're going to be accompanying me on my trip to Little Rock."
12.
Sounding somewhat embarrassed, Baldwin said, "Mr. Handley hasn't actually agreed to take the job yet, my dear."
"Do you think spending time with me would be a job, Mr. Handley?" Gillian asked. Logan heard the faint tone of mockery in her voice but didn't know if it was directed at him or her father . . . or at both of them. He had encountered many young, extremely beautiful women in his life – none more beautiful than Gillian Baldwin, though, he thought – and most of them seemed to consider the world to be their own personal playground. And men, for the most part, were nothing but their toys.
However, he didn't know Gillian Baldwin nearly well enough to say whether she shared those attitudes, and it probably wasn't fair of him to assume that she did. He said, "I think that accompanying you just about anywhere would be a pleasure, Miss Baldwin. A distinct pleasure."
"Well, then, why hesitate? Say yes and take Father's money. That's what everyone else does."
"Really, Gillian – " Baldwin began.
"Besides," she went on, ignoring him, "Father refuses to let me go to Little Rock unless I have a suitable traveling companion, and I really need to do some shopping. Little Rock isn't exactly Paris or Boston, but the shopping there is better than here in Hot Springs. Please say you'll come with me, Mr. Handley."
"How can I refuse?" Logan heard himself saying.
He wasn't sure where the words came from; he hadn't made a conscious decision to accept the job. But that's what he had done, and now he was bound by it.
"We haven't discussed compensation yet," Baldwin said.
"Whatever you were going to offer him, double it," Gillian said. "I think that's fair, don't you, Mr. Handley?"
"Wages aren't the sort of thing proper young women discuss," Baldwin said. The words came out a little tightly because his jaw was clenched with annoyance.
Gillian smiled at Logan again, cocked one carefully plucked and arched eyebrow, and said, "My father is the one who claims I'm proper, Mr. Handley, not me." As Baldwin opened his mouth to say something else, she forestalled him with a raised hand and went on, "That's all right, I'm going. One more thing, though . . . There's going to be a party at my father's house this evening, and I think you should attend, Mr. Handley. That will give us a chance to get to know each other better before we leave for Little Rock."
Baldwin nodded and said, "That's actually a good idea. There are a few other minor matters I'd like to discuss with you, Logan. You don't mind if I call you Logan, do you?"
Actually, the assumption of familiarity did rub Logan the wrong way, but he wasn't going to say that. Instead he said, "That's fine. I don't see any reason why I can't be there." He would have to get out some of his better clothes and hope they hadn't gotten too wrinkled from being packed away. Maybe Vickie wouldn't mind ironing them. He could pay her extra for the job . . .
"I'll see you tonight, Logan," Gillian said. She hadn't asked for his permission to call him by his given name.
Logan doubted if she asked permission for most of the things she did.
When she was gone, Baldwin said, "I'll pay you three hundred dollars for the trip."
Logan didn't know if that would be enough to get him started with treatments from Dr. Strittmatter, but it seemed entirely possible that it would be. Besides, he had never liked haggling. He nodded and said, "All right."
Baldwin stood up, and so did Logan, although not so easily. They shook hands again, and Baldwin said, "Of course, that fee is contingent on my daughter's safe return to Hot Springs. No offense . . ."
There was that phrase again.
Baldwin smiled, but his eyes were hard as flint as he went on, "If you don't bring her back safely to me, Mr. Handley, it would be smarter for you if you just kept going."
* * *
Logan found Rusty in the big barn next to the office building, where the teamster had said he would be.
"What was it the boss wanted with you?" Rusty asked bluntly.
"He offered me a job."
Rusty looked confused. "What sort of job?"
"Guarding a payroll shipment on the train to Little Rock . . . and guarding his daughter as well."
A low whistle came from Rusty's pursed lips. He said, "Miss Gillian is the best-lookin' gal in all of Hot Springs. Maybe in all of Arkansas!"
Logan laughed. "I couldn't say one way or the other about that. I haven't seen all the women in Arkansas, or even in Hot Springs, for that matter. I can't deny that she's pretty easy on the eyes, though."
"Easy on the eyes," Rusty repeated. He snorted
. "That's like sayin' it's hot in the desert or cold at the North Pole!" Rusty paused, then frowned. "You said he offered you the job. Did you take it?"
"I did," Logan said. "I'll have to tell Doc and Dewey that I won't be coming in anymore."
"They'll be disappointed, I reckon, but shoot . . . gettin' paid to spend time with Gillian Baldwin! No man could turn that down. No man in his right mind, anyway."
"Of course, I also have to protect that payroll from Jesse James or any other bandit who takes it into his head to rob the train we'll be on."
"Yeah." Rusty scratched his jaw. "How do you plan on goin' about that?"
"I was hoping you could point me in the direction of a good gunsmith," Logan said.
As it turned out, Rusty was able to do more than that. Not surprisingly, since he seemed to know just about everyone in Hot Springs, he had a friend who sold and worked on guns.
Buck Finnerty was a wiry man with dark hair and a mustache. He had a canvas apron dotted with gun oil stains over his butternut shirt. After Rusty introduced them, Finnerty said, "I heard about that bank robbery yesterday, Mr. Handley. I reckon just about the whole town did. Might even be in the papers in Little Rock and St. Louis by next week."
Logan made an effort not to wince at that comment. Having his name in the newspapers was just about the last thing he wanted, but he didn't see any way he could stop it from happening. Journalistic efforts took on a life of their own and spread far and wide sometimes.
"What can I do for you?" Finnerty went on.
"I need to buy a gun," Logan said. "I'm left-handed, and I don't know if you've noticed – " He smiled to take any sting out of the words. "I'm not exactly as nimble with that hand as I used to be."
"But you can shoot just fine with your right, from what I heard about that dust-up with those robbers," Finnerty said.
"I can shoot with my right. I wouldn't say I'm that good with it. But I don't have much choice in the matter, so I was thinking maybe a Colt Single Action Army with the shorter barrel. It's fairly easy to handle."
Finnerty nodded. "I can fix you up with one of those, all right. Probably be a good belt gun for you." He frowned in thought for a moment. "But I've got somethin' else you might want to take a look at."
He rummaged around under the long counter in his shop for a moment and came up with a wooden case about two feet long and a foot wide. He set it on the counter, snapped the latches, and swung the lid up to reveal a sawed-off shotgun. The twin, blued steel barrels were a foot long, extending out from a polished, gleaming stock that had been fashioned into a pistol grip. The weapon was only about eighteen inches from one end to the other.
"I made this special for a fella, and he up and died before he could pay me for it," Finnerty explained. "He was a bounty hunter, and he didn't care much whether he brought in the men he was after dead or alive. Not to speak ill of the dead, but he had a habit of sneakin' up behind somebody and puttin' a bullet in 'em. He figured this'd do an even better job of it. Never got to try it out, though. Somebody snuck up on him instead."
Logan couldn't help but chuckle despite the grim nature of what Finnerty had just said. He had known several bounty hunters in his time and knew that some of them weren't much better than the men they pursued. Of course, neither was he.
"How heavy is it?" he asked.
Finnerty pushed the case across the counter and invited, "See for yourself."
Using his right hand, Logan picked up the shotgun. It was a hefty weapon, but his right arm was plenty strong. It just wasn't quite as deft as his left arm had been before he had fallen ill.
"Try the action," Finnerty suggested.
Logan pulled back the hammers, pointed the shotgun at the wall, and squeezed each trigger in turn. He could tell that the action was smooth.
Rusty said, "That'd blow the hell outta somebody as long as they weren't more'n ten or twenty feet away."
"Yep, it sure would," Finnerty said. "You won't find anything better for close work, Mr. Handley."
"I think you're right," Logan said.
"I could rig you a holster for it, too. Carry it on your right leg, and pack the Colt cross-draw."
Logan nodded. Finnerty's suggestions were good ones. With that much firepower, he would stand a better chance in any fight.
"I'm not sure I can afford such a fine weapon as this."
Finnerty grinned and said, "Shoot, I'll make you a good price on it, Mr. Handley. Havin' a man like you usin' one of my guns . . . it'd be an honor."
Logan made a decision. He said, "Can you have everything ready for me tomorrow morning?" The train for Little Rock pulled out at ten o'clock, Marcus Baldwin had told him.
"Sure."
"I'll pick it up around nine. I want the case for the shotgun, as well as the holster." There would be times when he didn't want to carry the sawed-off openly, thought Logan. "I'll need ammunition for both guns, too."
"You bet." Finnerty added up the total for everything.
"I'll pay you in the morning," Logan said. He could get the money from Baldwin at the party that night. Under the circumstances, Baldwin probably wouldn't object to letting him have an advance on his wages.
"Sounds mighty fine. It's a pleasure doin' business with you, Mr. Handley."
"Same here," Logan said.
He found that he was looking forward to having the weight of a gun on his hip again. And the smooth wooden stock of the sawed-off against his palm had been very satisfying. For a man who had made his living with a gun for so long to be unarmed . . . well, it just wasn't natural.
"Thanks for your help with this, Rusty," Logan said as they left Buck Finnerty's shop.
"I was mighty glad to do it," Rusty said. "That shotgun's really somethin', ain't it? When you get on that train tomorrow, you're gonna be armed for bear!"
Logan thought about Jesse James and said, "It's not bears I'm worried about."
13.
Back in his room at the boarding house, Logan set his valise on the bed, opened it, and took out his best shirt and his vest. His suit was already hanging up in the wardrobe, and as he studied his shirt he decided it would be all right to wear to the party at the Baldwin house. Marcus Baldwin had promised to send a carriage for him at seven o'clock.
Logan got his suit from the wardrobe and laid it out on the bed, just to be sure it was still clean and pressed enough to wear, and while he was doing that he heard footsteps in the hall. They paused just outside his open door.
"Do you need some laundry done, Mr. Handley?" Vickie asked. "I can have it picked up with the rest."
Vickie washed the bedding for the house herself and hung it to dry in the back yard. Her clothing and that of the boarders was picked up once a week by a Chinese man whose family operated a laundry several blocks away.
"No, that's all right," Logan told her. "I just wanted to make sure my good clothes were all right for tonight, and I think they are."
"Tonight?" Vickie repeated. "What's tonight?"
For a second Logan wished he hadn't said anything, but he supposed it didn't really matter. Vickie would know something was going on when the carriage arrived that evening, plus there was the fact that he would be leaving for Little Rock in the morning.
"I've been invited to a party," he said.
"Oh?" She smiled. "At the barber shop?"
"At Marcus Baldwin's house."
That put a definite look of surprise on her face. She said, "Marcus Baldwin? The man Rusty works for?"
"That's right. And I work for him, too, now."
"Driving a freight wagon?"
Logan shook his head. "Guarding the payroll for his lumber mill. And his daughter."
Vickie drew in a breath and said, "Gillian."
"You know her?"
"Everyone in Little Rock knows Gillian Baldwin. Just like they know her father. It's impossible not to know those timber barons."
Baldwin was the only timber baron Logan was aware of, but he supposed there were other men in the
same business. He said, "Miss Baldwin is going to Little Rock on the train tomorrow, so I guess this gathering tonight is something of a going-away party for her. Although I don't think she intends to be gone for very long. She mentioned she wanted to do some shopping down there, but that's all."
"And you'll be traveling on the train with her."
"Her father is worried about holdups," Logan said with a shrug.
"He doesn't want anything happening to her, or to his money."
"Yes, I imagine he'd have a hard time choosing between them if he had to."
Vickie's tone of voice and the look on her face made Logan say, "I take it you don't care for the Baldwins."
"As a rule I'm not fond of rich people who think they're better than everyone else. People who think they can get whatever they want just by demanding it." It was Vickie's turn to shrug as she went on, "But I suppose I don't have anything personally against Marcus Baldwin and his daughter. I just don't like their . . . their circle of society."
"All right," Logan said.
"But if you want to be part of it, that's fine."
"I'm not part of it," he said. "I've worked for plenty of rich people, but that's it. I'm not one of them. I'm just a hired hand."
"A hired gun-hand."
"I'm not denying it," he said in a flat voice. Vickie's disapproval of him was starting to wear thin. He didn't know what had happened between her and her former husband to make her so bitter, and he didn't care. He hadn't been part of it.
She turned toward the door but paused to ask, "Will you be here for supper?"
"Mr. Baldwin didn't say anything about me joining them for dinner, so I suppose so. He's sending a carriage for me at seven."
"I'll be sure we're finished eating in plenty of time, then. We wouldn't want you to be late. Miss Baldwin might be disappointed if you were."
"Maybe so," Logan said.
But he doubted it. Gillian had seemed to enjoy flirting with him, but he figured that she didn't really give him a second thought.
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