It was too bad he couldn't tell Marshal Fallon what a favor he was fixin' to do for him.
Harry wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and managed to hide his grin. Well, it wouldn't make no difference. Not to her. No senator, nor judge, nor marshal would be able to help that bitch now. 'Cause no matter what, Harry was going to see that she paid.
#
"Ah, Bridget," Eamon said as he turned his head this way and that, taking in as much of the town as he could, “it's a fine place. Reminds me of the Patch on a Saturday night.”
She chuckled softly. It was the very things that Eamon admired about Treasure Gap that Bridget didn't like. The noise, the drunks, the sudden violence that could erupt with no warning at all. She shook her head and helped Jessie over the high step to the boardwalk.
"I know just what you mean, Eamon," she said with a smile, “but here the lawmen pay more attention to the goin's-on. There's no gettin' away with much in this town."
His lips twisted into a smirk. “Lawmen.” He frowned and looked down at Bridget. “I still can't believe you're goin' to marry a constable."
Bridget laughed. "Marshal."
“Makes no difference." He raised his eyes heavenward and sighed. "Ah, your poor father, God rest his soul. Why, I'll wager Michael Dugan is even now spinnin' in his grave."
"Very likely," she agreed.
"And you say," Eamon continued, watching her face, "you've told him about everything?"
"Yes, I have." Bridget stopped outside MacElroy's store and kept a tight grip on Jessie's hand. "I'll not live my life with a lie hangin' over my head, Eamon."
"Ah, well" – he smiled reluctantly – “you always were too honest for your own good. And I think it best if I'm gone before your marshal gets back. If he's as duty-bound as you say… well, let's say only that I've no intention of goin' back to St. Louis just yet."
"Bridget!"
She turned and saw Cherry crossing the road toward them.
"Hmmm…"
Bridget glanced up at Eamon. There was no mistaking the gleam of interest in his black eyes, and she couldn't blame him. Dressed in her working clothes, Cherry made quite a picture in the late-afternoon sun. Her deep blue satin dress clung to her body like a second skin, feathers adorned her perfectly arranged, copper-colored hair, and the net tights she wore complemented her long legs. Suddenly, Bridget felt very drab indeed in her plain white cotton shirtwaist and black skirt.
As Cherry stepped up on the wide boardwalk, Bridget saw at a glance that the woman returned Eamon's interest. “Bridget,” the woman said, her eyes on Eamon, "do you know when Jacob will be back?"
"In a couple of days, he said." Bridget hid a smile as she looked from one to the other of them.
"Will you not introduce me to your friend, Bridget?" Eamon finally asked.
“Cherry Tuttle," the woman said and offered him a smile filled with promise.
"Eamon Flannagan," he said, taking her hand in his.
"And do you always carry a club around with you, Eamon?" Cherry asked with a grin as she pointed to the thick piece of wood in the man's fist.
"Well," he said lightly, "I don't have a gun, and I'll see no man go away disappointed if he comes to me lookin' for a fight.”
Bridget glanced down at Jessie, who was shifting from foot to foot in her boredom. She squeezed the little girl's hand and quickly decided to get on with her business and get the child home. Eamon could do as he liked.
Then Cherry cursed under her breath.
"What is it?" Bridget reached out a hand to her friend.
"Over there." The other woman pointed at a big man crossing the street toward the Lazy Dog. "It's Bud Francis, dammit.” Cherry turned to look at Bridget, her infatuation with Eamon forgotten. “That's why I asked about Jacob. One of my customers heard that Francis would be comin' into town soon. But dammit, why now when the marshal's gone?"
"Who is he?" Eamon asked.
Bridget didn't even look at him. Her gaze followed the miner’s progress toward the saloon. "A miner. He thrashed one of Cherry's girls a couple of weeks back. Hurt her badly."
Eamon's lips thinned in disgust for a man who would beat a woman.
"Cherry," Bridget spoke quickly, "Cotton's at the jailhouse."
"Right," the woman answered, “I’ll send someone."
“I'll get him," Eamon offered and took off down the road at a run.
"I'll keep an eye on him till then," Cherry said and jumped from the boardwalk into the street. Quickly she pushed through the milling crowd.
Bridget just stared at the Lazy Dog. She could hardly offer to help, not with Jessie along. The frustration of forced idleness made the minutes drag by. Then the shouting inside the saloon started. Bridget jumped and pulled Jessie around to stand behind her. A slat-backed chair crashed through the window, splintering glass into the surprised throng of men on the boardwalk. Then a man sailed through the batwing doors, landing facedown in the dirt. Right behind him Bud Francis stepped out of the saloon.
Hands on his hips, the brawny man looked around-at the crowd as if daring them to interfere. From the corner of her eye Bridget saw two men running. A quick glance proved it to be Cotton, with Eamon close on his heels.
Cherry pushed through, the doorway just then and began to shout at Francis. Over the loud bluster of the gathered mob, Bridget couldn't make out what the woman was saying, but judging from her stance and behavior, she could guess.
Bridget suddenly turned, opened the door to the general store, and pushed Jessie inside to safety. Emmaline was near the window, straining to see, and only nodded disinterestedly when Bridget asked her to watch out for the child.
Stepping back onto the boardwalk, Bridget almost jumped down to join the fracas when Bud Francis shoved Cherry to the ground with more force than necessary.
Just then, though, Cotton reached Francis's side. The deputy grabbed the other man's arm in an effort to get him headed toward the jail, but Francis shook the tall blond man off as though he were a troublesome insect. Yet Cotton wouldn't be put off. Once more he pulled at the man, and as the crowd drifted back, making a wide circle around the combatants, Francis swung a meaty fist and sent the deputy sprawling headlong into the dirt.
Bridget couldn't hear the miner's laughter, but she saw plainly the derisive kick he aimed at the fallen deputy. He never completed the movement. Eamon stepped up behind the man and brought his club down hard across the man's shoulders. The big man dropped, stunned, to his knees.
Small pockets of applause broke out in the crowd, and Bridget could see Cherry grinning and patting Eamon's arm.
Cotton pushed himself to his feet and brushed off his dirty clothing. Francis was just beginning to move. Everyone's attention was on Eamon. No one but Bridget noticed that the miner was reaching for the pistol in a nearby man's holster. Cotton's back was still toward the man.
Suddenly Bridget was screaming, as long and loud as she could. The mob stopped. Men turned to look. Cotton spun around just as Bud Francis pulled the pistol free. In the wink of an eye Cotton had his gun out and was on one knee, aiming at the treacherous miner.
Bridget stood stock still. She hadn't even seen his hand move, he was so fast. She glanced at Bud Francis. The miner's flushed face was now a pasty color. The pistol he held was still pointed at the ground. He hadn't even had the time to aim it.
A stunned silence fell over the crowd. In the hush, Cotton Drake's voice rang out. "Drop it. Drop it now." Everyone heard the click of a hammer being drawn back. "Drop it, or I'll kill ya where ya stand."
Francis released the pistol, and it thumped harmlessly into the dirt.
Cotton stood, walked to his now cooperative prisoner, and started him off down the street
Bridget scarcely noticed the people standing around her. Her eyes followed Cotton's progress as her mind whirled with what she'd just seen. She'd always considered Cotton to be just a nice young man, easygoing, kind. Now she saw that there was another side of him entirely.<
br />
“Well, now," Cherry's voice was close by. “That surely did surprise me. Never would've figured ol’ Cotton to be a gunfighter."
“Gunfighter?” Bridget asked.
"He'd have to be, as fast as he is."
"I never saw a man that fast." Eamon breathed in admiration.
Cherry slipped her arm through his. “Well, if it wasn't for you, he might not've had the chance. That was a nice piece of work with that stick of yours."
He smiled.
"How about I buy you a drink?"
Eamon rubbed his throat. "Ah, that's good of ya, indeed. I'm that parched."
“It's your fault, y'know." All three of them turned to face Mrs. Mac, coming from her store, Jessie's hand firmly in hers. The little girl broke free and ran to Bridget. Emmaline MacElroy advanced on a very bored-looking Cherry.
“I say, it's your fault. You and women like you." The tall thin woman took a deep breath and continued. “Trouble follows the likes of you. Ain't no surprise havin' gunfights in the streets…"
“There were no shots," Bridget offered quietly.
Mrs. Mac turned on her. "Makes no matter! Besides, you're just as bad as her!"
Cherry rolled her eyes and shook her head at Bridget, silently telling her that it was no good to argue with the old biddy. Rubbing her breasts against Eamon slowly, the redhead said with a seductive smile, "Come along now, Eamon. You can tell me all about that big… stick of yours."
Mrs. Mac gasped and grabbed her throat.
Bridget looked down at her feet and smothered a chuckle.
Cherry turned her back on them both and began moving toward her saloon, her hips swaying deliberately. Then she glanced over her shoulder and said, "Joe will be so glad to hear that you're feelin' more like your old self, Mrs. Mac."
Chapter Twenty
Jacob tossed another branch onto his campfire. The flames danced over the fresh wood, sending spots of fire off into the night. Then he leaned back against his saddle and stretched out his legs.
Lord, he was tired. His whole body hurt. He glanced over at the horse he'd gotten from the Treasure Gap livery and smiled – a good animal that really knew how to run. Jacob never would have believed that it was possible to make such good time on the Fort Benton road, but then, he had a good reason, too.
Yawning, Jacob pulled his rifle closer and laid his head down on his saddle. He stared up at the sky and tried to make what little information he'd gathered clear in his mind.
He'd spent most of the day before lounging outside the telegraph office waiting for a reply to his wires. When he'd received Judge Silver's answer, Jacob had been mad enough to chew nails. Doggedly, he went over it once again in his mind.
DUGAN SENTENCE PECULIAR STOP JUDGE HAMMOND'S DECISION BEING LOOKED INTO STOP WILL LET YOU KNOW STOP SIGNED HENRY
He ground his teeth together in frustration, just as he had the day before. Henry Silver was not a man to exaggerate. If he was looking into a fellow judge, then there must be something there. Jacob only hoped his father's old friend would find the answer quickly.
Then he remembered the other wire he'd received from his old commanding officer, now on his way to becoming a senator. With the friends that Colonel Barclay had in every level of government, it hadn't been a problem for him to check into the prison escape that Bridget had described so thoroughly.
Jacob pushed himself to a sitting position, pulled the wrinkled telegram from his inside coat pocket, and unfolded it. Holding it to the firelight, Jacob felt the same sharp stab of fear he'd felt the first time he'd read it.
ESCAPED PRISONERS O'GRADY STOP COHAN STOP MCDONOUGH STOP DUGAN STOP O'GRADY AND COHAN DEAD STOP CURIOUS INCIDENTS STOP MCDONOUGH AND DUGAN MISSING STOP COULD BE IN DANGER STOP PRISON GUARD ALSO MISSING STOP WITNESS SAYS MAY BE HEADED YOUR WAY STOP WATCH YOUR BACK STOP SIGNED D BARCLAY
Jacob folded the telegram again thoughtfully. If the guard was on his way upriver, he might be here already. Several riverboats had docked in Fort Benton in the last couple of weeks. Of course, he reminded himself, Bridget had changed her name for the trip to Montana. That could make it a little harder if someone really was following her.
He put the wire away and lay back down. It didn't make any sense. Why would a guard go to the trouble of killing women who'd escaped him? Maybe the colonel was wrong.
Jacob picked up his rifle and held it ready across his chest. Colonel Denison Barclay wrong? No. Jacob couldn't remember that man ever making a mistake, and though he wished things were different, Jacob had the distinct feeling that the colonel was right again.
In fact, he'd been almost sure earlier that he was being followed. Reluctantly he closed his eyes. He had to get a little rest. He would just have to trust to his horse to warn him if anyone approached the fire.
He wanted to be back on the road before first light. He wouldn't feel easy about any of this until he was back home with Bridget – where he could watch out for her.
#
Harry slowed his horse to a walk. He'd taken the trouble to swing wide around the marshal's campfire. He didn't want to run the risk of waking the man. After all, Harry had nothing against him. Be a shame to kill a man for no good reason.
Once safely down the road, Harry urged his horse into a trot. No sense in hurryin' too much. He chuckled softly. Why, he'd be sure to beat the marshal into Treasure Gap by a good couple of hours. Plenty enough time.
With any luck he ought to be through with his business and on his way again before the marshal hit town. He smiled and patted the horse's strong neck. Then he'd just go on down the road, find himself a likely looking customer or two, and make his fortune.
#
Bridget looked anxiously toward the end of the road. Logically she knew she probably wouldn't be able to spot Jacob from that distance anyway, but it made her feel better to look.
This was the fourth day. Surely he'd be back today, she told herself. She fought down the tremulous curl of worry that had imbedded itself in her stomach. It made no sense to borrow trouble, she knew, but was she really borrowing trouble? After all, Colleen and Frances were dead, and no matter what Eamon believed, Bridget knew they didn't die in accidents.
Who could be doing this? And why? The four women put together didn't add up to one decent criminal!
Bridget shook her head. Enough! Her head was pounding, and she was liable to make herself as crazy as a bedbug. Determinedly she crossed the room to the big basket sitting near the fireplace. Thinking alone wouldn't get the dirty clothes clean. She may as well get to it. Besides, she wanted everything neat and tidy for Jacob's return.
She hoped he'd have good news. She stepped out the back door, called to Jessie and began the walk to the creek.
#
Eamon stood at the window of Cherry's bedroom, looking down on the street below. He took another pull at his cigar and idly studied the big blond man walking into town.
He looked fit to be tied, stomping angrily down the center of the road, dragging a saddle behind him. Eamon laughed quietly. The man looked to be in even worse shape than himself. At least Eamon had found Cherry.
A grin split his face as he let his mind wander freely over the last two days in Cherry Tuttle's company. A fine woman, he told himself. So eager… and athletic!
Who would have thought that it would be Miss High and Mighty Dugan to introduce him to such a woman? He chuckled again and shook his head. His idle gaze still followed the slow progress of the saddle-dragging man, and he wasn't surprised to see the fella turn right into the nearest saloon.
Eamon left the window, crossed the room, and stretched out on Cherry's narrow brass bed. As he stared up at the ceiling, he told himself suddenly that maybe it would be a good thing to go and check on Bridget later on. After all, he'd hardly seen her in the last two days.
He ground the cigar out and closed his eyes, intending to take a nap, but somehow, rest wouldn't come. He kept seeing that blond man walking stubbornly along. There was something about the way t
he man stood… He shook his head and slammed a pillow down over his face to block out the sun. Eamon decided to ignore that little voice inside warning him that something wasn't quite right.
#
Jacob rode into town at a fast trot. He couldn't wait to get back to the cabin and, talk to Bridget. At least she would be able to relax about one thing. No one had said anything about her returning to St. Louis and taking up her sentence.
He pulled up in front of the livery and handed the reins of the tired animal to its owner. Then he remembered something.
"Did you see anybody walking into town earlier?"
The grizzled old man scratched at his whiskers and screwed up his forehead in thought. "Walkin'? Nah, I didn't see nobody like that… ‘course, I ain't been here but a bit. But who the hell would be walkin' in country like this?”
Jacob pulled his saddlebags off the horse and tossed them over his shoulder. "Saw a horse down a few miles back. Leg broken."
"Now, that's a dang shame," the old man whined. "Did whoever was ridin' him kill the poor beast?”
"Yeah. It was dead." Jacob didn't say more. He didn't even want to think about what he'd seen. Not only had the horse been killed, it had been thoroughly stomped and kicked, as though whoever had done it was gripped by a terrible rage.
The hostler turned away, and Jacob promised himself to have a talk with Cotton before he went home. He started walking toward his office. If the man who'd killed that horse was in Treasure Gap right now, he told himself, there would be trouble. That kind of rage wasn't easily dismissed.
As he neared the jailhouse, Jacob flashed a quick look at his own cabin. No sign of Bridget or Jessie. He hurried his step, anxious to get his talk with Cotton over and his reunion with Bridget started.
"Look, Mama! Look!"
Jacob stopped. He turned slightly and stared down the incline toward the creek. The bank of pines blocked his view.
"Yes, darlin'. I see it.'"
He smiled, looked at the jailhouse, and shrugged. Cotton could wait. Quickly Jacob moved down the slight hill, listening all the while to Jessie and Bridget. Then his daughter screamed. Jacob froze for a moment before rushing down the last few feet of earth separating him from his family. Sliding to a stop, he fought for balance to keep from falling into the fast-moving creek. Bridget and Jessie wore identically shocked expressions as they stared up at him.
Mountain Dawn Page 25