Nacho's chivalrous nature was aroused to fury by what he saw. Sputtering in his anger, he said, "We should tie him to a horse and drag him!"
"What good would that do?" Cambridge asked sharply.
"Well . . . he wouldn't be in any shape to mistreat a woman for a long time!"
"It wouldn't change anything, though." Cambridge tried to be objective, to force his own feelings of outrage into the back of his mind. Sitting down on the bench a few feet from Sandra, he asked, "Has this sort of thing been going on for very long?"
"Theodore never did this before," she answered in a quiet voice. "We haven't . . . gotten along well for quite a while, but I was never really afraid for my life with him—until last night." Her mouth twisted bitterly. "I suppose in his mind, he had a good reason for what he did."
"What reason could ever be good enough to do such a thing?" Nacho demanded.
She looked up and met their gazes. "I found out Theodore is an outlaw."
"What?" Cambridge exclaimed.
"He's working with the same gang that held up the stagecoach and robbed the two of you."
As Cambridge and Nacho sat and listened with astonished looks on their faces, she gave them the same story she had told Maxwell. Cambridge's mind was turning over rapidly as Sandra filled in the details. Although it was hard to believe that his old friend's son had turned out so badly, the story made sense. He glanced up at Maxwell's stony features, a pang of sympathy shooting through him.
When Sandra was finished, Maxwell said, "I thought you and Nacho ought to know about this, Billy. For one thing, we're not sure what we ought to do about it."
Nacho spoke up. "I'm sorry that your son is mixed up in this, Jake, but we have to go to the law—"
"No," Cambridge said.
Nacho looked at him in puzzlement. "But Billy, I thought you were the one who said we had to do everything according to law."
"That's exactly my point. We don't have enough solid evidence against Theodore, and we don't have anything to lead us to the rest of the gang."
"But Sandra saw him with one of the outlaws, probably the one who shot me!"
"That's true, but her testimony alone wouldn't be enough to convict Theodore." Cambridge glanced at Sandra and Maxwell and saw them nodding. "You've already thought of that. Good. Then you understand why it wouldn't do any good to go to the sheriff with this."
"We were hopin' you might come up with an idea, Billy," Maxwell said.
Cambridge leaned back and nodded toward the stove. "I could use a cup of that coffee that's brewing over there. Might wake me up a little more and help me think."
Maxwell fetched coffee for all of them, but when he put a cup in front of Sandra, she shook her head and stood up. "I can't stay," she said worriedly. "I've already been away from the trading post for too long. Theodore might be getting suspicious." She hesitated. "Jake, would you check out the back door and see if he's anywhere in sight?"
"Sure." Maxwell went to the rear door and stepped out for a moment, then returned to say, "Don't see the boy anywhere."
"I'll slip over to our barn, then go into the store from there. He'll think I was just attending to my chores . . . I hope."
Maxwell stepped aside to let her through the back door, and as she passed him, he reached up and let his hand brush her shoulder for a second. There was something about the gesture . . . an intimacy, a warmth . . . that struck Cambridge as strange. Nacho didn't seem to notice.
Maxwell came back to the table and picked up his own coffee. "Biscuits'll be done in a bit," he said. "Now, Billy, what do you think we should do?"
"What do you want to do?" Cambridge asked in turn. "If you warn Theodore that you're on to him, he might give up his involvement with the outlaws."
"You mean let him get away scot-free?" Maxwell shook his head. "I can't do that, even if he is my son. Not after what he did to that poor girl."
Cambridge nodded grimly. "I was hoping you'd say that, Jake. Because I'd like to use Theodore to help corral the rest of the gang."
"You mean to set some sort of trap?" Nacho asked. "Trick him into leading us to them?"
"Not exactly. I don't think Theodore knows where their hide-out is, any more than we do. The fact that he met with one of the gang at such an out-of-the-way place indicates that. I figure they'd want to keep him in the dark about such things as where they're hiding and who's actually leading the gang."
"You don't reckon that Graham fella is the boss outlaw?" Maxwell asked.
"Not if Sandra was reporting the conversation between Theodore and Graham accurately. Someone else is the ringleader, and I have a pretty good idea who."
The other two men leaned forward, waiting to see what Cambridge was going to say.
"Seamus O'Shea," the attorney declared.
Maxwell stared at him for a moment and then shook his head. "We've talked about this before, Billy. Seamus's done some bad things in the past, but he ain't got that in him these days. I reckon he's truly sorry for what he did when he was ridin' with the Comancheros."
"I know you're fond of him, but everything points in his direction. He knows this area, and he's bound to still have some outlaw contacts from the old days. He'd be able to put together a gang and run it."
"Maybe so, but I still don't believe it."
With a solemn expression on his face, Cambridge asked, "Would you have believed that Theodore was part of the gang if Sandra hadn't caught him red-handed?"
A muscle in Maxwell's cheek twisted as a grim look settled over his face. He took a deep breath and slowly shook his head. "Reckon not. I knew something was wrong, but I'd never have guessed that he was mixed up with outlaws. Maybe you're right about Seamus, Billy."
Now Nacho leaned forward, obviously disturbed. "What about Dove?" he asked.
"O'Shea's girl? What about her?"
"Do you think she knows what her father is doing, Billy?"
Cambridge shrugged. "No way of knowing for sure. Probably not, I'd say. She seems like a pretty level-headed young woman, but sometimes a child has a blind spot when it comes to her father. Anyone as devoted to the church as Dove is, though, I can't see her keeping it to herself if she found out who was behind all the robberies around here."
"Well, at least you aren't accusing her of being part of the gang."
With a smile, Cambridge said, "I don't think that's very likely."
Maxwell got up to take the biscuits out of the oven, but as he did so, he asked, "What do we do now?"
"I'll go over to the general store in a little while and pick up some more supplies," Cambridge said. "While I'm talking to Theodore, I'll let it slip that we've got a good lead to the outlaws and expect to locate their hide-out in the next few days. Theodore and the gang are bound to have some way of communicating, so I'm betting that he gets a message somehow to them. From what Sandra said, I'm hoping that their system is so primitive that a face to face meeting will be required for Theodore to pass on the warning to them."
Nacho spoke up, understanding now what Cambridge had in mind. "So we keep an eye on Theodore, and when he has his rendezvous with somebody from the gang, we follow that hombre back to the hide-out."
"Exactly," Cambridge nodded.
"Could work," Maxwell admitted. "I hate settin' a trap, though. The worst part is always the waitin'."
'That's true." Cambridge smiled and pointed toward the stove. "That's why I think we should help pass the time with some of those biscuits of yours."
Nacho brightened up immediately, the prospect of more trouble forgotten in his hunger. "And some of those apricot preserves!" he suggested.
As Cambridge had said, the waiting was difficult. Nacho stalked impatiently around the stage station all morning, hoping that the lawyer would soon decide the time was right to throw out the bait to Theodore Maxwell. Finally, a little before noon, Cambridge picked up his hat and put it on. "Let's take a little stroll over the trading post, Nacho," he said.
"Good luck," Maxwell said tightl
y as Nacho reached for his own hat.
It was hard to imagine what the man was going through, Nacho thought as he and Cambridge stepped outside. Even though it was obvious that Maxwell and Theodore weren't close, and probably hadn't been for a long time, they were still father and son. It had to hurt to help set a trap for your own son. Justice demanded that the outlaws and their accomplice be brought in, but Nacho wasn't sure Maxwell would have been able to do what he had done—if Theodore hadn't crossed the line by beating Sandra so brutally.
As Nacho and Cambridge strolled across the open space toward the trading post, the vaquero saw a familiar buckboard parked in front of the store. It was the vehicle belonging to the Sand Ridge Baptist Church, he realized after a few seconds. His pulse jumped. Maybe Dove was inside the trading post, picking up a few things for the church. She seemed to be Reverend Livingston's unofficial assistant, so that was possible.
To Nacho's disappointment, Dove hadn't come along on this trip, he saw as he and Cambridge entered the store a moment later. Livingston was standing at the counter in the rear, talking to Theodore Maxwell. Sandra was nowhere in sight, and Nacho figured she was staying in the living quarters in the back of the building most of the time. She wouldn't want people to see her, not with those ugly bruises on her face.
Livingston turned as the footsteps of the West Texans announced their presence. The minister smiled and nodded. "Good morning, gentlemen," he said affably. Theodore just looked at them, not venturing a greeting of any kind.
"Well, pastor, you look like you've gotten over that little dust-up the other day," Cambridge said.
"No point in worrying about that now. The hand of the Lord protected us. I have faith He will continue to do so."
Nacho nodded toward the bag sitting on the counter in front of Livingston. "I thought you bought your supplies in Antioch."
"Only the things that Brother Maxwell here doesn't have available," Livingston replied. "The trading post is much closer."
"Where's Miss O'Shea today?" Cambridge asked the question that Nacho had been working up to.
Livingston shook his head. "I don't know. I'm sure I'll see her at services tomorrow, but she has her own life to lead. She only helps me out when I have a chore that requires a woman's touch."
That made sense, Nacho thought.
The preacher went on, "Well, I've got to be going, now that I've stocked up on provisions. Good day, gentlemen." He swung the bag off the counter and turned toward the door.
Nacho stepped forward quickly, an idea occurring to him. He said, "Let me help you with that, Reverend."
"But I can handle it just fine—"
"I insist. Back home as a boy, I used to help out the padre at the mission all the time."
Livingston shrugged and handed over the bag of supplies. "All right. Thank you, Nacho."
Cambridge gave his friend a puzzled glance, then turned his attention back to Theodore. "We could use a few things, too," he began, and Nacho knew he would work the conversation around to the outlaws, then subtly throw out the bait and set the trap for Theodore. It would be easier for Cambridge to do so, Nacho had realized, if the talkative Reverend Livingston was out of the way. Even though Livingston had picked up his supplies to depart, Nacho knew his type. He might stretch out his leave-taking for several minutes.
Hefting the bag, Nacho headed for the door, and Livingston had no choice but to follow, leaving Cambridge alone with Theodore.
When he reached the buckboard, Nacho placed the supplies in the back of the vehicle, then turned to Livingston. The minister smiled and said, "Again, my thanks, Nacho." He paused, then continued, "Can I count on seeing you in church tomorrow?"
Nacho hesitated before shaking his head. "I do not think so, Reverend," he answered. "Billy and me, I think we are going to be busy. We have a good lead on the men who robbed us."
A look of intense interest appeared on Livingston's face. He leaned forward, picking up on Nacho's quiet, confidential tones as he asked, "You've found the gang that attacked us on the trail?"
"Well . . . not yet." Nacho glanced at the trading post. "But we found out that someone around here is working with them."
"Impossible!" Livingston exclaimed, still keeping his voice low. "I know most of the people around here. They're law-abiding, God-fearing folks."
"Most of them, maybe, but not all, Reverend." Nacho hesitated again, wondering just how much to tell Livingston. After all, the preacher had a stake in this, too. The gang had chased him and shot at him, for whatever reason, most likely just because he'd had the bad luck to be traveling with the two visitors from West Texas. And as a man of the cloth, he would also want to see the criminals brought to justice, Nacho reasoned. He went on, "Billy is setting a trap for the bandits right now."
Livingston looked baffled. "But Mr. Cambridge is in the store talking to Theodore—" He broke off and shook his head, eyes widening. He whispered, "Theodore Maxwell? Allied with a band of desperados? I don't believe it!"
"You can believe it," Nacho said grimly. "It's true. We're counting on him to help lead us to the others."
Livingston shook his head, obviously having trouble taking in all this surprising news. "What about his father?" he finally asked. "Does Jake know?"
Nacho nodded. "I'm afraid so."
"I have to go talk to him, pray with him. He'll need a friend with him in this time of trouble."
Reaching out to catch Livingston's coat sleeve, Nacho stopped the minister. "I don't think that would be a good idea right now. Better to wait until it's all over."
"Well . . . maybe you're right. Do you know who's leading the gang?"
Nacho thought about what Cambridge had said about Seamus O'Shea, but he also considered the fact that Livingston associated closely with O'Shea's daughter. If the reverend let anything slip to Dove before the trap was ready to be sprung, she might warn her father. He agreed with Cambridge that Dove likely didn't know anything about what O'Shea had been doing, and her emotions would be terribly torn if she discovered he was still an outlaw. Would she help him escape justice, or would she stand by and watch him be killed or captured and sent to prison? Either way, it would be a horrible experience for her. Nacho wanted to postpone that as long as possible.
"No," he said in reply to Livingston's question. "We don't have any idea who's in charge."
"You probably will soon enough." Livingston put a hand on Nacho's shoulder. "Thank you for telling me this, brother. I feel like everyone around here is part of my flock, whether they attend the church or not, and a minister has to be ready to help out whenever trouble comes. I'm going to go back to the church and pray about this right now, so that the Lord can show me the right path to follow."
"Sure, Reverend. But keep it between you and God, all right? We don't want those hombres getting wind of the fact we're on to them."
"Of course," Livingston promised. He stepped up to the seat of the buckboard and reached for the reins. "Good luck, Nacho. As they say out in your part of the country, vaya con Dios."
Nacho grinned and gave a little wave as Livingston drove off. The minister was a little stuffy and a little too full of religious fervor sometimes, at least as far as Nacho was concerned, but despite that he was all right.
Cambridge emerged from the trading post as Nacho turned back toward the door. The lawyer was carrying a bag of supplies, too, although not as large as the bundle of goods Livingston had purchased. Cambridge had borrowed the money for the supplies earlier in the morning from Jake Maxwell, so that he would seem to have a legitimate reason for visiting the store and talking to Theodore.
The two men walked side by side toward the stagecoach station. As soon as they were out of earshot of the store, Nacho asked, "How did it go?"
"Fine," Cambridge replied. "Theodore got real interested when I dropped the hint that we had a lead on the location of the outlaws' hide-out. He tried to pry that out of me and was even pretty open about it. But I put him off, told him we didn't want to say muc
h about it until we knew for sure—which I said would be within the next few days, so he'll know it's urgent that he contact that fella Graham."
"You think this is going to work, Billy?"
"I don't see any reason why it shouldn't, assuming that Sandra was telling us the truth.
"She was," Nacho asserted. "I know women, Billy, and Sandra was telling us the truth, no doubt about it."
"Well, considering your unfailing instincts for reading the fairer sex, that makes me feel better," Cambridge said dryly. "I suppose you knew it way ahead of time when that señorita in Fort Stockton was going to come after you with a meat cleaver."
Nacho scowled. "That was different," he insisted. "She was loco. I'm always right about women—as long as they are not crazy."
"I see. And that schoolteacher in Pecos . . . She was loco, too?"
"Well, no," Nacho said uneasily. He seized on the answer he was looking for. "But she was from Boston! That's almost the same thing."
"And that actress who came through town with that traveling show troupe?"
"But she never told me she was married! Her husband, he was the one who was loco! Chasing me around with that wooden sword and yelling about the bows and arrows of outrageous fortune . . ." Nacho shook his head. "Actors don't count, either, Billy. You got to be fair."
Cambridge nodded. "All right. You're the best judge of women's characters that I've ever seen, Nacho. Fair enough?"
Nacho accepted the assessment solemnly. "Fair enough."
Chapter Thirteen
Nacho, Cambridge, and Jake Maxwell took turns keeping an eye on the trading post during the afternoon. Maxwell insisted on doing his part, and Cambridge didn't argue with him. Now that Maxwell had seen Theodore's villainy for himself, the lawyer reasoned, better to let him take an active part in settling the messy situation. That would be less painful in the long run.
A great many customers came and went at the trading post. Maxwell was able to identify quite a few of them, but that left plenty of strangers, including some hard-faced men who drifted in alone and left the same way.
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