by Reece Butler
“Hmm, I see what you mean,” conceded Rusty.
The agent took his plate from Sophie and thanked her. She flashed an uneasy smile and quickly turned away. The man watched her, bemused and interested, as she bustled toward the kitchen. Maybe it was the heat of the kitchen, but Zach thought she had a bit more color in her face than normal. The Pinkerton agent sat and dug in, sinking into his old pose and faded personality almost immediately. Rusty grunted at the man’s ability to seemingly change his size. Zach jerked his head at Rusty and stood up. They picked up their coffees and headed over.
“About time you boys moseyed this way,” said the Pinkerton agent without lifting his eyes from his dinner. He cut another piece off his steak, still without looking up. “Name’s Gibson. My belly and backbone have been too close to howdy for too long so I’d just as soon finish instead of shaking hands.” He continued demolishing his dinner.
“Zach and Rusty McInnes.” Zach hauled a chair around and sat, resting his arms on the back. It just happened to show his arm and chest muscles. Rusty followed a moment later, flanking Gibson with his back to the window. “Sophie’s one of the best cooks in town.”
“She runs an excellent hotel. I enjoy staying here.”
“You admit to visiting Tanner’s Ford before, Gibson?”
The deep voice came from behind Zach. He turned to find the sheriff lounging near with one shoulder against the wall.
“You know I never admit to anything, Sheriff.”
“Other than you’re hungrier than a scrawny dog with nothing to chew but a six-day-old bone.” Barstow blew out through his thick moustache. “No wonder Sophie’s looking strange at you. She said you had two breakfasts and planned to have another dinner before you left town. Better get Doc to tonic you for tapeworm.”
Gibson polished off the last of his beans and sat back with a sigh. “Can’t see why that woman’s not married if she can cook like this.”
“The mayor and banker threatened to shut her down for prostitution if she looked sideways at a man,” said Barstow. Gibson’s eyes tracked Sophie as she served a customer across the room. “’Course, that might change now that Rivers is in jail.” He gave the Pinkerton agent a keen look. “Why? You interested?”
Gibson’s eyes shuttered. “Pinkerton agents can’t be tied down. Got places to go, rustlers to catch, and varmints to haul in front of a judge.”
He pushed back his chair, so Zach and Rusty stood as well. Surprisingly, the man was only slightly shorter than they were. Rusty tilted his head and gave Gibson a good look.
“How do you shrink to look like the skinny weasel I saw when we came in?”
“Same way you stay in the saddle when you’re drunker than a skunk. Comes natural.”
Rusty glared at the insult. Gibson raised an eyebrow in return. Zach recognized the “you want to try something?” stare.
“Back down, boys, we’ve got work to do,” said Barstow. “Stagecoach is waitin’ outside. I’ve got two men from the Sweetwater guarding the hoosegow. Zach and Rusty’ll help ’em get the prisoner on board.” He shuddered like a fly-bitten horse. “Once Rivers is outta my jail, Hames’ll go, too. Blasted reporter’s flapping his jaw about freedom of the press and wantin’ to know everything. Maybe if he stopped flapping his gums, he might learn something useful.”
Gibson snorted. “That man’s mouth moves faster than a largemouth bass after a fly in spring. And his ‘freedom of the press’ is an excuse to print lies and slander.” He turned his gaze on Zach. “Don’t be surprised if your lady is tarred with a black brush. Hames’ll make Miss Sinclair and Mrs. Frost into Jezebels who trapped the poor mayor by selling their bodies for gold.”
“Molly Sinclair was an innocent of fifteen when Rivers killed her family and locked her away for himself.” Barstow’s expression showed the revulsion Zach felt. “If Hames tries that, he’ll get hisself hurt. Maybe trip and fall headfirst into a horse trough, with a bullet chaser just in case.”
“You can’t threaten the press, Sheriff, you’re a lawman.” Gibson’s mild words didn’t match his fierce expression.
“There’s nothing stopping me,” replied Rusty, cracking his knuckles eagerly.
Zach pulled back a grin, having been on the receiving side of Rusty’s fists many a time. Their boots echoed as they walked down the center hall of the hotel. Lumley, perched on his tall stool, pretended to ignore them, but Zach caught the eager flick of his eyes. They stopped on the porch and took in the scene. Nothing happening to their right, but there was lots of action up the street. A group of rough-dressed men clustered around the stagecoach waiting in front of the bank.
“That lot looks mighty eager for excitement,” said Gibson.
“Been a while,” said Barstow. “The last bit of wild fun in town was a rip-roaring dogfight in front of Baldy’s Saloon. Luke Frost and Gabe Downey went at it over Sarah Unsworth. She married Luke a couple months ago. Hired my Mary to work at her bakery. Expect they’ll be hopping today.”
“Heard it was a good knuckle-duster,” said Rusty.
Unfortunately, Zach had been finishing the Running W’s barn and missed the whole thing. This time he was in the thick of it.
“Expect you checked things out, Sheriff?”
“Stagecoach drivers are regulars, I searched the coach myself, and I got people watching to make sure nothing and no one goes in, on, or too close around,” said Barstow.
“Why didn’t you stop the stagecoach by the jail?” asked Rusty. He stepped onto the street, the others following.
“Townsfolk won’t be seeing Rivers take that last walk to the gallows. Figured the next best thing was to watch him get dragged across the street. Got a couple of guns aimed in his direction. Put Casey on Sophie’s balcony, out in the open. His older brother’s across the street in the Widow Johnston’s place. Told him to stay way back so’s nobody knows he’s there.”
Zach twisted his head to look back at the hotel’s second floor. A scrawny boy of about twelve leaned a hip against the railing. He had his arms crossed and stared at the crowd as if memorizing everyone.
“You trust that boy to do a man’s job?”
“Some are better men than those full grown,” said Barstow. “Those brothers’re new in town and don’t have a penny to rub atween them. They’re hungry and eager to do a good job. If I put someone like Casey up there with a rifle, easy to see, most folks’ll think that’s all there is.”
“Can the boy shoot?” asked Rusty.
“Where they come from, you don’t waste a bullet. I expect he can take out a horsefly from fifty feet.”
“Might be interesting to have us a shooting contest. Me, that Casey, and Ross MacDougal.”
“Better do it afore Jessie’s up and about after birthin’ that baby or all three of you might lose to her,” said Barstow to Rusty.
“Speaking of women, how are they holding out?” asked Gibson. He stepped around a clump of horse droppings in the middle of the street. “Heard there was a hen party last night.”
“They’re a mite under the weather,” said Barstow drily. “My wife says Beth Elliott’s cordial packs quite a punch. Hope it gives ’em all headaches and keeps them off the street. I trust Rivers like I would a rabid dog.” He opened the door to the jail.
“He’s got friends in places both high and low,” said Gibson quietly just before entering.
Hames, wearing a green-and-black plaid suit, stood nose to chin with Cole Taylor. Zach had met Byron Ashcroft last night. Both ranchers noticed them enter, but Hames, his back to the door, didn’t stop talking around his cigar. His molasses-thick Southern accent was so strong that Zach wasn’t sure what he was saying.
“Morning, Sheriff, gentlemen,” said Cole. He stepped aside and waved away the smoke. “You’ve got perfect timing. Between the stink of the prisoner and this here fella’s seegar, I plumb near lost my appetite. Don’t think y’all have met one of my partners, Byron Ashcroft.” He pointed to the tall and lanky man leaning against th
e wall. Byron touched a finger to his hat in silent acknowledgement and then brushed the blond moustache that drooped either side of his mouth.
“I’m Rusty and that’s Zach McInnes,” said Rusty to Cole before Zach could speak.
“Brother?” asked Byron.
“Close enough to,” said Zach. “He’s been a thorn in my backside for about twenty years now.”
“Aw, don’t get all sentimental on me,” cooed Rusty.
Hames had watched the exchange, scribbling in his notebook with a pencil stub. He stuck it back in his hatband and smiled. Though many women might think him handsome, Zach got the feeling of a rattler, coiled and waiting to strike. He was the only one in the jail, other than the prisoner, without a gun on his hip. He’d be the type to keep a widow-maker up his sleeve.
“Ah, the upstarts from Texas,” said Hames with obvious satisfaction. “Have you heard from your dear mother lately?”
He asked the question with a bright smile as if everything was cozy between them. “Last I heard, she was fine.” Zach dared the reporter with his eyes to say another word.
“Yes, she is. Congratulations are in order. You have another brother.”
Zach grabbed Rusty’s shooting arm before he could pull leather. He wiggled his fingers, eager to do the same, but that would mean explaining why. The man’s guileless smile wasn’t matched by the glint of triumph in his eyes. How much did the bastard know about them? That baby would be both half brother and cousin. Born from sin, though few would know it. Not the kid’s fault, but he wanted nothing to do with any of them.
“Thanks. If I need to know anything else, I’ll send a letter.” Zach faked a friendly tone into words forced past clenched teeth.
“Shame on you, forsaking your mother like that,” tutted Hames.
“You boys’re wound tighter than a pig’s tail at feeding time,” said Barstow. He looked from Zach to Rusty. “If’n you want to keep those irons, you’d better stand down. I don’t see Mr. Hames wearin’ a gun.”
Zach fought the need to punch the newspaperman’s barely hidden sneer. The bastard knew too much, and enjoyed it. He and Rusty shared a look. Rusty nodded, signifying he’d noticed the sheriff didn’t say Hames wasn’t unarmed. But weapons came in forms other than fists, knives, and guns. Words could flay a man, and the reporter seemed to take a great deal of satisfaction in doing so. His time would come. Somehow, some way, they’d find a reason to wipe that smile off his face.
“Make sure you report what I told you,” called out Rivers.
Hames had made Zach forget about the man he and Rusty were to protect. The ex-mayor glared, his face framed by the iron bars he grasped in each hand. His clothes looked rumpled, but his hat was still jammed on his head. Zach realized he’d never seen him with it off. Even when he rolled on the floor after Kate’s kick, it was stuck tight as if he’d used glue.
“He say anything useful?” Gibson tilted his head toward the prisoner.
Zach kept his mouth shut. He’d already told the sheriff what Rivers said after supper. He expected Barstow passed it all on to the Pinkerton agent.
“Just a bunch of nonsense, far as I could tell,” said Cole. “Says he’s never done anything worse than trip over a dog in his whole life.”
Gibson put his hands in his pockets and sauntered over to the cell. He moved like a boy of fifteen, all loose-limbed and easygoing. His eager smile made him seem almost girlish. Zach and Rusty shared a look, admiring how easily the agent could change.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Rivers. My name’s Gibson, and I have the pleasure of accompanying you to your trial.”
“You?” Rivers snorted a laugh. “Any one of my men could kill you, blindfolded and with one arm tied behind their back.”
“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have any men left,” replied Gibson in the same easy tone. “I heard the posse made the survivors bury the dead out by the road to Bannack City before they hightailed it east riding double.”
Zach caught the sly look that passed over the newspaperman’s face. “You planning on searching Mr. Rivers?” asked Hames.
“You trying to teach a fox to suck eggs?” Barstow growled in disgust. “I stripped him down to his stinkin’ hide and shook everything out first thing. Either of you let anyone come close enough to cause trouble?”
Zach shook his head. “Not on our watch.”
“Us neither,” added Cole.
“Then let’s haul him out. No one gets within six feet of the prisoner, and that includes you, Hames.”
The reporter held out his arms guilelessly. “I just report the news, Sheriff. I’m harmless.”
“Harmless?” Rusty replied as Barstow unlocked the cell door. “You’re so close to hell I can smell the brimstone on you.”
“That’s my cigar, boy.” Hames strolled out of the jail, a trail of tobacco smoke wafting behind.
Zach grabbed Rusty before the slur, said with a broad Southern accent, could set him off. Slavery was against the law now, but Zach was pretty damn sure Hames had been an owner. He’d be one of those who enjoyed the power of fear.
“Don’t tar all us Southerners by the same brush,” said Cole with obvious disgust.
“Long as you don’t put me in with that bastard Rivers, just ’cause he hails from the north,” replied Zach in the same tone. They shared a nod.
“Cole and Byron, you take the front. Zach and Rusty, follow behind.”
After putting Rivers in handcuffs, Barstow and Gibson each took an arm and helped him walk. He went along easily, too easily as far as Zach was concerned. Rivers acted like he expected to be rescued. Maybe not here in town, but there’d been a lot of ambushes around Road Agent Rock at the top of the high pass between Tanner’s Ford and Bannack City.
Just in case, Zach hoped the kid Casey and his brother were good shots. With one boy on each side of the road they should be able to cover the street. The bright afternoon sun was in their favor. It would shine in the eyes of anyone looking from the stagecoach to the jail.
Chapter 29
Kate leaned out Lily’s second-floor window, determined to make sure Rivers left town. Since the frames were narrow, there wasn’t room for both of them to stand together. Lily, therefore, looked out from the window beside her. The empty red Wells Fargo stagecoach waited for the prisoner and his escort. One man stood by the restless horses. Stagecoach horses were rarely more than green broke, which meant they could pull but not be ridden. They were obviously bothered by the people milling around.
A huge raven soared over the town. It swooped low over her head and landed on the roof of the hotel. Another joined it, then a third. When Kate looked closer, she discovered most buildings had one or two of the large black birds perched on them. She’d never seen so many of them, or known them to be so quiet.
“The ravens are with Ross,” said Lily. The largest one hopped off the roof, swooped past Lily with a quiet quork, and landed on the hotel balcony railing. “They won’t hurt anyone unless they mean harm to Ross, his family, or friends.”
Somewhat relieved, Kate turned back to the street. She recognized some of the men from the posse. Ross MacDougal was easy to spot, but Lily pointed out other names. The banker, Hugh Jennet, kept mopping his red face. He stood in front of his bank as if protecting it from the stagecoach. Others waited on the boardwalk as well. Once the excitement was over, they would hurry back to their stores in hopes of doing business. A good crowd had come up from Baldy’s Saloon, a number with bottles in hand. Kate was getting as restless as the others when a handsome blond man in a bright plaid suit and black bowler hat came out of the jail. He strutted as if he owned the jail, the street, and the whole town.
“That’s Buford Hames, a reporter with the Helena Observer,” said Lily. She curled her lip. “I suppose his clothing makes it easier to find him in a crowd. Useful for interviews. You may be interested in the first two gentlemen. Cole Taylor and Byron Ashcroft are from the Sweetwater ranch, which uses the Flying X brand. They’re cous
ins, as is their partner Eldon Stevens. They’re also bachelors.”
Kate looked closely at them, more curious than interested. Sheriff Barstow and another rather slim man held the odious Orville Rivers. She dismissed them all when Zach and Rusty came out. They looked furious, but glared at Hames rather than the prisoner in front of them.
“I’m so pleased that I hired the Pinkertons to investigate a few things,” said Lily. “That’s Mr. Gibson with the sheriff. He was near enough to Tanner’s Ford to bring Rivers to trial. Gibson will have hours to question him as they ride before turning him over to the authorities in Helena.”
The scruffy, barefoot boy on the hotel verandah had straightened when the men came out of the jail. Sheriff Barstow nodded in his direction. The boy held an ancient-looking rifle at his side. The stagecoach driver climbed aboard, rifle in hand.
“Everyone get back,” yelled Sheriff Barstow, waving his free arm. “Get that door open so we can put him in quick.”
Kate watched the street as if she had a private box at the opening of a new play. It all seemed so bizarre with the dusty street filled with the drama of a horrendous murderer being escorted to his trial while bored men gawked. But it was real, and she was a part of it.
The driver’s partner, standing on the boardwalk, opened the stagecoach door. The banker and newspaperman had their heads together. From the way Jennet kept glancing at Rivers, Kate thought Jennet might be telling Hames to leave before the prisoner got too close to his bank.
Zach and Rusty closed in on the stagecoach, as did the other pair of deputized ranchers. Sheriff Barstow hung back, watching the crowd, as the Pinkerton agent brought his prisoner toward the open stagecoach door.
Jennet still hadn’t moved from his doorway, right in front of the stagecoach. He turned to face the approaching prisoner. Perhaps Rivers said something, as Jennet’s face suddenly twisted in rage. He opened his coat and reached inside. Rivers grabbed with his cuffed hands and scuffled with the banker. Rivers pushed and the portly man went over. Gibson turned, caught off balance. Jennet flapped his arms wide, hands grabbing as he fell. He took both the newspaperman and Pinkerton agent down with him.