by Jim Woolard
Laura Payne stirred in her chair. ”Did you hear me, Mr. Tanner?”
Nathan settled back onto his bed. “Yes, Miss Payne, I did. It’s just that I’m confused as to what your father’s really up to. ”
It was a poor choice of words. Velvet clad shoulders squared and violet eyes speared Nathan a second time. “I don’t pretend to understand Father’s motives at the moment. But I can assure you, despite what you may be thinking, he’s not an evil man,” Laura Payne said with considerable heat. “He’s just out of sorts right now.”
Nathan paused a goodly bit before responding, hoping her temper would cool. “Miss Payne, I’d be the last person to suggest your father is an evil man, or that he’s plotting against my aunt and me.”
His guest, however, mistakenly saw his hesitation as a further condemnation of her father. “Mr. Tanner, you didn’t say that with much conviction. If you were to tell the truth, I believe you’d have to admit you think just the opposite. But then you don’t always tell the truth, do you? And if necessary, you’re quite willing to let someone else lie for you, aren’t you?”
Her assertion perplexed Nathan. “God’s blood, what do you mean by that?”
“The night we met I asked why you’d come to Colorado this time of year and you didn’t know what to say, did you? So you let Alana fib that you were visiting simply to look over the ST. I’ve since learned from her that you’re hiding from your parent’s murderers. Isn’t that so?”
Nathan’s heart sank. He’d been concerned that evening how Laura Payne would judge him if she ever learned he and Alana Birdsong had purposely hoodwinked her. Apparently, she’d forgiven his aunt, but he was being held to a higher standard when it came to personal conduct. And in the opinion of the girl he loved, he’d fallen woefully short.
“Miss Payne, perhaps I owe you an apology.”
Laura Payne shot to her feet, huffed, and rushed to the door. “There’s no perhaps about it, Mr. Tanner. Good day!”
The slam of the door echoed in the hallway. Nathan looked at the watching Sam. “How about you deal with her next time, dog. You couldn’t do any worse.”
Well, at least he hadn’t bored her with small talk.
Fifteen
Nathan hardly had time for a deep breath before there was a light tapping of the door. Mr. Ming, always the proper, considerate servant, waited a few seconds, and then cracked the door. “Mrs. Tanner here. She ask can Master talk?”
The impending visit by Alana Birdsong gave Nathan a fresh burst of energy. He pulled Devlin Kellerman’s telegram from beneath the comforter. “Please show her in, Mr. Ming.”
Alana Birdsong appeared at the door and Nathan was again amazed at the change that came over Sam. The huge dog gained his feet and went to her, whining in his throat like a puppy desperate for attention. Nathan swore the black beast smiled at her. He dropped to his haunches and licked the fingers she extended. Nathan recognized the whining and licking as Sam’s means of expressing deep affection, which defied the conviction of most people that animals didn’t possess feelings akin to those of their human masters.
“Laura Payne was in quite a hurry when we passed in the lobby,” a perplexed Alana Birdsong said. “In fact, she hardly spoke to me.”
Though he disliked the childishness it implied, Nathan reddened. “We have differing opinions regarding her father.”
Merriment brightened Alana Birdsong’s blue eyes. “Nephew, that’s the most dangerous thing any male can say where Laura Payne’s concerned, particularly if he has anything in mind other than friendship.”
Nathan’s blush deepened. “I couldn’t lie to her. Maybe Eldon Payne’s an honest merchant. There are things that suggest otherwise,” Nathan contended, brandishing Devlin Kellerman’s telegram.
Alana Birdsong sobered, stood her parasol against the wall, and helped herself to Constable Allred’s chair. An equally serious Nathan passed her the telegram and watched as she read it once, frowned, and then read it again, her features a picture of utter concentration. “Nephew, you didn’t have this before I met with Eldon, did you?”
“No,” Nathan replied, “it was delivered right after you left by Burt Dawes, a confidant of Ira Westfall’s from St. Louis.”
“There’s a chinless man in scruffy clothes wearing a bowler hat and shoulder holster in the hotel lobby. He looks as out of place as a whale in the desert. Is he your Mr. Dawes?”
Nathan had no clue how Alana Birdsong had become familiar with shoulder holsters, but her astute observation impressed him. “That’s Mr. Dawes all right. He brought other news, too.”
“That’s great to hear, because I learned nothing out of the ordinary during my meeting with Eldon Payne. He and his pimply-faced clerk showed me ledger after ledger and led me to believe Payne Merchandise isn’t experiencing financial difficulties of any kind. There was certainly no mention of delinquent invoices totaling fifty thousand dollars,” Alana Birdsong said, waving the Kellerman telegram in disgust. “What’s Mr. Dawes’s other news, Nephew?”
His aunt had been incensed when Heft Thomas withheld information from her, and if Nathan revealed all he knew, it would be obvious he’d done the same. But he saw no way out of his predicament. He would have to risk incurring her wrath.
“I was shot at the night my parents were murdered. I’d no reason to connect what happened to me in St. Louis with anyone in Colorado until I was attacked in the Payne stable. One of the men said, ‘Didn’t miss you this time, bucko,’ and when I remembered it later, I realized they’d followed me from St. Louis. Mr. Westfall has tracked the same two men to Denver and is searching for them there. After I told Burt Dawes differently, he’s wiring Mr. Westfall the killers are here in Alamosa.”
Nathan waited for an angry outburst from Alana Birdsong. None was forthcoming. Her deep blue eyes, darkening with resolve, bored into his. “Nephew, it’s obvious somebody is out to kill off the Tanners and grab the leavings for themselves. We don’t have much choice, do we? We either take the bull by the horns or run for our lives. And I’ve never run from anything, ever.”
Nathan came fully upright. Whatever Alana Birdsong had in mind, her tone indicated she was planning to take action without delay. He thought of suggesting they wait until Mr. Westfall arrived, which would be only a day or so at the most.
He judged rightly that nothing deterred Alana Birdsong once she set her mind to something. “I’m tired of feeling like a target at a turkey shoot,” she declared. “The whole town knows you and I are staying here at the Imperial House while you recover, and damn if we’re going to hightail it back to the ST with our tails between our legs. If we do that we’re in the same boat as we are now, treading water and praying some as yet unknown miracle will come to our rescue.
“Well, Nephew, except for my meeting up with your Uncle Seth, miracles have been mighty scarce in my life. Maybe we can’t identify who it is that’s out to kill us. That doesn’t keep us from solving another mystery. We need to know whether Pedigrew and Shelly ever paid Eldon Payne for all that machinery. If they did, then Eldon’s most assuredly a crook and probably wearing Roan Buckman’s halter. And I can find out about those unpaid invoices real quick.”
“How?” Nathan blurted.
“By taking the Denver & Rio Grande to Creede and asking Josiah Pedigrew in person. If he can provide written proof of payment, we’ll accuse Eldon of theft and hopefully force the local court to call for an audit of Payne Merchandise. It wouldn’t hurt our cause to rattle Eldon’s chain and see which direction he runs, would it?”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Nathan agreed. “What train are we taking to Creede?”
Alana Birdsong was taken aback. “We? Nephew, you’re not leaving that bed until Doc Ellie allows it. I’ll not be party to jeopardizing your recovery.”
Nathan demonstrated some resolve of his own. “She said I could move about soon as I could stand without becoming dizzy. That was her only condition.”
“But can you do that, Nephew?”
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It was put up or shut up. Nathan was certain Alana Birdsong wouldn’t permit him to accompany her anywhere unless she witnessed for herself that he wouldn’t fall on his face between the bed and the door of the room. Bare legs or no, he flipped aside the comforter, swung his feet to the floor, and levered himself to his feet.
Uncertain of his fate, he was prepared to tumble backward onto the bed rather than risk an encounter with the plank floor. Surprisingly, except for the momentary sensation of blood draining from his head and a mild increase in the pain at his bruised temple, he experienced no dizziness. His balance was rock steady. He walked from the bed to the window, Sam watching his every step.
Nathan turned and confronted Alana Birdsong. “There, that should meet with the approval of Doctor Ellie,” Nathan contended.
Alana Birdsong chuckled. “You’re a Tanner, all right, mule stubborn and bull strong. Now hop back into bed. It’d be our luck Ellie would barge in and catch you defying her orders and confine you for the next week. She prefers her bedridden patients take their first steps in her presence, and if you cross her, she’s hell to deal with.”
The relieved Nathan slipped beneath the comforter. “What train are we taking to Creede?” he asked, repeating his earlier question.
“We don’t want to rush you, or be too obvious about this,” Alana Birdsong reasoned. “We’ll have your Mr. Dawes purchase tickets for the three of us on tomorrow evening’s train.”
The prospect of action dulling the danger involved, an ecstatic Nathan said, “Mr. Westfall might join us during the day tomorrow. Perhaps Mr. Dawes should buy a train ticket for him, too.”
“We’ll do that, just in case,” Alana said. “We need a man with us who’s at home amongst scalawags and murderers. I’ve never seen Eldon Payne wear a gun, but I have Roan Buckman, and he’ll use it the first chance he has. I honestly believe if we continue to thwart him, it won’t end until he kills us or we kill him. Seth preached the thirst for revenge is a terrible addiction. It can turn the best of men into black-hearted devils with no compunction about hiring their killing done. All that’s required is enough hate and a full purse.”
Alana Birdsong returned the Kellerman telegram to Nathan and retrieved her parasol. “I’ve waxed wise enough for one day, Nephew,” she said, rising from Constable Allred’s chair. “If Roan Buckman’s as smart as we believe, he’ll have someone spying on the Imperial House round the clock. It would be to our advantage if we could board the train without him or Eldon knowing it. I think I can bring that to pass. Get your rest tonight, Nephew. You need be at your best when we make our departure.”
A whining Sam met Alana at the door, but to no avail. “Stay, boy, stay. We’ll be together soon.”
Huge Sam marched obediently to his blanket, his sigh of resignation filling the room. Alana Birdsong paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Your Mr. Westfall can ride, can’t he?”
Nathan had to laugh. “Yes, though there’s usually a lot of daylight between his rump and the saddle.”
“And Mr. Dawes?”
Not being familiar with Burt Dawes’ capabilities other than the fact he’d survived the rough and tumble world of the St. Louis riverfront for a number of years, Nathan could only shrug.
Alana Birdsong departed without further explanation, leaving Nathan to wonder throughout the beefsteak dinner Mr. Ming served him how the riding ability of Ira Westfall and Burt Dawes could be of such importance if they were traveling by train.
Then again, maybe they weren’t, for his newly acquired aunt was proving to be as wily as she was beautiful.
Sixteen
The fanged beast and smoking pistols failed to appear and Nathan slept soundly through the night. He was vaguely aware of Mr. Ming stoking the stove to warm the room against morning cold, and the clicking of toenails and squeak of door hinges as the slim Chinaman took Sam for his daily walk. Mere minutes later, the aroma of piping hot coffee, fresh bread, and cooked bacon teased Nathan’s nose.
He came fully awake and sat up to find the day well into morning and his clothes draped over Constable Allred’s chair. Mr. Ming set his wooden tray on Nathan’s lap and announced: “Lady doctor come at noon, Mrs. Tanner in afternoon. Much waits to be done.”
Nathan devoured his breakfast, partaking of three cups of Arbuckle’s and keeping a fourth at hand while the insistent Mr. Ming shaved him. The servant wiped his razor and informed Nathan the doctor had requested the large bandage be removed from his head prior to her next visit. Ming’s touch was so gentle the bandage seemed to remove itself.
Nathan didn’t realize how much he’d overslept until Mr. Ming hastily piled shaving gear and the discarded bandage on his wooden tray. “Doctor here any second. We dress afterwards.” How Ming judged the exact time without the help of a wall clock or a watch mystified Nathan, but he and Dr. Ellie Langston nearly came together in the doorway.
Dropping her black satchel on the bottom of the bed, the lady doctor peered down her knife-blade nose. “Many truly sick persons await me, Mr. Tanner, and I’m not partial to bullshit or outright lies. Have you been up and around yet?”
Not desiring to nail himself to Ellie Langston’s cross of his own accord, Nathan said: “Yes, ma’am, yesterday.”
“How far did you walk?”
“To the window and back.”
“Just once?”
“No, three times.”
“Any dizziness?”
“No.”
“How much pain are you experiencing?”
“Hardly any as long as I stay away from the knot on my skull.”
“That’s as it should be,” the lady doctor judged, pulling scissors, salve can, and rolled bandage from her satchel. She circled the bed, leaned, and with a slight tug freed the small white square covering the cut in Nathan’s scalp.
“Clean, except for a smidgen of clotted blood,” she pronounced. “Mr. Tanner, the healing power of youth constantly fascinates me. Cherish it while you can. We’ll forego any new bandages. A little salve should do the trick quite nicely.“
Doc Ellie applied the salve with light strokes. “Don’t scratch, Mr. Tanner. And try not to tear the scab with your hat.”
Treatment finished, Ellie Langston repacked her black satchel. “Mr. Tanner, you really should stay in bed the rest of the week. But I’m told Alana Birdsong has other plans for you. Just be careful of so much as bumping your temple. I don’t need patients that see me so often they feel they should call me by my first name.”
With that parting admonition, the female scarecrow flew from the room. Mr. Ming popped into sight, bearing Nathan’s shell belt and leather purse. “Master must dress. Mrs. Tanner always early.”
Nathan shed his nightshirt and slowly wriggled into Uncle Seth’s white long johns with the pearl buttons. Next came cotton socks, and to Nathan’s surprise, Levi’s that fit him properly. “Mr. Thomas, he say boil twice. I do,” Mr. Ming explained with great pride.
Donning shield shirt and leather vest was no challenge, but Nathan’s new boots required much tugging and the assistance of Mr. Ming to slide his heels home. He buckled on the shell belt and dug his pistol from beneath the pillow. The leather purse with its double eagles he entrusted to Mr. Ming. Overcome with astonishment, the delighted servant smiled and bowed with each step as he took his leave.
Once he was alone Nathan hitched the holstered six-gun higher on his hip, trying to find the best position in which to carry it. After sliding the weapon left, right, up, and down, he quit in disgust. There was nothing comfortable about toting the heavy shell belt and Colt. And why was he arming himself anyway? He doubted he could draw a gun fast enough to defend himself.
For the sheer fun of it, he swept his hand to his hip and whipped the Colt from its cross draw holster. His fingers slipped from the butt, and despite a desperate attempt to catch it in the air, the six-gun clattered to the floor, startling the sleeping Sam. Luckily, he hadn’t cocked the pistol while drawing it, and the weapon slid harml
essly into the corner behind the wood stove.
Thankful only Sam has seen his goof, he retrieved the six-gun, positioned himself in the middle of the room, and settled into a slight crouch. This time he made sure of his grip on the Colt before pulling it from the holster. He cocked the hammer as the six-gun came level with his chin, clasping his right wrist with his left hand at the same time to steady his aim.
The draw wasn’t a thing of beauty. Neither was it fast. But Ira Westfall had harped constantly how it was the undisciplined shooter that died the quickest. “It takes just one well-aimed bullet to kill the most dangerous of men. The catch is to keep your wits about you and not hurry too much. Wild shots spare no lives.”
Nathan didn’t hear the door of the room open and almost fired a round into the wall when Alana Birdsong said, ”Don’t shoot me, Nephew.”
Nathan eased the hammer from full cock, holstered the Colt, and turned to face his aunt. He fished for a way to explain why he’d been standing in the middle of the room with a fully cocked revolver aimed in the general direction of the stove and failed. His concern was unwarranted.
Acting as if such carrying on was an everyday occurrence, Alana Birdsong nestled her rifle in the crook of her arm and patted Sam’s neck. ”Nephew, it’s time Alamosa met the young man everybody’s talking about. We play our cards right, it shouldn’t be difficult to convince Roan Buckman’s spies you’re headed home to the ST to complete your recovery. Shall we go?”
Nathan avoided frowning. He’d no clue as to what she was planning other than her assertion she would get them on the train to Creede without their being seen by Roan Buckman’s spies. He supposed she would make him privy to her thinking whenever she deemed it necessary. Even if she didn’t, she obviously expected him to follow her lead.
Wherever they were bound, Alana Birdsong was dressed for travel, be it by train or horseback. A cream-colored Stetson had replaced her parasol, and in lieu of yesterday’s Bolero walking suit, she wore a thigh-length, fringed leather jacket over her familiar silk shirtwaist and corduroy pants, along with calfskin boots.