by Jim Woolard
Nathan had never before seen Ira Westfall blush. “We’ll send your Zeta up and wait in the dining room.”
They encountered Sam in the small parlor. He was seated in the doorway, face more doleful than usual. “The dog can stay,” Mary Zhang said. “Alana comes around, she’ll be asking for him and I don’t want her to fret weak as she is.”
Zeta was snake thin and black as coal with a smile whiter than the snow that had fallen during the night. Once summoned, she wasted no time bearing numerous pans of steaming water and white cloths to Mary Zhang’s room. Satisfied Alana was receiving the best possible care, Ira ordered a pot of black coffee and found a table just beyond the dining room doorway, a location that afforded a view of the lobby stairs.
Burt Dawes joined Ira and Nathan before they finished filling their coffee mugs. “I heard the shooting at the depot and come fast as I could,” the levee rat explained. He stared into the lobby where the hotel swamper was mopping blood from the floor. “What happened?”
“That’s Mrs. Tanner’s blood,” Ira said. “Our boys Corbin and Hobie ambushed her and Nathan. She’s been wounded, but I believe she’ll survive.”
Burt Dawes couldn’t conceal his agitation, a failure Nathan attributed to his growing admiration for Alana Birdsong. “Why ain’t we hunting them down? You’re giving them a bigger start on us every minute you sit there slurping coffee.”
Ira Westfall’s smile was stern, but forgiving. “Sit down, Burt,” he said, sliding an empty mug toward Dawes. “Enjoy some coffee.”
The levee rat slumped into a chair, laid his bowler hat on the table, and poured coffee from the enamelware pot. “You’re the boss. I still think we should be searching for those bastards from one end of Creede to the other.”
“Burt, Corbin and Hobie are responsible for two dozen killings and they’ve never seen a jail cell. They’re professionals, and if we chase after them, they’ll set an ambush and cut down on us like they did Mrs. Tanner.”
“They’ll get plumb away,” Burt challenged.
Ira sipped coffee. “For now, Burt. Just for now.”
“What’s next then?” Dawes prodded.
“We’ll return to Alamosa. None of us are safe here, not even Nathan’s aunt with that dog watching over her. The shooting ended half an hour ago and we haven’t seen the first peace officer.”
Nathan thought of Ellie Langston, and how much better he’d feel if she were tending his aunt. But even Doc Ellie couldn’t revive the dead. “We don’t dare move Aunt Alana, not for several days,” he protested. “That passenger coach sways and lurches worse than a bucking horse. She might bleed to death.”
“Nathan, it’s a risk we must take. I’ve been a policeman for forty years, from New York to Chicago to St. Louis, and I can’t recall any criminals more cold-blooded than Corbin and Hobie. Only a few men on this earth will kill a woman for money. But these two murdered your mother in her own home, and today, they came within a whisker of murdering your aunt in broad daylight.
“The safest place for the both of you right now is her ranch where we know everybody coming and going. Once she’s forted up at the ST, we’ll sic the law on Corbin, Hobie, Roan Buckman, and Eldon Payne. Burt and I visited with lawyer Abbott early this morning like your aunt wanted. Did Josiah Pedigrew provide you evidence that Eldon Payne’s stealing from his own till?”
“Yes, he did,” Nathan said. “There’ll be a letter waiting for us at the Grand National Bank in Alamosa.”
“Good, lawyer Abbott can request an audit of Payne Merchandise via the county court. Maybe we can pressure Eldon Payne into talking.”
“You need to be aware of something where Mr. Payne’s concerned,” Nathan said. “Mr. Pedigrew and Mr. Payne are friends and he doesn’t think Mr. Payne would steal unless he was forced into it.”
“Nathan, it’s been my experience that men break the law because they want to, not because a gun is being held to their head. Maybe Eldon Payne will prove the exception. Just remember, though, no matter why he did it, Eldon Payne’s guilty of theft and you can never tell how a man will react when he’s confronted with a stretch in prison.”
“That’s all well and good,” Burt Dawes interrupted. “In the meantime, how we gonna get Nathan’s aunt out of this burg alive? If she don’t bleed to death between here and the station, Corbin and Hobie might ambush the lot of us along the way. I don’t mind admitting it, Ira. Those two scare the bejesus out of me.”
Ira Westfall refilled his coffee mug and winked at Nathan. “All in good time, Burt, all in good time. Nathan, hike upstairs and check on your aunt. I’ll wait here in case the police ever show.”
“And what about me?” Burt Dawes demanded.
Ira extracted five silver dollars from a leather pouch. “You, Burt, are to find a coffin maker. Fast as people die in Creede, there’s probably more than one. I want a coffin delivered to Mary Zhang’s room within the next hour. For all Creede knows we’ll be toting the late Mrs. Tanner to the station, will we not?”
“Ira,” Burt exclaimed, “You’re a genius.”
“No, I’ve just lived long enough to see everything at least twice,” Ira said, reaching into his money pouch again. “We’ll need a brace and bit with a half-inch drill blade, too. Now, shake a leg the both of you.”
Nathan took the stairs two at a time, anxious to learn Alana’s condition first hand. His knuckles were poised to rap on Mary Zhang’s door when she shouted, “My pistol, Zeta! Get my pistol!”
Nathan fisted his own weapon and shoved the door open. Zeta was lifting a .38 police special from the drawer of a writing desk in the parlor. Mary Zhang filled the bedroom doorway, hands gripping a wooden club. “Do something about him. Don’t just stand there. Do something!”
“About who?” Nathan asked, thoroughly confused.
“Him!” Mary Zhang yelled, stepping aside so Nathan could see into the bedroom. He had to admit it was a shocking scene. Sam was on the bed, straddling his mistress, licking her bare midriff with wet sweeps of his tongue. “We were finishing our swabbing,” said Mary Zhang, “when Alana moaned. All of a sudden he growled, shoved between us, jumped on the bed, and started that infernal licking.”
Nathan slowly advanced to the bedroom door. “You best kill him,” said Mary Zhang. “He’ll eat you alive you come near that bed.”
Right then, Sam’s head turned. Spying the new intruder, the huge dog bared his teeth and loosed a deep growl that made Nathan cringe. Nathan halted. He could understand why the huge dog had driven off those tending Alana without warning. The question was how to get him under control, for if Sam adamantly refused to let anyone touch Alana, then, God forbid, he would have to be shot.
Gun at the ready, Nathan took a small step toward the bed. Sam switched ends in a flash, and still straddling his mistress, dropped into a crouch, fangs snapping and clicking, growls low and vicious.
The vivid memory of tearing skin and flying blood snagged Nathan’s breath. The mastiff that had scarred his arm and leg had crouched exactly like Sam before he attacked. Nathan cocked his Colt and aimed at Sam’s forehead, determined not to suffer another mauling.
He couldn’t bring that final ounce of pressure to bear on the trigger. He couldn’t dismiss the morning he’d awakened at the Imperial House with a docile and sniffing Sam perched on the side of his bed. He squeezed the butt of the pistol instead of the trigger and lowered his arm.
“Stay, Sam, stay.”
The savage fierceness in the dog’s eyes didn’t alter, but his growling gradually diminished, as if he were debating whether or not he would compromise his loyalty to Alana if he obeyed Nathan.
“Stay, Sam, stay,” an encouraged Nathan repeated.
Sam stopped growling, and seemingly satisfied Nathan was no threat to his prone mistress, jumped from the bed, lunged past Nathan, and settled to the floor just beyond the bedroom door, muzzle resting on crossed paws.
Mary Zhang emptied her lungs, and Zeta, police revolver growing too h
eavy to hold, collapsed on the couch. “I’m ever that scared again, my heart will explode,” Mary Zhang predicted with a hollow laugh. “You suppose he’ll let us wrap Alana’s wound now?”
Nathan holstered his Colt. “Just don’t close the bedroom door. Long as he can see what’s happening I think he’ll let you fuss over her. We’ve not much time, Mrs. Zhang. Mr. Westfall has sent for a coffin.”
Mary Zhang couldn’t believe her ears. “What the dickens for? Alana’s hurt and weak, but she ain’t dead.”
“So we can carry her to the station. We’re leaving on the afternoon train. Mr. Westfall says she isn’t safe in Creede.”
“Hell’s bells, nobody is,” Mary Zhang said. “But it appears arguing with your Mr. Westfall would be like trying to scratch your rump with your elbow. How long before that coffin arrives?”
“Less than an hour,” Nathan informed her.
“That’s better than five minutes. Let’s finish our work, Zeta.”
Nathan plopped on the couch in place of Zeta. It was only noon and the heart-pounding excitement of the morning left him drained and bone-tired. He sat loose-limbed and relaxed, trying to figure how he could best keep Sam from interfering with the transporting of his mistress from Zhang’s to the train station.
Sam displayed less hostility toward women than he did men. Yet for some reason he’d let Nathan and Ira carry Alana up the lobby stairs on the guest room door. A little thinking and Nathan concluded Sam responded of his own volition to any sign of distress on the part of his mistress. If he knew you, and if Alana didn’t moan or call out, chances were he would tolerate your ministering to her, even physically moving her.
Nathan hoped he was right for Sam’s sake. During his hospital stay after the mastiff had nearly torn off his leg, Ira Westfall had related that on more than one occasion he’d killed vicious dogs to make an arrest in the line of duty. And the forceful ex-policeman having decided Alana was to travel to Alamosa without delay, he wouldn’t hesitate to dispose of Sam if the huge dog caused a ruckus.
Sooner beating later, Nathan ordered Sam to “Come.” The huge dog eyed him without lifting his muzzle from his paws. Nathan waited, and when Sam made no attempt to rise, he snapped his fingers, and said much more forcefully, “Come, Sam, come.”
The finger snap and change in tone brought Sam to his haunches, and then to his feet. He padded over to Nathan and stopped an arm’s length away, waiting for his next command. Nathan pointed to the floor at the end of the couch and ordered Sam to “Sit.”
Sam went to the designated spot and sank down, situated so he could watch Nathan, the bedroom door, and the hallway door. Nathan was delighted. He owed Sam. He owed him for that night in the Payne stable, and he owed him for helping drag Alana to safety this morning. He and the huge beast might never reach the hand licking and petting stage, but the odds had improved that he wouldn’t ever have to tell his aunt she was safe, and then with the next breath tell her she’d lost Sam in the bargain, destroyed by one of her own people.
He leaned his head against the backrest of the couch. He needed a quiet interlude to get a grip on himself. He was proud he hadn’t failed Alana on the hotel porch, and he had more confidence in things now that Ira Westfall was in charge. Still, that didn’t guarantee they could win out over Roan Buckman, his brothers, and their hired assassins.
While stacking crates and boxes at the Tanner warehouse, he’d craved the action and adventure of his father’s Colorado days with Uncle Seth. His father had spun wonderful tales, yarns full of cow thieves, smoking guns, and violent death in which the right-minded always won out. Those yarns lost their luster and thrill, though, when you were part of them. When you were involved, the loss of loved ones and the pain of injury numbed your feelings. The tension of not knowing what would happen the next minute dominated your every breath. Fear became as familiar as the sound of your own heartbeat.
A new longing beset him, a longing for the quiet, peaceful existence where his biggest worry was warehouse inventory and shipping customer orders on schedule, and his family was safe and secure and waiting to share dinner with him.
It was as his father said.
It was a life worth fighting for...and dying for.
Twenty-Two
The knock at the door came just as Nathan, warm and relaxed, was about to doze off. Sam jumped to his feet and snarled. Mary Zhang spoke from the bedroom. “We’ve done our best. You can let them in, young man.”
The hallway was stuffed with people, two of them night-gowned females with hair in disarray and cigars in their mouths. Ira called out, “Make way,” and nodded at Burt Dawes. “Let’s get inside before we’re trampled.”
The plain wooden coffin cleared the doorway by an inch on either side. Nathan kept an eye on Sam. The big dog had positioned himself in front of the bedroom and continued to growl. Ira Westfall kicked the door shut behind him, and he and Burt lowered the coffin, which nearly filled the small parlor, to the floor.
Nathan sidled around the coffin and confronted Sam, knowing this was the moment of truth. He pointed to the spot Sam had vacated at the end of the couch. “Sit, Sam, sit!”
Defiance humped Sam’s back. Nathan held his ground and repeated his order, the huge dog finally relented.
Nathan turned to Ira. “He won’t attack.”
“Good,” Ira Westfall said, holstering his pistol. “I’ve never liked killing an animal for being loyal to its master.”
Nathan stepped aside so Ira could enter the bedroom. Mary Zhang was lying in wait for the ex-policeman. “You’re taking a mighty big risk with this woman’s life, you know,” she challenged. “If she dies, it’s your cross to bear.”
“And it would be a heavy one, Mrs. Zhang, along with many others,” Ira confessed. “Our chances of leaving Creede alive will be less the longer we wait. I want to be gone before the killers can regroup. They learn the law isn’t hunting them, and it isn’t from what I can tell, they’ll start circling like wolves again.”
A rustling on the bed drew everyone’s attention. Alana Birdsong’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Step closer.”
Ira bent over the bed. “I’m Ira Westfall, Mrs. Tanner, and I’m taking you home to your ranch where we can protect you. That is, unless you object.”
Alana’s smile was fleeting. “I’ll go. I must know how Nathan is?”
Ira swept an arm in Nathan’s direction. “He’s right here, healthier than a well-fed horse.”
“And Sam?”
“He’s here, too,” Ira said. “And you needn’t worry he’ll be on the train with you. I promise you that.”
Given the rules of the Denver & Rio Grande, Nathan thought Ira’s promise a little premature. But then, Ira Westfall wasn’t a boastful individual. If he didn’t have some scheme in mind that would finagle Sam aboard the train in broad daylight, he wouldn’t make such a pledge, and Nathan couldn’t deny it would be fun watching Ira try to buffalo a D&RG conductor that might well be Amos Longworth again.
Ira was seated on Alana’s bed now, derby hat resting discreetly on his thigh. “Mrs. Tanner, it may sound crazy, but you died an hour ago. We’ll be carting the late Mrs. Tanner to the station in her coffin. Do you understand what I’m saying, ma’am?”
Alana’s attempt to laugh produced a wheezing squeak. “Yes, I’m to be buried so I can live.”
“We’ll be as gentle as we can,” Ira said, squeezing Alana’s limp fingers. “You mustn’t cry out or make a sound until we’re aboard the train.” Ira paused for a deep breath. “If Creede’s to believe we’re really carrying a funeral casket we’ll have to close the lid. I know it’s a lot to ask, yet there’s no other way. We’ll drill holes in the lid to give you plenty of air.”
Ira paused again, letting Alana absorb what he was proposing. “Can you do this, ma’am?”
Nathan could see only the top of Alana’s head over Ira’s shoulder. Her answer, a simple, “Yes,” was barely audible.
The lump in Nathan’s
throat was big as a cue ball. Ira turned to Burt Dawes in the parlor. “Drill half dozen holes in that lid. Space them well apart. We don’t want them to appear too obvious.”
Burt began drilling with gusto, his brace and bit squealing with each rotation, while Ira discussed bedding with Mary Zhang. “The less we jostle her about, the better off she’ll be. What do you two women suggest?”
“Zeta, drop down to the store room behind the kitchen and fetch James’ bed roll. And shut the door after you right quick,” Mary Zhang cautioned. “The gossip hounds are bound to be loafing in the hallway. A bunch of them are probably hoping to be hired as pallbearers. I always say anything for a buck in Creede.”
Ira Westfall rubbed his chin as Zeta slipped through the parlor door. “Mrs. Zhang, you just solved a major problem for us. It’s a considerable jaunt to the station through all that mud and snow. A few paid locals would lighten our burden and their talk in the saloons this evening will guarantee that if our bushwhackers miss the procession, they’ll be hot after us on the next train.”
“Is that what you want?” Mary Zhang questioned. “I thought you wanted to get Alana home safely ahead of everything else.”
“I do. I also want Corbin and Hobie to run to Roan Buckman and demand their pay. He’ll tell them the job’s not finished until Nathan’s dead, too. When they come after Nathan, I’ll be waiting for them.”
“That sounds damn risky to me, if you’ll forgive my language. You’re using that young man for bait,“ Mary Zhang accused, pointing at Nathan. “Why not let the Alamosa police hunt them down?”
“Oh, they’ll be there, too,” Ira assured Mary Zhang. “I’ll allow no harm to befall the son of Lucius Tanner, or his aunt for that matter.”
A soft tapping on the parlor door heralded the return of Zeta. Nathan cracked the door for her, and then closed it behind her. Mary Zhang grasped the Artic sleeping bag Zeta had lugged up the stairs and unrolled it on the bed beside Alana. The bag, made of heavy waterproof, tan-colored duck, was lined first with sheepskin with the wool left on. Inside the sheepskin was a second lining of heavy twilled cotton. “We’ll wrap you in a blanket, Alana,” said Mary Zhang. “You won’t need your mackinaw. James slept through a blizzard in this bag after his horse went over the edge of a cliff.”