by Reece Butler
“I don’t want to be a bother,” said Victoria.
Sophie waved away her comment. She went to the two-door oven and took three pies from each side. Victoria smelled cinnamon and cloves, so guessed the pies were made of dried apple. They had a crumbly topping instead of a crust, like she would put on a cobbler. She tucked the idea away. Using rolled oats would reduce the amount of flour required, and would be more filling. Keeping three hardworking men full took most of her time. Or, it had.
“There, now I can sit and put my feet up. Sophie brought two mugs to the table. “I have pretty cups in my room, but not in the kitchen,” she said.
“This is wonderful,” replied Victoria. “I know I’m imposing—”
“Not at all. I want to hear about everything. Did Riley tell you that we’ve got the Pinkertons investigating Smythe, as well as Rivers and Jennet?”
Victoria choked on her tea. It took a moment before she could talk. “No, but he said to tell you everything.”
Sophie tilted her head and frowned. “I think they’re upstairs packing.”
“The Pinkertons are here?”
“Yes, they escorted Mrs. Johnston here, using her as a cover. Do you think they’ll be interested in what you’ve got to say?”
Victoria’s ears burned. “They may not trust what I say. My family is not…”
Sophie pressed her warm hand on Victoria’s.
“Honey, we know you can’t judge a person by their family. Why do you think so many of us left home and came West? To escape them.”
Victoria took a deep breath. “Mr. Smythe as much as told me he knows who took Molly Sinclair—”
Sophie shoved back her chair with a screech. “Don’t say another word! I’ll be right back.”
It was easier to tell strangers her story than Riley. Of course, these were Pinkerton agents. They didn’t judge her at all, keeping their questions to what she could tell them of Smythe, anyone he mentioned, or plans he might have. A couple of times things she said made them nod at each other as if they already knew and she had confirmed it.
Sophie worked as they talked, adding quiet comments when she could clarify or explain. Victoria learned about a number of things that had happened to people in Tanner’s Ford and the valley. Not gossip, but facts that suggested Smythe wasn’t the only businessman with few morals or scruples.
Victoria closed her eyes and slumped in her chair when the agents left, weary to her bones. How could she have even considered joining herself to a vicious, lying, cheating bully? She must have been so muddled from the thought of losing the wonderful life she’d lived for two weeks. Now, she could see that the valley men would never allow anyone to hurt their children.
“I think you need to put your feet up for a few minutes.”
Victoria blinked up at Sophie. “I don’t know why I’m so tired.”
“I expect it has a lot to do with what’s been going on for the last few weeks. It takes a toll on a woman.” Sophie smiled. “Of course, if Riley kept you awake all hours, I expect you could do with a nap.”
Victoria flushed, but Sophie’s smile was kind, perhaps even envious. She stood up, then had to hold the back of the chair as she was a bit dizzy. She let Sophie guide her through a door that led to a short hall, and then to a sitting room. Through a door she could see a bed with a bright quilt on it.
“I can’t lie on your bed,” she protested.
“Why not? I won’t be using it until tonight.”
“But the men are going to talk with Smythe. I want to know—”
“I’ll come get you the minute I know anything.”
Acquiescing, Victoria removed her boots and lay on the bed. After two nights on a hard pallet, even with Riley’s company, it felt wonderful to sink down. She barely heard the door close before sleep took her.
* * * *
Jed watched Riley saunter across the street from the hotel to the jail. He and Clint had met Trace and Ross on the road to town shortly after sunup. Though the morning was cool, the only clothing Ross wore other than boots, pants, and hat was a leather-fringed vest. He’d tied back his long black hair with a narrow strip of leather. It was hard to think of this hardened warrior laughing and playing with his twin sons.
This time, they’d cleared their plan with Judge Thatcher and Sheriff Barstow, receiving their unofficial approval. Since they had no proof of Smythe’s guilt, the law couldn’t get involved. Half their plan was threat and bluster. The rest depended on bluff. Both the judge and sheriff stressed that they couldn’t harm the well-known businessman, no matter how much they wanted to. They also couldn’t talk about his interest in girls and women, since the Pinkertons were already on the case and they didn’t want to make him wary.
“Victoria’s all settled with Sophie,” said Riley.
Jed could tell by Riley’s relaxed grin that his cousin had done more than sleep beside Victoria last night. Though he was eager to do the same, he told himself Riley had primed her pump so she’d be eager for more. After this business was over he’d take her home and show her how much he missed her.
“I’m ready to marry Victoria again in front of a preacher, pastor, priest, or whoever she wants, no matter what book I have to swear on,” he said.
“About time,” muttered Clint.
“Smythe staggered home pretty late,” said Riley to the group. “He hadn’t moved when we left for the hotel. I expect he’s still snoring.”
Sure enough, the five men followed loud snores up the stairs and into Smythe’s bedroom. The man, still in his clothes and boots, had collapsed on the bed. The stench of his alcohol-fueled breath filled the room.
Since it was his wife Smythe threatened, Jed got the honors. He moved to the right side of the bed. Trace leaned a shoulder against the wall near the window. Ross paced in front of the door. He moved like a tiger, quiet and deadly. His hands were empty, but he flexed his fingers as if eager to pull a couple of knives.
Jed pulled his eating knife from his belt and rested the sharp blade near Smythe’s neck. He nodded at Clint, across from him. Riley stood at the foot, grinning as usual.
“Smythe!” Clint yelled into the man’s ear.
“Wha?”
Jed let him flounder and gasp for a few seconds before pressing the knife into his skin. “You move, you die,” he said quietly. “Got it?”
Smythe obeyed. Only his eyes moved. They widened as they found Ross trimming his fingernails with a pig-sticker long and thin enough to pass between ribs and out again. He gulped when Ross bared his teeth in a feral smile. Jed pulled Smythe up in the bed so his shoulders leaned against the headboard.
“Jed is very unhappy that you threatened his wife,” said Clint. He spoke lightly, as if catching up on old news with a friend.
Smythe pulled himself together. “She’s not married, you bloody fool. At least, not yet.” He sneered up at Jed. “She can hardly wait for me to bed her.”
“Don’t,” ordered Trace, his warning aimed at Jed.
His words barely held Jed back from carving into Smythe’s neck. “Don’t insult my wife if you want to live through this.” He tightened his grip, making the knife slip. Smythe yelped. “Oops,” said Jed. A small trickle of blood appeared under the blade. “Guess you cut yourself shaving.”
Smythe gritted his teeth but didn’t reply.
“Leaving town would be good for your health,” said Clint.
“Don’t you threaten me, cow man.” Smythe’s glare showed his contempt. “I have influential friends. Your valley is an immoral cesspool. It should be cleared out and opened to moral citizens. The governor—”
“Is a politician,” interrupted Clint. “He listens to men in power.”
The implication was that they had it and Smythe did not. Smythe chewed on the thought for a moment. Jed could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he figured a way out. He backed off his knife to encourage him to talk.
“You’ve already got the reputation of a chiseler around here,” sa
id Jed. “You tried to cook something up with the banker and mayor.”
Smythe flicked his eyes at the men threatening him. “Nothing wrong with sharing a few business interests with the leading men in town. Rivers and Jennet were interested in investing in railroad property.” He turned to Trace. “They thought you might find it to your advantage, as well. But you refused to meet with us.”
Trace took the matchstick he was chewing out of his mouth to answer. “I figured your plans were more to do with taking advantage of me. Since I heard you lost a bundle, I guess I was right.”
Smythe shrugged. “The greater the reward, the greater the risk.”
Ross snarled a word none of them understood. He glided toward Smythe, who reared back, eyes wide. Trace and Riley grabbed Ross’s arms, making a big show of holding him from attacking. After he stood still for a moment they released him. Smythe looked around, smug as a packrat in an abandoned cabin.
“You can’t prove anything.”
Ross smiled, showing all his teeth. “I bet he’s a screamer,” he murmured, quiet but intense. “Give me ten minutes with my filleting knife and I’ll get a few answers.”
“Nah, too many people out and about,” said Trace. He sighed as if wishing it was otherwise. After a moment Ross nodded. He leaned a shoulder against the wall and slid out a knife. He idly tossed it in his right hand, hilt to blade to hilt, as he watched Smythe sweat.
“You’re so crooked I bet you could swallow nails and spit out corkscrews,” said Riley. “We know you’ve got your fingers in a lot of filthy pies.”
“You have nothing that would stand up in court.” Smythe kept his eyes on Ross’s knife.
“Vigilantes don’t need a court,” said Clint.
“They’d never touch me,” replied Smythe.
“You a gambling man?” asked Trace.
A touch of color came into Smythe’s white face. “I’ve been known to toss a few dice.” He tugged on the bottom of his vest as if straightening his clothes would protect him from the five armed men surrounding his bed.
Jed nodded agreeably. “You play dice out in the open. But what about business deals? They happen behind closed doors, and a man’s reputation counts for a lot.”
Smythe flicked at his pants with the tips of his fingers as if sweeping off dirt. “I’ve just moved into my home and have a great deal to do,” he said, ignoring Jed’s implied threat. “If you have a point, I suggest you get to it.”
Jed didn’t move but every muscle in his body tightened with tension. “You want to make deals with men of power and authority. For that, you need them to think you’ll keep his word. But you refused to pay what you owed us.”
“We had an agreement for a slow payment for cattle,” huffed Smythe. “I said I’d pay you in the fall.” He spread his hands. Diamonds set in gold flashed in the morning light. “Unfortunately, I had to return East for a family emergency and then the roads closed early due to snow. I was not going to trust so much gold to a lackey.” He looked Jed in the eyebrows and sniffed down his nose, implying Jed was little more than servant class himself. “Those boxes Victoria protected so well, contain your payment.”
Jed’s snort of amusement was followed by noises of disagreement from the others.
“I think a few key men would be interested in another point of view,” said Clint. “We’ve already learned about a certain railway deal. Heard you got set back a mite.”
Smythe’s mouth turned down. He glared at Trace. “I know it was you valley men who fouled that deal.”
“And we’ll foul a lot more, unless you agree to a few things,” said Jed calmly
“Don’t think you can threaten me!”
Ross turned his knife so the blade flashed silver in Smythe’s eyes. “I don’t make threats,” he quietly declared. “I carry out decisions. We might decide you’d be more use feeding the fish at the bottom of the river.”
Smythe pulled at his tight collar. He grimaced. “I’m listening.”
“You will destroy all evidence of my wife’s past,” said Jed. “You will speak of my wife, Victoria Adams, and those from Tanner’s Ford, with honor and respect. And you will never travel west of the roads or rail lines linking Bannack and Deer Lodge cities.”
“That’s preposterous! I just had this house built.”
Ross pointed his blade at Smythe like a finger. “Sell it.”
Smythe’s eyes bulged. His mouth flapped, but nothing understandable came out. Jed and the others backed off a bit. Smythe pulled on his vest and cleared his throat.
“Do you know how much it cost to build this, and bring all the furniture to fill it?” His eyes moved from one roughly dressed man to the other. “Who would have the gold to pay me for what I spent?”
“Mrs. Johnston,” said Clint. “She wants to stay in Tanner’s Ford with her grandchildren but wants a good-size house for all her furniture.”
“There you are,” said Jed. He smacked the wall above Smythe’s head, making him jump. “Pack your things, make an offer to Mrs. Johnston, and be on tomorrow’s stage to Bannack City.”
“The stage?” He curled his lip as if a longhorn had lifted its tail on his bed. “I am a gentleman! I travel only in hired carriages.”
“Make do,” growled Jed. “You’ll not look at, speak to, or mention my wife again, to anyone, or I’ll track you down and string you up. Understand?”
Smythe pressed his lips together. “If I do this, you won’t say or do anything against me or my affairs.”
Jed nodded. Smythe waited until Trace and Ross nodded as well.
“I wouldn’t want to be seen in this backwater anyway,” said Smythe. He gave a loud harrumph and smoothed back his hair. He waved at them as if dismissing servants. “Close the door on your way out.”
Ross whirled and pointed his arm at Smythe. Jed heard a loud thud, and a large knife appeared, quivering on the headboard an inch above Smythe’s head. The whites of his eyes were closer to yellow, with red lines wiggling over them.
“Whoops,” said Ross. He sauntered over and reached for the knife. Smythe shrank down on the bed. The knife was so deep Ross had to work it back a couple of times to get it loose. Ross sniffed, grimaced, and backed away.
Jed patted Smythe’s white face. “Better change the sheets as well as your pants.”
They tromped down the stairs, holding back their chuckles, and returned to the jail.
“Plan work?” asked Barstow. He balanced on two legs of the chair, sipping coffee.
Jed nodded. “He’ll be gone on tomorrow’s stage.”
“I talked to the Widow Johnston. She wants the place. Said she has the money, and a lot of furniture to fill all the rooms.”
Riley snickered. “I saw her and Walt making eyes at each other. I expect he’ll be in town a fair bit now, instead of working with that Zach he hired up from Texas.”
“You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but Walt’s got a good bit of gold put away himself,” said Trace. “He grubstaked many a man, and they paid him back with interest.”
“When Walt’s all duded up in his courting clothes, he doesn’t look near as old as he pretends,” added Ross. “Why shouldn’t he find himself a lady friend?”
Clint shrugged. “If Rosa and Doc, and Thatcher and Lily can marry, why not those two?”
“Those boys on the Circle C and Sweetwater ranches will soon be the only bachelors left in the valley,” said Riley. He laughed. “Until the men Walt hired to bring his longhorns from Texas arrive. That will stir things up a bit.”
“They’re just hired hands,” said Clint. “What woman would choose to marry one of them when she could marry the owners of a ranch?”
Jed looked toward the hotel and Victoria. He set his hands on his hips and sighed. “Who knows? What man can figure out what a woman will do, or her reasons why?”
* * * *
Lips drifted against her cheek. She inhaled, still drowsy. “Jed?” His low chuckle made her smile.
“You can
tell us apart without opening your eyes?”
She heard the clunk of a boot hitting the floor, and then another. The mattress dipped as he lay beside her. She rolled onto his chest, cuddled up to his right side, and sighed.
“We shouldn’t lie on Sophie’s bed,” she murmured.
Jed pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. “All we’re going to do is talk.”
Talk? Smythe! She struggled to sit up.
“Lie down, or I won’t tell you anything.”
She pouted up at him. He winked and closed his eyes. After a moment, she relaxed against him.
“Smythe is leaving tomorrow morning, for health reasons.”
“He didn’t look sick.”
“He’s not. But unless he leaves and never comes back, Ross said he might end up wounded, in a way that involved a lot of pain and permanent loss of body parts. I believe he held his biggest knife between Smythe’s legs at the time. Rather high up his thigh.”
Victoria bit her lip to hold back a laugh. “Did he say anything?”
“Riley said the man’s like a barnyard. He brays like a donkey when he laughs, squeals like a pig when threatened, and has the brains of a rooster all the time.”
“Because he struts around telling the world how big he is, when he’s only good for the stewpot?”
Jed pulled his head away so he could look her in the eyes. “Dang! I wished I’d thought of adding that.”
His arm, which had curled around her shoulders, slid down her body to cup her behind. She reached down, grabbed it, and brought it back around her shoulders to lie on his chest.
“What else?” She wanted to know how else they’d threatened Smythe.
“That’s all that matters. Smythe is gone, your secrets are safe, and so are Bridie and Meggie.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me anything else?”