“I’ll try, Papa.”
He nodded. “I know you’ll be able to get them there regardless of how much they complain. They won’t disrespect my last wish.”
“If they agree to go, I promise you I’ll get them to Colorado and find Uncle Henry.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek again. There were tears forming in her eyes, but she made sure he didn’t see them. “I love you, Papa.”
“I love you, too, Quinn.” He touched her cheek. “Thank you, my baby girl. I know things will work out. You and Henry together will see to that. Now I can die in peace.” He closed his eyes. “Go send Deborah and Marlene in.”
* * * *
A week later Rodney Stockton died with his three daughters standing around his bed.
Chapter 2
The stagecoach left Denver at six on a warm May morning and stopped at a way station for the mid-day meal. The food was greasy and not what Quinn or her sisters were used to, but she managed to swallow a few bites and noticed they did, too.
The driver stuck his head in the door. “Time to pull out, folks.”
The driver stopped the sisters on the way to the coach. “Ladies, we picked up another passenger. He’s a big fellow and I think you’d be more comfortable if one of you sits on the seat with Miss Goodspell and Mr. Willard.”
“Since you’re the smallest, why don’t you sit there, Quinn?” Deborah suggested.
“I’d be happy to.”
It was now three o’clock in the afternoon and though the temperature wasn’t high, it was becoming warmer inside the crowded coach as it continually bounced and jerked over the rutted road. Marlene sat on a seat between Deborah and Beck, the long-legged cowboy who joined them at the way station. Quinn was sure everyone in the coach could tell the cowboy hadn’t had a bath in weeks. She felt sorry for her sister because the stench was almost overwhelming across the aisle.
On Quinn’s left sat Hugo Willard, a hefty gentleman who complained continually about the lack of civilization in Colorado. He’d told them before lunch he was on the way to Tornado because he had business at the bank.
Winnie Goodspell was on her right. Quinn wasn’t sure what to think about this portly lady who said she was going to Tornado to find her niece. When she and Marlene discussed sewing, she seemed pleasant and friendly. When she mentioned her niece, she seemed almost hostile.
Quinn shifted her position and tried to remember why she’d promised her father she’d come to this wild country with her sisters. Philadelphia might have been bad, but this was terrible. And her sisters weren’t letting her forget it. Though they didn’t say much, they looked at her frequently with accusing eyes. She knew they blamed her for not breaking her promise to their father.
She was beginning to agree with them. Several times she’d asked herself why they’d come even if their father had wanted them to. What were they going to do if they didn’t find Uncle Henry? Worse, what if Henry Stockton wouldn’t want them around? Or what if he was dead? What would they do then? The train tickets to Denver had taken more money than she expected. Then the stagecoach on to Tornado wasn’t cheap. Of what Papa had hidden for them, there wasn’t enough left to go back to Philadelphia. Neither was there enough to support them for more than a few weeks. The good Lord knew there was nothing for them to do to make money in this place full of its bramble bushes, cacti, ominous-looking distant mountains, and endless dust. What was her father thinking when he insisted they come here?
Quinn remembered clearly how surprised Deborah and Marlene had been when they came from his room the evening he told them he wanted them to go west when he died. Of course, like her, they said they’d honor his wishes, but they weren’t overjoyed about the idea. In fact they would’ve probably refused to come if Otis hadn’t walked into the house two hours after the funeral and demanded they vacate the place within two days or pay the high rent he’d asked. Or still worse, give into his other suggestion.
At first her sisters thought they might find another place in Philadelphia, but soon knew it impossible with no jobs and no prospects for one with the exception of Marlene’s dressmaking. They still might have tried to stay in town if Otis’s last suggestion hadn’t been that they could continue to live in his house if they agreed to entertain his friends, with the other girls he planned to move into the house. Though the Stocktons were somewhat naive, they weren’t stupid. They knew what he had in mind meant they become soiled doves. Outraged, they packed their meager belongings in a carpet bag each and one shared trunk and were out of the house the next morning.
Travel on the train had been rough, but nothing compared to this stagecoach ride. Quinn was surprised Deborah and Marlene hadn’t complained vocally more often. Several times she’d felt like complaining herself.
The cowboy moved and raised his arms over his head, pulling Quinn’s thoughts back to the present. She thought she’d have to cover her nose with her handkerchief as the rancid smell of his sweaty body reached her. She was sure Marlene was near passing out from the odor. She was about to speak when the man beside her said, “Man, have you ever heard of a bath tub?”
The cowboy narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying I stink?”
“I’ve smelled polecats that smell better than you do. It’s a wonder the little lady beside you hasn’t fainted.”
“You are pretty rank, young man,” Winnie said and crossed her arms over her ample breast.
“What about you, sweetheart?” The cowboy put his arm around Marlene’s shoulder. “Do you think I smell bad enough to cause you to faint?”
“It wouldn’t hurt you to take a bath,” Marlene muttered and pulled as far away from him as she could.
He laughed out loud. “How about taking one with me, sweetie?”
“Please, sir—”
“Damn. I like you,” he interrupted. “You’re the first gal to call me sir since…hell, since forever.”
Marlene tried again to move away, but the man’s grip pulled her closer to him. “Since you seem to be such a nice little lady, how about letting me sleep on your shoulder?”
“No.” Marlene turned a deep shade of red and moved against Deborah.
“Mister, please leave my sister alone,” Deborah demanded.
“Well, well. What have we here? A sis—”
A shot rang out and the stagecoach sped up.
Winnie let out a little shriek.
“Oh, hell, it’s a holdup.” Beck leaned to look out the window.
“Oh, no.” Hugo patted his chest. “I can’t afford to lose this money.”
“Keep your heads down everybody and you won’t be hit,” Beck said in a serious tone. “Maybe we can outrun them.”
Gunfire continued around the stagecoach and then there was a man’s cry as a body fell by the window.
“Oh, dear. I think I am going to faint.” Marlene put her hand to her throat.
“Don’t you dare, Marlene,” Quinn said. “We’ve got to keep our heads.”
“Don’t worry, pretty little lady. I’ll take care of you.” The cowboy grinned at Marlene.
“But we don’t have much money. Quinn, didn’t we have about—” Deborah started.
Quinn interrupted her. “You know we barely had enough money to get to Tornado. I only managed to save three dollars. That won’t do them much good.”
Deborah started to say something, but Quinn threw her a look and she kept quiet.
The stagecoach came to a stop as dust filtered through the windows. The door jerked open and a man with a red bandana across his face and a dirty brown hat pulled down over his eyes said in a deep, gravely voice, “Get out and put your hands up.”
Winnie scrambled out first.
Beck went next and turned to offer his hand to Marlene. A surprised look crossed his face when she took it. He also offered his hand to Quinn and Deborah. They both took it and Quinn couldn’t help noticing how tall he was. When her feet touched ground, she was still an inch below his shoulder. Hugo was the last one out.
�
�Throw down the money box,” an outlaw on a black horse yelled.
Quinn noted there were four masked men on horses and the one on the ground. Five robbers in all.
The stagecoach driver worked the box loose from its place on the coach and tossed it to the ground.
“Now climb down,” the man on the big black horse said.
The driver did as he was told.
“How about you passengers?” The bandit on the ground eyed them. “You got any money on you?”
Winnie pointed to Hugo. “He said he had money. These three women only have three dollars between them and I sure don’t have much.”
The outlaw poked his gun in the Hugo’s stomach. “Give me your money pouch.”
“No. I can’t do that. I need—”
The gun went off and Winnie fainted. The rest of the women screamed. Hugo fell backward and blood gushed from the wound in his belly.
“Shut up.” The outlaw waved the gun at the Stockton girls.
They quieted and held on to each other.
Beck moved beside Marlene, but said nothing. Quinn noted he was watching the outlaw closely.
The robber bent and pulled the money pouch from Hugo Willard’s brocade vest. He tossed it to the man on the black horse. He then took the gold watch from Hugo’s vest pocket, wiped the blood off on his pants and placed the watch in his shirt pocket. As he stood, he poked his gun in the Beck’s chest. “Give me your money.”
Without argument, the cowboy handed over a small pouch.
“That all you got?”
“That’s all.”
Winnie groaned and sat up. The outlaw walked up to her. “What about you, honey. How much money do you have?”
“I have a wedding ring I never got to use. Take it,” she cried.
The outlaw laughed. “Got no use for a wedding ring, ma’am. You keep it. Maybe you can use it yet.”
He turned to the Stocktons. “So you only have three dollars.”
“That’s all we have. Do you want it?” Quinn tried not to show how scared she was.
“No, sweetheart. You seemed to need it more than I do. You keep it.” He walked up close to her. “You’re a cutie with that pretty red hair and those blue-green eyes, but you’re a bit too little for my taste.” He winked at her and moved to Deborah. “Now you’re about the right size and you sure are a beauty. I’ve always been partial to auburn hair with only a touch of red.”
Deborah backed away from him and said nothing.
The outlaw laughed. “Don’t worry, honey. Maybe we’ll meet at another time. No matter how beautiful you are, this ain’t the right time to start a courtship.”
“That’s enough chatter, Slim. Get back on your horse,” the man on the black horse ordered.
“Sure, Boss.” The gunman whirled around and mounted.
“Take care of the horses, Zeb,” said the one called boss.
A chunky man with greasy gray hair spilling from under his hat dismounted, unhitched the six horses from the stagecoach and ran them off.
“Why are you doing that?” the driver asked. “I need those horses to get these people to town.”
The outlaw who shot Hugo looked down at the driver. “You’re not going to take these people anywhere.” He raised his gun and shot the driver.
“No,” Deborah screamed.
The boss turned in the saddle and looked at her. “Be quiet, pretty lady. I’m not above having him shoot a woman.”
Deborah grabbed her mouth and both Marlene and Quinn moved closer to her.
“Try to stay calm,” Beck whispered as he backed up close to the stage beside them.
“Zeb, you and Harve take the wheel off the coach in case the horses come back.”
Two men dismounted to remove one of the wheels. Soon the stagecoach was leaning on its side.
When they remounted their horses, the outlaw who did the shooting looked back at the passengers. “I don’t see why we should leave a man to help these pretty women, do you, Boss?”
“Don’t you think—”
Beck didn’t get to finish. The bullet hit him and he slammed against the stagecoach, then slumped to the ground face down.
Winnie fainted again.
The outlaws all laughed.
The one called Boss said, “After you get your fat friend back on her feet, looks like you ladies better start walking toward town. It’s only eight or ten miles.”
He was still laughing as he signaled his men and they rode away.
Chapter 3
As soon as the outlaws left, Quinn took charge. “Now, let’s all calm down and see if we can help these people.”
Deborah ran to Winnie. Marlene moved to Hugo, but after checking his pulse, shook her head and went to the stage driver.
“She’s coming around,” Deborah said as she put her arm under Winnie’s neck.
“What happened?” Winnie sat up.
“You fainted,” Deborah said.
Winnie frowned. “Lord, I wish I’d never left New Orleans.”
“I think he’s breathing.” Quinn put her fingers on Beck’s neck and his eyes popped open.
“I’m not dead, honey. The bullet hit my shoulder.”
“You’re bleeding a lot. We need to stop it if we can.”
Marlene moved beside Quinn. “Can I help? Hugo’s dead and so is the driver.”
“I’ve got some whiskey in one of my saddlebags. They’re on top of the stage,” Beck said.
Marlene frowned at him. “This is no time to think about getting drunk.”
He smiled at her as she knelt beside him. “I wouldn’t think of it, honey. You can use the whiskey to clean the wound. I’m sure the bullet’s still in there and it'll help stop infection.”
Marlene blushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“He’s right.” Quinn stood. “I’m the smallest. I’ll climb up on the stagecoach to get it.”
“Be careful, Quinn,” Deborah said, walking up to them.
“I will, but we need to pack his wound as soon as I get the whisky. His shirt’s too dirty to use. Marlene, rip some strips from your petticoat to make a bandage.”
“It’ll do my heart good to know my shoulder is close to your petticoat, pretty lady.” Beck’s voice was becoming slurred, but he managed to grin at Marlene.
“I think he’s going to pass out.” Deborah looked at him.
“I’d use one of my petticoats, but I only sewed them and this dress last week,” Winnie said.
“I don’t mind using mine.” Marlene lifted her skirt and ripped her top petticoat as she looked down at Beck. His eyes were closed. “I know he smells awful, but there’s something about him that makes me think he’s a good man. I hope he’ll be all right.”
“I thought he was hit in the abdomen, but it looks like it’s his shoulder. Maybe that means he’ll live.” Deborah checked his wound.
Quinn came back with the whisky. “How’s he doing?”
“I’m not sure,” Marlene said. “He passed out.”
“Is he dead?” Winnie asked.
“No.” Deborah moved so Quinn could use the whisky to clean the wound.
“Well, he might as well be dead for all the good he’s doing us. What are we going to do? We might die out here.” Winnie twisted her hands and began to cry. “I don’t want to die.”
“We’re not going to die. Please don’t say things like that.” Deborah touched her arm. “We’ve got to stay calm. I’m sure help will come soon.”
“You don’t know how bad it is out here. Indians could come and scalp us or take us for slaves or the outlaws could come back and rape and ravage us then slit our throats or—”
“Be quiet!” Quinn shouted as she doused Beck’s shoulder with whisky. He flinched, but didn’t wake up. She took the bandages Marlene handed her. When she tied off the last one, she jumped up and faced Winnie. Her voice was firm when she said, “I didn’t come all the way from Philadelphia to be ravaged or raped or scalped or to become a slave. Neith
er did my sisters. Now, if you don’t want to help us figure a way out of this situation, please sit down and don’t say anything until my sisters and I decide what we need to do.”
A shocked Winnie Goodspell sat down without speaking.
* * * *
Ashe Montgomery leaned back in his wooden swivel chair, stretched out his long legs and put his feet on the scarred pine desk. He unrolled the wanted posters. As the acting sheriff, he felt it his duty to check and see if he’d seen any of the criminals with money on their heads. He might even luck up and find a member of the gang that had been holding up the stages carrying the mine payrolls, his main objective since coming to Tornado in disguise.
He’d been informed by some of the mine officials in Denver another shipment of gold was due in a few days. He wanted to be ready when it came. Though the local bank officials didn’t tell anyone in town when the shipment was due, it seemed the robbers always knew which stage to hold up. He decided there was an informant in the bank.
The posters were all of known criminals. Of course he’d keep an eye out for them, but they weren’t his top priority. Ashe’s instinct told him the criminals he was sent to catch were probably a newly formed gang.
The survivors of the first two holdups reported the gang consisted of five to twenty men. The reports depended on the passengers left alive, so far only women. There had been a lot of conflicting witnessing. Only descriptions of the leader remained consistent. He was a tall skinny man who rode a black horse.
Ashe re-rolled the posters and tossed them on the corner of the desk. He’d nail them to the wall later so whoever came into the office could keep an eye out for them.
The door opened and a cowboy almost as tall and dark as Ashe stepped inside. “I hear you need some help around here.”
“Damn, it’s time you showed up.” Ashe dropped his feet to the floor and swiveled his chair around. He stretched his full six feet and four inches and turned to greet his younger brother. “Took you long enough to get here to help with this case.”
“I tried to ignore your request, then you sent that damn wire to the office.” Cal moved his six feet two inches into the room and looked around. “Not very lavish surroundings, are they?”
Quinn's Promise Page 2