Prairie Song

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  At this point in his thoughts, Cole rode into Guthrie proper. He’d already rejected the notion that Talmidge would head for his fancy tent back at the border. For one thing, it was too far to travel back to quickly, especially while trying to hold on to a squirming little girl. And for another, Cole figured that Talmidge was smart enough to realize that Cole would think of the tent, too, and so wouldn’t go there. A grim smile came to Cole’s face. He’d always believed that successful tracking was like a good game of checkers. You never underestimated your opponent, and you thought four jumps ahead of him before making your first move.

  And so, looking at things from Talmidge’s point of view, Cole had decided that Guthrie was the place to begin his search. In Cole’s estimation of Talmidge, he figured the man would know that every settler out here, at some point or another, would have to come into Guthrie, the only city out here. The land office was here. The building supplies and the workmen were here. The dry-goods store was here. So was the doctor. So all Talmidge needed to do was keep a hold on Lydia and sit tight … until Kate came to him. Now, the only thing wrong with Talmidge’s plan, as Cole saw it, was that Kate hadn’t ridden into town. He had. Which meant a world of hurt was coming to that Talmidge son of a bitch.

  Cole tamped down his rising temper. Now was not the time for hotheadedness that could get him and Lydia killed. Taking a deep, calming breath, he forced his thoughts toward a more practical bent with regard to Talmidge and Hedges. Where out here on the wide-open prairie would two inexperienced city slickers like them go to hide, except to a city? Cole had seen the Talmidge tent. All the comforts of home. Talmidge and Hedges wouldn’t know the first thing about fending for themselves, much less for a child—a three-year-old child who would need things like food and a bed. Only a few weeks ago, Cole had been at a loss himself over how to care for three kids. So he now figured that the men he hunted would fall prey to the same fumbling shortcomings he had and would seek the comfort of what they knew best—city services and the help of paid servants.

  So, when put together like that, it just made plain good sense for him to be riding into Guthrie like he was. Just then, he rode by a makeshift saloon, no more than a big white tent with its opening flaps tied back. Inside he could see a long board atop two oak barrels serving as a bar. And business was booming. Men already, at this early hour, stood in a long line outside. Cole shook his head. It wouldn’t surprise him if, in less than a month, there were more hotels and restaurants and stores here than a man could shake a stick at. Oklahoma Country was certainly the land of opportunity. Just ask any surveyor, land attorney, or speculator toiling hereabouts.

  But such things weren’t Cole’s concern today. No, today he hunted two sleek black horses … and two slick men. Manuevering the roan through the bustling crowd filling the streets, and lacking patience with the holiday spirit of those hanging red, white, and blue bunting in preparation for the upcoming official celebration of this territory’s opening, Cole made his way toward a blacksmith’s shop and a stable. Beyond it was a huge corral filled with dozing horses.

  Cole shook his head, still marveling at how all of this land yesterday had been standing silent and unclaimed. And today, it was a noisy, crowded town. A town that a man like Talmidge would run to. He’d want a bath and a bed and a meal, all things he could get here. And for his horses’ care … he’d need a blacksmith. Cole reined in his horse at the corral and dismounted.

  A big, muscled blacksmith, shirtless and wearing a leather apron, immediately came out to meet him. “Sorry, mister,” he said, swiping at his sweating brow, “but I’m all full up with horses right now. I ain’t got any room, what with all the touts being here in town. You might try over at—”

  “I’m not looking to stable my horse. In fact, I just need to look over the ones you already have here.”

  The blacksmith frowned … and sized Cole up. But apparently something he saw in Cole—perhaps his stance or the look in his eyes—had him instantly cooperating. “You looking for any horse in particular, mister? Mayhaps I can tell you if I’ve got it here. Might save you some time.”

  Clearly, the man didn’t want whatever trouble was coming to happen here at his establishment. And so he wanted Cole gone. That was fair, Cole decided. “I’m looking for two matched sleek black carriage horses. Owned by a man name of Talmidge. He would’ve had another man with him and—”

  “And a little girl not the least bit happy about being with him?” Sudden excitement had the blacksmith wide-eyed and telling all he knew. “I knowed there was something going on there. That rich man couldn’t make her happy no way and no how. She kept saying she didn’t like him and wanted her mama. Would that be him, mister?”

  “That would be him.” Relief coursed through Cole. He exhaled with the knowledge that it was definitely Lydia that the smithy had described. After all, how many times had she said the same thing to him? “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find this Talmidge, would you?”

  Again the blacksmith looked Cole up and down. “There going to be trouble, mister?”

  Cole raised an eyebrow. “Between you and me?”

  The smithy’s eyes bulged as he sucked in a breath. “No, sir. I don’t want any trouble. I meant between you and Mr. Talmidge.”

  “That’ll be up to Mr. Talmidge,” Cole said. “Now, where’d you say he was staying?”

  “I didn’t. But are you the law? I heard the government officials are looking for a sheriff for the territory.”

  “I’m not the law,” Cole assured him, just as he’d had to do with Kate the day he’d met her. Cole wondered what it was in his bearing that spoke to folks of authority. Whatever it was, he let it go for now and decided on a more direct approach for getting the information he needed out of this gossipy blacksmith. “On my ride through town, I noticed more than one clapboard hotel already up and accepting guests. So, what I need from you, Smithy”—Cole smoothed his six-shooter out of its holster and pointed it at the startled man’s knees—“is the name of the one where Talmidge told you he’d be staying, should you have any trouble with his horses.”

  Pale under the grime of his occupation, the blacksmith blurted out, “I don’t want no trouble, mister—”

  “Mr. Youngblood. Cole Youngblood. And neither do I.”

  The man’s mouth slacked open. Then he swallowed hard and told everything he knew on the subject. “The Hotel Moran, Mr. Youngblood. It’s right up the road a piece. You can’t miss it. And I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in town, or I’d have—”

  Cole held up a cautioning hand to stop the man’s babbling. He looked the silenced smithy in the eye. “Let’s keep it that way. You don’t know I’m in town. Got it?”

  The smithy nodded and nodded. “Yes, sir. I got it. I haven’t seen or talked to you. Never met you.”

  “That’s good.” Cole then tipped the brim of his hat to the man and said, “Much obliged to you, Smithy.” Turning away, he remounted and rode off, heading for the Hotel Moran.

  But he hadn’t gone far, maybe past the doors of four or five other businesses—he noted one was an attorney’s office and another a good-sized dry-goods store teeming inside with women who had children in tow—when a shot rang out and Cole’s Stetson went flying off to his left.

  Son of a bitch!

  Instantly, screaming and crying and running feet accompanied Cole’s rapid dismount. “Get out of the street. Take cover,” he yelled, staying close against his agitated roan’s side, using him as a shield as he guided the animal with the reins in his left hand and aimed his Colt over the saddle. Again he warned the running folks, “Get off the street. It’s me they want. Hurry. Move it.”

  Whoever had fired on him—and he thought he knew who it was—had been across the street on his right. Sweating now, with his blood pumping furiously through his veins, Cole effectively looked in every direction at once. He searched for any quick and furtive movement between buildings. He looked for the glint of sunlight off gunmetal, a
nything that would point his enemy out to him. But nothing moved. And all was deathly quiet now. The busy Guthrie street had emptied of all but horses at hitching rails. That was good. No sense anyone else getting hurt. This was his battle.

  When Cole had the roan out of the middle of the street and close to a building, he glanced up to read the sign. He didn’t want to take refuge where there might be innocent women and children. Howard Undertakers, the sign read. A grim shake of his head accompanied Cole’s thought. Won’t be far to go, should this end badly. Having gained the building’s side now, Cole let go of the reins and hit his horse’s rump, sending him trotting around the corner where he’d stay until Cole whistled for him. Cole immediately flattened himself against the side of the building, his drawn gun pointing out of the alley toward the quiet, sun-drenched street. He looked this way and that, and called out, “Talmidge? Is that any way to greet a long-time employee?”

  From his left side, here in the narrow alley with him, came his answer. “No. This is.”

  A hard punch with a meaty fist, a direct blow to his kidney, left Cole gasping and sent his gun flying out into the street. Immediately, before he could recover or catch his breath, he was hauled up by his shirtfront and punched in the jaw. The blow knocked him out into the street where his gun was. Dazed and staggering back limply, Cole caught sight of his attacker. Pugnacious and thick and snarling. Has to be Hedges. Should have thought of this … there’re two of them. The man charged him again, his arms out as if he meant to grab Cole in a bear hug and squeeze him until his spine snapped.

  Cole shook his head to clear it and gulped in air. Even though he expected a bullet in the back at any moment from Talmidge hidden across the street, he sidestepped the burly man’s grasp and rammed his fisted right hand into the man’s gut, doubling him over and sending him to the ground. But apparently only barely fazed, the son of a bitch rolled onto his back and, fumbling inside his suit coat, came up with the gun that had bulged out under the fabric.

  “Jesus,” Cole croaked, diving for the ground and rolling over and over himself. Something hard stabbed into his back. Cole rolled again, this time landing back first against a water trough. He looked down at what he’d rolled over, hoping only for a big enough rock to hurl at the bastard. But what he saw renewed his faith. His gun. He yanked it up, aimed, saw the big man’s eyes go wide—and fired at the same time Hedges did.

  Hedges missed … by about two inches. The bullet lodged in the trough just above Cole’s head. But apparently he hadn’t missed … because Hedges was mighty quiet now. Cole jerked his gaze to the man lying in the street and figured that probably the neat round bullet hole in the yahoo’s forehead had something to do with his sudden silence. Cole had only exhaled when a door opened, directly behind him, on the other side of the trough. Leading with his pistol, Cole came suddenly up and over its thick wooden side. There stood a thin and balding—and startled—shopkeeper.

  “Son of a bitch.” Cole jerked his gun up, pointing it to the sky. “Get the hell back inside right now.”

  The frightened man wordlessly stepped right back inside and slammed the door. Cole again flattened himself on the damp ground beside the trough and, exhaling sharply, ran a hand over his eyes. Supporting himself on his elbows, he again searched for any movement that would give away Talmidge’s position. Cole’s biggest fear was that Hedges’s attack had been a diversion to allow Talmidge to escape with Lydia. Just the thought of that rich bastard getting around him and making his way out to the claim—so close by and where there were only women and children—gave Cole a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “Youngblood? Where are you?”

  Cole started … and then stilled, listening. This had to be Talmidge. In the dead quiet, while he waited for the man’s next move, his aching kidney and swelling jaw seemed to hurt all that much more.

  “Come on out. I got something you need to see.”

  Son of a bitch. He had to mean Lydia. “Dammit,” Cole raged, his teeth gritted around his whispered curse. He had no choice.

  Cole stood up slowly, dropping his gun to the ground and raising his hands … as instructed by Talmidge, who’d just stepped out of the Moran Hotel doorway up the street. The man was armed with a Colt Peacemaker, which he had aimed at Cole’s heart. But the gun was of no consequence to Cole. Because Talmidge, the cowardly bastard, had Lydia pinioned in his grip … and was using the little girl as a shield.

  Cole had never felt so helpless. He took a second to assess his niece. She appeared to be okay. Scared, to be sure, and not understanding what was happening. And crying … which was to be expected. As soon as she saw Cole, she flailed her chubby baby arms and legs and sobbed loudly. “Uncle Cole, Uncle Cole. Come get me. I don’t like him. He’s mean.”

  Cole’s chest tightened as he heard Talmidge tell the little girl to shut up. Lydia only screamed all that much louder. Terrified beyond belief, Cole called out, “It’s okay, Lydia. Just be still, honey. And everything will be okay.” If I have to die making it so, Cole added to himself. “Just be still, baby.”

  Amazingly, the little girl did settle down some. She stopped fighting and resorted to a quiet sobbing that ate at Cole’s heart.

  “Where’s Kate?” Talmidge called out to Cole—who locked gazes with the crazy bastard. “I’m prepared to trade you your niece for her. All I want is Kate.”

  Talmidge had just said exactly what Cole had thought he would. He also believed that the last thing Talmidge would expect from him was his cooperation. “All right. That’s fine with me.” Cole put his hands down and added, “Let’s go. Kate’s out at her claim. I just need to get my horse and my hat.”

  “Stop right there.”

  Cole did. His gun now lay on the ground right next to his left boot. Cole wondered how good a shot he was with his left hand.

  “Is this some kind of a trick?” Talmidge wanted to know. “Kate said you’d married her. Is that true?”

  “It is.” Just hearing this man call his wife by her first name made Cole want to choke him with his bare hands.

  “You’re married to her? And yet you’re willing to give her up so easily?”

  Not in a million years, asshole. Cole shrugged. “Hell, yeah. Why not? Our marriage was only a business deal. I knew at the time that she was carrying your child. So why would I want her?”

  There were two things Cole couldn’t let Edgar Talmidge know: that he loved Kate and that she no longer carried Talmidge’s child. If he gave away the first of those two things, then Talmidge would know he could more easily manipulate Cole. And if he knew that Kate had miscarried, then Lydia became worthless as a pawn. In this game, worthless meant dead. “So what do you say?” Cole challenged Talmidge. “You coming with me or not?”

  Talmidge looked everywhere but at Cole as he licked his lips and shifted Lydia around in his arms. He actually appeared to be thinking about it. But then his gaze snapped back to Cole. Only now did Cole see the flatness and the too-bright shininess there that spoke of insanity. Cole couldn’t believe that he’d done this man’s bidding more times in the past than he cared to think about. And each time represented a life taken. “I don’t trust you,” Talmidge suddenly shouted to Cole.

  Cole eyed the man. Perhaps losing his wife and then losing Kate had pushed him over an edge. Cole knew that nearly losing Kate yesterday had almost made him crazy. So why not Talmidge? Still, Cole exhaled his breath slowly and urged himself to proceed with extreme caution. “What difference does it make if you trust me or not, Talmidge? You have my niece. And I’m unarmed.” Never looking away from the man, Cole toed some dirt over his gun, trying to hide its nearness to him from Talmidge’s sight. “I’m cooperating fully. So it’s your call.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you, Youngblood. That was a nice try. But like you said, I’ve got your niece. So you go get Kate and bring her here. And I’ll wait here with this little girl. You have until noon to show up with her. Or I’ll kill Lydia.” Making his poin
t, he put his gun to the little girl’s temple.

  She instantly grabbed at the gun’s barrel, trying to push it away as she shrieked, “No! I don’t like you. Put me down. I want my Uncle Cole.”

  Swept by fear—Lydia’s antics could cause Talmidge to mistakenly fire the gun—Cole cried out, “Lydia, don’t do that. Be still, baby.” He was dying inside. He had no idea what to do at this point. He was losing … and Lydia’s life hung in the balance. So he appealed to a madman. “Just … take the gun away from her head, Talmidge. You don’t want to do this. I’ll do what you want. I swear it. Kill me instead. Right now. But for God’s sake, man, don’t hurt that child.”

  Talmidge’s expression changed, became strangely thoughtful … as if the notion of self-sacrifice had never occurred to him. He cocked his head to the side and stared at Cole. “You really mean that, don’t you? That you’d rather I killed you than her?” Then he grinned and his eyes gleamed.

  Cole’s knees weakened, nearly giving out on him. He’s going to do it. He’s going to kill Lydia just to torture me. That meant Cole had nothing left to lose. A low growl in his throat came out with his words: “Don’t even think it, bastard.”

  Talmidge’s eyebrows rose, his expression became mocking. “Brave words for an unarmed man, Youngblood.” Then he shifted his hold on Lydia, pushing her up more into his arms. His right wrist, his gun hand, edged almost up under her chin—dangerously close to the scared child’s mouth. And all those sharp baby teeth.