Sweeten the Swindler

by Adams, Dallis

  She frowned and the room bulged like a bubble. "Why?"

  "Because I know men like Jake Stark. He's got it in his head that I was responsible for his brother's death. So, he's like a bad penny; he'll keep tracking me and trying to destroy me. But after tonight he'll be gone. Forever."

  "What have you done?" she whispered. Dread swirled with the laudanum and whiskey deep in the pit of her soul and she struggled not to be sick.

  "I set up a little surprise for those fools, Worley Bodman, Timmy Turner, Oscar Crow and your sweetheart. The supply wagon that your sweetie plans to bushwhack at the old Warfield shed will be loaded with nitroglycerin. My boys from Geisinger Manufacturing will be there to set off the explosives when your lover and his cronies approach the wagon. It will be a quick death; merciful. They won't feel a thing."

  "Nooo." She must reach Jake. Warn him. Tell him that she loved him. Before it was too late. Too late. She should have told him before now how she felt. Now he might not ever know.

  Those were the last thoughts she had before a dark window curtain swept over her eyes and she was hurtled into oblivion.

  Chapter Eleven

  "Good afternoon, Florida," Atherton said, nodding to the pretty woman sitting behind the register as he stepped over the threshold. Hammers and pick axes hung from a pegboard in neat, orderly rows. Various kinds of shovels hung on the opposite wall. Pans for gold panning were stacked under the pick axes. Various hammers and sluice boxes and gold vials and snuffer boxes were on the center display.

  "Good day, Mr. Winslett," she replied, looking at him with those pretty turquoise eyes that contrasted with her smooth dark skin.

  That such a poised, unusual woman ended up in Blessings ... well, she was a blessing. Usually her gentle nature combined with the love she exuded for both her husband and her young son caused a peace settle in Atherton. But her gaze skittered away from him, and she bit her lower lip. It was then that he realized she was not so poised. She was worried ... maybe even frightened?

  "Florida? What's wrong? You know you can trust me."

  "Nothing is wrong. Everything is alright." She gave him an anxious glance. "It's just that Maxine didn't show up for work," she blurted. "And Maxine is like clockwork. She is never late— well, not this late. If she isn't coming to work, she always sends word."

  "I was just gonna ask where she was. I've got telegraphs for her. And yesterday she was mighty anxious about gettin' a response." Yes, Maxine was anxious, alright. He fingered the slips of paper that were in his pocket. He still reeled over the fact that Geary Pasley was not who he claimed to be. His real name was Brad Bicknell, wanted for murdering a bank teller and the manager in Silverberry, Montana. That the incident occurred sixteen years ago, which coincided with Maxine's family's demise wasn't lost on Atherton. It was obvious that Bad Brad went into hiding by adopting the identity of the uncle of a young girl who had just lost her parents.

  Once realizing the situation, Atherton had immediately shot off another telegraph, asking about Maxine and her family's accident. The Montana sheriff replied that Maxine was assumed dead along with her parents. Nobody had looked for her. It was a tragedy, one that he was determined to fix. No, Maxine wasn't a blood relative. But she was family all the same.

  "Maybe she's sick?" Florida said. "I was thinking about sending someone from the factory to check up on her at the house."

  "No worries. I'll go." Atherton backed out of the store and hurried to the Sweeten residence. He would never refer to the house as the Pasley residence again. He realized he'd always disliked Geary Pasley from the moment he'd allowed the man to setup shop three years ago, and now he knew the reason for his instinctual distaste of the man. But he'd adored Maxine— she had made up for his dislike of her so-called uncle.

  As he approached the two-story house, he glanced around. The place had an empty feeling about it. Yellow and purple tulips grew in red-painted flower boxes under the windows, which was the only warmth to the otherwise dismal-looking house that was the color of rainclouds. He knew the flowers had been bought and maintained by Maxine.

  He knocked on the door. No answer. He jiggled the knob. It turned. So he went inside. "Hello?"

  After searching the parlor, kitchen and dining room, he went upstairs to the bedrooms. All looked pristine. But no Maxine.

  Puzzled, he went down the stairs, calling again for her. Then he took the corridor to the back of the house and stepped into Bad Brad's study. Everything looked in place ... except for a deep drawer that had been opened— and not closed. Papers littered the floor behind the desk. He decided to gather them up for Sheriff Jones to look at.

  As he walked by the cabinet holding liquor and glasses, a warm, resinous scent that produced a faint prickle at the back of his nose, wafted over him. He picked up the decanter and sniffed it more closely.

  Laudanum.

  An uneasy feeling swept over him. Where was Maxine?

  A dog barked high and loud. Before he could turn around toward the sound, something pulled on his pant leg. He looked down and saw Jake's little terrier. As soon as it had his attention the dog let go of the fabric and gave another yip before it ran toward the opened front door. The small canine sat at the doorway and emitted a loud whine. It was as if the dog wanted him to follow.

  He heard something from down below his feet. Then he remembered there was a basement in the house. He opened the door to the floor below and ran down the stairs. He was surprised to find another door, like a room within the basement. He tried to pull on the handle, but the door was padlocked. "Maxine?"

  "Atherton?"

  "Hold on. I'll get you out."

  The dog barked again and latched once again onto the hem of his trouser leg.

  "No need," Maxine called out. "Meet me around the east side of the house. Just follow Varney."

  Curious, he did just that. He wasn't fast enough. Varney disappeared around the corner then came back and ran circles around Atherton. "Show off," he huffed, out-of-breath, to the dog.

  As he finally rounded the corner, he found Maxine rising from her knees. A window with broken panes was behind her.

  "You climbed through the window?"

  "Yes. I had to use the heel of my shoe to break it. It was the only way to get out since I couldn't pick the lock. Don't ask," she added when he was thinking about asking her why she would need to pick a lock, or how she'd learned to do so.

  "Did Jake teach you to pick a lock?" Atherton asked, intrigued despite himself.

  "I figured that out on my own. But he did teach me how to secure a lock again without a key. Varney! Come!" she called to the frisky little bundle. The dog obeyed and sat down in front of her. She stooped and with a thin piece of rope, tied a slip of rolled up paper onto its collar. It looked like a drawing ... of the miner caps? Writing on the back of the paper said something. Then she cupped his little terrier head in both hands and stared into its eyes. "Varney. Find Jake."

  "Fascinating." He watched as the small dog yammered as if to say yes, ma'am, and then the ball of energy shot off like a cannonball into the forest. "Are you certain Varney will obey?"

  "Oh, yes. That little dog loves Jake as much as I do."

  "Well, well, well." Atherton realized he was beaming a big semi-toothy smile at her. "So, is it safe to assume that wedding bells are in order soon?"

  Her brows slammed downward. She gnawed on her lower lip. "Not if I don't save him."

  "Save him from what?"

  "Do you know where Warfield Shed is?" she asked instead of answering his question.

  "Yep. Sure do. Why?"

  "Because," she replied as she ran toward the stables and motioned him to follow. "If you want to play matchmaker, then we must save the groom."

  "THERE THEY ARE ... both the Sheffield and the Geisinger covered wagons," Timmy Turner whispered from their hiding place behind a big boulder.

  Jake resisted rolling his eyes over Timmy stating the obvious since the names of each company had been painted on the
sides of the wagons. Both wagons had six teams of horses harnessed to them.

  Yeah, the wagons are there. But where are the men who are supposed to drive them?" Oscar asked, voicing another obvious observation.

  The whole situation was too easy. The fine hairs on the backs of his neck and arms were stirring like crazy.

  "Timmy, you can let go of my arm now," Worley said.

  Jake looked down and realized Turner had been gripping Worley so hard that he left a couple of bloody crescent moons in the big man's skin. That Worley didn't complain until Turner drew blood revealed the gentle nature of this brute of a man. That Pasley used Worley for his size, and not caring to understand his nature, showed just who was the actual brute.

  "I don't like it," Worley muttered.

  Jake shook his head. "Neither do I."

  Just then he heard a yapping sound in the distance. Varney? As he thought the dog's name, Varney hurled through the trees and collided into Jake's side where he crouched behind the big rock. "Hey, big dog," he said, ruffling the dog's neck. "What are you doing here?"

  That's when he found the rolled-up paper attached to Varney's collar. "What's this?"

  Carefully, he removed the scroll and unrolled it, realizing it was the blueprint of the miner caps. In the corner was his brother's name, David Stark. Maxine had discovered the proof needed to prove Pasley was a fraud and a cheat. Looking at it more closely, he saw the design had been signed by an official and dated. Maybe David had been in the process of getting his design patented but hadn't taken the next step to make it official. Or had been interrupted. He turned the design over. A message had been written in graphite. Even though the missive was smudged, there was an elegance to the letters that he would recognize anywhere. Maxine's writing.

  Trap! Wag_ns lo_ded with n_trogl_ceri_.

  Although letters were smudged, he got the gist of the message. Where had Pasley picked up nitroglycerin? Most likely from a mining company. It was dangerous and he was determined to catch Pasley and his minions in the act of attempted murder.

  "What's going on?" Worley asked.

  "The wagons are loaded with explosives. It was a trap. Varney warned us."

  "That little dog can write?" Timmy asked, wonder in his tone.

  Of all things, during such a dangerous moment, Jake was surprised to find himself having to resist the urge to laugh. "Varney seems to have an uncanny sense of understanding, and seems to be nearly human, but no. He can't write. However, Maxine can. She must have tied the missive to his collar and instructed Varney to find us."

  "Pretty impressive," Worley said.

  "Yes, all the dogs I have owned in the past only knew how to chew up my shoes," Oscar commented.

  "Should we catch the scoundrels?" This from Worley.

  "I say yes," Oscar replied. "If stealing a cache of explosives to use to murder us won't get these yahoos off the streets, then I don't know what will."

  Jake and the other three put their heads together and came up with a plan, which was simple ... surround the area, find the lead from the wagons to whoever had the controls. It was easy. Jake discovered Pasley first— the man who had the control. Oscar, Timmy and Worley quietly took care of the other three thugs by hitting them over their heads with the butts of their guns— well, Timmy used a rock, which was just as efficient. Now it was up to Jake to get the snake, the one who had ruined not only David's life, but Maxine's as well. But he couldn't kill the man, not when Maxine considered the man as her uncle. Jake was careful, moving only when Pasley stood to canvas the area, obviously searching for his victims. When he got about thirty feet from his target, a branch snapped under Jake's foot.

  Pasley whipped around, gun in hand. "Stop right there."

  Darn it. Jake stared at his nemesis. "It's over, Pasley. I know about your faulty manufacturing business, the way you cheat the miners, your theft of other shipments, and lastly, you killed my brother when you stole his miner's cap design."

  "Oh, boo-hoo," Pasley replied, scrunching his face up into an ugly pantomime of somebody crying. "I didn't kill him. I just stole his funds for opening up a miner's hat factory, and his blueprints for making them. Besides, anybody could have come up with that design, and would have eventually. Your brother just came up with it first. He was an easy mark, too. I caught him in the patent process just in the nick of time. Pretty much stole the design right out in front of his nose."

  Jake thought he heard the jingling of harnesses and the snort of a couple of horses. Was one of his men trying to save them from the explosion? "You aren't Geary Pasley."

  Obviously Pasley heard the sounds, too, but just chucked them off as signs of restless horses. "Very good. But who is the real me?"

  "Bad Brad Bicknell. The one who murdered Sheriff Seth Bullock's father, who was the bank manager in Silverberry."

  "Well, well. You're not as dumb as I thought. And no wonder there's been a resurgence of interest in finding me. My friends back home in Montana said a sheriff was asking a lot of questions again about me. Now I realize the reason. How long have you known who I was?"

  Jake shifted from one foot to the other, slowly working his way closer to the nearby pine tree so he'd have a better chance of dodging a bullet. "From the beginning."

  "And yet you didn't tell Maxine? You didn't turn me in to Sheriff Jones?"

  He narrowed his eyes at the man who took horrible advantage of those who were important to him— his brother and now his beloved Maxine. "I was waiting until Maxine uncovered the truth on her own."

  "Why? Because you fell in love with her? It was love at first sight?" He laughed long and hard. "Oh now that is rich. I can write a ballad about that. Hey, that's what I'll be next. I'll be an entertainer, a song writer. And I'll write verses on how love ended up killing a conman." He cocked his Colt and aimed. "Well, it's been fun. So long, you sap."

  Just as Jake vaulted sideways in an attempt to dodge the bullet, a ball of fur hit Bad Brad in the shoulder. The bullet went wide and thunked into another tree. At the same time, Bicknell fell on top of the explosion detonator, with Varney still growling, not latched onto the villain's neck like the vampire dog that he was. The nitroglycerin exploded with a bang, lighting up the whole forest, causing rabbits to run, and a group of deer to crash through the trees, away from the smoke.

  "Jake! Jake! Where are you?"

  It was Maxine. How did she get out here? Was she able to trace him through Varney? Where was Varney? Just then, he saw the valiant little dog. Now Varney had grabbed Bad Brad by his calf and was keeping the man down.

  "Get it off me!" Bicknell yelled. His neck was bloody. And so was his calf, as could be seen through his pant leg.

  "Good job, Varney," Sheriff Jones said as he dismounted from his horse. He already had the other yahoos handcuffed. "Brad Bicknell, you are under arrest."

  Varney released Bicknell and barked when the man swung his leg, easily dodging the criminal's kick.

  Jake didn't wait to see justice finally done. He went in search of Maxine. She ran through the remains of the wagons, swishing her hand in front of her face, her eyes watering as she frantically peered around. When he got about six feet in front of her is when she saw him.

  "Oh, Jake! I love you, too."

  "Wait. Too?"

  "Yes, I heard everything you said to that despicable man, Bad Brad. I can't believe I didn't know about him."

  "How did you hear?"

  "Oh, well. I was pretty much right behind you the whole time. But then I had to go."

  "Go?"

  "Yes. I realized the horses were still harnessed to the wagons. So I had to unhitch them and then tell them to run."

  "You could have been blown up!"

  "No, I was quite safe. Truly."

  "Are you saying it has to do with your affinity to animals?"

  "That's right. And I didn't take a chance, at least not much of one. The Appaloosa was good enough to allow me to ride bareback. And he was incredibly fast. And we're both alive."


  "Yes, you're right. I am definitely happy."

  "Now is it wedding bells?" Atherton Winslett asked as he stepped out from a copse of densely populated trees.

  "Definitely," both Jake and Maxine said together.

  Maxine's laughter was so contagious that he couldn't stop from laughing himself. Pretty soon everyone was laughing, including his stalwart crew, that is, except for Sheriff Jones who led his prisoners on a path to years of imprisonment.

  And as Jake listened to the joyful reverie, he could have sworn he heard thousand of birds singing and wolves howling right along with Varney.

  Yes, life was going to be a thrill a minute as long as he had Maxine by his side.

  Epilogue

  One month later

  Maxine was now Maxine Sweeten Stark.

  Rays of buttery morning sunlight slanted across the town of Blessings' rooftops and off the church's stained glass window panes. A colorful canopy— courtesy of Theo and Cojocaru's Traveling Medicine Show— had been set up in front of the church to accommodate all of the wedding guests. Under the canopy was a table laden with all kinds of confectionery, donuts, muffins and sausage-and-egg sandwiches. Another table was replete with beans, tortillas and huevos rancheros, thanks to dear Araceli.

  Best of all, she was wrapped in Jake's arms, and would be, for the rest of her life.

  She heard Varney's yips as guests admired him. The small terrier had done its part by being the ring bearer, which everybody had loved. Too, he was the hero since he'd been the one to knock Bad Brad off his feet.

  Coco was already making him a Blessings sheriff outfit with a gold-colored fabric star stitched on the back.

  Even more good news was that Jake had received a telegraph yesterday that his adopted family, the Gustys, would be in Blessings next week to meet Maxine and spend time with the newlyweds.