Night Marshal Books 1-3 Box Set: Night Marshal/High Plains Moon/This Dance, These Bones

by Gary Jonas

  After several seconds, Chief spoke. “As I told you yesterday, I was educated at the College of New Jersey. What I did not say was that I studied advanced chemistry, among other things. I still study chemistry when I come close enough to a city with the right books or the right college.”

  “I get it, Chief. You’re smart.”

  “That is because I listen.”

  Jack raised his hands in surrender.

  Chief sighed and shook his head. “I know how to make nitroglycerin and I know where to get the ingredients needed.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows. “Nitroglycerin?”

  “Yes. It is relatively easy to make if you know what you are doing and I know what I am doing.”

  “But isn’t that stuff unstable?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “Somewhat! Hell, you’re crazy, Chief. They used that stuff when they were building the Pacific Railroad and blew up half the Chinamen who touched it. The damned stuff blows up whenever it wants.”

  “Not whenever it wants. The chemical and percussion triggers are predictable. If it is fresh and you do not drop it, it will not explode until you want it to.”

  “Until you want it to?”

  “Yes. Probably.”

  Jack cocked his head. “Probably?”

  “If you want to sit by the fire and tell stories to your grandchildren, you are in the wrong line of work.”

  “You forget, Chief. I’m a spirit taker. We can’t have grandchildren.”

  Both Jack and Chief fell silent.

  After several long moments, Jack shrugged. “I was never much into the idea of settling down, anyway, even when I was alive.”

  “Not even with someone like Sara Beth?”

  Jack winced. “Especially not with Sara Beth. Nothing against the woman, but what would I do with a ranch in the middle of Kansas?” Jack didn’t expect an answer. “Besides, I’m more interested in where you plan to get this nitroglycerin.”

  “I know a man.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Jack grinned. “But unless you work for the railroad or the federal government, you’re not going to get the ingredients for nitroglycerin in a three-horse town like Hays, Kansas. In fact you’d be lucky to—“

  Jack suddenly stopped. Chief’s poker face had cracked. The change in expression had lasted barely a moment, but in Chief terms, the big man might as well have yelled out loud.

  “Hold it,” Jack said. “That’s it, isn’t it? You do work for—who?—not the railroad, surely. The federal government then. What are you, the Federal version of a Pinkerton man?”

  Chief sighed. “About ten years ago, Pinkerton men did work for the Department of Justice, but no, I would never work for Allan Pinkerton. I do not trust that man as far as I can throw him. Granted, I could throw him a fair piece, so I trust him even less than that.”

  “The Department of Justice?”

  “Yes. It is a small department, but it is government.”

  “And you work for them?”

  Chief glared. “I never said that.”

  Jack shook his head. Some cigar store Indian this was.

  Finally Chief said, “We were talking about nitroglycerin and how I would make some. While it might be entertaining, I have no desire to blow you up. Trust me. The nitroglycerin will be stable.”

  “Stable enough for what, Chief? What do you plan to do? Are you going to pour some of this into Wolcott’s pocket and wait for him to take a wrong step?”

  “No. You are.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “The hell I am!” Jack said, standing up again.

  Chief spoke in a calm voice. “This spirit taker wants to kill you, but after last night, he also fears you. Twice you have defeated him. Plus tonight is the last night of the full moon, the last chance to have his false-wolves beside him. He will take no chances. When he attacks next, every false-wolf he controls will be with him. He will surround you and that is when you will have your opportunity.”

  “What opportunity? To get myself killed?”

  “You are already dead.”

  “Ya, but not that kind of dead.”

  After several long moments, Jack sighed and sat back down. He held the coffee mug out to Chief. Chief poured the last of the blood from the bucket into the cup.

  Jack said, “I don’t think much of your plan so far.”

  “You should. It gives you all the advantages. To start with, you know where the spirit taker will be.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “As you said, the spirit taker will go to the ranch and try to force the woman to sign the deed. When he does, you will be waiting for him.”

  “And the nitroglycerin?”

  “As soon as the sun sets, go to the ranch with the explosive. Dig a shallow hole, put the explosive in, and cover it with a light layer of dust. Wait inside the shack. The spirit taker will expect you to be there. He knows you want to protect the woman. When he arrives, he and the werewolves will probably surround the shack in much the same formation as they did last night. You are a good shot. Step to the door of the shack and shoot the spot where the explosive is buried.”

  Jack rubbed his chin. “A simple explosion won’t kill Wolcott—or the werewolves. You said werewolves need to be killed by silver or by taking their head. With Wolcott, he needs to be staked or we need to take his head. At most, the explosion will stun them. With Wolcott, I’m sure he’ll be well fed before he arrives tonight, so he’ll heal quickly, no matter the injury.”

  “The explosion will not do the killing, but it will put the odds in our favor. I will be Wahuhi-ya-i—“

  “Whahoo-yeehaw what?”

  “In your mind, I will be an owl.”

  Jack scowled. “What do you mean: ‘In my mind?’”

  “When I transform, I do not become an owl. Mother Owl allows me to take her shape so that I might fly, so that I might see in the dark, so that I might hear the scurrying of a tiny mouse.”

  “So that you might eat that mouse and throw it up later?”

  Chief glowered. “No. That is the difference. I embrace the spirit of the owl, but I am not an owl. I am still me.”

  “Whatever you say. I always say that if you walk like an owl and cluck like an owl, then you must be an owl.”

  “Owls do not cluck.”

  Jack grinned. “Of course they don’t.”

  Chief picked the last meat from the chicken carcass, then dropped the bones and rubbed his hands on his pants.

  Jack appreciated that Chief had saved his life, but this plan smelled wrong. Besides, Jack had never been good at following orders or marching in step and this felt like both.

  After several seconds, Chief forced out a sigh and looked away. When he looked back, his face had calmed. “I will be circling above. After the explosion, I will help finish off Wolcott and the false-wolves.”

  “After the explosion? Before that, you’ll be in the sky, perfectly safe?” Jack thought he saw now what it was about the plan that bothered him. “So how do I know you’re not just trying to kill all of us? Blowing up the false-wolves and both spirit takers is a bit like dealing a royal flush off the bottom of the deck, isn’t it? Make the explosion big enough and all of your problems go away at the same time. I like you, Chief, but you told me you kill spirit takers. This plan sounds like a good way to do just that.”

  Chief laughed, a big, booming, baritone laugh that echoed off the walls of the barn. “You are funny, Ukashana. I do not need an explosion to take the head of a single spirit taker, not even a spirit taker with a head as big as yours. If I wanted to kill you, I would simply do it.”

  “You mean you would try.”

  Both men measured each other. Jack could almost always tell the quality of a man’s hand by the way he held his eyes, but Chief was unreadable. When this was all over, if they were both still alive, he’d enjoy playing poker with the big man. Being unable to read Chief made him nervous, and Jack hated being nervous. Nervous got you killed.

/>   Chief finally shrugged. “Foolish are two bucks who fight when a cougar lurks in the woods behind them.”

  Jack relaxed his shoulders. “I get that, but I still want you to explain how this plan helps me. If you make this explosion strong enough to disable Wolcott and his werewolf amigos, won’t it also blow up Sara Beth’s house?”

  “Probably.”

  “You know, there’s a lot of probablys in this plan of yours.”

  “Even if the shack blows up, the dirt walls will absorb most of the energy. Make sure your body is behind the shack’s wall when you fire. If the shack collapses, it will not feel good, but you will remain relatively unharmed. The spirit taker and his false-wolves will not. Remember, they are in the open with no protection.”

  “What about Sara Beth?”

  “Tell her to leave before Wolcott gets there. She can hide in the trees by the creek.” After several beats, Chief added, “I recommend she hide upstream. She would not like stepping on the bodies I left there this morning.”

  Jack considered the plan. It could work. It wasn’t guaranteed, but it was probably better than anything he could come up with on such short notice. Traps weren’t his style, anyway. As for Chief trying to blow him up along with Wolcott, the big man was right. The shack would absorb most of the blast. However much he got hurt, Wolcott and the werewolves would get hurt more.

  Then Jack remembered what Chief had said about the bodies and another problem occurred to him. “What if Wolcott steps on the nitro and sets it off too soon?”

  “Then you will not need to shoot it.”

  Jack rolled his eyes.

  Chief added, “Remember, Wolcott will not take chances tonight. Even if he triggers the detonation early, the false-wolves will be next to him.”

  Jack thought Chief’s whole idea still seemed crazy. “There’s got to be a way to kill Wolcott that doesn’t require me to blow myself up.”

  Chief shrugged. “Fine. We will do it your way. Have you thought of a plan?”

  “Of course not. I haven’t had time to think on it yet.”

  Chief rose and kicked dirt over the fire. “After you have had time, let me know what your plan is. Until then, I have work to do.”

  Chief walked out of the barn, leaving Jack alone.

  Jack wished the sun was down already. Then he could follow Chief and find out where the big man was going to get the ingredients for nitroglycerin. Not that Jack knew what the ingredients for nitro glycerin were. He figured they involved nitrogen and glycerin in some form or other, but in some fancier form with fancier names. What he knew for sure was that chemicals needed to make explosives weren’t found at the general store.

  Jack paced from one end of the barn to the other, being careful to stay away from patches of sunlight. What would an explosion do to a vampire? Jack had played cards with enough miners over the years that he knew a person didn’t have to have any obvious physical injuries to get killed by an explosion. If a chunk of wood happened to get blown through Wolcott’s chest, he would die instantly, but the blast itself, which would certainly kill a human, might not injure him for long. The same would be true of the werewolves, but if Jack came through the explosion in one piece, he would kill Wolcott first.

  That’s if the plan worked at all. The more Jack thought about it, the more possibilities he saw for his not even making it to Sara Beth’s. Wolcott and the werewolves could jump him on the trail. Or it could be even simpler than that. Roulette could step in a gopher hole. They could encounter a rattlesnake on the trail, causing Roulette to rear up, the jolt setting off the explosion. No. That would be the last thing Roulette would ever do. He would understand the danger. He would tread carefully.

  Even if Jack made it to the shack and managed to bury the nitro without blowing himself up, Wolcott might not show up or he might not gather the werewolves around the shack in the way Chief foresaw. Most of all, waiting at Sara Beth’s shack for Wolcott made Jack feel like bait, and Jack was not bait. He would feel trapped, just as he felt trapped now. Jack hated not being able to move about during the day. He’d never been a morning person, but there was a difference between choosing to sleep late and being forced to do so. Being trapped every day of his life was getting old, especially on days like this. He needed to move. He needed to do something.

  Behind him, the door creaked. Jack spun, his Peacemaker in hand and aimed before the door had fully opened. As soon as he saw who it was, the gun drooped. He holstered the weapon and took an uncertain step forward.

  “Sara Beth?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sara Beth smiled, the pretty smile that brightened her whole face and brought out the full power of that stunning beauty she wore so easily.

  “What— How— I can’t—“ Jack stopped himself. That damned Indian had got him off his game and Sara Beth’s sudden appearance had made him fold before he’d even looked at his hole card.

  Jack took a deep breath, touched a finger to his brow where his hat would normally have been, and said, “Morning, ma’am. I didn’t expect to see you today, at least not here.”

  She laughed. The sound tinkled like toy bells, high and short. “Morning? It’s afternoon, silly.”

  “For me, afternoon is always morning.” After a pause, he added, “The hazard of being a professional gambler, I’m afraid. How’d you find me?”

  She laughed again. “You told me last night. Don’t you remember? You said you were staying in the old barn on the west edge of town.”

  Sara Beth spun in a circle, wide-eyed, her arms out, her dress splaying. “Everybody knows about this old barn. No one comes here, because it’s supposed to be haunted, but it can’t be. You haven’t seen anything scary since you’ve been here, have you?”

  Jack thought about Chief’s scowl. “No, not really.”

  He looked around the barn. Haunted? He’d dealt with werewolves, vampires, and shape-changing Indians on this trip already. How bad could ghosts be?

  When he looked back at Sara Beth, she was shifting from foot to foot.

  “Sorry,” Jack said, “I can’t offer you a seat. We don’t have one. There might be some coffee—“

  “I won’t be staying. I just needed to tell you. . . .”

  “Tell me what?””

  “I’m quitting. I’m going back east. Lord Wolcott says he’ll pay me ten times what my ranch is worth, even considering the oil that’s buried there. I’m selling him the ranch tonight.”

  “Sara Beth, you don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes I do. I have no choice, Jack. I was never meant to live out here, anyway. The oil was my husband’s dream, not mine. Before I married, I was a lady. Men courted me from every state around. I should have never given that up for some bum who drug me out to the middle of nowhere chasing some dream that would never be.”

  Jack had his doubts about her self-proclaimed ladydom, based both on her western accent and her lack of a mourning dress. “Your husband died for that dream.”

  “He threw his life away, you mean. For nothing. For some sticky, smelly liquid that no one wants and no one will ever want.”

  She smiled but it didn’t touch her eyes. “None of that matters now. I came here to tell you that Lord Wolcott will be at my house at ten tonight. I’ll have the deed and he’ll have the money. But I don’t trust him, Jack. What could possibly keep him from killing me and taking the deed?”

  “I could,” Jack said.

  “Oh, Jack, would you?”

  “Of course. Wolcott and I have some issues to settle, anyway. Ten o’clock tonight sounds like a perfect time to do it.”

  She ran to Jack and hugged him, kissing him on the cheek before she pulled away. Her blue eyes bright, she added, “If you come early, around 9:30, I can hide you in the house. After Wolcott arrives, I’ll give him the deed. If he tries anything, you’ll be there to protect me. Oh, Jack!”

  She hugged him again, and then pulled away. “I have something special planned for you tonight.”

>   Jack raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s a surprise, but it’s a good surprise. I promise.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  She touched his cheek and a look of sadness crossed her face. “When I’m back east, I’ll miss you.”

  Tears welled up at the corners of her eyes. Suddenly she turned and walked away. At the barn door, she paused and looked back at him. “See you tonight.”

  She blew him a kiss and then she was gone.

  Jack remained in place a moment, then sauntered to the barn door and watched from the shadows as Sara Beth walked back toward the center of town. He liked watching her walk away. The movement of her hips reminded him of the gentle, rhythmic sway of a snake as it danced to the charmer’s flute. He’d had a taste of Sara Beth’s desserts last night. While he wouldn’t mind another taste tonight, he’d been a poker player way too long not to recognize a bluff when it was right in front of him.

  “Sara Beth,” he said aloud, “you should be ashamed.”

  The woman who’d just left was not the same woman he’d met last night, the one with a rifle in her hands, the one who’d shot Wolcott in the back.

  Jack shook his head. He didn’t blame Sara Beth. With her stunning looks, most guys never engaged their brains long enough to notice the fiddle she so sweetly played didn’t actually exist.

  He knew what Sara Beth was doing. She hadn’t lied. Not in words. She’d probably spent a fair part of the day deciding what came next. She was on her own now. No husband. No money. A piece of land worthless to everyone except Wolcott. She had no children. All she really needed was enough cash for a train ticket back to Kansas City with enough left over to buy a new dress and a matching laced parasol. Sara Beth could play the merry widow just fine, of that he had no doubt.

  What surprised him was that she didn’t trust him to come to her aid without the dog and pony show. Granted, other folks interpreted his reputation as self-centered. Shooting people over cards had a tendency to produce that impression. But she could have simply asked for his help without all the dramatics. In bed last night, he’d promised to protect her and her land. Apparently Sara Beth had more faith in his groin than she did a bedroom promise.