Seward grinned. Knox held no surprises.
Knox made the chair creak beneath him, as he reached for the glass Meigs offered him. He allowed Seward time to take his, then rushed the servant on his way. “Out with it, man,” he said. “Let’s hear what’s taken a fortnight and every shilling I advanced you to find out.”
“Paid,” Seward said “for time and effort spent.”
“So be it.” Knox was growing impatient, his reserves thinner. He’d not had an invitation of note in months. His friends had learned of his predicament and were distancing themselves from him should he turn out a pauper. His embarrassment was nearly as great as his girth. He had stopped going to his club, hadn’t paid his dues either and expected a dunning letter any day. Even Seward looked at him with disdain.
“You’ve not given me the easiest of assignments,” Seward complained. “And I do not work for charity, though you’ve nearly made a liar of me on that.” Knox looked grieved, which pleased Seward.
“Tell me of Delmar,” the rotund Knox demanded.
“I managed to track the servant,” Seward said. “Once the countess put me on to his name. A cripple fellow, extremely loyal to Delmar by all accounts. Seemed to have disappeared after the—incident.” He grinned. “But as we both know, a man cannot actually disappear. And a man must eat, as you can attest.” He looked accusingly at Knox’s middle.
“And sleep,” Knox said irritably. “Where is the man? Will he talk?”
“Any man will talk if properly induced. Bourget, though—that’s the servant—has sailed to the colonies.”
“The colonies?” Knox, fearing he’d spent time and money for naught, was crestfallen.
“I bought a passenger list,” Seward continued. “Thought it unlikely Bourget, being a loyal sort, would leave his master in the lurch.”
“Delmar couldn’t have left. The inspector sent his name and description ’round to every vessel docked. He’d have been turned in.”
“A man can change his looks and his name,” Seward suggested.
“You think he’s sailed to the colonies, too?” Knox said weakly. “Why it’s half a world away.” He dropped his head into his hands. “I’ll never find him in time, if he has. I’ll be ruined.”
“Take heart,” Seward said with an uncharacteristic show of concern. “If you have not found him neither have the magistrates or your uncle’s agents. His lordship’s estate is yet intact and waiting for you.”
Knox, dismay evident in his deep-set eyes, looked up. “I have debts, man. I could be in prison before the estate is settled.” He got a grim look then, one fired by anger and hatred. “You should have killed him.”
“A man alive has yet to die,” came Seward’s philosophical response. “Consider that if he comes back here he goes to prison and you are spared.”
“Did you hear nothing I’ve said?” Knox barked. “I need the estate settled posthaste. I cannot wait what might be years for Delmar to reappear.” Another more terrible thought occurred to him. Suppose the solicitors found Delmar first and he promised a rich reward should they clear his name. A man with money and wit could circumvent the law. A sound, much like a sob, shook out of his wide chest. “I am ruined.”
“Not yet,” Seward promised. “I can find Delmar. I know the name he used to flee and I have a good idea where he was bound.”
Knox jerked his bent head up. “Damn you, Seward,” he said. “Tell me.” Seward sat quietly looking into the empty glass he held. Knox himself rose and poured it full. “Tell me, man,” he begged.
Seward paused to drink, deliberately antagonizing Knox. Finally he spoke. “I looked for the man Delmar last sat at cards with. A man called Gamble. He had unfortunately died that same night.”
“Murdered?”
“Passed on in his sleep,” Seward said. “Seems he had a visitor the day after his departure.”
“Delmar?”
“As the innkeeper described him, yes,” Knox said. “He was disturbed. Said Gamble owed him money. Kept asking if the man had left anything for him. The innkeeper gave him a letter and Delmar went away.” Seward grinned, sending his red whiskers into a quiver. “I’ve a feeling this Snead at the inn pilfered anything of value from Gamble before Delmar got there. He had the look of a man lately come to prosperity.”
“What’s the bloody point of this story?” Knox asked irritably, beginning to suspect that like everyone else, Seward was tormenting him.
“The point is, I found the dead man’s name on the passenger list of the same ship on which the servant Bourget booked passage. And he sailed.”
“What? How could he?”
“That is what I say. How could a dead man rise from his coffin and sail off to the colonies?” He drank of the port. “The answer is that he did not. Mr. Delmar took his place and, if I am not a half-brain, he has found the perfect place to hide. Almost perfect,” he amended.
Knox’s fear gave way to grim determination. “How soon can you follow?”
“Tomorrow,” Seward assured him. Then more lightly he said, “There is the matter of another payment.”
“You’ll have it.” Knox twisted a gold ring off his middle finger, and took a last appreciative look at the glittering diamond he had hoped to hold on to. Then he handed the ring to Seward. “When it’s done, get proof that he’s dead. I want no doubt remaining.”
“Murder’s expensive business.” Seward turned the ring in his hand. It was a fine piece. He might have it cut down and keep it. “This will do until I’m back,” he said.
“You can name your price when you’re back,” Knox said, too relieved to question what those words might cost him. When Seward was gone, he heaved out a sigh, cursed his uncle, and rang for Meigs. “I’m cold,” he said, missing the familiar weight of the ring on his finger. “Put more wood on the fire. And bring another bottle of port.”
***
Luther was chilled through—not from the cool desert night but from the mild fever the infected tooth was causing. Joe Luther felt bad but not so bad that he resisted making a last dig at Sheriff Blalock as the man gave a shove that hurried him out of the cell.
“Been right nice visitin’ with you,” Luther said. “Now anytime you want to rob a stage you come on out. You’re welcome to ride with us.”
“Get moving, Luther.” Len Blalock shuffled over to his desk and leaned on the corner of it. He’d turned the lantern down so the office was nearly dark. Even so, he could see the mocking grin on Luther’s face. He wanted to hit him right on that swollen jaw. He never suspected that Luther was thinking along the same lines.
“I’m goin’,” Luther said but moved in the opposite direction of the door. “Just wanted to tell you I thought up a story to help you out so you won’t look a complete dunce letting a prisoner escape.” Luther laughed. “You can tell folks you stepped over to the cell to give me a drop of laudanum for my toothache and that I slugged you and got the keys.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” Blalock retorted.
Luther laughed louder. “Just this one,” he said. With that he drew back and punched the sheriff below the right eye. The stout blow knocked Blalock across his desk. While Len Blalock was trying to right himself, Luther grabbed the gun from the sheriff’s holster and ran. He kicked open the back door and keeping to the shadows, sped down the street.
Luther knew where his horse was but didn’t go there. He’d been ordered to ride out of the territory and he would, when he was ready. But he wasn’t going anywhere until he had a few bottles of whiskey in his saddlebags. He didn’t suppose Adams had thought of supplying him with that, or considered that he might like to say good-bye to Maisie. The saloon girl was kind of sweet on him and he liked the way she showed it. Yeah. He liked it and he thought he’d say a so-long to Maisie before he left. No telling how long it would be before he was back in Wishbone or how long it would be before he found another girl that liked him as much.
Using the same rough wooden stairs that Teddy Gamble had cl
imbed earlier in the day, Joe Luther stealthily made his way to the Diamond’s upstairs balcony and tiptoed along the uneven boards to Maisie’s window. He slipped quietly inside, feeling secure in the darkness as he carefully made his way across the floor.
Cracking the door a few inches he peeped out and waited for Maisie or one of the other girls to come by. He didn’t have to wait long. Within a few minutes he heard another door open and shut and then a smiling cowboy strode by hooking his belt and whistling a tune. Honor came along shortly after him.
“Pssst!” Joe called. “Honor.”
She knew him at once. He’d been one of Maisie’s regulars until he’d gotten arrested. “What’re you doing out, Joe? Thought you were locked up for good,” Honor said gaily.
“Hush up,” Joe told her. “I was locked up for good but now I ain’t. So be a good girl and go down and get Maisie for me.” He caught her tightly by the wrist before she turned away. “Tell her to bring up two bottles of the best whiskey.” To be sure she remembered what he wanted, Joe squeezed Honor’s wrist until she whimpered at the pain. “And don’t let on to anybody else that I’m up here.”
“I won’t, Joe.” Honor rubbed her chafed, aching wrist, and hurried off. She found Maisie over by the piano wrapped around one of the newly outfitted prospectors in town. The girls always tried to get to the prospectors before they went off in the hills. Most of them didn’t have any money again after that.
Maisie didn’t disengage from her friend until Honor had whispered her message a second time. “You sure?” Maisie said, her expression crestfallen beneath a layer of powder and rouge. “You aren’t funnin’, are you?”
“He’s up there,” Honor assured her. “Waitin’ in the dark.”
Maisie shivered. “I don’t like it. Mr. Adams don’t want trouble here.”
“Don’t you worry about Mr. Adams,” Honor said. “I’ll see to him. You get those bottles Joe wants and get on up there before he gets tired of waiting.”
Harley was reluctant, but Maisie persuaded him she needed two full bottles of whiskey. With one in each hand she hurried up the stairs and to her room.
“Joe,” she whispered, easing open the door. She let out a yelp when he jerked her all the way in and threw his arms around her.
“Baby, I been needin’ you,” he said roughly. “And this.” Stepping back he took one of the bottles from her and popped out the cork. Turning it up, Joe Luther guzzled greedily, letting the strong liquor spill from his mouth and dribble over his chin and soak down his shirt front. He stopped drinking when he needed a breath. “This is cheap stuff,” he complained. “I asked for the best.”
“It’s all Harley would let me have,” Maisie said, wishing Joe Luther’d had the good sense to ride off soon as he got loose. Her worried gaze kept darting to the door then to him. “He wanted to know why I needed two bottles.”
“What did you tell him?” Still in darkness Joe pulled Maisie over to the bed and down beside him.
“That I had a thirsty customer.”
“Baby, you do. And as soon as I dull this toothache that’s been drivin’ me out of my head I’m gonna drink you up.”
“How did you get out of jail?” Maisie asked. “I didn’t hear about you being let go.”
“You’ll hear about it tomorrow.” He chugged more from the bottle. “By then I’ll be long gone and you’ll be missing me.” An arm slid around Maisie’s shoulders, a hand probed roughly down the front of her dress. “But don’t you worry. I’m not going before I give you something to remember me by,” he said.
Maisie wiggled over closer to him, hoping what he was going to give her included money. “That’s fine, Joe,” she said sweetly.
Ten minutes later Joe was half-drunk and half-naked and had divested Maisie of her corselet and skirts. With a bottle in his hand he lay atop her, his passion and his aim not coordinated enough to get him where he wanted to be. Frustrated by one more missed jab in the dark, he swore at Maisie.
“Shit! Give me some help, baby.” Light flooded the room at that moment, spilling in from the open door and the lantern Harley held high in front of him. Luther dropped the whiskey bottle and swore. “Dammit! I ain’t through,” he said, reaching for the gun he’d lost somewhere in the covers.
“Leave it be, Joe.” Parrish Adams spoke, his voice sizzling like a hot poker plunged in a bucket of water. “Maisie! Git!”
Maisie scrambled up and out. Modesty was no problem to her as, in the altogether, she bounded past Adams and Harley and into the room next to hers. When she was gone, Harley set the lantern down on the small table by the door and backed out, leaving Adams and Luther alone in the room.
“You lost, Luther?” Adams had a long-barreled revolver in his hand, the nose of it pointed down, his finger resting lightly on the trigger.
“Naw.” Luther rolled up to a sitting position and looked around, his lusterless eyes searching for his trousers and boots. “I needed liquor,” he said. “Got a toothache.”
He found the trousers but they were turned inside out and he was too inebriated to figure how to get them right. After much fumbling he got one pant leg straight and slid his leg into it. Eventually the other pant leg fell into place and he got both feet in. He stood to pull them on, wobbled as he jerked them over his hips.
“I told you to ride out of the territory,” Adams said calmly. “I expect a man who works for me to do what I say.”
Luther’s boots were caught in the tangled covers. He found his gun beneath one of them and picked it up. With it dangling loosely in his hand he turned. “Got a toothache,” he mumbled.
He had his right boot in the other hand. He was blind drunk and stumbling around looking for the missing left boot.
Adams shot him dead.
Chapter 18
From the small office window Teddy watched the stage roll in right on schedule. Another run with no trouble. She supposed it was too much to hope they had seen the last of the holdup attempts. Whatever was responsible for the bandits backing off, she was grateful. She’d had a telegram from Cabe Northrop saying Wells Fargo was pleased her company had brought in one of the bandits. That had come the day after Joe Luther broke out of jail and got himself killed over at Adams’s place.
Real peculiar that the fellow went there when he could have ridden out of town. She had her suspicions that there was more to the story of his breaking out than Len Blalock had told. But the sheriff was sporting a shiner and had lost his gun and keys to Luther. Not for long, though. Blalock had both back within a few hours. And folks around town were spouting off about Adams being a hero and keeping the streets safe for decent people.
Couldn’t anybody besides her see that Adams was a snake in the grass, that his charitable acts and bravado were false? No, she supposed they couldn’t. People got cloudy vision when someone donated a new bell to the church and offered to pay half the new schoolteacher’s salary for the year. Adams was making himself awful popular. She wondered why. What did he want in addition to the Gamble Line’s contracts? Something—she knew. His true nature was about as benevolent as a badger’s. She knew that firsthand.
And if she had any takers she would bet Joe Luther didn’t wind up at the Diamond just to get drunk. He had business there, or thought he did. Luther could have told plenty if he’d been brought to trial. Plenty. But he wouldn’t be talking now.
She got up and went out when the stage pulled to a halt in front of the office. Strong Bill was back on shotgun and he had ridden this run. She was waiting when he jumped down from the driver’s box.
“Any trouble?” she asked.
“We had an easy run,” he said, shaking the dust off his long railroad coat. “And there’s been no problem with the wagons coming down from the mines either,” he added. “Things are goin’ so good we ought to—”
“Worry,” Teddy said, then wished she’d held her tongue. Her pessimistic reply meant she didn’t believe this streak would last. The trouble had only quieted down. With Adam
s after her contracts, bandits after her payloads, and the Frenchman after her money, she was destined for more problems. She had the uneasy feeling that all her adversaries had merely dropped back to regroup and that soon they would be moving in for another assault.
She wondered if she could survive another one.
“I was going to say ‘rejoice.’” Strong Bill was never off duty. His Winchester rested in his arms and his eyes were alert for any person or movement out of the ordinary. He wouldn’t relax his watch until the payload the coach carried was safely in the Wells Fargo vault in Yuma. “That Frenchman did us a good turn, Teddy,” he said. “We owe him.”
“I reckon you and Rope would hand the company to him out of gratitude,” Teddy snapped. “Me, I’m glad not to have seen hide nor hair of him for a while.”
Strong Bill ignored Teddy’s grumpiness. Like Rope he was endlessly patient with her. “I been wonderin’ where he is. You don’t reckon anything’s happened to him?” He stepped aside to make room for the spent team to be led off. The horses snorted and stomped, impatient to get to the grain and hay in the Gamble stable. “Mind you, we don’t know what Luther did before he showed up at the Diamond,” Strong Bill continued. “He might have wanted to settle a score with Delmar.”
“I’m not that lucky,” Teddy retorted.
The new team was hitched and Strong Bill had a leg up climbing to the box. The driver was in place and adjusting the lengths of rein in his gloved hands. “He could be more trouble to you dead than alive,” Strong Bill called down to her. “If you know what I mean.”
Teddy swore softly. “All right,” she said. “I’ll find out where he is.”
“Good.”
“Now you be careful out there,” she implored Strong Bill with the same words she said nearly every time he rode messenger. “Don’t let anybody shoot you.”
“Aww, don’t you worry about me.” Strong Bill winked and gave his trusty rifle a pat. “The only way they’ll kill me is to cut my head off and hide it where I can’t find it. Now get on and do what you said you would.”
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