by Micki Miller
“You convince her to leave her job here?”
“Me? No. I’m just carrying her bag for her.”
Smoky stomped out from behind the bar and right up to Garrett. “She was just fine with things until you went up there.”
“I didn’t turn her mind. Anyway, it’s a free country. If the girl wants to leave, she can leave.”
“I knew it! You takin’ her to St. Louis, one of those fancy places to work for you? What did you promise her, more money, better conditions, what?”
“Calm down, Smoky. The girl’s not going away with me,” Garrett said, bending to set down the bag. He was trying to placate the man before things got out of hand. He soon found out just how miserably he failed. When he stood upright, a hard fist to the face was there to meet him.
Selina screamed, Garrett heard. He couldn’t see what was happening because he was flat on his back facing the cobwebs in the ceiling and marveling at how quickly the skin on his cheekbone grew tight from swelling. It occurred to him this was the second time he’d found himself in this position since he’d met Miss Penelope Wills.
Then he heard Smoky utter a grunt, and the floor beneath him vibrated with a very heavy thud. Garrett hauled himself up on his elbows. Smoky lay curled up on his side, gasping for breath, whimpering, both hands clutching his manhood. Garrett looked up at Selina, who proudly smiled down on him.
“I have to go now,” she said, straightening out her skirts. “I don’t want to miss the stage.”
Garrett swiveled his head again to look at Smoky, and even though the bastard had surely given him a black eye, he felt for the guy. That was some mighty suffering she’d put upon him. He turned his astonished gaze back to Selina.
“It’s kind of funny, you know?”
“What’s that?” Garrett asked, seeing nothing funny at all about the situation. He’d come in for information on a woman who’d done what no man ever had, escaped him, twice. Following that was something else that had never happened to him before; he lost a fight without getting in a single lick. Now he was lying on the dirty floor of a saloon with a blackening eye after a recently retired prostitute had to come to his rescue. No, nothing was funny at all.
“Smoky is the one who taught me that move, you know, how to take down a man. He said it was in case any of the customers ever got too rough with me. I never had to use it before today. It really works.”
In Garrett’s opinion, she looked way too happy with her success in de-manning her employer. Smoky whimpered on the floor beside him. Yeah, it worked all right.
Garrett got to his feet and picked up Selina’s bag. They left Smoky moaning on the floor. Nothing they could do for the poor man. They pushed through the doors to the saloon and onto the boardwalk, where Frank sat waiting. Ten minutes later, Selina was waving goodbye from the window of the stage. Garrett turned and headed for Dixie’s.
The restaurant was full of chattering people and bursting with the smell of coffee and grease. He took a quick but thorough look around. Neither Penny nor Cotter was in the restaurant. In the center of the room stood a rather large, matronly woman with strong hands and iron gray hair twisted into a tight knot atop her head. The aproned woman set down a couple of loaded plates at a table where two men eagerly awaited their meals. He got to her as she was turning around.
“Excuse me,” he said loud enough so she could hear him over the mixed conversations and the clattering of dishes and silverware. “Are you Dixie?”
“That’s me,” she said, in a voice accustomed to speaking up loud. “Just find a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
“I’m not here to eat.” Tapping a finger on his badge, he said, “I’m looking for a couple of people.” He quickly described Penny and Cotter. She nodded as her face pinched in aggravation. “Oh boy,” Garrett muttered to himself, wondering what Penny had done now.
“They were here all right,” Dixie said, a frown stitching her thick eyebrows together as she crossed her arms over an ample bosom. “She came in not too long after he did. She sat across the restaurant to his back where he couldn’t see her. I saw her watching him while he ate. When I went to take her order, she said she didn’t want anything. I told her if she was going to take up one of my tables she had to order something, so she asked for hotcakes. She didn’t eat a single bite, though. The girl never took her eyes off that man. Then, he happened to turn around and he saw her. Appeared to recognize her, too.”
“What happened then?” Garrett asked, his chest tightening.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” she said with a sharp nod as her hands moved to clasp the bulges of her hips.
“He ran out of the restaurant without paying for his meal, that’s what happened. And then you know what? That girl jumped up and ran right out after him, without paying for hers, either.”
“Did you see which way they went?”
Dixie crossed her arms in front of her again, steel bands locking away his information. “Did I mention they didn’t pay for their meals?”
Garrett scowled at her.
“They left owing for their breakfasts. That’s fifteen cents, each.”
“Are you trying to blackmail a federal officer?” He crossed his arms, too, just under his badge. Dixie was not impressed.
“Worry over the loss of income does seem to affect my memory.”
Since he didn’t have time to argue or make threats he’d then have to carry through, Garrett paid the debt. He’d take it out of Penny’s hide once he caught up with her.
The woman dropped the coins into her apron pocket with one hand and waved her other toward the door. “He made a left when he ran out of here. I saw through the window. Your girl followed, both of them at a full run.”
“Do you know where he was going?”
“How should I know? I gotta get back to work now.” She turned away, but he stepped in front of her to block her way. He was going to get his thirty cents worth of information.
“Did the man say anything to you earlier, anything that might tell me where he might have gone?”
She huffed out an angry breath, but then said, “After I took his order, he asked where the telegraph office was. That was the direction he was headed when he bolted.”
“The tele…”
“Dixie!”
At the shout from the kitchen, she turned her back on Garrett and left without another word.
Garrett made a left out of Dixie’s, and he and Frank moved at a brisk pace past the feed store, wondering why Cotter would be looking for the telegraph office. It couldn’t be Bentley. If Cotter sent or received a telegraph to or from Bentley Werner, others would know about it. At the very least, the telegraph operator would know, and that would connect the two men. Cotter might not be smart enough to figure in that mistake, but Bentley was.
Garrett ran by a blacksmith who was hard at work pounding a heavy mallet against red glowing metal and sending sparks flying. At the end of the street and around the corner to the left, he found the telegraph office. Garrett almost ran down an elderly man who was coming out the door.
“Slow down, son.”
“Sorry,” Garrett said as he steadied the old guy.
“You keep running through life like that, you’ll miss all the good stuff.” The old man gave him a friendly nod and shuffled on his way.
Garrett put one hand on his gun and with ingrained caution, opened the door with the other.
The telegraph office was empty, except for the young operator. He was skinny as a rail wearing thick spectacles, hunched near the window reading a book that appeared to weigh almost as much as he did. He looked up when Garrett walked in, stood up, and removed his spectacles.
“Mornin’ sir. What can I do for you?”
Garrett identified himself, said he was looking for two people, and described both Penny and Zeke Cotter.
“Sorry, sir, the only one who’s been in here today is old Mr. Findlay. He just left.”
“Has a telegram come in for Zeke Cotter,
maybe even yesterday or the day before?”
The clerk looked through some papers in a box beside his machine. “No, sir, nothing.”
Flummoxed, Garrett nodded and said a quick thank you before stepping out of the telegraph office. He stood on the board walkway, thinking. It was entirely possible Bentley had instructed Cotter to expect a message in code. Using an alias, he could send any kind of simple telegram that wouldn’t put suspicion on either man, yet meant it was time to meet.
It still didn’t make sense. Why bother with a telegram if they’d already arranged a meeting? Could be they had a place to meet, but the time had not been set. That would make sense. It was also possible Bentley never sent his message. After all, his plan had certainly gone awry. Garrett thought on it some more.
Cotter was an able-bodied man, big, but with legs considerably longer than Penny’s. Surely, he could outrun her, lose her, and make his way back to the telegraph office. At least that’s all he hoped Cotter would do.
As much as it killed him to do nothing but wait while both Penny and Cotter were out there gunning for each other, the fact was, Cotter had specifically asked where the telegraph office was. Garrett could run all over town looking for them, missing them, or he could wait in the one place Cotter was sure to come.
Garrett turned to take stock of his surroundings. On the boardwalk along the wall were two barrels and a chair. He moved the chair to position it between the barrels. He sat himself in the chair, leaned back, and tipped his hat forward until it was low on his brow. Frank was restless too, only the dog had the luxury of letting it show, moving all around him, sniffing furiously, as if he’d caught a scent.
The dog continued his hectic pace, his nose to the ground. Garrett ignored him and waited. He hated waiting.
Chapter 11
Penny emerged from her blackness, sluggish as molasses on a cold winter’s morn. Her head hurt like the devil and for several minutes, disorientation had her thoughts scattered far and away. Then it all rushed back.
She could feel sticky warm blood between her hatless head and the dirt floor on which she lay. With her first attempt at movement, she found she was utterly helpless. A cloth tied at the back of her head covered her mouth and rough rope bound her ankles together and her hands behind her back. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know where she was. Zeke Cotter held her captive in the small shack across the street and up the hill from the telegraph office.
She’d followed him here. He thought he’d outrun her, but she wasn’t only fast wearing trousers instead of her skirts, she was sly, too. Just around the corner of a long stretch of the chase that had taken them around an entire block, she’d hidden, either in a doorway or between buildings so when he looked back he would think he’d lost her. And that’s exactly what happened.
The arrogant outlaw slowed to a brisk walk, and with a lot of ducking and hiding, she’d followed him to the telegraph office. He looked at the sign for a moment, seemed satisfied he found what he had been looking for, but he didn’t go inside. In fact, he turned his back to the shop and walked directly across the street and up the hill. When he walked around to the back of the small, wooden structure, Penny waited for a few minutes before she followed.
She’d pressed her ear against the shack,but heard nothing. Walking on the tips of her toes, she’d made her way around to the other side. She must not have been as sneaky as she’d thought, because Zeke Cotter was standing there, ready for her. Before she could point her gun, his rough hands lifted her by her collar, and he dragged her around the corner. He then slammed her against the shack a couple of times, hard enough to dislodge her hat. She’d caught a brief glimpse of his fist before the world turned black.
“I know yer awake,” he said in a voice that sounded full of trail dirt. His pungent odor filled the room. Hard dirt crunched beneath his boots as he stepped closer. The sole of one of those boots then shoved into her ribs. “Open yer eyes.”
She’d wanted more time to think first, but there was no hope for that now. Reluctantly, Penny opened her eyes to the dim and dusty room. She worked herself into a seated position, ignored the pounding in her head as well as the wave of nausea, and looked up into the face of the man who’d murdered her father.
With cruel slowness, Cotter slid his knife from the sheath at his waist and crouched down before her. He held it just inches in front of her face so she could get a good look at the big blade, surprisingly shiny and clean, and honed viciously sharp.
Penny felt dizzy at the sight but managed to stay upright. Cotter turned the knife until the blade caught a strip of sunlight slicing through one of the gaps in the boards. He paused there for an interminable moment. Once satisfied with her level of fear, the outlaw floated the knife until it touched the skin just above her shirt collar.
“If you scream,” he said in a low, raspy voice, his fetid breath tacky across her face. “I’ll slit your throat. You’ll be dead before anyone gets here. Understand?”
All too aware of the placement of his knife, Penny gave only a very slight nod. Cotter then used his free hand to yank down the gag. His rancid odor lodged in her throat along with her fear and nearly choked her. She forced herself to focus, knowing that panic meant her death. The task was next to impossible with a killer before her, his cold blade resting against her throat.
“Marshal Kincaid will catch you,” she said as soon as he leaned back, taking his knife with him. “You’ll never get away with this.”
The grin that split his scarred face was smug and made a show of his tobacco-stained teeth. He cleared his throat and spat into the corner of the small room. Penny turned away from him in disgust.
“He’ll have to catch me first,” Cotter said. Penny turned back to face him. He was still grinning. “Soon I’ll have plenty of money to git me far, far away from here.”
Cotter stood up and leaned his back against the wall, cleaning his filthy fingernails with the shiny tip of his knife. Clearly, he had no care for hygiene. He was just trying to frighten her. It was working.
Penny looked around the small shack. There were gaps in plenty of the boards that let enough sunlight in so she could see the room was empty, but for the two of them. Her hat sat on the ground a few feet away. She looked again for something she could use as a weapon. All there was to see were thick masses of dust motes pasted in strips of dull, yellow light. Not that it mattered. Even if there were something nearby she could use, the rough rope binding her hands had no give.
After a moment, Cotter held the knife before his face, turning it one way, and then the other, admiring his weapon. He moved it over until the well-tended blade caught in the sunlight again. His head tilted to the side as thoughts made a play across his marred face.
“You know,” Cotter said, staring at his knife as if in a trance. “We got lots of time still. And I always kinda thought it would be fun to have someone all to myself like this.”
Slowly, his eyes shifted from the long blade to land on Penny again, and her blood ran cold. Within those merciless depths, lurked a myriad of depravity. She twisted in the ropes binding her hands behind her back, her fingers rubbed raw at her frantic plucking.
Zeke Cotter grinned a little, just a little. The movement was small, but bursting with malevolence. “It’s no use, purty girl. I’m real good at tyin’.”
“The marshal is looking for me,” Penny said, unable to keep the quiver from her voice.
After staring at Penny for an eternal moment, he took a step and crouched before her again. He slid the knife back into its sheath, and Penny dared to hope he just meant to frighten her from testifying against him.
He looked hard into her face, with that trance-like gaze again. Then he lifted the gag back over her mouth.
Zeke Cotter stared at her as if she were a struggling bug he was about to enjoy crushing. He slid out his knife and began circling it around her face. Penny turned away from him, but he pinched her jaw hard and jerked her forward again.
“By the
time I get done with you, that marshal won’t even recognize yer face.”
Penny’s mind worked at a furious pace. She could barely move. Nobody knew where she was. It would likely be a long while before anyone even found her here.
Cotter ran the knife down her shirtfront in a manner made more frightening by his gentle touch. The blade made a long, slow whisper against cloth, as if in the planning stage of a long list of things he wanted to do. Taking his time, enjoying himself, he slid the flat of the knife down one leg, and up the other. Penny scooted away from him until her back was against the boards. Cotter laughed. He held the knife straight up then, pointed at the ceiling. As if to take certain aim, he lowered his arm until the tip of the blade pointed at Penny’s chest.
On his knees and with his free arm, he began crawling toward her, twirling the knife in a circle, enjoying his game.
He touched the tip of the blade to the hollow at the base of her throat. Penny pressed her head back against the board wall as far as she could. There was no doubt in her mind she was about to die. It wouldn’t be quick, nor would it be painless. Her mind turned to Garrett and in the midst of her terror, worried he would blame himself for this.
She wanted to tell him she was sorry for causing him so much trouble.
She wanted to know his kiss again.
Penny thought of his arms around her and drew courage from the memory so she could die bravely. Tears filled her eyes as the point of the knife pierced her skin.
Then, for the second time in as many days, Frank came to her rescue.
At a furious scratching against the wall, Zeke Cotter swung his knife around. They both jumped at the sound of a loud bark. Another bark followed, and then another, the barks growing more frantic.
“What the hell is a dog doing here?” Cotter muttered before jumping to his feet. He sheathed his knife and drew his gun.
Penny made a frantic protest through the gag, but Cotter ignored her. With a slow movement, he turned the knob, and then in a burst, he shoved the door open and stepped outside. Sunlight poured in, blinding Penny. Frank gave out a long string of barks. A dull thud followed, and then Frank was silent. Penny closed her eyes, and the tears gathered for her hero dog.