“Cal!” Sally started to bend down to see to him when powerful arms were wrapped around her. She felt a cloth being pressed over her nose and mouth. She fought against it and couldn’t help but take several deep breaths. She was aware of a cloying, sweet smell . . . then nothing.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mule Gap
Lute Cruthis and Boots Zimmerman were patrolling First Street when they saw someone coming out of the Silver Dollar Saloon.
“Hey, Boots. Ain’t that Melvin Varner?”
“I don’t know,” Zimmerman said. “I ain’t never seen ’im before.”
“I have. Me ’n him ’n some others done a job together back in Kansas a couple years ago. He got caught for it ’n when to jail, but I heard he escaped, ’n here he is.”
“Think they’s a reward on ’im?”
“Yeah, I know there is.”
Varner had just rolled himself a cigarette and was lighting it. He was unaware of the two deputies approaching him.
“Hello, Varner,” Cruthis said.
Varner looked up in surprise at being addressed by name. At first there was an expression of concern on his face until he recognized Cruthis. Then he smiled. “Lute! I’ll be damned. It’s been a coon’s age since I last seen you. What are you doing in these—” Varner paused in midsentence when he saw what was on front of Cruthis’s shirt. “You’re a star packer now?”
“That’s right. ’N you’re under arrest.”
Varner held his hand out. “No, now, you don’t want to do that to an old friend. What you might not know is I kilt me a guard when I broke outta jail back in Kansas. If I go back there I’ll more ’n likely hang.”
“I know. That’s why they’s a thousand-dollar reward out for you,” Cruthis said.
“Reward? What would that mean to you? If you’re the law, you can’t collect.”
“Yeah, we can. We got us a special deal,” Cruthis said. “Draw, Varner.”
Even as Cruthis said the word, he was already reaching for his gun.
“No!” Varner shouted, but seeing Cruthis start his draw, Varner had no choice. He went for his gun and though Cruthis beat him, he waited for a second to let Varner clear leather before he shot.
Varner went down with the gun in his hand.
At the sound of the shot, several people rushed out of the saloon, and a couple men on the other side of the street crossed over to the scene.
“What happened?” someone asked.
“This is Melvin Varner,” Cruthis said, still holding the smoking gun in his hand. “He’s wanted for murder. When I tried to arrest him, he drew his gun.” Cruthis pointed to the gun in Varner’s hand.
“Damn, Deputy, you was lucky you beat ’im,” another said.
“I seen the whole thing,” Zimmerman said. “It’s just like Lute said. He told Varner he was under arrest, ’n next thing you know, Varner was drawing on ’im.”
On the Pinkhampton Pike, four miles south of Mule Gap
Smoke and Pearlie had camped alongside the South Platte River, about one hundred yards off the Pinkhampton Pike. The coffee had already been made, and as Smoke washed his face in water dipped from the river, Pearlie was looking after six pieces of bacon twitching in the pan over the fire. There were no eggs, but yesterday they had bought a loaf of bread and it would be fried up in the bacon grease to complete their breakfast meal.
“What time will the stage be comin’ through?” Pearlie asked.
“The way station is halfway between here and Douglas, and I expect they got underway by seven this morning,” Smoke said. “They should be coming by here at about eight.
“Mrs. Condon is carrying fifteen thousand dollars in cash, is she?”
“No, she’s carrying a draft from the bank of Big Rock for that amount. It wouldn’t do anyone else any good to steal it.”
Pearlie nodded. “That’s good.”
Taking the bacon out, Smoke dropped some bread slices into the grease, then he laughed.
“What is it?”
“Can you imagine what Sally would say if she saw me eating something like this? She’s convinced that bacon grease is bad for you.”
“Now, how can anything that tastes that good be bad for you?” Pearlie asked.
They ate in silence for a moment.
“I hope Cal is havin’ hisself a fine time up there in New York,” Pearlie said.
“I expect he is. For someone like Cal, seeing the city for the first time, it has to be exciting for him.”
New York City
“Get up!”
Cal felt someone kicking him in the side.
“Get up. I’ll not be havin’ it said that Mickey Muldoon has drunks sleepin’ on the streets on his beat. Get up.”
Cal was kicked again. “Ow! Stop kicking me! What are you kicking me for?” He raised up on his hands and knees and saw that it was daylight.
What was he doing on the sidewalk like this?
“Are you still drunk? Do you think you can for findin’ your way home? Or do I need to put ye in jail?”
“What do you mean, put me in jail? Put me in jail for what?” Cal stood up and saw that the obnoxious man yelling at him was a police officer. He noticed a tenderness just above his ear, and putting his hand there, winced with pain from the contact. “I’m not drunk.” He pulled his hand away and looked at it. Blood showed on the tips of his fingers.
“Here, let me take a look, lad,” the policeman asked, his entire demeanor changing at the sight of the blood. “Aye, ’tis a good lick you have there. Who done it?”
“I don’t know,” Cal said. “They came up behind me an’ . . . Mrs. Jensen! Where is Mrs. Jensen?”
“Who? Lad, when I came upon you a few minutes ago, you were layin’ there all alone. ’Twas thinkin’, I was, that you be drunk. Who is the lady you be askin’ about?”
“Mrs. Jensen. She was with me, and we were goin’ back to the hotel when—” He stopped in midsentence. “The man with the gun knew her. How did he know her? And what did he mean when he said he had plans for her?”
“A man with a gun? Begorra, ’n you said nothing about a man with a gun. He knew the lady, you say? I think you said her name was Jensen?”
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Kirby Jensen. Her husband is one of the biggest ranchers in all of Colorado, is all,” Cal said. “But we’re in New York, so how did he know Miz Sally’s name?”
“Mrs. Sally? Here now ’n ’twas the name Jensen you told me.”
“Yes, Mrs. Jensen. But her first name is Sally, ’n that’s what me ’n Pearlie call her. Only, to be respectful, we call her Miz Sally.”
“If this Mrs. Jensen is a rich woman from Colorado, what is she doin’ in New York?”
“She come here to see some old friends, ’n she brought me with her ’cause I had never been to New York before.”
“So, where is this lady now?” Officer Muldoon asked. “How come it is that she left you lyin’ on the sidewalk?”
“That’s just it, Deputy. Miz Sally would never just leave me there, lessen somethin’ happened to her.”
The policeman shook his head. “What’s your name?”
“Cal. Uh, Cal Wood.”
“Sure ’n tell me now, Mr. Wood, would you be for havin any way of collaboratin’ this story you’re tellin’ me?”
“Collaboratin’? What does that mean?”
“Is there any way you can prove to me what you’re saying? My first thought is that you was drunk last night. All right. I can see that you was hit in the head, but how do I know you didn’t just get drunk ’n get into a fight?”
“Because I’m tellin’ you I wasn’t drunk.”
“Is there any way you can prove that story to me?”
“No, I told you, we aren’t from here. We’re from Colorado ’n I don’t know anyone here who can—” Cal paused in midsentence again. “Wait a minute. Andrew MacCallister.”
“Who?”
“Andrew MacCallister ’n his sister Rosanna. They’re famou
s actors, and we went to see their play last night. They can tell you about Mrs. Jensen.”
Officer Muldoon laughed. “Lad, are you tryin’ to tell me now, that just because you was in the audience of a play they was in, that they can verify your story? Sure ’n there must’ve been two or three hundred people watchin’ the play last night. How are they goin’ to be able to pick you out like that?”
“Miz Sally ’n I went backstage after the play to see them.”
“You went backstage to see them, did you? Well then, maybe they can and maybe they can’t. I expect lots of people go backstage after a play,” the policeman replied. He shook his head. “But ’tis tellin’ you right now, I’ll not be for botherin’ those people.”
“You’ve got to, Deputy! Don’t you see? The men who did this to me have captured Mrs. Jensen! I don’t know what they have in mind for her, but it can’t be good.”
“All right. Come with me, then, ’n I’ll be for lettin’ you tell yer story to the desk sergeant. He’ll be the one makin’ the decision as to what should be done with you.”
* * *
Still a little dizzy and with the knot above his ear still very painful, Cal followed the policeman back to the Midtown South Precinct.
“Sergeant, I’ll be for turnin’ this man over to you,” the policeman who had awakened Cal said. “Passed out on the street, he was, when I found ’im, ’n I was thinkin’ that he was drunk. Turns out he was hit on the head ’n knocked out.”
“That may be, Muldoon, but why are you bringin’ ’im to me? Are you plannin’ on puttin’ ’im in jail?”
“No, but he’s got ’im a story I think maybe you ought to hear. Tell the sergeant your story, Mr. Wood.”
Cal told the story of coming to New York for Mrs. Jensen to visit with some old friends and Cal to see the city for the first time.
“What is about New York that would make a man come all the way from Texas, just to pay us a visit?” the desk sergeant asked.
“Colorado,” Cal corrected. “And I just wanted to see the big city.”
“Well, last night ’twould appear that you saw more than you wanted.”
“Lad, tell the sergeant about them famous actors,” Muldoon said.
“Wait,” the desk sergeant said. “’Tis thinkin’ I am that we should get Lieutenant Kilpatrick to listen to the lad’s story.”
After a short wait, Lieutenant Kilpatrick joined the discussion. He was a big man with red hair and a red mustache.
“All right, Mr. Wood, go on with your story,” the lieutenant said when he was told why he was summoned.
Cal told about seeing the play and going backstage to meet all the actors and actresses afterwards.
“And you’re saying that if we talk to the MacCallisters, they’ll collaborate everything you’re telling us?” Lieutenant Kilpatrick asked.
There was that word again . . . collaborate. “Yeah,” Cal said. “They will.”
“Just because you happened to go backstage to see them after the play?”
“Yes, sir. Well, not just that. Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister are very good friends of Miz Sally’s. They’re the ones that gave us the tickets to see the play. We were supposed to have supper with ’em last night, only we got attacked by the four men before we could do it.”
“Four men, you say?”
“Yes, sir. There was one man in front of us. He was holdin’ a gun. And three who had been trailin’ us.”
“Lieutenant, if there were four men, I’d say it be a bit more than a mere street burglary,” Muldoon said.
“I think you may be right, Muldoon”
“It must’ve been one of them that hit me. And when I came to this morning, Miz Sally was gone. They took her.”
“Do you have any idea why they would take her?”
“No, sir, I don’t. But I do remember that the man with the gun called her by name.”
“Did this woman, Mrs. Sally . . .”
“Jensen,” Cal corrected. “Miz Jensen.”
“Yes. Did Mrs. Jensen know the man?”
“No, sir, she didn’t.”
Lieutenant Kilpatrick, who was the watch commander, stroked his chin. “Hmm, how would someone in New York know someone from Colorado?”
“She isn’t from Colorado,” Cal said. “I think she’s originally from someplace like Boston or something. And she’s even lived here in New York.”
“I thought you said she was from Colorado,” the desk sergeant said, confused by Cal’s response.
“Yes, sir, she is. That is, she is now. She’s married to Smoke Jensen, who is one of the biggest ranchers in the whole state.”
“If her husband is a rich man, maybe somebody grabbed her to hold her for ransom,” Muldoon suggested.
“And would you be for tellin’ me, Mickey Muldoon, how ’tis that any of our brigands would be knowin’ that?” the desk sergeant replied.
“The lad said that the man with the gun knew her name,” Muldoon said. “If he was for knowin’ her name, don’t you think, Sergeant Keogh, that he might also know that her husband was rich?”
“Aye, that could be the case,” Lieutenant Kilpatrick said. “But before we go any further with this, I want to hear from the actors if they verify the lad’s story.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Sally awakened, she found herself on a bed with her arms stretched over her head and tied by her wrists to the headboard. She didn’t know where she was, but she was fairly certain that she was in the middle of a business district. She could smell cabbage and corned beef and had been smelling it all day as if it was being cooked for a restaurant, rather than in someone’s personal kitchen. She had also heard passing trains on elevated tracks, as well as the hollow clopping sound of hooves on the paver blocks of the street.
She had come to in the middle of the night, realizing then that she had been put out by chloroform being applied over her nose and mouth. She had not been hurt, but she was very uncomfortable and her back hurt because she couldn’t change positions. Rags had been stuffed into her mouth in order to keep her from screaming.
She had no idea what time it was, but based on the way sunshine was streaming in through an incredibly dirty window, she believed it had to be midmorning. She had not eaten since lunch the previous day, but being hungry was not her greatest concern at the moment.
The door opened, and someone came in. This, she knew, was Kelly, because he had been in to check on her before.
“How are you getting along, Mrs. Jensen?”
Sally made a few sounds, but because of the gag, she couldn’t actually talk.
“Oh, well now, you can’t be for answerin’ me with the gag in your mouth, can you?” Kelly said. “Would you like me to take it out?”
She nodded.
“You won’t be for doin’ a lot of screamin’ now, will you? ’Cause to tell you the truth, in this neighborhood screamin’ won’t do you no good, ’n it’ll just piss off Gallagher. He ain’t no one you want to be for pissin’ off. Do you promise not to scream?”
Sally nodded again, and Kelly removed the gag then took the rag from her mouth. She took several gasping breaths, then tried to spit out the few pieces of cloth that had gotten into her mouth.
“Would you like a drink of water?” Kelly asked.
“Yes, please.”
He held a cup of water to her lips, but she drank with some difficulty, unable to lift her head very far from the bed.
“’Tis thinkin’ I am, that you might be a bit hungry. Would you be for wanting some cabbage, Mrs. Jensen?”
“How am I going to eat if I’m tied to the bed like this?”
“Aye now, ’tis a good question. I’ll be for fetchin’ you some food ’n then I’ll be right back to untie the ropes.”
As Sally waited for Kelly to return, she heard an elevated train pass by outside. It seemed to be on the same relative level, and she realized that she was on one of the upper floors of the building. She had no idea what her capt
ors wanted with her. They had not robbed her, nor had they mistreated her in any way, other than in keeping her as a prisoner. She was also worried about Cal. What had happened to him? Was he also a prisoner?
“Here you are, Mrs. Jensen,” Kelly said, coming back into the room. He was carrying a plate. “Cabbage ’n boiled potatoes for you.” He set the plate on a small table then leaned over the bed to untie the ropes.
“Thank you,” Sally said. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, she began rubbing her wrists. “How do you know my name? And why am I here?”
“The reason we know your name is ’cause Gallagher told me ’n O’Leary ’n Brockway what it was. Only, I’m not for knowin’ why ’tis that we’re for holdin’ you here.”
“You mean you are holding me prisoner for no reason?”
“I wouldn’t be for sayin’ that now, Mrs. Jensen. ’Tis just that I’m not for knowin’ what the reason may be.”
“Where is Cal?”
“Where is who?”
“Cal is the young man who was with me. Where is he?”
“I don’t know where he is. We just left him there.”
“Is he dead?”
“If he is, we ain’t the ones that done it. All we done is give ’im a good knock on the head so as to keep him out of the way when we took you.”
“Poor Cal. He must be worried sick.”
Kelly laughed. “Here you be a prisoner, ’n ’tis the lad you was with that you be worried about.”
Rex Theater
“Oh, heavens!” Rosanna MacCallister gasped.
“Someone has taken Sally?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Cal had been brought to the Rex Theater by Lieutenant Kilpatrick, who wanted to hear for himself if Cal’s story could be verified. And, truth to tell, he also wanted to meet the famous brother-and-sister acting duo.
“So you are willing to corroborate this man’s story?” the lieutenant asked.
“I can’t speak to what has happened to her, because I wasn’t there,” Rosanna said. “But I will say that Sally Jensen is a friend of mine . . . a very good friend. And Mr. Wood is correct in saying that she is one of the most prominent ladies in Colorado.”
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