by Connie Mason
When all was in readiness, Tubbs sat down to watch while Zoey browned the meat. Zoey’s thoughts raced furiously. She knew there was no way she could empty the bottle of laudanum into the pot with Tubbs watching.
“I’ll need potatoes, carrots, turnips, and onions from the root cellar. Shall I get them or will you? And water. I’ll need fresh water.”
“I’ll get them. You stay here and see to the meat.” He walked away, complaining to himself, “I didn’t sign on to be a cook’s helper.”
The moment he left the room, Zoey pulled the laudanum from her pocket, unscrewed the cap, and poured the entire contents into the kettle with the meat. Then she hid the empty bottle in the bottom of the woodbox.
Tubbs returned directly with the ingredients Zoey had asked for. “I hope that’s all.”
“That will do, thank you.”
She peeled the vegetables, dropped them into the kettle, and moved it over the burner to cook. Then she searched through her supply of spices, hoping to find something strong enough to disguise the bitter taste of laudanum. Salt and pepper went into the kettle … a lot of pepper. Along with cinnamon, bay leaf, and a pinch of two or three other spices she had on hand.
“There,” she said, placing the cover on the kettle. “It will take several hours to cook and meld the flavors. Meanwhile, I’ll start on the pies and mix the biscuit dough.”
By six o’clock the kitchen was redolent with spices and mouthwatering aromas.
“Smells good,” Tubbs said grudgingly. “Never seen biscuits that high before.”
“You’ll be surprised at how good everything tastes,” Zoey said with confidence. “You can carry the food out to the cookhouse, and I’ll do the serving. You did tell the cook not to prepare the evening meal, didn’t you?”
“He knows. So do the hands. They’re probably all in the cookhouse now, waitin’ fer the grub. Except for the man on guard duty. He’ll eat later, if there’s anything left.”
“I’ll make sure there’s something left for him. You can take it to him after you’ve eaten.”
The hands were indeed waiting in the cookhouse for their meal. Zoey took one look at the motley crew and knew Willoughby had hired the toughest, roughest bunch of men he could find. But she’d never known a man who didn’t appreciate a good meal. She hoped the spiked stew tasted as good as it smelled. Steeling herself against the men’s lustful looks, Zoey dished out the stew into their tin plates and set the biscuits on the table. She had even brought coffee, which she poured into their mugs. Then she stood back and waited for them to devour their dinner.
They did. Every last one of them cleaned his plate and asked for more. Zoey had thoughtfully sent a plate out to the guard, which Tubbs brought back empty. As soon as the pie was cut and served, she returned to the house with the empty pot. Tubbs trailed behind her.
“I’m going to bed now, Mr. Tubbs. I hope you enjoyed the meal.”
Tubbs merely grunted. “Just remember, I’m gonna be right down here keepin’ watch, so don’t try any funny stuff.”
“You needn’t worry, Mr. Tubbs, I’m too tired to think of anything but how soft that bed is going to feel. Good night.”
Zoey paced the room anxiously, wondering how long she had to wait for the laudanum to take effect. It had worked fast on her, and she’d used enough in the stew to put out an army.
Seven o’clock passed, then eight. Two hours. Surely that was enough time. Zoey opened the door to her room and poked her head out. She saw nothing, heard nothing. Creeping down the stairs, she peered into the kitchen. Tubbs’s arms were folded on the table. His head was resting on them and he appeared to be sound asleep. Zoey made a wide circle around him and exited through the back door.
No one stopped her as she hurried to the barn. If God was with her, the hands would be sleeping soundly in their beds. She didn’t light a lamp. She had saddled her horse so many times in the past, she didn’t need a light to know what she was doing. Working quickly and silently, she finished the task and led her horse into the yard and through the gate. She smiled to herself when she saw the guard propped up against the fence, fast asleep. Once out the gate, she flung herself atop her horse’s back and turned in the direction to Roundup.
Zoey kept a steady pace; the road was well marked in the moonlight, but she didn’t want to wear out her mount or risk falling. There was no traffic on the road. With any luck her absence wouldn’t be discovered until morning.
It was close to midnight by Zoey’s reckoning when she rode down the main street of Roundup and found the marshal’s office. The single light shining through the window was a welcome sight as Zoey slid clumsily down from her horse. She could barely put one foot in front of the other as she opened the door and stumbled inside.
The deputy marshal leaped from his chair, reaching for his gun as Zoey staggered into the room.
“I need to see the marshal,” Zoey gasped.
Surprised to see a woman, he holstered his gun and steadied her as she wove from side to side. “Sit down, ma’am, you look done in. What are you doing out this time of night?”
“Never mind me, a man’s life is at stake. Are you the marshal?”
“No, ma’am, I’m the deputy. The marshal won’t be on duty until morning.”
“I’ve got to see him. It’s a matter of life and death.”
“Relax, ma’am. I’m sure this can wait until morning.”
“No, you don’t understand. This can’t wait. Get the marshal, please.”
Deputy Garwood sensed the woman’s desperation and was torn. Marshal Kinder was the only regular lawman in this part of the territory, and he was a busy man. Especially with the vigilante activity in the area. He needed his rest. On the other hand, if a man’s life was at stake, the marshal would certainly want to know about it.
“Very well, I’ll go get the marshal. It may take a while. Try to relax while I’m gone. You look as if you could use the rest.”
“Please hurry,” Zoey urged.
Zoey must have dozed off, for she awakened to the sound of voices.
“This better be important, Deputy.”
“The lady sounded desperate, Marshal.”
“I am desperate, Marshal,” Zoey said, coming to her feet with difficulty. “I’m Mrs. Delaney and my husband’s life is in danger.”
The marshal sighed wearily. “Very well. Since I’m here, you may as well tell me your problem.”
“My husband is going to be murdered,” Zoey began. “Samson Willoughby sent men to ambush and kill him before he reaches Rolling Prairie.”
“You’re sure of this?” He sounded skeptical.
“Maybe after I explain, you’ll believe me.”
It took Zoey nearly half an hour to tell her story. Her tale sounded so improbably, she feared Kinder wouldn’t believe her. The marshal didn’t interrupt once; he listened carefully as she spoke. When she told him about Willoughby confessing to the murder of her father, Kinder’s attention sharpened.
When she finished, he said, “You’ve made some serious charges against banker Willoughby. Are you sure you’re not exaggerating?”
Zoey leaped to her feet. “I’m telling the truth! He admitted to killing my father. Now he’s out to kill Pierce. If you won’t help me, I’ll do what I can myself to stop Willoughby’s men.”
She took a step and staggered. The marshal caught her and led her back to the chair. “I’m sorry. I’m still not recovered from the effects of the laudanum Willoughby fed me. And I’m … I’m expecting a child.”
“Leaping bullfrogs!” the deputy exclaimed, staring at Zoey with compassion.
The marshal’s gaze never left Zoey’s face, as if he was trying to make up his mind. Finally he said, “You must have been desperate to ride all this way in the middle of the night in your condition. Very well, I’ll lead a posse out at daybreak. Hopefully we can intercept your husband before he’s ambushed. If what you told me about Samson Willoughby is true, he’s broken several laws. I’ll want
to have a talk with him.”
“I’m going with you,” Zoey said, shrugging off her exhaustion.
“No you’re not. I’m going to put you up at the hotel. You’ve had enough excitement to last a lifetime. Women in your condition shouldn’t be gallivanting around the countryside, putting themselves in danger. I’m sure your husband will thank me. Delaney is your husband and father of your child, isn’t he?”
Zoey’s story had been so convoluted, Kinder had a difficult time sorting through it.
“He is, Marshal. And I want him alive to help raise his child.”
“I’ll do what I can, ma’am. We’ll head over Rolling Prairie way and ride toward Butte. If we’re lucky, we’ll intercept your husband before he’s ambushed. You realize we may be too late. If we are, rest assured Willoughby won’t get away with it. Come along, now, I’ll take you to the hotel.”
Zoey went along reluctantly. Every minute wasted increased the danger to Pierce.
Pierce’s horse threw a shoe two days short of Rolling Prairie. Pierce cursed his rotten luck. Now he’d have to walk to the nearest community, which was little more than a trading post, and waste precious time having Midnight shod. No matter how much he fumed and fretted over the delay, and worried about Zoey, he could do nothing to make up for the lost time.
After several hours delay, Pierce resumed his grueling pace. When it became apparent that Midnight needed a rest, Pierce stopped and dismounted, stretched out on the ground, and grabbed a few hours sleep. He took to the road again at daybreak.
Thoughts of Zoey filled his heart and mind. He knew her to be brave and resourceful, but she couldn’t possibly match Willoughby in strength or cunning. If the cur touched one hair on her beautiful head, Pierce vowed to make him suffer.
The road Pierce followed curved through thickly forested foothills, dense with underbrush. At a particularly dark spot, where only muted sunlight was allowed through the solid canopy of trees, Pierce felt a prickling along the back of his neck. He glanced behind him and saw nothing. The shot that whizzed by him an instant later came without warning. It was so close he could feel the heat as it sped past his head. Ducking instinctively, Pierce hugged Midnight’s neck as two more bullets pumped past him.
Suddenly two men appeared in the road ahead of him, materializing from the trees at the side of the trail. Pierce pulled his mount up short, clinging to the saddle as the animal reared against the cruel sawing of the reins. Yanking sharply, Pierce attempted to turn Midnight, but the ploy was thwarted by two riders closing in fast from the rear. Taking to the woods was an option that Pierce was denied. Within seconds he was surrounded by a quartet of fierce-looking thugs.
“What do you want?” Pierce asked, dancing Midnight around in a circle.
“We’ve been waitin’ for ya,” a man with a diagonal scar across his cheek said. “Yer late.”
Pierce knew this stretch of road had been the scene of many robberies by road agents, which had led to the formation of the vigilantes of Montana.
“I don’t have much money on me, but you’re welcome to what I have. I’m in a hurry, so let’s get on with it.”
Carefully he reached into his vest pocket to remove his wallet.
“Keep yer hands on the reins,” Scarface warned. “We’ll take yer money soon enough, but that ain’t all we want.”
Pierce didn’t like the way Scarface was grinning at him.
“Get down from yer horse.”
Pierce dismounted, wondering how many of the thugs he could take out before they got him. Though he would have liked to shoot his way out of this, common sense warned him to use caution. He stood beside his horse, waiting for Scarface’s next move, every muscle taut with anticipation.
“Walk toward the woods,” Scarface ordered. Scarface and his companions dismounted and walked toward Pierce.
My God, they’re going to kill me! Pierce thought wildly. They’re not just run-of-the-mill thugs, they’ve intercepted me for a purpose.
“Who sent you?” Pierce wanted to know. “Are you working for Willoughby?”
“Drop yer gun belt,” Scarface demanded. “Dead men don’t have any business askin’ questions.”
Pierce made an instant decision. He couldn’t sit still while these bastards used him for target practice. No matter the outcome, he’d not go down without a fight.
He was so fast no one saw his hand move as he pulled his gun and shot from the hip. Scarface made a gurgling sound deep in his throat and keeled over, dead before he hit the ground. Pierce’s bullet had found its mark dead center between Scarface’s eyes. It was the last thing the thugs had expected. Pierce didn’t wait around for the repercussions; he knew his aim had been true. The brief distraction had given Pierce a small window of opportunity. Without a backward glance, he whirled, dashed into the woods, and kept running. Seconds later he heard the thugs crashing through the trees after him, cursing and shouting for him to stop.
Pierce zigzagged around trees and leaped over fallen logs, his mind sorting through all the people who might want him dead. Samson Willoughby topped the list.
The thugs were getting nearer, their stray shots coming alarmingly close. Pierce heard one of the men yell for them to spread out, and he knew a moment of panic. If his body was left to rot in the woods, his brothers would never know what happened to him. And he didn’t even want to imagine what his death could mean to Zoey. With those thoughts in mind, he made another instant decision.
He turned and doubled back to the road, hoping to slip past the thugs to reach his horse. Crouching low, he crept from tree to tree, dropping to his stomach behind a fallen log when he saw one of the thugs directly in his path. The man passed by without a second glance. Pierce paused a moment to catch his breath, then sprinted toward the road. He had only a short distance to go when one of the thugs spied him and called out a warning.
“There he is! He’s doubled back toward the road. Don’t let him get away!”
Pierce broke out onto the rutted dirt road with the thugs hard on his heels. He ran toward his horse but knew he wasn’t going to make it. Daring a glance over his shoulder, he saw one of the thugs taking aim. A shot rang out; Pierce waited for the pain. When none came he took heart and kept running.
Pierce heard them before he saw them. Six riders were pounding down the road toward him. More of Willoughby’s men? he wondered dully. He glanced over his shoulder again and was surprised to see that the thugs had stopped in their tracks, staring in confusion at their fallen companion. Suddenly the thugs ran for their horses and Pierce dared to breathe again.
He watched now as the incoming riders separated the thugs from their horses, cutting off their escape. One of the riders approached Pierce. “Are you Pierce Delaney?”
Pierce saw the man’s badge and grinned. “Sure am. How did you know? You don’t know how glad I am to see you, Marshal. I heard the government was sending a lawman to the territory.”
“I’m Marshal Kinder. We’ve been looking for you. ‘Pears we got here in the nick of time.”
“I’m real curious to know what brought you to my rescue, Marshal, but I don’t have time to listen to a lengthy explanation. My wife is in trouble in Rolling Prairie, and I need to get to her without delay. These men were sent to kill me by a man named Samson Willoughby. It’s a long story, one I don’t have time for now.”
“I know all about Samson Willoughby, Mr. Delaney. My men and I are going to take these thugs to Rolling Prairie and confront Willoughby with information provided by your wife.”
Pierce forgot to breathe. “You saw my wife? Is she …” He swallowed noisily. “Is she all right?”
“Your wife is a brave woman, Mr. Delaney. She rode into Roundup in the middle of the night to seek my help. She risked her life by coming to me. Her story was bizarre, but I believed her. We had just about given up hope of finding you when we heard gunshots.”
“Where is Zoey now? Did she go home to the Circle F?”
“No, it wasn’t safe
for her there. I put her up at the hotel in Roundup. I reckon she’s still there. She was pretty groggy last night. Willoughby’s been dosing her with laudanum to keep her in line. Despite everything she’s been through, she found a way to escape Willoughby’s hirelings and reach me. You’re a lucky man, Mr. Delaney.”
“I’m beginning to think you’re right, Marshal, though I wouldn’t have believed it twenty minutes ago. If you don’t need me anymore, I’d like to go to my wife.”
“I’d like you and your wife to remain in Roundup until the mess with Willoughby is cleared up in Rolling Prairie. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to return to the Circle F.”
“Gladly, Marshal,” Pierce said with a grin. “Zoey and I need some time to ourselves, anyway. We never did have a proper honeymoon.”
Mounting smoothly, Pierce gave the marshal a cocky salute and rode off.
Chapter 20
Pierce reached Roundup several hours later. He stopped first at the livery to drop off his horse. The poor animal had been ridden hard and long and had earned a few days of special attention.
“Take good care of him,” Pierce instructed the hostler as he patted Midnight’s velvety nose. “I’m new in town. Can you direct me to the hotel?”
“Two blocks east, turn left. Can’t miss it, it’s the only hotel in town.”
Pierce flung his saddlebags over his shoulder and started off down the street. He was desperate to see Zoey, to feel her in his arms, to kiss her sweet lips, to caress and love her. They had fought a long, hard battle to be together, and nothing was going to part them again.
A good share of their struggle, Pierce realized, was due to his unwillingness to believe in Zoey. His distrust of women had crippled him emotionally and placed his heart in limbo. Then Zoey had come along and made a mockery of the beliefs and prejudices that had caused him to be bitterly opposed to marriage. If he hadn’t met Zoey he would not have found the perfect woman for him.
The hotel clerk was reluctant at first to give out Zoey’s room number. The marshal had instructed the clerk to keep an eye on Mrs. Delaney, and he wasn’t going to give her into the care of a saddle tramp, which was exactly what Pierce looked like. His clothing was coated with several days worth of trail dirt; he was unshaven and needed a haircut. It took some fancy talking on Pierce’s part to convince the clerk that he was indeed Zoey’s husband.