Jules smiled. “Sorry, but based on what I just heard, you’re a little quick on the draw.”
The men laughed again. Duggett stepped forward menacingly. He wasn’t huge in girth, but he was tall with a muscular frame. Jules guessed he was in his early twenties. His meaty hands were clenched fists, ready to deck her.
He might have had power on his side, but he was slow. Duggett swung at her, but Jules dodged the first blow easily. She stepped back as he tried a right cross. She weaved in quickly and punched him in the kidney. He groaned, clutching his side.
“That was for shoving Miranda,” Jules said.
His face red with rage, he rushed forward, vaguely resembling an angry bull. She wanted to pull out a red cape and give the town a show, maybe charge admission. Instead, she stepped aside, tripping him. When he fell to the ground, she rushed up and kicked him, hard, in the crotch.
“And that was for Tina,” Jules said.
She watched Duggett clutch himself and roll on the dusty ground. Jules’ sense of satisfaction lasted until she noticed that Duggett’s compatriots had all drawn their weapons. Apparently they felt it was fine for their friend to punch a defenseless prostitute, but were upset by a woman beating him at his own game. This was going to end in bloodshed after all. Still lying on the ground, Miranda’s eyes widened in fear. Jules was tempted to tell her “told you so,” but what would be the point?
Instead, she caught Luke’s eye. He was standing behind the men, still by the saloon. He had wisely stayed out of the fray. He met her gaze, his eyes asking a silent question.
Jules figured she could take one out before he knew what hit him, maybe two if they were poor shots. Odds were Luke could pick off the third.
Still, it was a risk. This close to the others, the odds were that she’d die—but there were worse ways to go than a gunfight.
She made a move to draw her gun, but heard a man clear his throat loudly behind her.
“And what have we going on here?” a familiar voice asked.
Jules smiled. Apparently today wasn’t her day to die.
“Sheriff Garrett,” she said, without turning around. “I believe you will find these men were molesting one of Ms. Rita’s employees. My sister took it upon herself to intervene, and things did not go as they expected.”
“Gentlemen, you know the law,” the sheriff said. “All guns are to be checked into my office as soon as you enter town limits.”
The men had the good sense to put away their weapons and look chagrined. Luke stepped back into the shade of the saloon, looking inconspicuous. Jules was starting to appreciate how good he was at that.
“Well, she didn’t stow her weapons,” one of them complained.
“Trent Castle’s daughters have special dispensation,” Garrett replied.
The men’s shocked expressions said it all. One of them started apologizing while the other two started to gather up Duggett. Even three years missing, Trent Castle inspired fear in most men. Jules wondered how much longer that would last.
“Why don’t you men come see me at the jail? You can pay the fine and be on your way,” Garrett said.
Jules spared one more look at the moaning Duggett on the ground. All the fight seemed to have left him.
She lost interest in him and turned to find Miranda helping Tina to her feet. The prostitute gave her a hurried thank-you and ran down the road, her face already starting to show the black eye.
“Happy?” Jules asked her sister. “You nearly got us killed.”
Miranda looked at her angrily. “You would have let them beat her up.”
Jules nodded. “Yes, and you should too. The world’s a big place, Mira. It’s not our job to go around righting all its wrongs.”
“What about the ones right in front of us?” Miranda asked.
This was an old argument, and Jules was tired of having it. She turned to walk in the direction of Rita’s, gesturing for Luke to follow.
“You weren’t always like this,” Miranda said behind her after they’d gone two dozen paces or so. “I remember a girl who saved an orphan in the desert. I remember her very well. She insisted to her father that they take the girl with them.”
Jules didn’t look back. “You didn’t even speak English then,” she said. “You couldn’t have known what I was saying.”
“I knew, believe you me,” Miranda replied. “What happened to that girl, Jules? When did she change into her father?”
Jules walked away without an answer.
Chapter Nine
“Laura Bullion was the most famous woman in Butch Cassidy’s Wild Bunch gang. She often dressed like a man, reputedly could shoot an Ace of Hearts from twenty paces, and was a key figure in several of the gang’s train robberies. After she retired from her life of crime, she lived out the rest of her life as an interior designer.”
— Jessie Berry, “Overlooked Women of History,” 2016
Rita Constanza greeted Miranda warmly when she entered the brothel, drawing her into an embrace, giving her a kiss on both cheeks.
“Tina tells me she has you to thank for saving her,” she said.
Jules scanned the brothel, which was crowded with customers, looking for her contact. She didn’t have a description, but she had a hunch she’d know him when she saw him. Several men were at the bar, drinking, while the resident girls tried to coax them upstairs. But no one looked like her man.
Miranda smiled awkwardly, pulling away from Rita after a moment.
“My sister helped too,” Miranda said weakly.
Rita cast a cold look at Jules, her eyes narrowing. “I heard.”
Rita had once been beautiful, and though age had made some inroads, she was still attractive. She insisted she was forty-five, but Jules figured that was off by at least a decade. She had long, brown hair, but Jules could see the streaks of gray at the roots.
Her dark red dress emphasized her brown skin, while her costume jewelry drew attention to her bosom. She was probably rich enough to own real gemstones—she owned half the real estate in town—but she’d never openly flaunt something so easily robbed.
It had crossed Jules mind once or twice that Rita might be her mother. Her father had frequented this place often enough when in town, and Rita’s long presence here would line up with the timing of Jules’ birth.
But if she was, she had never betrayed a hint of motherly affection on Jules. If anything, she had acted jealously around her, as if Jules were a romantic rival for Trent’s affections, rather than just his daughter.
It was possible that Rita might know her mother’s identity, but Jules would never ask. She couldn’t allow her that kind of power.
“If you ever want to take up an honest profession, chica, you let me know,” Rita said to Miranda.
“Not sure lying on your back all day counts as honest,” Jules said.
“Beats thieving.”
“If you say so.”
For the first time, Rita seemed to notice Luke behind her.
“Oh, my,” she said. “Come in, come in. What kind of girl are you interested in? I’m afraid we don’t have anyone of your persuasion, but if—”
“Save it,” Jules snapped. “He’s with me.”
She gave Luke a speculative look. “More’s the pity, but honey, if you decide to come back—”
“Is he here?” Jules asked.
Rita sighed. “In the gaming room,” she said. “You’re lucky I like your sister. He tried to leave an hour ago, but I roped in some poor sods for a few more rounds.”
Jules tipped her hat and walked past. She maneuvered through the tables to a room at the back, followed by Miranda and Luke. It was separated by a set of batwing doors, which helped give it a private feel.
Inside, there were three men sitting around a large oval table, playing cards. Jules’ eye was immediately drawn to the one at the head of the table. He was well-dressed in a white button-down western shirt. He appeared to be in his early fifties, with black hair, spectacles, a
nd a long handlebar mustache. He wore an expensive black bowler hat on his head, even though he was inside.
He raised his head as she walked in, his eyes regarding her coolly.
“I expected you yesterday,” he said in a clipped British accent. “You’re late.”
The other two men looked her way without recognition. From the scruffiness of their clothing and the whiff of alcohol about them, she guessed they were Rita’s “poor sods.” Whatever Rita said, she hadn’t kept the men here for Jules’ sake. The man at the head of the table practically smelled of money, and Rita wanted to keep him here as long as possible. A serving girl entered a moment later and laid down a glass of whiskey in front of him.
“A pleasure to meet you too,” Jules said.
All Jules knew about him was his name—Ethan Graves. Not long after her father disappeared, she’d begun sending out word among her usual contacts about a “vase,” presumably one that would be worth a lot of money. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was the only clue her father had given her. She’d come up empty-handed. Nobody knew anything about a vase.
That abruptly changed three months ago. By then, she’d stopped looking, but one of her old contacts remembered her request and had passed on word about a British gentleman who’d mentioned he was searching these parts for a “stolen vase.” The word was it was worth a lot of money and he was putting together a crew to take it back. She’d endeavored to get in touch, attempting to apply for the job. She ended up connecting with intermediaries who said their contact was interested, but only if she could prove herself by obtaining three items first. Once she finished that, she would meet a Mr. Ethan Graves at Rita’s brothel in Stanton on May 7. Jules had spent the past few months grabbing the items, finishing with the blue pouch at the bank. The whole thing could end up being a wild goose chase, but something in her gut told her it wasn’t. Or maybe she was just desperate for any intelligence on her father.
Now she was here and the man looked at her like she was a bug on his polished, black shoe.
“Fancy a game?” Graves asked.
He had 13 spades laid out on the table in front of him, a rectangular metal box with a deck of cards inside it and what looked like a large abacus on the side of the table. Jules recognized the game immediately—Faro, by far the most popular card game in the territory.
One of the other men started to stand, mumbling something about needing to get home, but Graves suddenly reached forward and grabbed his hand.
“Not now, my good man,” he said. “We’re just getting started, aren’t we?”
The man blanched under Graves’ grip and rapidly sat back down. Graves withdrew his hand. Jules glanced back to see Miranda scowling. She disliked this man as much as Jules did. The difference was Jules tried not to let it show. Luke looked on impassively, raising a single eyebrow in an unspoken question to her. She gave a barely perceptible shake of the head. She knew violence wasn’t going to solve this problem. To find her father, she unfortunately needed this man.
“I’d rather get down to business, if it’s all the same to you,” Jules said, turning her attention back to her host.
Graves looked up again. “But it’s not the same to me. You’ve kept me waiting, and I don’t care for that. So I’ll keep it simple. Beat me at cards, the job is yours. You and I can hunt for the vase together. Lose, and I walk away with the three trinkets I’ve had you fetch for me.”
Jules felt anger bubbling up, and squashed it down. Graves was clearly trying to rile her, and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how easy it was to do.
“No deal,” she replied evenly. “Those ‘trinkets’ are mine. Presumably you need them or you wouldn’t have had me pick them up. And I’m not giving them away in a card game.”
Graves gave her a thin-lipped smile and Jules was reminded of something predatory, like a wolf watching prey lope across the prairie.
“Which of us needs the other more, I wonder? You walk away from this and you’ll never find the vase. You’ll never find your father.”
Jules tried not to let the surprise show in her face. She’d never mentioned her father to any of Graves’ contacts, and she hadn’t known if he was involved in whatever mysterious quest her father had embarked on three years ago. It appeared now that he had been.
“This is about Father?” Miranda asked. Jules held up a hand in a “be quiet” gesture, but never took her eyes off of Graves. He looked briefly at Miranda and then back at Jules.
He wore no obvious weapons of any kind, not even a revolver at his side, but something about the way he stared at Jules made her rethink her entire strategy. This wasn’t a man to work with. He was one to flee from. But what choice did she have? Three years of searching and this was the only lead to her father’s whereabouts.
“Oh yes,” Graves said. “I first met Trent Castle three years ago. He approached me asking questions about whether I knew of a certain vase. I was already on its trail myself, and was quite pleased to find he was as well. I hired him to obtain it for me.”
“You should have mentioned you knew him,” Jules said.
“My dear, there’s only so much one wants to say through flunkies,” he replied. “I assumed this would be something you’d like to discuss in person.”
Jules stared at the man, trying to assess whether he was lying. Trent had never indicated he was working with anyone else. He certainly hadn’t said it was a job.
If her father had been on a job, he should have taken his gang with him. Why had he gone off alone and in secret to find it? It wasn’t his way.
Jules didn’t trust Graves, but she’d done too much to get to this point to dismiss what he was saying out of hand.
“What happened to him?” Jules asked.
Graves smiled again. “Play cards with me and find out. You can tell a lot about a man—and a woman, I suppose—in how they play cards. Time to ante up.”
Miranda put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go,” she said quietly.
Jules was sorely tempted. Her instincts were screaming at her to leave. She’d met enough snake-oil salesmen to know one when she spotted one. Graves had better clothes and diction than others she stumbled across, but he was of the same stripe.
Yet to walk away now was to surrender her father. It would mean the train job and the bank robbery were wasted efforts. She wasn’t ready to leave quite yet.
“I’ll play,” she said.
Graves smiled broadly while Miranda sighed behind her in disappointment. “Excellent,” he said. “We’ll keep it short, just a single deck, from soda to hock, as they say. But first, let’s see my merchandise.”
Jules would have normally quibbled about it being “his,” but wanted to move this show along. Jules fished out a silver key, and a small blue pouch from her pockets. She nodded at Miranda, who produced a small iron box from the pocket of her dress. Jules laid all three on the table.
The other two men at the table watched the exchange warily, looking like they wanted to be anywhere other than here. Jules wondered how much money Graves had already taken from them, but she knew why they hadn’t left. They were clearly afraid.
Graves reached out and picked up all three items. He examined the silver key first, holding it close to his face and examining it closely.
“Well, that’s good,” he said, putting it back down on the table before him. “It’s the genuine article.”
“Did you think I would trick you?” Jules asked.
“Well, you are a thief, and a good one by reputation,” Graves replied.
She wasn’t sure how he knew it was the real item, but God knew she’d gone to enough trouble to get it. Attempting a counterfeit would have been a good idea, but Jules hadn’t had enough detail about the key to try it. She didn’t even know what it should be used for.
The man opened the iron box and held up what looked like an identical key, except this one was made of iron. It looked ugly beside its companion, but the man appeared satisfied.
The man picked up the blue pouch next, and opened it. His eyes widened as he did so. He pulled out another key. This one wasn’t silver or iron, but yellow gold. It was probably worth a fortune. The two other gamblers in the room stared at it in fascination.
“Well done,” Graves said. He looked up at her. “You’ve exceeded my expectations. Not an easy thing to do.”
“I’m ecstatic,” Jules said dryly. “Can we get on with this please?”
“Of course,” he said.
Graves picked up the deck of cards from the box and shuffled them quickly. Jules got a brief look at the back of the cards, which had the drawing of an Egyptian pharaoh on them. Graves put the deck into the metal box and looked at her expectantly.
“You know the game?”
Of course she did. Jules preferred poker to Faro, mostly because there was more strategy involved. Either way, Jules had long ago faced an uncomfortable truth—she was terrible at gambling.
Her father had tried his best to teach her, even hired tutors, just as he had for her education. But though she could grasp the rules easily enough, she had little instinct for games. Maybe it was because some part of her found them frivolous. She recognized some men could amass fortunes playing cards, but for her it was the most boring way possible. Better to steal it.
Jules also just seemed to have bad luck. After she lost her fiftieth game of poker, her father finally gave up. She was a lost cause, at least when it came to gambling. Trent didn’t take it hard. Jules was skilled in most every other way imaginable, including riding, shooting, strategizing and, when necessary, killing. She would have rather faced Graves in a game of poker because she was at least good at bluffing. But there was no equivalent in Faro, which largely relied on the luck of the draw.
It was a deceptively simple game. Players bid on what denomination of cards would be drawn by the dealer. The first card drawn was the dealer’s, which meant all bets on that card went to him. The second card paid out to the players on a 1 to 1 basis. Each two cards drawn constituted a turn. Near the end of the deck, players could bet on the order of the remaining three cards. If they got it right, they won four times the stake.
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