Then, all at once, like a picture coming to life, men began pouring out of the saloons and other folks began appearing in shop doorways and windows. Beartooth came slowly walking up the street, reloading his Winchester as he strode along. Firestick, too, took time to reload his .44 before stepping out into the street and moving toward the fallen men. Moosejaw was wrapped in a big embrace from Daisy before he gently disengaged himself and also moved toward where the bodies were sprawled.
Only when he heard one of the onlookers say, “Look, the deputy’s wounded” did Firestick realize Beartooth had been hit. There was a tear in his shirtsleeve, high up near his left shoulder, and some fresh blood was trailing down to the crook of his arm.
“It’s nothing,” Beartooth was quick to scoff. “Just a bullet burn, barely broke the skin. That crazy Mexican throwing those wild shots before he went down almost got lucky when he threw one my way.”
“Too close for comfort,” muttered Firestick. His gaze swept again over the sprawled bodies. Through gritted teeth he added, “They weren’t much, but by damn, they stood their ground and made a fight of it tryin’ to finish the job they took on. You can’t deny ’em that.”
His gaze lifted and happened to fall on Earl Sterling, who’d pushed his way to the front edge of the crowd. He was ashen faced and somewhat disheveled looking. His eyes went from Firestick to the men on the ground, then back to Firestick again. “My God, Marshal, I . . . I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Don’t say a damn word to me,” Firestick growled.
Sterling’s eyes widened. He looked bewildered.
“Four men dead and one of my deputies wounded,” Firestick went on, his voice grating. “Once again on account of that . . . that troublemakin’ blonde you hired, Sterling. And we both know this ain’t the first blood spilled over her. She’s poison, but you’re the only one who can’t see it. She’s makin’ a blasted fool out of you!”
“Take it easy, Firestick,” Beartooth said.
Sterling looked like he wanted to say something but dared not.
Firestick wasn’t done. “Well, you can let her make a fool out of you if you want. But I’ve had it. One more piece of trouble related to her—and I mean if she as much as sneezes and gives somebody a cold—I’m runnin’ her pretty little ass out of town. And if you don’t like it, you can make dust with her!”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Beartooth said, this time putting a hand on Firestick’s shoulder and turning him away from Sterling.
“That’s enough for everybody,” said Moosejaw, joining in also to try and calm things down. “All of you clear out now. Get home to supper, go on about your business . . . If you want to do something useful, somebody send for the undertaker.”
CHAPTER 18
Saturday morning dawned bright and clear and in no time at all Buffalo Peak was bustling with activity in preparation for the upcoming big event. Outlying families were already arriving in wagons or on horseback, prepared to sleep over with friends in town or, in some cases, to camp on the outskirts—whatever it took to be certain not to miss a minute of the festival.
Through this busy throng, Charlie Gannon and Josh Stallworth strolled slowly along, taking in the sights and making plans for what they’d come here to do. The previous evening, when the trouble broke out, they’d been up in the loft over the general store playing red dog with a couple other drifters who were spreading their bedrolls up there. By the time they got down to the street, everything was over and the deputies were shooing everybody back to their own businesses. Not wanting to draw attention to themselves and not having a particularly strong interest in somebody else’s bad luck anyway, they’d retreated back to the loft.
This morning, they’d taken breakfast in a little café where the portions were generous and the prices reasonable. The talk around them had been a mix of embellishments about the shoot-out and equally excited chatter about the festival. Again aiming not to draw attention to themselves, Charlie and Josh merely listened and took their time over their meals.
Now, all but invisible in the scurry of people coming and going up and down the length of Trail Street, they were just killing time and refining their plans.
“Seems to me,” Charlie was saying, “if we’re gonna go ahead and do this thing, then makin’ our move right in the middle of these big doin’s that have got everybody so excited might work in our favor.”
“How so?” Josh wanted to know.
“Well, reason it out. There’s gonna be gobs of people around, all payin’ attention to what their own little groups are doin’ and at the same time folks switchin’ back and forth between groups and different activities. So, once we’ve picked out the gals we want to take for wives, we just wait for the right time when they’re on the move—separated from whatever group they’ve been with, on their way to somewhere else, see—and then snap! we close in. We take ’em to where we’ll have our horses and everything waitin’, and we can be miles out of town before anybody even figures out they’re missin’.”
Josh looked puzzled. “But why won’t they be missed right away?”
“Because of the crowd size and everybody driftin’ back and forth and movin’ around. Don’t you see?” Charlie spread his hands for emphasis. “If a gal ain’t in one place, everybody there will think she’s off visitin’ with some other friends or whatever. If she ain’t with the other friends, they’ll think she’s with the first bunch. It could be a couple hours before they figure out she ain’t with nobody. Nobody but us, that is. You startin’ to get the picture?”
Josh nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I am now. It ain’t like we’d be snatchin’ a gal who went out in the backyard to hang up clothes and then in a few minutes somebody in the house would be wonderin’ what’s takin’ her so long.”
“There you go. Now you got it.”
They’d reached the east end of town where a corral and holding pens had been set up for the rodeo. Cowboys and animals from several of the surrounding ranches in the valley had already begun showing up. The air was filled with the yips and whistles of the wranglers, combined with the tattoo of horses’ hooves and the bawling of some of the bulls brought in for riding competition.
“Maybe we oughta enter some of these rodeo events and see if we could make some extra money,” mused Josh. “Bet we could show these Texas punchers a thing or two.”
“I expect we could,” Charlie allowed. “But we ain’t got time. If things go right, I hope we’ll be ridin’ hard away from here tomorrow while some of these boys are gettin’ their guts jarred loose tryin’ to stay on the back of an ornery critter only too happy to do exactly that. Besides, we’re okay on money as long as we dole it out careful-like. The cash we got from that Oklahoma rancher gave us more money than we ever had at one time, didn’t it? We need to use it to get square with our new wives, then we can start figurin’ what we’ll do to get by in the future.”
They turned away from the rodeo pens and headed back toward town.
Josh grinned. “Boy, don’t that sound good? Money in our pockets . . . Wives soon to be had . . . Plannin’ for the future . . . I gotta say, Charlie, it wasn’t that long ago those kind of things seemed a million miles away to me. Hell, I figured I’d be pushin’ around cattle until I was too old and creaky to climb up in the saddle. And then, after that . . . well, I don’t know.”
“Well, now you do know, Josh,” Charlie told him. “We got us a plan. We’re gonna by-God stick to it and I got me a feelin’ it’s gonna work out just fine.”
* * *
“I have to admit, Oberon,” Rupert Shaw was saying, “that I am utterly and increasingly baffled.”
“By what, Captain?” Hadley asked around a bite of thick bacon.
“By everything currently surrounding us.” To emphasize, Shaw made a broad circular motion with one hand. “By this . . . this American West that everyone seems to find so fascinating. Ever since William Cody—or so-called Buffalo Bill—toured the continent with
his boisterous crowd and their equally boisterous presentation of alleged showmanship, it’s as if practically the whole world has become enthralled with the ‘Wild West.’ Everything past the Mississippi River is held up as some sort of Promised Land where adventure and romance and great hopes for the future wait around every corner to any daring to seek it.
“Rubbish, says I. More like behind every rock or cactus or impassible mountain range lurks yet another expanse of hardship and primitive conditions. Not to mention danger in the form of everything from that which slithers across the ground to beasts that howl in the night to hostile natives plotting revenge against everyone with pale skin.”
The two men were having a late breakfast in the dining room of the Mallory House Hotel. Most other guests had eaten and departed by now and so, in this interval before the lunch crowd started to gather, they had complete privacy. They were seated before the wide front window with a bustling Trail Street in evidence on the other side of the glass.
With a forkful of scrambled eggs and more bacon raised partway to his mouth, Hadley paused and said, “Ye have to admit, sar, that we witnessed some splendid scenery from the train.”
“If I want scenery,” replied Shaw, “I can go to an art gallery or take a ride through the English countryside. A ride, I might add, that would be supremely more comfortable than any of those lurching, soot-spewing trains we traveled on. Not to mention the abysmal, bone-jarring stagecoaches!”
Hadley scrunched his face a bit at the mention of the latter. “True enough on that, Captain,” he agreed before going ahead and pushing his fork into his mouth. As he chewed, he added, “But maybe it’s good for body and soul to once in a while take a break from too much comfort. After all, sar, we endured far worse conditions when we was servin’ the Queen in hell-hot Afghanistan where we drove Ayub Khan and his bloody heathens back through Baba Wali Pass.”
“I’m afraid that’s a more thoughtful outlook than mine, old friend,” Shaw said with a wry smile. “Having fulfilled my obligation to the Queen and her military, I’m more than happy to be done with rugged conditions and mean to enjoy a life of comfort and wealth to the fullest—apart from this current undertaking, which I question my pursuit of more each day.”
Marilu, the cook and hostess for the dining room, appeared at that point. With a big smile on her face, she said, “Are you gentlemen findin’ everything satisfactory?”
“Indeed, my dear lady,” Shaw assured her. “Everything was most delicious.”
“Very much so,” agreed Hadley as he scraped his plate clean.
“Can I get you anything else? More tea maybe? A roll with some fresh-made apple butter to go with it?”
“Not me. I’m too full already,” said Shaw. Then, casting a sidelong glance over to Hadley, he added, “My large friend here, however, seldom reaches that condition. Something more for you, Oberon?”
Hadley cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Too tempting ye are, lass. That apple butter sounds too good to pass up. I’ll have some, with a splash more of tea if ye please.”
Marilu beamed. “Always pleased to see a man with a big appetite. Be right back with more.”
“I’ll make one concession,” Shaw said after she’d departed, “by admitting that most of the food we’ve been served has been decent. And, Lord knows, plentiful.”
Hadley grinned. “See, Captain. Not everything about this trip has been bleak.”
“But let’s not get carried away.” Shaw scowled. “I said the food was decent—but not better than the fare back home. And apple butter is hardly enough of an exotic rarity to have traveled all this way for.”
Hadley’s forehead puckered. He looked like he wanted to say something to lighten his companion’s mood but couldn’t come up with anything.
Seeming to sense this, Shaw heaved a sigh and said, “I’m sorry, Oberon, for being in such poor humor. Let’s face it, the thing that has me baffled and bothered beyond all else is Victoria. Finding her living in these conditions and showing not the slightest interest—certainly no eagerness—to return to England is nothing like what I expected. Naturally I’d hoped that my arrival here might rekindle some spark of the feelings she once had for me. At the very least, even if she continued to profess no love for me, I believed that, having had her adventure in this new world and especially with Estelle no longer present to egg her on, she would be ready to come back home.
“Once there, admittedly, I planned on doing everything I could to get her back on a path to the altar. Maybe it’s wounded pride due to the way she broke both our engagement and my heart, but I’ve never really gotten over her. I’ve always felt that if I could see her again, spend some time with her, I’d have a chance at winning her back.”
“And ye still do, Captain,” insisted Hadley. “It’s not your way to give up so easy.”
Shaw gave a halfhearted shake of his head. “No, I’m not giving up. Not yet. But I have to confess I’m feeling rather discouraged. You saw her out there yesterday. How she acted, how she looked.”
“Aye. She’s lost none of her beauty, that’s for sure.”
“It was more than that. Yes, she’s lovely as ever. But beyond that she looked happy, content . . . Damn it, she looked at home in that rustic setting.”
Marilu returned bearing a tray set with a small pot of fresh tea, two rolls, and a small cup of apple butter. Sensing the men were in deep conversation, she placed the tray on the table and promptly retreated, saying only, “Just holler if you need anything more.”
Once their hostess was gone, Shaw said, “That’s what bewilders me so. Back in England, either as my wife or simply under the circumstances under which she grew up, Victoria could be living a life of leisure and comparative luxury. She could have servants waiting on her instead of functioning as little more than a scullery maid for those three ruffians out at that ranch.”
Shaw paused, frowning, then quickly amended his statement. “My apologies if that sounded disrespectful. I know you come from a working-class background, Oberon, and your mother was a maid. I have full regard for people who do honest work at all levels of society. My point was merely meant to express my confusion as to why anyone—namely Victoria—would willingly regress down to a lower, harder station.”
“Understood, sar,” Hadley said, though somewhat tightly.
“And those men she works for,” Shaw went on, lifting his eyebrows. “Three former mountain men—a more primitive lot you could scarcely find anywhere short of the Indian tribes who used to roam these prairies or perhaps aborigines on some remote island. Their names alone—Firestick, Beartooth, Moosejaw—sound like characters used to frighten children in some crude fairy tale.”
Generously applying a spoonful of apple butter to one of the rolls Marilu had brought him, Hadley said, “Judging from the talk this morning about how those three faced down a pack of toughs out in the street last night, I think they’re a wee bit more real than anything out of a fairy tale.”
“That’s another thing—gunfights in the middle of the street! Participated in by the very men Victoria has surrounded herself with!” Shaw rolled his eyes in exasperation. “What kind of environment is that to want to be part of, I ask you? Does that sound like the behavior of civilized human beings?”
“I hardly think it’s an everyday occurrence,” Hadley suggested. “And from all reports, the four scoundrels who got shot down were a hard lot who were bent on making trouble even after they were given every chance to walk away.”
“It’s still a highly undesirable state of affairs,” Shaw insisted. “It only strengthens my resolve to do everything in my power to encourage Victoria away from here.”
“Are ye not meeting with her again today?”
“Yes. She’s coming into town for some duties associated to this festival thing they’re having tomorrow. She’s agreed to make time to join me for tea and a further chat.”
Hadley grinned. “Polish up that golden tongue I’ve heard ye use a time or three in the past, Cap
tain. If ye don’t mind me saying, that is. As long as she’s willing to talk, ye still have a chance to sway her to your way of thinking.”
Shaw smiled, too, albeit a bit wistfully. “That’s certainly my intent, Oberon. Like I said, I’m not ready to give up . . . not yet.”
CHAPTER 19
Over breakfast at the Double M Ranch that Saturday morning, moods had been mixed.
Firestick was still brooding about the previous evening’s events, particularly how the troublesome dove Cleo had once again figured into them. He’d never been moved to run anyone out of town before, and despite what he’d told Sterling, he wasn’t anxious to start now. He didn’t even know if he had the legal authority to carry out the threat.
Moosejaw seemed fairly relaxed and comfortable as far as how things had turned out with the hardcases. He saw it simply as something that had to be done. He was more troubled by Firestick’s gloominess and the anguish he knew Beartooth was going through due to Victoria’s former fiancé showing up.
As for Beartooth, he was doing his best to hide that anguish, but to his old comrades who’d spent too much time with him not to see the signs, it was clear the matter was grinding on him.
Victoria had been waiting up when the three got back from town last night, and her attention had turned immediately to Beartooth’s wounded shoulder. Even though Frank Moorehouse, the town barber who doubled as the closest thing Buffalo Peak had to a doctor based on his war experience as a medical aide, had already treated the shoulder and declared it nothing serious, Victoria insisted on re-examining and re-bandaging it. Her focus on the wound and the time she took tending to it served to distract from any detailed discussion of either the shooting or how things had gone with her and Rupert Shaw. As far as the latter, she said only that nothing had been resolved and that she would be seeing and talking with him again, this time in town.
So this morning, that unresolved issue was the thing that still hung in the air heavier than anything else. Both Firestick and Moosejaw recognized the need for Beartooth and Victoria to have some time alone. For that reason, both of them ate their breakfast rather hurriedly and then professed the need to get into town right away to tend to matters of vague urgency and importance.
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