“Who would you bet on?” Beartooth would invariably say, flashing a reassuring grin. “Two lowdown, women-stealing skunks . . . or two all-around double-tough hombres who also happen to be the best trackers in the territory?” In no time he would have the frowns and worried expressions erased and replaced by agreeably bobbing heads and even a few confident smiles.
“I never would have guessed,” Victoria said, squeezing Beartooth’s hand while aiming a bright smile at him, “what a skilled diplomat and manipulator of public sentiment you are.”
Beartooth arched a brow. “I ain’t exactly sure what all those fancy words mean, but could it be there was a compliment somewhere in the mix?”
“Indeed there was. And I know that the marshal,” Victoria added, “would be just as impressed as I am by how you were able to put those people at ease and make them believe everything is going to be okay.”
“Yeah,” said Beartooth, his expression turning somber. “I only hope I wasn’t feedin’ ’em all just a line.”
Victoria appeared taken aback. “What do you mean? You have faith in Firestick and Moosejaw, don’t you?”
“Ain’t nobody better at doin’ what they set out to do.” Beartooth scowled. “But out there in the wild, things got a way of suddenly turnin’ against a body. Even the best. Me and those two rascals have made it through more than a few of those bad turns and managed to always come out with our hides intact. But those times it was the three of us workin’ together. Now, split up the way we are, it ain’t the same. You can see how it’s bound to gnaw at a body some, can’t you?”
“I suppose,” Victoria said. “But what is it that’s gnawing at you? Worry about them? Or feeling guilty that you’re not out there with them?”
“Don’t rightly know if I see the difference,” replied Beartooth. “Either way, it leaves a fella feelin’ a mite uncomfortable.”
“Maybe,” said Victoria, “you need to listen to your own words. Who would you bet on?”
“Hell. That’s easy. Firestick and Moosejaw. All the way.”
They’d been slowly making their way from the picnic area to the rodeo arena, talking as they walked along.
Victoria stopped walking. Beartooth, still holding her hand, stopped, too. He looked down at her impossibly blue eyes gazing up at him. “And I,” she said, “will always bet on you . . . and us . . . all the way.”
Suddenly unmindful of the people all around them, Beartooth was moved to kiss this beauty before him. He was leaning in to do so when a voice at his shoulder suddenly spoke and interrupted the moment.
“Excuse me, Beartooth. But I just ran across something kinda curious that I think you might be interested in.”
Beartooth turned to lock eyes with Pete Roeback. Reading the eager, earnest expression on the liveryman’s face, it was clear he had no clue what his poor timing had broken up. Nevertheless finding it hard to keep the exasperation out of his voice, Beartooth said, “This better be good, Pete.”
* * *
Playing to the hilt his disdain for all things American, Rupert Shaw refused to attend any of the festival activities. After being tended to by Frank Moorehouse, he retreated to his hotel room and remained there, sulking, nursing his injuries, and impatiently waiting for tomorrow’s duel to be over with so he could then, in his own words, “Get the bloody hell out of this godforsaken rubbish bin of a town.”
Oberon Hadley, on the other hand, continued to be fascinated by the raw energy and spirit of this place called America. Once he’d seen to it that Shaw was settled in his room and a noon meal had been delivered from the dining room, he decided to venture out and see what the festival had to offer. He was mindful of the fact that his association with Shaw, who’d managed to make himself unpopular in the eyes of many, might cause his own presence to be less than welcome as he mingled amidst the throng, but Hadley was hardly a man who shied away from the mere possibility of a confrontation.
During his service in the Queen’s Army, he’d set foot in many a corner of the globe where the British colors were cursed and sometimes even spat upon. Yet it had never prevented him from trodding among the locals in his free time and visiting more than a few grog shops that he left in shambles when some of the other patrons took exception to him sampling the establishment’s fare in their presence. He never went looking for trouble—and that certainly was true today, especially with the pending duel already on his plate—but he’d be damned if he would walk wide of anywhere just because a scuffle might ensue.
To the big Englishman’s delight and mild surprise, when he ventured out at the height of the mid-day picnic, he encountered no rancor in anyone’s treatment of him. Oh, there were a few sidelong glances and perhaps an unkind word or two murmured under someone’s breath that he could have challenged. But the overall merriment of these kind, honest, hardworking people was far too appealing for him to give any serious thought toward participating in any disruption. Plus he was simply having too good a time himself to want to ruin it by being thin-skinned. What he concentrated on instead was quaffing considerable quantities of homemade beer, sampling a wide variety of food, listening to and exchanging a few ribald jokes, and even flirting a bit with a couple of young ladies who were somewhat on the plump side, just the way he liked them.
As the picnic wound down, Hadley was swept up in the flow of folks who began migrating toward the rodeo arena. Here was the feature of the scheduled festival events he’d been looking forward to the most. While Captain Shaw seldom passed up the opportunity to disparage Buffalo Bill’s Wild West after viewing it once during its tour through England, Hadley had made a point of seeing the show twice and both times was wildly impressed and exhilarated by the performances—particularly the riding and roping and horsemanship of the “cowboys.” The chance to see more of the same here today, in a more intimate setting and this time demonstrated by those who actually lived the life and did the work every day, had him feeling almost as excited as a little kid.
The calf roping was finished and the bulldogging had barely begun, however, when Hadley’s eager viewing was drawn away in a most unexpected manner. It came in the form of Victoria Kingsley, who had threaded her way through the cheering crowd to find him and now tugged on his sleeve to get his attention.
When Victoria first started to speak, Hadley couldn’t hear her over the din. He had to stop her and then motion for her to start over after he’d leaned down closer in order to make out what she was trying to tell him.
“Please come with me. There’s something you need to see.”
Much as Hadley hated to leave the rodeo, there was no missing the sincerity and sense of urgency in the girl’s tone. Refusing her request did not seem like an option.
Ten minutes later, they had extracted themselves from the rodeo crowd and Victoria had led the way up Trail Street to Roeback’s livery. By this point, Hadley’s internal alarms were starting to jangle, telling him to beware of a possible trap, while at the same time the sentimental part of him resisted believing that Victoria—the former fiancée to his captain, even though now estranged—would be part of anything intended to do him harm.
But when they’d gone only a short way into the livery barn and Hadley spotted Beartooth waiting just ahead, he slowed his steps and came to a halt. In deference to the day’s heat, Hadley had gone out minus his jacket. He did wear a vest, though, and concealed under it was the shoulder holster and short-barreled revolver he seldom was without. At the sight of Beartooth he had instinctively shrugged his shoulders in a practiced move that shifted the vest slightly forward on his frame, loosening the way it hung over his chest for the purpose of providing easier access to the revolver in case he needed it quickly.
When Hadley stopped Victoria stopped, too, though only after she’d gone a couple steps ahead of him. Looking back, she said, “What I want to show you is in the horse stall where the deputy is standing.”
Reading and understanding Hadley’s reluctance, Beartooth said to him, “Take it e
asy, big fella. Ambushin’ ain’t my style. If it was, you’d already be dead.”
“Our purpose in asking you here,” Victoria added, “is aimed toward preventing bloodshed, not causing it.”
Hadley considered for a minute, then proceeded toward Beartooth again. “Someone had better start clarifying what this is all about and doing so quickly,” he said, “or I will be turning and leaving.”
“That will be your prerogative,” Victoria said. “But after you’ve seen our purpose in bringing you here, I am in hopes you won’t be in such a hurry to go.”
When they reached Beartooth, Hadley saw that inside the stall he was standing in front of was a sleek bay mare. Also in the stall, standing beside the horse, was another man Hadley recognized as Pete Roeback, owner and proprietor of the livery who had rented horses to the Englishmen on more than one occasion.
Roeback nodded. “I trust you remember me.”
“I do,” said Hadley tersely. “And I remember that horse by ye, too. That’s the devilish beast what threw Captain Shaw earlier today and nearly broke him in two.”
“That’s what we want to talk to you about,” said Beartooth.
Hadley frowned. “What more is there to say? The animal is improperly trained, not to be trusted. I’d go so far as to suggest she might be ready for a bullet to the brain in order to make sure no future rider is thrown or trampled even worse.”
“I take exception to that,” Roeback was quick to say. “I’ve had that mare for over three years. Trained her myself. I’ve ridden her countless times and have even had women and children on her back with never a hint of trouble. Captain Shaw rode her himself on two prior occasions without incident.”
“Horses can change, suddenly develop a mean streak,” Hadley said.
Roeback shook his head. “No, they don’t. Not the horses I train and care for. That’s what bothered me so much about Marge here supposedly spookin’ so bad without reason. The sight or sound of a rattler—maybe. But even then I ain’t so sure she’d spook as wild as you and Shaw described.”
Hadley’s eyes narrowed. “Ye wouldn’t be suggesting me or the captain are lying, would ye?”
“All I’m suggesting is that there had to be a reason for Marge to rear and bolt that way. And I think I found it.”
“What with the abduction of those women and the festival kickin’ off and everything right on the heels of you and Shaw gettin’ back to town,” Beartooth explained, “Pete here didn’t get a chance to give Marge a good lookin’ over until just a little while ago. What he found caused him to fetch me. Victoria also came along. After we’d had our look, she suggested gettin’ you in on it, too. She also suggested you’d cooperate easier if she went for you alone.”
“A pretty lass is hard to say no to,” Hadley allowed. “But now that I’m here, I still don’t know why.”
Lifting a lantern off a nail on one of the stall posts, Roeback held it up over the mare’s right flank and said, “Step over here and take a look. You’ll get your answer.”
Hadley entered the stall and leaned to peer closer at what Roeback was indicating. What he saw was a small, deep puncture mark in the sleek hide right about where the edge of a saddle blanket would be.
The big Englishman straightened up, saying, “So what is it?”
“You tell me and we’ll both know,” said Roeback, an edge to his tone. “Which is to say, I can see it’s clearly a puncture wound but I can’t be certain what made it. What I can be pretty certain of, though, is that whatever it was—if jabbed suddenly and unexpectedly into Marge’s flank—would be enough to cause her to act the way you and Captain Shaw described.”
“Yes, I suppose it would. But I still don’t see . . .” Hadley’s voice trailed off and suddenly his face clouded with suspicion and anger. “Wait a minute. Are ye implying that me or the captain abused your horse in some way?”
“Not you . . . but maybe Shaw,” said Beartooth.
“What in bloody hell for, man?”
“To make the mare rear up exactly the way she did. Resultin’ in him bein’ dumped from his saddle.”
“Are ye daft?” Hadley’s expression was twisted with half anger and half befuddlement. “Why would any man purposely cause a horse to throw him and risk injuries such as the captain suffered—or worse?”
Nobody said anything for several seconds. Beartooth and Victoria exchanged glances. And then, in a low, measured voice, Beartooth said, “Maybe a man facin’ an upcomin’ event that carried an even bigger risk . . . and was countin’ on a few bruises and a fracture or two as a way to get out of goin’ through with it.”
It took a second for Beartooth’s full meaning to sink in. But the instant it did, Hadley spat an enraged curse and surged out of the stall toward him. Fast as the big man was, however, he wasn’t faster than Beartooth’s draw. Hadley only managed one long, lunging step before he was brought up short by finding himself staring down the muzzle of Beartooth’s .45-caliber Colt, raised and pointed square at the bridge of his nose.
“Settle down, mister!” Beartooth said through gritted teeth. “You and me have already got a date to trade bullets—tomorrow. I wouldn’t be in a hurry to rush it none.”
Hadley was literally trembling with anger, his huge fists hanging at his sides, clenched so tight the knuckles pressed bone white against the skin. “Ye are a blackguard and a coward,” he seethed. “Impugning a fine and noble man’s honor when he is not present to defend it himself and too stove in to do so even if he was!”
“That ‘stove in’ part is the whole point of this,” said Beartooth. “Don’t you find it mighty convenient how a mare with a history of bein’ nothing but gentle would suddenly and for no reason act the way Marge did?”
“But there was a reason,” Roeback insisted. “I showed it to all of you.”
“That small puncture proves nothing,” Hadley told him. “Ye said yourself ye didn’t check that horse for several hours. She could have got that wound any number of ways—maybe something as simple as brushing up against a nail sticking out of the wood somewhere in her stall.”
“Yeah,” Roeback snarled, “and maybe from some sneaky bastard poking the sharp end of a nail or the tip of a penknife into her rump on purpose!”
“As soon as I get done with this deputy tomorrow—” Hadley started to say.
But Victoria cut him short. “Stop it! Stop it, all of you!” Her eyes locked on Hadley. “You can blame me for causing these suspicions against Rupert. It stems from an incident I’d all but forgotten about and then remembered only after I saw the puncture wound in that horse. The incident I’m talking about happened when Rupert was in the army, serving in Afghanistan during a battle for some obscure mountain pass.”
“Baba Wali Pass.” Hadley bit off the words like they were a bitter taste in his mouth. “There was nothing obscure about it to those of us who fought there. It was in that battle that Captain Shaw showed his gallantry and skill of command and played a major role in winning the day.”
“Yes, he received many medals and was lauded as quite the hero. My cousin Estelle received letters from back home telling all about it. She read them to me and I was proud and happy for Rupert,” said Victoria. “But the letters also mentioned there was some sort of cloud over the incident, and for a time Rupert’s role in the battle and whether or not he was deserving of his medals came into question due to allegations from some of the men in his command.”
“Slackers and liars!” Hadley exclaimed. “Men who’d earlier been ridden hard by the captain for their poor performance of duties and went looking to get even in the lowest, pettiest of ways by calling into question his bravery.” He glared even more fiercely at Beartooth as he said the last.
“The allegations against Rupert’s actions that day had to do once again with a horse, did they not?” pressed Victoria. “A horse that was mysteriously shot out from under him just as his troops began their charge.”
“It was the height of a battle! Bullets were fl
ying everywhere, cutting down men and horses alike,” Hadley said. “What is so mysterious or suspicious about Captain Shaw’s mount taking a ball?”
Victoria replied, “The timing, among other things, I would say. It happened, as I recall from what was contained in the letters, right as the charge was set in motion. As a result, Rupert was spared the thickest, bloodiest part of the fighting that followed. In fact, his detractors accused him of shooting his horse himself, for that very reason.”
“Black lies!” Hadley boomed. “I was there, I saw firsthand what happened. True, the captain went down and was unable to participate in the full charge without a mount. But it was his strategy and leadership, the timing of his order to strike an enemy flank that was weakened and wavering for only a precious few moments, that played a key part in taking that bloody pass. Had the captain hesitated and not acted as decisively as he did—whether he was at the spearhead of the charge or not—the overall success of the day would have suffered greatly.”
There was no questioning the passion or conviction in Hadley’s words. At least not when he began the statement. And yet, as he wound down, there seemed to be a faint lessening, a weariness, in the punch of his delivery. And the glare he kept fixed on Beartooth also appeared to lose some of its white-hot intensity.
Nobody said anything for several moments.
And then, slowly, Beartooth lowered his Colt. “As you said, you were there,” he declared. “Nobody can question your personal bravery or your perception of what happened. All the same, I think you’re mistaken in your high opinion of Shaw. I’m of the opinion he’s a lowdown skunk and a conniver who manipulates others to do his dirty work for him. Meanin’, with all due respect, I think he has in the past—and is once again now—playin’ you for a sucker. Understand I got no particular hard feelin’s toward you. But make no mistake . . . You stand in front of me tomorrow with a pistol in your hand, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”
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