The Silver Shooter

by Erin Lindsey

  “Terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

  “You can be sarcastic all you like, girl, but you won’t be the one under siege when Wallace’s boys show up to bust him loose.”

  He may have had a point, but I certainly wasn’t going to admit it.

  Mr. Burrows collected his cognac while I washed up, and together we headed back to the saloon to join Thomas and Edith. We waited until after supper to mention my nearly being murdered. It was only good table manners.

  “Good heavens!” Edith shuddered and took a healthy swallow of Mr. Burrows’s cognac. “What a day!”

  “It’s been like this since we got here,” I said, avoiding Thomas’s eye. Bowie Bill had been right about one thing: it was foolish of me to go wandering off on my own. Thomas had advised against it, and I hadn’t listened. He’d be unhappy with me, I knew.

  “I confess that I feel a little silly,” Edith said. “For coming here, I mean. Your stories always sound so exciting and glamorous, but the reality is rather different, isn’t it?”

  “On the bright side,” said Mr. Burrows, “that’s one less would-be assassin to watch out for.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but the sheriff’s not wrong. If Bowie Bill has as many foot soldiers as they say, we probably haven’t heard the last of this.”

  Thomas swirled his cognac with a sigh. “Human predators aside, it’s clear the alraun is still on the prowl. I’d hoped that with his agent locked away, Kit might conclude there was no further value in terrorizing the local population. But it seems he has no interest in restraining the creature.”

  “It’s perfectly horrible,” Edith said. “To have so little regard for human life is bad enough, but if he’s been living in the area, one has to suppose he knows most of his victims personally.”

  I hadn’t thought about that, but she was right. “We’ve only been here a week, and already I can name just about every fellow in town, even the drifters. Imagine how cold-blooded you’d have to be to murder dozens of your own acquaintances.”

  “The worst part is, I think perhaps he’s done it all for nothing.” Mr. Burrows rummaged in Thomas’s satchel and drew out some of the samples. “Of everything I’ve handled, this bit of shale tastes the strongest of oil, but even so, it’s only trace amounts. This jar”—he unscrewed one of them and tapped a small amount of sand into his hand—“appears to be the same shale, ground into dust.”

  “The mortar and pestle,” I murmured.

  Mr. Burrows rubbed the sand between his fingers, closing his eyes and furrowing his brow. “It’s out there, but…” Opening his eyes, he shook his head. “I don’t know that Rockefeller himself could get it out of the ground.”

  “In which case, our murderer has just spent tens of thousands of dollars on worthless land.” I couldn’t even feel smug about it. Too many people had died for that oil, beginning with Ben Upton.

  “On the bright side…” Mr. Burrows paused to toss back the rest of his cognac. “I do believe I’m getting a feel for it. Things will go faster tomorrow, I think. And on that note, I’d better turn in.”

  Back at the hotel, the four of us said our good nights. Thomas and I held each other’s glance for a moment longer than was strictly appropriate, but that was as close as we could come to our customary farewell. Already, New York was creeping back into our lives, and with it all the obstacles in our path.

  Even so, I was grateful to have our friends there. Edith was a comfort, and Mr. Burrows seemed confident that tomorrow would bring a breakthrough.

  Which it may well have done, if only everything hadn’t gone terribly wrong.

  CHAPTER 25

  A FORK IN THE TRAIL—SACRIFICE—SWEET TIME

  Jonathan Burrows was no one’s idea of an early bird, so his failure to turn up in the lobby at the appointed hour didn’t raise any eyebrows, let alone alarms. Thomas consulted his watch, Edith made a joke about too much cognac, and I watched the staircase, foot tapping restlessly as I imagined how far down the trail we ought to be by now. When, twenty minutes later, he still hadn’t appeared, Thomas merely pronounced him incorrigible and headed upstairs to roust him.

  My first clue that something was amiss was a thumping of hurried footfalls above, and a moment later, Thomas came flying down the stairs, hurtling past Edith and me on his way out the door. We found him in the middle of the street, raking both hands through his hair and looking quite lost. “He’s gone.”

  “What do you mean?

  I already knew the answer. I just needed to hear him say it.

  “They’ve taken him.” Thomas turned on his heel and stalked back to the hotel, where he took the stairs two at a time. By the time Edith and I caught up with him, he’d already thrown open the curtains in Mr. Burrows’s room and was scanning the scene with a look of fierce concentration.

  “When you say taken…” Edith was doing her best to stay calm, but her hands betrayed her, twisting the fabric of her skirt anxiously. “Are you sure he isn’t just at the saloon, or…?”

  Wordlessly, Thomas pointed at the door.

  Edith shook her head. She didn’t understand.

  “The lock’s been tampered with,” I said, showing her where the paint had been stripped off.

  “I saw, but … couldn’t that have been earlier? Perhaps the hotel just didn’t get around to repairing it properly.”

  She was just trying to convince herself, I knew. But I could see Thomas losing patience, so I tried to talk her through it. “His hat’s still here,” I said. “And I don’t see his pocketbook anywhere.”

  Edith swallowed and nodded.

  The bedclothes were all awry, as though there’d been a struggle, and Thomas found a few spots of blood on the pillow. “A cudgel, most likely. To keep him quiet.”

  That certainly settled it. Mr. Burrows had been kidnapped.

  A shiver of fear ran through me, but I tried to keep a level head. “Is it possible it’s just some rough holding him for ransom? His father is worth millions, after all.”

  “A hundred million and change,” Thomas said flatly. “They may try to ransom him when they’re through, but no—this is more than that. Most of the local ruffians would have no idea who he is, and besides, the timing is too much of a coincidence to credit.”

  Kit. He must have seen us with the soil samples and realized what Mr. Burrows was capable of. He’d know the signs, thanks to his cousin, who had a similar form of luck. “He wants Mr. Burrows to lead him to the oil.”

  “But there is no oil,” Edith said. “None that can be extracted, anyway.”

  “Kit doesn’t know that, and when he finds out…” Thomas’s pale eyes were filled with so many different emotions, it was impossible to read them all. There was fear, certainly, and more than a little guilt. Mostly, though, what I saw was determination, and that stiffened my own spine.

  “We’d better get moving,” I said. “There’s a chance we can still track him.”

  Thomas was already heading for the door.

  “I’ll speak to the sheriff,” Edith said. “If he can’t provide us with manpower, perhaps he can at least help us find a tracker.” She gave me a quick hug. “Bring him home. And for God’s sake, be careful, both of you.”

  Thomas and I lit out of the livery as if the Devil himself were in pursuit. It was still early, and it had rained a little overnight, giving us a clear trail to follow—at least for the first couple of miles. But our good fortune didn’t last. The tracks diverged at a fork in the trail, one set veering south while another continued due east. Worse, the earth had already started to dry out, making it harder to see which tracks were fresh. “Should we split up?” I asked.

  Before we could decide, a gunshot rang out, sending us scrambling behind the nearest butte. Another crack; a split second later, a spray of dirt leapt into the air not two inches from Gideon’s hooves, spooking the high-strung stallion and nearly unseating Thomas. He swerved deeper into the embracing curve of the clay and jumped down, grabbing the rifle he’d
bought off Lee Granger two days before. I did the same, and we crept back toward the trail, keeping low until we’d reached a pile of rock that offered a decent view of our surroundings. All the while, the gunfire continued.

  I slid to my rump, my back resting against the cool stone. “That fire is coming from a long way off.”

  “Howard and his scope, no doubt.” Thomas gave a bitter shake of his head. “Which means we won’t be getting any farther up this road.”

  “We could double back. Take a different path.”

  “In this maze? We’d lose the trail completely, with no guarantee the sniper wouldn’t have a bead on us anyway.” He dropped his head between his knees. “Damn!”

  “Thomas—”

  “This is my doing. I should never have let him handle those samples in public.”

  His voice was level, but that didn’t fool me for a second. He was fairly vibrating with anger, most of it directed at himself. I started to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t hear me, not right now. So I let him vent his fury, most of it in silence, a conversation between Thomas and his God and whatever passions he kept chained up inside that vault of a head.

  “I should never have brought him here,” he said finally.

  I put a hand on his back. “You didn’t bring anyone. We both asked him to come, and he chose to accept. It’s my doing, and his too. And none of that matters.”

  Thomas drew a deep breath. My hand was still on his back, and I could feel his shoulder blades drawing together, as if he were literally buttoning himself up. “You’re right, of course. Please forgive my outburst. Unprofessional and entirely unhelpful.”

  I sighed. “That’s not what I—”

  “The sniper has us pinned down. We don’t know his position, and even if we work it out, we have no idea how to outflank him in these hills. Any one of these ravines could funnel us straight into his sights, and we’d be fish in a barrel. Our best chance is to avoid him altogether and try to find the cabin. We’ll ride south and try to come in from the prairie side, where he won’t be expecting us.”

  “But, Thomas…” I hesitated. “That cabin could be anywhere.”

  “Not quite anywhere. Within a large search radius, to be sure, but we’ll find it eventually.”

  Eventually? Two Horses was already on borrowed time. The Buckshot Outfit was out here somewhere, hunting our friends. Mr. Burrows was being held by a madman who’d quite happily murdered his own cousin and dozens of others, and who would no doubt do the same to his captive the moment Mr. Burrows ceased to be useful. Jonathan was clever enough to string his kidnapper along for a while, but how long?

  No, eventually wasn’t good enough. Especially when we had another option.

  “There’s a faster way,” I said quietly. “And you know it.”

  “No.” He didn’t even look at me.

  “The ghost can show me exactly where—”

  “No.”

  “Thomas.” I sighed. “It’s not your decision.”

  An airy silence hung over the ravine. The breeze smelled like sagebrush and rain. Somewhere above us, a sniper crouched, peering through a scope while he waited for one of us to move.

  “I can’t protect you.” His voice was steady, though I sensed the effort it cost him. “I don’t know how. If the ghost takes you, he may never let you go. And even if he does, your mind may never be the same.”

  “Thomas, you don’t need to tell me this. My mother—”

  “Your mother speaks to her own mother. A relative, and a close one at that. It exacts a fraction of the spiritual toll. What you’re proposing to do … If the ghost is angry…”

  “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s working,” I said, a little angry myself now. “But I’m not going to change my mind.”

  Thomas closed his eyes. “Please, Rose, don’t do this. Burrows is my dearest friend, but you … You are my partner. Don’t ask me to sacrifice one of you for the other.”

  “Nobody’s asking you to sacrifice anything.”

  “You are so very wrong about that,” he whispered. “I’ve been here before. Or at least someplace very like it. It nearly destroyed me.”

  I knew what he was talking about, or near enough. He’d lost someone—a lover, I’d come to suspect. It was a long time ago, and I knew nothing of the circumstances, but it was his deepest and most private regret.

  One day, you’re going to tell me about that. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally understand you. But in the meantime …

  “He’d do it for either of us. You know he would.”

  Another beat of silence. “It’s your decision,” he said finally. “I will do what I can to help you. But, Rose…”

  “I know. Let’s just get it done.” Without waiting for an answer, I ducked back to the horses.

  * * *

  Edith didn’t like my plan any better than Thomas had.

  “What do you mean, ask the ghost? Are you quite mad?”

  Not yet, but the day is young. Somehow, I didn’t think either of them would appreciate the bleak Irish humor.

  “You’re going to allow this?” she demanded of Thomas.

  “It is not my decision to make, as Rose has quite firmly reminded me.”

  The three of us were crowded into the Presidential Suite, formerly Ben Upton’s room. I could feel him here, almost as strongly as I had the night he appeared to me. It was as though the ghost knew what was to come, anticipated it as eagerly as a wolf eying a stray calf. Tendrils of cold wrapped around my heart, though how much of that was just plain old fear, I couldn’t say.

  Edith glared down at Thomas, who sat on the bed. “What exactly is your plan?”

  “Hypnosis. I will put her under and monitor her for signs of distress. If I see them, I will do my best to bring her out.”

  “Do your best?”

  Thomas glanced up. I didn’t see the look that passed between them, but Edith pursed her lips and subsided.

  “Any advice about what I should do in the dream?” My voice sounded strangely thin, as though it were someone else’s.

  “Try not to anger him, but don’t let him pull you just anywhere. It will be a fine line to walk.”

  That’s it? That’s all you have? But really, what had I expected? There was no magic charm here, no handy tip that would protect me. “All right.” I cleared my throat. “In that case, I guess I’m ready.”

  That was a lie, of course, but one I needed to tell myself if I was going to get through this.

  Thomas stood. “Miss Islington, could you kindly give us the room? This is not my area of expertise, and I think we’ll have an easier time achieving a hypnotic state if there are no distractions. I’ll bring you back in when Rose is … when she’s under.”

  Edith threw her arms around me. “God protect you,” she whispered. And then Thomas and I were alone.

  I tried for a smile. “Is this where you swing your watch and tell me I’m feeling sleepy?”

  “Not quite.” He took my hand and drew me close, until his forehead grazed mine. For a moment he just stood there, staring down at my hands as if he didn’t quite know what to say.

  “Please don’t ask me to reconsider. And don’t you dare say goodbye.”

  He shook his head.

  “This will all be over soon—you’ll see. We’ll find Mr. Burrows and put an end to all this, and we can go back to the way things were.” I wasn’t sure which of us I was trying harder to convince.

  Thomas didn’t say anything. He just took my face in his hands and planted a soft kiss on my forehead. Then he looked at me, and the fear in his eyes struck my nerves like a mallet hits a piano string, sending a tremor of doubt through me. Could I really do this? Risk madness and a lifetime spent trapped in a nightmare?

  “Are you ready?”

  I lowered myself onto the edge of the bed, knees pressed together to keep them from shaking. Thomas dragged a chair over and sat across from me. He did take out his watch, but instead of waving it
in front of my eyes, he pressed it into my hand. The gold was warm from being tucked up against his chest, and I felt a gentle pulse as it ticked through the seconds. Like holding a little heart in my hands, I thought numbly.

  “Close your eyes,” Thomas said. “Listen to the watch.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  “Take my hand.” Gently, he guided my free hand to his. “Now, trace the lines of my palm.”

  My eyes fluttered open. “What—?”

  “Focus, Rose. Listen to the watch. Feel my skin. Nothing else.”

  I did as I was told, trailing my thumb along the palm of his hand. It felt strange at first, as if I were searching for something without quite knowing what. But the longer my skin caressed his, the more I began to relax. My breathing slowed, and my pulse, too. The fear was there, but in stillness now, a smooth pond instead of bubbling rapids.

  The hand in mine was his left, his dominant hand, and its contours spoke quiet volumes. Unmistakably the hand of a rich man, soft except where it needed to be hard, where he held a pen, or a cane, or a book. Gentle furrows in the palm. A tiny scar along the side of the thumb. Soft skin on the inside of the wrist, gently pulsing. I’d never touched anyone like this. It was incredibly intimate. Warm. Safe. The world in that moment consisted entirely of Thomas’s skin, his scent, his watch.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  “You’re sinking.”

  I’m sinking.

  “You’re asleep.”

  I’m asleep.

  “Rose.”

  I opened my eyes. Thomas sat before me, staring straight ahead, his hand still in mine. But when I pulled away, he didn’t move; his hand just hovered there, palm open. I waved my fingers before his eyes, but still he sat frozen, and for a moment I wondered if he’d gotten it terribly wrong. Did he hypnotize himself instead of me?

  Then I looked over his shoulder, and there was Benjamin Upton, tall and dark and furious. His eyes met mine, sending a stab of ice through my heart. Without warning, he lunged, his huge hand seizing me by the throat.