The Silver Shooter

by Erin Lindsey

  “You took your sweet time, girl,” he snarled. “And now I’m gonna take mine.”

  CHAPTER 26

  MAGIC LANTERN SHOW—THE RIDDLE OF THE SPHINX—CHECKING IN

  What followed was so disorienting that my brain could hardly process what was happening. Upton hauled me up out of my chair—that part I understood clearly enough—and shoved me backward. I fell, but instead of hitting the floor, I kept falling. And falling. And falling. Above me was blue sky; all around me was rushing wind. I’d been thrown from a cliff and was hurtling toward the rooftops of Medora. I cried out and shielded my face with my arms—and then I wasn’t me anymore.

  I was a boy of nine, listening while my uncle spoke harshly of his own son right in front of him. “Lila, God rest her soul, she tried and tried to teach him, but he won’t learn. And if I have another crop like I did last year, I’m done. Ben can help, can’t he? He can show me where it’s gonna work best, just like Lila used to. This one can help out with chores around here meantime. Ain’t hardly a fair trade, but I’m asking.”

  I was a youth of fifteen, perched on a fence beside my cousin, throwing pebbles into a rusted tin can while he told me of his plans to move to Chicago. “Ain’t no place for me here. I’m gonna study. Get me a real job, make some real money.”

  I was a man of twenty-eight, greeting my long-lost cousin with a hearty handshake, pleased as pie to see him dressed like a dandy and grinning from ear to ear. “I’m not here for Pa. That bastard can go on and meet his Maker as far as I’m concerned. It’s you I came to see. I have an idea. A theory, I guess you could call it. Have you heard what’s going on in the Black Hills?”

  I was a man of thirty-two, drunk on success and rye whiskey, listening with rising temper as my cousin called this a joint venture, as though he did one lick of work. “I’m the one finding the glitter, ain’t I? Look, I’m a reasonable man. I ain’t gonna let you starve, Kit. But this here ain’t no joint venture.”

  Scene after scene flew past, like a magic lantern show. It was almost too fast to follow, and yet I felt as if I’d lived every one of those years. Clouded memories, not my own, crowded the corners of my mind. I even felt the passage of time in my body, the ravages of drink and hard labor taking their toll. That was a bad sign. It meant I was deeply immersed in the dream, maybe too deeply. How long had I been asleep? Minutes? Days? Years, even? The possibilities were too terrifying to contemplate.

  And then, as suddenly as it all began, it was over. I was standing in the hotel room once more—except it was empty. That couldn’t be right. Thomas and Edith wouldn’t have left me. Unless it really has been days or weeks or … What if this was real? How would I even know? I had a fleeting image of those poor, addled souls I’d seen at the Lunatic Pavilion at Bellevue Hospital. Is this what it’s like for them? Trapped forever in some horrible in-between place, never knowing what’s real? Panic reared up inside me, but I tried to tamp it down. Giving into my fear would only make things worse.

  “You see now?”

  The voice came from behind me. Still angry, but a little sad, too.

  “You see how it was between us? We was close, Kit and me. Like brothers.”

  Until you betrayed him. It was only a thought, a reflex, but this place was Upton’s domain, and he heard me as clearly as if I’d spoken aloud.

  “I betrayed him?”

  In an instant, the room was as cold as a refrigerator. I should have been able to see my own breath, except I wasn’t really there. I was a ghost now too, for all intents and purposes. And unless I was very, very careful, I’d stay that way.

  Upton appeared before me now, though I hadn’t seen him move. “What was I supposed to do? Just hand over everything I’d worked for? Kit had an idea. Use your gift in the Black Hills. It was a good idea. I was grateful. But how’s he gonna tell me I owe him half of everything I got?” He towered over me, as real as any man I’d ever seen, bloodshot eyes and all. I could even smell a whiff of stale whiskey on his breath. “Do I need to show you again? Do I need to remind you what he done to me?”

  Before I could answer, I was falling again, this time from the top of a butte. My stomach dropped as if through a trapdoor; my eyes teared as I gathered speed. Below me was a graying shack of hewn logs; in half a heartbeat, I’d crash through the roof and shatter my body. Not real! I curled my arms over my head. Not real not real not real …

  And then I wasn’t me anymore. I was a bruised and battered Ben Upton, tied to a chair, a madman looming over me. Everything happened just as it had before, ending with a gun to my head, and screaming.

  “There, you see?”

  Back in the hotel room now. Empty. Cold.

  “You see what he done to me?”

  “I see.” The words came out in a whimper. I sank onto the edge of the bed, drawing deep breaths and willing my racing pulse to slow. I hadn’t just been shot. That metallic taste on my tongue wasn’t really my blood. Don’t you dare lose your grip, Rose Gallagher. Don’t you dare.

  “So now, you tell me. Am I the one did the betraying? Am I to blame for what he became?”

  I hesitated before answering, choosing my thoughts as carefully as my words this time. “Nothing justifies what he did to you.”

  The room grew a little warmer.

  “He needs to face justice for what he’s done.”

  Upton sighed. “Justice. What’s that even mean? You think that’s what I want—for him to hang, or spend the rest of his days rotting in jail?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  The ghost shook his head. “Seeing my cousin swing ain’t gonna bring me peace. I just wanted…” He sighed again, and it was like watching the air go out of a bellows. His shoulders rounded, and his head bowed. He looked sapped, as if it had cost him every ounce of energy to send me ricocheting through his life. “I just wanted someone to tell me if I done wrong by him. And I guess you think I did.”

  I stiffened, bracing myself for another tirade. “I never said—”

  “It’s all right.” His gaze grew distant, as though he were lost in memory. “There’s so much I woulda done different. Little things, mostly, but … How could I know they would add up to this?”

  “You couldn’t have.” But I guess that’s life, isn’t it?

  I’d let my thoughts get away from me again, but this time, he just nodded. “Reckon so.” He glanced around the room, the way you do when you’re about to leave it. “’Spose that’s it, then. I got what I come here for.”

  Maybe he had, but I certainly hadn’t. The ghost had shown me plenty, but not a lick of it would help me find Mr. Burrows. “The cabin where you died. Can you tell me where it is?”

  He was barely listening anymore. “Time for me to go.”

  “Wait!” I leapt to my feet, panic gripping me once again. “Please, you can’t go! Kit is holding a friend of mine captive, and…”

  But it was too late. Already, Upton was fading, like a photograph developing in reverse. “You best wake up now,” he said. “You don’t wanna be here when I’m gone. You won’t never get out.”

  “Please, wait! You have to tell me—”

  He put a hand on my forehead, said, “Get gone,” and shoved.

  I was falling.

  * * *

  I woke with a gasp. Edith practically hit the rafters, clutching at her chest and giving a little shriek. Thomas did the opposite, sinking to his haunches as the air went out of him. He’d been stooped over my chair, fingers wrapped around my wrist as he took my pulse; now his head bowed, and he whispered something I couldn’t hear.

  “Are you all right?” Edith asked tentatively.

  Thomas met my gaze, and I could see the lingering fear in his eyes. I wanted to banish that fear, to reassure him that my mind was intact, but I couldn’t speak for the lump in my throat, as painful as if Upton’s hand still gripped it. How could I tell him I’d failed? When I finally found my voice, it was barely a whisper. “I tried, Thomas. I really tried…”

  Word
lessly, he gathered me in his arms.

  “What happened?” Edith asked. “What did you see?”

  “Upton’s life. His relationship with Kit growing up.” I sat back and drew a shaky breath. “It was so disjointed. And in between, I was falling.”

  Thomas gave me a blank look.

  “He threw me off a cliff,” I said, as though that explained anything. “Twice.”

  “How rude,” Edith said with a hysterical little laugh.

  Thomas handed me a glass of water. It stank of rotten eggs, but I drank it anyway, grimacing at the taste. “How long was I out?”

  My companions exchanged a look. That’s when I noticed the lamp burning on the nightstand. “Wait, is it…?” I turned to the window, and sure enough, it was dark. “Please tell me it’s still Friday, at least!”

  “It’s still Friday,” Thomas said. “Just past seven in the evening. You’ve been out for nearly ten hours.”

  I made a little sound of despair. “And nothing to show for it.”

  “Are you certain of that?” Thomas took my hands and tugged me to my feet. “Walk with me. You need to get your circulation going, and pacing always helps me to think. Now, aside from childhood memories, what did the ghost show you? Anything recent?”

  I tried to concentrate through the pins and needles in my legs. “I saw a saloon. In Deadwood, I think. Kit and Upton were arguing. It was Kit’s idea for Ben to take up prospecting, and he thought that entitled him to a share of the profits. Ben saw it differently.”

  “So you saw the killer’s face. Did you recognize him?”

  In the dream, I’d been Upton, so of course I recognized him. But now that I was awake and thinking as Rose again, it seemed to me that I’d seen him in real life, too. I closed my eyes, trying to put his face in context. In my mind’s eye, he was on horseback, spattered in blood …

  I groaned. “Thomas, we met him. You spoke to him. Do you remember the treasure hunter who showed up at Upton’s cabin covered in blood? The one who said he’d found Jonah?”

  “I remember.” Thomas sighed. “Eli, I believe it was? I thought he seemed a touch theatrical. Anxious to drive all those treasure seekers away from the site, no doubt.”

  “If you have a name,” Edith said, “we can ask the locals about him. Maybe someone knows where he lives.”

  Thomas looked skeptical. “I’d be surprised if he were that careless, but it’s worth trying. What about the cabin? Did you get a look at it from the outside?”

  I started pacing again. “Not really. I caught a glimpse when I fell from the hilltop above, but I didn’t exactly have a chance to take in my surroundings.” I did my best to describe the sensation of being thrown from the top of a butte, but it’s really the sort of thing you have to experience for yourself.

  “How about the hill itself?” Edith asked. “Anything distinctive about it?”

  “Actually…” My step slowed. I’d seen it before, I realized. In a dream, more than a week ago. “Mountain lion,” I murmured.

  Thomas cocked his head. “Come again?”

  “Our first night in Medora, I dreamed of a lion the size of a mountain. At least, that’s how I remembered it when I woke up, but I recall it more clearly now. What I saw wasn’t a lion, it was a butte that looked like a lion. A bit like the one in Egypt, with the man’s head.”

  “The Sphinx.” Thomas’s gaze was razor-sharp now. “And you saw this same butte near Kit’s cabin?”

  “Just above it. I felt as if I was going to fall right through the roof.”

  “Do you think you would recognize it if you saw it on the trail?”

  “No need.” Edith looked a little dazed, but I could already see the excitement building in her eyes. “I know exactly which butte you mean. I saw it from the train.” Which meant she also knew where it was, thanks to her luck. “It’s just as we thought. Where the hills meet the prairie, near the place where the tracks swing south. It’s perched right on the rim of the breaks.”

  Thomas was already stuffing things into his satchel. “We should go now. Move into position under cover of darkness. When Kit resumes his search for the oil tomorrow morning, we’ll be waiting for him.”

  I wasn’t quite so ready to strap on my gun belt. “And then what? By my count, he has at least five men with him, including Howard. Three against six is hardly a fair fight.”

  Thomas paused, his satchel in one hand and a box of ammunition in the other. “Three?”

  “Yes, three.” Edith frowned. “Or do I not count?”

  “With all due respect—”

  “Don’t you all due respect me, Thomas Wiltshire. Have you forgotten that I took first prize at the Newport Archery Club last August? Shooting is shooting, surely.”

  “Not quite, Miss Islington. Besides, we cannot in good conscience involve a civilian in—”

  “Why not?” I said impatiently. “We involved Mr. Burrows in rescuing you last year. What’s the difference?” I knew what the difference was, of course, and so did Edith. And we weren’t having it.

  Edith folded her arms and stuck out her chin. “I’ve known Jonathan Burrows for longer than the two of you put together, and I certainly have no intention of sitting idly by while his life is in danger. And with all due respect to your doubtless very impressive Pinkerton skills, you need me.”

  Thomas still wasn’t convinced, but I was through arguing. “Glad that’s settled. Now, what’s the plan?”

  Before he could answer, a knock sounded at the door, and the three of us exchanged a wary look. Thomas pulled the Peacemaker from his belt. “Yes?”

  A disapproving grunt. “The Badlands have had an unfortunate effect on your manners, Wiltshire. That is hardly the greeting a gentleman expects, especially when he’s the one paying the bills.”

  Thomas blinked, holstered his weapon, and opened the door.

  Theodore Roosevelt filled out most of the doorway, his sturdy frame clad in what I can only describe as a most extraordinary costume. He wore fringed buckskin trousers and a matching fringed buckskin shirt, a neckerchief tied in a tidy little knot at his throat. Cavalry gloves (fringed) and half chaps (fringed) completed the ensemble. Lest anyone think this was all for show, an ivory-handled Peacemaker rested on his left hip (cross-draw style, naturally). Buffalo Bill Cody himself could not have looked more positively Wild West—or, at least, a New Yorker’s version of it.

  After a moment of stunned silence, Thomas thrust out his hand. “Sir.”

  “Wiltshire. Miss Gallagher. And I see you have a guest. Why, Miss Islington, is that you? Good heavens, what on earth are you doing here?”

  “Oh, you two know each other?” I felt silly as soon as I asked the question. Of course they did. Families like theirs were the cream of New York society, after all.

  “We’ve met a number of times, yes.” Mr. Roosevelt flashed a toothy politician’s smile. “Miss Islington is great friends with my sister, Corinne.”

  “We were not expecting you, sir,” Thomas said.

  “I imagine not, but I found your last two telegrams intolerably vague. That’s not a criticism—I quite understand the dilemma of communicating by such public means—but I came to feel that the only way I could be truly seized of the matter was to come out here myself.” He glanced between us, lamplight flaring off the circles of his glasses. “Your last wire mentioned Burrows, but I don’t see him.”

  “Ah…” Thomas threw me an awkward look. “I think perhaps we ought to head down to the dining room. We’re a touch cramped here.”

  “A long tale, I take it?”

  “It is,” said Thomas. “And I daresay you’ll want to sit down.”

  CHAPTER 27

  THE PLAN—A BIT OF INSURANCE—STAMPEDE

  Mr. Roosevelt listened with a grim expression while Thomas recounted all that had happened. “Dear me,” he said at one point, and later, “Good heavens.” When Thomas came to the part about consulting the ghost, Mr. Roosevelt’s eyebrows flew up, and he reached across the table
and patted my hand, sending that familiar buzz up my arm. “You certainly don’t hesitate to throw yourself into danger, do you, my dear?”

  I smiled awkwardly. “Mr. Burrows would do the same for me.”

  “Quite so.” He gave a crisp nod. “Very well, then, I assume you have a plan?”

  “We were just on our way out when you arrived,” Thomas said. “Now that we know where Burrows is being held, we can move into position under cover of darkness.”

  “We?” Mr. Roosevelt’s glance slid to Edith.

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you start.”

  He and Thomas exchanged a look of manly disapproval. “Hrm,” said Mr. Roosevelt, but that was all.

  “Actually,” I said, “when you knocked, Mr. Wiltshire was just about to explain what comes after we surround the cabin. Because I’m not quite clear on that point.”

  Mr. Roosevelt looked at Thomas expectantly.

  “Well,” said Thomas. “Er…”

  “I don’t suppose Kit is just going to surrender,” I said. “After everything he’s done, he must know he’ll get the noose anyway. He’s got at least five hired guns with him. And then there’s the alraun. Heaven only knows where it might be.”

  “He needs Burrows alive,” Thomas pointed out. “That gives us an advantage.”

  “True,” said Mr. Roosevelt, “but if you’ll permit me to suggest, I believe we need some element of surprise if we’re to succeed.”

  “We?” Edith raised her eyebrows. “I feel I should warn you, Mr. Roosevelt, that Mr. Wiltshire has strong views on the subject of civilian participation in Pinkerton operations.” I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or kick her under the table, and Thomas gave her the sort of look he usually reserved for Mr. Burrows when he was behaving badly. Just as that gentleman would have done, she pretended not to notice.

  “What if Charlie Morrison and I were to create a diversion?” Mr. Roosevelt suggested. “Draw off some of his men, and perhaps the beast as well, if it’s nearby?”

  Thomas cleared his throat. “Miss Islington’s witticisms notwithstanding, I do have reservations. I rather suspect the Agency takes a dim view of involving the client in a rescue operation.”