by Nan O'Berry
Zeke’s shoulder found a home against the porch post. Leaning, he crossed one foot over the other and contemplated his boss’s question. “Don’t know.”
Pierson’s frown deepened. “Isn’t that what I pay you for… to know?”
The left side of Zeke’s mouth lifted. “Maybe you ought to pay me a bit more?”
Pierson’s eyes narrowed yet, he let the question ride. “Did the run go out this morning?”
Zeke nodded. “Right on schedule, just after daybreak.”
Reuben stepped down to the first step.
“Interesting.” He glanced back to his lackey. “I want you to find out where they are going.”
Zeke took the toothpick from his mouth and tossed it into the street. “Hawkins don’t give out information like that.”
Pierson’s gaze narrowed.
Zeke put his hands to his hips and gave a sigh then answered, “You mean you want me to follow them?”
“If that is what it takes.”
Zeke took a deep breath and pushed away from the post. “Sure thing, boss, I will get right on it.”
“See that you do,” Pierson growled with a turn and moved back into the freight office.
Chapter 2
Charity stared at her reflection in the looking glass. “You are a far cry from the girl I saw this morning.”
Her calico replaced by a scarlet red silk that greatly contrasted her dark locks and green eyes. She picked up the cotton ball and dabbed the red pot rouge onto both cheeks. Her hair had been pulled into a stylish bun near the top of her crown. Pausing to slide a fan onto her wrist, she picked up two ostrich feathers in the same shade of red, and stuck them into her hair. One last glance and she stepped into the hall. Charity carefully locked the door, and then slid the key into the inside of her corset for safe keeping.
She moved to the head of the stairs, where the music seemed to vibrate the boards at her feet. “Time to go to work,” she muttered. She slid a mask of indifference into place and grasping the rail, she descended.
Laiden McMasters stood at the base of the stairs, his arm resting on the thick banister rail. The churning of her silk made his head turn.
Charity watched the approval spread across his face as his eyes roved her body from head to toe,
She came to a halt at the last step. “Evening, Mr. McMasters.” She grasped the fan that dangled from the ribbon on her wrist and flipped it open.
“Red is your color, Charity.”
She lifted her head and offered a slight smile.
Laiden offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
Charity slipped her arm beneath his and he escorted her in to the gaming room.
Payday for the ranchers put a jingle in every cowboy’s pocket, making them feel like a king for at least one night. Card games littered the room. A table for each skill level and for those feeling the taste of adventure, a few tables sported house dealers and professional gamblers. Over the top of the players, cheroot smoke hung thick like fog.
Laiden deposited her at the bar, then moved to various tables watching the action, while she made herself useful carrying drinks to tables and smiling at their guests.
“Here you go.”She offered a familiar face a mug of beer.
The round face of the blacksmith grinned back at her. Hank Davidson was a bear of a man; thank goodness he was a gentle giant. “Ah, sweet Charity, thank you darlin’ my throat was right parched.” His slow southern drawl echoed as he slid an arm around her waist. “When are you going to give this up and marry me?”
Charity smiled as she always did and maneuvered out from under his grip. “Now, Hank, you know I can’t do that. What would your wife think?” She pinched his cheek.
The men sitting around the table roared with laughter. Even Hank grinned at her gentle teasing. “You are going to bring me some luck tonight, right Charity?”
“Sure.” She leaned forward and blew a kiss at the cards. “There you go.”
“I am going to win for sure.” Hank winked.
Still smiling, Charity turned and nearly bumped into the man behind her. With a gasp, she drew up short and stared into the unforgiving face of Reuben Pierson. His eyes narrowed as his gaze centered on her. Suddenly, all the air in the room seemed to evaporate. Her smile crumpled and she pulled the tray in front of her as a shield.She could have sworn there was a hint of brimstone in the air.
“Well…” His deep voice vibrated. “Evening, Charity.” He lifted the left side of his lips. “Imagine my luck, finding you here.”
“I work here, Mr. Pierson.” Her voice sounded tired.
The two men standing behind him shifted on their feet.
Charity caught sight of their exchanged glances. “I see you brought security, Mr. Pierson. I can assure you there is nothing to be afraid of here.”
The taunt made Pierson’s eyes glitter with pure hate. He stepped closer.
She stood straighter in hopes of showing how unafraid she was of this bully.
He stepped forward. “You have a smart mouth on you.” He lifted his right hand.
She flinched.
Instead of striking her, he used his hand to pull the derby hat from his head and run his palm over the thinning hair beneath.He smirked.
Charity could feel her anger grow and wondered if it was her imagination or if others could hear his laughter.
“It would be a shame to have something happen to such a beautiful woman.”
Her backbone stiffened as he drew a finger across her collarbone. “You are keeping me from my duties, Mr. Pierson.” She shifted her gaze back to the bar in hopes that Laiden would hurry over.
“I wonder,” Pierson began. “I wonder how much I’d have to pay McMasters for an hour of your time.”
Charity’s heart thudded against her corset. She remembered all too well, what happened to women he bought and paid for. “I am not for sale. Now, get out of my way, Mr. Pierson. I need to go back to work.” She started to saunter past, when his hand reached out and snagged her, jerking her to a stop. She turned her head and glared at him.
His mouth turned ugly and his eyes glittered with the savagery that substantiated the rumors about him. “Everyone has their price, Charity. San Francisco should have told you that.”
His words chilled her as she struggled to swallow.
From behind herHank’s voice questioned, “Charity? You need help?”
Her fear deepened as Pierson’s other hand swept back his coat just enough to allow her the vision of the pearl handled revolver resting in his vest pocket.
“I’m fine, Hank.” Her words sounded hollow. “Pierson’s just going to have a drink at the bar. Right?” She glared at the stage owner. She could feel the fear tie her stomach into knots. She couldn’t let Hank be pulled into Pierson’s hatred. “The bar is that way.”
Pierson’s gaze followed the pointing of her finger. “Perhaps,” he said bringing his glare back to meet hers. “I don’t want a drink. Perhaps, I want some time with you.”
The card game came to a halt. She heard Hank’s chair slide across the uneven plank floor.
“I think you need to leave the lady alone.” Hank’s voice deepened as a warning to Pierson.
To Charity’s horror, it only made the stage owner laugh.
“Lady? This is your interpretation of a lady?” Pierson looked to the men standing behind him.
They glanced at one another and laughed. The sound was hollow.
“She is far from being anything close to a lady.” He grabbed Charity’s arm.
The tray fell with a clatter. Her eyes grew round in surprise. She balled her fingers into a fist. Struggle as she might, she couldn’t break the hold. “Let me go!” Charity cried in fear.
The tension in the room elevated.
Hank stepped forward.
Charity could see the firm set of his lips and the anger in his eyes.
“Git your hands off her.” Hank roared.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw
Hank lunge.
The men behind Pierson stepped to the side, their guns drawn.
“No!” she cried and struggled to free herself.
The sharp bark of a forty-five followed. Acid stench of spent gun powder filled the air. She jerked and waited for the hot bite of the steel as it drove into her body. To Charity’s horror, Hank’s eyes widened. Her eyes were drawn to his side as a patch of red began to grow. “Hank!” Charity gasped as he crumpled to his knees and fell forward.
In the insuring drama, she wrenched her arm free. Rushing back, she dropped to the ground, and cradled Hank’s head in her lap.
“He shot me.”
“Don’t try to talk, Hank.” Charity looked to the table and motioned for the men standing near the table. “Don’t stand there, hand me the towel!”
A second cowboy tossed it to her.
She pressed it against the wound to help staunch the flow of blood. “Don’t move, Hank.” She didn’t look up. “Someone get Laiden.”
“What is going on?”As if on command, Laiden McMaster’s voice parted the growing crowd as he stepped behind Charity. “Who did this?” he demanded withgrowl of anger in his voice. “I do not allow gun play in my saloon.”
“Pierson,” Charity snapped. “His men.”
Laiden turned to confront the stage owner.
Pierson blinked. “She must be mistaken. He lunged at me when I was talking to Miss Charity.”
“He was man-handling me. Look.” Charity held up her arm where five red marks glowed on her skin. “Hank’s only fault was defending me.”
Laiden’s face darkened. “I have told you before, Pierson. You are not welcome in my saloon.” He gazed at the two men behind him. “That goes for you as well.”
Pierson held up both his hands. “Well, I can see my money isn’t wanted here. But I meant no harm. He was drunk.”
“Hank only had one drink,” a cowboy from the table spoke. “It is still at the table.”
Laiden drew a deep breath. “Get out, Pierson, your privilege and that of your employees has been rescinded. Get out, and never come back.”
“Sure, Laiden, sure. Whatever you say, just remember the money you just lost.” He glared at Charity as he walked past her, his footsteps dwindling as they made their way out into the street.
As the door swung closed, Laiden sprang into action. “You two men, go get Jeb Mills, the barber. Tell him to bring his bag. The rest of you, give a hand and take Hank to the backroom. Charity—”
“I know,” she murmured pushing to rise. “I will get some water boiling.”
Laiden nodded.
As she walked away, she heard her boss’s voice give another order, “Pete, you ride out to the Merrick’s ranch. Pierson’s liable to stir this pot till it stinks to high heaven.”
Dawn rose and with the greatest reluctance, Stone tossed back his frost covered blanket. The chill in the air quickened his steps as he brought the campfire back to life and placed a pot of coffee on to brew. They needed to hurry. Moving to where Brett slept, he used his boot to tap the bottom of his friend’s boots. “Hey, Brett, rise and shine.”
The figure beneath the blanket moaned and pulled the edges of the blanket beneath his nose. “Wake me when it’s spring.”
Stone answered with a chuckle. “Come on, we need to eat and break camp. There’s still about ten miles to Fort Valor. I want to get there before noon.”
Brett opened his eyes and studied him. “Is it really the letter that has a burr under your blanket or is it that pretty girl from the Crystal Dawn stirring your need to get back to Three Rivers?”
Stone paused in the middle of reaching for the pot handle. “Now, you are getting personal.” He snagged the pot and poured a cup. Rising, he held it just out of reach in order to get his buddy from beneath the blanket. “Come on.”
With a sigh, Brett crawled from the warm folds and took the tin cup. “If you insist.”
He cradled the cup in both hands and took a sip. “You know, I talked to Seth the other day after he came in.”
“Did you now.”
Brett glared at him over the rim of the cup.
Stone’s mouth twitched but he didn’t laugh.
His friend continued, “He was talking about the Indians along the route.”
Stone’s forehead furrowed.
“He saw lots of signs. Said his skin was crawling cause it felt like eyes were all on him as he moved through the northern loop.”
“Near the old burial grounds?” Stone questioned.
Brett nodded. “I think that letter might have something to do with the trouble.”
“Could be.”
They sat in silence for a minute or two before Brett asked again, “You think that letter is going to tell the army what to do about it?”
“I don’t know.” Stone stared at the horizon. “I think there’s a big difference between what happens out here and what Washington believes. The army is not known for following what other’s want.”
Brett gave a chuckle. “Usually, they go off in the other direction.”
Stone grinned. “Yep, but it’s important for the Native people as well as the settlers that we remember they are people too.”
“So you do think that this is about the Indians?”
Stone stared into his cup and thought before speaking, “I think, that just like us, they have feelings. This was their land before we came and we’ve pushed them as far as we can. They are bound to stand up. Wouldn’t you?”
Brett took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, I would.”
“Let’s go.”Stone stood and poured the last dregs of his cup into the flames.
While Brett saddled the horses, Stone made sure the fire was doused as he raked the embers out. He tossed the pot and cups into the canvas bag and drew the rope to close the top. One last check of the embers and he moved to his mount.
“I’m glad Mrs. Hawkins sent those sandwiches,” Brett called over the saddle seat as he dropped the stirrup. “Your cooking leaves a lot to be desired.”
“It hasn’t killed you yet,” Stone jeered back as he swung into the saddle.
The leather creaked as Brett swung on board his own horse. “Yep, I’m looking forward to a warm bed and a hot meal.”
“Then let’s go.”
Heading their horses toward the north, they rode on toward Fort Valor, unaware of two figures watching.
Fort Valor stood like a warning on the prairie trail. Off to the side of the wooden palisades, a small town had taken seed. The buildings were already sand blasted by the relentless winds that moved the sand to their own desire. The needs of those clustered behind the walls of the fort brought a variety of business.
Stone could see another branch of Pierson’s Freight, a blacksmith, livery, and the hotel. Smaller shops like a saddlery and gunsmith were intermingled with the larger buildings. The loud sound of an out of tune piano gave little doubt to one of the bigger structures. At the far end, stood asmall, white building with a steeple and cross seemingly lost and alone.
“Guess that’s to make up for Saturday nights,” Brett noted.
Stone studied the traffic in the streets. “Seems to be a mite more folks milling about than what we see in Three Rivers.”
“Yep.”
They pushed past and followed the wide avenue toward the gate of the fort.
At the edge of town not far from the entrance to the fort, a man in black commanded a growing crowd. He stood on the back of a wagon and as they drew closer, his words became clear. “Repent, sinners!” His right arm rose aloft and carried with it a black book. “The hour of your redemption is at hand.”
“There’s something we don’t have in Three Rivers,” Brett hissed.
Stone nodded as the man in black met his gaze.
Seizing the initiative, the bible thumper pointed and called out, “You must seek the Lord and turn away from wickedness.” He pointed in their direction.
The .45 at Stone’s hip gr
ew heavy as his gaze shifted to the weapon he wore.
“Those who live by the sword, shall perish by the sword.”
Heads turned.
A feeling of inferiority swallowed him. Stone wished he could be sitting in the Meeting House at Three Rivers Station listening to Mr. Hawkins render a Sunday morning service rather than this feisty spoon, stirring an angry pot.
“The Lord commanded man, ‘Thou shall not kill’ and yet the stain of breaking this commandment is everywhere.”
Two cowboys in the back suddenly guffawed. “Out here mister, a man has to protect himself.”
“The word of the Lord is protection enough.”
“Evidently, you ain’t met any Injuns.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd.
Seeing his pull over the mass lessen, the minister voice rolled over the crowd, “Oh Lord, heal thy sinning nation.” His gaze went heavenward. “Let not the spent ways of thy youth attach the shackles to their soul. Repent. Follow the words of the Lord.”
Uncomfortable with the dramatics, Stone leaned closer to Brett and whispered, “Let’s go find the Major and get this over with.”
They rode on into the fort and he could feel the gazes of the sentries in the towers drill a hole through his back.
It wasn’t hard to determine the major’s residence. A large imposing two story structure that sat in the middle of the compound was by far better than the low slung barracks it faced. The dark wood offered its own sense of foreboding.
Without conversation, Stone reined his horse toward the hitching rail and pulled the animal to a halt. His fingers wrapped around the pommel of the saddle and in a fluid motion, he dismounted. Once on the ground, he walked toward the rail and tossed the leather reins over, looping them. Bending low, he passed beneath the rail and stood waiting for Brett to follow.
“Not very welcoming, is it?” Brett muttered.
“Nope, just be glad we don’t have to stay here,” Stone told him.