Lost Mountain Pass, page 17
“You can’t be sure of that,” Trusty said. “Amelia might have had some business to finish. Maybe the man at the hotel knew something that he shouldn’t have. Seems to me that Amelia will go to any length to protect herself and pursue her plans.”
“She would have taken care of that before she left town. I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right, like it is something she would do,” Michael said.
“Regardless, a five-thousand-dollar reward will put a lot of men on her trail that weren’t there before.”
“That kind of money could change a man’s life.”
“I suppose so,” Trusty said. “If a man could capture me and her in the same place, it’d be a double payday, wouldn’t it?”
Michael stopped his horse and Trusty followed suit. Darkness came to the ex-priest easily, especially dressed all in black like he was, his eyes shielded from the sun by the Stetson. “There’s a lot more men that know the value of my sister than they do of yours, if I understand your situation like I think I do. If you’re insinuating that my aim is to collect both rewards, then you are sadly mistaken.”
“I didn’t say that,” Trusty said. “I don’t know who put a price on my head or why.”
“And neither do I.”
“But I want to find out. I don’t like livin’ like this, lookin’ over my shoulder every ten seconds to see if a rider’s coming up on me, or worse, settin’ up on a ridge somewhere aiming to take a long shot at my head.”
“The hunter becomes the hunted.”
“Something like that, I suppose. I wasn’t suggesting anything. Just sayin’, is all, that me and Amelia have something in common.”
“Only she knows why she’s on the run, and where she’s going.”
“You’re sure that she killed the judge for revenge and nothing more?”
“If there’s any other reason, it hasn’t revealed itself to me yet. I’ll let you know if something comes to me.” Michael hesitated, looked over his shoulder, making sure the way behind them was clear. “If you want to ride ahead, I’ll cover your back. That might be a better plan, all things considered.”
“No,” Trusty said, “I don’t think that matters. Let’s go.” He let the reins go slack, nickered, and urged Horse to a run with the press of his knees. It wasn’t long before the wind pushed at his face, and the way before him seemed clearer than it had before they’d arrived in Atoka.
Wapanucka, Indian Territory, May 1888
Trusty and Michael didn’t stop riding until they reached the small town of Wapanucka. The name Wapanucka meant “Eastern Land People,” and was given by the Delaware Indians who had arrived in the area before the War Between the States started, but it was populated with mostly Chickasaw and Choctaws. A massive two-story stone building sat off the main street, towering over the rest of the false-fronted buildings. It was a well-kept building that immediately looked institutional, surrounded by a wrought iron fence that caught Trusty’s eye. The decorative ironwork was puddled iron like his father worked with. Whoever had put the fence together knew what they were doing.
“Presbyterian missionaries built that as a school for girls,” Michael said, nodding toward the building. “But it’s been a mix of boys and girls since the end of the war. Locals call it Allen’s Academy after the man who built it.”
Trusty was still focused on the fence, riding slow, though he did wonder how Michael knew so much about the building. It had something to do with religion, so that probably explained it.
“We rode out this way with regularity,” Michael continued on, “to give sacraments to the true believers. I’ve always liked this part of the Territory.”
Trusty nodded, then turned his attention away from the fence and the life he used to know as much as he could. He had to consider that his life might have turned out differently, better, at least at the moment, if he would have done exactly what his father had wanted him to do instead of running off and joining the army, then going on to becoming a Deputy U.S. Marshal. Life as a blacksmith would have been a simple, safe way of making a living without the threat of being shot. Instead, Trusty would have died from boredom and old age. He wasn’t sure which he preferred at the moment. The pain and constant throb of the bullet wound was a reminder of his mortality, that he had missed meeting death face-to-face by only an inch or two. It was as close as he’d ever come to meeting his final end.
The late afternoon sun was starting to dip onto the horizon, emitting a warm golden light that covered everything in its path. Wapanucka looked like every other town in the Territory: quiet, a little run-down, and full of people who cast the two riders a glance of suspicion—even in light that looked soft and peaceful.
“There’s a livery at the end of the road here,” Michael continued, “next to what used to be the post office. Word came in that the railroad was going to be built between Haileyville and Ardmore so they moved the post office to Button Springs.” Michael pulled the reins a little tighter and pulled back Spirit’s head. “Looks like we’re getting more attention than I thought we would.”
Another group of onlookers had formed in front of an empty store. Three men, two women, and a little boy without shoes, who stood caged behind his father’s arm. Brown-eyed, brown-skinned, concern and wonder was evident without the utterance of one word.
“You’re used to leading with a cross around your neck,” Trusty said, trying his best to ignore the stares.
“True. But I’m riding with a deputy that everybody knows about and the trouble that he brings with him. You don’t ride into a town without reason. Even that child knows that.”
Trusty didn’t say anything. His eyes fell to two Indians standing outside of a mercantile staring at him as he rode by. He didn’t like the feeling he was getting on the ride in any more than Michael did. From there, he broke his gaze from the Indians and scanned the upper reaches of the buildings on both sides of the street.
“We might have to sleep with the horses,” Michael said. “There’s no hotel here. That would have changed if the railroad would have come through. If it wasn’t for the academy this town would dry up and die now that it’s going to be off the beaten path. At least there’s a café we can grab a meal in.”
Trusty took in the street, noting the empty storefronts, looking for shadows moving inside them. There was no threat that he could see, but his gut told him to be careful. The air was thick, and the eyes cast on him were clouded with disrespect. He was relieved to see the livery come into sight.
The liveryman welcomed the two riders with the same judgment that the rest of the citizens of Wapanucka had: disdain and earned suspicion. He was a grizzled Indian who looked old enough to remember when the range was free to ride, and the white man’s laws and ways hadn’t been imposed on him and his tribe. No matter the badge that Trusty wore, there was still distrust and anger over the past to face in the Territory.
Both Trusty and Michael dismounted. The liveryman took hold of Michael’s gray mare first. “For the night?” he asked. His two front teeth were missing, and his dark, leathery face was wrinkled by the sun and time spent in it.
“Both of us,” Trusty said.
The man nodded and pulled Spirit inside the barn, leaving the two men alone.
Trusty watched the old Indian disappear inside, then said, “I’ve been in friendlier towns.”
“You’ve never been here, then?”
“Can’t say I’ve had any reason to.”
“Well,” Michael said, “that’s a good thing, I suppose. We need to ask the liveryman if Amelia has been through here.”
“You think she’d be so bold as to stable her horse in town, in plain sight of everybody?”
“You see any Wanted posters of her yet?”
“No,” Trusty said.
“There’s no wire office here either. Her bet would be that nobody had heard about what she did.”
“But she has to know somebody would be comin’ for her.”
“Probably, but Amelia likes her comforts. Once she steps foot into No Man’s Land, she’ll vanish, but you have to consider that she’s married to a Choctaw. She knows how to speak to them and how to ask them to hide her. David Folsom casts a long shadow. My guess is she holed up along the way with folks who were kin to him, or associates in one way or another. If you’re thinking that Amelia is a typical white woman, then you’re underestimating her in the worst way.”
Trusty rubbed his shoulder and said, “There’s nothin’ typical about Amelia Darby. I appreciate the enlightenment. You’re right; I failed to consider that she knew the way of the Indian as well as she does the way of the white man.”
“She’s good at making that happen,” Michael said. “She always has been. Don’t be too hard on yourself for falling for her lies.”
The liveryman returned and took hold of Horse’s reins. “I take?”
Trusty nodded and watched the old man lead his mount into the barn like he had Michael’s. He had to seriously consider that Amelia might have already been to Wapanucka and left it behind in the dust. He didn’t say so, but he was starting to be glad for Michael Darby’s company. Even if he didn’t trust the man, he was worth listening to. There was no way that he wasn’t going to be hard on himself though. Judge Hadesworth was dead because of his failure to tell the difference between the truth and a whole bunch of lies.
* * *
The café in Wapanucka was a little hole in the wall that sat in between two vacant stores. There were six rickety tables, with a long bar across the back of the room. The air smelled of fresh baked bread, pig grease, and a bubbling spice that Trusty had never smelled before, pungent and sweet at the same time. The walls were bare of pictures, but a few sconces were scattered about, dousing the gray, lackluster room with flickering light. A water-powered fan turned overhead, distributing the smells and moving the air lazily. Three of the tables held patrons: a family of four, two men, and an older couple. Michael and Trusty were the only white-skinned men in the café.
A middle-aged woman walked out from the back room before the bell on the front door quit tinkling. “Hello, strangers,” the woman said, coming to a stop at the table Trusty and Michael had helped themselves to. “We’re about to close. My name’s Mae if you need to know. All we got left is some bean soup and bread. That suit you?” Her hair was piled up on top of her head, mostly gray, with a few brittle strands falling across her blue eyes. She was short and robust, her skin brown but bleached enough to make a man wonder if she was mixed or full-blooded. The front of her body was covered with a dirty white apron, and a sheathed knife hung from a rope belt at her ample waist. This Mae didn’t look to have a lazy bone in her body and left no doubt to anyone paying attention that she was the person in charge of the café. Pots and pans rattled from the back room.
“That’ll be just fine, ma’am,” Trusty said.
Michael nodded when Mae looked to him for his approval. “I’ll be right back,” she said, then hurried back to the kitchen, the floor creaking under her steps as she went.
Chairs scooted across the dry floor, drawing Trusty’s attention to the two men. They both stood up, the food on their plates half-eaten. One of them, the taller of the two, glared at Trusty, tossed a few coins on the table, and walked out the door, followed by his partner. The rest of the patrons watched but said nothing. The café had been uncomfortably quiet from the moment Trusty and Michael had walked in the door.
It didn’t take long for the woman to bring the food to the table. She set down two bowls of thin soup in front of Trusty and Michael, along with the bread, and started to turn away.
“You haven’t seen a white woman come through here, have you?” Trusty said.
Mae stopped and faced him. Michael took a taste of the soup, watching her reaction closely.
“We don’t get many travelers through here. Most folks go through Button Springs these days,” Mae said.
“So, no one’s come through here then?” Trusty held the woman’s attention, searching her face, like Michael was, for any sign that she was uncomfortable or forcing an answer. It’d been his experience that people fidgeted one way or another when they lied or were trying to hide something.
“That’s what I said,” Mae answered. “You lookin’ for someone in particular, Marshal?”
“I am. A petite woman by the name of Amelia Darby. She’s wanted for the murder of a federal judge.”
Mae shook her head. “Don’t know a soul named Amelia Darby, and no woman on her own has been through here of recent. A judge, you say. I’m surprised I ain’t heard of such a thing.”
“Been recent,” Michael said.
“I suppose that explains it then.” Mae’s feet were planted firmly on the floor. Trusty’s question had piqued her interest.
“What about with another man? A Choctaw maybe?” Trusty said.
“Well, I’m sure I’d remember that, wouldn’t I, if you’re suggestin’ what I think you are?”
“Just askin’ questions,” Trusty said.
“There’s been no one here like that, Marshal.” Mae didn’t wait for Trusty to say anything. She spun around and disappeared into the kitchen.
“You don’t believe her, do you?” Michael said as quietly as he could.
Trusty shook his head no, then spooned up some soup. It was cold to the taste, but that didn’t stop him. There wasn’t any place else in town to get a meal. He’d have to eat what was given to him whether he liked it or not. The beans were sparse, but the stock held some chicken flavor.
Both men ate in silence, sharing the bread, drinking water from a pitcher that had been sitting on the table. Mae remained distant, if not hidden, and Trusty didn’t try to start another conversation with her again. By the time they paid for the meal, the café was empty and darkness had fallen outside.
Michael stopped on the boardwalk just outside the café door and pulled a cigarillo from his shirt pocket and lit it. “I have to say, that was one of the worst meals I’ve had in a long time,” he said, exhaling a puff of smoke.
Trusty didn’t have time to say anything. A rifle shot rang out from across the street. The bullet thumped into the wood next to his head, sending splinters flying. Both men figured out what was going on real quick, backed their way into the café, pulling their guns from the holsters as they went.
One shot was followed by more. Glass shattered, barely missing Trusty. They returned fire without regard to Mae, who had rushed from the kitchen at the first sound of trouble.
Trusty paid the woman no mind. Both he and Michael were focused on the roof across the street and the sniper who had taken a position there. Trusty was glad the café was empty. He wasn’t ready to carry the responsibility for another senseless death. One was enough to last him a lifetime.
Chapter 17
Wapanucka, Indian Territory, May 1888
Mae picked up a lever-action scattergun and chambered a cartridge, getting Trusty’s attention. “Friend or foe,” he said without taking his eyes off the roof across the street.
The shotgun was aimed at Trusty’s head. “You’d be dead if I thought I had a good reason to pull the trigger,” Mae said. “I’ve got five shots to deal with you both if I wanted to.”
Another shot punctured the front door from the shooter on the roof. The bullet skidded across the floor in between Michael and Trusty, giving them both reason to pause and take a deep breath. Shit, that was too close. They looked away from Mae, to each other, then took up spots opposite the shattered front window. Hopefully the beams to support the building were thick enough to stop any bullet that might penetrate them.
“You’re welcome to join in,” Trusty said to Mae. His Colt was leveled at the roof across the street, poked through a section of broken window . . . jigsaw puzzle pieces sharp as knives that would come in handy if one of the intruders wanted to go hand-to-hand.
The woman didn’t move an inch. “I’ll stand right here. If they do away with the two of you, I got a business to protect if’n they’re after more than your hides.”
“If they kill us, they’ll be gone,” Michael said.
A smirk crossed Mae’s plump face. “You’re pretty sure of yourself even for a white man.”
Another shot blasted through what remained of the window, sending shards of glass flying into the café. Mae ducked, but Trusty didn’t see whether or not she was hit. He had a target in sight, had caught the silhouette of a man as he’d popped up over the roof and fired. Trusty fired back, knowing full well that his chances of hitting the shooter were slim. He needed his rifle, but it was stowed with his travel bags back at the livery.
“You think you can keep him busy?” Trusty said to Michael.
“Sure . . . what do you have in mind?”
“I’m going out the back and sneak up on him. Get him in range. We’re dropping lead into the air and nothing more shooting back and forth. They’re just trying to run us out of bullets,” Trusty said.
“You think he’s the only one?”
Trusty looked to the table that still held two plates of half-eaten food on it and said, “Nope, my guess is there’s two of them.”
“You need to start traveling without that badge on your chest,” Michael said. “It’s a target as soon as every desperate man in the Territory figures out who you are and what you’re worth dead.”
Trusty glanced back at Mae to see if she understood what Michael had just said, then turned his attention back to the roof across the street. “That’s never gonna happen, and you know it. The only way I’m taking this badge off of my chest is if somebody takes it from me.”
“Or you’re dead.”
“Well, there is that, but I’m not plannin’ on dying anytime soon.”
* * *
The gloom of the dark evening held fast overhead. A wall of gray, foreboding clouds had rolled in from the west, promising a fresh drench of spring rain. The cover between the earth and the stars was so thick that the clouds looked stationary, like the movement of the earth had been halted by a giant, invisible hand. Lack of light helped Trusty more than it hurt him as he edged across the back of the café. His Colt was loaded, barrel pointed to the sky, but he wished he was dressed in all black like Michael. It would have been easier to vanish from sight. He needed all of the advantages that he could get.
