Silver Trail Christmas, page 21
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The braying of the preacher outside was loud enough to draw Judge Patterson to the window. He glanced down at the crowd gathered around the makeshift pulpit on the back of the wagon out in front of the jail.
Frank Stubbs was a drunken lout and boor, but at least he contained his antics largely to the saloons and brothels. This loudmouth brother of his, however, was starting to get under the judge’s skin. It was high time for him to be moving on.
Patterson looked over and found Elijah Starr had positioned himself at the next window of the office and was also looking out at the commotion. His new director of rail construction had returned from Denver late yesterday.
“This Amos Stubbs fellow can draw a crowd,” Starr said.
“I believe there are twice as many people listening to him today.”
The judge had wanted to meet with Starr last night, but the members of the Ladies’ Event Planning Committee wouldn’t be put off about the Christmas gala. Unfortunately, the prettiest flower in that particular bouquet, Doc Burnett’s daughter, had been absent from the dinner meeting.
“He’s starting earlier than usual today,” the judge said. “Has the transaction been completed regarding the property he inherited from his brother?”
“The deal is done.”
“At the price I wanted?”
Starr nodded, still watching the street. Something had caught his eye. “It’s all done just as you wanted. He’s planning to get back on the road right after Jordan’s hanging.”
Patterson tried to see what Starr was so interested in. The answer was what he’d expected. A tall rider in an elk-skin coat was coming slowly down Main Street.
About time. It had been two days since they spoke. Marlowe was taking his time. Another annoyance, but perhaps the gunman needed the extra day to think everything through before accepting the offer.
“When is it going to be, Judge? The hanging?”
Patterson looked across at his man. Starr had taken a step back from the window, but his attention was entirely focused on the street—watching Marlowe’s every move. The hate that existed between father and son was unlike anything the judge had seen between blood relatives. He couldn’t understand it. They both had such formidable talents. The son had lightning speed and accuracy as a gunman, along with peerless tracking skills. The father had the ability to enact a plan, and he was ruthless in seeing it through. Together, those two men would be a force to be reckoned with.
He stifled a sigh. He’d tried, but Marlowe would have none of it. It had been an interesting and productive conversation, nonetheless. If the gunman didn’t want to work for him, the judge didn’t need Marlowe’s righteous attitude around once their plans firmed up and construction started.
Looking out at the gunslinger, the judge recalled the accusations Marlowe had made.
“Starr, do you know anything about a thousand head of cattle being stolen around Pueblo?”
“I’m not in that business, Judge. Cattle doesn’t interest me…unless it’s sitting on a plate in front of me at supper.”
That was not really an answer, Patterson thought. “How about a fire at Marlowe’s ranch this past week?”
“Fire?” Starr turned to him, his one eye piercing. “I wasn’t in town. I was in Denver conducting your business.”
“You weren’t in town when your gunmen tried to shoot me on Main Street this past summer.”
A deadly silence stretched between them, and Patterson thought about this man he’d hired. He had that lean and hungry look that Julius Caesar warned about. Such men are dangerous.
He glanced over at his two guards, standing inattentively by the door. Moments like this made Patterson think that perhaps he’d acted too quickly and recklessly in coming to terms with Starr.
“I had nothing to do with any fire. Caleb is not worth my time.”
Patterson turned his attention back to the street. Marlowe had dismounted in front of the jail, and the preacher was directing verbal attacks at him.
“I want you to leave him alone,” he told Starr.
“Caleb could ruin our plans. He’s dangerous.”
He fixed his gaze on the other man. “So are you.”
A smile pulled at Starr’s thin lips, but it never reached his eyes. “But I work for you.”
“So you say,” Patterson replied, not trusting a single thing Starr had said or done for him so far. “And I’m telling you to leave him be.”
“Whatever you say, Judge.”
“And for your information, Marlowe is selling his ranch to me. He’s leaving town.”
“Same old coward, that boy of mine.” Starr snorted. “Leaving his partner to hang.”
“No. I’m letting Henry Jordan walk as soon as they sign the papers.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Caleb looped Pirate’s reins over the hitching rail and stepped up onto the sidewalk outside the jail. Behind him, Amos Stubbs was shouting taunts and accusations at him, as he had been doing from the moment Caleb turned down Main Street. The man was no longer concealing his intentions behind half-baked references to Scripture.
Caleb considered crossing the street and dragging him off the back of that wagon, but he had more important things to do at the moment. He needed to see Zeke and square things with Henry. And he needed to talk to that sonovabitch Patterson, who right now was standing in his office window.
Spending the rest of the day yesterday trying to put things in order at the ranch—at least as well as he could—had been something he needed badly. He was still aching from his jump off the cliff, but his mind was clearer, and he was feeling stronger and better rested.
After Sheila left, Caleb had saddled Pirate again, then taken Bear and ridden down the valley to hunt up his missing cattle. Even though the creatures had an amazing resiliency when it came to surviving in the snow, he knew it was only good for a short while. They needed care, and they needed to stay in a herd.
Caleb had seen the remains of mule deer and elk and other signs of wolves in the forests along the ridges. Many a night, he’d heard their howls, as well as the yips and barks of the coyotes and the occasional mating cry of the mountain lion. A hurt stray stuck in a thicket was always a tempting meal.
The light had been nearly gone by the time the herd was rounded up. His muscles were tired, but as he’d worked, the looseness and power had returned to them.
Nothing like hard work to set a man straight.
Later, the smell of smoke still hung heavy in the air as he and Bear had shared a meal in his cabin. But he’d forced himself to think about the future rather than the past.
Before settling here, he and Henry had considered Montana or Wyoming. But they’d decided on Elkhorn, and now it was home. Sheila was right. He was not about to be run off his own land, not without a fight.
Accepting the judge’s offer would be a coward’s way of dealing with his troubles. If he took that deal and left, one day soon he’d be sorry he did. And by then, there’d be no coming back. All the roads and trails back here would be washed away. There’d be a bullet or a noose waiting for both him and Henry. That was no way to live.
There were things he could do something about and things he couldn’t. Pretty much the only kind of luck he’d been having lately was bad luck, but that had to change. He just had to keep bulling his way forward and stay alert.
He’d lost that herd of longhorns. He figured they were gone, and he knew in his heart who was behind it. But he’d wait and see what Duke and Bass could come up with as to proof.
Henry was looking at a dance with the hangman, but there was still a chance for him to get out under the law. Caleb wouldn’t let his partner hang, no matter what. Even if he had to bust him out.
While Caleb had been hunting up his strays, he’d gone up to the creek, as Henry had asked him. Even with the snow that had fallen, he’d found the spot where Frank Stubbs was found. Of course, there were plenty of tracks, more than Caleb could make sense of. He needed to talk to Zeke.
Then there was the matter of finding the four men who set fire to his ranch. Tracking them down and digging them out of whatever hole they were hiding in wouldn’t be too difficult. Somebody in town would remember that bay pinto one of them was riding. And once he found them, making them talk about who put them up to it would be a pleasure. He was looking forward to that immensely.
Now, standing on the sidewalk in front of the jail, Caleb looked up at the judge’s window. The great man had disappeared.
“Look away,” Amos Stubbs called out. “Look away from the servant of the lord of justice, heathen. Yes, you across the way.”
Oh, hell, Caleb thought. Once again he was the object of Stubbs’s nonsense. Now the preacher was pointing his Book at him and calling him out directly.
“Yes, you see me now, villain. You see the one who stirs up the righteous. The one who fears no heathen, no villain, no devil. A man of God who fears no one who stands in the way of justice. For the sword of Him above is keen and swift. His arm is all-powerful. His enemies will be cut down by his own chosen army.”
Stubbs swept his hand out over the miners and loiterers who’d stopped to enjoy the show.
“Yea, I say to you, devil, the fists of his virtuous servants will prevail once again. What say you, brothers? Will you be cowed by one villain? Will you have the sword of honor and decency dashed from your hands like weak and mewling children?”
Caleb ran his eye over the crowd. It looked like a few fellows were siding with Stubbs. There were always a few. They were same ones who would jump in to wager how long a decrepit three-legged dog would last against a young fighting dog in his prime. The rest seemed mostly unimpressed by the preacher, but they had nothing else to do. And if a hanging party got started, who were they to miss the excitement?
As Caleb started to turn away, Stubbs launched a fresh attack.
“Heathen, devil, coward! You, Marlowe. Partner to the foul and evil one. Turn your back on His servant. Turn and run from the instrument of divine justice. Run away, Marlowe. Run away, coward!”
“You’re a no-good, lying polecat!” A youngster’s high-pitched cry cut through the preacher’s taunts. “Marlowe ain’t no coward. He ain’t none of them things coming out of your dirty, lying mouth. And Henry Jordan ain’t no murderer, neither!”
Paddy was standing with Gabe by the edge of the crowd, and Stubbs reared back, his face reddening with rage at being contradicted.
“Someone stop that little heathen’s mouth.”
Two miners next to the boys turned amused faces toward them.
“I ain’t no heathen,” Paddy shouted. “You’re a heathen. And a damn skunk too.”
A short fella in front of them turned and cuffed the boy solidly, knocking him down. Gabe dove at the man, and immediately, all hell broke loose.
Caleb raced across Main Street, pushing into the crowd around the boys. Quickly, shoves escalated to punches being thrown. In a matter of seconds, a riot had started. There were no sides being taken in the battle. Everyone was punching and shoving the man next to him in a general melee. From the safety of his wagon, Stubbs was watching, his face lit with gleeful enjoyment. His words had started it all.
Caleb shoved through, clearing his way toward Paddy, who’d been yanked to his feet. Gabe, bleeding from the corner of his mouth, was pulling the ginger-haired boy toward the edge of the crowd, and his face showed his relief when Caleb broke through to them.
“Hold on to Paddy. I have to get you two out of here.”
Gabe nodded, and they started back in the direction of the jail. Punches landed on Caleb’s face and shoulders as he batted and elbowed others away. His only thought was to get the boys clear.
Suddenly, the broad, whiskered face of a gigantic miner reared up in front of him, roaring curses. The smell of whiskey spewed from a mouth that was missing more than a few teeth. He’d already taken a shot from someone, for his left eye was swelling shut. The giant was easily half a head taller than Caleb, and he was clearly totally committed to this battle.
Not wanting to let go of his grip on Gabe or lose his momentum through the crowd, Caleb had few options. Reaching up with his free hand, he took hold of the miner’s beard and shoved his face straight up. At the same time, his knee connected sharply with the man’s balls. A whoosh of more foul air came from the miner’s mouth as he doubled over. Caleb’s fist flashed toward the descending face, finding the point on the jaw that dropped the giant into the muddy snow at their feet.
A tight circle had formed around them during the confrontation, and from the side, another blow landed, striking Caleb’s ear. He ignored it and pulled the boys around the fallen fighter.
The men at the far side of circle appeared to be dead set against him leaving with Paddy and Gabe. Hands grabbed at the boys, and Caleb lashed out, driving his fist into the faces around him.
A revolver fired twice from just beyond the crowd, cutting through the air and causing a momentary cessation in hostilities.
As he straightened up and tugged the boys closer to him, Caleb realized it was a minor miracle no guns had already been drawn. He glanced in the direction the shot had been fired, expecting to see the sheriff on the sidewalk with his deputies.
No Zeke.
Instead, it was Red Annie O’Neal—sitting astride a good-looking palomino mare, revolvers in each hand, cocked and ready.
“That’s enough, boys.” Looking at her hard, piercing eyes, no one could doubt she meant business. “I am the first one to enjoy a good fight, but this one don’t appear to have much of a point. So just settle yourselves down.”
Red Annie was a tall woman, taller than most men, and as tough as buffalo hide. She kept her fiery-red hair cropped short and covered with a wide-brimmed hat the color of night. Caleb guessed she’d once been fair-skinned, but sun and wind and cold had weathered her face to a tawny gold, and wrinkles spider-webbed from the corners of her gray eyes. When she smiled, deep creases formed at the corners of her mouth.
She could be as intimidating as hell when she chose to be. When she was angry, those smile lines disappeared, and her eyes narrowed to slits. That’s what he and the crowd were looking at now.
For as long as Caleb had known her—about five years—he’d never seen her in anything except men’s clothes, with a brace of Colts strapped to her hips. Right now, she was wearing buckskin trousers tucked into her boots and a jacket of elk skin that would keep out all kinds of weather. More often than not, she was carrying the Winchester ’73 that was sticking up from its scabbard on the right side of her saddle. An important tool of her trade. She could drink most men under the table, but she could also put a bullet though the back legs of a horsefly at two hundred yards.
And as Red Annie was the only Star Route carrier in this area, most everyone knew her.
“Did they close all the saloons in this here metropolis?” she called out. “’Cuz I’m ready for a drink. Hell, you boys must’ve worked up a righteous thirst, and I see the Belle’s doors are open wide. So why don’t y’all get to it?”
The men in the crowd knew a good idea when they heard one, and the combatants began to head off arm in arm for the bars to lie about their prowess in the fight.
Pouching her irons, Red Annie swung down easily from the horse and turned her gray eyes on Caleb. One of those creases formed at the corner of her mouth.
“You need me to follow you around and save your carcass regular, Marlowe?”
“I was handling it.”
“You keep saying that, and one of these times I won’t be around to watch your back.” She motioned behind him. “Like now.”
Caleb turned in time to see the flash of a knife. It was the short fella who’d cuffed Paddy and been shoved back by Gabe. He was lunging toward them from the receding crowd, but Caleb was too quick for him. Sweeping the boys to the side, he caught the wrist with the knife with one hand as he planted his right foot in the snow. Dropping his shoulder, Caleb came up with a fist, connecting squarely under the man’s chin. The attacker’s head snapped back, and he left his feet, flying a yard or two before landing unconscious in the packed snow. The knife sailed off and dropped harmlessly beside him.
“See? You oughta get yourself another set of eyes for the back of your head.”
“Who am I to argue, Red?”
As far as Caleb knew, there was only one other woman who worked the Rockies as a Star Route carrier for the U. S. Postal Service. An independent contractor, Red carried mail for them from town to town along established routes, sometimes using stagecoaches but often by horseback.
She was a woman who liked her life the way she lived it and was damn good at what she did. Caleb had heard a number of stagecoach drivers say they liked having her along for the ride. She was good company, a dead shot, and road agents gave her a wide berth if they knew she was coming through.
The four of them started across the street, and Red Annie tied her mare beside Caleb’s buckskin.
“So how’d that lively little dance get started?” she asked, gesturing with her chin at the man just starting to stir in the middle of Main Street.
Caleb looked back at the wagon where Amos Stubbs had been holding forth. The clown responsible for it all had disappeared. He put his hand on Paddy’s shoulder.
“This fine fella and his friend here felt the need to stand up for my character, Red.”
“Questionable as that is,” she replied with a laugh. She took both of their chins in her gloved hands and inspected their wounds. “Looks like they got their licks in without too much in return.”
“I’ll have these two beside me in a tangle anytime,” Caleb said.
The boys grinned at each other.
“Glad you’re back, Mr. Marlowe,” Paddy said. “Miss Sheila said you rassled with a bear when she came over to the livery yesterday.”
