Silver Trail Christmas, page 22
Red Annie pulled the saddlebag from her palomino and slid the Winchester from the scabbard. “That’s where I know you fellas from. You’re the son of Malachi Rogers.”
The boys removed their hats.
Gabe nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I work there,” Paddy chirped. “And you’re Red Annie O’Neal.”
“That’s right. So then, why don’t you two take my lady Argo here over to the stable and see that she gets everything she needs.” She ruffled Paddy’s hair. “I need to talk to your pa.”
“Marlowe ain’t my pa,” the boy said, his face reddening.
“That’s what they all say.”
As the boys led Argo away, Red Annie turned to Caleb. “Whoever’s boy that is, you and me need to talk. I got a message for you from Duke Ortiz.”
Chapter Thirty
Many saloons in Elkhorn were not so choosy as to exclude women from their clientele, but the Belle Saloon was Red Annie’s favored place to drink when she was in town. Before going in, however, she needed to drop off the mail at Wilson’s General Store.
As they passed the judge’s building, she went in and dropped his mail with the clerks in the lobby.
“Always gets his mail delivered separate,” she told Caleb with a shrug.
Once they reached the Belle, the two of them found a table near the door, where Caleb sat with his back to the wall. Though the Belle wasn’t exactly famous for serving breakfast, quite a few miners were in, drinking theirs.
The stove was warming the place nicely, and the two of them shed their coats as the barman called to them, asking what they’d like.
“Brandy for me,” Red ordered, putting her saddlebag and rifle behind her.
“That coffee I smell?” Caleb asked. The Scottish bartender raised his eyebrows, exchanging a look with Red Annie.
“Look, the fella’s got a lot on his mind,” she said. “Rassling bears. Knife fighting with preachers.” She sat back in her chair. “Just get him his damn coffee.”
The barman tugged at his collar, displaying the tattoo of an upright lion with the claws extended. Then, without another word, he shrugged and went to get the drinks.
“Going soft on me, Marlowe?”
“Like you said. Got a lot on my mind.”
“’Cuz if you order buttermilk the next time we come in here, we ain’t drinking together no more. A girl can get a reputation in this town, you know.”
He tapped the table. “Duke Ortiz found you?”
“I ain’t too hard to find, even in a place like Denver.”
“I told him the places where you usually boarded and drank when you were there.”
“He found me.” She reached inside her coat and produced a letter that she handed over. “Every time I think I got you figured out, Marlowe, you surprise me a little more.”
“How’s that?” Caleb stared at the letter in his hand.
“For one thing, the company you keep. You’re the best of friends with all sorts of fellas.”
“I’ve known Duke Ortiz for a long time. We been in some fearsome scrapes, as I’m sure he told you if you gave him ten minutes. And Bass Dart? That fella is a good man. We’ve traveled some hard miles together.”
“I liked both of them. They actually drink hard liquor. Surprisingly, they talk real good about you.”
Caleb nodded, impatient to open the letter.
“And that Chinese family you paid me to take to Denver this past summer.” Red Annie smiled. “They all but made me a member of the family. I got a real warm feeling for that bunch.”
The barman put her brandy and Caleb’s coffee on the table in front of them.
“Hell, Marlowe. You even call me your friend.”
The first time Caleb met Red Annie was at a stagecoach way station up in Wyoming. He’d come in as she was going to war with two fellas who’d taken exception to her wearing trousers and riding as a guard for Wells Fargo. She had no trouble handling them. Caleb had only stepped in when a third, in the solemn defense of manhood, tried to jump her from behind.
He couldn’t wait any longer and opened Duke’s letter. It was brief, and Caleb struggled with the handwriting. The gist of it was that they were in Denver, as if he didn’t know that, and the herd of longhorns had arrived by cattle car and got shipped north to Cheyenne City. Addressed to a Mr. Eric Goulden. They were following.
Caleb shook his head, trying to figure out why a railroad baron would be interested in stolen cattle. Elijah Starr had surely cut his ties with Goulden when he went to work for the judge, Goulden’s sworn enemy.
When the answer came to him, it was like seeing a rattler slither into a privy. Starr was working for both sides. Or rather, he never stopped working for Goulden. Maybe that herd of longhorns was a gift to his boss to smooth over any rough patch that had come up when Caleb thwarted his plans in Elkhorn. Four dollars a head in Texas brought as much as forty a head by the time they reached St. Louis. More in Chicago. Even for a fella as well-heeled as Eric Goulden, a forty-thousand-dollar gift had to be considered a serious apology.
“Did you hear one word I said?”
Caleb looked up at Red Annie. “What did you say?”
“I said, you even call me your friend,” Red repeated, banging a hand on the table.
“Of course, I heard that.”
“Well, you was supposed to answer before burying your nose in some damn letter.”
“Hell, Red. We got history. We’re friends. What else is there to say?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to say something. We’re having a conversation.”
“About what?” he asked.
“We were discussing the kind of friends you keep.”
“Oh.” Caleb realized what she was getting at. “Red, your idea of a conversation is like going to San Francisco by way of Mexico. If you got something on your mind, go ahead and say it.”
“I do not understand Henry Jordan.”
“Henry again?” Caleb asked. “Why are you so interested in him?”
“I ain’t interested.”
“Sounds like you are.”
“Well, I ain’t.” She drank down her glass of brandy and waved for another.
With all Caleb had on his mind, he didn’t want to get involved in this. But for someone who wasn’t interested in Henry, she always asked about him.
The two of them had been at odds from the day they met up north. At the time, Henry had a woman on his lap while he was playing poker and putting down red-eye faster than a city barber goes through hair oil. She took exception to his lack of attention to the cards, apparently.
Something about Henry tickled Red, though, whether she was willing to admit it or not.
“But, just for conversation,” she continued, “where is the chucklehead? The last time I come through, he was out of jail and trying out his new life on the ranch. Is he staying out of trouble?”
“Hate to say it, but he’s back in jail.”
Her drink arrived, and she frowned at it for a moment before her gray eyes lifted to his. “Drunk and disorderly again?”
“Nope. Murder.”
“Hats and horseshit! Murder? Henry? He ain’t the type.”
Red Annie tried to say it casually. But there was something in the way she pushed her glass away that made Caleb think she was more upset than she was letting on.
“You’re right, Red. He ain’t the type. He didn’t do it.”
“You helping him?”
“Doing my best.”
She thought about it. “But you ain’t wearing the badge, are you?”
Caleb pocketed Ortiz’s letter. “No. Zeke Vernon is still the sheriff.”
“Maybe I’ll go by and say howdy to Zeke. And while I’m there, say howdy to Henry. Just to be friendly.”
Caleb nodded. “I think he’d like that, Red.”
She took a drink and shrugged off the cloud hanging over the table. “But he’s still a damn fool. And you’re a damn fool taking him on for a partner.”
“If you say so,” he replied into his coffee cup.
They both looked up as the door to the saloon opened, and Sheila sailed in. Regardless of how much she tried to fit in to the frontier town, there was something about the way she carried herself that said she came from old money. Caleb had decided long ago that it was the confidence.
“Uh-oh. That who I think it is?” Red asked.
“You be nice,” he said, rising to his feet.
One of the Belle’s girls was standing by the bar, chatting it up with the tattooed Scotsman, and Sheila went straight to her. The saloon girl looked downright shocked at being addressed but then smiled and replied to whatever was asked.
Caleb immediately realized that he might have jumped the gun, thinking she was here to see him. He remembered that she and Belle Constant were on speaking terms. He knew she’d been here before.
Sheila turned, and her eyes settled on Caleb and Red Annie.
Her face glowed, and her eyes shone from the cold outside and exercise. She had snow at the hem of the long, blue dress that hung below the heavy wool coat. She’d apparently left her wide-brimmed hat at home, along with her gun belt.
He watched her every step as she approached. To give her credit, she had no trouble weaving her way through the gawking miners. He hadn’t jumped the gun. Sheila came directly to him.
“I heard there was a fight,” she said in greeting.
“Nothing compared to Bull Run or Antietam.”
“And the boys were involved.”
“They tell you that?”
“They said that horrid Amos Stubbs was slandering you.”
“Hard to imagine Paddy using the word slandering, but I reckon that’s about right.”
It was impossible for Caleb to ignore the way Red Annie was staring at one of them and then the other, a smile lifting a corner of her mouth. Finally, she couldn’t restrain herself any longer.
“Marlowe, are you going to introduce me to Mrs. Marlowe?”
A blush colored Sheila’s face instantly. “We’re not… I’m not…”
“Not married yet? Well, then, when is the happy event?”
“No! You’re mistaken.”
“That ain’t what he tells me.”
“Hold on there, Red,” Caleb warned.
“Now, don’t you get no bee up your bumble chute. You didn’t say it was a damn secret.”
Sheila was clearly at a loss as to what to say. Red seemed to be just getting started.
“Don’t believe nothing she says. She had a mule kick her in the head as a child,” Caleb said. “I know I’m going to regret this…but Sheila Burnett, let me introduce you to Red Annie O’Neal. She’s the—”
“Star Route carrier for the U.S. Postal Service,” Sheila finished for him, holding her hand out for a handshake. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Red looked past the outstretched hand at its owner, not taking it yet. “From this one?”
“No. From my father, Doc Burnett. He sings your praises all the time.”
“Well, in that case…” Red Annie shook the hand and motioned to a seat. “Now you got to join us. Marlowe ain’t much of a conversationalist, as you probably know. I’ve been on the road for a week, and I talk to my horse plenty, but I don’t get much in the way of replies. She’s a pretty thing, but a whisker less chatty than this one.”
“Thank you.” Sheila took off her coat and sat down.
“And to keep the record straight, that weren’t no mule.” Red motioned to the bartender to come over. “It was a small pony.”
Caleb was starting to wish some animal would come by and kick her again.
“What do you drink, missus?” she asked Sheila. “Whatever you like. Marlowe is paying. What’s your usual? A hot Scotch? A horn of forty-rod?”
“What are you having?” Sheila asked.
“Brandy.”
“I’d like the same, thank you,” she told the bartender.
Caleb had to bite his tongue. All the times he’d gone to Doc’s house for dinner, he’d never seen Sheila drink brandy. He didn’t think they even had it in the house. She might have a bit of wine, occasionally a little cider. That’s all.
“So, missus—”
“My friends call me Sheila,” she said, touching Red Annie’s hand. “I’d like it if you would do the same.”
“Well, I like that. I’m just Red Annie to one and all.”
Caleb couldn’t help but notice the difference between the two hands. Red’s showed the rough wear of the trail and the weather. She had several scars on the back and strong, tanned fingers. Sheila’s was smaller and paler with glimpses of blood vessels running beneath the surface of the soft-looking skin. But he knew this was not a weak hand. The strength of her grasp was equal to the strength of her character. And while it was a hand that was rarely quiet, there was no nervousness in it. Sheila Burnett was as sure of herself as Red Annie O’Neal. Two different hands belonging to two different but equally strong women.
Their drinks arrived, and he eyed them. He was not about to say a word.
Red sent a sly look at Caleb and lifted her glass to her new friend. “Sheila, old girl, here’s to you.”
“And to you,” she replied.
The two women tipped up their glasses, and Caleb sipped his coffee. He was waiting for Sheila’s mouthful to spray across the table, and he realized Red was watching for it as well. But once again, Sheila Burnett was a surprise to him. The color of her face slipped a little, but the liquor stayed, and she managed a smile as she put the glass down.
“So what are you two naming your future babies?” Red asked.
“Too early in the day for that talk,” Sheila said, not skipping a beat this time around. “It’s not too many times I get a chance to sit across from a legend.”
“A legend?” Red asked. “You clever girl. You’re trying to distract me from all this talk of matrimony.”
“No, you’ll be the first to know, whenever Marlowe gets around to asking.”
Caleb almost spewed out a mouthful of coffee.
“But, to more interesting conversation,” Sheila continued, warming to the company. “Is it true that you’ve ridden as a coach guard everywhere from Denver to Carson City?”
Red Annie sat back. “Actually, I’d say from Topeka to San Francisco.”
“Did you single-handedly drive off Dirty Dave Rudabaugh and his gang when they tried to rob a Wells Fargo stage you were riding on?”
“How do you know about that?”
“You’d be amazed how much I know about you.”
“In that case.” Red turned a shade of pink. “That story’s done got blowed up some. It weren’t just me. There was a young greenhorn riding below that I don’t think knew one end of his Remington from the other. But he made some noise with it and managed to not shoot himself.”
“And you won a marksmanship contest in Dodge City judged by Buffalo Bill Cody himself. You defeated forty of the best riflemen in the West, including Ben Thompson, John Wesley Hardin, Mysterious Dave Mather, and Bat Masterson himself.”
“How d’you know all this?”
“I told you, I know things.”
Caleb wondered who’d been the source of all this information. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Red Annie actually glow before, but she was practically lit up now. She reached behind her and produced her Winchester ’73.
“Well, that’s true,” she replied proudly. “Except for Hardin. He weren’t there. But I won this pretty thing in that contest.”
She held out the rifle with an inscription on the side plate.
Sheila took it and read the inscription out loud. She held the weapon to her shoulder and sighted along the barrel, pointing it at the elk on the wall behind the bar. She ran her hand along the smooth stock then handed it back to Annie.
Caleb chuckled to himself. He was actually feeling a little left out. After all, he’d given Sheila a lesson with his own Winchester.
“Some of them boys were damn sorry losers, let me tell you. Thought I’d have to fight my way outta Dodge that day.”
“I’d love to hear more about your life. Why don’t you come and have dinner with me and my father?”
“Marlowe going to be there?”
“I haven’t invited him yet.”
“Good. Then I’ll be there.”
“Well, now I know where I stand with you two.” He pretended to sound offended, but neither of them seemed to buy it.
“I do love making new friends, Annie.”
Red glanced at Caleb. “Funny thing. Just before you come in, him and me was talking about friends.”
As Red was talking, Belle Constant came into the saloon through the side door. As she pulled off a heavy shawl, she spotted them and immediately glided up to the table, standing across from Caleb.
He was not one to notice such things, usually, but the proprietor was not dressed in her customary silk gowns. Her black hair was done up with curls and her face looked the same, but she was wearing a fine dress of linen or some such material, of a style similar to what he called Sheila’s “New York dresses.” The color of the thing—like ripe chestnuts—was surely intended to set off her dark skin to advantage. She was carrying a small, fancy bag along with her shawl.
“Miss Sheila. Red Annie,” she said, acknowledging the women before fixing her black eyes on Caleb. “How is your partner holding up, Marlowe?”
This was the first time she’d ever spoken to him. And he was impressed that she even knew his name or what was happening to Henry. “He’s a fighter, Miss Belle, but the odds are stacked against him at the moment. I’m trying to change that.”
“Good. Before you leave, stop upstairs and see me. I have some information that might help.”
Caleb could definitely use someone with her connections on Henry’s side.
