The Cavalier, page 14
“Ain’t no point in trying to act innocent. I already caught you,” Nanna chuckled softly, and then took a serious tone. “While the two of you were making sparks, a message arrived for Mister MacLean.”
Noah surged to his feet, still feeling the bite of sore ribs, but in a lesser degree than they had been only a week before. He extended his hand and took the telegram. “Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am.”
“I will leave you to that,” Emily said, looking for an escape. Nanna was hard pressed to keep up with her employer as she exited the room.
Emily wasn’t entirely certain where she was escaping to, but ended up in the kitchen. Absently stepping to the sink, she started scrubbing a pot that had been left there to soak.
“The Lord himself must be coming back today!” Nanna thundered as she entered the kitchen behind Emily. “Emily... Emilia Ashley is scrubbing a pot. You haven’t done that since you came back from London.”
“I just thought I’d start pitching in a little bit more,” she replied, avoiding Nanna’s prying eyes.
“It has nothing to do with the fact that I just caught you and Mister MacLean sliding your lips all over each other?”
“We were not...” she started a response, but the instant redness that overtook her face choked it back.
“Relax, child, if I was your age and that man was lookin’ at me the way he looks at you, I’d be trying to find a way to get my lips on his too.”
Emily giggled at the thought of Nanna being young. She’d been ancient for as long as Emily had been alive.
“What are you giggling about? I’ll have you know that I was a very attractive young lady.”
“It’s just hard to think of you as being young.”
“I think it is better that you keep your thoughts to yourself. Here, let me in there.”
It had been a very long time since she had stood beside Nanna washing dishes; not since before she left for London. She remembered hating the chore and feeling like she was a prisoner being watched by a warden with Nanna beside her. She had never been expected to help out with the chores, but she discovered that there was a great deal of comfort in standing beside Nanna, helping her do the dishes.
Until that moment, she didn’t realize how much she had missed it. She had missed a lot of things since she had returned from London with her nose stuck in the air. Had Noah changed her that much? Another thought came to her suddenly.
“You know, my engagement was broken off, and everyone knows that I am the illegitimate daughter of a Philadelphia madam. All of my students have left, and within a month, my bank account will be all but empty. Shockingly, I’m neither sad nor worried about it. Is that odd?”
“Not when you consider the blessings you have.”
“I hope you’re not going to be cryptic again.”
“When have I ever been cryptic?”
Emily turned her face toward her without saying a word. She watched a smile form on Nanna’s face.
“Well, sometimes, when you’re giving advice, you need to let the other person know that it’s their own idea when they come up with the answer. Sort of like Jesus telling parables. If he’d just come right out and lectured them, nobody would have listened, but he gave them something to think about; eventually, they came around of their own accord.”
“I’d never thought of it that way.” She pondered what Nanna had just told her. “So, tell me a parable about why I feel happy when everything seems to have come crashing down around me.”
“Ain’t no parable for that,” Nanna replied.
“So, come out and lecture me then.”
“Ain’t no call for that neither.”
“Nanna!”
“Child, all of your burdens and secrets are gone. You don’t have to put on airs for anybody, most of all, the Gordons and their ilk. You’ve stripped away all of the fetters and in the process found a man who would do anything in the world to keep you happy.”
“He would?”
“Excuse me, ma’am... Emily,” Noah said, stepping into the kitchen with his hat in his hands. “I um... the telegram. It’s something that needs urgent tending.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
“I don’t have much choice at the moment. Duty calls.”
“When will you be back?” Emily asked, not sure why she asked that question rather than asking if he would be coming back. Somehow, she knew he would.
“Not sure how long tending to this is going to take,” he answered.
“I wish you wouldn’t go just yet,” she protested. “You’re really not quite well.”
“I’ll be fine,” he grinned. “I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay the debt.”
“You owe no debt, Mis... Noah MacLean,” she beamed. She fought back the mistiness that was beginning to overtake her.
“See you soon as I can,” he said, turning and retreating from the room.
“Emily? Noah?” Nanna cackled as soon as she heard the back door close behind him. “How long has that been going on?”
“He’s been calling me Emily from the beginning,” she responded.
“Not within earshot of me, he ain’t,” Nanna protested.
“Well...” She had no good response.
“Back to what I was sayin’,” Nanna said, triumph shining in her eyes. “You’ve found a man who would do anything in the world to keep you happy.”
“How can you say that? I barely know him.”
“Why do you think that man came back here and took a beating that nearly killed him? He’d done his job. He could have just turned ‘round an’ gone back to Philadelphia, forgettin’ all about Emily Ashley, but he took your side instead, and it nearly cost him his life.”
“How do you know that he took my side?”
“Why else would Dillon Sinclaire send thugs to beat him?”
“How do you know it was Dillon?”
With the few dishes finished, Nanna stepped away from the sink and started toward the pantry as if she were ignoring Emily’s question. Suddenly, she stopped, turned, and stared at her. “Who else do we know that might want to beat that man within an inch of his life?”
“Okay. Yes. I got it.”
When Nanna went toward the pantry again, Emily pulled out a chair beside the table and sat down, considering what Nanna had just told her. She did feel lighter and freer. She was no longer worried about someone discovering her secret; furthermore, she didn’t care. She realized that plenty of people out west had shaky pasts. The West was a chance for them to start anew. Though there were always those in society who would look down their noses and pass judgment, by and large, in the West, people were judged for what they had become, what they were building, and how they treated their neighbors rather than by what was hidden in their past.
She also realized that even though she had lost her chance at the fortune her father had left her in gold interests, she wasn’t really worried about that either. She might have to sell the extravagant house she had bought in order to establish the school so she could get by, but she was confident that she would make it through somehow. The only part that still rankled was the fact that Dillon Sinclaire had gotten away with his sinister plan. She hadn’t come up with a way to do anything about it. There was no way to cut the head off the snake. He was too powerful.
“So, how do I cut the head off of the snake?” she asked when Nanna came back into the kitchen toting the items that she needed to prepare their lunch.
Nanna’s laughter echoed throughout the kitchen. “You already did that, child.”
For a moment, she thought it was another one of her cryptic answers, and then suddenly she understood. Dillon Sinclaire had never been the snake Nanna was referring to.
Chapter Twenty Two
Noah knew the type. The man who was threatening the patrons in the small bar was flanked by two other wannabe toughs who made use of their aggressiveness and willingness to kill in cold blood to intimidate peaceful people. So far, they had gotten away with it because no one had stood up to them.
Leaning against the bar and sipping on a glass of whiskey to settle the dust in his throat, Noah MacLean surveyed the situation taking place behind him in the bar’s mirror. Though the reflection wasn’t necessarily smooth, it did a good enough job of laying out the situation.
With the trouble escalating, the bartender had moved over in front of him and had slowly lowered his hand to the sawed-off double-barrel shotgun behind the bar in front of Noah. Noah looked up at him and shook his head ever so slightly, pulling back the lapel of his jacket enough to reveal the silver Pinkerton shield, then nodded toward the shotgun.
The bartender licked his lips, moving his eyes nervously from the gun to Noah’s eyes. Noah nodded once more. In a flash, the shotgun was in Noah’s hands, and he spun around, leveling it at the three men across the small saloon. All three had their hands frozen on the handles of their pistols, still in their holsters.
Those in the line of fire slunk out of the way and pressed themselves against the adjacent walls of the bar.
“Ease those pistols out and toss them on the floor,” Noah hissed. Every syllable was heard clearly in the silent room.
“You only have two shots,” the rough man in the middle said, still trying to be tough.
“And if I send both of them your way, they’ll scatter the three of you so it'll take three days to find all of your teeth.” He allowed his statement to take effect on their thoughts. Their eyes suddenly widened, and he knew that the facts had taken root. “Now, ease those pistols out like I said.”
“You’re makin’ a big mistake, Mister. This is our town, and we say what goes on around here. Who are you anyway?”
“I’m Noah MacLean and I don’t give a damn.”
“What right do you have, Noah MacLean, to come in here and stick your nose in where it don’t belong?”
“Two barrels of double ought buck aimed at your head are the only right I need.”
“We have friends,” the leader of the group said, easing the pistol out of its holster and tossing it to the floor. The other two followed suit.
“Then you’ll have someone to visit you in jail,” he replied, still looking down the barrel at the leader’s face. “You got a place that serves as a jail around here, or should I save the taxpayers their upkeep?”
“We have a jail,” the bartender put in. No doubt, he was concerned about the damage the shotgun and the scattered parts of the three men would do to his establishment.
“I am a commissioned officer of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, and I am placing these men under arrest.”
“On what charges?” the leader asked.
“For being a damned nuisance for now, but I’ll put some more together later.” Without taking his eyes off his quarry, he sent a question out to the room. “Does someone want to volunteer to help me escort these men to jail?”
The room was silent for several beats; evidently, the leader’s threat of having friends had an effect on the bar’s patrons. A quiet man who had been sitting alone at the far end of the bar finally spoke up. “I’ll help you, MacLean.”
It was a familiar voice, though it took Noah a moment to place it. He didn’t dare turn his head to see who it was. He heard the hammer being drawn back on a pistol and the sound of the man’s boots on the floor as he took his position.
“Alright. I’m going to back through the door slowly, and you three are going to play follow the leader in single file. My partner will bring up the rear. You take the lead.” He waved the barrel at the leader. “Any funny business and I’m repainting the wall a dark shade of crimson..”
With the three safely tucked away in what served as a jail, Noah turned to John Munson. “By God, you’re a sight for sore eyes, Muns.” He extended his hand, took Munson’s, and shook it vigorously.
“Cuttin’ a pretty wide swath, Noah. This bunch ain’t to be taken lightly.”
“They’re all alike; full of piss and vinegar until somebody stands up to them.” He waved a hand dismissing his captives. “What the hell has you in San Andreas, California?”
“Drifting between jobs mostly. You’re a Pink, huh?”
“Yeah. Followed a case out this way and haven’t left yet.”
“You planning to take up residence in Boot Hill here?”
“No, I’m just passing through.”
“Well, then, you better keep passing.”
“Soon as the sheriff gets here, I intend to go finish my drink, and then head on back to San Francisco.”
“You’ll wait a long damned time, then. The last one got bored a day or two ago by the very man that you have locked up. The rest of his bunch will probably be riding in to spring him within the hour. So, you’d be better off to forget about that drink and just ride.”
Though he certainly hadn’t counted on getting into anything on his ride back to San Francisco, he had already taken on a responsibility to see that justice was served to the thugs he had locked away in the jail. He knew that the deadline for Emily’s hearing was coming up, and he intended to get there and try to delay it until he could arrest Dillon Sinclaire.
The information in the telegram that had arrived at Emily’s house had led him to Reno, Nevada, and someone willing to talk about Dillon Sinclaire. The information provided told how Sinclaire Steel came to acquire the Hartley & Sons Steel operation. There was also some foggy information connecting Sinclaire to a murder, which took place during the same time that he was in New Orleans. It wasn’t a lot to go on, but what Patrick O’Leary had inadvertently revealed when he told him that Sinclaire fired him might provide enough evidence to call in the US Marshal. Guilty or not, it was enough to drag his sorry ass back to New Orleans and Cleveland to be questioned further, maybe even to sit before a judge for extortion charges.
In light of that evidence, as well as his involvement in making certain that Emily’s engagement was broken off, not to mention the attempt he’d made on his own life, Noah hoped that he might be able to convince Dennison and the probate court to make an exception for the unfulfilled portion of the will.
However, he had just created another problem for himself; one that might delay his return to San Francisco or prevent it altogether. He was in a bind. He couldn’t afford to waste much time getting back to San Francisco, but he also had taken something on the moment he took a hand in whatever game the local toughs were playing. “You know I can’t ride away and leave this undone, John.”
“Yeah. You always had a weak spot for doing the right thing.”
“Can you give me enough time to run down to the telegraph office and send a message before you ride out?”
“Who says I’m riding out? I sort of bought into this along with you.”
“Alright. You look after them and I’ll be right...”
“You’re not going anywhere just yet. Look,” John interrupted. He had looked out the window and saw the half-dozen riders come thundering down the street before Noah could finish his statement.
Noah moved quickly. “Toss me that scatter gun. You might want to grab another one yourself.”
He caught the gun in the air, stepped through the door, and leveled it at the lead rider as Munson slipped out the back. “That’s far enough!” he called out.
Their horses skidded to a stop not more than 30 yards away. It was a little far to deliver the full force of the scatter-gun, but the riders hadn’t caught onto the fact yet. With the thong already loosened on his pistol, he knew that if the shooting started, he’d have to give them both barrels and then roll away and come up with his pistol.
“Who the hell are you?” the lead rider snapped.
“I’m Noah MacLean.”
“You best step aside, Noah MacLean, you’re outnumbered.”
“Could be, but I’m carrying an equalizer.”
“So am I,” Munson announced from the corner of the building, leveling a single-barreled ten-gauge at the group.
Noah took several steps forward, closing the distance between him and the riders. He watched the leader calculate his odds and reach for his pistol. Both barrels of the shotgun thundered in Noah’s hands.
The blast from Noah’s scattergun ripped through the air, tearing a jagged hole in the chest of the lead man. His horse reared, panicked, bumping into the rider nearest to him, allowing Noah to drop the empty shotgun, hit the dirt, and roll to his right just as a return shot kicked up dust where he’d been standing.
He came up on one knee, his .44 drawn and firing. He could smell the sharp scent of gunpowder from John Munson’s ten-gauge and the sickening sound that came when flesh was ripped open by buckshot.
Chaos erupted. Horses bucked and scattered. Two unseated riders scrabbled on the ground, one clutching a bleeding arm. The remaining three stayed mounted, drawing pistols and firing wildly. Noah put two quick rounds into the chest of another man, who tumbled sideways from his saddle.
Another rider spurred his horse forward, aiming to ride Noah down. Without flinching, he waited until the last possible second to sidestep the horse and fire at its rider as he passed.
The last man hesitated, looking from Noah to the grounded fighter and then back toward John, who was calmly reloading his shotgun. He made his decision, dropped his reins, and extended his palms high into the air as Munson covered him with the shotgun.
Silence fell, broken only by the groans of two wounded men. Noah calmly placed new cartridges in the empty cylinder of his pistol, trusting John to cover their prisoner as he scanned the street for anyone else who had the inkling to join the fight.
Four men lay still on the ground. Two horses were down. The whole exchange hadn't lasted a minute.
As order recovered its grip on the streets, figures cautiously emerged from doorways and windows. An older man, dressed in slightly better clothes than the others, came along the board sidewalk, approached Noah, his face grim but showing relief.
“That was... somethin’,” he said, looking at the scene. “Town’s obliged to you, mister.”
Noah holstered his pistol and turned away. “Needed doin’.”
