Fools Rush In: Mail-Order Bride

by Eveline Hart

  The stage driver saw an opportunity while the men had their backs turned, engrossed in their thievery. He slowly drew his Colt from under the folds of his duster coat. From his position, he had a clear shot at Blue Eyes’ back.

  Anna’s soft Irish lilt suddenly whispering in his ear nearly caused him to send a wild shot off into the desert, but she stayed his hand. “Don’t.”

  The driver leaned toward her. “But that money belongs to the Grass Valley Bank. They’ve no right to it.”

  “Any less than we eight have a right to keep on livin’?”

  The driver looked momentarily puzzled. There were six passengers on the stage, seven if you included him, the driver. Perhaps the stress of the events had caused her confusion, he thought. Regardless of her poor math, he began to see her point.

  Anna continued her terse whispering. “You’ve no chance against three. Sure’n you might be able to pick one off. Maybe e’en two, but it only takes one ta put a bullet in yer own noggin’, sir. And think of the rest of us. You may have that cannon there, but the rest of us? We’re sorely unarmed. It would be a bloody massacre.”

  Her Irish sensibility seemed to get through to the driver. He surreptitiously returned his gun to the hidden confines of his coat.

  Anna let loose the bated breath she’d been holding. She didn’t disagree with her own argument. There was no way they stood a chance against three armed gunmen. Her logic was sound. But, it was the way the driver had drawn a bead on Blue Eyes. He seemed different from his compatriots and had shown great compassion in returning her bag, and its precious contents, to her.

  She owed him.

  After a few terse minutes, Whiskey Breath tossed his weighty saddlebags across the withers of his horse and swung his heavily muscled body over the saddle. He waved his gun in the air to signal his partners. “Time to go boys!”

  The Lizard quickly followed suit, repeating Whiskey Breath’s motions and saddling his own horse. Blue Eyes appeared to hesitate. He turned to Anna at the last moment. “Take care of that bag, now, Miss.” The advice hung on the lips of his gentle mouth just for a moment. Then, in a flash, he saddled up and rode off into the setting sun leaving Anna and the other stage passengers rooted to the spot.

  The driver, visibly shaken but ready to take responsibility for the safety of his passengers, quickly inspected the stage for damage. The golden sun was setting quickly behind the buttes, and he knew full well that there were more dangers in the open western country than simple bandits.

  “We got lucky,” he muttered as he scooted his way from under the stage frame. “The explosion didn’t cause any damage to the frame itself and runnin’ gear is still square. If I can get some help getting’ the spooked horses to settle, I suggest we get back on the road and you folks to your destinations. The sun will be down soon, and the only thing more dangerous than traveling out in this godforsaken country is doin’ it by the light of the moon, so let’s get to it.”

  The men helped the driver soothe the horses and adjust their tack and, pretty soon, the traveling party was once again on the move. Just seven thousand dollars lighter.

  The flickering beam from the lantern bounced in a thousand golden directions. Seven thousand as a matter of fact. Callahan sat at the table in the bleak mountain cabin and watched as Duke McAllister and Louis Farnsworth counted their ill-gotten gains from the stagecoach job.

  Jesse’s plan had gone off without a hitch, and there hadn’t been a single drop of blood spilled. Well, okay. The stage driver did receive quite a crack on his skull. But, nobody died and that, in itself, was quite a detour for the McAllister Gang.

  Originally from Missouri, Duke McAllister was born into a bilingual family, German and English. He had been raised to tend the family farm with his brothers and mind the strictures of the family’s staunch fundamentalist religion, or succumb to the harsh thumpings from his abusive father and the stinging whip of the switch from his severe mother. Jesse wasn’t surprised that McAllister had evolved into a violent and predatory criminal.

  The rough bandit hadn’t always been on the wrong side of the law, however. When McAllister had first left home, it was rumored that he’d done a stint as a wrangler in Nevada, where he fitted himself up with a good horse, a fair rifle, and decent tack. From there he moved on to employ as a scout for the Army. His penchant for languages made him a likely candidate for work as an interpreter during the ongoing struggles with the Native Americans. He even did a spell working for the Pinkerton Criminal Detective Agency, the agency which Jesse himself, unbeknownst to his fellow gang members, was now working for undercover.

  Jesse’s job was to bring in McAllister and every member of his gang with charges that would secure them each a swinging spot at the gallows. McAllister had signed his own death warrant when he placed a bullet square in the back of fourteen-year-old Robert Hill, who had let his family’s flock of sheep graze too close to McAllister’s homestead.

  “He was trespassin’ on my land,” McAllister had growled when Jesse first broached the topic. It had been Jesse’s first day in the gang. “And you ain’t gonna say no more about it if you want to keep your brains inside your head.”

  Jesse and his superiors at the Pinkerton Agency believed the boy had actually just gotten too close to one of McAllister’s stashes of loot. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been enough evidence to convict McAllister of any crime, no matter how many folks believed him to be guilty. The boy’s death was a terrible tragedy, but legally, the law’s hands were bound.

  Cassidy didn’t know that Jesse had a personal reason to secure this mans capture. Three years before, his wife, children and father were shot and burned inside of his home while he was away. His father, being the sheriff, had evidence that McAllister had robbed a bank in a nearby town, and McAllister decided he was not going to be put away in jail because one man knew too much. He had tried talking to him, threatened him, and even offered to buy him, but his father would not budge. The only way was to track him down and get rid of him.

  McAlister could not help the fact that he was visiting his daughter-in-law and her nits as he called them. All he knew was that he would not leave there with any witnesses’. What he didn’t know was that Jesse saw the fire as he was crossing the field and he took a short cut through the woods. McAllister and his horse darted within ten feet of him and he never knew it. It was Jesse’s job to make sure McAllister’s next crime stuck. Jesse had every intention of doing just that…and doing it good.

  At one time, the McAllister gang had numbered three men. Duke McAllister himself, Louis “The Lizard” Farnsworth, and “Coyote” Tom Barnes. Each man was suspected in a rash of train and bank robberies and even a few instances of cattle rustling.

  But, before Jesse had gained Duke’s trust and infiltrated the gang’s ranks, Barnes met with the business end of someone’s Colt .45. Rumor had it that McAllister was the guilty party, riled to a murderous rage when Barnes eyed McAllister’s favorite filly at the local parlor house. Apparently, McAllister wasn’t prone to sharing.

  From there, it had been a fairly easy task to take over Barnes’ spot in the gang. McAllister was looking for fresh blood. The Agency circulated a few rumors about J.D. Callahan, a hard-drinking Mick with a tendency to “Get his Irish up.” Jesse began to frequent the Colfax saloon favored by McAllister. During a poker game with McAllister, in which Jesse was intentionally allowing luck to favor the scruffy bandit, Jesse bragged in a voice brazened with whiskey that he had been part of an Arizona gang that successfully robbed a stage to the tune of three thousand dollars. One carefully staged brawl with a planted Pinkerton agent and a night in jail later had convinced McAllister that Jesse was a perfect replacement for Barnes.

  It had been Jesse’s idea to rob the stagecoach. The Agency had been informed of the gold transfer to Grass Valley. It was the perfect opportunity to run a controlled sting. There would be fewer people on the stage than on a train, which McAllister was more inclined to rob, so there was less like
lihood of civilian injuries.

  He had never counted on one of those civilians being…her.

  Anna’s hair had spilled from the back of her kerchief in rivulets of burning fire. Her dress was plain and well-worn, but well-kept. She clearly didn’t have means, but, she cared for her appearance all the same. No rouge colored her cheeks, just a pink color which seemed to be a result of the harsh western sun on fair, freckled skin.The redness in her full lower lip was from from a nervous bite she had inflicted upon it. She was one of only two women in the stagecoach party, the other a well-heeled, painted woman of substance, but in Jesse’s eyes, his fair Irish lass stood out by far as the more comely of the two.

  There was no doubt in his mind she was Irish. Once she spoke, in her desperate plea for her trousseau, there was no denying she was a daughter of Erin. The lilt of her brogue stirred the pangs of homesickness for his own native land. He’d lost nearly all traces of his own accent. Indeed, it only slipped its rolling way in after he’d been lubricated with several shots of coarse grain alcohol or bitingly tart cider. Then, at least, he could be heard trolling a rough rendition of “The Wild Rover” as he stumbled from the saloon.

  There weren’t many Irish girls out West. In fact, there were hardly any women of any nationality, truth be told. Those that had made the hard journey west were married homesteaders or “entertainers” in the saloon or dance halls. While the saloon girls did a fair job of brightening a man’s otherwise lonely evening in the small western towns with song, dance and even simple conversation, it was a disingenuous relationship. Many of the women earned their keep by inducing the men to stay in the bars, spending their hard-earned gold on drinks or at the many tables of chance. And while a colorfully, frilled petticoat under a bell skirt could brighten a room at night, it made for a darker dawn when the pillow beside you was empty.

  Jesse smiled thinking about the conversation he and Cassidy had about a year ago when he was thinking of getting a mail order bride. He had thought it was a crazy idea. How he himself ended up being the one to actually follow through was surprising, but after meeting Anna through her letters, he had never regretted it. Now he had seen her and her baby.

  That was a surprise, he thought, wondering why she had never told him. The baby was very young, barely a month old, and now he was wondering if that was the reason he was not getting her letters as frequently as he had earlier in their correspondence. He knew when he did get a chance to talk to her she would be able to explain all the things she never went into detail about.

  It would be easy at this point to wonder who the father of the baby was and if that was something he needed to be concerned with, but he had believed her when she told him she was interested in no other man. He was glad he had gotten to see her first. He knew now that she was okay, which was something he was beginning to wonder about. He breathed deeply wishing he could be with her now. But first, he had business to take care of, and he knew those smiles on his lips would not be taken well by McAllister who appeared to already be suspicious.

  Chapter 5

  “Where are you off to?” Duke McAllister growled. He was three-fifths of the way into a bottle of rot-gut, and yet still conscious. Lizard had drunk himself into a stupor hours ago, celebrating with some tequila he bought off some Mexicans on their last ride south of the border.

  That had been the plan this time as well. After a celebratory drink or two, the crew would pack up their loot and head for a piece of land Duke held claim to in Mexico. They would stay there until the dust settled and the McAllister gang was free again to ride their tyranny all through the West.

  With a little urging from Jesse, however, one celebratory drink had turned into two, then four, until he was certain his fellow gang members would be passed out cold and he could summon the posse to round up McAllister and reclaim the stolen gold.

  McAllister just wasn’t following the plan. “I said where ya going?”

  This time the growl was angrier, more guttural. Jesse stopped short of the door.

  “Lizard drank all the tequila. I was gonna ride into to town and see what Curly’s got at the saloon,” Jesse offered the practiced lie. McAllister lurched dangerously forward, pointing his nearly empty bottle for emphasis.

  “Don’t LIE to me!” McAllister bellowed. He rocked to his feet, making up for in muscle what he lacked over Jesse in height. “You ain’t going to any saloon!”

  Jesse’s hand twitched ever-so-slightly toward the revolver in his side holster. This was about to get ugly.

  “You’re,” McAllister slurred, “going to see HER!” The big man slumped into his chair.

  “What?” Jesse asked.

  “Don’t think I didn’t see the way you were looking at that filly on the stage job. She was a looker without a doubt. If we wasn’t on a job, I might have tasted a piece of that tart myself.”

  Something inside Jesse’s gut began to boil. He had half a mind to plant a fist squarely in the middle of McAllister’s fat mouth.

  Remember the job, Callahan, he told himself.

  Leaning over more to reach for Jesse, McAllister slumped and fell out of the chair, passed out cold. Jesse waited a minute, then walked over to get a closer look at him. He was out for the night. Jesse smiled and slipped out the door just as McAllister was letting loose a loud snore.

  When the coach reached Grass Valley Camp, Anna breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t realize she had been holding her stomach in so tightly ever since the robbery. When they pulled up to the station, two men walked up asking the driver if there was an Anna Murphy on the coach. The driver, who was still beside himself about the lost gold just looked at them as if he had no idea.

  Anna stuck her head out of the door and observed the men. They looked like locals, so maybe they were safe she thought. “Who wants to know this?” she asked.

  The taller one stepped forward. “We are here to collect a Miss Anna Murphy for Mr. Callahan,” he said solemnly.

  “That would be me, sir,” she said, so relieved to finally be getting off of the coach.

  The two men helped her into the wagon and the younger one reached for the satchel which she pulled away quickly and patted his hand. Anna thought about assuring him it was okay and that she would rather get it herself, but she was exhausted and thought she would discuss that later if she saw him again.

  The drive to the ranch was quiet. It was dark, and the only noise she heard was the clomping of the horses hooves on the hard red ground. The path had been traveled so many times that the ground was packed evenly from side to side.

  Fiona started making a whining noise, and Anna put her hand in the satchel to calm her and began singing. The two men turned to look at her, and she smiled back at them. They eyed each other curiously, as if wondering if she had taken leave of her senses.

  The wagon approached a modest house built stoutly of logs and rocks. Each plank had been placed in consecutive layers with the multicolored rocks. It was dark, but Anna could tell whoever built it had taken great pride in doing so. A heavy set Indian lady ran out of the house toward the wagon. She was talking with a heavy accent to the men and Anna wasn’t sure what she was saying. She reached her hand up to Anna and said her name was Zoya, then she motioned for Anna to come with her.

  Anna suddenly felt happy. It had been so long since she had been around a woman that she felt comfortable with. This lady was comforting. She had a kind face, and she made Anna feel comfortable. When they walked into the house, Anna was greeted by the landlady of her betrothed’s cottage, Mrs. Williams.

  Anna was more than ready to soak in the warm bath Zoya had drawn for her. Before she entered her bath Mrs. Williams told her that her fiancé had been called away on business, but he would be returning soon.

  Anna removed her clothes except for her chemise then reached for Fiona. A worn, tired, but happy smile broke across Anna’s face as she reached into the wide mouth of her bag and drew out the wee babe.

  She kissed her little apple cheeks with
sweet love. “Ah, ma mhuirnín. My little sweetheart. What a brave little lass you’ve been. Ta be so quiet on the whole journey so as I could keep ya safe from the bad ‘uns.”

  She took her time bathing her. Fiona cooed and laughed as Anna smoothed the cool water over her skin. When she finished the bath, she dried her and covered her in the soothing cream she had been putting on her face. The water had relaxed her and she was closing her eyes. She hugged her daughter tenderly to her chest. Her child was the reason for her long, arduous journey across a hard, and unforgiving country. Her child was the reason she had to break free from the vile clutches of the evil Obadiah Jessup. Indentured servants who became pregnant while working the course of their servitude automatically were compelled to an extension of their contract, no matter whether the child was the result of the forced advances of an employer. Anna’s mouth set in a firm, hard line. Her brow furrowed into a deep scowl as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Obadiah had already soiled this dove, but she would not allow that monster to bring the same shame upon her daughter.

  Suddenly, something in the baby’s bag caught her gaze. She drew out the odd twist of vegetation. “But, aye! What’s this? A sarsaparilla root? I certainly never gave ya such a thing.”

  Anna thought back to the masked bandit at the stage who had looked into her bag. He must have seen the baby about to fuss and slipped her a root to encourage her continued silence. Anna’s mind filled with visions of Blue Eyes. If she concentrated hard, she thought she could remember a curl of black twisting from beneath the band of his hat. She knew it was sinful to think so of another man on the day she was to marry. She shook herself from her reverie. She crossed herself.