Make Me No Grave

by Hayley Stone

  “We?”

  I smiled. “I ain’t here for my health. I’m with you, long as you’re with me. You with me, Almena?”

  She leaned in, kissing me again, this time with more desperation, holding even less back than before. I’d hoped that was an answer, but then, while my head was bent over her neck, she said, “You don’t want me to kill anyone else.”

  “If it can be avoided.”

  “Then I can’t come with you.”

  I drew back. “What?”

  Her jaw looked tense as a board. “I’m going after Lloyd, Nathan.”

  I started to object, feeling sick, but she cut me off by placing a finger against my lips.

  “No. This isn’t a negotiation. You had your turn to talk, now it’s mine. I need to settle accounts with Lloyd Bratt. Besides, I think we both know what will happen if I come with you.”

  “Not sure I can manage this alone,” I confessed. Pride had started me down this path, whispering sweet nothings in my ear to the tune of taking down two outlaw gangs all by my lonesome. Being a hero, becoming a household name. Part of me wondered if my pride wasn’t also the thing got Wade killed. If we’d stayed together, if I’d been able to get a message to him sooner, let him in on my plans…

  Pride be damned.

  “Wasn’t that the whole reason we planned on hiring men once we got here?” I added. “Because the two of us alone wouldn’t be enough.”

  “But you’re not alone,” Almena said. “Your marshal friends are here. Or wasn’t that your plan all along?”

  So she knew about my telegram, the one I’d sent after Halverson. Maybe she’d seen me stray from the path to the church, and followed me to the telegram office. Or maybe she was merely guessing. After all, I’d been out of her sight a couple times now since Coffeyville. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume I had something up my sleeve.

  Several heartbeats passed before I answered. “Yeah.” No point lying about it now. “But plans change.”

  She slid past me into the long shadow of the street. “Yes, they certainly do.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “This is where we part ways, Marshal.” Her tone stayed even as a slab of pavement.

  I felt dizzy. It was Lilah all over again. I was losing Almena to a man I’d never even met, to a way of life I could never compromise and accept. “Why?”

  “Because you might be right about me. But I can’t test it this soon.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing. “Don’t come after me,” she added.

  “Might not have a choice.”

  “I mean it. I’ll take care of Lloyd. I’ll disband the gang, once and for all.”

  “I’d like to take you at your word, Almena, but the men I work for…”

  “You said I could make amends. Well, charity starts in the home. Unless you’re planning on handholding me through the process, you have to leave me to my reparations. And I’ll leave you to your job, just as soon as I have a promise from you that she’ll swing for Baxter Springs and everything else she’s done in my name. Promise me.”

  “Judge’ll decide the punishment. But I’ll see her to that day.”

  Almena nodded, satisfied. “Go fetch your marshals.”

  “I’m not going to see you again after today, am I?” I don’t know what she saw in my eyes just then, but she swallowed, leading me to wonder if she felt the same tight clench I was feeling in my chest.

  She started back toward me, then thought better of it. “You can keep the clothes.”

  They were the last words she spoke to me before disappearing down the street.

  Not for the first time, I watched Almena Guillory go, wondering what I could’ve done to make her stay.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The following day dawned bright and hot, vivid, but also hazy, like the sun coming through a dirty window. Everything felt hard to look at.

  I paced the Union Pacific platform, trying to withstand the ebb and flow of the afternoon crowd. Well-dressed folk flocked onto train cars, accustomed to the smell of overheated iron, sweat mixed with perfume, and coal fumes, resilient to the nasty business of travel in a way I wasn’t. I tried to keep my head down, eyes up, but it was no use. Noise pummeled me from every direction—hacking coughs from behind thin handkerchiefs, engines belching smoke. Broken pieces of conversation darted past my ears, all falling silent behind the shriek of brakes as a hundred tons of metal came to a harsh sigh on the track.

  It’d been some time since I’d taken a train anywhere. Now I remembered why.

  While I kept an eye on the southern end of the platform for any sign of Kingery and her ilk, I balanced one of the brothel tokens I’d acquired the previous night on my thumbnail, flipping it occasionally and watching the words Lee’s Respite, Topeka Kan., Good for One Screw spin into a dark golden blur. Regardless of which face the token landed on, two little engraved hearts were always there to greet me.

  In my pocket jangled half a dozen similar coins, friendly currency from one or more of the ladies I’d interrogated on the possible whereabouts of Miss Kingery and company after the Tyler Street brothel proved a dead end. Most of them didn’t know anything. When they took a name, they said, it was usually only the first or last, never both. The women generously offered to compensate us for our time, however, hard-working lawmen that we were. I politely declined each offer as it came, but the tokens managed to find a way into my hands, regardless. Seemed rude to refuse a lady twice to her face.

  After a while of waiting, the searing afternoon heat forced me into the shade of the railway office’s overhang, and I chose the side of the bench seemed least likely to give me splinters. From here, I might’ve been able to spot the other marshals and lawmen hovering around, had I known who they were. I didn’t. I’d been told a few would be stationed on trains coming and going, but seeing as they all dressed plainly and had their guns and badges hidden from view, it was near impossible to pick them apart from the mess of jackets and bowler hats. I’d given up trying to sort it out hours ago, trusting instead to the word of one J. R. Cornwell, the federal in charge of this here operation, local fella. When I’d come to him with my story, I knew there was a chance he would dismiss me—or worse, given some of the ugly rumors coming out of Coffeyville. Thankfully, he was a man of reasonable disposition and was willing to overlook my recent transgressions. For now, anyway. I knew a time was coming soon when I’d have to answer for the calls I’d made, and good intentions or not, it’d likely cost me my badge.

  I rubbed the brothel token between my fingers until it was warm, and then aimed it for a slot between the platform boards. It just missed. Such was my luck lately. I watched the coin bounce once and land on its thin edge, spinning round and round until finally falling flat onto its side. And there were those damned hearts again.

  A young man quickly scuttled up to the token, picked it up, and offered it back to me. “You dropped this, mister.”

  Out of reflex, I was about to suggest he keep it before I remembered what it bought. “Thank you,” I said, accepting it back when I’d much rather have cranked my arm and sent it flying. His mother stood nearby, overlooking his good deed with benevolent pride, and I gave her a grateful nod as well.

  The boy yanked his chin up and down, solemn as a soldier, and dashed back to his mother. She adjusted his small hat and flicked some dust from the shoulder of his fine attire, before marching them away from the platform, toward a man waiting with some luggage and an eager smile, presumably the father. Seemed like a nice family.

  The shrill whistle of the train punched through me like a needle. Even surrounded by steam, I felt cold and removed. Wasn’t just this business with Almena had me shaken. Everywhere I was seeing ghosts. Couples played out the denouement of my marriage, parting ways with an embrace or a kiss, so much warmer than the cool peck on the cheek I’d received when Lilah left me. Boys Charlie’s age ran about, except with their heads still intact. A father swung his little girl up into his arms
. She looked on his face with loving glee, without an ounce of the fear I’d felt for my own father. Worst part was knowing the apparitions wouldn’t depart when these good folks did. All my ghosts traveled with me.

  Kind of like someone else I knew.

  No. I quickly wrangled my thoughts. Let’s have none of that, now.

  Every now and again as I sat watching the comings and goings, I swore I caught a face in the crowd what looked familiar. The curve of a clever smile. Grey eyes flashing at me from beneath a fringe of brown hair. I kept seeing her. Sometimes in the upright gait of a confident woman, other times in an elusive side profile, tantalizing my imagination. Each time caused something inside me to lurch. I had to remind myself she was gone. Almena Guillory was gone, wasn’t ever coming back if she knew what was good for her, and that was for the best. Had to be.

  About the time I got up to stretch my legs, the 2:10 from Omaha was pulling into the station. The engine roared one last time, its stack shedding puffs of steam. The train’s next destination was Chicago, though it had several stops along the way. I’d memorized the routes of every train departing Topeka today. If the brothel investigation had succeeded at anything, I hoped it’d act as a stick, startling Ruth Kingery and any of them boys she had with her out of the bushes.

  A lesser criminal would’ve bolted the minute we started busting down doors, been on the first train getting the hell out of Topeka, earlier this morning. It spoke well of Miss Kingery that she hadn’t panicked at our tactics and rushed to leave. About as well as you could speak about a woman whose gang had murdered innocent people, that is.

  I hung back while the queue to board formed, scanning faces in the crowd, searching. This was the last train out today. Might be one or two more arriving, but they’d be cooling their engines overnight, worthless to a woman looking to get out of town.

  This was my last chance to catch her. The finality of it dragged on my bones, making me heavy. If I failed, it’d all have been for nothing. Asher and Baxter Springs and Coffeyville and Halverson. The death of Gil, his wife, and Charles Wilmott. What I’d done to Casella. Wade’s murder and Dempsey’s beat down.

  Just then, as if my thinking summoned him, I looked over and saw Dempsey.

  At first, I thought I was imagining things. What’s Dempsey doing here? Now, of all times? But sure enough, there he was, carrying as sullen an expression as I’d ever seen, his face a canvas of injury: his left eye and the side of his nose were bluish with bruises, the right side of his cheek swollen and if I had to guess, he was still missing a few teeth. Far from his usual upright posture, Dempsey slouched forward, as if some giant had his thumb on his back.

  A woman stood beside him, and not just another stranger in line as I’d first assumed. Dempsey hadn’t seen me yet, but she most certainly had. Her eyes appraised me, annoyance pooled in their murky color. Kingery. She crowded close to Dempsey, her hand disappearing into a shawl at his lower back.

  I managed one step toward them before another man cut in front of me and before I could say excuse me, the hard mouth of a pistol pushed into my ribs, stopping me cold. I cast my eyes skyward, exasperated with my own slow-wittedness. I should’ve known.

  “Marshal,” the man greeted me, but there was a greasy arrogance to his tone that I couldn’t mistake for anything other than a threat.

  I moved to draw, but he shoved the gun in deeper, making me grimace.

  “Ah, ah,” he said, taking a moment to lift his hat and wipe his brow with the back of his free hand. “None of that now, Marshal. You be a good boy and stay right where you are.”

  “What say you put your gun down and we talk about this?” I suggested. Over the man’s shoulder, Dempsey and Kingery were nearing the front of the line. If they got on that train and I didn’t… No telling where she’d end up, but Dempsey was sure to catch a bullet somewhere along the route. “Unless you’re planning on shooting me in front of everyone?”

  The man glanced down at his gun, then back up at me. “Ain’t plannin’ on shootin’ you.” I watched his gaze track a woman going by—“Maybe her”—then swing left to a couple of young brothers—“or them. Or how’s about that nice family over there?”

  “All right,” I said. “I take your meaning.”

  “Good. The Grizzly Queen said you were a sensible sort.”

  I took a step back, and he came with me, keeping his gun beside his hip, but always aimed at my chest. “Cut the act. I happen to know the Grizzly Queen personally, and I can tell you, that woman over there is no Almena Guillory. Don’t even come close.”

  He glared at me. “Why don’t you just keep your mouth shut?”

  “See, if you actually knew Almena, she’d be the first to tell you, I have some trouble with that. Chatty, she calls me.” I cast my gaze wider, trying to identify Kingery’s other men, if they were here, or any of my own company of federals. A few men strutted about with recognizable bulges beneath their jackets, but that meant nothing in this part of the country.

  “Talking like you know the Grizzly Queen.” My captor snorted.

  Ahead, Kingery gave Dempsey a small kick at the ankles to encourage him to move forward. When he turned to glare at her, he spotted me, surprise and then relief registering in his eyes. His mouth formed around my name, then he did something he probably ought not have.

  He turned and grappled for Kingery’s gun.

  I sucked in a breath, expecting the clap of a gunshot.

  Ruth Kingery could’ve dropped Dempsey then and run. Could’ve signaled her boys to open fire on the crowd as a diversion. My hand slid back to my gun, expecting any number of gruesome possibilities. Then Kingery up and did about the last thing I’d expect: she started screaming. Wailing like a banshee.

  Her hollering attracted the attention of not only the nearby conductor but everyone else in line. Women spread apart from her like she had plague, while a couple of men who could’ve been my fellow lawmen or simply concerned citizens rushed to Kingery’s aid. At the same time, her own stooge made the mistake of taking his eyes off me.

  Using that brief diversion, I was finally able to draw, but instead of shooting, I flipped the pistol end-over-end in my hand and brought the butt down hard on the outlaw’s wrist. He yelped like a kicked dog and dropped his piece. Before he could so much as reach down to retrieve the gun, I smashed him in the face with my fist.

  While shaking the pain out of my hand, I looked back at Dempsey. He wore a panicked look of confusion, holding Kingery’s tiny Derringer. His eyes met mine two seconds before a pair of men plowed into him, driving him into the platform like a stubborn nail. The gun popped out of his hands and landed near Kingery’s feet.

  I figured out pretty quick what had happened. Kingery had let him have the gun, let him appear the aggressor, drawing the marshals out like poison from a wound.

  She was good. I’d grant her that.

  Crowd was already dispersing around the scuffle as I pushed through. I kept my gun low, so as not to offend or startle, but I couldn’t get there before Kingery boarded the train, hastily ushered on by the concerned cooing of fellow passengers and an apologetic conductor. The men who I assumed were marshals were so focused on Dempsey, intent on holding his face to the ground, none of them noticed the three gentlemen climbing aboard the porch of the last car.

  Shit.

  Now I had a true hostage situation on my hands, and my options were rapidly shrinking. No telling what Kingery would do if I put a hold on the train, but Baxter Springs had proven the fake outlaw queen wasn’t a woman lamented the bloodshed of innocents, even kids. A better solution, I thought, was for me to slip aboard myself and try to sort things out, real civil-like, as we rode towards the next stop. One lone marshal wouldn’t be too much cause for concern, not when she had her boys with her. Of course, it didn’t exactly offer me much bargaining power neither. If there was a third option, I didn’t know it at the time.

  Lord help me, I boarded the train.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven<
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  Once aboard, first thing I did was warn the engineer. I explained the situation plainly. We had some outlaws on board but weren’t in any danger so long as nobody confronted them.

  “What do they want?” the engineer asked. He glanced back across the small gap between the car and the engine where the rest of the train waited in a hush of steam. We hadn’t yet pulled out of the station, but even now, I could hear the conductor bellowing “All aboard!” somewhere farther down the line, provoking the last passengers to hustle.

  “To get out of here. So that’s what we’re going to let them do.”

  As we spoke, I watched the man for tremors or any other sign of nerves. The risky kind might loosen his grip on important controls at a critical juncture. Wouldn’t help matters to have us suddenly careening off the track. Instead, at the mention of fugitives, his body went still as a capstone. I saw intelligence in his eyes, combating the wild gleam of fear. His head stayed dry; no sweat. Good. Here was a man could function under pressure.

  “And what are you going to do, Marshal?” His expression held that quiet mix of hope and skepticism I’d received from many people since beginning my career. I didn’t take it personally. Wasn’t exactly feeling optimistic about my chances, myself.

  “You just worry about driving this thing. I’ll worry about the outlaws.”

  “Sure, sure. But what are you going to do?”

  I held on to the frame of the cab window. Damn train wasn’t even moving yet, and I felt unsteady. “Whatever I have to.” I made a vague gesture toward the controls. “Now let’s get her moving. Don’t you have a schedule to keep?”

  I nearly collided with a man as I made my way back toward the express car to inform the agent there of the danger. I hadn’t yet ruled out the possibility Kingery and her gang might try for one last heist and thought it only right to share my suspicions.

  The narrow vestibule of the compartment car forced me and the stranger in close, closer than I’d have liked, given the number of times I’d had my piece stolen off me in recent weeks. He had his head down, and his hat forward on his head, so I couldn’t see his face. Not until I grabbed his arm and swung him around to face me.