Tin Star

by Jackson Lowry

  For an instant he thought he listened to a catfight. Hissing and screeching and rolling around. He came up to his knees and laughed.

  Sarah Youngblood had tackled Audrey from behind.

  “Get off her. Take that knife away. Do it!” Wilkes motioned for his deputies to disarm Audrey. “If you don’t, I’ll shoot her. Then I swear, you’ll all walk back to Crossroads!”

  This lit a fire under the men in his posse. They rushed forward. Two of them grabbed the fighting, spitting, snapping Audrey and pulled her away. Rabid dogs put up less of a fight. Somehow they shackled her and dragged her off.

  “I declare, I have to tell them boys every little thing to do,” the marshal said, looking like he’d bitten into a rotten apple. He spat, wiped his mouth, then pointed to the partially unearthed grave. “The bank’s gold there?”

  “It seems that way, Marshal. It’s all yours,” Marta said. “In exchange for the prisoner. She’s going back to Chicago.”

  “I don’t want her, that’s for certain sure.” He took off his hat and swept it across his leg for emphasis. “The town’s not got the money for a trial, and I don’t need the drama. Rebuilding what got blowed up is going to provide too much of that.”

  Luke came to his feet. Sarah grabbed him and spun him around.

  “I saved you, I saved my Lucas!” She almost squeezed the stuffing from him with her bear hug. He pried her loose.

  “Why don’t you ride on back to Crossroads with the deputies? I’ll be there soon enough.”

  “You promise?” She looked up with nothing but admiration and love in her eyes. “When you find the gold, you’ll come to town?”

  “What’s that?” Luke perked up. “We found the gold.” He pointed at the partially opened grave site.

  “That’s not where he hid the gold. He said it was hid real good. That’s not real good. Why, anybody would know to look there.”

  “Wait!” Luke shouted to stop the marshal from digging more dirt from the wood planks hiding the grave’s interior. “She overheard Rhoades talking with his henchman. Be careful poking around.”

  “Miss Youngblood led us right here, Marshal. You have to think she knows more than any of us of the outlaw’s scheme,” Marta said.

  “She’s crazy as a bedbug.” Wilkes still backed away a pace. “What are we going to do?”

  Luke pushed Sarah into the arms of a deputy, who reacted as if he’d rubbed up against a leper. In spite of his obvious distaste, the deputy pulled her farther away. Luke picked up a long tree branch and went to the foot of the grave where Audrey had begun excavation. He jabbed tentatively at the exposed planks.

  “Go on, do it right,” Marta said. “Give it a real poke. Here.” She reached around him, took a double hand grip on the branch and shoved.

  The explosion lifted both her and Luke into the air and tossed them back to land hard. The impact stunned him. Luke wondered if any part of his body wasn’t hurting. He looked, his eyes watering from fumes spewed out by the explosion. Dirt and debris still cascaded down. Marta simply stared at the hole in the ground.

  “He set a mine for us, like those the Confederate Secret Service used.”

  Luke gaped. She looked disgusted at his lack of knowledge.

  “Torpedoes. Rains patents. General Gabriel Rains? Oh, never mind. I should have expected something like this. Rhoades loved his explosives.” She helped Luke to his feet.

  They edged closer to the crater.

  “Rhoades loved one thing more,” Luke said. “The notion of blowing people up with his dynamite. He set the trap for Benedict. That’s the only explanation. If Benedict double-crossed him, both were goners. If Benedict played straight, Rhoades deactivated the trigger.”

  “Why bother doing that at all?” Marshal Wilkes peered into the crater. “If they stayed partners, leave the grave unopened and ride off. I reckon Rhoades had it in mind for Benedict to dig here, though. Thieves. Double-crossing thieves, the lot of them.” He spat into the grave.

  “That sounds like what Rhoades planned,” Marta said. She peered into the cavity. “I don’t see any trace of gold in there. Not one speck.”

  “So where’s the gold?” Marshal Wilkes slapped his hat against his thigh again in frustration. “Even though he’s dead, Rollie Rhoades is still causing me a world of woe. I can’t go back without the loot. Everyone in town would eat me alive. And the banker? What’ll he do? This is a pile of money belonging to ranchers.” Wilkes sagged, a defeated man.

  Luke kept himself from feeling any vindication. The lawman had tossed him in jail for no good reason. But Wilkes didn’t deserve to have his career—maybe his life—put in jeopardy. Even dead, Rhoades presented a powerful adversary to defeat.

  “He won’t get away with it,” Luke said. He thought he spoke only to himself, but the ringing in his ears caused him to talk far louder than he anticipated. Everyone stared at him.

  “What’re your thoughts, Mister Hadley?” Marta’s expression said she expected him to return the gold. Find it, then return it.

  “Why are you callin’ him ‘mister’?” Wilkes came closer and saw the fake badge dangling on Luke’s chest. “He’s one of your folks? A Pink?”

  “He’s one of our best undercover agents,” she said loudly. In a lower voice, she added for Luke’s benefit, “if he finds the gold.”

  Luke stepped away from the grave and stared up at the crossed trees. They formed a perfect marker to find the gold. Only Rhoades had left a trap here. He walked around, then back to use the X like he would a gunsight. The direction pointed out across the prairie. While Marta and Wilkes trailed him like baby ducklings, he went to the far side. Sighting along this line made him perk up.

  “You find something? What?” The marshal started to grab him but Marta restrained him.

  “Let him run free.”

  “I ought to clap him back in the hoosegow. He did escape, Pinkerton agent or not.”

  She engaged Wilkes and gave Luke the chance to follow the new line to a low hill dotted with rocks. He climbed the hill until he reached a spot directly in line with the crossed trees. A few kicks at the sod revealed a hole in the hillside lined with rocks. He started to grab, then turned cautious. Rhoades had booby-trapped one possible hiding place. Doing it twice had to appeal to the outlaw.

  Finding nothing to show that another land mine had been stuffed into the hole along with the gold, he started dragging out one bag of gold coins after another. His arms ached when he pulled the sixth bag out.

  “That’s it. That’s all of it,” the marshal said in a low voice. He had watched in mute appreciation. “You found it. Let me shake your hand, Mister Hadley.”

  Luke winced at the power in that grip. But Marta Shearing’s approving smile took away any sting, in the hand or elsewhere.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  LUKE HADLEY SAVORED every bite. The eggs were fried to perfection. The slab of ham on the side and fried potatoes went down as slick as a whistle with a draft of the good coffee. He even put sugar in the coffee, though he never drank it that way. He put the sugar in because he could. And after he finished off the delicious breakfast gracing his plate, he’d consider ordering a slice of apple pie with cheese on it. If he lived here in Crossroads where they knew how to cook such a great meal, he’d put on so much weight he’d waddle.

  “More coffee?”

  He looked up and smiled.

  “When did a Pinkerton agent take up waitressing?” He beckoned for Marta Shearing to sit opposite him.

  “My job’s done, and it’ll be a few days before my next assignment comes in.” She settled into the chair and poured herself a cup of coffee. A quick shake of the head told him the sugar he held out for her wasn’t needed. She drank it black and hot, like he did when he wasn’t enjoying the decadent delights of civilization.

  “I heard that three agents arrived on the stag
ecoach to escort Audrey back to Chicago. Why so many?”

  “She’s a slippery one. It took a considerable amount of resources to track her down.”

  “What’d she do that riled everyone up?”

  Marta sipped at her coffee and carefully put the china cup into its painted saucer. Every time someone did that, Luke knew they weren’t going to answer. He wasn’t surprised when she looked up from the coffee and asked, “How long do you have to sit on a pillow?”

  “The doc says my hindquarters are healing nicely. I don’t need it now, but I’ve gotten used to it being between me and whatever I’m sitting on.” He polished off the last of his breakfast and leaned back, considering the pie. Rumor had it that the peach cobbler was good here, too.

  “You can have both, you know,” Marta said.

  “What?” His eyebrows arched in surprise. Then he laughed. “You shouldn’t read a fellow’s mind. It’s not polite.”

  “But it can be useful in my line of work. You are healing just fine?”

  “You did a decent job sewing up my, uh, backside injury.” He stretched. Muscles protested and the half-dozen wounds he’d sustained all over his torso were almost healed. “That said, I’m thinking about going back to the farm where I got my horse and buying it all over again. That plow horse never goes but at one speed, but he gets me where I want to go.”

  “You might need to gallop,” she pointed out.

  “I need to learn patience, and that old horse gives me a chance. I paid good money once for him, but he’s been worth twice that to me. Seeing that the farmer and his family are reimbursed for their charity is the right thing to do.” It had hardly been charity, selling him the plow horse and gear, but Sven and his family could use the extra payment. A growing town the size of Crossroads could use a second fine restaurant.

  Marta looked around at the side of his head and made a face. He flushed. The way half his ear had been blown off made him self-conscious. A quick movement shifted his lank hair down to fully cover the ear.

  “When are you leaving?” He twisted around to hide his left ear from her and get her thinking on other subjects.

  “There’s someone I want you to meet.” She made a quick motion. An old man at a nearby table used his cane to get upright and shuffle over. With a deft motion he hooked a chair leg with the crook of the cane and pulled it along. When he collapsed, the chair was exactly where it needed to be so he wouldn’t land on the floor.

  He shifted his pince-nez spectacles and leaned forward so his face was only inches from Luke’s. Before Luke shied away, the cane looped out and caught his upper arm, pulling him even closer. A yank of the cane caused Luke to spin in his chair. His damaged ear almost touched the old man’s nose.

  “Not bad, not too bad,” the old man said. “Here. Let me work a bit on this.”

  “What are you doing?” Luke yelped when the cane turned in the other direction, pinning him down so he had no chance to get away. The old man’s gnarled fingers worked on a bit of putty taken from his coat pocket.

  “You can use this deformity. Yes, you can, but you don’t want to look like that all the time.”

  “Stop fiddling with my ear!” Luke found the cane pressed against his throat. He batted it away, only to find the stick crushing into the side of his neck. Protesting the old man’s attention any more made them the center of attention. With his damaged ear on display for anyone in the restaurant to see, Luke settled down to let this public humiliation run its course. The old man had to tire of his plight eventually.

  “There, there, good. Use this to color it.” The old man dropped a small tube of cosmetic coloring on the table. “A pleasure meeting you.”

  He pushed himself to his feet, nodded in Marta’s direction and hobbled to the door. Luke started to protest the man’s behavior when he saw him straighten outside and walk away with as sure a stride as a marching soldier.

  “What was that all about?”

  Marta examined his left side critically, squirted a tiny bit of the coloring unguent onto her finger and dabbed it on his ear. Whatever she did left his ear untouched, though he felt the warmth of her hand against the side of his head.

  “There. The color matches the rest of your ear.” She beckoned the waiter over and spoke quietly to him. The man looked at Luke, then smiled broadly. He hurried away.

  Luke hated being the butt of a joke. At least neither Marta nor the old man had carried on about that wound.

  “You’re due a big pile of cash,” she said. “The banker’s reward was matched by several ranchers. What are you going to do with so much money?”

  Luke ran his fingers up and down the seams of his new coat. The gold dust from his old frock coat had been transferred. He had spent a goodly portion of the money from selling his farm to the railroad while tracking down Audrey, but he had enough left to serve him well for a while longer.

  “I told Marshal Wilkes that none of us would have found the loot if it hadn’t been for Sarah Youngblood. He’s arranged for her to stay with a woman and her three daughters at the edge of town. The reward money will keep her for years. She shouldn’t be put in a crazy house.”

  “She is loco,” Marta said.

  “The difference between crazy and eccentric is a lot of money. She’ll have enough to be as eccentric as she likes. Sarah saved my life almost as many times as you did. Does that make you loco, too?”

  Marta laughed at that, then took a small mirror from the waiter, who stood patiently by. She held it up for Luke.

  “What am I looking at? I—oh.” He grabbed the mirror and moved it around to reflect what looked to be a whole left ear. He touched the top. The putty had been artfully shaped to mimic his real ear. Marta had the color a little wrong, but no one would pay it second notice. He moved the mirror all around and broke out in a broad grin. “The old man must be quite an artist. A sculptor? Who was he?”

  “He’s my boss.”

  “I don’t—” Luke blinked. “That was Allan Pinkerton?”

  “He made the trip to Crossroads to be sure Audrey was well on her way back to Chicago. He’s quite a makeup artist. He can concoct a disguise for any job.”

  “From what I hear, he’s not that old.”

  “Hardly. He’s always practicing. He’ll be pleased to know he fooled you. Here.” She drew out a folded piece of paper and passed it to him. “Instructions Allan wrote down for you to replenish the ear when this wears out. You might be able to take a bath but only once. A second time and it’ll look as if your ear is falling off. You need to learn to craft new ones for yourself.”

  Luke stared at the instructions, written in a small, precise hand with detailed illustrations.

  “This is an ample reward for all I’ve been through.” He tucked it into his coat pocket. His fingers brushed a strip of latigo. He pulled out the leather band with the tin star attached. He laid it on the table.

  “You threw this away once. Here. You can get rid of it for good this time. I won’t need it to impress people and convince them to tell me if they’d seen Audrey or any of Rhoades’s gang.” His fingers ran around the rim of the beaten metal star. “I never noticed ‘Pinkerton’ was spelled wrong. I never looked at it after I paid a blacksmith fifty cents for it. I should have asked how far he got in school.” He pulled away from the fake badge but stared at it. The deception had helped him. “I hope you don’t mention this to Mister Pinkerton. He might chop off the rest of my ear.”

  “He knows.”

  Luke sighed. Then something in the way she said it turned him wary.

  “He knows and he’s going to have me arrested for impersonating an agent?”

  “Does that seem reasonable?” Her face turned neutral so he got no hint as to the answer. He had to work it out for himself.

  Luke’s mind raced. He quickly shook his head.

  “If he knew before he gave m
e back my ear—and dignity—that means he’s willing to forget it.”

  “Not that,” she said.

  A cold lump formed in his gut.

  “What, then?”

  She pushed the tin star to one side and dropped a leather case in its place. She flipped it open. Inside rested a shiny brass shield emblazoned with Pinkerton Agent.

  “If you want to work for the agency, that’s your badge. A real one.”

  Luke ran his finger over the lettering. It was all spelled correctly. He closed the case, held it for a moment, then put it into his pocket. “What now?”

  “There’s a required training period for all new agents, no matter their experience, and I need an assistant. Allan hinted at what he wants me to do next, and it will be a dangerous case. Will you work with me?”

  “As your assistant?” Luke knew of worse things.

  “So what do you say?” She looked eager to hear his reply.

  “You talked me into it. I’ll have both peach cobbler and apple pie.”

  He thrust out his hand. They shook on it.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Ralph Compton stood six foot eight without his boots. He worked as a musician, a radio announcer, a songwriter, and a newspaper columnist. His first novel, The Goodnight Trail, was a finalist for the Western Writers of America Medicine Pipe Bearer Award for best debut novel. He was the USA Today bestselling author of the Trail of the Gunfighter series, the Border Empire series, the Sundown Riders series, and the Trail Drive series, among others.

  Jackson Lowry is the western pen name for Robert E. Vardeman, author of more than 300 novels. Multiple awards-nominated, Vardeman received the 2017 Western Fictioneers Lifetime Achievement Award. Western titles include Sonora Noose, Great West Detective Agency, and the weird western trilogy Punished. He was born in Texas and has lived in the wilds of New Mexico most of his life.

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