Dodging a flying fist, Matt ducked and grabbed the Irishman’s knees. He had to fight dirty and well, because he was outsized by several inches and at least a hundred pounds. Donahue landed on the floor with a heavy thud, swearing violently, but he was quicker than he looked and Matt felt his foot being yanked out from under him.
“You little—”
A thick fist punched McClanahan in the stomach, but as he fell to the floor, he aimed the toe of his boot at Clancy’s crotch.
The bouncer squealed like a wounded pig, then he caught McClanahan’s arms in a death grip that nearly snapped the bones. “Give it up and I won’t kill you—this time,” Clancy grunted.
Matt put his legs together and kicked with both feet, landing them in the bouncer’s fleshy thighs. “You don’t stand a chance. Thompson’s on his way over here.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
Matt jerked away from him and rolled to his feet. From the corner of his eye, he saw frightened faces and robes in the doorway, but he couldn’t spare them any attention. Donahue was lumbering toward him again, and he suddenly wished he’d brought his gun: his opponent was lifting a bullwhip from the post of Zenia’s bed. In a room this small, he’d have to jump out the window to escape its rawhide lash.
Clancy laughed, then the air quivered with the force of the whip.
Matt ducked.
The lash whickered again and again as Donahue drove him toward the corner of the tiny room.
There was a commotion outside the door then a shrill voice hollered, “Dammit, get out of my way! Are you going to watch McClanahan get killed?”
“Emily, no!” Matt realized immediately that he’d called her the wrong name, but there was no time to cover his mistake. When the whip grazed his cheek, McClanahan bolted over Zenia’s motionless body, hoping to get Donahue’s timing off.
But the bartender had already been distracted. When Clancy turned to confront the intruder, Matt saw that Emily had whacked him with a fireplace poker. The blow barely fazed him, but it gave McClanahan the break he needed. He leaped, landing on the brute’s back. “You touch one hair on her head and I’ll—”
Donahue gasped and swore as the poker handle gouged his middle. He shook McClanahan off and turned, but Matt was ready for him. A roundhouse to his jaw snapped Clancy’s head back, and as the bartender staggered, Matt landed one more solid punch. “That’s for treating every woman you know like a whore,” he muttered.
Footsteps were hurrying down the hall, and Victoria Chatterly bustled between the women in the doorway, followed by Barry Thompson. “Oh my God, I knew he’d—somebody see to Zenia!” She turned to McClanahan, grasping his arm. “Are you all right? Thank goodness you were here.”
Matt was gasping for breath, but he managed a grin. “I don’t guess he’ll be bothering anybody for a while”
“No, he won’t,” the Madame agreed. “Barry, lock him up until I know what to do with him. I simply must talk to Emily Bur—”
“I’ll be seeing her this weekend. I have business at the ranch,” McClanahan said quickly. He glanced at the worried, sleepy faces in the doorway and added, “Why don’t you ladies go on back to bed now? Give the marshal some room to maneuver.”
They nodded and left, except for Grace, who was helping Emily untie the cords around Zenia’s wrists. Miss Victoria walked to the bedside, gazing at the colored girl’s inert form. “He didn’t…kill her, did he?”
Emily held up a small bottle. “Laudanum. As tiny as she is, a small dose would pack quite a wallop.”
The Madame shook her head and looked back at Matt. “When did you say you’re leaving for Elliott’s ranch?”
“Tomorrow morning.” Matt watched the marshal pour a pitcherful of water over Clancy’s swelling face. Then he saw something fall to the floor as the bartender shook his head. He picked it up—a gold tooth. “Put this with his other stuff,” he murmured to the lawman. “And while he’s in jail, round up all his guns for me, will you?”
“You bet,” Barry replied with a nod. “Get up, Donahue. I sure as hell can’t carry you out of here.”
When he saw that Victoria and Grace were sponging Zenia’s forehead, Matt walked over to Emily and rested his arms on her shoulders. When he smiled, his cheek stung.
“He got you,” Emily murmured as she gingerly touched his face.
“Just a chafe. It’ll heal.” Her eyes were liquid, limpid gold, and as he gazed down at her, Matt realized his heart was pumping faster now than it was when Clancy had cornered him. “You’re a helluva fighter, honey—and in the nick of time, too,” he whispered. “Why don’t you go tell Silas I’ll be leaving first thing tomorrow? It’ll save me a trip.”
Emily nodded, trying to mask her disappointment.
McClanahan chuckled and grabbed her up in a bearhug. “I owe you for this, rosebud, and for a whole lot more,” he murmured against her ear. “Pack a bag. You’re going with me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Emily hiked up the hill to the Angel Claire so fast her legs ached, still agitated about the scene at the Golden Rose. Zenia was moaning and coming to when she left, and Clancy had scowled blackly at her as he preceded Marshal Thompson out the double doors. But she knew what was really making her short of breath: Pack a bag. You’re coming with me.
She hadn’t been to the ranch since she and Idaho came to Cripple a few weeks ago. Often, when she’d been out on Sundance, she’d been tempted to turn him toward Colorado Springs and just keep on riding until she reached the Flaming B. But she wasn’t sure she could face Papa’s spirit again until she’d caught his murderer. Maybe McClanahan sensed she needed to go home, and she hoped he had a plan to bring this whole ordeal to an end. Spotting Silas’s tall, dark figure outside the ore house, Emily trotted toward him.
“Good Lord, what’s happened?” Hughes glanced around the grounds of the Angel Claire and ushered her into the office. “The men aren’t used to seeing Eliza dressed—”
“Clancy just got thrown in jail!”
The mine manager froze, staring at her. “Because of that colored girl?”
Emily nodded rapidly. “Matt figured Donahue couldn’t leave her alone, so he was waiting in the room next to Zenia’s. He—he tied her to the bedposts and knocked her out with laudanum. When I got upstairs, he was going at Matt with a whip, and—”
“Whoa…slow down, Emily.” Silas held her by the shoulders, his expression grave. “Victoria won’t want him around, after all that. I suppose McClanahan’s filling in until she can hire another bouncer?”
“No, Bob’ll handle things. Miss Victoria insisted that Emily should know about this, so Matt’s going to the ranch,” she said in a rapid jumble. “And I’m going with him.”
Silas studied her closely. “Are you sure you want to? It won’t be easy, and the hands are bound to speculate about you and Matt—”
“I know. But I need to see how things are going—talk to the foreman about roundup, and check the mail.”
He nodded, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose McClanahan plans to follow another lead about the murder. He wouldn’t make the trip just to appease Victoria.”
Hearing the suspicious, knowing edge in the mine manager’s voice, Emily frowned. “Do you trust him either, Silas?”
“We’ve only known him a few weeks,” he replied with a shrug. “Matt seems reliable enough, but he may just be another fortune hunter in a handsome disguise. Don’t you let him talk you into anything, or sign any papers while you’re there.”
“Silas, I certainly know better than that!” she protested. “Anything official would have to be handled by Papa’s attorney anyway.”
Her father’s partner removed his hat to smooth the white streak in his peppery hair. “All right, I’m jumping to unfair conclusions,” he said gently. “But be careful, Emily. You’re quite capable of taking care of yourself, but you might not be at your best when you set foot in a house full of memories again.”
Emily nodded; she’d tho
ught of that.
“Is Idaho going?”
“Not that I know of.”
Doubts about McClanahan’s intentions were written all over his face, but Silas was tactful enough not to voice them. “Catch your breath before you start home, and then relax in a hot bath. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately and I want to see you looking completely rested when we sit down to dinner.” He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, then frowned. “What happened to your sleeve?”
“Clancy tore it.”
Silas scowled. “I’ll see if I can be of assistance to Victoria while you and McClanahan are gone. If she asks my opinion, I’ll tell her to let Donahue rot behind bars and hire someone dependable. That’s what your father would’ve said at this point.”
Emily nodded and watched him walk toward the mine buildings. She felt too jittery to rest, so she updated the ledgers, realizing that Silas had handled the Angel Claire’s many duties quite well before she’d done his bookkeeping, and that he’d continue to do so after Eliza disappeared. But when would that be? She closed the book, rubbing her forehead. Her lack of sleep was catching up with her.
As she shut her eyes to refresh them, Emily had the eerie feeling she was being watched. She looked up to find Nigel Grath leering over the desk at her.
“Whatsa matter, Goldilocks? Like this place so much you’re gonna play maid?” he asked in his reedy voice.
“Go home, Grath. Silas’ll be coming around any minute to check—”
The blaster let out a giggle, and suddenly he was hauling her up out of her chair with a grip like two steel bands around her arms. “Hughes just left, Blondie. And I warned you about what I’d do if you told McClanahan—”
“I didn’t! Silas already knew,” she gasped as he clutched her tighter.
“Did he, now?” Grath laughed, sounding like a howling hyena. “Got wound up pretty tight when I saw McClanahan kissin’ you, after that train nearly ran you down. But that wasn’t no tomboy he was humpin’ in the cabin, ‘cause I got a good look, sister. You were givin’ it right back to him.”
Emily felt the blood draining from her face. “I’m not your sister,” she countered weakly. “You filthy—”
The wiry little man set her down hard on the edge of the desk. “And you’re not too smart either—played right into my hands. But I know why you’re in Cripple, you and McClanahan. You’re spyin’ on me, tryin’ to catch me at what I done, but you can’t prove nothin’.”
“Let me go!”
“Why? I ain’t held a pretty little Goldilocks like you for a long time.” He was standing so close she could see a small scar beneath the center of his single eyebrow. “‘Fess up, Blondie. What’s your real name?”
“Eliza,” she spat. “Now let me go, or I’ll—”
“Holy mother of Christ! Why didn’t I see it before?” Nigel looked at the wall beside them for a moment, and then focused his wild little eyes on her. “That’s your dear departed ma—Claire —in that picture, ain’t it? And E. R. Burnham was your old man!”
“You crazy son of a—”
“Crazy? Hell, anybody could see the likeness—which is why you always cram that hat down over your eyes! Jesus, this is perfect!” His cackle trailed off and he shook her gleefully. “You’re checkin’ us out, ain’tcha? Some of the boys been wonderin’ when you’ll give up the ghost, so wait’ll they find out that Miss Britches is really Burnham’s grievin’ little girl! And that she’s bein’ held for ransom!”
Emily was ready to protest, but Grath shoved her down against the desktop and reached into his boot. The wicked gleam of his knife only inches in front of her face convinced her to keep quiet.
“Yeah, I’ll just put you in a safe place till you tell Hughes to gimme a bag of cash,” her captor crowed. “And if you don’t, I figure Hughes’ll cough up anyway, as a deposit against seein’ the Angel Claire blown sky-high! Them blastin’ holes you seen below the train tracks was only a decoy, Blondie. I done my real work here—been plannin’ a takeover—and I ain’t givin’ up till I get my fair share of the profits.”
His threats about blasting the mine and then claiming the profits didn’t make a lot of sense, but Grath’s logic was the least of Emily’s concerns. When she tried to gasp that Silas and Matt would find her themselves before they paid off a kidnapper, her words were cut off by a hand around her throat.
“You ain’t gonna scream, are ya? That’d be real stupid, sister,” Nigel said in a menacing voice. His gaze raked over her flattened body, and a sickening shine lit his little eyes. “Or maybe you’re thinkin’ ‘bout how McClanahan put it to you when you was layin’ on that table in the cabin, just like you are now. You screamed then, didn’tcha? Pantin’ for it…”
Emily clenched her eyes shut when a stealthy hand slid up under her skirt. Every muscle in her body cried out to strike or kick at him, but he was tickling her neck with the tip of the knife blade. Where was Silas? Surely someone was passing by outside and could see she was being held hostage by a lunatic!
Nigel suddenly straightened himself and pulled her up with him. “Too many people around here. We’ll go where it’s dark and safe—and if you don’t want to bloody up this office, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Got it?”
She nodded frantically, her heart pounding.
“The men’re down the main shafts now. But I know one that’s real private.” He shoved her toward the door, chuckling when she stumbled. “Long as you don’t move ‘cept when I tell you to, you and me’ll get along fine. Real fine, sister.”
Powerless to do anything else, Emily struggled to keep up with Nigel’s quick steps. He was clutching her against his side, still holding his knife to her while they climbed the rocky hillside. They ducked between the Angel Claire’s buildings and followed the shadows to a shaft that was no longer in use.
Where was everyone? Surely someone inside the ore house had spotted them—yet with the noise from the hoists in the shaft house, and the steam and clatter of a trainload of ore leaving the mine, Emily realized that Grath could stab her right then and there and no one would notice. Her heart sank when they got to the weathered shed that shielded the abandoned mine shaft. From this angle, no one could possibly see them.
“Ever been down in your daddy’s mine?” Nigel asked as he pulled on a long rope above them.
“Only once,” she mumbled. She winced at the shrill racket the squealing pulleys made as he brought a man-size bucket up to ground level.
“No place for little girls who’re ‘fraid of the dark, is it?” He crushed her to his side, baring his yellowed teeth in a grin. “Get in, Goldilocks. I seen how you handled your horse when that train was comin’ at you, so don’t turn sissy on me.”
With a futile glance backward, Emily lifted her skirt so she could swing her leg over the top of the makeshift elevator car.
Nigel gave her an impatient shove. “Move that ass! You think I’m gonna take all day with this?”
He swung into the bucket beside her and began lowering them with quick hand-over-hand tugs on the ropes. Darkness swallowed them in one sudden gulp. The air was dank and heavy, colder as they plummeted along the passageway. Emily felt for her shawl and realized it must’ve slipped off. Or had she left it in the office? She was too scared to remember.
The wiry man beside her shuttled them swiftly along the ropes with wide arcs of his hands. He’d worked a full shift and he smelled like it; down among the drills and lights of a busy shaft, the temperature usually topped one hundred degrees, but Emily was shuddering with cold and apprehension. The thought of his monkeylike body rutting against hers was enough to make her sick to her stomach.
The bucket thudded to the ground. Emily fought to keep her balance, and then the air rang with stillness. It was so dark she couldn’t see Nigel, or anything else. She heard him breathing—and smelled him, of course—but the silent suspense was driving her crazy. “Aren’t you going to light a lantern?” she asked hoarsely.
Her words echo
ed in the shaft, along with Grath’s shrill laughter. “This hole’s like home to me, sister. No sense lettin’ you see the rat tails. Let’s get out of this thing—I ain’t much on doin’ it standin’ up.”
Rat tails…Emily stifled a whimper and tried to control her runaway fears. What would Matt do in a tight spot like this? What had Papa taught her that could possibly be of help right now?
As Nigel clambered out of the bucket, she took a deep breath, hoping the right answers came to her in time. She stiffened as she felt herself being lifted out so effortlessly by a man hardly an inch taller than she was. “Wh-why are you doing this?” she asked in the strongest voice she could find. “Do you hate me so much, when you don’t even know me?”
“Hell, I hate everybody,” he replied cheerfully. “It don’t do much good to hate suckers poor as me, but men like Hughes and your daddy—they can make it worth my while.”
Grath had just handed her the key she needed, and Emily could hear Papa’s voice whispering, In order to outsmart somebody, you have to think the way he does. “So it’s the ransom money you’re after, rather than me?”
“I ain’t picky. I’ll take it all.”
He pulled her against his hard, skinny body, and Emily was thankful she couldn’t see Grath’s evil face. When his stubble scraped her cheeks as he sought her lips, she pushed against his chest. “Please! I—I could see that you got however much you wanted, if you leave me alone.”
“Who’d care? You sure ain’t no virgin,” he said with a cruel laugh.
“Hughes cares, and so does McClanahan—he’s got money, too,” she pleaded. “If I told him you didn’t mistreat me, you could collect from him, as well.”
Grath grunted. “How much you figure you’re worth to him—assumin’ I don’t do nothin’?”
“How much do you want?” she asked boldly.
The wiry man walked her backward until she was against a damp dirt wall, and for a moment there was only the sound of his breathing. “I ain’t buyin’ it. Once I collect from Hughes, McClanahan’ll hold out—”
Colorado Captive Page 15
