The Great West Detective Agency

by Jackson Lowry

  He left the livery stable, checked his pistol, and saw he had only five rounds remaining. That sufficed if he sneaked Amanda away without a shoot-out. Dunbar wasn’t likely to post a guard outside the root cellar door. Someone might ask why an employee loitered there for no good reason.

  Walking became less painful as he exerted some effort to stretch and get cramped muscles to relax. The blisters bothered him but not enough to take his mind away from fanciful schemes to free Amanda. He wanted her to be grateful for the rescue. If she helped him find Tovarich, he might even cut her in on a share of the million dollars. That would make her very grateful, which benefited them both.

  The front porch of Dunbar’s house was empty. His usual guards were elsewhere. Lucas gripped the rosewood handle of his Colt and went around the side of the house. If Dunbar had stationed them at the carriage house, an exchange of gunfire might be the only way to get Amanda from her prison.

  He caught his breath when he looked inside the carriage house. Dunbar and his two strong-arm henchmen formed a half circle around Amanda, effectively pinning her against the rear wall. Lucas edged away from the door and circled to the outside wall. The plank where Amanda leaned inside bulged out and snapped back. Dunbar was repeatedly slamming her against the wall.

  Lucas pressed his ear against the wood a few feet away. Every word uttered inside sounded loud and clear as if he used an ear trumpet.

  “That son of a bitch has the dog,” Dunbar said. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. I never had anything to do with Clifford.” Amanda sobbed. “I got the dog from the Russian woman’s brother. I’ve never had anything to do with any of the others there either.”

  Lucas knew she lied. He touched the perfume jar in his pocket. Amanda had gone to Vera’s camp at least once to steal the spikenard so she could set Tovarich on the scent to the gold.

  “One of the Russians had the dog and tried to sell it to Clifford.”

  “Tovarich got away from me after I got him back. You know that! He gnawed through his leash and escaped. He’s like trying to grab water.”

  “He returned to the Russians,” Dunbar pressed. “How did the dog know where to find them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The loud slap and Amanda’s gasp told him Dunbar was building enough anger to do more harm to her if she kept lying.

  “How’s the damned dog supposed to find the gold? Why’d it go straight to the Russians?”

  “A perfume, a special scent. Gregor said the dog had been trained.”

  “He just told you that?”

  “Of course not. I . . . persuaded him, Jubal. You know how convincing I can be.”

  “I know how conniving you are. The Russian who tried to sell the dog to Clifford got his comeuppance. And Clifford got the dog.”

  “He doesn’t know how to put Tovarich on the scent. Not unless Dmitri told him.”

  Lucas held no affection for Dmitri, but the man was a revolutionary and not likely to be overly trusting, even of another he considered a fellow revolutionary—maybe especially of another man in the same pursuit of treachery and death. He offered Tovarich to Clifford but held back the secret of getting the dog hunting. That was all that kept the location of the gold a secret.

  “The man who told me about Clifford getting the dog wasn’t able to tell where the filibusterer camp was.” Dunbar paused, then said in a menacing voice, “He died before he could give my men that information.”

  “I don’t know anything about Clifford, I tell you!”

  A sound like a loud slap echoed from the carriage house. Then the plank next to Lucas bowed out repeatedly as Dunbar slammed Amanda against the wall. Lucas doubted his success in a shoot-out, but the secessionist might kill her if he didn’t try. Then he settled down and thought through the problem. Amanda afforded Dunbar his only chance of getting the gold he needed for his revolt. The man might kill her by accident, but he only bluffed with his dire threats. That didn’t save Amanda from a serious beating.

  “Stop, please, Jubal, no more!”

  “Where’s Clifford?”

  “I . . . I don’t know, but I can take you to where I had the dog for a while. Clifford might go there, if he knows about it.”

  “I know the place. My men told me.” For a moment no sound came from inside the carriage house, then Dunbar said, “Let’s go. If this is the best you can offer up, I’ll take it.”

  “Oh, Jubal, I can offer you so much more.”

  “Shut up.”

  The sound of feet scuffling was quickly replaced with the sound of a horse whinnying and the clatter of wheels. Lucas chanced a quick look around the corner and saw Dunbar’s carriage driving away. He waited. In a few minutes, his two henchmen rode after him. With a deep breath, Lucas set out. He knew where the shack was in Cherry Creek. Cutting through yards and ignoring the streets might get him there before Dunbar.

  It didn’t. Lucas had been chased by dogs and chased by a maid with a broom and had still arrived after the carriage. Both Dunbar and Amanda were nowhere to be seen but the two thugs rode aimlessly around, as if they might find Clifford lurking behind a pile of trash or somehow walking up unaware. Neither was going to happen.

  Dunbar came out and barked orders to his men to take the carriage away and to lay a trap. Lucas watched them carry out their orders and then find places for an ambush when Clifford came. If he came. The filibusterer had to come to the conclusion only Amanda knew how to put the hound on the trail, realize she would be here, and then come after her without any fear of a trap.

  Lucas doubted any of that would happen.

  He settled down, knowing Dunbar wasn’t going to harm Amanda until he got the dog. Lucas dozed in his hiding place behind a pile of lumber and only snapped awake just before sundown. Dunbar’s men stirred, exchanging whispers loud enough for him to hear. He drew his Colt, cocked it, and chanced a look over the top of the wood.

  Clifford and two men rode slowly toward the shack. Muzzled and with a rope knotted around his neck, Tovarich trotted alongside the filibusterer. Lucas rose up to get a better look when a strong hand clamped around his right wrist and forced his pistol upward. Another hand clamped down over his mouth and nose, shutting off any outcry. With incredible strength, he was pulled backward, unable to twist to either side because of a knee in the middle of his back.

  Fury coursed through his veins and then faded as the lack of air going into his lungs robbed him of all strength. He sank to the ground, defeated.

  23

  Lucas gagged and tried to sit up. A strong hand held him down, then crushed down over his face. He fought weakly, then blinked his eyes into focus and saw Good above him. When he stopped fighting, the Creek released him and put his finger to his lips, cautioning Lucas to silence. He scooted erect and braced himself against the woodpile.

  Good reached down, took his forearm, and pulled him to his feet. He pointed. Lucas felt a rush of anger, but the Creek’s hand on his shoulder held him back. Dunbar’s men thought they had chosen strategic positions for an ambush. Both of them never saw Clifford’s men creep up behind them. A quick slash across each neck left them dead. Only then did Clifford’s soldiers slip closer to the shack where Dunbar held Amanda prisoner.

  “We have to save her.”

  “Patience.”

  Lucas sighted along the barrel of his Colt and centered on one filibusterer. He heard Good swear under his breath and held back from pulling the trigger. Good had something in mind. Since he had so quickly found and identified all the players in the unfolding drama, Lucas was willing to wait. As long as Amanda knew how to put the dog on the trail of the hidden gold, she was safe. When she revealed the information about the perfume, no one needed her any longer. Lucas had to be there to save her.

  He scowled as that thought crossed his mind. She had paid him to find the dog but hadn’t bothered gi
ving him vital information. He had found the dog, only to have her spirit Tovarich away at the first chance she got. His obligation—his paid job—should have ended there. Amanda had the dog back. But he felt something more toward her and wondered what it might be. Misguided chivalry played a part, but he reluctantly analyzed his own motives and knew there was more.

  Carmela had spurned him in favor of Little Otto. Amanda was a lovely woman and not as completely crazy as Vera Zasulich seemed. Let Good deal with the Russian. Lucas needed to prove to himself he still had everything a lovely woman could want. She just hadn’t had the opportunity for him to work his masculine magic on her. He closed his eyes for a second and remembered how their bodies had fit together so perfectly during the gala ball. That waltz had shown they worked together well, bodies and thoughts in synchronicity. All they needed was a chance to build on that start.

  Dennis Clifford dismounted and walked to the door, tugging on the rope around the dog’s neck. He kicked open the door and stepped inside, six-shooter drawn.

  Good moved. So did Lucas, aware that the idea wasn’t to take out Clifford’s men but to eavesdrop. That suited him just fine. Gathering twilight hiding their advance, they got to the shack’s rear wall. Good dropped to his knees and found a crack. Lucas had to stand on tiptoe to find another big enough to see inside.

  “It took you long enough to show up, Clifford.” Dunbar waved his arms around like a cavalry semaphore flagman. He spoke loud enough to draw attention.

  He wrongly believed his men were lying in wait and would come to his aid.

  “I brought the dog.” Clifford yanked on the rope around the dog’s neck.

  Tovarich whined. He was securely muzzled.

  “Has she told you how to make the dog find the gold?” Clifford stepped closer, pulling the reluctant Tovarich behind him.

  “She has,” Dunbar said. “Go on. Tell him.”

  Through his peephole, Lucas barely saw Amanda to one side. She had backed into a corner. When she reached out, Tovarich ran to her. She scratched the dog’s ears. The spikenard perfume worked to identify her to the well-trained dog. That was how she had been able to run off with Tovarich so quickly after Lucas had rescued the wolfhound from the rat pit.

  “The scent,” Amanda said. “There’s a scent the dog has been trained to sniff out.”

  “That’s it, eh?” Clifford drew his six-gun and cocked it.

  “Wait!” Dunbar let out a scream of help for his men to come to his aid. Clifford pulled the trigger.

  Lucas flinched, then hastily looked back, fearing that the filibusterer would gun down Amanda. He had his six-shooter leveled but didn’t make any move to cock it again to drill her.

  “What’s the smell? What is it the dog will hunt down?”

  She moved into Lucas’s field of view. She opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head. Clifford whistled. Both of his men came in, bloodied knives in their hands.

  “They can make you talk. That’d be a real shame, messing up a lovely woman like that. What’s the dog trained to sniff out?”

  “You’ll kill me if I tell you!”

  “Now, lady, I can’t do that. I won’t. What if you lied and the dog doesn’t find the gold? I’d need to be sure you weren’t lying. After I get the gold, might be you’d want to come south with us.”

  “And if I didn’t want to live in Nicaragua?”

  The gunshot startled Lucas. He frantically peered in, thinking to see Amanda dead on the floor. Instead Clifford had shot Dunbar a second time.

  “That’ll teach him to keep his filthy mouth shut. You can’t think he stood a ghost of a chance prying Colorado free of the Union? No, I didn’t think so. Me, now, with the gold, I can be king of my own country. I’d be needing a queen to share it.”

  “When you find the gold, could you just let me go?”

  “I reckon,” Clifford said. “What’s the dog trained to go after?”

  “This. It’s this. It’s a Union officer’s coat. The captain who wore it found the Southerner’s gold while on patrol in Oklahoma Territory. Rather than turn it in, he and some of his men deserted and moved the gold here to Colorado. He . . . he murdered his men so only he’d know.”

  “How’d the dog get trained?”

  “He bought it from some Russians, but they’re revolutionaries and wanted the gold for themselves, to take back to their country and overthrow their own government. Gregor—that was his name—tried to steal the dog. He and the captain shot it out. Both died.”

  “And you happened along and took the dog?” Clifford laughed. “That’s rich.”

  “That’s the way it happened. I wanted to be rich, but I’ll settle for being let go free.”

  “Dennison, you stay with her while Lorry ’n’ me see where the dog takes us.” Clifford shook out the officer’s jacket, then cried out.

  Amanda had pulled off the muzzle, and with a deft move, she unfastened the collar. The rope tied through it fell away—and the freed Tovarich bolted for the door.

  “You bitch!” Clifford and his henchman ran from the shack.

  “Looks like me and you got time to spend,” the one named Dennison said, moving toward her.

  “Get the horses. We’ll have to get the dog,” Lucas said to Good. But the Creek had disappeared.

  Lucas ran around to the shack’s door and thrust out his Colt, ready to shoot. Dennison lay on the ground. He inched in and checked. The man had been stabbed in the heart with a thin-bladed knife. Lucas looked around, but Amanda was nowhere to be seen. He spun about, pistol leveled, when he heard a hard rap at the shack door.

  “Here’s your horse.” Good dropped the reins and wheeled his own around.

  “Wait, wait.”

  Lucas painfully mounted. From horseback he looked around for Amanda, but she had vanished in the night. If he didn’t go after Clifford right away, he would lose him for certain. How Amanda had gotten away so fast, he didn’t know, but Good was out of sight already. Lucas tapped his heels to the horse’s flanks and rocketed off after the Creek.

  Amanda must have been all right. Finding Clifford before Tovarich located the gold was more important. He put his head down and rode even harder after Good.

  24

  How he did it was a mystery. Lucas rode hard and barely kept up with Good. He had to believe the Creek followed the trail left by Tovarich and the pursuing filibusterers, but in the dark all spoor disappeared. For him, at least. Good might be faking his ability to trail but Lucas doubted it. The Indian didn’t seem like the type who would puff himself up like that or lie about his abilities.

  “How can the dog run so far?”

  “Clifford hunts for the trail. He has no idea where the dog went.”

  “South,” Lucas said. “The dog lit out going south toward Colorado Springs. Does that mean anything?”

  “Yes,” Good said. “It means the dog is running south.”

  Lucas fought the feeling of helplessness and outright ineptitude. He was out of his pond. Give him a poker game and he was prince. Put him on a horse and blisters popped up where they shouldn’t and made him less efficient dealing with life. He was a crack shot but carried a small pistol unable to match the .45s men like Clifford sported. And on the trail, Good showed supernatural power tracking men and a dog in the pitch black of night.

  “Is it actually hunting for the gold?”

  Good didn’t answer. If anything, he rode faster in an attempt to leave Lucas behind. Realizing he would be dealt out of receiving any of the gold if he let Good capture the dog and he was nowhere near, he lifted his butt off the saddle to remove some of the friction, put his head down by the horse’s neck, and rode like a jockey. This put intense strain on his legs but allowed him to keep from sliding back and forth along the saddle.

  Eventually his legs began to shake and he sank back down with a moan. Good
had outpaced him and wasn’t near enough to caution him to silence. Then Lucas knew being quiet didn’t matter since the pounding hooves alerted anyone ahead along the road. When this occurred to him, he slowed and finally came to a complete stop. The blood pounded in his ears and then he became aware of the night around him. The sounds came to him so that he turned toward a spot far ahead and off the road.

  Hooves. The sound of horses neighing. Then his heart jumped in his chest. A dog barked.

  Lucas walked his horse away from the road across the rocky ground, trying to make sense of what he heard. The sharp yelps of a dog drowned out the other sounds. He wanted to hurry but kept the pace steady to save his horse from blundering into a gopher hole or otherwise stumbling and throwing him. It was a long way back to Denver, and Lucas wasn’t inclined to walk if he could avoid it.

  Ahead he heard loud voices and more barking. He looked around, wondering what had become of Good. The Creek had been so intent, it hardly seemed possible a citified gambler had found Clifford and his gang and an expert frontiersman had not. When he was a few hundred yards away, Lucas dismounted. His legs almost collapsed under him. Riding like a jockey might not have been the smartest thing he’d ever done, even if it had saved his inner thighs and rear from more blistering.

  He secured his horse, drew his Colt, and advanced as carefully as he had ridden. The horse could break a leg in an unseen hole. So could a human. He approached the dismounted riders in a ravine. Flopping onto his belly near a cottonwood, Lucas steadied his gun hand so he could get Clifford in his sights. The leader of the filibuster had roped Tovarich and avoided the dog’s nasty snaps at him.

  “Stop him,” Clifford called. “No, you idiot. Don’t shoot the damned dog. Get another rope around his neck and hold him back.”

  The man who had ridden from Denver with Clifford made a loop in his rope and easily tossed it. Tovarich snapped at the rope but freedom wasn’t to be had. The dog was easily held between Clifford and his henchman. A dozen strategies ran through Lucas’s head. Gunning down both men would let the dog run free and forever ruin any chance of finding the gold. He had no illusion about his chances of ever finding Tovarich once the dog raced off into the night.