Bride's Flight from Virginia City, Montana

by Murray Pura

  Zeph carried on. “—you can’t miss it on account of how fancy the sign is. A Missus Willoughby will be happy to fit you into—”

  So did Lynndae. “—but I would have to say it’s a very pleasant change to have you less plain.”

  Zeph finished up. “—a brand new dress right off the rack, no waiting around for two or three weeks.”

  Lynndae finally listened to him, startled. “A new dress? Two or three weeks? Oh, Z, the train will be leaving in less than two hours.”

  “No, I said it won’t take two or three weeks. They have ready-to-wear dresses hanging up in the store. They just need to open some parts out and pin some others in, at least that’s what they told me.”

  Lynndae repeated Zeph’s words. “You went into a dress shop—”

  “I did.”

  “—to buy a dress for me—”

  “Well, I wasn’t planning on trying any on for myself.”

  “—when you don’t even know my size or what colors I like or—”

  “That’s why I’m giving you this chit. The dress is paid for. You just have to pick it out.”

  Lynndae looked at him in astonishment. Zeph touched the brim of his brown Stetson and placed the slip of paper in her hand.

  “Two blocks north, right up that street, and then a left. You can’t miss it. Missus Willoughby. Can’t miss her either. The kind of woman who fills a chair. Very sweet.”

  “Why, Z—”

  He grinned. “It’s your engagement present. I haven’t seen you in anything but blacks and grays for more than three months. Time to let you be the wildflower you are again.”

  “What if they don’t have anything suitable?”

  “Get going, palomino. You’re burning daylight.”

  Suddenly realizing what Zeph had done, and that she might not have time to pick a dress out and have it fitted in time, Lynndae began walking rapidly up the street.

  Zeph watched her slender dark figure until she paused and turned left, and then he went to buy himself an Omaha paper and relax with it.

  After he bought the paper and had read a few stories, Zeph remembered that he had gone past the telegraph station earlier. He was debating whether or not to send word to Matt that they were on their way back. If the accomplice was still around, he would be sure to read it. Zeph wasn’t interested in being ambushed on the stage between Virginia City and Iron Springs.

  Mulling it over, Zeph wandered into the office. After waiting behind two other men dressed in fancy suits and then asking for a pad, out of the blue the idea popped into his head to ask for telegrams for Parker. The clerk looked and said there hadn’t been any.

  “But I do remember the name Parker,” he said. “I sent a real odd telegram out to a Parker in Pennsylvania a couple of months back.”

  Zeph was hunched over the pad with a yellow pencil. His ears pricked up at the clerk’s words. “Pennsylvania?” The older man chuckled. “Sure, hard to forget. It was a passage from the Bible, from Revelation. I never get anything like that.”

  Zeph stared at the clerk. “Do you happen to recall who sent the telegram?”

  “That’s just it, how could you forget someone that went by the handle Angel?” The clerk busied himself with some papers. “Not that it was his real name, anyhow.”

  Zeph put down the pencil. “What was his real name?”

  “Oh, he never told me. Just laughed about it. But then he went and left his business card in that basket there. All sorts of travelers leave one behind. People go through them now and then. You never know. Someone might get in touch about a business deal. Let me see.”

  The man came out from behind the counter and went to the large wicker basket that sat on a table by the door. There were hundreds of cards, but he was not deterred. Zeph came and stood beside him. After several minutes of riffling through the pile, the clerk exclaimed, “Here we go!” and held a card up to the sunlight from the window.

  “WILLIAM S. KING, ATTORNEY AT LAW,” he read out loud, “IRON SPRINGS, THE MONTANA TERRITORY, WILLS, ESTATES, PROPERTY. That’s the one. You see, he puts a crown on the top of the card, his business logo, I guess, and that makes the card easy to pick out. Good head on his shoulders. Nice man. Gave me a tip, too.”

  “And you’re sure this is the man who sent the Bible passage to Pennsylvania? And signed the telegram ‘Angel’?” “T’weren’t no other.” “And he sent it to Parker?” “He did. That Parker kin to you?” “Yes. He is.”

  Zeph walked in a daze back to the counter and the telegram pad. He kept thinking of how many times Lynndae and the kids had almost been killed because the Raber Gang always knew where they were going and what they were doing. He saw King grinning and laughing through his thick beard, and the heat rose in him and the blood pounded through his head. Raber’s gunmen had been deadly, but they had been strangers to him. King was a friend, someone he’d dined with and sat next to in church. The sense of betrayal was strong. Zeph felt he could knock down an Omaha brick wall with his bare hands.

  He wrote out two telegrams. The one to Matt had Zeph and Lynndae coming into Iron Springs at least a week later than he knew the train and stage would get them there. The other he sent to Colonel Austen at Cheyenne.

  He was seated with his paper at the depot when he spied a tall, slender beauty in a dress of white, yellow, and blue silks almost floating down the street toward him. Men were stopping to turn and look at her, even men who were escorting other women. Zeph folded the newspaper and got to his feet. Not for the first time he marveled that this lady should be excited about marrying him.

  Thanks for the train ride, Lord, he prayed. It wasn’t an easy trip, but I’m grateful for how things turned out, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

  The sunlight danced all over Lynndae’s hair and dress as if it were delighted to have a woman of her caliber back in Nebraska again. Zeph could not take his eyes off her. As she drew up to him, her face reddened.

  “Must you stare so?”

  He whipped off his Stetson. “I’m afraid I must, ma’am.” “Oh, don’t act so foolish. You’d think it was the first time we’ve met.”

  “I’ve never seen you wear a dress like this in Iron Springs.”

  “Well, I never had the time to make one. And, I was never engaged before.”

  “I was looking forward to seeing the Rocky Mountains shining in the distance, and now I don’t care. I got more of God’s beauty in my eyes right now than any man has a right to see”—he put his arms around her—“and more of God’s beauty in my arms than I’ll ever know what to do with. I’ll need time, a lot of time. Why, I expect I’ll need a lifetime, and even then I won’t get around to doing all the things a man would enjoy doing with a woman of such fine features and well-bred disposition.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s the dress.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Or the heat.”

  “I put you in sackcloth, your beauty’d still shine. For the past three months it sparkled, even in your Amish wardrobe. It’s just that this dress and these silks bring out all the different colors in your soul, and they show who you truly are: a woman of vast splendor, of awe-inspiring magnificence, and of exquisite loveliness. I really don’t know what to do with you.”

  “Why don’t you just kiss me then and stop talking? It’s embarrassing.”

  So he did, while trains shunted in and out of the station and whistles blew and people streamed past and locomotives hissed steam and covered them in white mist. Finally she pulled back.

  “Was that a Western kiss?” She smiled.

  “You only get those on this side of the Missouri.”

  “Well, then, I think I’d like to stay on this side of the Missouri for a little while.”

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  The train pulled them through Nebraska all that day and into the night. At sunset on the following evening, it began to slow as it came into Cheyenne. Lynndae was patting her cheeks with a napkin dip
ped in cool water and passing it over her throat when she noticed a man in black standing alone on the platform. People rushed back and forth all about him, but he was like a rock in the middle of turbulent waters, fixed and immovable. It so happened their car came to a stop right in front of him. Lynndae leaned forward out of her seat.

  “Why, Z,” she exclaimed in astonishment, “that’s Colonel Austen.”

  “So it is.”

  “Well, come, come, we must get off the train and greet him before we miss this opportunity. There’s so many things he will want to know.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time for that.”

  “What are you talking about? We don’t have plenty of time at all. The train may only be here twenty or thirty minutes.” She rose out of her seat and gathered her skirts about her, but Zeph placed a hand gently on her arm.

  “Lynndae.”

  “What are you doing? Aren’t you coming out with me?” “There’s no reason to do so.” “What do you mean?”

  “He’ll be coming on board presently, and he will be with us, by rail and stage, all the way to Virginia City and Iron Springs.”

  “What?”

  Lynndae stared at Zeph and then out the window at Colonel Austen. He had noticed her once she stood up, and he met her gaze with a smile. Then he gently touched the brim of his black Stetson. Coming aboard, he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and shook Zeph’s hand.

  “Thank you for the watch, Colonel,” Zeph said.

  “Thank you for the memory,” Austen replied. “A strong one and an important one.”

  He settled in his seat and turned to Lynndae. “I have exciting news I think you would like to hear. My family is alive.”

  “What? Oh, Colonel Austen, is it true?” She threw her arms around him and gave him a hug. “Where are they?”

  “The Territory of Arizona and the Territory of New Mexico. I received the report from the US Army, which received the information from a trader by the name of Wilkes. They are indeed attached to an Apache tribe. I intend to go down there and get them back.”

  “Colonel, I thank God. You must feel like setting out this very day to bring them back.”

  “I do. But there is unfinished business in Iron Springs. And I intend to help Zephaniah and Matt set that to rights before I make my way into the American southwest.”

  “Oh.” Lynndae glanced at Zeph. “Will that take long?”

  Austen shook his head. “I believe, Miss Raber, that it will be short and sweet.”

  Chapter 34

  William King used a key to open the door of his law office. A passerby on horseback called his name, and he waved and went inside. It was early, only seven, and his secretary would not arrive for another hour. He checked her desk to make sure everything was in order. Then he went back to his own room and opened that door with another key.

  Everything seemed to be as it should. His filing cabinet was in place and all the drawers intact. He moved around, going through his usual Monday morning ritual. His desk was neat and tidy, just the way he had left it on Saturday. He opened a drawer and brought out a short-barreled Colt 45 revolver that was deep blue in color. Turning it over in his hand, he admired the workmanship of the pistol then glanced at the cylinder to make sure it was loaded with six cartridges. He almost looked away before his eyes told him the gun was empty.

  King frowned. The Colt was always loaded. All sorts of riffraff went in and out of his office on a daily basis. He had to be sure he could protect himself as well as defend his female secretary from assault. He reached back in the drawer for the box of 45 cartridges he stored with the pistol. It was gone.

  King’s heart began to thump rapidly in his chest. His office might look undisturbed, but someone had obviously been in here. The Colt was always loaded and the box of extra cartridges was always in the same drawer with it. He remembered looking at the gun and the box Saturday afternoon. Something was wrong.

  “Looking for these, Billy?”

  King whirled around and met the flat stare of Matt Parker. He was holding six bullets in one palm and a box of cartridges in another. King began to sputter.

  “Matt—what—why did you take the bullets? Who let you in here? Give them back—”

  “Well, Billy, I normally don’t give a loaded gun to a wanted felon.”

  “What are you talking about? Have you gone loco? I’m an attorney.”

  “So I’ll just keep ahold of these a little bit longer, until Judge Skinner decides what to do with them. And with you.”

  “You’re out of your mind. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not about to subject myself to some sort of frontier justice you’ve cooked up with that old fool Skinner. What is this all about?”

  Zeph stepped into the room. “It’s all about two Amish kids named Troyer and Kauffman, Mister King, and a man named Seraphim Raber who was hunting them down because they’d seen his face.”

  “Zephaniah! I didn’t know you were … Welcome back. I was expecting you next week.”

  “Expecting me? Why, I didn’t tell anyone but Matt when I was coming in.”

  “And I didn’t tell anyone else,” said Matt.

  King looked from one of them to the other. Suddenly he yelled and charged at them like a bull. King was a big man and he bowled them over. Then he raced down the short hall for the back door of his office, threw the latch, and jumped outside, prepared to jump on the horse he’d hitched there and ride it bareback out of town. Colonel Austen stood between him and his mount.

  “Mister King?” he said. “I am Marshal Michael James Austen out of Cheyenne, Wyoming. I am afraid I must detain you, sir. The charge is, I believe, accessory to murder and accessory to attempted murder.”

  King stared at the man in black. He glanced to his right.

  Matt’s deputy, Luke, came out from behind a nearby building, and he was holding a coach gun, a shotgun with two short barrels that was often used by Wells Fargo guards. He pointed the weapon at King. “I’m guessing you know what this can do at close range, sir.”

  Matt and Zeph rushed out the back door and then stopped. Austen strolled up to King and put his face right up to the lawyer’s. “Mister King, you endangered friends of mine. You endangered women. You endangered children. I have little use or patience for men such as yourself, masquerading as a champion of justice by day and doing the deeds of darkness by night.”

  He pulled out handcuffs and locked them on King’s wrists. “I arrest you as an accessory to the crimes of the Angel Raber Gang. You will be accompanying me to the jailhouse in Cheyenne.”

  “You can’t do that!” protested King. “You’re way out of your jurisdiction. I’m staying right here.”

  “For this transfer, I have a court order meant to prevent two possibilities from occurring. One, that your two brothers attempt to release you from jail in Iron Springs unlawfully.”

  “Leave them out of this. They don’t know anything about Raber. They were never part of any of it.”

  “And two, that a lynch mob might storm the jail and hang you by the neck for assisting one of the most notorious and blackhearted gangs that has ever crossed the Missouri River.”

  King went silent as he turned this bit of information over in his mind. Zeph walked up to him.

  “Was it the money, Billy?” he asked. “Tell me there was a better reason than the money.”

  King could not meet Zeph’s gaze. He dropped his eyes and studied the dirt under his feet. “How’d you know? Did Raber tell you before he died?”

  “The clerk in Omaha recalled you sending the Revelation telegram to me in Pennsylvania.”

  King snorted. “You’ll never be able to prove I did anything else. You don’t have any of the telegrams I sent Raber.”

  “The clerk here talked.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. He did. He’ll say whatever he needs to say to save his own neck.”

  King looked up and pleaded with Zeph. “You have to understand, the Rabers and Kings go
back a long way.”

  “I know that. The Kings in Lancaster County told me all about it. What I don’t understand is how some old friendship turned you into a criminal.”

  “The Kings owed the Rabers. It’s as simple as that. When my great-grandfather left the church seventy or eighty years ago, it was some of the Rabers who made sure my family had land and livestock and a roof over their heads. They saved us. When a telegram came for me demanding I return the favor, I couldn’t refuse. I am a man of honor.”

  “Of honor!” Zeph was seething. “Helping Raber’s cutthroats is your idea of honor? Helping them track us down so they could murder those children? Shoot Miss Spence? Shoot me?”

  “It–it’s complicated.”

  “No, it’s simple. It wasn’t just returning the favor. It was filling your pockets with gold, too, wasn’t it? Your practice was a lot more lucrative in the gold rush days. This was a good opportunity to make up for the shortfall.”

  “I didn’t take much.”

  “The clerk says you paid him ten thousand in gold. I’m thinking if you paid him ten thousand, well, you must have kept a whole lot more to yourself to live on.”

  King looked down again. “Just remember, my brothers didn’t do anything.”

  “I guess we’ll ask them for ourselves. Meanwhile, you’ve got a stage to catch.”

  They took him down the lane behind the buildings where the stage was waiting. It was empty. The driver saw King and spat down into the dust.

  “We told the passengers there’d be another stage along in a few hours,” he said.

  “Thank you kindly,” responded Austen, pushing King into the stage ahead of him.

  Zeph stood at the window. “Charlotte Spence has another name, Mister King, and it’s Raber.”

  King looked at him in astonishment.

  “She talked with Raber before he died. A brother and sister heart-to-heart. I thought you might like to know he apologized for all the wrong he’d done. I guess the better word is repented. You recall that word from church, don’t you, Mister King?”

  “I don’t believe it,” King growled. “A killer like Raber wouldn’t turn unless there was money in it.”