“What’s that?” Seth folded his arms.
“I’m ready to show you what kind of man I am. I’m gonna take care of that Texas law dog. I’m finished runnin’ from him. I swear to you right here and now: that Texas lawman’s gonna be dead inside of two days.” Charlie’s lip quivered. “And I’m gonna do the killin’ myself.”
“Is that a fact?”
Charlie gave a strong nod. “It is.”
“Needs to be done,” Seth said, his steely eyes narrowing again, his gaze boring right into Charlie’s. “But if Ettie dies, killin’ that Texas Ranger still won’t atone for the loss of her.”
He held Charlie’s gaze for several long seconds, then intentionally bumped his shoulder as he walked past him to the door.
Thaddeus McIntosh and Seth Blaylock rousted the Carson City telegraph operator out of bed before the roosters had even wiped the sleep from their eyes. They walked him down to the telegraph office in his nightshirt, and now he sat at the desk, pencil in hand, ready to take down their message.
“And this is to go to your brother, Mr. Lucian McIntosh, up in Reno? Correct, sir?” he stammered.
“We’ve told you that already,” Thaddeus said. “Now let’s get on with it.”
The operator nodded, the pencil quivering in his hand.
“Write this,” Seth said. “Wagons ambushed by unidentified enemy near Washoe City. Stop. Had buffalo guns. Stop. Killed our draft horses. Stop. Going back with reinforcements. Stop.” He nodded and waved his hand toward the Morse key. “Go on and send that much.”
While the operator clicked away at the message, Thaddeus said, “I’m comin’ with you, Seth.”
Seth turned to him. “You really don’t have to do that, sir. I’ll take care of Mr. Lucian’s business.”
“I insist. He told me how impressed he was with those little China girls. And I don’t want to see him lose those assets.”
Was Thaddeus insinuating, Seth wondered, that he had somehow botched the transfer of the girls? That he might not be up to the task of taking care of Lucian’s interests?
That nagging possibility—on top of Ettie’s dire situation and Charlie’s stupidity—had Seth stewing inside. But this was Lucian’s dear brother. It wouldn’t do to raise Thaddeus’s hackles when he was already in the middle of a dicey situation. Nonetheless, he risked an appeal. “Really, sir. I just need the horses and a few men. You shouldn’t trouble yourself.”
Thaddeus set his jaw, then said, “I couldn’t help but overhear you and Charlie shoutin’. I know it’s that Texas bunch that met you on the road. And I know they were lookin’ for Charlie.”
“Yes, sir,” Seth said. “But why should that cause you extra trouble, sir? You know I’ve always taken care of whatever Mr. Lucian’s asked of me.”
“A couple of those Texans came through Carson City before they wandered up toward Reno,” Thaddeus said. “My boys met ’em on the street. Said they handled themselves like real men.”
Before Seth could counter, Thaddeus put up a hand.
“Now we don’t know how many they are,” he said. “But we’re beginnin’ to get a feel for how talented and determined they are. So let’s just put the kibosh on ’em—one way or another—today.”
He cocked his head and paused for Seth to respond.
The telegraph operator had been waiting for a break in their conversation. “Um,” he said, waving his hand feebly.
Seth waved him off. “Give us just a minute.” Turning to Thaddeus, he said, “Can we step outside, sir?”
Thaddeus’s dark brow furrowed. He heaved a breath, then headed through the half-glassed door.
Once on the boardwalk, Seth said, “Mr. Thaddeus, there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The Texans had a Chinaman with them.”
Thaddeus shrugged. “So what? There are thousands of Chinese around here. Maybe he’s their Mary.”
“Somehow,” Seth said, “in their sniffin’ around—for information about Charlie’s whereabouts, I suspect—I wonder whether they didn’t stumble on the Chinese we got those girls from.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because instead of turnin’ and runnin’ when the shootin’ started, that little Chinaman led the charge. Made a beeline straight for that one China girl that tried to get away.”
Thaddeus was quiet. “Ain’t like Chinamen to lead the charge, is it?”
“Not at all.”
“Could be crazy.”
“Or could’ve thought it was his daughter.”
Thaddeus tugged at the end of his mustache.
“I shot the Chinaman,” Seth said. “Chinaman went down, but he fell into an arroyo. I can’t swear he’s dead. Might’ve only winged him.”
“So there may be other folks out there—not just the Texans—that’ve seen you transportin’ the China girls.”
“I’m sayin’ the Chinese could’ve hired the Texas lawmen to do what the local law wouldn’t do—help ’em look for their daughters.”
McIntosh laughed. “How the blazes could that happen? You think the Chinese went about postin’ signs? Took out an ad in the newspaper? Why, most of ’em are so poor, they can’t buy a pot to piss in.”
He gazed off down the street. After a moment, he clapped Seth on the shoulder. “Anyway, I wouldn’t worry too much about that Chinaman. Like you say, you shot him. He’s probably layin’ dead in that gulch.”
Seth knew the discussion was over. Whether he liked it or not, Thaddeus would go along with him back up to the wagons. He’d check out the situation with the Chinese girls and report it firsthand to Lucian. Seth glanced through the glass at the telegraph operator waiting inside.
“You go on and tell McAfee to get our twelve best men ready,” Thaddeus said. “Tell him we’ll ride right after breakfast. Meanwhile, I’m gonna go in and pay the telegraph bill. I’ll see you up at the house in a minute.”
Reluctantly Seth nodded. Twisting his lips, he turned away. He was bothered that he’d told Thaddeus about the Chinaman. Yet he realized that if he hadn’t told him and then something further were to go wrong…why, there’d be hell to pay.
As he walked along the street into his own long shadow, his thoughts returned to Ettie. That bullet had ended up in a bad place. The doctor was doing the best he could, but she was in for a lengthy recovery—if she made it at all. And he couldn’t remain by her side, where he wanted to be. He had to get those China girls down to Genoa, make sure he maintained Lucian McIntosh’s confidence. Right now, it didn’t much matter whether his brother was to blame for the predicament.
Ettie, McIntosh, Charlie—it all made him just that much more determined to see the whole bunch from Texas lying by the side of the road in their own blood.
As soon as Seth left, Thaddeus McIntosh went back inside the telegraph office.
“Get back on that telegraph key,” he ordered the man in the nightshirt.
“Yes, sir?”
“To my brother, Lucian. A separate telegram, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.” He picked up his pencil.
“Know who attacked wagons. Stop. Texans hunting down Charlie Blaylock. Stop. Chinese may have hired Texans. Stop.”
Thaddeus turned his back on the operator. “Be sure to send it right away. Put it on my bill.”
“Will do, Mr. McIntosh,” the operator said as Thaddeus was already stepping out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Exhausted from riding through the night, Emmett stood rubbing his forehead in front of a packed house. Chinese men filled the dining room and kitchen of Yong Xu’s place. More flooded the boardwalk right out front and spilled into the street. Yet another couple dozen crammed themselves into the small lot immediately behind the restaurant. Early though it was, the air inside the crowded café had already taken on
a stuffy, suffocating quality.
A pair of older women, experienced in the use of traditional Chinese medicines, had treated Yong’s bullet wound, and Yong was now back at the very center of all the activity. Emmett was learning that his new Chinese friend was a man of considerable inner strength and determination.
The same could be said for Wei, who had disappeared only briefly when Emmett and Yong had arrived in the small hours of the morning with the body of his lovely daughter Guiying. Wei was already back among the men in the café.
Emmett held up his hands for quiet.
“So how many of you own a pistol, a rifle, or a shotgun?” he asked once the talk had died down. “Show me your hands.”
A low murmuring in Chinese swept through the room. Some were translating his question for their neighbors. A few timid hands went up.
He glanced at Yong Xu, who stood on a chair, counting.
“Only five,” Yong said.
Only five? Emmett shook his head slowly. Out of well over a hundred men, only five had firearms. “Does that include the ones outside?”
“I’m afraid so,” Yong said. “Most stores won’t sell them to us Chinese.”
“Two times I ordered a rifle from a catalogue,” a nearby man with a wispy mustache said. “Both times, when I went to the post office to pick it up, they told me the package must have gotten lost.”
Emmett released a tired sigh. Then he recalled Li and Yong’s impressive throwing prowess.
“How about anything else that can be used as a weapon?” he asked. “Yong, I know you can handle a meat cleaver.”
Again the room buzzed with chatter. This time it was more animated, a few miming how they might wield some implement or another in combat. Yong gave him a sideways glance as though throwing a cleaver at a human being had never crossed his mind.
“Many of us work in the mines,” one fellow in dusty clothes said. “We can use a pick or a shovel.”
“OK,” Emmett said, his mind at work. “Now, what if we bought a couple of hacksaws and trimmed off one end of a pick to make it lighter and faster?”
Men nodded, answering aloud in both English and Chinese and showing how they might wield a lighter pick.
Yong spoke to the crowd, his expression grim. “You’ve all got knives of some sort in your houses—for cooking, for fixing things.”
As the gruesome reality of what the rescue attempt might actually look like dawned on the Chinamen, the chatter died down. One man after another either stared at Yong with furrowed brows or dropped his gaze to the floor.
“I admit,” Emmett said, “it may involve grisly work up there. But your daughters’ and your neighbors’ daughters’ lives are at stake.” He tried to make eye contact with as many individuals as possible. “So how many of you would be willing to go back up there with Yong and me to fight those kidnappers and set those girls free?”
Expecting a near-unanimous show of hands, Emmett was flummoxed when a mere fifteen or so volunteered.
Three of the elders rose and faced the crowd. Each in turn berated the men in stinging tones. Emmett didn’t need to understand Chinese. Their frowns spoke volumes. Several of the listeners hung their heads but still wouldn’t raise their hands. A few answered, their voices matching the elders’ in bitterness.
Yong Xu turned to Emmett. “They’re afraid of being burned out of their homes. They say the kidnappers were a few bad men from somewhere else. But if Chinese men take the law into their own hands, the people we live among—the men of the mining community—will use it as an excuse to drive us out.”
Tang, a tall man in a mandarin cap, stepped forward, eyes glaring. “I don’t want white men calling us Chinese a mob of lawless butchers. I don’t care what they’ve done—if you’re asking us to hack men up with knives, I’m leaving. It’s bad enough around here already.”
At that Yong bristled. “You’re worried about what our white neighbors may call us? You’re worried about your reputation—among people who won’t lift a finger to help us? Well, I’m worried about my daughter’s life. And so are these men.” He motioned toward the other fathers. “What’s worth more? Our girls’ lives or your reputation?”
“I’m a civilized man,” Tang snapped.
“And so are we,” Yong countered. “The uncivilized ones are those who shot Yan and Guiying—two harmless young women—in cold blood.”
Tang scowled. When he turned and elbowed his way to the door, a half dozen others followed him out.
Emmett glanced at the elders. To a man, their gazes were downcast.
“Tang got one thing right,” Emmett said to the crowd. “People may misunderstand our actions. But Yong is right too. The gang that raided Chinatown the other night, they’re not gentlemen. They’re unprincipled sorts who won’t hesitate to shed even more blood.”
All eyes were on him now.
“I’d rather bring along five men ready to do whatever it takes to get your daughters back than fifty who don’t have the stomach to stand up to bald-faced evil.”
Others began to shuffle out. The faces of some suggested that fear rather than morals fueled their decisions.
Emmett and Yong exchanged glances. Yong turned to those who remained, thanked everyone for hearing him out, and then dismissed all but those who had volunteered.
One face in the exiting crowd caught Emmett’s attention. He looked familiar. And he wore the same snappish expression Tang had displayed. Emmett frowned. Chin—the baggage handler from the hotel.
Once the objectors had cleared out, about two dozen men remained. One of them stood at Yong’s elbow, speaking softly, apparently on behalf of the handful of fellows behind him.
Yong said to Emmett, “These eight men say they will come along as porters. But they won’t fight.”
Emmett nodded to the eight. “Thank you. You’re courageous. And your help is welcome.”
Stepping over to a table, he opened one of his saddlebags, reached in, and drew out a pouch containing paper money and coins. After thumbing through the bills, he shook his head, wishing it were more.
“Besides those who already own one,” Emmett said to his Chinese posse, “who else would be willing to carry a gun if I can manage to purchase a few?”
Four hands flew up immediately.
“Ho!” one of them exclaimed, wide-eyed and drop-jawed.
“It’s serious business,” Emmett said, his eyebrows knit. “Dangerous and ugly.”
Their faces grew somber.
“I do not look forward to killing,” the expressive one said. “I am only glad to be able to meet these evil men armed as they are.”
The explanation eased Emmett’s concern. To his way of thinking, anyone overly eager to use a gun against another human being was a liability. A man did what he had to in that regard. Nothing more.
Along the way to the Virginia City telegraph office, Emmett realized how badly he hoped Blaylock’s wagons were still where he’d last seen them. The rough plans he’d been formulating were far better suited to taking on the kidnappers out in open country than in some town of their choosing. So, when it came to word from Juanito or Sikes, no news would be good news.
As it turned out, no telegram awaited him. That didn’t do much to ease his mind after all, though. Anything and everything could change before he and his rescue party got back to the wagons. Charlie and Seth Blaylock could get the wagons moving again. The Blaylocks could bring along an entire army of McIntosh men—armed to the teeth. His inexperienced posse could dissolve in the face of any small setback.
No matter—he had to act on what he knew, with whatever resources he had. Li’s life was at stake.
By the time he got back to Yong’s restaurant, he had acquired two more shotguns and two used Colt revolvers. He’d spent just about everything else he had on ammunition, counting on Juanito and Sikes to cover their remain
ing traveling expenses.
Those with impromptu weapons were in the lot behind the Golden Dragon. They’d come up with a collection of knives that would’ve made Jim Bowie proud. Yet they were having a tough time figuring out the best way to use them to good effect against men armed with guns.
As for those who’d be heeled, Emmett only had time to cover the basics. Target practice was out of the question.
“Just get as close to Blaylock’s men as possible before firing,” he said.
“How will we get so close?” a younger fellow wearing range clothes and a Chinese straw hat asked.
With a wink that he hoped would bolster their courage, he answered, “I’ve got a surprise up my sleeve. I’ll show you later.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Ettie’s breathing was labored. Beads of perspiration glistened on her forehead and temples. Seth held her limp hand while the doctor lifted the blood-stained cloth that covered her wound.
“She’s gonna make it, isn’t she, Doc?” he asked yet again.
The doctor took his time examining the nasty bullet hole in her upper-left abdomen. “Still no sign of infection. That’s the good news.”
“What’s the bad news?” Thaddeus McIntosh asked from where he leaned against the opposite wall.
“Bullet may’ve nicked her spleen. Or maybe the kidney. Can’t tell for sure. Lot of swelling in there.”
Seth didn’t know much about human organs. But he hung on to what the doc said about no infection. “Think you’ll know better in a couple hours?” As he asked, his gaze shifted from the doctor to Thaddeus. He knew Ettie was dear to Lucian. He wasn’t so sure Lucian’s brother shared the same soft spot in his heart for her. What’s more, Thaddeus had already made it clear that he was chomping at the bit to get the replacement horses—as well as his gunhands—out to those stranded wagons and the China girls.
“I’m hoping the fever will subside and that she’ll rest better in just a few hours,” the doctor said. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave her side before then.”
Strong Convictions: An Emmett Strong Western (Emmett Strong Westerns Book 1) Page 18
