He looked surprised. “Will?”
“Yes, our son,” Joshua said.
“But he went south with you,” he said, looking at Caroline. “I saw you to the boat, remember?”
“He came back,” Joshua said, crestfallen. “He’s looking for the men he thinks killed me.” The bitterness was so strong that he had to swallow it back or it would have choked him. “So you haven’t seen him at all?”
Samuelson looked bewildered. “No, not since then.”
Mrs. Samuelson stepped forward. Olivia was holding her mother’s hand and leaning against her, looking as if she were about to fall over. Savannah had crawled into Nathan’s lap as the carriage had started off and fallen instantly asleep. Now she was asleep over his shoulder. “Let me take the baby,” she said. “We can put her in the guest room.” She reached out and touched Olivia’s shoulder. “Would you like something to eat, my dear?”
Livvy looked up gratefully. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’ll stay with us tonight,” Mrs. Samuelson said to Caroline. “And I won’t hear any argument about it.”
Caroline looked at Joshua and shook her head in discouragement. “You go ahead,” she said wearily. “I’ll see to the children.”
As the men moved into the sitting room, Samuelson went to a humidor on his desk and opened it. It was full of Cuban cigars. He extended it toward the two Steeds. “No, thank you,” Nathan said. Joshua smiled briefly. “I’ve sworn off too, Walter. Caroline detests the things.”
Samuelson laughed briefly. “Do you mind if I do?”
“Of course not,” they both said at once. As he cut off the end of the cigar, then moved to the fireplace and reached down for a burning stick to light it, Joshua explained quickly to Samuelson all that had happened since he and Nathan had last been here.
“That is most puzzling,” Samuelson said as he sat down in a chair, puffing the cigar into life until it glowed a bright red. “Surely here is the first place he would have come.”
“That’s what we thought,” said Joshua.
Suddenly Samuelson snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute. That could explain the report I got yesterday.”
Both Joshua and Nathan leaned forward in their chairs. “What report?” Joshua asked.
Samuelson inhaled deeply, then blew out the smoke over his head. “After you left, I decided I would try and find the two men who were looking for Caroline. I knew you’d want to find them as soon as you came back here.” He blew out his breath in disgust. “We can’t have them chasing after your family, and all that. So I talked to a local marshall I know and hired him to see if they were still around, and if so, to keep track of them.”
“And are they?” Joshua asked eagerly. He had a score or two of his own that needed settling.
“Yes. Evidently they’re out of money and trying to find some way back to the western part of the state.”
“Where are they now?” Nathan asked.
“I don’t know.” Samuelson immediately held up his hand as he saw their disappointment. “The marshall found them, but I told him not to do anything that might scare them away. He’ll know where they are.”
Joshua stood up. “Let’s go.”
Samuelson waved him back down. “Not tonight. He’s across the river in East St. Louis on some problem or another. He’ll be back first thing in the morning. But in his last report to me he said there is word out along the riverfront that someone else has been asking questions about these same two men.” He paused for a moment, then smiled triumphantly. “A young man.”
“Will?” Joshua cried.
Samuelson nodded. “It just might be. I never thought anything of it, because I assumed . . .” He shrugged. “Well, we just might be in luck.” Now it was he who stood. “Look, you’re exhausted. Caroline has reached the end of her rope. Let’s get you some supper, then a good night’s sleep. We’ll be at the marshall’s house waiting for him the minute he gets back.”
There was a deep sigh, a mixture of relief and frustration. Joshua turned to look at Nathan, who nodded. “He’s right, Joshua. We’ll start first thing in the morning.”
* * *
As they crept along the pitch-black street, Will’s hand kept straying down to touch the butt of the pistol stuffed in the waistband of his trousers. Will Steed was wet and cold and terribly frightened. Rain came down in a cold drizzle, running off his hat and down the back of his neck and into his eyes. By morning the rain would probably start to freeze on contact with the prairie grass and become one of the ice storms that Missouri was famous for. But the weather was only a small source of his misery. Will didn’t trust Charlie Patterson. The greed in Charlie’s eyes was open and wanton, and Will knew he wasn’t going to be easily satisfied with just the fifteen dollars Will had promised to pay him.
You’re over your head, Will, and headed for the cataracts. The voice in his head was a roar now as the realization that his bullheaded, blind craving for revenge was about to come to fruition. With every step, the stupidity of his plan hammered at him. True, he had a pistol, but he was going up against two men, men who without compunction had set fire to a house where people were inside, men who had killed.
Charlie had abruptly stopped, and in the darkness Will nearly bumped into him before he saw him. “All right. That’s the place where they’re staying. Gimme the fifteen bucks.”
Will peered through the rain. He and Charlie were across the street from a small warehouse with a faded sign over the door. It was too dark to read the sign clearly, but one window was yellow with lamplight. Will gripped the pistol, swallowing hard, trying to get some saliva going inside his mouth. “How do I know they’re really in there?”
Charlie started cursing under his breath. “You wanna get us killed?” he muttered. “All right, come on.” He looked both ways to make sure they were still unobserved, then darted across the street. Will went after him, conscious now of the heavy thudding inside his chest.
“Look!” Charlie said. He was crouched beneath the window. He straightened for a moment, peering through the window, then ducked down again. “See fer yerself.”
Moving cautiously now, Will reached the window. He took a quick breath, then peeked inside. Instantly he swung back, pressing himself against the clapboard wall of the warehouse. Inside, two men were sitting at a crate converted to a table. They were playing cards and had a bottle of whiskey between them. He had only a brief glance, but he saw that both were bearded and shabbily dressed. That fit what he had been told about them.
“Give me the money!” Charlie hissed. “That’s them. And I’m gone.”
“All right.” Will stepped back, pulling the pistol out and holding it loosely on Charlie.
Charlie fell back a step. “Hold on!” he cried. “Is that thing loaded?”
“Yes,” Will said grimly, “so just stay back.” With his free hand he reached for his purse. Fumbling, watching Charlie closely, trying to get the money out one-handed, he finally managed to get the amount he needed. Holding the pistol more steadily now, he held out the money.
Charlie snatched it and stepped back again. His eyes were wide, but there was a new respect in them. “You’re crazy, kid. What are you gonna do? Go in shootin’?”
And then in one flash of inspiration, Will had his answer. “No,” he said slowly, feeling like a man who, standing before a firing squad, had received a governor’s pardon at the last second. He started to back away from the building. “No,” he said, his voice rising with excitement. “I’m gonna go find me a constable and have these men arrested. They killed my father and they’re gonna pay for it.”
“A constable!” Charlie cried. “Now, you listen, boy. You gotta promise to keep me outta this.”
Will waved the pistol at him. “I won’t say anything about you unless you try to warn them. Now, get!”
Charlie stared at him, his lips moving as he muttered something under his breath, but then he turned and walked away swiftly, back toward the river from where they
had come. In moments, he disappeared into the darkness.
Will stood there for a moment, the relief washing over him with such power it made his knees weak. A constable. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? But then he knew. If he had called the law sooner, Charlie Patterson wouldn’t have come within a hundred yards of him, and he wouldn’t know where the two men he had dreamed of for so long were staying.
Smiling for the first time in almost a month, Will shoved the pistol back inside his pants and turned and started away at a trot. He wasn’t sure where he could find a constable at this time of night, but he wouldn’t stop until he had. By morning the two men could be gone.
Will was still marveling at the simplicity of his solution as he rounded the corner of the street that led down to the riverfront. He never saw the dark shape that lurked just inside a recessed doorway. As Will jogged past, Charlie hurtled out at him in a flying tackle. He caught him right at the waist, slamming him down against the cobblestones.
Will went down hard on one hand. He screamed. There was a snap and a searing pain in his wrist. Before he could move, he felt Charlie’s hands fumbling at the front of his pants, and then the weight of the pistol was gone.
Charlie leaped back, straightening in triumph. “All right, Mr. Smart Kid. Now I’ve got the pistol.” He was breathing hard, and smiling wildly through the misshapen teeth. He stepped forward. Will was writhing on the ground, holding his wrist and moaning. Charlie prodded him with the toe of his boot. “All right, boy. Up! There’s a couple of men back there who are very anxious to meet you.”
* * *
“Well, it’s about time,” Hugh Watson sneered as Charlie Patterson came through the door, pushing Will into the room ahead of him. “You’re half an hour later than . . .” His voice trailed off and he was suddenly staring. “Well, I’ll be a—”
“You!” Will had gone rigid, his eyes filled with shock and disbelief.
“Would you look at that,” Hugh breathed. “It’s the Steed kid.”
Charlie jammed the pistol into Will’s back, shoving him forward again. Will winced, cradling his crippled arm more tightly against his body. “You know him?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah,” Riley said, stepping forward, peering out from watery eyes. “This is the son of that captain we killed. We met him and his ma when we went to Independence and told them it was the Mormons who’d done it.”
Will started, stunned by the admission. “Then it was you who burned down our house too!” he cried.
Hugh came forward to stand in front of him. “That’s right, sonny,” he snarled. “And the only mistake we made was taking pity and scratching on the door to give you warning. We should have just let you all burn. Would’ve saved me and Riley here a whole lot of grief.”
With a strangled cry of rage, Will leaped forward, his good hand coming up and swinging at Hugh’s face. He moved so fast, Hugh had no time to react. Will’s fist caught the Missourian square on the flat of his nose. Blood spurted and Hugh howled and fell backward. Riley was half-drunk and stared stupidly at his companion, but Charlie reacted instantly. He leaped forward, clubbing downward with the pistol. The butt of it caught Will in the square of the back, sending him crashing into some empty crates, then down hard, landing on his injured arm. He screamed, rolling back and forth in agony. Then he stopped and tried to get up, but as he came to his knees, Charlie was in front of him, the pistol pointing directly at his head. “Stay down!” he commanded. Will obeyed, sinking back to the floor.
Hugh was up on his feet again, holding his nose, staring at his bloody hand as he cursed wildly. Then, like a wounded bear, he lumbered around, groping towards the table. “Kill him!” he screamed. “Kill him!”
Charlie’s eyes widened as Hugh grabbed something and spun back around. He had a pistol in his hands. “No, Hugh!” Charlie jumped in front of Will now, raising his own pistol.
“Get outta my way!” Hugh roared. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“No!” Charlie’s eyes were bugged out with terror.
Now even Riley realized what was happening. “No, Hugh,” he said, jumping forward to grab at his partner’s arm. Hugh threw him off, not even looking at him. His voice instantly dropped to a whisper. “Charlie, get outta my way.” It was more menacing and frightening than any shout could have been.
Charlie was pleading now, his words tumbling out in near sobs. “Not murder, Hugh. You’re getting outta here. But St. Louis is my home. We can’t kill him.” Suddenly he remembered something. He grabbed at his pocket. “Look, Hugh. I got his purse.” Fumbling with one hand, he dumped the money out on the floor and tossed the purse aside. “This is what we came for. You can have it. I’ll take him to that boat captain, like we said. He’ll take him downriver to New Orleans and sell him off to one of them British ships. We’ll never see him again.”
“Charlie, if you don’t move, I’m gonna blow your ugly head off.”
Charlie Patterson had never used a gun. He was a coward at heart, living off what he could steal and pilfer without ever confronting anything that constituted a physical risk. But the thoughts of the gallows terrified him beyond anything else he could imagine. He stepped forward. “No, Hugh.”
Hugh swung the pistol up, cursing and swearing. But Charlie already had his pistol leveled and pointed at Hugh’s chest. He squeezed the trigger and the gun bucked in his hand. Hugh Watson stumbled backwards, the pistol flying from his hand, his eyes wide with shock and surprise. He crashed against the table, sending it sprawling. Cards flew, and the whiskey bottle shattered as it hit the floor.
“No!” Charlie screamed. He was gaping at Hugh, who now lay on the floor clutching at the spreading stain on his chest. “I didn’t want to! I didn’t want to! I didn’t want to!” It was a wild, incoherent babble. He swung around to Will. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.”
Will started to push himself up. His face was as pale as the dusty floor, half from the shock of his arm, half from the horror of seeing a man gunned down a few feet in front of him. Then suddenly he jerked his head around. “Watch out, Charlie!”
Riley Overson’s brain had always moved slowly, and normally he took time to think things through or else trusted Hugh to help do it for him. But now Hugh was lying on the floor with a hole in his chest. Hugh was dead. Something snapped inside Riley and he dropped to his hands and knees and started across the floor toward Hugh’s pistol, sobbing and cursing unintelligibly.
Charlie spun around. “Don’t, Riley!”
Riley was oblivious to anything but the pistol. He reached it and picked it up, his back still to Charlie and Will.
“Don’t be crazy, Riley!” Charlie screamed. “Put it down!”
Riley put one hand against the floor and shoved himself up. He turned slowly, thumbing back the hammer of the pistol in his hand. “You killed Hugh.”
“No, Riley!” Charlie’s drawn out cry was shattered by the nearly simultaneous explosions of both pistols. Charlie’s ball struck first, jerking Riley backwards enough to deflect his shot upward. That round passed harmlessly over Charlie’s head and buried itself in one of the wooden beams above them.
Riley hit the floor with a heavy thud and lay still. Suddenly the silence seemed more intense than the roaring of the pistols. Charlie seemed frozen, in suspension, as he surveyed what he had done. But then it hit him what all this meant. He leaped forward, dropping to a crouch and snatching at the money he had dropped. As he scrambled around for the bills and coins, he cursed God, he cursed Hugh and Riley, he cursed Will, and he cursed his own mother for ever bringing him into the world. Then he leaped up and whirled on Will, waving the pistol wildly. “Up!” he shouted. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Will jumped to his feet, trying to protect his bad arm. “What are you going to do with me?” he cried, the terror tightening his voice into little more than a croak.
Charlie stopped for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth as if the solution might be hidden somewhere in the warehous
e. Then he shook his head. “I ain’t gonna kill ya, boy. Not unless you try and fight me. But I can’t have you hangin’ around here tellin’ the law what happened here tonight, now can I?”
“I won’t say anything,” Will half sobbed. He felt sick to his stomach and weak with fright.
Charlie grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him towards the door. “Come on. We got someone waiting to meet you.”
* * *
The marshall stopped at the door to the warehouse. “Mrs. Steed, I wish we could have you stay outside, but I’m afraid we need you to identify the bodies too.”
She swallowed hard, but nodded immediately. She reached out and gripped Joshua’s arm. “All right.”
Motioning to them all to follow him, the marshall went through the door. As they came inside and paused for a minute to let their eyes adjust to the dimness, the officer spoke again. “It happened sometime last night. The owner of the warehouse wasn’t here, but . . .” He shrugged and moved further inside. He stopped, then stepped aside. The two bodies were laid out on the floor near an overturned crate and a smashed bottle of liquor.
Taking a quick breath, Joshua moved forward and leaned over. After a moment, he straightened and stepped back. Nathan saw that suddenly his breathing was rapid and shallow. “That’s them,” Joshua said tightly. “That’s the men who tried to kill me in Far West.”
He reached back and took a hold of Caroline’s arm. He pulled her gently forward. She stared downward, suppressing a gasp, then averted her head. “Yes, those are the ones.”
“These are the men who came to you in Jackson County?” the marshall asked gently.
“Yes, and that same night my house was burned down. These are the ones. There is no question about it.”
Samuelson looked at the marshall. “Then that’s that,” he said.
The man nodded slowly. “Yes, as far as that goes.” He looked at Joshua. “They’ll not be bothering your family anymore. But . . .” He turned and walked to a crate. He picked up something and brought it back over. “Do either of you recognize this?”
The Work and the Glory Page 198
