He followed them into the cell block and watched as the men lowered the cowboy onto the bunk in the first cell on the right. There were four cells, two on each side of the center aisle.
As the men filed out of the cell, Bill nodded to them and said, “I’m much obliged for the help.”
“We’re grateful to you for what you did, Marshal,” Abernathy said. “If that locoweed emptied his Colt, there’s no tellin’ how many innocent folks he would have killed.”
“I think he was probably too drunk to hit anybody except by accident,” Bill said, “but it’s better not to take that chance.”
He grasped the iron-barred cell door and slammed it with a clang.
The noise must have roused Mordecai from his slumber, because the old-timer came out of the storage room scratching at his bristly, salt-and-pepper beard as Bill went back into the office part of the building.
Mordecai frowned in confusion at Abernathy and the other men as they left the office.
“What’s goin’ on here?” he asked.
Bill jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the cell block door, which he had closed behind him.
“We’ve got company in there,” he said. “Some cowboy had too much to drink down at the Prairie Queen and threatened to shoot up the place.”
Mordecai grunted and asked, “Kill anybody?”
“Not so’s you’d notice,” Bill said. “He shot the hell out of a bottle of whiskey, though.”
“Waste of a perfectly good bottle o’ who-hit-John,” Mordecai said with a sigh and a shake of his head. “Don’t reckon you can blame that yaller-headed gal who owns the place. We’ve had drunks get feisty in Smoot’s Saloon, too.”
“That’s right,” Bill said as he took off his flat-crowned brown hat and set it on the desk. He sat down and ran his fingers through his shoulder-length brown hair. He was tired and ready to go home, but he frowned as he remembered something. “Aw, hell. I didn’t finish makin’ the rounds.”
“Let me do it,” Mordecai said. “I’m awake anyway. Once I get woke up, I have a devil of a time gettin’ back to sleep.”
Bill thought about it for a second and then nodded.
“All right, thanks.” He put his hands on the desk and pushed himself back to his feet.
“Prisoner got a name?” Mordecai asked.
“I reckon he does, but we didn’t get around to introductions. We can find out who he is in the morning.”
“That’ll do,” Mordecai said. He took down one of the shotguns from the rack on the wall behind the desk, got a couple of shells from a drawer, and slid them into the barrels. He wasn’t as good with a handgun as Bill, but he was a crack shot with a rifle and could handle a scattergun just fine.
The two lawmen left the office together, Mordecai setting off to finish the evening rounds and Bill turning toward the side street where he shared a big old house with his wife Eden and her father Perry Monroe, who owned Redemption’s biggest and best general store. Living with your father-in-law maybe wasn’t the best arrangement in the world, but Bill got along well with Perry Monroe.
One of these days, though, he and Eden were going to have to start giving some thought to getting a place of their own. Especially once kids started arriving. Bill had been thinking about that more and more lately, too.
Redemption was quiet behind him as he quickened his pace, the limp barely noticeable now.
Chapter 3
The alley behind a residential street near the edge of the settlement was thick with darkness. The windows in most of the houses along here were dark as well, as the hour was late enough that most people were asleep.
Then the yellow glow of lamplight sliced across the alley like a knife blade as a back door opened. Only for a moment, though, as someone inside blew out the lamp. Shadows closed in again.
A deeper patch of darkness moved in the gloom, drawing closer to the house where the rear door still stood open. The shadow stopped and stood motionless in a tense, listening attitude.
The moon was only a sliver in the sky overhead, but enough light filtered down from the stars for the watcher to make out the shape of a man that appeared in the doorway. The man turned his head and said quietly to someone inside, “It’s all right, there’s nobody out here.”
Ah, but he was wrong about that, the watcher thought.
The man in the doorway moved aside to let another figure slip past him. The watcher heard the rustle of skirts and knew the second person was a woman. She paused and said something to the man, but the words were too low for the watcher to make them out. The timbre of the woman’s voice was familiar, though.
The man in the doorway whispered something in return. The two figures moved toward each other as silently as fog drifting. They seemed to merge and stayed that way for a long moment before breaking apart again.
How tender, the watcher thought. How touching. A good-night kiss shared between lovers.
The woman turned from the door. The man who had just kissed her stood there watching as she crossed the small rear yard and turned down the alley. Her path took her right past the frozen figure lurking in the shadows. The man in the doorway kept an eye on her until he couldn’t see her anymore, then went back in the house and closed the door softly behind him.
The watcher in the shadows still hadn’t moved, even when the faint scent of perfume drifted tantalizingly through the night air. She passed so close that the smell of her was a torment, but an even worse torture was knowing that her scent clung to the man inside the house.
Something had to be done about this. It was intolerable.
And something would be done…soon.
But not tonight. Tonight the charade would continue. The watcher had to think about everything and decide what to do. Once that decision was reached…
Preferring not to think about that just yet, the figure moved again, taking a different route through the streets and alleys of Redemption, hurrying now.
Places to go, things to do.
Vengeance to be taken.
Three riders sat their horses atop a slight rise…which was the only sort of rise to be found in this part of Kansas. Even so, it was enough for them to be able to see several miles across the dark prairie to a scattering of lights.
The man on the left of the trio took a cigarette from his mouth, pinched out the butt, and snapped the quirley away into the darkness.
“That’s it?” he asked.
“That’s it,” replied the man in the center, whose name was Caleb Tatum. “Redemption, they call it.”
The third man said, “Place is full of churches, is it?”
“Not that I know of,” Tatum said. He was a man in his thirties, slightly barrel-chested, handsome enough to have a touch of arrogance to his features. His black hat was thumbed back on crisp black hair. “Why would it be full of churches?”
“Well, with a name like Redemption, I just figured—”
“I don’t know why whoever founded the place called it by that name, but when I rode through last week to take a look, I didn’t see but two or three churches. I don’t think the name has anything to do with religion.”
“I ain’t interested in churches,” the first man said, “just banks.”
“It’s got one of those,” Tatum said. “A pretty prosperous one, too, from the looks of it. There are a lot of successful farms and ranches around here, plus the cattle drives from Texas still come through these parts and pump some money into the town. It’ll be a good haul.”
Tatum hoped he was right about that. He had heard that some fellas had tried to rob the bank in Redemption a while back and gotten killed for their trouble.
But those hombres were rank amateurs compared to the hardened gang of owlhoots who rode with him, Tatum thought. He had nine men, and every one of them knew how to ride and shoot and didn’t mind killing if it was necessary.
A few of them, he had to admit, liked killing a little too much. But he could ride herd on them and keep them in line. He had
done it so far and would continue to do so, because no matter how tough they were, they all knew that he was tougher.
“They have a lawman there?” the first man asked.
“A marshal,” Tatum said. “Some Texas cowboy who decided to put down roots.”
The third member of the trio said, “Those Texans are all gunslingers.”
Tatum grunted and said, “That’s what they’d like you to believe. I got a look at this fella. He’s just a gimpy kid. He won’t give us any trouble, and neither will his deputy, who’s some stove-up old geezer. Those two aren’t fit for anything except breaking up bar fights and wrangling drunks.”
“I hope you’re right, Caleb,” the first man said.
“I haven’t steered you wrong so far, have I?” Tatum snapped.
“No, I reckon not.”
Tatum turned his horse and said, “Let’s get back to camp. We’ll ride into Redemption tomorrow, and we’ll be a hell of a lot richer when we ride out.”
Bill stopped and took his boots off downstairs so he wouldn’t make as much noise when he went into the bedroom. Eden was probably asleep already, and he didn’t want to disturb her. He unbuckled his gun belt, too, and coiled it around the holstered Colt.
The stairs creaked a little under him as he went up them, but that was the only sound in the house. When he reached the second-floor hallway, he heard snores coming from behind the closed door of Perry Monroe’s room. Monroe was pretty good at sawing logs, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Mordecai Flint when it came to sheer volume.
Thankfully, the room Bill and Eden shared was all the way down at the other end of the hall from her father’s room. Bill slipped inside, moving by feel as he placed the coiled gun belt on the small table next to his side of the bed. He and Eden had been married long enough now that he didn’t need light to find his way around in here. He peeled off his duds, down to the bottom half of a pair of long underwear.
He was about to slip under the covers when Eden said, “You thought I was asleep, didn’t you?”
Bill jumped a little, then said, “Dadgummit, Eden, were you just layin’ there in the dark waitin’ for me?”
She laughed. “That’s right. I want a good-night kiss before I go to sleep.”
Bill got into bed and reached out for her, drawing her into his arms.
“If I start kissin’ you, it’s liable to be a while before either of us get to sleep, and I’m tired.”
“So am I,” she said sleepily, “but I’m willing to risk it.”
So was Bill. He found her mouth with his. The kiss had enough passion in it that it might have turned into more, as he had warned, if both of them hadn’t yawned at the same time and then broken down laughing.
“Any problems in town tonight?” Eden asked as she pillowed her head on his shoulder.
“Not really. One fella got a mite too liquored up in the Prairie Queen and wound up sleeping it off in a cell.”
“The Prairie Queen…That Hudson woman’s place?”
“Yep. She seems pretty nice.”
Eden lifted her head from Bill’s shoulder and said, “Oh, really?”
“For a saloonkeeper, I mean. And an older woman.”
“Uh-huh.” Eden settled back down against him.
Hoping that he had responded correctly, Bill suppressed another yawn and said, “I could probably stay awake a little while longer…”
Eden’s deep, regular breathing told him that she couldn’t, though. She had dozed off.
That was all right, Bill told himself. He was tired, too, and he enjoyed holding her like this while she slept.
Besides, they would both be more rested in the morning and could make up for missed opportunities.
Chapter 4
When Bill woke up, he was alone in the bed, tangled in the sheet from thrashing around, as he sometimes did. The gray light of dawn came in around the curtains over the bedroom window. He smelled coffee and bacon and knew that Eden had gotten up early to fix breakfast.
Although he was disappointed that she wasn’t still here beside him in bed so they could make love, he wasn’t going to complain about coffee and bacon. He grinned and stretched for a minute before sitting up and swinging his legs out of bed.
By the time he was dressed and downstairs, he was even hungrier. He detoured by the living room to hang his gun belt on the hat rack next to his hat, then went into the kitchen.
Eden was at the stove. She wore a robe over her nightgown, and her short blond hair was still a little tousled from sleep as it curled around her ears and jaw. Bill thought she looked mighty pretty and said so.
“You’d say that to any woman who was cooking bacon for you,” she told him with a smile.
“Not hardly,” he insisted as he came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. He pressed himself against her and planted a kiss on the side of her neck.
“Go sit down and I’ll bring you some coffee,” she ordered, although she didn’t seem displeased by his attenton. “My father will be stirring any minute now, if he’s not already.”
“Sure,” Bill said. He let go of her and turned to the table, where he pulled out a chair and sat down. She set a cup of steaming coffee in front of him a moment later, followed soon by a plate full of flapjacks, fried eggs, and bacon.
Perry Monroe came in while Bill was digging into the food. The storekeeper was burly and had a long white beard. He had been one of those opposed to Bill staying in Redemption at first, but as a widower with only one child, he was powerless to deny Eden anything she wanted. She had insisted that she would nurse the injured cowboy back to health, and she had gotten her way.
And thanks be to the Good Lord for that, Bill had thought many times since. Getting gored by that steer had been the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him. If not for that cantankerous steer, he’d still be a shiftless cowpoke, or lying dead in some trail-town boot hill.
“Mornin’,” Monroe said as he sat down across the table from his son-in-law. “Any trouble in town last night?”
“Not much. One little ruckus in the Prairie Queen.”
“I’m not sure why Redemption needed another saloon,” Monroe said with a frown. “There’s already Fred Smoot’s place and a couple of others.”
Those other places Monroe mentioned weren’t really saloons, more like hole-in-the-wall taverns. One of them had a billiard table, and that was all they sported in the way of entertainment.
“Redemption is growing,” Bill said. “You’ve got to expect more businesses to come in, and there’ll be saloons among ’em.”
Monroe snorted.
“The town council could outlaw liquor,” he said, then added, “Although I wouldn’t really want to run Fred Smoot out of business. The man’s had enough hard luck already.”
That was true. Due to an injury, Smoot was confined to a wheelchair that had been built for him by Josiah Hartnett, the livery stable owner. Bill wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand that. It had been hard enough when he had to use crutches for a while because of his bad leg.
“I don’t think you’d have much luck turnin’ the place dry,” Bill said. “Too many folks like a drink now and then. I don’t mind a little nip myself.”
Monroe said, “Hmmph,” and turned his attention to the breakfast that Eden set in front of him.
Yeah, Bill thought again, sooner or later he and Eden would have to start thinking about moving out. Maybe sooner.
The rest of the meal was pleasant enough, though, and when Bill was finished he stood up so he could go down to the office and relieve Mordecai. Eden followed him into the living room, leaving her father in the kitchen.
She came into his arms and kissed him, then whispered, “Sorry I woke up early. I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“Mordecai’s the same way.”
“Yes, but Mordecai didn’t have the same sort of plans I had for this morning.”
Bill chuckled and said, “Probably not.” He kissed her again, this time on the
forehead. “See you at lunch?”
She generally brought him his midday meal at the marshal’s office, sometimes one that she prepared, sometimes a tray that she picked up at Gunnar and Helga Nilsson’s café.
“Of course,” she said.
Bill buckled on his gun belt, put on his hat, and left the house. It was still early. The air held a definite chill. In a few weeks it would be fall, and after that winter. He had heard about Kansas winters but had never experienced one. Being from the southern part of Texas where snow and freezing temperatures were uncommon, he wasn’t sure he was looking forward to the change in the weather.
For now, though, it was mighty pleasant, and he enjoyed his walk to the marshal’s office. Business owners were sweeping off the porches and boardwalks, and housewives were doing some early shopping. Redemption was waking up to a new day.
Mordecai had the office door open and stood there with his shoulder propped against the jamb. His floppy-brimmed plainsman’s hat rested on the back of his balding head.
“Quiet night?” Bill asked.
“Until about an hour ago,” the deputy answered. “That’s when that prisoner woke up and started raisin’ holy ned.”
“I don’t hear anything now.”
“He’s just takin’ a break. Cussed and hollered so much he must’ve run outta breath.”
“That’s not a very good way to get turned loose.”
“You weren’t gonna turn him loose anyway, were you? Not until after the judge sees him?”
Bill shrugged and admitted, “No, I don’t reckon I was. If he’d just made a jackass of himself, I might’ve let him sleep it off and then told him to get out of town. But he fired off two shots, nearly ventilated a couple of citizens, and did a little damage in the saloon. If that’s not disturbin’ the peace, I don’t know what is.”
He went into the office with Mordecai following him. Taking the ring of keys from their hook, Bill unlocked the cell block door and went inside.
The prisoner was sitting on the bunk. He lifted his head and turned bleary eyes toward Bill. He glared and demanded, “Damn it, Marshal, let me outta here!”
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