“I need your help,” Ella hissed.
“Sure, what are we doing?”
Ella held two fingers to her mouth to silence the girl and slipped inside the doorway with a twinge of pain shooting from her sore ribs.
“I’ve taken my last beating,” she said with her back to the door.
“Good, I wondered when you’d wise up,” Strawberry said, then she set the brush down, rose, and tied the belt of her dressing gown. Glancing down to check her appearance, she looked up and nodded her head that she was ready.
“They just brought his trunk upstairs,” Ella said. “I want to open it and see if I can find anything inside it to incriminate him.” She drew a shuttering breath up her nose. “I want rid of him.”
“I knew he got on you hard.” Strawberry grimaced in disapproval.
“No reason for me to take that. Will you be a lookout while I try to unlock it?” She shrugged, discovering that hurt, too.
“Sure, where is he now?” the girl asked.
“Down on Whiskey Row.” She had to force down her rage, knowing he was blowing more of her money at the gambling tables. “Come on.”
Ella searched up and down the hallway. Then they hurried to the room.
The smell of stale cigar smoke struck her nose when she opened the door. Her precious apartment had taken on the smells of an old saloon. The musk of a man’s sweat permeated the room’s closed interior.
“Can I open a window?” Strawberry asked, wrinkling her nose at the offensive odors.
“Yes, that one.” Ella indicated the side window. “If he comes we can close it. Whew, it smells bad in here. No one’s emptied the pot, either.” She knelt before the camelback steamer.
“You have a key to the lock?” Strawberry asked, taking a place behind the lace curtain for a view of the courthouse and street. From there Ella knew the girl could see Waddle approaching the house from Whiskey Row.
“I have several to try,” she said. Her knees gave her discomfort as she tried each key on her ring, one by one. But she had no success. Discouraged, she at last dropped back on her heels.
“It’s no use. If we break in, he’ll know who did it.”
“Maybe I can open it. One time I watched that sorry Earl open some trunks by picking the locks with a wire.”
“Good girl, but do we need to get a wire?”
“I could find one downstairs and be right back.”
“Not a word to any of them—” Ella frowned at her.
“Hey, I can keep a secret.”
“I know. That’s why I chose you.”
Strawberry swished out of the room and was gone. Ella pushed herself up and took the post at the window. She didn’t expect him that early, but one never knew. It would be just like him to lose a lot, then come back and demand more money from her. She clenched her jaw muscles tight enough to make them hurt, and shook her head in disgust. He had to be stopped.
The redhead came swiftly through the door holding a short piece of wire. Grinning with a determined look at Ella, she dropped down before the trunk and began probing the lock. Ella turned back to observe the street below. She closed her eyes. There had to be a God up there who heard her, and she prayed for her deliverance from Waddle’s tyranny.
“I’ve got it!” Strawberry exclaimed and the audible click made Ella’s heart jump inside her sore chest. She quickly checked the street and rushed over.
“Oh, my God!” Strawberry said and drew back.
Ella could hardly believe her eyes at the sight. The chest bulged with pads of money. Hundreds, maybe millions of dollars. So why was he using up hers?
She picked up a bundle of twenties and began to fan them. The crisp new feel of them thrilled her. There was an unbelievable fortune in this trunk. It all made no sense.
Strawberry brushed the edges of a bundle on her freckled cheek. The bills fanned out as she grinned in shocked disbelief. Excitement danced in her green eyes as she waved the money.
“Wait,” Ella said, and tore the band off the packet in her hand. She blinked at the top bill, sliding it up so she could compare the serial number with the one on the second bill. “Jesus, oh, Jessica, it’s the same. They’re all counterfeit!”
“What?” The girl leaned over to look at the proof in Ella’s hands. “They look so damn real; they can’t be.”
“They are,” Ella said in numb shock. “They damn sure are.”
16
Five days later John received a letter from Major Bowen. He read it to Dolly as she cooked their dinner at the campsite outside of snowflake.
Dear John,
The capture of Bobby Joe Budd is commendable. I understand that Sheriff Rogers has taken precautions to make sure he remains in jail, but the Kid is cunning. The men, who have hired him in the past may attempt a jail break if they fear he will inform on them. The governor and I agree that you should stay in the area to be on hand to thwart any attempt to free him.
Judge Elbern Monroe, who is presently handling cases in Tucson, should be able to hold court in Snowflake in a few weeks. He is a very tough judge, and the one we would like to see take charge of this case. John, try and be as inconspicuous as possible. I appreciate your letter regarding the legislative clerk Tucker. Governor Sterling sends his thanks, as well.
I feel certain that by now you will have delivered Mrs. Arnold safely back home to her husband. Thank you for a job well done.
Sincerely,
Major Bowen
“Delivered me home?” Dolly echoed the words with a laugh. Squatting beside the fire, she busied herself stirring a pot of beans. “Well, John Wesley, he must not have believed that I sounded like a grandma.”
“No.” He sighed and paced in front of the fire. Deep in his own thoughts, he folded the major’s letter and placed it in his shirt pocket.
“Well, it’s not as if we were living in sin, is it?”
“Mrs. Arnold, that is beside the point. You are an attractive woman, and …”
“Well …” She raised her brows in surprise that he had noticed. “I figured that in your book, John, I was as ugly to you as one of those whiskey peddlers.”
He spun on his heel and stalked away, not trusting himself to speak.
She watched him disappear in the night and turned back to her cooking. For the moment, she found only a small satisfaction in penetrating his tough hide. His most recent attempts to ship her back home had irritated her the most. He had begun the day they put the Kid in jail. Bone-tired, they had stumbled back from Snowflake to their present campsite.
“Mrs. Arnold,” he had started in a weary tone, “the murderer is now in custody. You can return home; your part is done. I’ll arrange for you to have an escort or a wagon for the journey.”
She never bothered to answer him; instead she had untied her bedroll, and unsaddled her horse. Then she’d ignored him by lying down on her bedroll with her back turned toward him. Curled up in a tight ball, weary and upset, she closed her eyes. Why, she wondered, was staying with John becoming such an obsession? If she went home, she mused sadly, she would be haunted by memories of Josh. She needed a new life. And despite John’s persistence in calling her “Mrs. Arnold,” he was still just a man. Somehow she would have to convince him of that fact.
Now they were back to their bickering again. She rose from her cooking resolved to get her emotions under control and to restore some tranquillity in their camp. “John Wesley,” she shouted, “come and eat. There’s no sense in letting the food go to ruin just because you’re angry.”
He soon strode back to the camp, his face blank. “I wasn’t aware that I was angry. Something smells good.” He ignored her skeptical look and took the plate of beans and corn bread that she held out to him.
“Mrs. Arnold,” he said hesitantly, “perhaps you might be of assistance to me for a while longer.”
She hid her surprise and delight. “Oh?” she asked quietly. Avoiding his keen gaze, she filled her plate.
“It might be dange
rous. The thing is, we need to be aware of every visitor the Kid has. If anyone tries to get a message to him, we have to be prepared. Some visits might seem trivial, but we have to be ready for anything. The more we know about his visitors, the better off we are.”
“So I am of some value?”
He nodded. She could be very valuable. She had a sharp mind along with her sharp tongue, he acknowledged wryly. Since Major Bowen had hinted at some kind of conspiracy to break the Kid out, it would be to their benefit if they could find out who saw the Kid in jail and find out something about them. Dolly might be able to question the townspeople. Besides, the two of them could cover more range than one lawman.
“First thing to do is to talk to the woman at the cafe. The one who takes the prisoners their food,” he said between bites. He cocked his head. “This is good.”
She shrugged. “Same as yesterday’s menu, but I’m glad you like it,” she added. “What exactly do we need to know?”
He left his spoon on his plate and gestured with his hand. “Someone may have already gotten to the woman who sends over the food for the prisoners since she’s in a position to see him every day.”
“And they may have bought her off, or gotten her cooperation somehow?”
“That’s a possibility.” He looked at her in admiration for her quick thinking. “The major’s concerned that there might be a move to get the Kid out of jail. We need to be very careful. You may be right about this woman being bought off.” He took a long swallow of coffee, then continued. “Oh, by the way, there’s a reporter from Sante Fe in town getting the Kid’s life story. His name is Rawlings. Try and avoid him; he asks too many questions.”
She rose and refilled his plate then sat cross-legged beside him, careful not to actually touch him. “I’ll figure out a way to find out if this woman at the cafe knows anything. Is there another way to find out if anyone’s planning to spring him?”
“Word gets around if you listen in the right places. I’ll trust my judgment and perhaps find a greedy informer.”
She sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to put on a dress to go into town.”
“It might be a good idea. You’ll be less conspicuous. We have to be careful not to tip our hand at this game.”
She was silent for a moment as she gathered her wits, then she spoke quietly. “John, do you really understand why I haven’t gone back to the store?”
“Yes. But I do think you should consider another arrangement.”
“Another arrangement?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Yes. You should stay in town alone. It would be more proper.”
She was torn between laughter and exasperation. “Don’t worry about my reputation, John Wesley. You are a perfect gentleman, but I am not a fancy lady from a house in town, I’m from a house all right, but not the right kind.”
John put down his plate, regretting his suggestion. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
No, she guessed shrewdly, he wouldn’t want to know about her past. “It seems strange, doesn’t it? Most women want a house, a stove, and a roof over their heads. But I’m content to cook on a campfire and ride a horse.”
He gave no answer. He feared that she expected a commitment from him. The notion made him feel trapped. She was a good cook, and good with the horses, but he wasn’t ready to take on a partner of any kind. He spoke gruffly. “It’s no place for a—”
“A woman, you were going to say!”
“Exactly. Besides, the major is not going to put up with one of his marshals traipsing around with a woman.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Oh, no you won’t!”
“All right, then.” She knew she was beaten for the moment. “But until you’ve finished your job with the Coyote Kid, I’ll ride with you and assist you.”
He knew nothing he could say would persuade her otherwise. “Maybe.”
She pushed the beans around on her plate. Her appetite had disappeared during their tense conversation. She studied his rigid profile, wondering about him. “John,” she said softly, “may I ask you one personal question?” When he nodded, she continued. “Have you ever been married?”
“No.”
“I’m not going to ask you why,” she stated, feeling snubbed.
He turned toward her, frowning. Then after putting up a shield against her pity, he spoke quietly. “I considered marrying a woman in Colorado, where I came from. But the salary I made at the time wasn’t adequate. She found a better provider and married him.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
John shrugged. “It was probably for the best.”
Dolly could feel his withdrawal and regretted her question. She rose and spoke briskly. “It’s pretty dark already. I’ll do the dishes in the morning, just leave them.” Anxious to escape from the tense situation building between them, she hurried toward her bedroll. Tomorrow she had something meaningful to do, something other than herding the horses. Taking care of their stock had kept her occupied the last few days, but the thought of actually doing law work, almost like being a detective, was exciting. Besides, it would be nice to go into town as a woman.
Under the starlight, he washed the dishes in the stream, grateful for something to do. He did not want to dwell on their conversation. He deliberately detached his mind from the woman and thought about his job. In the morning, he planned a wide swing around the area on horseback. Perhaps he would discover if the major’s worries had any foundation.
She awoke before dawn and slipped away to the stream, leaving him asleep in his bedroll across the camp. The cold water splashed on her skin awoke her quickly, then with chattering teeth, she hurriedly dried with a flour sack and dressed. With her wet hair bound in the sack towel she hurried back to camp in the chilly air.
He was already up and moving about when she stoked the fire to life. The radiant heat warmed her as she made coffee and put on a pan of Dutch-oven biscuits. While they baked, she brushed her hair dry. She noted he was busy hobbling the horses, avoiding her as usual. Every time they spoke intimately or personally, he acted as if he regretted it afterward and ignored her.
John walked slowly back toward the fire. He noticed her clean hair and slightly wrinkled dress; it was obvious that she had bathed earlier. He squatted down on his boot heels beside the fire and studied the orange flames licking up from the logs.
“I’m going to ride east of town today. I’ve never been in that area.” He picked up a fresh biscuit she offered on a long fork, speared from the Dutch oven. With a warm grin of gratitude, he juggled it between his hands before biting into it.
“Hmm. These are good.”
She nodded to acknowledge his words. “See if you can find some butter from a farmer. They usually sell their surplus.” She laced her town shoes, knowing they were probably going to make her feet sore, but cowboy boots were hardly suitable to wear with a dress.
“Yes, butter would taste good on these.” He looked up at her, his mouth full of hot biscuit. After he chewed and swallowed it, he asked, “Are you riding a horse into town?”
“No, it’s early yet, so I’ll walk. Besides,” she added with a smile, “I’m a woman today, not a horse herder.”
His lips tightened. Was she making a dig at him? She certainly was a woman today. He frowned, wondering if he were making a mistake sending her on a mission that might prove dangerous. What if something happened? He shook his head at his thoughts as he absently took another biscuit from the pan. The heat of it seared his fingers and he dropped the bread into his lap with a soft oath.
“Did I hear you say ‘damn’?” Dolly blinked in astonishment.
John raised his gaze and squinted at her golden sunlit silhouette. “You be careful out there.”
“I will. And John, don’t burn yourself on the rest of those biscuits.”
There was a spring in her step when she left him. The cool morning air brushed her cheeks as she trudged to town. She felt conspicuous in a dress, and the sh
oes were already pinching her feet.
When she neared the small frame houses scattered at the edge of the settlement, she slowed her pace. She passed the swaying shingle of the doctor’s whitewashed house, then went around the weed-choked pens that served as a gathering place for cattle buyers at roundup time. At the cafe, she mounted the steps and stood on the boardwalk. A quick glance at the jail and saloon assured her that no one was stirring. For a fleeting moment, her vision clouded as she thought of the Coyote Kid sitting in that cell. Then she shook her head to dismiss the notion and tried to see inside the cafe. The sun glinting on the window prevented her from seeing the interior. A woman, bearing a tray of food, came through the front door.
She noted the woman with interest. About thirty years old with brown hair, but her face was scarred with pock marks.
“I’ll be right back, ma’am,” she addressed Dolly. “If you like you can go inside and wait. I’m sorry, I doubt that my new Indian helper can wait on you, but I will be back in a few minutes.”
Dolly smiled. “Thank you, I’ll wait inside.” She watched the woman cross the street with the food. There was only enough food on the tray for one person. No doubt the tray was for a guard rather than the jail prisoners.
A bell tinkled as Dolly entered the cafe. An attractive Indian woman, who stood at the stove, turned and smiled blandly. Then she returned to her cooking. Dolly looked around at the empty tables, before selecting one in the middle of the room. She watched the Indian woman, who seemed to be very intent on her cooking. A good-looking girl, perhaps still in her teens; her braids hung in shiny black ropes down her slender back. Her beauty would appeal even to a white man; it seemed odd to her that this girl was working for a woman.
The cafe owner returned. She smiled at Dolly and offered her a cup of coffee as she put up the empty tray.
“Yes, please.” Dolly suddenly felt uncomfortable. It had been so long since she’d had a conversation with another woman, she had forgotten how to act. She wrung her hands in her lap, wondering if she should put them on the table or hold them primly.
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