Noble Savage

by Judith B. Glad

  "More coffee?"

  Mouth full, Luke nodded. He'd eaten better beans, but none had been flavored with hunger as these were.

  One of the passing men had a familiar look to him. Luke watched him out of sight. Damn! Where had he seen that face before?

  "Something wrong?"

  He looked back at Katie. She held the coffee cup between her hands, sipping at it, her dark blue eyes warm and friendly. "No. Nothing, really."

  "I think I'm almost warm," she said, breathing in the steam from her coffee, "for the first time in days."

  Aw, hell! "Katie, I'm real sorry--"

  "Nonsense. It wasn't your fault the weather turned bad. We're here and we're safe, and that's all that matters. I've been cold before."

  "Yes, but..."

  "Luke, never mind. It's not as if I froze or anything. You took very good care of me."

  But Luke wasn't paying her any attention. His gaze had been caught by another passerby. A tall, horse-faced man in a heavy wool greatcoat, a silver-gray derby.

  "What is it? What do you see?" she demanded. She turned on the bench and peered through the open door way. "Oh, no!"

  "Turn around!"

  "But Luke, it's him!" She whispered, sounding real scared. "Hamilton Steens Whitney III."

  "Shut up," he told her, his voice low and hard. "And turn around before he sees you."

  As if he'd heard, Whitney smiled in their direction.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Before Luke could react, another well-dressed fellow stepped into view. He shook hands with Whitney and they walked away together.

  Immediately Katie was on her feet, the fiddle case swinging at her side. "We've got to get out of here."

  Luke grabbed her wrist. "Sit down and be quiet!"

  "But--"

  "Damn it, will you be silent! You start yellin' and they'll see us. Is that what you want?"

  Katie slowly sank down, never taking her gaze from the doorway. After a long pause, she turned to Luke. "We've got to get out of town. Before he finds us. Please, Luke!"

  Fear was writ clearly on her face. Luke could not believe that this pale, frightened woman was capable, fearless Katie Lachlan. Reaching across the table, he took her hand between his. It was cold, trembling. "Sweetheart, calm down. He couldn't see into here. It's too dark. You're safe."

  She tugged. "Only for now. Please, Luke, let's get the animals and go. It's only ten miles or so to Evanston. We can be there by dark."

  Without releasing her hand, Luke moved around to sit beside her. He wrapped his arm about her shoulders and pulled her close. "Sweetheart, we'd never make it ten miles before dark, even if we were to leave this minute. We're going to go back to the hotel and you'll hole up there. I'll see what I can do about getting us on tomorrow's train, without making a fuss. With any luck, we'll sneak out of town with no one the wiser."

  Slowly she relaxed, softening in his arms. The waiter raised an eyebrow at them when he came to clear away their dishes, but he didn't say anything. After a while Luke pulled away from Katie. When she didn't cling, he went to the curtained doorway at the back of the room and stuck his head through. The waiter and a middle-aged woman were sitting at a small table, playing cards.

  "You got a back way out?" Luke asked.

  A hooked thumb was the only reply. Neither card-player looked at him.

  Luke went back to get Katie and led her through the kitchen and to the back door. Just before he pulled it closed behind them, he turned back. "We weren't in here today. You've never seen us."

  The woman shook her head slightly. The waiter shrugged. "None of my business," he said, "what folks come in here." He looked back at his cards.

  "Let's hope they'll keep their mouths shut," Luke said, as they crept along the back wall of the restaurant. He peered around the corner. The only men he saw wore work clothes. "All clear. Just don't run. Folks notice when you do."

  They walked rapidly to and across the street. His eyes constantly shifting back and forth, Luke tried to see if anyone was taking undue notice of them. As they went between the laundry and the Railroad Saloon, he looked back. Everybody in sight seemed intent on his own business.

  It was a simple matter to creep along behind the buildings until they came to the hotel. Luke knocked at the back door and eventually the man who'd checked them in came to answer it.

  He opened the door a crack and peeked through. "Go around to the front."

  Luke held up a quarter-Eagle.

  The door widened and they slid through. "You go on up to the room," he told Katie. "I've got a couple of things to do." For an instant he was tempted to kiss her goodbye. To promise her he'd keep her safe.

  Gettin' mawkish in your old age, he told himself, and kept his mouth shut.

  She looked up at him questioningly, but did as he told her.

  Luke took a moment to marvel. Katie had never done what he said without arguing before. She must be really scared.

  I sure hope Mick was able to find out if they're after me.

  Walking toward the depot, Luke noticed something that hadn't been quite so apparent before. There was none of the good-fellowship you often saw in a small town. Men avoided each other's eyes and their movements were almost furtive. Women walked in pairs or with their men, and none of them strolled. Not a child was in sight, not even a babe in arms.

  Most of the men on the street now were of the sort he'd become all too familiar with in Kansas cattle towns. Shootists and ruffians. The sort who'd kill a man for the price of a meal and a whore.

  Like Japhet and Kiah Breedlove. Luke would give a pretty penny to know for certain if they were in town. He was pretty sure the fellow on the street had been the same one he'd seen back in Sidney. The one who looked like the ghost of Japhet Breedlove.

  He'd still been on the train when Luke and Katie had left it, but that didn't mean he'd kept going west past here.

  No doubt about it. Time to watch my back.

  With his hat pulled low over his eyes, his collar raised as if to keep him warm, Luke walked briskly along the street. The snow here was dirty, trodden down, and turned to ice around every hitching post and water trough and along a narrow walkway against the buildings.

  The telegraph office was locked. A sign on the door said 'Open All Day,' so he knocked. After a minute or so the torn piece of canvas covering the small window was yanked aside. A suspicious face peered out.

  "I need to send a telegram," Luke said, opening his coat to show he wasn't armed.

  "Just a minute," the man said, his voice faint through the door.

  It seemed to take him a long while to open the door. Luke heard chains rattle, a bolt being shot, and the scrape of a heavy bar against wood.

  What's going on here?

  The telegraph operator locked the door behind Luke, slipped behind the counter, and slid a blank telegram form across. "I'm particular about who I let in here," he said. "There's some in town ain't to be trusted."

  "Don't blame you," Luke told him. He wrote quickly, handed the message across. "Can you send this to both Chicago and Kansas City? I'm not sure where my friend will be."

  "It'll cost you twice."

  "That's all right." Digging into his pocket, Luke pulled out some coins. He paid double the posted price of a telegram, then leaned on one elbow. One small gold piece still lay on the counter.

  "Folks seem skittish around here. Any particular reason?"

  "Skittish?" The fellow's voice broke on the word. "I don't know what you mean."

  Luke gave the coin a little push. "Oh, I think you do. It's like everybody's waitin' for something to happen. Kind of like the calm before a battle."

  One shaking hand reached out, then retreated. "We're no wilder than any other End-of-Track. There's just those who'd like to see a little law and order hereabouts."

  "You don't have a detachment of soldiers here?"

  "Durant, he don't see any need for it. Says Bear River City ain't gonna last anyhow."

 
; Luke recognized the railroad construction boss's name, but couldn't see what he had to do with keeping order in the town along the line. "So who keeps order then?"

  "Nobody, really. Nobody wants to take on the sheriff's job. The saloon owners and the gamblers, there's just too many of 'em. It's gettin' so a body takes his life in his hands goin' out after dark." He shuddered visibly. "Had five killin's yesterday, seven the day before. Them Freemans are always writing about how we need a vigilance committee, but nothin' ever comes of it."

  Luke didn't blame the fellow for keeping his door locked. Bear River City sounded worse than the wildest cattle town. "Who are the Freemans?"

  "They own the newspaper. Come out here after the War. According to them, the South won."

  "I see." Luke slid the coin the rest of the way across. "Thanks for the information."

  As he laid a hand on the doorknob, a thought struck Luke. Quickly he printed a short message on another telegram form, chewed the pencil a moment, then wrote in the only address he had. "Send this one, too," he told the clerk.

  The closing door just about scraped his heels as he left. He heard the bar drop, the chains and locks rattle. The depot door around the corner of the building was locked, too. A sign on it said to leave freight with the telegraph operator. Passenger fares could be purchased on the train.

  Katie had been right to be scared, he thought as he hurried back to the hotel. This town wasn't a healthy place to be.

  * * * *

  Katie stood beside the window and watched Luke walk away. She was careful to stay out of sight, so she was unable see where he went, but it wasn't really important. If he wasn't back in an hour, she would do what she had to do.

  It was time to ask for her father's help. He must be in Salt Lake City now. He could be here in three or four days, if he pushed it. Surely she could stay in the hotel room that long, with Luke to fetch food for her.

  I could stay here as long as need be, if I knew Pa was on his way.

  Luke would do his best to protect her from Whitney, but he was just one man. Whitney had at least one thug to do his bidding. Besides, her pa was far more experienced than Luke, far wiser.

  When Katie was a child, she'd believed her pa could do anything. Now she knew he wasn't all-powerful, but he came as close to it as any mortal man. Against him and Luke together, Whitney wouldn't have a chance, no matter how many lackeys he brought with him.

  But first I've got to get word to Pa.

  The clouded mirror on the wall showed how ragged her clothing was. In the fiddle case, she had a figured gray shawl, an old favorite, so faded and worn that she had seriously considered discarding it. She pulled it out and wrapped it around her head and shoulders, making sure it concealed her hair. Perhaps if she kept her head down and moved clumsily, she could pass for an old woman. As she closed the fiddle case, she paused, thinking. It had been in her hand when Whitney caught them back in Rock Springs. And a woman carrying a fiddle case was unusual enough to be remarkable. Reluctantly she set it on the floor and slid it under the bed.

  Surely she had waited at least an hour. She took one last look out the window. No Luke. Not many people on the street at all.

  Quickly she checked the loads in the derringers, made sure they would slide easily from her pockets. If only there were some way she could carry the shotgun without its being obvious.

  Well, she'd just have to be careful.

  One hand on the doorknob, Katie halted. Luke would worry if he came back and found her gone. Was that pencil still in her reticule? It was. And one of her calling cards, a little the worse for wear.

  "Gone to tel. off.," she wrote. "Don't worry back soon." Folding the slip of pasteboard, she wrote Luke's name in bold letters on the outside, right over the faded print. Then she tucked it in the corner of the mirror.

  Butterflies fluttered in her midriff as she slipped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her.

  Maybe she was being foolish, not waiting for Luke's return. She hesitated.

  Stop dithering. If you ever needed Pa, now's the time!

  The clerk was nowhere in sight as Katie passed through the restaurant, nor was anyone else. At the door she stopped, took a deep breath, and slumped her shoulders. Walking as if her knees and hips were stiff with rheumatism, she turned toward the depot.

  With every step she wanted to break into a run. Although she kept her face lowered, she looked at each passerby with suspicion. Any one of them could be Whitney's lackey.

  She passed the office of the Frontier Index, a saloon, the Blue Moon--saloon or bawdy house?--keeping close to the fronts of the buildings. The few men she encountered stepped out of her way. A few more buildings, including the restaurant where they'd had dinner, then a long, empty stretch to the depot.

  Even though a sign on the door clearly stated it should be open for business, the telegraph office was closed. Its door was locked tight and a blind hung behind the window. Katie knocked and rattled the knob, to no avail.

  Frustrated, she went to the depot door, only to discover that it, too, was locked.

  Back she went to the telegraph office, but no one answered her renewed knocking.

  Hellsfire! Immediately she tasted a memory of the soap Ma had used whenever she mimicked her brothers' language. I guess it's up to me to get myself out of this fix.

  She turned and started back toward the hotel. I sure hope Luke finishes his business soon. We've got to get out of town before Whitney finds us.

  There seemed to be more people on the street than when she and Luke had come into town. More men.

  And fewer women, she realized. I'm the only one.

  At last she reached the hotel and stepped inside the shadowy lobby.

  "My dear, how delightful to find you here," Hamilton Steens Whitney III said. "I have been looking for you."

  "This the girl?" another man said, from where he leaned against the newel post. He was whip slim, dressed like a cowman. Pearl-handled revolvers rode in tied-down holsters at each hip. Although his features were youthful, there was a coldness about his smile and ice in the pale blue of his eyes.

  Before Katie could react, Whitney stepped forward and took her arm. "It is indeed my long-lost wife. Come, my dear, your suffering is over."

  His grip on her arm was like a steel shackle. Katie jerked back, but not free. "Let me go!" She tried to kick him, but her skirts, still damp from this morning's travel, tangled about her legs.

  Whitney's companion caught her about the waist and held her while Whitney grabbed for her flailing left arm. Between them, they effectively disabled her.

  "Help!" she cried. "Please, somebody help me!" Then she yelled, the high, piercing sound that she and her brothers had called their war cry.

  "The lady doesn't seem happy to see you, Whit," the young cowman said, never letting go his hold on her. "Maybe we'd better get her upstairs before someone gets curious."

  "I have told you not to shorten my name, Breedlove. Have you anything I can tie her hands with?"

  Katie twisted against Whitney's grip, tried to kick the man Whitney had called Breedlove. Her pistols might as well be on the moon, for there wasn't a chance she could get a hand on either one.

  Once more she screamed, again and again, until her throat burned.

  It did her no good, not any more than fighting the two men did. Soon both her wrists were enveloped in Whitney's long-fingered hand, and Breedlove was able to loop a leather thong around them. Tight.

  What kind of town was this that a woman's screams were ignored? Katie's voice faded into hoarse sobs. If only she'd listened to Luke.

  "Hold her while I search her," Whitney said. "She may have a gun."

  Hiss hands patted over her bodice, lingering on her breasts, squeezing and stroking. It was like something slimy crawling over her. She spat, but missed his face. "Let me go, you filthy bastard," she panted.

  He smiled, but didn't answer. His hands moved lower, to her waist and beyond. "Ah, here we are," he said, a
s he reached into her pocket and pulled out one of her pistols. "Is this all?"

  Her face must have answered him, for he checked the other side and retrieved the second pistol. "Really my dear, how unstylish. Definitely not appropriate accouterments for a lady." He handed them to Breedlove, who took them without loosening his grip on Katie.

  "Take her upstairs?" Breedlove said. He shifted his hold so that her forearms were pulled tight across her waist, making the thong binding her wrists cut cruelly into her skin.

  "The livery stable, I think. Muldoon can watch her." He pulled the shawl from her head and draped it over her shoulders and her bound wrists.

  They walked up the street, Whitney nodding and smiling to several men. Katie tried to speak to the first one they met, but her words turned into a squeak when she felt the sharp prick of a knife in her ribs.

  "I'd hate like the dickens to see Whit embarrassed, ma'am," Breedlove murmured behind her ear. "So why don't you just walk along quietly and give me no trouble?"

  There was something about his voice, soft and mild, that frightened Katie far more than an out-and-out threat would have.

  The hostler was nowhere in sight when they reached the livery stable. Sheba whickered softly when she saw Katie. Did Whitney know about the animals? She hoped not.

  Breedlove pushed her into one of the two box stalls. Whitney followed, saying, "I'll stay with her. Go get Muldoon, but be quick about it. I'm having dinner with the Freemans and don't want to be late."

  "Why are you doing this?" Katie made her voice as steady as she could. "I haven't done anything to you."

  "I thought I'd made my intentions clear, Miss Lachlan. You will become my wife, just as soon as we can return to Boston."

  "You're crazy!"

  His open palm struck her cheek with enough force to knock her off her feet. As she fell sideways, her face scraped along the rough, splintery frame of the stall.

  "Never, never say that to me again. Do you understand?"

  Katie nodded, fighting the tears that welled into her eyes.