by Erin Johnson
* * *
Hot and dusty, Grace and Bullet finally entered Rawhide. Smaller than Tombstone, the town consisted of only one main road and a few side streets. She rode down each street and alley, noting every saloon and brothel, trying to decide the best place to stalk her quarry. She decided that the stables would be the easiest place to start. The man — Clarissa said he’d called himself Clint, but who knew if that was his real name — had few distinguishing features, so his pure-black horse with a white star on its forehead and white socks might be easier to spot.
Sensing they were approaching another unfamiliar stable, Bullet grew feisty, and Grace reached down to pat his neck. “Come on, boy. You need to behave or no barn here will take you, and we’ve got a job to do.”
She dismounted and tied Bullet outside, peeking inside each stall. In the third one, she found the horse she was looking for. Quickly, she approached the stable hand, an older man with deep creases etched into his forehead that must have come from a perpetual scowl. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, trying for a sweet smile. “You don’t happen to know where the owner of this horse is staying, do you?”
The man shrugged. Clearly charm wasn’t going to work.
“I need to find him. It’s important.”
The man waved a hand toward the stables dismissively. “Can’t keep track of all these owners.”
Grace pursed her lips in frustration. “Well, I have a horse outside.”
“Bring it on in.” The man pointed to two vacant stalls. “Take your pick.”
Grace handed him her money before she brought Bullet inside, not wanting to give him a chance to change his mind.
Surprisingly, Bullet cooperated — until they reached the stall door. Then he kicked up his usual fuss.
“Hey!” the stable hand called, suddenly more animated now. “Get control of that horse, or he can’t stay here.”
Grace ignored him, and as she opened the stall door, Bullet went wild, causing the other horses to shriek and neigh in agitation. The man yelled again, but his words were unintelligible over the racket. She managed to get Bullet into the stall, and then stayed outside the door talking to him until he calmed. But as soon as she walked away, her horse squealed and kicked the stall door, making so much noise that he stirred most of the other horses into a frenzy.
“I told you, he can’t stay —”
Grace held a hand up, cutting him off. “I’ve paid, fair and square. Now, if you tell me where the owner of that horse I was asking about went, the sooner I’ll be on my way. The longer it takes to find him, the longer my horse stays.”
The man scowled and he jerked a finger over his shoulder. “House of ill-repute down the road.” Then his eyes widened in horror. “You ain’t aiming to spend the whole night with him?”
Grace’s face contorted in disgust. “My business with him won’t take long.”
“Oh, no, you ain’t the wronged wife, I hope.” His voice turned pleading. “Don’t tell him it was me who directed you there. He’s a good paying customer here; can’t afford to lose him . . .”
She shook her head. “I’m not his wife, and I’m grateful for your help. No need for him to know how I found him.”
The stable hand breathed a sigh of relief, and his lips twisted in a ghost of a smile.
Grace headed in the direction the stable hand had pointed, and soon the plink of lively piano music drifted from one of the buildings toward her, along with raucous laughter. She stood outside the doors and steadied her nerves. To catch her prey here, she’d have to use her feminine wiles. To alleviate her disgust, she reminded herself she’d just be play-acting; pretending only long enough to capture a thief — and make her bounty.
She entered and surveyed the room, but several of the men there could have met Clarissa’s description. Only one thing she could do. Sashaying up to the bar, she turned enough to keep an eye on most of the men in the room, then forced her voice to an unnaturally loud level but kept it sickeningly sweet.
“I saw the most unusual horse in the stable. It’s black with a white star right here.” She brushed her finger across her forehead in a circle, then lowered her hand to toy with the button on the high collar of her bodice as if she planned to open it. “I would love to meet the owner of that beautiful animal. Maybe he’d take me for a ride.”
“I’ll take you for a ride, sweetheart,” one of the cowboys called out.
“Oh, that sounds delightful,” Grace purred, looking over in the direction of the voice. He could be her mark. “Are you the horse’s owner?”
“Uh . . . no, but I’m sure you’d enjoy my horse just as well.”
Grace pretended to pout. “I was hoping for that horse.” She closed her eyes and gave a little shiver, trying to remember how the girls back at Miz Bessie’s saloon behaved. “I adore black horses.”
The cowboy headed toward her. “Once you see my horse, you’ll forget all about that black one.”
What could she do now? She had to find some way to discourage him. Grace began to think this might have been a mistake. Clint the con man might not even be here . . . To her right, she noticed an older woman steaming toward her. Oh, no.
The woman’s graying hair had been pulled up into a cascade of curls on the top of her head, and her low-cut brocade gown covered generous curves that strained the confines of her corset. “This here’s my establishment and I’ll not have some stranger coming in trying to take work from my girls.”
“I-It’s not what you think,” Grace said in a low voice. “May I talk to you in private?”
The woman eyed her skeptically, but Grace’s conservative clothes seemed to convince her. Leading her to a tiny office, she waved toward a seat, but Grace declined. “I’m looking for a man who has a black horse with a star on its forehead. He robbed five people in Bisbee, and he’s likely planning to do the same here. I’m a bounty hunter.”
The woman’s face turned hard and she laughed once mirthlessly. “You had me believing your story there for a minute. Too bad you had to spoil it with that lie at the end.”
“I am a bounty hunter.” But Grace had no way to prove it. “Listen, if you help me find the man, you can take the full payment for his . . . time with me. And whether you believe me or not, I’ll be saving you and your girls from being swindled.”
The woman’s expression turned from skeptical to calculating. “You won’t expect any pay? Not even if I charge him double?”
Grace shook her head. “Will you help me?”
Without answering, the woman beckoned her to follow. She opened the door and strode back into the saloon room.
“Clint,” she called to a man lounging on the couch, dividing his attention between two young women. “One of my girls here admires your horse.”
“I heard,” he growled. “But I’m busy . . .”
The woman snapped her fingers and both the girls rose and glided from the room.
“Hey!” Clint stared after them longingly, then turned angry eyes to the woman.
“They’ll be back.” She turned her voice into a coo. “First, you ought to speak with this young lady. You won’t regret it.”
Clint stood and headed toward them. The gray-haired woman held out her hand and he slapped some money into her palm.
“You’d better be worth it,” he said, frowning as he glanced at Grace’s modest outfit. “I don’t go for the schoolmarm look.”
She gave him a coy smile. “I’m full of surprises.”
“Now, that sounds promising . . .” He came over and took her elbow. “You asked to see my horse? Let’s go.”
Grace forced herself not to cringe or shrink away as he drew her close. They walked out of the saloon and down the street — it only took a minute, but it was a relief to reach the stables. As he gestured vaguely to his horse and then pressed his body against hers, Grace choked back a gag. Then in
one swift move, she slid her hand into his holster, whipped out his gun, and backed away, pointing the revolver at his chest.
“What the devil? What kinda game are you playing, girl?”
Grace lifted an eyebrow. “I hear you’re a card cheat. A robber? You like to swindle innocent people out of all their money?”
“Innocent people?” He guffawed and gestured toward the brothel. “Can’t call any of those saloon-dwellers innocent.”
“Oh, so I suppose they had it coming?”
Clint didn’t respond — instead, he lunged for his gun but Grace stuck out a dainty boot, and he went flying face-first into a nearby pile of manure.
How fitting, she thought. While Clint was still dazed and moaning, she grabbed some rope, tied his arms back good and tight, then hurried into the stable to collect Bullet.
Mounting her horse, she hauled Clint to his feet, tipped her hat to the aghast stable hand, and took off for Bisbee.
CHAPTER 6
As soon as Clarissa had identified Clint, Grace let her search the captive’s pockets, from which she extracted several rolls of bills and a leather pouch of gold. The older woman grinned. “This should pay us back for our troubles.”
Clint swore at them, but Clarissa only laughed and chucked him under the chin.
“Want a little smooch for old times’ sake?” she taunted.
The fury in Clint’s eyes as he glared at Clarissa made Grace shiver, and she was relieved to turn him over to the surprised Bisbee sheriff.
After she emerged from the jail, Emily trailed after her, clearly having caught wind of Grace’s return.
“You caught that outlaw!” Emily said, bouncing up and down alongside her as Grace strode down the street. “I’ve been practicing being a good bounty hunter too. I’m watching for that gang, just like you said. I know all of their faces. I’ll tell you as soon as I see any of them!”
Grace smiled at her, though it seemed wishful thinking that any of the gang would turn up on their doorstep. “Thanks, Emily. You’re a big help.”
Emily beamed. “Are we going to look for them now?”
“Not today. I need some rest.”
And she had some debts to clear, now that she had finally made a good bounty, fair and square. Maybe I can really do this, she thought hopefully.
* * *
The next morning, Grace galloped off to Tombstone. She’d had a good night’s sleep in her room at Miz Bessie’s now that her debts were all cleared, but today she was ready to turn her attentions to her own mission. She was heading into the town hoping to finally get more information on the Guiltless Gang.
When she reached the courthouse, several bounty hunters were gathered around the wall of wanted posters.
Deputy Clayton smiled as Grace walked in. “Grace Milton! Heard you caught that Clint Martin before the wanted poster even came out,” he said. “Maybe I was wrong about you . . .”
Grace couldn’t help feeling pleased at his admission, but a few of the other bounty hunters turned to her and sniggered. “Pretty stupid criminal to get himself caught by a woman,” one murmured.
“So where’s the latest posters, deputy?” called another.
The deputy held up two flyers. “This one here’s for Clint, but Miss Milton there already took care of it.” He tossed that poster onto his desk, then pushed back his chair and tacked the other poster to the wall.
“Couldn’t even get a handful of feed for my horse with that reward,” the tallest man complained. “What’s he wanted for?”
The man next to him ran a finger over the words at the bottom of the poster. “Just torturing and killing some Injuns.” He directed a condemning sneer at the quiver of arrows Grace had slung over her shoulder. “He’s no outlaw. He should be getting a reward for that. You won’t catch me turning in such a man.”
A chorus of “me neither” followed.
Grace frowned, her blood blazing through her veins. “Let me see that flyer. I’ll go after him myself.”
“Ha! You do that, girlie. You got lucky once, but Injun killers are a lot more dangerous than gentleman gamblers,” one of the men scoffed.
Grace elbowed her way past the group to look at the poster. It sickened her to read what this man had done. She was glad it seemed none of the people he’d tortured had been Ndeh, but he deserved to be strung up, not left to roam free. She stared at the poster, memorizing the man’s every feature. She didn’t care how small the reward, she’d do it even if she received no payment at all.
“Last seen heading toward the Dragoon Mountains,” the man who’d taunted her read. He shook his head. “I don’t know, girl. That’s pretty dangerous territory. Renegade Apache hide out in those hills. Even the U.S. Army ain’t been able to capture all of them.”
“They’re not Apache. They’re Ndeh,” Grace said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, look out, boys.” The heavy man beside Grace sniggered and backed away from her mockingly. “We got ourselves an Injun-lover here. No telling what she done with those savages.”
Grace squeezed her eyes shut and balled her fists to control her temper. No way would she give these men the satisfaction of seeing how much their teasing upset her. Reining in her fury, she turned and tipped her head to Deputy Clayton.
“Good day, deputy. I’ll be back with your man.”
Head high, Grace stalked from the sheriff’s office and out of the courthouse.
* * *
Two days later, Grace led the bound criminal down the streets of Tombstone. She had tracked the man through the mountains, where she’d found him weak, having run out of food and water. She’d felt no sympathy for him. Now he was trussed to his horse, throwing insults at Grace as crowds jeered.
“This here’s an Injun-lover,” he called to the gathering people. “A-all I done is take care of some of those low-down varmints so as they didn’t scalp our women and children.”
Some in the crowd began to heckle her, and she edged closer to her prisoner. “Want me to tell them how brave you really are?” she hissed. “I could tell how you crawled on the ground begging for mercy when I lassoed you.”
The man winced. “You say that, and I’ll come gunning for you when I get out.”
“You do that.” Grace looked him in the eye, but he glanced away. “Who’d win in a fast draw?”
The man spent the rest of the journey to the jail in silence, head down. The crowd dispersed once Grace led him into the courthouse.
As soon as Deputy Clayton had locked the man into a cell, he returned to his office. “Good work, Grace,” he said, handing her the reward money. “I’m not afraid to admit, it seems you really are getting the hang of this.” His look held genuine surprise and admiration.
She turned to the wall of wanted posters and noticed no new bounties hung on the wall. She returned to studying the faces of the Guiltless Gang, despite having long ago imprinted every detail of them in her memory — before she’d even had an inkling about becoming a bounty hunter. Their faces had been burned there since they took her family from her. “What about these outlaws?” She gestured toward the gang. “Any news on their whereabouts?”
Deputy Clayton shook his head. “Now, Grace. Those Guiltless are too dangerous for you to handle. You’ve done some impressive work catching petty criminals,” he emphasized the word petty, “and you got lucky with Doc Slaughter.”
Lucky? Luck had nothing to do with it. Her skill and speed had saved her life and that of the girl Slaughter was attacking. Blood pounded so hard in Grace’s ears that she barely heard the deputy continue.
“It’s not a job for a girl. Let the experienced bounty hunters do their jobs, and stick to the small rewards like you been doing. That way you won’t offend the men.”
“Offend the men?” Grace said incredulously. “What, because I’m a faster draw and a better shot? If that offends them,
then maybe they should practice until they can beat me.”
The deputy frowned. “Now, don’t get too big for your britches is my advice. Ain’t becoming in a lady. No man wants to marry a woman who’s a better shot and lets him know it.”
Grace was about to retort when she had a sudden thought. Deputy Clayton was wrong; she knew one man who might just admit that, and want her still. Joe. And he was the one who’d taught her those skills, or at least honed what her father had started. Pangs of guilt and sadness shot into her heart from different directions, and Joe still filled her thoughts as she walked from the courthouse and mounted Bullet. Deputy Clayton’s jibes made her even more determined to track the Guiltless Gang down. She had enough money to live on for now; all she needed was one clue to get started.
Every step she made toward finding them might also be one closer to a time she could consider being with Joe.
CHAPTER 7
Grace stayed late in Tombstone, questioning everyone she could about the Guiltless Gang. They all claimed to have heard nothing, but she wondered if they were telling her the truth. The deputy was more than likely right — people did not like the idea of a girl trying to hunt down such a gang.
By the time she returned to Bisbee, only a few men sat slumped over their drinks, but she thought she may as well try asking around there as well.
“They’re all full as a tick,” the bartender said as he noticed her attempts. “Not worth questioning. Best to ask ’em earlier in the evening when they’re just starting to get roostered up.”
She tried a little longer, but the barman was right — she got no more information than she had in Tombstone. Dejected, she climbed the stairs to her room and, remembering the drunkard, wedged a chair under the doorknob after she locked the door.
Once again, nightmares about the burning cabin and of the gang’s faces kept her tossing and turning all night.
When she went downstairs the next morning, the saloon was abuzz. As Grace passed one of the painted ladies, frowning curiously at the fuss, she asked what was going on.
