The Gallant Outlaw

by Gilbert, Morris

  Betsy followed and saw three people sitting at a table. A lamp gave off a yellow light, making their features look almost Oriental. One of them, she saw, was a woman.

  “Got a surprise for you,” Vic said. A big grin was on his face, and Betsy could see he was enjoying the moment. “I got married while I was gone. This is my wife, Betsy. I want you all to be nice to her. Betsy, this is Angela Montoya, Bob Pratt, and Buckley Ogg.”

  Betsy waited for them to speak, but no one did for a moment. Then the man identified as Buckley Ogg said with disgust, “That was a dumb thing to do, Vic. Bringing a woman out here.” Ogg was at least fifty, with a balding head. He had deep-set black eyes and a beautifully modulated voice that matched neither his appearance nor his demeanor. He was tremendously fat, and his belly spilled over his belt.

  “You’re just jealous, Ogg,” Pratt said. He was a young man of no more than twenty. Even sitting at the table, Betsy could see he was extremely well built and muscular, with black hair in tight curls, a wedge-shaped face, and eyes that angled into slits. He looked at Betsy with a leer. “I wish you woulda brought me a wife, Vic.”

  He frightened her a little, and she shifted her gaze to Angela Montoya. Angela was obviously Mexican, and Betsy would have thought she was married to Mateo Río, except for her name. She had jet-black hair, black eyes, and an olive complexion. Her lips were full and generous, yet there was a streak of cruelty in them. She studied Betsy so brashly that Betsy grew embarrassed and reached up to grasp Vic’s arm. Finally the woman spoke. She cursed fluently and ended by saying in an ominous tone, “Ogg is right! You were a fool to bring that girl here! If you have to have a woman, why don’t you go into town?”

  Vic did not appear to be disturbed by all this. He put his arm around Betsy and squeezed her, saying blithely, “Don’t worry, honey. They’ll love you when they get to know you. Now,” he went on, rubbing his hands together, “Bob, fix us something to eat. Then we’re going to go to bed. Married folks go to bed earlier, you know.”

  Pratt laughed loudly and slapped the table. “You’re a sight, Vic! A real caution!”

  Vic sat Betsy down in a chair, and she listened while they talked. Much of it she didn’t understand. The woman sitting across from her stared at her almost continuously, even when she spoke to the men, and it made Betsy very uneasy. Pratt fried bacon and eggs and put plates in front of Betsy and Vic. Vic ate voraciously, but it was so greasy Betsy couldn’t stomach it.

  “Angela, you show Betsy to the honeymoon suite,” Vic ordered. He grinned at Angela arrogantly and said, “You two can get acquainted. I’m sure you’ll be good friends.”

  Vic got up and walked out of the shack, followed by the other men. Angela did not move from her seat, her black eyes still fixed on Betsy. There was a chilled silence in the room.

  Finally Betsy said in a small voice, “I—I hope I won’t be too much trouble.” She was afraid of the woman, who was quite a bit older than she—twenty-seven or twenty-eight—and wished that Vic had not left her alone with Angela Montoya.

  “Where did Vic find you?” Angel demanded in a tense voice.

  “In Chicago. But we were married on the way out here.”

  The dark-haired woman’s eyes flickered, but her face was unreadable. “No, I don’t think so. Did he bring a man in that he introduced as a preacher?”

  An icy hand closed around Betsy’s heart and her breath became ragged. “Why, yes, there was a Reverend Patterson—”

  “He show you any credentials?”

  “No—no—not actually—”

  “You see the marriage license? Did you sign it?” Angela went on relentlessly.

  Betsy licked her lips, which were suddenly very dry. “N-no, he’s supposed to mail it—to us—”

  Angela Montoya rose to her feet. “You little fool,” she spat. “You’re not married! Vic’s done this before!” She turned on one heel, cursing again, then said, “Come on, I’ll show you the bedroom. But don’t think you’re his wife, because you’re not! Vic will never marry any woman, because he doesn’t like women!” She turned back to Betsy, her hands on her hips. “Didn’t you know that? Couldn’t you tell it?”

  “No, no, that’s not true! You’re lying to me!” Betsy cried, coming to her feet. She wanted to protest more, but suddenly the words were choked and she couldn’t say anything else. Pictures rose unbidden in her mind: Vic signing a false name in the hotel, the man that had been introduced as a preacher, the incoherent marriage vows. Vic had lied to her—it had all been a lie—and now she was trapped. She stared mutely at the Spanish woman and knew she would get no sympathy from her. Angela Montoya’s eyes were black as night, and cruel as death. As Betsy stood there, she knew she was irrevocably and totally lost.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Trip to Fort Smith

  Once Lanie had decided what to do, she threw herself into organizing all the details with a furious energy. By the next day she had made arrangements to have all her father’s business taken care of by a young clerk in his employ, who was rather apprehensive at the responsibility. She had also written letters, explaining that she would not be able to attend various functions she was committed to.

  It was late that afternoon when she looked up from dispatching final bits of paperwork to see Wesley Stone enter the study. “Oh yes, Wesley,” she greeted hurriedly. “I’m glad you came. I have a few errands I want you to run while I’m gone.”

  “I won’t be able to do that, Lanie,” he replied gravely.

  Surprised, Lanie searched his face. He had never declined any request before. Now she noted a look of determination on his craggy features. “I won’t be able to,” he went on, “because I am going with you.”

  Lanie stared at him and said in a puzzled voice, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Wesley. You mean you’re going to the train with me?”

  “No, I mean I’m going to the Indian Territory with you.” He walked across the room and looked into her startled eyes. “I decided it wouldn’t be safe for you to go alone, so I’m going along.”

  “Why, you can’t do that! What about your practice?”

  “I told Mr. Ratliffe I had to have some time off.” The corners of his wide mouth lifted slightly. “He didn’t like it much. I may not have a job when I get back.”

  Lanie put her pen down and rose to her feet. Wesley was a deliberate and methodical man. Normally everything he did was by the book—but now he was breaking out of the character she had thought was as set as if it were carved in stone. “It’s sweet of you, Wesley,” she said warmly, “but you can’t throw your career away. I’d better go alone.”

  “It’s all settled,” he said as if he hadn’t heard a word. “My bags are all packed; so what time does the train leave?” He was casually leaning against the mantel, apparently relaxed.

  “You’re really worried about me, aren’t you?” Lanie probed.

  He gave her a curious look. “Yes. You don’t have any business going off by yourself in that kind of world. But that’s not the real reason I’m going.” She looked at him questioningly. He shrugged. “I’m worried about Betsy. I wouldn’t count myself half a man if I didn’t do everything I could to get her back. Now, when do we leave?”

  “The train leaves at 8:15 in the morning—” Lanie began, but was interrupted by Phil and John, who were arguing about who got the honor of pushing Zach’s wheelchair.

  “Whoa, there!” Zach yelled. “You want to break my other leg?” Reaching down, he grabbed the wheels and yanked them hard. “You two wild Indians run along, now! You can break the rest of my bones after I talk to your sister.”

  They left, still arguing noisily. Zach grinned as he released the brakes and rolled toward his daughter. “Hello, Wes,” he said as he passed him and turned to Lanie. “Lanie—”

  “Mr. Winslow,” Wesley interrupted, “I’ve decided to go on this trip with Lanie.”

  Zach wheeled his chair around and stared at him. He had become an astute student of human
nature through his years on the frontier and in business. He had always liked this young man, but somehow Stone seemed to lack drive. Wesley wasn’t the kind of go-getter that Zach had envisioned for Lanie. He had never thought Wesley had much of a chance with Lanie, anyway. Now he raised his eyebrows and asked, “What’s all this?”

  He listened carefully, his head cocked to one side, as Wesley explained why he felt he had to make the trip. When he finished, Zach slapped the arm of his wheelchair and said with enthusiasm, “By heaven, that sounds good to me, Wes! What did your boss say?”

  “Said I might not have a job when I get back,” Wesley answered with a crooked smile.

  Zach laughed. “Don’t worry about that, boy. You take care of this girl here, and find Betsy, and we’ll see that you got plenty of lawyerin’ to do!” He rolled over to his desk, opened the drawer, and took out a worn gun belt. He lifted the .44 from the holster, hefted it, then shoved it back. Handing the weapon to Wesley, he said, “You’ll probably need this.”

  Wesley disliked guns. He was a man of peace and opposed violence in any form. He looked down at the gun, started to hand it back, then decided it would hurt the old man’s feelings. I’ll take it, but I’ll never use it, he thought.

  Zach said, “Now, let’s talk about this trip. How much is it going to cost?”

  They discussed finances for a time and made arrangements for cash to take with them for expenses and emergencies. As the final preparations were made and the last details taken care of, Wesley was his usual methodical self. Lanie seemed a bit nonplused, but Zach was grateful that his daughter would have a man along. He had not missed the expression on Stone’s face when he’d taken the gun. He’ll have to change when he gets in the Nations, Zach thought.

  At 8:15 the next morning, Lanie and Wesley pulled out on the train headed for Fort Smith, Arkansas. The family had said their goodbyes at home, so no one had come to see them off. As the train chuffed loudly, its locomotive driving wheels pulling the big engine along, sending it out of the station in an increasing speed, Lanie looked out the window and said in a low voice, “I hope we find her, Wesley. It’s killing my folks.”

  “It’s hard on all of us, Lanie. We’ll do the best we can.” He knew that Lanie was not a deep-rooted Christian. Her religion had always seemed to be a fashionable thing, like her dresses—always the latest style, perfectly designed for public view. The trauma that had torn apart the lives of the Winslow family could not be fixed by the expensive, tasteful stained-glass windows of First Church, or the trained choir, or a theologically sound message from the fancy walnut pulpit.

  Wesley cast a sideways glance at Lanie’s profile. As tragic as this trip is, if Lanie learns a little bit about what real life is like, where faith is tested, that may be good for her.

  ****

  The trip from Chicago to Fort Smith brought Lanie into close contact with the harsh realities of life. Accustomed to the comfort of short train rides on palatial coaches in Chicago, she was not prepared—any more than Wesley—for the crudeness of the narrow-gauge passenger train that wound around mountains until it reached the city of Fort Smith.

  As they stepped off the coach into the bright sunlight, Lanie looked up at her companion and groaned. “We look like coal miners, Wesley! I tried to get clean in that washroom, but all I did was smear the dust and soot!”

  “Yes, it’s been pretty rough,” Stone agreed. He rubbed his aching back. “I won’t mind sleeping in a bed tonight. Sitting upright in a hard seat for two nights running is little better than some of the medieval tortures I’ve read about that they used at the Inquisition!” There had been no sleeping coaches available on the last leg of the journey. Two nights in the dingy, tobacco-smelling smoking car had drained both of them of their vitality.

  “I expect we better find a hotel first; then we’ll see what we can do,” Lanie said. She looked around expectantly and spotted a man in a carriage, evidently waiting for passengers. “Come on,” she urged, “let’s see if that man will take us to the hotel.”

  It proved to be simple enough. The driver collected their baggage, loaded them in the back of the buggy, and climbed back up onto the driver’s seat. A garrulous man, he informed them that his name was Shaughnessy O’Quinn and that he had been born in Ireland. Waving his whip expansively, he asked, “This your first trip to Fort Smith?” Seeing their affirmative nods, he continued. “Well, it’s a right nice town we have here. We’ve a paved street—down Garrison Avenue here—and we have streetlights, and two newspapers.”

  As he proceeded along Garrison Avenue—the main street that led from the rail yards—he added, “Ten years ago, you wouldn’t have seen none of that. No paved streets, no sidewalks, no decent hotels. What we did have was thirty saloons, which did a thrivin’ business what with the steamboats and the railroad men. Lots of cowboys coming by from the Texas drives. Was about the wildest place you’d be wantin’ to see.”

  “It still looks pretty wild to me,” Wesley remarked to Lanie quietly. “Look at how many of these men are carrying guns.”

  Lanie’s eyes followed his nod and saw that at least half of the roughly dressed men sauntering along the avenue were armed.

  “Here we are, folks!” O’Quinn announced proudly. “The Main Hotel! Real fine place!” He jumped out and began carrying luggage in. After paying the fare, Stone helped Lanie to the ground, and they walked into the lobby of the hotel. With surprise and delight they saw that it was actually clean and new.

  “We’ll have two rooms, if you have them,” Stone said to the clerk, a thin, mousy-looking man with an imposing set of front teeth and a head of flaming red hair parted precisely in the middle.

  “Sign right here,” he directed. He watched as they signed, then gave them two keys. “102 and 104,” he said, winking, “right next to each other.”

  Stone flushed at the innuendo, grabbed the keys, and turned to lead the way to the stairs. “That fellow has a wicked imagination,” he muttered resentfully. Lanie made no comment.

  They found their rooms and distributed the luggage. “Why don’t you get washed up,” Wesley suggested, “then lie down for a nap. And I’ll do the same.” He put one hand to his back and stretched painfully. “I feel as if I’ve been beaten with a hoe handle.”

  “I don’t know,” Lanie replied wearily. “I’d really like to get started right away, but it’s tired to the bone I am. Maybe you’re right.”

  It was almost three in the afternoon, and Wesley insisted, “Let’s get some rest, and tonight we’ll go out and get something to eat. Then tomorrow we’ll get a fresh start at it.” He fiddled with the large watch he had pulled out of his vest pocket and said with concern, “It’s a different world here, Lanie. Both of us are aliens. I’ve got a gun, but don’t want to use it. Wouldn’t know how.”

  Lanie’s lips tightened, and the determined look he was so familiar with leaped onto her face. “We’ll find her, and we’ll get her home again, too, Wesley.”

  They went to their rooms, washed, then lay down for a nap. When Lanie awoke, it was pitch dark outside, and she fumbled for the tiny watch she wore pinned to her blouse. It was eight o’clock. Exclaiming with dismay, she got up and started dressing. A knock sounded on her door. Stone stood there with a sheepish look on his face. “I guess I was more tired than I thought,” he said.

  “So was I.” They smiled, both realizing how much the trip had already taken out of them.

  They found that the hotel had a dining hall. Soon their orders were taken and while they were waiting for the meal, they discussed what they should do next. In reality, neither of them had much of a plan. After some vague and fruitless discussion, Lanie said resignedly, “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what the judge says. You know, Mr. Lowery said Judge Parker has nearly two hundred marshals. Surely one of them ought to be able to help us.”

  They finished their meal and decided to go for a walk. In spite of the vaunted streetlights, there were menacing dark places along the street
; and the crowds roaming the city were so rambunctious that Stone cut the walk short and escorted Lanie back to her room.

  “Tomorrow,” he said confidently, “we’ll find out what to do.” They were standing in front of her door, and Wesley wanted to kiss her but couldn’t gather his courage. This statuesque, self-assured girl intimidated Wesley Stone. He had come from a poor background, and, to him, she was a rich girl, sought by many of the wealthy young men of Chicago. He knew he was facing a long, hard fight to get to the top of his profession; therefore he had never spoken of marriage to her. Now he said tentatively, “I wish we had some of your people here—that you’re always talking about.”

  “Oh,” Lanie said with a slight smile, “you mean like Thomas Winslow, the gunfighter? Yes, I expect he’d be much more useful than either one of us.” She saw his face change and quickly put her hand on his arm. “Oh, Wesley, I don’t mean to make light of you. But after all, you said yourself that we don’t know this world.” She withdrew her hand and straightened up to her full height. “But I will before I’m through! Good-night, Wes.”

  Lanie closed the door behind her and prepared for bed, determined that the next day they would make a start toward finding Betsy. Lanie had no idea what Betsy would do if they did find her. They couldn’t force her to return, Lanie knew. “But when we find her,” she said resolutely into the darkness, “we’ll figure out how to get her home.”

  The next morning Lanie rose early, washed thoroughly, and dressed in one of the two extra dresses she had brought, a simple pearl-gray taffeta. She knew that it was much too fancy for this part of the world. It was, however, by far the simplest dress she had, so she finished dressing and went to meet Stone. After a hurried breakfast, she said, “I want to try to see the judge before court opens.”