But then Vic smiled—a cruel smile, to be sure—and said, “I didn’t know you were a ladies’ man, Lobo. Come on in, both of you.” He led the way into the cabin, adding, “Maybe I can give you some lessons. I’ve got a woman of my own now.”
Inside, Betsy had come to the window, which was open to admit fresh air. Her heart had almost stopped when she saw Lanie. For several moments her mind reeled and somersaulted as she tried to impose some mental order. Then she heard Lobo’s introduction—not Lanie’s name—and quickly she grasped what was going on. She’s here to get me, she thought exultantly, and that man with her, he’s in on it! Resolutely she calmed herself and thought with heightened perception, I’ll have to be careful! Real careful!
When the men trooped back into the room, accompanied by Lanie, Betsy was standing calmly and expressionlessly, as usual. “This is my lady friend, Betsy Winslow,” Vic said. “Betsy, show a little hospitality. We have company for lunch.”
Without so much as a glance at her sister, Betsy began putting clean plates on the table. Her heart was racing, but she was determined to show no emotion whatsoever, and her hands remained steady, her face composed.
Lanie felt overwhelming relief when Betsy did not respond to her. Thank God, she thought fervently. If she had given us away, all of us would be dead.
She and Lobo had meticulously planned how to get into the outlaws’ hideout. Lobo had said, “You know, we can plan all we want to, Lanie. But after we get there, there’ll be other players, and we sure can’t plan them! So we’ll just have to play it close to the vest.” His words were cautious, but he smiled at her with encouragement. “We don’t know what we’ll find, you see. The chance to get Betsy away may not come for a while—probably won’t. They’ll be watching us like hawks. Vic is sharp, crafty as any wolf you ever saw. He’ll have to be convinced before we have any chance at all.”
Now, as Betsy set the table, Lobo took Lanie’s arm and ordered her roughly, “Sit down and eat. I’m tired of your snippy ways. Eat!” He looked across the room at Vic Perrago and shrugged. “She’s been nothin’ but a nuisance ever since I left with her.”
Perrago’s eyes narrowed, and he furtively glanced at Buckley Ogg. The fat man’s muddy eyes held the same suspicions as Perrago’s. “You two on a honeymoon?” Perrago asked caustically. “Might say that,” Lobo replied and began shoveling food into his mouth. He grinned at Lanie roguishly, then looked back at Vic. “She’s not used to the idea yet, but she’ll be fine when she is.” At Lobo’s sharp command, Lanie began to eat. She wanted desperately to look at Betsy, but knew that she simply must not, and kept her eyes riveted on her plate. When they were through, Perrago said mockingly, “Well, this isn’t exactly a hotel for honeymooners, Lobo. Was you thinkin’ to stay the night?”
Lobo leaned back, rolled a cigarette slowly, struck a match on his thumbnail and lit it. He watched the smoke rise in the air; his hand was so steady that the thin blue wisp rose as straight as a ruler to the ceiling, and Lobo nodded with sleepy satisfaction. “Thought we might, Vic.” Idly looking down at the back of one hand, he went on in an offhanded tone. “Got a little business deal you might be interested in.”
The hairs on the back of Perrago’s neck stood on end and his voice sharpened perceptibly. “Business deal? What business deal?” Lobo let his eyes run around the room, then said easily, “Aw, let it rest for a while. You and me’ll have a private talk later.”
Perrago did not argue the point, even though Buckley Ogg’s bland face momentarily tightened. Vic ignored him and matched Lobo’s nonchalant tone. “Yeah. I’m always interested in business.” He nodded sharply toward Bob Pratt. “Pratt, you and Jack are gonna have to move out of your bedroom—for our honeymooners here.”
Pratt grinned and Masterson scowled. “C’mon, Jack!” Bob said, “let’s go make some room for these two lovebirds!” They went through a door in the hall and shortly came out dragging their various possessions. Bob volunteered, “We’ll sleep out in the shack tonight.”
They disappeared and Vic said, “Betsy! Take our guests down to their room and make ’em comfortable!” He stared hard at Lanie as he spoke, noting the girl’s cheeks growing pale. Something about this woman interested him, and he kept his gaze fixed on her so steadily that Lanie became nervous, although she did not show it, keeping her eyes down and saying nothing.
Betsy moved next to Lanie and said, “This way, and if you like, I’ll help you get settled down.”
Lanie got up and followed her down the hall. As they passed through the door into Lanie and Lobo’s room, Betsy said loudly, “The room’s a mess, but you and I should be able to get it cleaned up pretty quick.” She stepped inside, followed by Lanie, and they closed the door. At once they fell into each other’s arms, saying nothing but clinging desperately to each other.
“Oh, Lanie—” Betsy whispered softly. “I’m so glad you came!” She looked fearfully at the door and murmured, “We’ve only got a minute. Be careful! I know you came to take me away, but they’ll kill us in a minute if they get suspicious!”
Lanie looked at Betsy and whispered, “Oh, I’m so glad to see you, Betsy! I’ve been so worried!”
Betsy dropped her eyes and turned away. She walked to the window and stared out. Her back was stiff and there was a set to her head that told her sister that she was ashamed. Betsy said, “I—I’m not the same as I was when I left. I’m so—I’m so—” She broke down crying, dropped her head, and her shoulders began to shake.
Lanie rushed to her, not allowing her footsteps to make a sound. “Don’t do that, don’t cry! It’ll be all right, Betsy!”
“I’ll never be the same again!”
“God can take care of it,” Lanie assured her. “We’ll get you home, and you’ll be all right, Betsy. It’ll be like it was before.”
“No,” Betsy sobbed, “it’ll never be like it was before.” She turned to Lanie and her fine eyes glistened with tears. She pulled a handkerchief out, wiped her face, and whispered fiercely, “Be careful. I’d die if anything happened to you!” She paused, catching her breath, and continued. “And who’s that man with you?”
“Lobo Smith.”
“Is he an outlaw? Vic knew him. And that’s the only kind of man Vic knows.”
“N-no, he’s a good man, Betsy. He’s been a little wild, I guess, but now he’s risking his life to get us out of here.” Betsy, searching her sister’s face, nodded, and Lanie went on, “Dad’s in Fort Smith, waiting. With Tom. And Wes is there, too. Don’t worry! It’s going to be all right!” Then they started moving around the cluttered room, making loud cleaning noises.
In the other room, Perrago was listening to Lobo as he talked. “Haven’t seen you lately, Vic. But I heard about that train job you did over on the Arkansas Valley. Musta cleaned up on that.”
Vic glanced over at Mateo Río and Buckley Ogg. Río had ridden him hard after the robbery because of the scanty take. Now Río said, “No, Lobo, we didn’t get rich on that one. They musta heard we were coming.”
His words stung Perrago. “I can’t guarantee what a train’s carrying,” he snarled. He was sensitive over the failure and glared at Mateo. But Río was a tough man and stared right back at him, his black eyes expressionless.
Lobo lounged in his chair, amusing himself by blowing smoke toward the ceiling and watching it curl upward. He looked slack and lazy, but his mind was racing madly. Got to play this right, he said sternly to himself. Make one mistake and we’re all dead. He blew out a long smoke feather. Perrago—he’s the key to the whole thing!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Way of a Woman
Angela Montoya pulled her horse up and stared out across the shadows that were closing over the land. The brilliant afternoon sunlight had faded, and now shadows rested on the eaves of the house, and the dusty road took on soft silver shadings. Evening’s peace magnified the distant sound of the coyote’s mournful howl, and for a moment she sat on her horse wishing she did not have to go d
own. All day she had ridden aimlessly through the wasteland, glad for the solitude of the open, rolling land.
With a sigh she touched her horse and murmured, “Come along, Lady.” At the command, the mare immediately stepped out briskly toward the house. Angela was tired from her day-long ride, but physical weariness was what she had sought—maybe she would sleep tonight. As she rode in she saw two strange horses loose in the corral and wondered if they had visitors, or if one of the men had mysteriously “procured” the horses.
Riding straight to the stable, she dismounted and stripped the saddle off. She gave the mare a quick rubdown, grained her, and then turned her out into the corral. “Good girl,” Angela murmured affectionately, slapping the animal’s muscular flank. The mare pranced around the corral after answering with a lively whinny.
“You’re the best friend I have in the world, Lady,” Angela said. Her full and rounded lips drew tight as the forlorn words hauntingly echoed and died. Not a very good world where the best friend a woman has is a horse! she thought wearily. Abruptly she turned toward the house, refusing to let her mind entertain something that could never be.
Stepping up on the porch, her sensitive ears picked up the clatter of dishes and the muted tones of men talking, and she knew she had come back at suppertime. She stepped inside the door, took one look in the room, and then halted. Angela Montoya was not a woman subject to frailties or weaknesses—but the sight of the man sitting on one side of the table with the black patch over his left eye unnerved her.
“Hullo, Angela,” Lobo said. “You’re looking well.”
Lanie recognized the woman as the one who had been with the gang since Woman Killer’s first sighting of the cabin. But she was totally unprepared for the cool beauty of Angela Montoya. She had the black hair, black eyes, and olive complexion of the Spanish race—all strong and fine features. Her figure was striking and lush. Angela Montoya was a woman men would be drawn to. But what caused Lanie to stare at her was the single fleeting expression that crossed the woman’s face as she stared at Lobo—that, and something odd about Lobo Smith’s tone as he spoke to her.
There’s something between them, Lanie thought instantly. Her eyes flashed to Lobo; but no emotion showed on his face, just the same lazy expression as usual. He nodded, adding, “You’re looking better than ever.”
“What are you doing here?” Angela asked harshly. She walked closer, took off her hat, and tossed it onto a chair, then came to stand by the table. Her eyes scrutinized Lanie, making her feel as if she were being stripped raw.
Angela’s back was to Vic Perrago, her eyes still riveted on Lobo. “What are these two doing here, Vic?” she demanded.
“Dropped in to talk a little business,” he said casually. “On their honeymoon trip, I understand.” A grin crossed his lips, and he looked devilishly handsome as he sat there, his hazel eyes bright. Vic wore fancy clothes, despite the crudeness of his surroundings. Something in him evidently demanded the finery he wore.
Then Perrago’s expression changed as he addressed Angela Montoya again. “You’re not being very friendly toward our guests, Angela. You and Lobo go back a long time, don’t you?”
There was a barb in the question, and Angela turned to cast a poisonous stare on Vic. Then she walked over to the coffeepot, poured herself a cup, and came back to sit at the table. “What sort of business?” she asked, her sultry gaze again locked with Lobo’s eye.
Lobo shifted, then leaned forward and rested his hands on the table, loosely clasped. “Guess I’d better talk it over with Vic first,” he said idly.
“You will talk it over with all of us!” Angela snapped. “If it’s business, the rest of us will be in on it.” Antagonism edged her voice and sharpened her face, and Lobo felt the heat of it. He had known this woman for a long time. Angela had dangerous mood shifts; sometimes she was as sweet and tender as a summer breeze, and other times her temper slashed out as fast as lightning and as sharp as a wolf’s fang.
Lobo shrugged. “All right with me. How ’bout you, Vic? You don’t have any secrets from anybody?”
“Just say what you got on your mind,” Vic said, irritated. Somehow the presence of Angela Montoya had made him apprehensive, and he shot out a challenge to Lobo. “Last I heard, Parker was trying to get you to be one of his marshals! For all I know, you might be wearing a badge under that vest.”
Lobo reached up and pulled his vest away from his shirt, grinning at Vic. “No badge,” he said cheerfully. “But if Parker wants me to work for him, that shows you what a good cover I have, doesn’t it?” He glanced around the circle, gauging the faces of the gang. His own grew serious. “I’ve got a job coming on, Vic. But I’m not sure your bunch is able to handle it. Down a few men, aren’t you? Where’s Honey?”
“Dead,” Perrago said shortly. “We’re able to handle any job you come up with, Lobo. What is it? Spit it out!”
“All right,” Lobo nodded. “Here it is. Miss Irene here has a very important father. Mr. Ralph Johnson. Now, Mr. Johnson works for the express company over in Durango.”
Every member of the gang grew alert. They were aware that the Western Express handled large amounts of gold and silver. There were no mines where the offices were located, which always seemed strange, but they received shipments of gold and silver coins from the Treasury in Washington and transported it over the central parts of the country.
Buckley Ogg’s muddy eyes began to glow as he pulled his massive bulk up straighter. “Western Express? Not planning on holding that place up, I hope. They’ve got enough guards to furnish an army!”
Lobo grinned at Ogg. “No, Buck, nothing like that. What I’ve got in mind is helping the ‘transport’ end of things.”
Every man in the room—as well as every other outlaw—had thought of that. Vic said impatiently, “You know every train robber in the country’s tried that, Smith. But they’re clever. They ship out empty boxes this day, boxes loaded with rocks that day, and any day they might or might not ship out the real stuff. Anything to throw us off. Nobody ever knows what, or when.”
Lobo leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through the dark hair falling over his forehead. He looked over at Lanie and said softly, “That’s right, Vic. We don’t ever know—but Irene’s father knows, don’t he, sweetheart?” He let the silent tension build up in the room and then added indolently, “Your dad’s in charge of the shipping, isn’t he, Irene? He always knows.”
An electrifying current shot around the room. Bob Pratt spoke up with excitement, “Why, if we knew which train to hit—we’d all be rich!”
“Shut up, Bob!” Perrago snapped. He leaned forward, his yellow hair gleaming in the lamplight, and stared at Lobo. He was silent for a moment, then turned his eyes on Lanie. “That right, Miss Johnson? Your father works for Western Express?”
Lanie swallowed, blinked, and nodded. “But he’ll never tell you. Men have tried to get at him before. You wouldn’t believe how much money he’s been offered just to tell those things!”
Lobo grinned broadly, his eye gleaming in the lamplight. “But then, they didn’t have his only daughter, held in Indian Territory, away from the law. Did they, honey?” he said menacingly.
“He’ll see you hanged!” Lanie muttered, glaring at Lobo. “You won’t get away with this!”
An excited babble rippled through the room. Grat Duvall and Bob Pratt talked excitedly. Masterson and Río, quieter men, and more deadly than Duvall and Pratt, were talking in subdued tones to each other. Lanie watched them. Each one was visibly excited, and she knew with a sense of exaltation that her idea had been good! It’s going to work, she thought triumphantly. They’re going for the bait!
Suddenly Angela’s rich voice commanded the attention of the room. “And how do we know all this is true?” Her dark eyes were a feline glow in the lantern light, reflecting its yellow flame. Coolly she stared at Lobo and Lanie. “These two come out of nowhere and have this big scheme,” she said disdainfully, “and I do
n’t believe a word of it!”
Perrago gave Angela a thoughtful glance. She was a smart woman, he knew. “You may be right.” He turned back to Lobo. “You’ve never done anything like this before, Lobo. You may have done a little holdup work, but you’ve always been a lone wolf.”
“And what have I got to show for it?” Lobo shrugged. “A horse, a gun, and a blanket.” Every eye in the room locked on him, and he felt the tension. This was the moment in which they would stand or fall. His voice grew rock-hard as he said to Vic, “I’m not proposing to join you, Perrago.” Looking around scornfully he went on, “I don’t want to live in a shack out in the desert somewhere, running from Parker’s marshals! Not me! I’m gonna do one job, make a pile, and buy a ranch somewhere. Somewhere out of this forsaken territory!”
There was a loaded silence in the room. Lobo banged his cup down on the table and told the group curtly, “But I can see you’re more interested in listening to Angela than anything I’ve got to say.” He rolled to his feet and said, “C’mon, honey, let’s get a little sleep. Tomorrow we’re gonna pull outta here and find us a bunch with some backbone.”
Lanie got up and went down the hall, followed by Lobo. As soon as they stepped inside the room, he shut the door and leaned back against it. His forehead was gleaming with perspiration. It was hot in the room—hot in the whole house. Grinning at her crookedly he said, “I never would make an actor! What do you think?”
“I think they believed you. All except for the woman.” She watched his face as she mentioned Angela, but Lobo’s expression didn’t change. Lanie thought about the woman’s strange attitude. “She hates you, Lobo! You—you two were pretty close once, weren’t you?”
The Gallant Outlaw Page 21
