“The deal’s on,” she said. “We have to take a letter from the woman.” She glanced at Lanie, who was backed up against a wall. She had remained completely silent since Stone had been brought in. At the sight of him, her heart had sunk. Now everything was even more complicated.
Perrago furrowed his brow and came to a decision. “All right. Let’s kill two birds with one stone. You’ll take that letter in from the woman tomorrow. But we’re not going to let this joker go back—you can write a letter, too, tenderfoot,” he nodded to Stone. “You’re going to let Winslow know how much he’s got to come up with for his daughter, and where he needs to put it. And we’ll just hang on to you for a little extra—uh, surety, we’ll say.”
This is getting out of hand, Lobo thought apprehensively but didn’t say anything. Then another thought eased his nerves: The more Vic has to keep up with, the better chance we have of getting away with it.
Later that night, when Lobo and Lanie were in their room alone, Lobo told her about the message and the instructions. She listened anxiously and asked, “Now what do you think?”
Lobo knew she was worried about the complications Wesley’s presence had brought. He said reassuringly, “I think we can pull it off. We’ve just gotta work it so that the ransom helps to keep things moving. Keep Perrago thinkin’ about that, and he won’t have his mind so much on me and on this train robbery. That way, we’ll have a good chance to trip him up.”
They both sat silently for a while; then Lanie said abruptly, “Did you have a good ride with Angela?” Once the words escaped her lips, she was embarrassed she’d asked.
“Why—yeah, I guess,” he said, caught off guard. “Pretty long ride.”
Lanie’s body tensed, her face grew stiff and cold. “Bet you didn’t mind,” she muttered, then stalked across the room to stare out the window. “I suppose you’re taking her back tomorrow.”
“I guess they’ll send her with me.” He was puzzled, wary of the underlying messages Lanie left unspoken, but he didn’t understand why she was upset. Lanie glanced sharply at him over her shoulder but said nothing else.
They turned out the lights and Lanie finally lay on the bed, Lobo on his pallet on the floor. He wondered about her attitude, why she had turned on him so suddenly, but his questions remained unanswered as sleep overtook him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A New Kind of Feeling
Two days had passed since Perrago had captured Stone, but the atmosphere inside the cabin still remained charged. There was an ominous silence, almost a breathless quality in the air; but it was as deceptive as the peaceful weather before a tornado that could be broken at any moment by the screaming violence of a twister.
The strain made Betsy feel uneasy, so she took some clothes down to the creek that ran close to the house, and was scrubbing them energetically on a washboard perched inside her washtub when Stone approached her. Both of them were acutely aware that Jack Masterson sat on the front porch, his rifle across his knees, his dark eyes never wavering from them.
Betsy picked up a bar of lye soap, grabbed a shirt, and began to rub it briskly across the washboard with the soap, lathering it up with frolicky soap bubbles. As she worked she said quietly, “I’m sorry you came, Wes.”
He looked at her with surprise. The deep cut over his right eyebrow was crusted over now, but was still swollen and discolored, an unpleasant mixture of yellow and purple. It appeared he would have an angry red scar there; it should have been sewn up, but there was no one there with the skill or the materials to do it.
“I had to come,” he said finally, picking up a stick where he had sat down under the cottonwood trees. “I just couldn’t sit around Fort Smith, waiting for something to happen.”
“I know you’re worried about Lanie,” she said evenly.
Stone eyed her carefully as she spoke. Betsy was wearing a simple brown dress that billowed slightly in the hot breeze. Her gaze was averted as she carefully scrubbed, and Wes thought of the times he had spent with this young girl. “I really don’t think it was Lanie I was so worried about,” he said simply. She stopped scrubbing and looked up in surprise, and he shrugged. Twirling the stick in his hand he said, “She has Lobo with her, and I think he’s well able to take care of anyone. It was you I was thinking about.” Still Betsy didn’t move, she merely stood there with the same look of surprise. He grinned. “I guess you’re kind of like my kid sister, Betsy. We’ve spent a lot of time together.”
Those times seemed far and distant now, back when she was—different. “Yes, we did have fun times,” she said softly, and sighed. Then she smiled up at him and began her businesslike scrubbing again. “I was always glad when Lanie wouldn’t go with you, ’cause I knew then that I’d have you to myself.”
“You are a designing female!” Wesley declared, grinning at her.
Betsy bit her lip and ducked her head to hide her face. It seemed to Wesley that she scrubbed with unnecessary violence. It was early in the morning and the desert was already beginning to simmer. Stone realized he had said something that bothered her, but thinking over his words, he could not understand what it was. He studied her, wondering what she was thinking. Wesley had been surprised—even amazed—at the depth of his emotions when Perrago had taken her, and still he could not quite define his feelings toward Betsy.
He picked up a stone and threw it in the creek. He was restless, but there was nothing to do but wait. Lanie stayed in the house under the watchful eye of one of the men. Lobo and Angela had ridden out quite early that morning. Last night Lobo had made enough casual comments in his presence so that Stone understood exactly what they were doing. To cheer Betsy up he said idly, “We’ll be out of here soon and you’ll be home again.”
“I’m not going home.”
Stone’s head jerked sharply as he turned to look at Betsy’s face. “What do you mean, you’re not going home?”
The hot, dry wind blew harder, and Betsy’s hair lifted around her face. She reached up and impatiently shoved a lock back. Looking very young and vulnerable, she turned to Wesley and murmured, “I can never go home.” Her soft lips trembled.
Wesley knew Betsy well, and he understood that she was afraid—and ashamed. Ordinarily Stone was good with words, concise and articulate. But he had no idea how to speak comfort to this young woman he was so fond of. Carefully he said, “Of course you’re going home, Betsy! Where else would you go? Your parents are worried sick about you.”
Betsy did not answer for a time. Then she looked at him and tears shimmered in her eyes. “You know why I can’t go back, Wesley,” she said sadly. “You’ve always known what I was thinking.”
“Because of Perrago?”
“Yes.” The single word was hard as granite, and Wesley saw that, in Betsy’s mind, she was condemned and guilty. He longed to console her. I’ll have to be very gentle, he thought as he watched her. “Betsy, I know it seems bad right now,” he said softly, “but I promise that time will help. You don’t see that now, I know, but it always does.” Betsy ducked her head again and stood motionless.
Wesley knew the whole story; how Perrago had deceived her and then pretended to marry her. Stone spoke firmly. “Your heart was right, Betsy. Your actions were impetuous and careless—but the outcome of it wasn’t your fault. God’s not going to hold you accountable for Vic Perrago’s sin.”
“I hold myself accountable,” she said, almost inaudibly. “I’m—ruined, Wesley, and you know it. No man will ever want me now!”
“Why—why—that’s crazy, Betsy!” He jumped to his feet and took a step closer to her. Her humiliation and shame ran much deeper than he had thought. “No man is going to hold this against you, Betsy!”
Betsy did not answer; slowly she began scrubbing the clothes again. Stone moved closer and put his hand on her shoulder and she turned her eyes up to meet his gaze. “No one who knows you, Betsy,” he said passionately, “would ever think that you’re anything but a sweet girl! Impulsive and rash sometim
es—but good!”
Betsy blinked back tears. She murmured, “Thank you, Wes. That’s like you!”
He knew he had not convinced her, and he sighed deeply. There’s time, he told himself firmly. Just need to get her out of this place, and she’ll be all right. We’ll get her back home. I’m not going to let her brood on all this. Lightly Wesley squeezed her shoulder and returned to sit back down under the tree.
He stayed with her until she finished the washing and they returned to the cabin. When they passed close to Masterson he drawled, “I was kinda hopin’ you’d make a break for it, Mr. Lawyer. Lookin’ forward to blowin’ the top of your head off.” His voice was light and mocking, which made his words even more chilling, his face wreathed in unbridled cruelty. There was no doubt in Wesley’s mind that the outlaw would do exactly as he said. Neither he nor Betsy answered. Betsy went into the house, and Wesley sat down on the porch by the open door of the cabin, staring out across the hills.
Wesley had no opportunity to speak to Betsy alone again, and he was afraid to even look at Lanie. He wasn’t supposed to know her, of course, or be at all concerned with what she was doing there. These outlaws were crafty and watchful; and Wesley knew that an unguarded word or even a look might tip them off.
Perrago and Grat Duvall had ridden off earlier in the day. At noon Wesley, still sitting on the porch, saw them ride in. Their horses were lathered, and both men were covered with the gray dust of the trail. Looking up, Perrago said brusquely, “Here, you. Take these horses and unsaddle ’em. Rub ’em down and give ’em a little water—not too much—and grain.”
“All right.” Wesley took the reins of the two weary horses and led them into the barn. He stripped the saddles off warily; he didn’t know much about horses and was slightly afraid of these two. They seemed like half-wild, rowdy mustangs to him. But he managed to carry out Perrago’s instructions without too much fumbling. Turning the two animals loose into the corral, he went back to the cabin.
As Wesley arrived he saw Vic Perrago looming over Betsy, cursing her in a slow, steady tone. Clutching her arm in a cruel grip, he started dragging her through the kitchen toward the hall—and the bedrooms. Betsy was furiously fighting him. Vic’s hand shot out and he struck Betsy across the cheek, sounding a loud crack in the room. Betsy stumbled and fell headlong against a cabinet.
Without thinking, Wesley threw himself at Vic Perrago and caught him high on the cheekbone with a wild blow. Perrago staggered back; then instantly grabbed his gun. Buckley Ogg yelled, “Don’t kill him, Vic!”
Murderous anger flashed in Perrago’s eyes. For one moment, as Wesley stared into the black hole of the gun, he was certain that he was a dead man. Suddenly Perrago shoved the gun back into his holster and in a liquid movement brought his hand back up to land a stunning blow to Stone’s face. Vic’s rocklike fist caught Wesley square on the mouth. Instant pain darkened Wesley’s mind and he reeled backward, half conscious, doubled over, and fell. As he hit the floor, a boot landed dead center over his kidney, sending a searing bolt of pain through him unlike anything Wesley had ever known. He tried to rise, desperately trying to shield himself from the rain of blows, but again and again Perrago’s blows and kicks threw him to the floor.
“That’s enough, Vic!” Ogg yelled, stepping between them. “We’ve got to use him, and he ain’t gonna be worth a dime if you don’t stop it.”
Perrago’s handsome features had twisted into those of an almost unrecognizable monster of rage, so consumed with fury and frenzy that he had lost all sense of reason. No man crossed Vic Perrago, and being struck by a rawboned, tenderfoot lawyer had unveiled all the black malice that lay beneath the well-groomed surface. His face was pale and sweaty, his lips drawn back in a wolfish grimace.
His voice came in rasps as he finally drew in a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes focused on Stone, a motionless form at his feet. “Don’t open your mouth, you hear me! Not ever again, or I’ll kill you!” He turned on his heel and stalked out of the house.
“You women, help me clean him up,” Ogg muttered as he bent over Wesley. Masterson had come in to watch with vicious amusement, and Grat Duvall also stood close by, showing no emotion whatsoever. Mateo Río watched with ill-disguised enjoyment. But none of them offered to help Buckley as he struggled to get the battered man over to a bunk under the window of the main room.
Carefully Ogg laid him down and said, “Betsy, do the best you can for him, and you, too, Irene. Hope he ain’t got no ribs busted.” Quickly Lanie and Betsy began ministering to the still figure.
Though Wesley had taken a terrible beating, he was still conscious, so Betsy gently touched his ribs, asking, “Does that hurt? This?” They were relieved to find that most of the damage had been done to the flesh, that no bones seemed to be broken. Wesley had some contusions and was going to have some nasty bruises; already his face was swollen.
In a low voice, Lanie said to Betsy, “Go get some hot water. Let’s get these cuts washed out before they close up.”
All the next day, Stone lay there weakly, his entire body racked with pain. Of course, there was nothing but whiskey to give him to ease the pain. Finally all the men except Buckley Ogg left. While Wesley slept Betsy sat beside him. When his eyes opened she leaned over and brushed his hair back from his eyes. “Be still,” she whispered. “Don’t move.” Her hand felt soft and cool on his forehead. “Why did you do this, Wes?” she asked with great distress. “Vic might have killed you!”
“I—I couldn’t stand it when he hit you, Betsy,” he said through thick, swollen lips. “I’ve never wanted to use a gun before, but I would’ve killed him if I’d had one!”
Betsy was touched by his kind words. Somehow it made her proud that, despite what she had become, this man had been willing to risk injury, or even death, for her. She rested her hand on his feverish forehead, then leaned over and kissed his cheek softly. “Thank you, Wes,” she whispered, “but you must never do it again.”
He looked up at her, a stubborn glint in his swollen slitted eyes and through thick lips said, “I’ll do it again—if he hits you again.”
****
Vic Perrago was pacing impatiently when Lobo and Angela rode in, just after eight that evening. Before they were even dismounted he snapped, “Well? What have you got?”
“Looks good,” Lobo said. He handed Perrago the paper that Woman Killer had left in the bottle.
Perrago took it, held it up to the light that streamed out of the cabin window, and squinted. “ ‘Shipment on three-thirty headed south out of Seligman,’ ” he read aloud, “ ‘No guards.’ ” He lowered the message and glared at Lobo. “I don’t know that route.”
“I do,” Lobo said cheerfully.
Perrago rasped, “Well, come on in. We gotta plan this.”
They walked inside and their eyes fell on Wesley sitting in a chair, his face puffy, his eyes dark with pain. Lobo said nothing, but threw a furtive glance at Betsy. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly.
“You women get outta here,” Perrago snarled. He had been like a bad-tempered dog all day after the incident with Wesley, grunting and snarling at everyone. He sat down at the table, glancing balefully at Wesley and added, “And take this lawyer with you.”
When they were gone, Vic tossed the note to Ogg, who read it and looked up at Lobo. “This all?”
Lobo shrugged. “What else do you want? We know when and where to get the money—the three-thirty just outside of Eureka Springs.”
“That’s just a little feeder line,” Ogg frowned. “We never bothered with it. Never operated anywhere around that territory before.”
Lobo pushed his hat back and leaned over, putting his forearms on the table. “I know the territory. There’s a spot on that line that looks like they mighta built it just for holding up trains.”
“Show me.” Ogg’s words were noncommittal, and he handed Lobo a piece of paper and a pencil from a pocket inside his massive vest.
Lobo sketched quickly, expl
aining, “After the line comes through Seligman, it has to come down and make connections with the AV Railroad. Then it’ll turn east. Don’t know why they got so much shipment this time, but Johnson’s being straight. He knows his daughter won’t live long if it ain’t right.”
“So where do we hit it?” Perrago demanded. “We gotta go check out the spot.” He despised being in the hands of another man—especially an unknown quantity like Lobo.
“No time for that,” Ogg complained. “If we hit it, we’re just gonna have time to get there.”
“What’ll we do with these two women? And the lawyer?” Mateo Río demanded. “We can’t leave ’em here! Soon’s we’re out of sight, they’ll be kickin’ up dust back to Fort Smith. Reckon we’d have a welcome home party waitin’ for us when we get back.”
Lobo shook his head. “We take ’em with us.” He drew a quick map, saying, “Here’s the Frisco, where it comes out of Seligman. Here’s Fort Smith, where it turns to take the AV to the east. Right here, at the foothills of the Bostons, the line has to go between two steep hills. And it goes between ’em after the tracks make a sharp turn.” He looked up and grinned. “That means the train’s gotta slow down to no more than ten miles an hour to make that turn—or it’ll jump the track. And it means they can’t see a thing in front of ’em ’til they’re right between those hills.”
Immediately Perrago saw the layout in his mind. “So when it slows down and goes between these two hills, we hit it?”
“That’s it,” Lobo said with satisfaction. “Never been a holdup in that part of the world. They’re not gonna be lookin’ for anything. Note says there won’t be any guards—it’ll be like taking candy from a baby!”
“Well, that don’t answer my question,” Río said darkly, “about those three.”
“I been thinking on that,” Lobo nodded with a thoughtful air. He put a small cross at the spot that he had indicated for the robbery. “Now—less than two miles away from where we hit the train, there’s an empty house. Been empty a long time. Kind of funny that no one’s squatted there—’course, there’s nothing there. Somebody tried to start a ranch, but there ain’t a drop of water close around. Anyway, it’s just a one-room outfit. But the thing is, it’s built outta stone, with big timbers on the roof.” He looked around, and everyone seemed to be listening avidly. “So, what we do,” he continued, gesturing to Perrago, “we take the two women and the lawyer and lock ’em up cozy in the house while we hold up the train. And Vic, if you wanna get the money for that Betsy, you oughta have somebody bring the ransom money someplace close around there.”
The Gallant Outlaw Page 24
