by Jane Toombs
She sounded more like her old self and he grinned at her. “I guess that’s more than you can say for me. You make him sound noble. But, Tessa, are you certain you want to marry him?”
She nodded firmly. “I’ve made up my mind, I won’t change it.”
“I thought once that you and Mark might get married.”
Desolation swept across her face making his heart contract. A moment later she’d put on her brittle new smile. “I can’t imagine whatever gave you such a notion. Mark has no intention of ever settling down to one place or one woman.”
The next day Ezra tried to sound out Mark.
“I thought you were pretty fond of Tessa.”
“l am.”|
“Then how come you’re letting her marry Rutledge?”
“She accepted him. I didn’t force her into it”
“Do you think she’ll be happy with him?”
“Look, Ezra, I’m the wrong person to ask. I can’t stand the man. Never could, from the first time I saw him. I can’t help feeling he’s a phony. But that’s my prejudice. He probably is just what he seems to be—a respectable businessman, one who does well at whatever it is he does.”
“What does he do?”
“Something to do with one of the Santa Fe banks, I understand. “Mark shrugged. “What difference does it make?”
“I don’t know. Maybe none.”
Ezra pondered. He really hadn’t worried about Calvin’s line of work until he discovered no one seemed to know exactly what it was. Now he was determined to find out.
By asking Calvin? He shook his head. If Calvin didn’t give anyone a straight answer, he wouldn’t give Ezra one either. By heading up to Santa Fe and asking? Would anyone tell him? He was a deputy marshal now, so they might.
And on the way he could stop at Sumner and see Violet. No word had come from Manuela about her since Billy had got out of jail. Had Violet gone to Mexico with him?
Billy hadn’t told Ezra where he was heading, but Mexico was the only safe place to go and Billy was no fool. But would he take Violet?
It probably was a waste of time checking on Rutledge, but Ezra knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until he did. Besides, he might get to see Violet ...
Mark, I’ve been thinking I’d like to travel to Santa Fe,” Ezra said. “Got some business there. Could you spare me for a week?”
Mark eyed him for a few moments, then nodded. “Reckon so.”
It wasn’t until Ezra was riding alone on the ninety-mile stretch to Sumner that he began to think about Jules. He’d tried to keep from remembering, but with nothing to distract him, it was impossible.
Tessa blamed Billy. Ezra blamed himself. He should have taken Chavez’s silver-handled pistol and thrown it into the river. He was older, wiser; he should never have gotten caught up in Jules’ enthusiasm for helping, should never have let Jules be a part of Billy’s escape.
It was his fault that his brother was dead.
How could he blame Billy? He hadn’t even seen Jules when he fired the shot from that damn pistol. It might not even have been his shot that killed Jules, who could tell?
Jules had been more talented than either he or Tessa. And he’d been everyone’s friend. Tears came to Ezra’s eyes. He hadn’t been able to stay with Billy after he’d heard, even though he didn’t blame him.
Jules’ death called everything he’d ever done, or believed, into question. It was no longer enough just to suit himself. There was more to being a man than that. When the fight begins within himself a man’s worth something ...
That was Browning, too. He thought he understood what the poet meant and for the first time understood why his father had so loved poetry. Those men with their fancy words weren’t fools. They wrote of a man’s life, of joys and sorrows. And of the struggle to find what was right. To try to do it.
He’d never betray Billy. Would he ever help him again? He wasn’t quite sure.
Ezra rode into Sumner, his heart hammering at the thought of seeing Violet. He hoped she’d be there to welcome him.
“She’s gone,” Manuela said.
“I’m not asking where they went; I don’t want to know,” he said. “She did go with Billy, didn’t she?”
Manuela shook her head.
Ezra stared at her. “Violet’s not with him?”
“He come to Sumner, you know, after he escape the calabozo. He don’t come here, he don’t come to see Violet. No, Billy go to Maxwell’s.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He likes Paulita Maxwell, wants her to ride with him when he goes away. Paulita, she’s too smart; she won’t go.”
“And he didn’t even stop by here? Didn’t see Violet at all?”
Manuela shook her head. “.Violet, she find out. Everybody knows Billy wants Paulita instead of her. Paulita or Celsa Guiterrez,” Manuela shrugged. “Men like girls better when they’re not big, like this.” She curved her hand out in front of her belly. “They like pretty little girls who will dance with them and tease them. It is their way. I tell Violet this, but she don’t listen. The next day she is gone.”
“But where? Where did she go?”
“Who can tell? I ask, but no one knows. She is not in Sumner or I would find out.”
“You’re certain she didn’t go with Billy?”
“He rode off two, three days before Violet. Maybe she try to ride after him, I don’t know.”
When is she—I mean, when is the baby coming?” “Maybe this month, maybe next. I cannot be certain.” Ezra clenched his fists.
“I, too, worry,” Manuela said. “Violet, she don’t know how to take care of herself.”
“I have to travel to Santa Fe,” Ezra said. I’ll be stopping here on my way home. If you find out where she is, try to get her to come back here.”
“If I can.”
When Ezra arrived in Santa Fe, he’d lost his interest in Calvin Rutledge. All he could think of was Violet and what might be happening to her in God-knows-where.
He rode through narrow streets flanked by verandaed adobes into the plaza where the Palace of Governors fronted on a tree-shaded park with a bandstand in the center. The square towers of St. Francis Cathedral thrust up to the east.
Ezra crossed to the Exchange Hotel, more expensive than some in the city, but he meant to sleep clean and safe tonight. After he had a room, he made the rounds of the banks, asking about Rutledge.
Rutledge didn’t work for any of them.
He talked to the sheriff who claimed he’d never heard of Rutledge. Finally, discouraged, but with a growing suspicion that Rutledge was at the very least a liar, Ezra returned to the Exchange, He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he pushed through the bat wing doors of the saloon, not wanting to be alone in his room. Anyway, the whiskey might help him to get to sleep.
He stood at the bar, his shot half-finished. It used to embarrass him when the others in the gang laughed at him because he couldn’t down a whole shot at once. To tell the truth, he didn’t like the taste of whiskey and that much at one time gagged him so badly he was afraid he’d vomit. Now he didn’t care what anyone might think.
He finally downed the rest of his drink and left the bar, the whiskey warm and pleasant enough in his stomach. As he entered the corridor to his room, two men came toward him. A big redhead and a short, dark man. Strangers. He hadn’t seen them come out of rooms.
He tensed, eyes flicking from one to the other. By the way Shorty held his right hand, he’d lay odds the man concealed a knife. And he’d seen Shorty someplace earlier today. Where?
Ezra reached for his Colt, jumped when he felt the sudden pressure of a muzzle thrust between his shoulders.
“I think we need to talk,” a man’s voice said from behind him.
Chapter 23
As Ezra took his hand from his Colt. He saw a door across from him start to open and caught a glimpse of an old man’s startled face. The door began to close. At the same time. Just as though Billy stood beside him, Ezra he
ard his voice in his mind. Coral snakes are deadlier than diamondbacks ‘cause they don’t hang around shaking their rattle.
Ezra whirled. His hand struck the Colt of the black-shirted man in back of him, knocking it to one side. He flung himself at the door he’d seen closing. Burst through it, knocking the room’s occupant to the floor.
Ezra shot the bolt. Ducked aside and, stooping, yanked the white-haired old man with him, just as a bullet crashed through the wood of the door. He stood up. Grabbed a chair and flung it at the window. Glass shattered.
The man whose room he’d invaded huddled against the bed, face as white as his hair.
Ezra put his fingers to his lips, listening.
“. . . outside, both of you!” he heard the man in the corridor order. Ezra nodded. He reached the white-haired man in two strides, spoke into his ear. “What’s your name?” “Will Martin,” the old man quavered.
“I’m a deputy marshal,” Ezra said. “You won’t get hurt if you do as I say. Start hollering when I tell you. Yell, ‘Help a man’s jumped through my window.’ Understand?”
Will Martin swallowed. “Yes.”
“Okay. We’ll go to the door. Begin yelling as you start to unbolt it. Keep hollering as you open the door. Got it?” Will nodded.
Ezra hurried him over to the door.
“Help!” Will cried weakly, hand on the bolt.
“Louder!” Ezra hissed. “Get the damn door Open.”
“A man’s jumped through my window!’’ Will exclaimed, his voice stronger but quivering with fear. He slid the bolt back. Ezra stood to one side of the door.
The door slammed open. Blackshirt pushed past Will as he ran toward the window. Ezra struck at Blackshirt’s head with the butt of his Colt. Blackshirt fell heavily to the floor.
Ezra whirled quickly to face the open door, Colt ready, but the other two were nowhere in sight. He holstered the pistol and stuck his head into the hall where doors were cracked open.
“It’s all over, folks,” he called. “I’m a deputy marshal and I’ve collared the man responsible for the shooting.”
He closed and bolted the door again, then knelt beside Blackshirt and took his Colt, a derringer in an inside pocket and a boot knife.
Why don’t you sit in that chair over there,” he said to Will. “I won’t be much longer.”
Ezra threw back the coverlet on the bed, grinned when he saw sheets. Good thing he’d picked a nice place to stay. He ripped long strips from a sheet and tied Blackshirt’s wrists and ankles behind him so the man lay curled in a backward arc.
Ezra crossed to the pitcher on the washstand stand, looked in. Smiled. Good service. He carried the pitcher to where Blackshirt lay on the floor, emptied the water over his head and waited for him to come around.
The man groaned and opened his eyes. Tried to move. Saw Ezra leaning against the wall watching him. “Son-of-a-bitch,” Blackshirt muttered.
“You know who sent me?” Ezra asked.
Blackshirt said nothing
Ezra picked up the boot knife and tested the edge with his finger. “Seems like I asked you a question,” he said.
“You’re a marshal,” the man said hoarsely.
“That’s what I let out. The fact is, I ride with Billy the Kid.”
Blackshirt’s eyes widened, A spasm of fear flicked across his face. Ezra heard Will gasp and glanced at him. Still in the chair.
“Billy sent me to find out about Rutledge.” Ezra began cleaning his fingernails with the knife. “You want to tell me now?” He pointed the knife at Blackshirt and did his best to grin like Billy. “Or later?”
“Railroads,” Blackshirt muttered. “He buys land.”
“You’ll have to explain that.”
“Buys land cheap. He knows where the railroad is going, knows how it’s been laid out ahead of time. Sells the land dear. Lots of money.”
Ezra frowned. “Why try to kill me over that?”
“They’re all in on it. The politicians at the state house. The Santa Fe Ring. Rutledge is their front and they don’t want questions asked. You came asking.” `Ezra nodded. Made sense.
“Much obliged for your trouble,” Ezra told Will Martin. He eased to the door, unbolted it quietly.
Colt in hand, he stepped aside as he threw the door open. There was no one in the corridor. He looked back at Blackshirt. The man’s eyes were fastened on Ezra’s Colt. Blackshirt thought he meant to shoot him. No point to that.
Ezra walked quickly down the corridor. Stopped when it turned into the lobby. Peered around the corner. Spotted Shorty near the door to the street. He remembered where he’d seen the man before.
At the sheriff’s office.
Ezra swore under his breath. If the sheriff had sent these three after him, he was sure as hell on his own.
He’d seen a porch on the other side of the hotel when he left his horse in the corral. Ezra ran down the corridor of the opposite wing. Came to an open door leading onto the porch. Looked out. A couple of men lounged in chairs smoking. They glanced at him casually. Didn’t seem to be after him.
He’d have to take a chance. He stepped out, jumped over the rail to the ground. Raced toward the corral, stopping abruptly when he saw a hulking figure outside the tackroom where his gear was stored. Redhair.
He sure as hell didn’t plan to ride home bareback. On the other hand, he didn’t want to throw down on a deputy, easy though it would be.
He yanked at the split logs on the corral fence, found a loose one, pulled at it until it came free, swished it through the air. Have to do.
Ezra opened the gate. Swung onto the pinto’s bare back. Kneed him into a trot. Hung himself over the side of the horse away from the shed, leaving one foot hooked over the horse’s back. He grasped the mane tightly with his left hand, holding the cudgel in his right.
When he could see Redhair’s bulk under the neck of the horse, he slid up onto the pinto’s back and, in the same motion, swiped at Redhair’s head with the chunk of wood.
Ezra heard the thunk, saw Redhair stumble to his knees. He halted the pinto, leaped off and smashed the log over the man’s head again. Redhair sprawled flat.
Ezra dashed into the tackroom and retrieved his gear from the startled hostler. When he saw Redhair trying to get up, he vaulted onto the pinto and pounded off, saddle in front of him.
He didn’t stop to saddle up until he was out of town.
Like the old days with Billy, he thought.
In Sumner he found that Manuela had heard no more of Violet. Ezra hadn’t time to begin a search for her. Anyway, where would he start looking?
He arrived in Lincoln late in the evening, four days before the wedding. Guitars thrummed as he passed a cantina and he heard laughter from the open doors. It reminded him of dancing with Violet the night he’d first met her. She’d been so lovely, as delicate and sweet as a flower.
“Keep her safe,” he whispered, not knowing if he meant to pray to a God he wasn’t sure of.
Ezra stopped by Mark’s room, found him sitting on the back stairs smoking.
“I want you to come by Maria’s in about fifteen minutes,’’ Ezra told him. “Hell, it’s almost midnight,” Mark protested “It’s for Tessa’s sake,” Ezra said.
“All right. I’ll be there. But don’t blame me if she hollers at both of us.”
Ezra rode on to Maria’s. Tessa was in bed but not asleep. She put on her robe at Ezra’s urging and came into the main room of the house. While he waited for Mark, he told his sister about Violet’s disappearance.
“She’s with Billy somewhere,” Tessa said positively.
“He didn’t want to take her.”
“That wouldn’t stop Violet.”
“I don’t know,” Ezra said, hearing the click of Mark’s boots on the steps.
Tessa turned her head. “Who’s that at this hour?”
“Mark. I invited him.”
She started to get up.
“You stay right here, Tessa. I have
something I want both of you to hear.”
“But I’m not dressed.”
“It doesn’t matter. Stay here!”
She raised her eyebrows at his vehemence, but sat down as he went to the door to let Mark in.
After Mark was seated, Ezra, standing by the cold fireplace, looked from one to the other.
“Neither of you is happy,” he said. “I’m going to tell you why and I don’t want to be stopped. It’s my business because Tessa is my sister and Mark’s my friend. So don’t interrupt.”
He took a deep breath. “I think Tessa really wants to marry you, Mark, not Calvin. And I know you want her. Why are you two so goddamn stubborn?”
As they both began to protest, he yelled, “Shut up!”
“I rode to Santa Fe and almost didn’t come back on account of you being so foolish about this. I poked into things people didn’t want me to know and damn near got shot for my pains.” “Ezra!” Tessa exclaimed.
“I’m not through. Tessa, you ain’t going to marry Rutledge. You don’t want to anyway, so it won’t make you feel bad. Mark, now’s the time to ask her.” Ezra stared belligerently at Mark.
Mark looked at Tessa. “He’s right, you know. I’ve wanted you ever since I came on you in the wagon shooting at Apaches with that Colt as big as you were.” “Then why didn’t you ask me?” she demanded. “I was going to, but it was always the wrong time.” “This is the last chance,” Ezra put in.
Mark got up, pulled Tessa to her feet. “I’m asking you now. Marry me.”
She stared at him. “But Calvin--”
“The hell with him. Will you or won’t you?”
Her lips parted. “I—I—oh, yes, Mark, yes, yes!” She flung her arms around him.
Ezra cleared his throat. “Now that it’s settled, I’ll tell you what I found out about Rutledge in Santa Fe. Mark always thought he was a phony and he was right. Maybe Rutledge ain’t a thief, but he ain’t what he pretends to be either.”
Sitting close together, Mark and Tessa listened to Ezra’s account.
“Nothing you can send a man to jail for,” he finished, “but he must be ashamed of what he does to not even tell Tessa.”
