Lone Star 04

by Ellis, Wesley

  Ki hefted one of the sai, and from the pocket of his leather jacket he selected several of the star-shaped shuriken throwing blades. He kept the shuriken in his left hand and the sai in his right, and moved out of his perch on his belly.

  Resting on his haunches, Ki shifted his body in a slow circle, letting his eyes sweep the edge of the rocky wall that separated him from his enemy. Using his excellent ears and another sense that had no name, he searched for what he could not see. He waited, crouching under the sun. A hawk circled above. A snake caught a mouse in the wheat and cut off its squeal ...

  Ki watched the slow arc of the sun stretch the shadow of a small twig by his feet. An angry green fly sought him out and stung his cheek, but Ki didn’t move. If the hunter was trying to unnerve him, Ki could play that game just as well. The man was good, but Ki knew for certain he could not get close to the circle of rocks unheard. Ki would know he was there. Before he could jerk up from behind the boulders and bring his rifle to bear, Ki would take him. Kill him with the sai, or send one of the deadly throwing stars whirring into his throat. The man might keep his prey holed up in the trap, but he’d best not come in for a look at what he’d caught...

  Sweat poured off his brow and stung his eyes, rolled down his chest and under his arms. Ki glanced at the twig and measured another long arc of the sun.

  Gradually a new sound began to intrude on his senses. Ki listened, then came suddenly alert, straining to catch its meaning. It was a soft, rustling sound, almost a murmur like the wind. At first it came from one direction only, then gradually moved around him until it surrounded the stony isle. Suddenly, Ki knew exactly what it was. Raising slowly, he stretched his stiff muscles and moved silently to the edge of the rocks. Peering carefully between two slabs of stone, he saw them. Hundreds of prairie chickens were making their way through the wheatfield, busily plucking seeds and bugs from the soil.

  He was almost certainly alone, then. If the shy, sensitive birds had seen the other man there, they would never have settled down to feed in such numbers. The hunter would have to be a stone. Ki was certain he could do it, but doubted the other man could. Still, there was no sense in being foolhardy now.

  Bracing himself on the balls of his feet, he leaped over the protective stones, cut a low path for the high stalks of wheat, and rolled into cover. The birds scattered in fear, disappearing as quickly as they’d come.

  Ki listened a long moment, then circled the stone island, weapons at the ready. He found the man’s mark, saw how he’d watched him ride into the clearing, and knelt and fired the rifle. Ki bent to the earth and studied it carefully. What he saw didn’t surprise him, but the discovery flooded him with shame and anger. He’d already suspected it might be true. Now he knew it was so. As soon as Ki had taken cover, the man had simply turned on his heel and walked away, leaving his prey to sweat it out alone. Ki had little choice in the matter, and the hunter well knew it. He’d had no intention of killing him. It was a joke, a deliberate humiliation, and something Ki swore he would not soon forget...

  On the way to town, later that day, Ki sat silently in the saddle of his recovered horse, and glared into the late-afternoon sun.

  “You’re going to let that business get to you, aren’t you?” said Jessie. “Don’t guess I blame you, but there’s nothing you can do about it now. You ought to know that.”

  “Yes,” Ki said evenly, “I do know that, Jessie. And yes, I am going to let it get to me. Probably a great deal.”

  Jessie grinned, but not in Ki’s direction. “What happened to your samurai calm, your, uh ... acceptance of the karmic path?”

  “Please...” Ki looked pained. “No Oriental wisdom right now. I am only half samurai, remember? The other half is Western. That is the half that is mad as hell because the Japanese half has been humiliated. I know it was Zascha who penned me in like a rabbit out there. I don’t need any proof.”

  Jessie was silent a long moment. Behind the low rise ahead, she could see the small cluster of buildings that was Roster, and beyond that, the black smudge of the railroad drawn straight across the plain.

  “Look,” she said finally, “are you trying to tag something else on this? Besides a sorehead’s bad joke?”

  Ki gazed straight ahead.

  Ki shrugged. “True enough. I don’t know, Jessie. Zascha is a troublemaker. He was stirring up the villagers against us last night, but before we got here, I’m sure it was something else. He is against everything. And he’s not the only man in the settlement who’s ready to sell out. Just the loudest.” Ki paused a moment, then went on, “I neglected to mention that he sent a couple of his friends after me last night.”

  “I noticed the bruise on your mouth,” Jessie said. “I figured you’d tell me about it sooner or later.” She shook her head and sighed. “Someone’s involved in this business. I don’t mean Zascha or any of the villagers. Just someone. And whoever it is, he knows exactly what goes on out there.” She’d already told Ki what Feodor had to say about when the trouble with wolves had started. “That little girl was killed after the cartel started sniffing around after land. I don’t know how they’re doing it, Ki, but our old friends from Europe have got a hand in this.”

  The Morgan Dollar was going strong, but there was little sign of other activity on Main. Jessie and Ki left their horses at the livery, then walked across the street to the marshal’s office before going to the hotel. Marshal Gaiter was reading a week-old Kansas City paper by a kerosene lamp when the pair walked in. He looked up from the yellow pool of light as if something had just died and he’d gotten a good whiff of it.

  “Like to help you folks,” he said too quickly, reaching for his hat. “Just closin’ up to go to supper.”

  “Wouldn’t think of keeping you long,” said Jessie. “Just need a little help, is all.”

  “Yeah, well ...” Gaiter took a quick glance at Ki’s casual stance in the doorway and settled back in the chair with a frown. “I got a minute, I guess. What can I do for you?”

  “We want to talk to Lucy Jordan,” said Jessie.

  Gaiter’s eyes narrowed. “Wh-what for?”

  “She tried to kill me on the train. Remember? There are a couple of things I’d like to ask her.”

  “Well, it’s gettin’ kinda late. Might be in the morning’d be better.”

  “Right now would be fine, though, wouldn’t it?” Ki gave him his friendliest smile. It stretched the skin as taut as new leather over his cheekbones, narrowed the dark almond eyes, and scared the hell out of Gaiter.

  “Sure, I guess it’s all right ...” He wet his lips and looked nervously at Jessie. “‘Course, I gotta be there if you do. Talk to her, I mean.”

  Jessie raised an eyebrow and tipped back the brim of her Stetson. “Suits me, Marshal. Can’t see why you’d want to, though.”

  “The girl’s got rights, you know. She, ah ... ain’t been tried and convicted.”

  Jessie glanced quickly at Ki and smiled at Gaiter. “Lucy’s real lucky to have a lawman like you around, Marshal.”

  “Well, I’m just doin’ my job...” he muttered darkly.

  “I understand that, and I appreciate it. Maybe you’re right.”

  “About what?”

  “Talking to Lucy Jordan. We can always get with her later.” Jessie perched one hip on Gaiter’s desk. “Why don’t you and me talk some first?”

  “Uh, what about?” Gaiter flushed and chewed on his beard. The nearby curve of Jessie’s thigh in snug-fitting denim made him decidedly uneasy.

  “How about land buying?”

  “Don’t know a lot about it.” The marshal’s watery eyes flicked quickly down to his hands.

  “That’s funny. We heard you did. Old Gustolf, out at the settlement, came into town a while back looking for someone who might be interested in buying land. You were the one who found someone he could talk to.”

  “Don’t remember a thing about anything like—” Gaiter caught himself and grinned. “Oh, yeah, maybe I did. S
ee a lot of people in my job.”

  “I thought you didn’t know any of the settlers,” Ki put in.

  “Don‘t!” snapped Gaiter. “Maybe talked to one of ’em once. Hell, I don’t know.” He clamped his jaw shut and glared at them both. “Listen, what the hell is this?”

  “Who did you tell Gustolf to talk to?”

  “Don’t recall. That was some time ago.”

  Jessie widened her eyes in surprise. “You mean there are that many land buyers in Roster? I wouldn’t have guessed!”

  “Now listen, Miss Starbuck—”

  “No, you listen.” Gaiter started to get up but Jessie stopped him with a finger cocked like a pistol. “You and I can play games if you like, but it might be better for both of us if we don’t. I can’t prove anything right yet, but I have an idea you might be mixed up in something a little too big for you to swallow. If I’m right—”

  Gaiter shot to his feet. “Just—get out of here. Both of you! I’ve took just about all of this business I want to. I’m the law in this town, Miss High-an‘-Mighty Starbuck, and it don’t make no difference who you are or how much money you got. You can’t just stomp in and insult whoever you please!”

  The old man was shaking, and Jessie knew there was more to it than anger. “I can, you know,” she said softly, “you’re wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “I can walk in and insult anyone I want. Because I’m a Starbuck.”

  Gaiter went red. “Well, goddamn—!”

  “Only I wouldn‘t, Marshal. Because I don’t believe in abusing power. That goes for local officials on up to very rich ladies, by the way. And I don’t have any respect for someone who does. What I can do and what I will do is use whatever power I have to see that murderers are brought to justice. Here, or anywhere else.”

  Gaiter blinked. “Jesus, when did we start talkin’ about murder?”

  “Just now. Two people out at the settlement and Tom Bridger here in town. If you’re mixed up with anyone who has blood on their hands, I’ll see that it rubs off on you.”

  “Now hold on there...” Gaiter raised a hand. “You are way out of line, lady.”

  “Good,” Jessie said firmly. “Then it won’t bother you if I walk over to the telegraph office and bring about a dozen federal marshals and judges into Roster. Real sharp-eyed boys who’ll go over this place from the town drunk on up.”

  Gaiter looked right into Jessie’s flashing green eyes and decided she might not be bluffing at all. He wasn’t sure just what money could do, but he had an idea it might do plenty. For the moment, at least, he wasn’t sure Jessica Starbuck couldn’t call Rutherford B. Hayes himself down to Roster.

  “Well, Marshal?” asked Jessie. “You think maybe you’d like to help us out some?”

  Gaiter looked pained, then suddenly relaxed and grinned past her shoulder.

  Jessie turned around and saw why.

  “Good evening, Miss Starbuck. Marshal.” Torgler smiled and tipped his hat, let his eyes flick over the room, and somehow missed Ki completely. “Another pleasant evening, isn’t it? I hope you’re enjoying your stay here, dear lady.”

  “Not too much, thanks.” Jessie gave him a narrow, thoughtful look. “How about you?”

  “Miss Starbuck came by to see Lucy—ah, our prisoner,” Gaiter put in quickly.

  Torgler raised a brow. “Oh, is that so? May I inquire as to why, Miss Starbuck?”

  Jessie returned his polite smile in kind. “May I inquire as to why you’re inquiring, Mr. Torgler?”

  “Of course. Miss Lucy Jordan is my client. I have been retained to represent her.”

  Jessie tried to hide her expression, but Torgler caught it and looked pleased. “You’re a—an attorney?” Jessie looked up at the ceiling. “Now why didn’t I guess that right off? Just who retained you, Mr. Torgler?”

  “Why, Miss Jordan herself.”

  “And I guess you’d object if I wanted to ask her a few questions.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid I’d have to, ma‘am.” Torgler looked as if turning Jessie down hurt him deeply. “Since you are the plaintiff charging Miss Jordan with alleged assault—”

  “Alleged assault?” Ki stood up straight.

  “Yes.” Torgler turned on him with eyes cold as ice. “Miss Jordan is being held, sir. She has yet to see a judge, hear formal charges, or be tried—if she is to be tried.” He turned abruptly to Jessie. “Of course you can’t talk to her. That would hardly be fair to Miss Jordan, now would it?”

  “It—” Jessie swallowed her anger and looked from Torgler to Gaiter. The marshal was grinning like an ape, but his smile faded under Jessie’s withering glance. “Ki, come on. I don’t guess we have any more business here. I’ll be seeing you again, Mr. Torgler.”

  Torgler’s eyes almost closed. “I do hope so, dear lady.”

  Jessie turned and stormed out of the room, Ki at her heels. As she stalked across the street toward the hotel, two young boys from the café passed her, heading back for the marshal’s office. Both were loaded down with trays covered with white linen napkins, and Jessie picked up the tantalizing odors of thick, sizzling steaks, mashed potatoes, and peach cobbler. Two bottles of the best whiskey in Roster jiggled in the second boy’s coverall pockets.

  “Will you look at that!” Jessie stopped and glared, fury clouding her features. “Torgler and poor little Lucy and the marshal are having a picnic, right there in the damn jail-house! It’s a good thing I don’t have a couple of sticks of dynamite and a match, Ki. I’d be sorely tempted to use ‘em!”

  Chapter 10

  It was after six when Ki tapped lightly on Jessie’s door, and the two wandered out of the hotel and across the street to the Silver Bell Café. The evening was still bright under a luminous summer sky. The sun wouldn’t flatten into Colorado for another two hours, and the day would linger on after that. Jessie hadn’t eaten since five that morning, and she felt as hollow as a drum. She’d missed the noonday meal at the village, being somewhat occupied with Feodor and not even thinking about food. When the big steak arrived, she worked through it with a will, polishing her plate clean with a thick piece of bread.

  Ki watched in amazement. He was a hearty enough eater, but no match for Jessie in one of her ravenous moods. “I’m glad this place wasn’t out of food,” he said soberly. “It would be embarrassing to watch you shoot your way through the kitchen.”

  “Don’t laugh, friend.” Jessie gave him a stern, reproachful look. “If Torgler and his crew had cornered all the steaks in town, I might have done just that.” Jessie leaned back in her chair and let out a breath. “Ki, I think there was a lot that Tom Bridger could have told us about what’s going on in this place. The longer we hang around Roster, the easier it is to see why they killed him. If you ask me, everyone in town’s for hire. It’d be a lot easier for Torgler if they all wore price tags on their collars.”

  The occupants of the other two tables were eyeing Jessie curiously. She glared them down and leaned across to Ki. “We know he’s bought Gaiter, and God knows who else. There’s Lucy, of course, and likely a bunch of assorted gunmen like those two on the train.”

  “We are not entirely without help if we need it,” Ki grinned. “Remember that swarm of federal marshals and judges you threatened to toss at Gaiter?”

  Jessie didn’t laugh. “Gaiter’ll buy that. A man like Torgler knows better.” She had learned that lesson the hard way after Alex Starbuck’s murder. The law was next to useless in this kind of fight. The cartel was playing for high stakes, and one of the deadliest weapons it brought into play was its seemingly bottomless purse. Small fry like Gaiter, and even professional assassins like Lucy Jordan put no strain at all on the organization’s funds. The cartel operated on a grander scale than that—buying the men who made the laws, as well as those who enforced them. Wherever money talked, the cartel opened its pockets. Jessie was well aware of the fact that high-placed men across the country—men in business, the military, the railroads, even in Wa
shington itself—were in the pay of European interests. And sometimes, even the most honest and iron-willed men who couldn’t be bought with money and the promise of power could be broken to the cartel’s will in other ways. When a child’s in danger, or it’s hinted that a lovely young wife might be maimed through some unfortunate accident, a man can be persuaded to change his mind.

  And that, thought Jessie, was perhaps the ugliest and most menacing aspect of the cartel’s power. How do you fight an organization of ruthless and powerful men who will use any weapon at their command—without becoming what they are yourself? It was a question she had asked herself more than once.

  Night was swiftly drawing a curtain over the plains when Jessie and Ki left the café. Jessie had said little since supper, and Ki knew what was gnawing at her mind. He felt it too—as if things they couldn’t see were pressing in around them, and there was nothing they could do to keep them away.

  “If I was a drinker,” said Jessie, “I think right now would be a good time to open up a bottle. Don’t guess it would solve a thing, though, would it?”

  “Not a great deal,” said Ki. “Jessie, in the morning I think we should go back out to the settlement and talk to Gustolf and the others. We know a lot about what’s happening here and who’s behind it.”

  Jessie shook her head. “Those folks don’t want to hear about international cartels and crooked sheriffs. They’ve got a werewolf on their hands, Ki—or think they do, which works out to about the same thing.”

  “We know that’s not true.”

  Jessie stopped and faced him. “But we don’t know much else, do we? Like how you get a wolf to tear out a man’s throat. We don’t have any answers, and that old man has all he needs. He’s going to sell out for sure, Ki, and likely get down on his knees and thank our mysterious land buyer for giving pennies on the dollar.”