Blood Bond 7

by William W. Johnstone

  “Get him. This is his $10,000. In gold. That should get his attention.”

  “I’ll have my men get on this right away.” Strep smiled. “That Matthew Bodine is dead meat.”

  “I still wouldn’t count on making any time with Malinda, even with Bodine out of the way. You haven’t made any progress that I can see.”

  “She doesn’t think my manners are refined enough, though I can’t see that stinking Bodine being any better than me.”

  “I think we ought to keep a watch on her.”

  Jordan shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not sure I care what happens to her. She’s more valuable to me as a happy performer, and if having dinner with Bodine makes her happy, who am I to argue? If something were to happen to her that interfered with her performance duties, I’d probably think differently.”

  “I don’t like her with Bodine.”

  “And if I were you, I’d watch that temper,” Jordan said. “Up in her room, he almost killed you. I know you’re sweet on Malinda, but so is every other man in Jordanville. Just be patient, and Bodine will get his just reward.”

  Shannahan stepped inside the supply shed with Hart and Sam.

  “How much is missing?” Hart asked.

  “This wasn’t a full box, but it was about two-thirds full,” Shannahan answered. His voice was measured. “Whoever took the explosives could do some damage, but their loss won’t set us back any. We’re a long ways from needing to do any major blasting.” He put the lid back on the box. “It still makes me mad. First that Parrish tries to make me out a fool in front of the whole town. Now somebody’s stealing supplies.”

  “Parrish was taken care of,” Sam pointed out.

  “You beat him and save my life, and I thank you for it,” Shannahan continued. “But it’s my own honor I’m thinking of. It’s been grating at me ever since he first touched me with that bullwhip.”

  “Jordan said that Parrish is no longer working for him. He’s probably not even in the area after the beating I gave him.”

  “No, he’s still skulking around. I’ve caught glimpses of him. So have a few others. He’s laying low. But if I catch him out in the open, I’ll challenge him. See what he can do in a fair fight.”

  “Shannahan’s an old boxer,” Hart explained. “He’s a tough fighter, but has this thing about honor.”

  “I can understand that,” Sam said. “Sometimes a man’s honor is his most important possession.”

  “Oh, I can fight like a brawler with the worst of them,” Shannahan continued. “But it doesn’t seem right to me.”

  “I understand that, too,” Sam continued. “I learned to fight as an Indian, but in school I learned about boxing and other ‘civilized’ methods of fighting. There’s a lot to be said for two men following agreed-upon rules, to determine who is the better man, without actually killing each other.”

  “And I’m itching to show Parrish who’s the better man.”

  “Why do I feel you’ve caught glimpses of Parrish because you’ve been looking for him?” Sam asked.

  Shannahan smiled grimly in answer.

  “Well, lock up this place as best you can,” Hart said. “And keep your eyes and ears open. Jordan has plenty of explosives, so I doubt if he’s behind this theft. It’s probably just a lone prospector too broke to buy his own supplies. Even so, I have a feeling Jordan is going to try something pretty soon. You and Matt are shaking things up just being here. I can’t see Jordan just standing around while you beat up his men and Matt steals his girl.”

  Jordan’s comment was interrupted by a whistling. Matt rounded the corner, grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary.

  “I heard you were in a little fight this morning,” Hart said.

  “But you somehow wound up getting the girl,” Sam said.

  “Haven’t gotten her yet, but I will before long,” Matt said. “Women can’t resist me.”

  “And he get worse,” Sam joked.

  Hart rolled up his eyes as Shannahan smiled.

  “Before you congratulate yourself too much, you need to listen to this,” Sam said, more seriously. He explained the theft from the supply shed, about Parrish still remaining somewhere around town, and Hart’s theory about the thief who took the explosives.

  “I don’t know if I agree with Hart about the thief, but I do agree that Jordan has something planned. He let me get away far too easily. I figured I’d have about six dead men on my hands before I got away from his bunch this morning. Instead, he just let me walk away. It doesn’t seem in character for him.”

  “You going to go ahead and have dinner with Malinda?” Shannahan asked.

  “Of course! It’s not every day I get a chance to have dinner with a true vocal artist . . .”

  Sam pulled Matt’s hat down over his eyes and started to walk away.

  “Like I said, he gets worse,” Sam said. “Once he starts, there’s no stopping him!”

  “Good man!” Shannahan said.

  Chapter Eight

  Matt and Sam hoped for a quiet lunch, to get a little rest and talk over the situation in Jordanville. The town did not yet have a real restaurant, though it was filled with saloons. The two young men decided to try the little saloon where they had talked with Hart the previous night.

  “Hey, Clancy!” Sam called out to the small, portly bartender. “You’ve got something in the way of food?”

  Clancy smiled and yelled back, “Sure! It ain’t fancy, but its filling!”

  “Make it two of you specials and two beers!”

  “Not much of a crowd today,” Matt said.

  “They’re all working. They can’t take time off from the job for lunch. The rush will be this evening.”

  Clancy brought the two beers and two dishes of stew on a tray. As he set the glasses down, he said to Matt, “I heard about your little escapade this morning at Jordan’s hotel. You were running quite a risk, weren’t you?”

  “There’d be more risk in doing nothing. If you let somebody take potshots at you once, they’ll try it again. I didn’t catch the bastard, but he’ll think twice before trying it again.”

  Clancy set the dishes on the table. “I’ll say one thing about you boys. You sure know how to make enemies fast.”

  “It’s a talent, that’s for sure,” Sam agreed.

  “Rumor is you asked Malinda to dinner, right under Jordan’s nose,” Clancy continued. “And you lived to walk away!”

  “That’s pretty close to the truth,” Matt said.

  “Unbelievable! Eat up, boys. This meal’s on the house. I’ll bring you more beers in a few minutes.”

  Sam sampled the stew and exclaimed, “This is great!”

  “It sure is!” Matt agreed. “Helluva lot better than you trail cooking!”

  “Maybe if you did your share of the chores, you wouldn’t have to eat so much of my cooking!”

  “Aaah . . . you’re still sore because I stuck you with clean-up duties this morning?”

  “Maybe if you had stuck around a little longer, you would’ve gotten in a lot less trouble,” Sam suggested.

  “And had a lot less fun!”

  Sam finished off his stew. “All kidding aside, I don’t like the situation in this town. Every day that passes brings Hart and Jordan that much closer to a shooting match. I temporarily pulled the fangs from Parrish, but he’s still around and Jordan still has his other gunfighters. Hart is losing his patience. And with you pushing Jordan like you’re doing, he’s likely to lose his patience as well.”

  “Maybe it’d be better to get the fighting done sooner rather than later, when both sides might have lots of reinforcements,” Matt said, thoughtfully. “I don’t want anybody to get killed, but what if both sides were loaded up with top guns? It’d be slaughter on both sides. And who knows? Both sides may still be able to talk it out.”

  “Fat chance.”

  “Yeah. I’m afraid you’re right.” Matt called out to the bartender, “Hey, Clancy! We’re ready for those beers!�
�� When the bartender arrived at the table, Matt asked, “The stew is great! How are you with other dishes? Say, maybe, fried chicken?”

  “The chickens I can buy are scrawny, but I can make them juicy and tasty.”

  “Great! How about packing me a picnic lunch?”

  Clancy winked. “It would be my pleasure! When would you like it to be ready?”

  “Make it late this afternoon. I plan to have my picnic with Malinda before her show tonight!” Matt took another sip of beer. “You wouldn’t happen to have any wine around here?”

  “Only a few bottles of the homemade variety. But I made it myself!”

  “Alright, throw in a bottle of that, as well,” Matt said.

  Sam just shook his head and took another drink of beer.

  Malinda sat in front of the mirror for long minutes. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t watching the image in the glass. She was instead lost in her thoughts. It was early afternoon, long before she was scheduled to go on stage again, but she felt nervous.

  She almost wished now that she hadn’t agreed to have dinner with the cowboy who fell through the ceiling into her room that morning.

  She picked up her brush and started to run it through her brown hair. She preferred to wear it loose, and it hung gently over her shoulders and the white cotton gown she was wearing.

  Malinda had liked the cowboy—he had called himself Matt Bodine—in spite of the awkward way they met. She felt she was generally a good judge of character—her initial assessment of Nelson Jordan being the exception—and she had determined that Matt was not a dangerous man in the usual sense. He had the appearance of being tough if he needed to be, and the way he had faced down Jordan’s men that morning had proven her right. Even more importantly, however, he had a sense of self-confidence that most men, even the ones that made their living with their guns, often lacked.

  And he was also a gentleman! He had taken the awkward, even dangerous, situation he had found himself in and conducted himself with dignity and with manners. She had not been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and had never been able to attend the eastern finishing schools as other girls had, but she knew the difference between a man who was a gentleman and one who was not.

  Nelson Jordan was not a gentleman in Malinda’s eyes.

  When she had first met him, Jordan had seemed a perfect gentleman. He was smooth and polished, well-educated, with money to burn. He had conducted himself honorably enough, and his promise to bring her west and let her sing was too irresistible to pass up. It hinted at elements of adventure as well as a chance to pursue a career that would probably be closed to her back East.

  Except that when they arrived at this forsaken mining camp Jordan did not prove to be the gentleman that he seemed. He forced himself on her, ordered her around like a slave, made her perform in front of all the strange men every night!” Matt took another sip of beer. “You wouldn’t happen to have any wine around here?”

  “Only a few bottles of the homemade variety. But I made it myself!”

  “Alright, throw in a bottle of that, as well,” Matt said.

  Sam just shook his head and took another drink of beer.

  Malinda sat in front of the mirror for long minutes. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t watching the image in the glass. She was instead lost in her thoughts. It was early afternoon, long before she was scheduled to go on stage again, but she felt nervous.

  She almost whished now that she hadn’t agreed to have dinner with the cowboy who fell through the ceiling into her room that morning.

  She picked up her brush and started to run it through her brown hair. She preferred to wear it loose, and it hung gently over her shoulders and the white cotton grown she was wearing.

  Malinda had liked the cowboy—he had called himself Matt Bodine—in spite of the awkward way they met. She felt she was generally a good judge of character—her initial assessment of Nelson Jordan being the exception—and she had determined that Matt was not a dangerous man in the usual sense. He had the appearance of being tough if he needed to be, and the way he had faced down Jordan’s men that morning had proven her right. Even more importantly, howe-vere, he had a sense of self-confidence that most men, even the ones that made their living with their guns, often lacked.

  And he was also a gentleman! He had taken the awkward, even dangerous, situation he had found himself in and conducted himself with dignity and with manners. She had not been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and had never been able to attend the eastern fishing schools as other girls had, but she knew the difference between a man who was a gentleman and one who was not.

  When she had first met him, Jordan had seemed a perfect gentleman. He was smooth and polished, well-educated with money to burn. He had conducted himself honorably enough, and his promise to bring her west and let her sing was too irresistible to pass up. It hinted at elements of adventure as wel as a chance to pursue a career that would probably be closed to her back East.

  Except that when they arrived at his forsaken mining camp Jordan did not prove to be the gentleman that he seemed. He forced himself on her, ordered her around like a slave, made her perform in front of all the strange men every night.

  She had fought back in her own way, and had managed to carve herself small amounts of personal freedom. She had kept it by presenting a tough façade, a haughty attitude that bordered on belligerence. She at times used her womanly wiles to keep her bodyguards—she thought of them more as wardens—also interested in her as a woman. But never before had she been so outright defiant as today, when she agreed to have dinner with Matt.

  She knew she would have to pay for her defiance eventually, but in the meantime she was looking forward to dinner. Matt had seemed an interesting man. And Malinda thought that no matter what Jordan believed, she was still her own woman.

  Malinda put down her brush, walked to the door and called out, “Jake! I want to go for a ride! Would you arrange it?”

  But it was Strep that came to the door.

  “Jordan thought you might want out for awhile,” Strep lied. “So he appointed me your bodyguard again today. To make sure nothing happens to you.”

  Malinda said, “Let me get my shawl. You get the buckboard.”

  Strep tipped his hat.

  “Right away, ma’am,” he said.

  Matt and Sam had spent almost two hours in Clancy’s small saloon as various persons would stop by and talk. All seemed nervous. Like Matt and Sam, they felt something was going to happen, but didn’t know what or when. Rumor had it that the Jordan mining operations had yielded disappointing results, which had forced work to slow. Some of the observers thought this might cause Jordan to increase the pressure on Hart to sign over his land. After hearing all the gossip, the blood-brothers decided it was time to get some fresh air.

  “You think it’s safe for us to walk around in this town?” Sam asked, only half-joking.

  “We’ve had it a lot worse in lots of other towns,” Matt reminded him.

  “That is true,” Sam agreed.

  Still, they checked their Colts before stepping through the door into the street.

  “I’m going to check out the hotel,” Matt said, suddenly.

  “You must be crazy.”

  “I want to see if Jordan is repairing the damage to his building. He’s a lawyer, you know, and may send me a bill for the repairs.”

  “You are crazy!” Sam said, but walked beside Matt down the street.

  In spite of the uproar that morning, the actual damage to the building was minor. Jordan already had some craftsmen replacing the busted planks. Hammering on the roof indicated that similar work was taking place to patch the hole in the roof.

  “Hope he uses better wood than before,” Matt joked.

  “Doubt if he plans to stay in this town long enough to care,” Sam said. “Once he gets his mine working profitably, he’ll probably sell for a handsome profit. He’s not in it for the long run.”

  From around t
he corner of the building a buckboard came into sight.

  “Don’t look now, but it’s your new girlfriend,” Sam said.

  “I see her. And that Strep fellow is with her.”

  “Don’t do anything foolish.”

  “Do I ever do anything that’s not careful and reasoned?”

  “That’s what I thought,” Sam said. “I’ll make sure the fight’s fair.”

  “May not be a fight. I’m just going to say hi to Malinda.”

  “And I might as well be talking to a fence post.”

  “I think talking to a pretty girl is a lot better idea than talking to a fence post.”

  Strep was driving. When he spotted Matt and Sam, Strep started to look for a side street to turn on, but there was none in that section of town. So he tried to ignore the two blood-brothers.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am,” Matt said, tipping his hat. “It’s a nice day for a drive.”

  Malinda started to say something, but Strep popped the reins and the horse started at a faster pace. Strep had hoped to rush past Matt and Sam, but Matt had other ideas. As the vehicle passed him—and almost running over his foot in the process—Matt casually leaped up on the buckboard and took hold of the reins.

  “Like I said, good afternoon,” he said, pulling on the reins to signal the horse to stop. “It’s good to see you out and about. I was afraid after the problems this morning you might be a little hesitant.”

  “Yes, it is a nice day,” Malinda said. “But I’m not worried about anything happening to me. I don’t think anybody in this town would want to do me harm.”

  “Certainly not to a woman as pretty as you!”

  Strep had tried to keep his temper under control, even after Matt had jumped on the buckboard. However, Matt and Malinda carrying on a conversation as if he wasn’t even there angered Strep even more. He pushed against Matt, but it was like pushing against a brick wall. He refused to move.

  “You flatter me,” Malinda said.