by Tony Masero
‘No,’ she said with sudden viciousness. ‘You must teach me to shoot, Kirby. You hear me? You must teach me.’
‘Okay, Belle. I’ll teach you,’ he offered in a placating tone seeing her feverish distress. ‘But not now, you need to rest up a spell and we need to check on Lomas.’
Lomas wasn’t going anywhere. By nightfall the doctor had removed the slug in his side and a pale and wan lawman was sleeping restlessly with the help of some laudanum. But he was alive, which was more than could be said for Bee Bridges.
Both Belle and Kirby had collapsed exhausted and slept like the dead for twelve hours straight. It was only on the next day after a meal and numerous cups of coffee did they feel able to review events. The two sat beside the lawman’s bed in his room and went over the case.
‘So they’ve all gone?’ Lomas asked in a husky voice. He was still in a dazed state but sharp enough to follow the course of the conversation.
‘Yep,’ said Kirby. ‘It looks like Hill and Bellows have partnered up. Maybe even Cain Lemon has joined forces with them. They’re gone, that’s for sure. Maybe heading north or west, I ain’t sure.’
‘You reckon?’ asked Lomas. ‘Not south for the border?’
‘I don’t think so. Livery stable boy said Hill and Bellows lit out with a packhorse in that direction. But who can say, maybe they changed direction later. My guess is Hill needed to collect their stash and that’s why he wanted the packhorse, after that, well who knows….’
‘If they have a bundle of cash with them, they’ll be lying low. Maybe Cain is the more reckless of the two; he won’t be able to sit on it for too long. My guess is he’ll make a show somewhere, spending like a fool. Can your Pinkerton men put out word to look out for him?’
Kirby nodded agreement, ‘Why not? I’ll get in touch with Chicago and see what they say.’
‘That’s great,’ said Lomas with a sigh as he settled back on his pillow.
‘I think you’d better rest up now,’ Belle smiled at him. ‘We’ll leave you to it.’
‘Oh, it ain’t so bad,’ growled Lomas. ‘I’ll be up soon enough. I’ll sure need to pay back that Cain fellow for this.’
‘We’ll get him, Lomas. If you don’t I will,’ promised Kirby.
‘We sure will,’ added Belle with a determined pout to her lips.
‘What’s this?’ chuckled Lomas. ‘You aiming to get yourself deputized, Belle?’
‘It’s Bellows I want,’ she said grimly.
Lomas looked from her to Kirby, ‘She serious?’ he asked.
Kirby shrugged in answer.
‘Well, why not?’ sniffed Lomas. ‘Hell, we’ve all got an axe to grind here. Okay, Belle you’re deputized for what it’s worth. Don’t think I’ve ever said that to a woman before.’
There was sudden noise from the street that interrupted them. A whooping and hollering and then the sound of gunshots followed by noisy cheers. Kirby crossed quickly to the window and looked out. The street was busy with a crowd of exited townspeople waving copies of the freshly arrived Omaha City newssheet, The Nebraskan Republican and some of the men were firing their pistols in the air in some kind of celebration.
‘What is it?’ asked Lomas.
‘Hold on,’ Kirby answered, opening the window. ‘Hey!’ he called down to the street. ‘What’s all the fuss about?’
‘It’s war,’ a voice called back wildly. ‘The Confederates have fired on Fort Sumter over Charleston way in South Carolina. It’s war alright!’
Kirby turned back to the others, ‘Well, we knew it was coming but that’s done torn it for us. I’m damned if we’ll find those runaways now, the country will be in uproar.’
‘I’ll find them,’ said Lomas grimly. ‘War or not I aim to bring them to book.’
‘Right now though, I have to report in. Mister Pinkerton will need me, I guess.’
‘You’re still going to ask about Cain Lemon though, aren’t you?’ pressed Belle.
Kirby nodded, ‘Yes, I’ll do it but no telling if there’ll be space for that now.’
‘Do your best, partner,’ said Lomas.
They shook hands and Kirby nodded at Belle, ‘I’ll keep in touch.’
He was half way down the stairs when Belle caught up with him.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ she asked.
He turned to look up at her and he felt the thrill that her beauty encouraged in him as he remembered their kiss.
‘Where you can’t,’ he said.
‘Oh, no,’ she answered firmly, stepping down to him on the staircase. ‘I’m the law now, I can go where I want.’
‘The law!’ Kirby laughed. ‘You mean that deputizing back in there. That don’t mean diddly, Belle.’
‘I’m a legally deputized official, you heard Lomas.’
‘It don’t represent a thing, Lomas was just being kind. Besides the fellow’s half out of his mind with his wound.’
‘It doesn’t matter; I have every right to wear a badge now and track down those fellows alongside you. Besides, Kirby, there’s nothing left for me here, what am I supposed to do?’
Kirby had to admit that the presence of her company would be little hardship for him to bear but it was going to be no place for a woman and he tried to impress that on her as they descended into the lobby.
‘Belle, you can’t go gallivanting across the country. You’re a woman for Lord’s sake, there’ll be all kinds of mayhem going on with a war in progress.’
‘I’ve got nothing to lose,’ she insisted. ‘I’ll follow you, Kirby. I swear I will.’
‘Can’t say it wouldn’t be a pleasure having you by my side but I don’t think so.’
‘Not like that,’ she said. ‘Not ever like that. When we kissed up there it was right nice I admit it, but it doesn’t signify a thing. I mean to catch up with Bellows and we’ll do it like regular law officers and nothing more.’
Kirby’s heart sunk a little at that but he could see he was getting nowhere with her determined attitude and he began to fold. It would be better, he concluded, to have her with him rather than dogging his trail behind and falling into all kinds of dangers.
‘You can’t go anywhere looking like that,’ he said with a nod at her dress.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get me some riding gear,’ she said eagerly.
‘See you do, I’ve got me a telegraph to send.’
With that he turned abruptly and left the hotel.
‘Thank you, Kirby,’ she whispered to his back.
Chapter Twelve
Belle and Kirby set out next day on horseback and followed the pony express route alongside the Platte River heading for the capital, Omaha City. Along the way they were accompanied by many travellers, most of them on their way as volunteers to join Brigadier General John Thayer’s formation of the First Nebraska Infantry in the fight against the Confederacy. In all they were a jolly band of recruits, as yet unknowing of the rigors of war and there being no more than fifteen slaves in the whole of the territory, the slavery issue was of little importance to the three thousand or so of the residents making their way to join up. They were mostly men committed to the North and happy to settle for thirteen dollars a month infantry pay to see the Union held intact.
The Territory was in a fervor of jingoistic loyalty at news of the coming conflict. Many took the ferry down the Platte River or travelled overland from the outlying countryside to cross over into the new counties of Polk, Butler and Calhoun on the Territorial fringes and finally to make it into Omaha City and join the flag.
Along the way, as they travelled beside the river, Kirby had, at Belle’s insistence, kept his promise. He taught her to handle a gun and by the time they reached their destination she could hold the weapon without wavering and loose off a shot without screwing up her face and wincing at the sound. She became passable, not deadly, but her eye was good and if she could not hit dead center at least she could come within a foot or so. Enough, Kirby promised, that would blow a hole i
n a man’s arm if she aimed at his heart.
Belle and Kirby arrived with the throng of conscripts across a wide prairie of buffalo grass and their first view of the town was not that prepossessing. Mostly it was composed of widely spread simple frame houses and a scattering of brick ones that only reached to one story high. There were a few stores and the usual amenities but it was the capitol building that dominated all from the high-school grounds where it was situated and it was only this impressive edifice was visible from every direction.
Belle and Kirby took rooms in the Herndon House, the best hotel and a fine, well situated place normally occupied by the more well to do.
They were lucky to obtain quarters as the town was swollen from its usual occupancy of a fifteen hundred head of population by a massing input of military personnel as the volunteers arrived. The steam ferry across the river was busily at it all day long as it traversed with loads of incoming men. The mix was wide and diverse ranging from rough mountain men from The Rockies in their buckskins and coonskin caps to farmers in plain broadcloth all standing shoulder to shoulder with curious Indians from across the Plains.
As these folk gathered more travellers entered from the east, all of them intent on California and the gold to be found at Pike’s Peak and Variable Breaks and steamers came upriver from St. Louis and risked the mud flats to off-load their passengers and supplies two to seven times a week.
Telegraph lines had just arrived at the city and it was from here that Kirby intended to send his messages along the wire to the Pinkerton Agency. But surprisingly, it was not to be from there that they received first news of the runaways.
They were in the dining room of the Herndon House, a pleasantly established chamber with a fine panoramic view through large plate glass windows, although at the time they sat down to eat their breakfast the view showed the approach of a looming storm coming across the prairie horizon. Belle, who had managed to bring one of her fine dress gowns along with her, turned many an eye amongst the businessmen and their ladies gathered in the dining room and Kirby felt a little out of place in such surroundings. He fidgeted uneasily, dressed as he was in his shirt and dusty trail-worn pants. Belle though, carried herself off in style and all were more interested in her rather than the rough fellow she shared a table with.
The manager of the hotel was a man named Jim Allan and it was in an altercation with a business guest called George Train that things came to light.
Belle and Kirby were tucking into their breakfast of prairie chicken and river trout when the row started. The storm had broken outside and was whipping up a ferocious wind that rattled the windows and sent squalls of rain pelting against the glass. George Train seated next to the window with his gathering of business associates, some of them being highly placed politicians, was afraid for their safety as the windows bowed under the impact of the storm.
He called over a Negro waiter to stand with his back to the window and prevent it from caving in. At this the manager, being a man of a political frame of mind and a strong abolitionist, took offense and the row broke out.
‘What can you mean by this?’ cried Jim Allan, the manager. ‘Pushing this man in front of the window.’
Train looked up bewildered and not wishing to look a fool in front of his companions, innocently answered, ‘Why, nothing at all.’
‘We are about to go to war on this very issue,’ replied Allan. ‘And I will not have such abuse offered to any Negro present in this house.’
‘You take offence, sir?’ asked Train.
‘I do,’ replied Allan.
‘Then you take his place,’ said the businessman, by the taking affront and answering angrily.
‘Damn your impudence,’ answered Allan, not about to be browbeaten by the burly Train.
‘I will indeed,’ said Train. ‘I’ve not seen such a fuss since Cain Lemon broke down the bar in Cable Town not a week since.’
At this Kirby, who had been listening with only half an ear, dropped his knife and fork with a clatter on his plate and looked up.
‘You hear that?’ he asked Belle, who nodded in reply and they both paid close attention as the argument continued.
‘You compare a common gunman to this man here?’ cried the manager in reply.
Train, who had also thrown aside his cutlery and jumped to his feet, ordered the servant away and stood with his own back to the glass.
‘There,’ he cried. ‘Satisfied? I will take his place and stand here until this storm subsides.’
Allan sniffed distastefully and with a frown turned and walked away from the irate businessman standing pinned against the bowing window.
‘You shall hear more of this,’ promised Train after the departing manager. He kept his promise too, for some time later he purchased the land directly in front of the hotel and built his own hotel to obscure the view and deduct business from the established residence.
‘You know this Cable Town?’ Belle whispered.
Kirby nodded, ‘Sure, southern Iowa. We need to get going soonest. I’ll send off my telegraph messages and we’ll pull out.’
‘Can I finish my fish?’ she asked with a wry twist of her lips.
‘Not if you want to catch up with Bellows.’
At that she laid aside her fork, ‘I’d rather do that than listen to these blowhards, that’s for sure.’
‘Pack your things,’ said Kirby, rising from the table.
Cable Town was no more than a roadside stopover consisting of an uneven row of ten wooden shacks, with the larger drinking house at the center and a general store on one side and an open fronted blacksmith’s shop on the other. It did not take much deduction to reckon that the single watering hole was the bar referred to by the businessman in Omaha City.
The sun was setting behind them as they pulled up outside and the sunlight cast the tawdry collection of structures in an orange glow, to one side long purple shadows stretched away from the buildings as the evening drew in. The road was empty of life except for a trio of skinny scavenging dogs that ran between the buildings as if they were intent on some important mission.
‘You want to come in?’ asked Kirby as he dismounted and tied his pinto to the hitching rail.
She looked tired he thought, they had done some hard riding to get here and Belle was wind blown and dusty. Still she looked a beauty to Kirby’s eye, with her stunning blue eyes shining out from her tanned face powdered with white trail dust.
She wore tight riding pants with leather patches at the seat and an oilskin slicker draped across her top. A flat brimmed sombrero hid her golden curls that were pinned up inside the hat. At her curving waist was the short-barreled Colt revolver she had purchased in Variable Breaks, now nestling in an ammunition belt and cut-off holster that was strapped to her thigh.
None of it hid her sex effectively but Kirby had reckoned that at some distance she might appear as a young man of willowy proportions but, realistically, he had little hope that Belle’s obvious attributes would be kept secret for long from the discerning eye.
‘I’ll come,’ she said and he watched as she climbed down a little stiffly from the saddle.
‘You sure?’ he asked. ‘I don’t know what we’ll find inside.’
She did not answer, just jerked her chin in direction of the saloon’s door.
Together they mounted the boardwalk and Kirby pushed open the street door.
The place was a shambles, broken tables and splintered chairs were heaped along one side of the narrow room that stretched away from them. A staircase leaned precariously out from one wall, some of the posts shattered and ripped from their places. The mirror behind the wall-long bar was bullet holed and some of the shelves alongside had fallen from their places. In all, it looked as if a small tornado had entered and swept its way through, lifting and throwing things aside as it went.
The barman, a somnolent looking fellow, was leaning cross-armed on the bar and watched them approach with brooding eyes. Kirby stopped inside the door
and placing his boot on the foot rail leaned on the bar top. Belle stood behind him and to one side, standing back a little in the shadows. Kirby waited patiently for the barman to finally manage to make the effort and come to them. He strolled along the length of the bar, swishing the top with a dishrag as he came.
‘What’ll it be?’ he said, his dark eyes sliding past Kirby and settling curiously on Belle.
‘What the hell happened here?’ asked Kirby, with a nod at the destruction.
The barman sniffed, ‘A little spring cleaning.’
‘Looks more like the Confederate army just passed through.’
‘We had some small bother a while back,’ the barman admitted, his eyes still fixed on Belle.
‘Oh, yeah, what was that?’
The barman’s eyes swiveled back to stare solemnly at Kirby, ‘You come in for a drink or a history lesson?’
‘Just asking, is all. You can get us a couple of beers.’
‘Sure your friend there wouldn’t prefer something softer? Glass of milk perhaps?’
‘You want to order for me now,’ Kirby came back sharply.
The barman sniffed, switched his rag a time or two and went off to get the beers.
‘There’s men in the back,’ Belle whispered in his ear.
‘I see them,’ Kirby answered. He had already noted the group of men sitting in the shadows at the rear of the saloon. They sat still and silent, their eyes never leaving the newcomers. ‘Keep your eye on them, they move, tell me.’
The beers arrived and the barman set them down delicately with an insolent show of extra care.
‘So tell me,’ said Kirby directly. ‘Where is Cain Lemon?’
The barman nodded slowly, ‘So that’s it,’ he said. ‘You heard about this and come looking for him, huh?’
Kirby nodded but said nothing, waiting for the barman to go on.
‘He paid good for the damage. I don’t see no need to spell out his whereabouts. Fella had a little too much to drink and things got out of hand. He paid his way so it don’t go no further than that.’
‘Just tell me where he’s at,’ said Kirby, lifting his beer and taking a sip. ‘I don’t carry as much cash money as him and I’d hate to see this place turned over again.’
