Dan arched his eyebrows at Anne. Her tense facial muscles had relaxed.
“And you’ll keep him locked up until the judge comes?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well then, Daniel, I see no reason why we can’t get a good night’s sleep and consider this again tomorrow, do you?”
“I…guess not.”
“Might be a good idea,” Constable Owens said. “Let me know when you decide. I’ll hold him meantime, just so’s we know where he is.”
“You can’t do that, can you?” Sam cried.
“I can, and I will.”
Dan took Anne’s elbow and guided her outside before anyone had third or fourth thoughts on the matter.
“It’s too late to ask at the post office tonight,” he said. “Let’s go back to Mrs. Zinberg’s and inquire first thing tomorrow.”
“What about Whitey?” Anne looked over to where the old man stood beside the roan, scratching under its forelock.
“I suppose we should put him up for the night at a hotel,” Dan said.
“It seems only fair—after all, he put us up last night, when we sorely needed it.”
“All right. Shall we install him in town or take him with us to Mrs. Zinberg’s on the chance she has an extra room?”
Anne smiled. “That depends. Are you willing to chance rooming with Whitey again if she doesn’t?”
Dan laughed. “Could be worse, I guess.”
Anne leaned toward him and whispered, “He’s getting awfully fond of that horse.”
“Yes. I suppose he’d like to have a mount of his own. But we can’t just let him take it, even if its owner is a thieving rascal.”
“I’ll bet Hastings stole that horse from Uncle David.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Dan said. “We can ask him tomorrow. But for now, let’s go. It’s getting cold again, and if we stay out much later, we’ll frighten Mrs. Zinberg when we pound on her door.”
He led Star over toward the roan and said, “Whitey, what do you say to accompanying us to our boardinghouse? We’ll straighten all this out in the morning, and you can go home if you like, but we’d like you to have a good night’s rest and a hearty breakfast first.”
Whitey’s eyes glittered. “That’s right neighborly of you, son.”
David’s head cleared as he left the water and clawed his way up the bank. He’d said it was chilly before, but now he was soaking wet. The cold wind off the mountains could be lethal. Could he make it to the hotel?
Charlotte had finally left the dock, cursing as she went—not a section of her vocabulary she’d shown him before. What other talents were buried in the deeper layers of her personality?
He lurched onto the road and considered staggering the quarter mile to one of the waterfront saloons. Better not. That would attract attention. The assassin was looking for his body. The honorable David Stone would stay dead.
Down the road, a man came out of a saloon and strode up the boardwalk. David hobbled into the shadows. His arm hurt worse by the second, and he held on to it. He supposed he ought to be thankful it wasn’t worse.
The cold air penetrated the layers of his wet clothing. If he didn’t get inside soon, he’d be in even worse trouble. When the pedestrian had passed, he left his hiding place. By alleys and back streets, he made his way toward the hotel. Each painful step was a trial. His mind raced while his body plodded, slower and slower.
A man wouldn’t need legal proof of his death to jump his claim. In that situation, it would be better if his body were never found. The thug could just squat on the land and prospect. He could probably even get away with impersonating David if he stayed away from those who knew him in Scottsburg, or perhaps he could claim they were partners.
So what was this business arrangement Charlotte had gotten into? From the sound of things, she hadn’t expected a murder attempt. The man had tricked her into luring him out where he could fire the fatal shot without an audience. But the gunman’s plan included the filing of the proper paperwork. Whatever for?
Now, if this were England…
But the assassin wasn’t British. Still, the thought wouldn’t go away. David hugged himself, shivering violently. He hobbled through another alley and came out in the yard between the back of the hotel and its outbuildings. Should he get his horse and flee without telling anyone what happened? He’d freeze to death before he reached the next town.
He stopped and leaned against the wall of the hotel’s woodshed, his left hand clamped over his wound. He should see a doctor. Or would that prove fatal? Someone wanted him dead.
His thoughts veered back to England. This might make sense there…but only if he were next in line to inherit an estate…say, Stoneford. A chill more bitter than that imposed by water and wind swept over him. This couldn’t be connected to the earldom, could it? His teeth chattered, and he tried to clench them together, but he couldn’t stop shaking. If he didn’t get inside soon, the thug would get his wish. Sucking in a breath, he reeled toward the hotel’s kitchen door.
Locked. David didn’t think he had enough strength to get around to the front entrance. He fell against the door and raised his bloody hand to pound on the panel.
“Dear God,” he ground out, “have mercy.”
He lifted his left hand again and thudded his fist against the door. A rattle within startled him. He managed to draw back just before it opened, so that he didn’t fall in.
“Help me,” he said.
The rotund cook stared at him for a moment.
“Good heavens! Mr. Stone!”
David collapsed on the threshold.
CHAPTER 17
Can you hear me, sir?”
David opened his eyes and blinked up at Ernie Bond, the hotel’s cook. He reached out a shaking hand. “C–can you help me, Ernie?”
“What do you want me to do? You look half frozen.”
“Help me get to my room.”
“Yes, sir. Let me get Mr. Reed.”
“No,” David said. “Don’t tell anyone.”
Ernie swallowed hard and looked around the kitchen.
“I’m not sure we can do it without help, sir. We can go up the back stairs, but you’ve got the suite on the third floor, and that’s a lot of steps.”
“Then set me a chair by the s–stove. If I get warm, m–maybe I can walk.”
Ernie bustled about and returned to give him a hand in rising.
“Easy, now. You all right?”
David groaned and pulled himself up, putting all his weight on Ernie’s arm. They hobbled to a chair Ernie had positioned a yard from the big iron cookstove, and David sank into it.
“I’ve got a little coffee left. Let me get you some.”
A moment later, Ernie held out the cup. David’s fingers stung and prickled as the feeling began to return. “Can’t—” He rubbed his hands together and grimaced.
“What happened to you, if you don’t mind my asking?” Ernie said.
“Fell in the river.”
“Bad place to be this time of year.” His gaze fastened on David’s sleeve. “You’re bleeding, you know.”
“Shot.”
Ernie’s eyes widened. “You need a doctor.”
“Is there one?” At last David’s hands stopped prickling and began to feel hot as the blood rushed through them. He reached for the cup.
“Oh yes. Doc Muller. Lives down the way. I could send the—No, I guess you don’t want me to tell anyone. That’s what you said before.”
David nodded. “If I can get to my room, we’ll see what’s what.” He clasped his hands around the thick china cup and sighed at the comfort of its warmth. Slowly he raised it to his lips and took a sip. The coffee was very warm but not hot.
“I can make a fresh pot,” Ernie said. “I was about to close up the kitchen for the night….”
“Don’t bother,” David said. “This is fine.” He took a bigger gulp.
“Let’s get that wet coat off you.” Ern
ie took his cup away and worked at David’s coat buttons. “You’re lucky you survived.”
David knew he was right, but his mind was too numb to form a prayer of thanks. The pain when Ernie tugged on his right sleeve jabbed him into sudden and complete alertness. He sucked in a breath and held it while the cook eased the coat off his other arm and dropped it on the floor.
Ernie moved away and returned with a heavy damask tablecloth. “I don’t have a blanket. Put this around you.”
“I’ll get blood on it.”
“You’re shaking all over, Mr. Stone. Don’t worry about the blood.”
The weight of the dry cloth did feel good. Ernie gave him back his cup of lukewarm coffee, and he sipped it. As David thawed, other discomforts began to make themselves known. His feet ached, and his temple throbbed. He put his hand to it and winced. Had he hit his head on the dock when he fell? Maybe he’d stumbled going up the riverbank and didn’t remember.
“We ought to do something about that arm,” Ernie said.
David tried to look at the wound, but just moving his shoulder hurt more than it was worth.
“It doesn’t seem to be bleeding much now, if that’s any comfort.” Ernie pulled the damask cloth over the injured arm.
“Probably the veins froze.”
Ernie laughed. “When you think you can walk, I’ll help you upstairs. Then I really should look at it or else get Doc Muller.” Ernie looked toward the dining-room door. “Sometimes Mr. Reed comes out here in the evening. If you don’t want him to see you, we need to do it soon.”
“All right.”
David handed him his coffee cup, and Ernie set it aside. He walked around to David’s left side and stooped over.
“Put your good arm around my shoulders.”
Even using his left side sent shafts of pain through David’s body. He hung on to Ernie and pushed himself up. His head swam, and he stood still for a moment, gasping.
“All right?” Ernie asked.
“Yes.”
“This way.”
They staggered across the kitchen. David never should have sat down. Now his muscles had stiffened.
“My coat.” They stopped and looked back. His sodden jacket lay in a heap behind his chair.
“I’ll come back for it. We’ve got to get you out of sight.”
Ernie half dragged him up to the first landing. David appreciated his not asking who had shot him or why—not that he could have answered the questions. Ernie seemed like a sharp-witted fellow. He understood the urgency.
A door opened down the hallway. David gritted his teeth.
“They won’t see us unless they come down to this stairway,” Ernie whispered. “But if anyone asks, I’ll just say you came in drunk.”
“Did I have a hat?” David asked.
“No.”
“Must have lost it in the drink.” Too bad. He liked that hat—and it would have helped shield his face. They swung around and started up the next flight of stairs.
When they reached the top, Ernie opened the door. David heard footsteps in the hall, coming toward the staircase. After a moment, they faded away.
“That was one of the geologists in 210,” Ernie said. “He went down the main staircase.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, at least he didn’t see me. That would make him stare.”
“Yes. A fat man helping a scarecrow wrapped in a tablecloth to his room.”
David laughed out loud. He couldn’t stop chortling, until he shook all over.
“Hey, it wasn’t that funny.” Ernie eyed him askance from about six inches away. “Let’s get you on down the hall.”
“At least it wasn’t someone I know,” David said.
“Yes, like that pretty Mrs. Evans.”
David’s blood chilled. “If she asks about me don’t tell her you saw me tonight, whatever you do.”
“Does she have something to do with this?”
“Just play dumb.”
“Got it.”
At last they reached the door to David’s suite. He patted his pockets, afraid he might have lost the key in the river, but he found it, with a sodden wallet, a few coins, and his pocketknife. He handed the key over, and Ernie opened the door while David leaned against the wall.
Inside his bedroom, he dropped the tablecloth and let Ernie help him strip off his wet clothing.
“That wound looks nasty. You’d best let me fetch the doctor.”
David hesitated. “The fewer people who know about this the better.”
“Yes, but you could die from infection while you’re keeping your head down.” Ernie took the clean handkerchief David supplied and tied it about the wound. Just his touch sent a fiery pain through David’s body, and tightening the knot made him gasp.
“All right,” he said, “but help me get warm first.” The rooms were chilly, but while David pulled on long underwear and woolen trousers and a shirt, Ernie lit the fire on the hearth.
“You should go to bed and sleep.”
David shook his head. “I can’t stay here.”
“Why ever not?”
“The person who did this might come looking for me here.”
Ernie frowned. “Is there somewhere else you could go?”
“I’ll have to think about it. I have a few acquaintances in town but none I’d call close friends.”
“Well, I’ll run for the doctor. Lock your door and wait.” Ernie turned to go.
“I really don’t want to sit here that long.”
Ernie swung around. “I’ve got an idea. You could ask to switch rooms.”
“Hmm, could we do that with no one else knowing?”
Ernie’s slow smile gave him hope. “There’s a small room under the attic stairs that is only rented out when everything else is full. I can get the key easily when Reed isn’t looking.”
David’s mind raced. “But if all my things are gone, he’ll think I skipped out without paying.”
“Well, you can’t stay here if someone’s trying to kill you.” Ernie frowned at him. “What do you suggest?”
David sank down on the edge of the bed, pressing on his wounded shoulder. If it didn’t hurt so much, he could think.
“You’re right. I need to get out of this room. But maybe we can leave my things here, at least overnight, and see if anyone comes around asking for me or tries to break into the room. What do they do if a hotel guest disappears without paying?”
“They’d pack up your things and hold on to them for a while, in case you came back, or in case a family member claimed them.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen.”
“Won’t anyone know you’re missing?”
“I haven’t kept in touch with my family for a long time.” Not for the first time, David regretted not writing to his brothers more often.
“Tell you what,” Ernie said. “If you think you’ll be all right for ten minutes or so, I’ll see if I can get Doc Muller. After he fixes you up, I’ll help you get into the little room under the stairs. We’ll take your wet things and just enough for you to get by on—so that it looks like you left all your stuff and disappeared.”
“Yes. And I’ll leave enough cash lying about to pay my bill.”
“Oh, Mr. Reed will be very pleased if you do that,” Ernie said.
David nodded. “Of course, there’ll be something in it for you, too, Ernie.”
“No need, Mr. Stone. I’m not doing this for pay.”
“I know, and that tells me you’re the sort of man I’d like to count among my friends.”
Ernie ducked his head. “I’m honored, sir. Now I’d best get moving.”
“My pistol,” David said.
“Where is it?”
“In the bottom drawer.” He nodded toward the dresser.
Ernie got it out and brought it over to him. “Is it loaded?”
“Yes. I want it handy while you’re gone. I suppose I’ll have to
leave it behind when we move, though.”
“Why?” Ernie asked. “No one can say you didn’t have it on you when you disappeared.”
“I like the way you think. All right, see if you can get the doctor. After that we’d better get me moved.”
Ernie left, and David lay back on the pillow with the pistol lying on his chest and pointed toward the door. He wished the door was locked, but even if he made it over there now to lock it, he’d have to get up again when Ernie returned and unlock it. That might be too much for him. He’d have to depend on the gun if anyone else came before Ernie got back.
The temptation to close his eyes was too great. Slipping into semiconsciousness felt delicious. The pain in his arm still maintained a constant presence, but he was able to push it aside now that he lay prone and could relax.
His eyelids flew open. What was he doing? He couldn’t go to sleep. An assassin wanted to kill him, and he’d flown back to the first place the man would look for him. He forced himself to sit up. His head cleared a little, and he tried to stand but lurched and nearly knocked over the nightstand.
He got as far as the chair and clung to the back, panting and fighting a blackout. The fire was burning down, but he didn’t think he had the energy to build it up again. He summoned another ounce of resolution and took two shaky steps to the dresser. Most of his valuables had been in his pockets tonight, but a few other things must go with him to the new room. He gathered a minimum of clothing, leaving enough to make it look as though he was still using the room. Most of the small gold nuggets he’d gleaned at his claim had already been cashed in, but he pocketed a small pouch he’d left covered by his extra shirts. The extra ammunition for his pistol would go with him. He’d better leave his rifle, much as he hated to. Charlotte or the killer might know he had one, and he certainly hadn’t been carrying it the last time they saw him. His mining gear represented less of a loss. What about Captain?
He sank down in the armchair near the fire and pondered that. How could he keep his favorite horse without arousing suspicion? Captain was stabled out back in the hotel’s barn.
His head throbbed now, and his arm screamed as though a hot iron seared it. Maybe Ernie or the doctor could help him figure that out.
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 51
