“He gave me two bits and said to go to the Big Tree Saloon tonight, down by the river, and he’d find me.”
“Hmm.” Owens frowned at him. “You giving it to me straight?”
“Sure am.”
Owens gestured to David and Adams to join him, and the three stepped out into the hall.
“I’ll try to get him over to the icehouse without a lot of people seeing me, but it’ll be hard to take him out of this building unnoticed, especially if someone’s watching.”
“There’s stairs for the staff that go down into the kitchen,” Adams said. “You could take him that way and out the back.”
“Good. I’ll lock him up and see if I can get wind of this Peterson.” Owens shook his head. “Persistent, isn’t he? I was sure he’d left town. He must have a big payday riding on killing you, Mr. Stone.”
“I hate to think it, but it seems you’re right,” David said.
Owens untied the prisoner, and Adams showed him the back stairway. When he returned, David told Adams and Anne, “We need to sit down right now and decide what we’re going to do. Personally, I don’t want to depend on Owens to catch that thug Peterson.”
“I agree,” Adams said. “What I didn’t have a chance to tell you is that the steamer is too small to take horses on the deck. The captain wasn’t open to it, and I could see why. But Anne and I don’t want to give up our horses, and I know you don’t either, sir.”
“We could head out for your place in Eugene,” Anne said doubtfully.
“Too risky,” David said. “He could bushwhack us anywhere along the way.”
“How about this,” Adams said. “I could go back to talk to the captain again and make it look like I was buying tickets on the steamer. If I asked him nice, he might put it about that we were taking his boat tomorrow. He’s going down the river and up the coast to the Columbia, then to Oregon City.”
“And what would we really do?” Anne asked, her eyes bright.
“Start out tonight when it’s full dark and ride to the coast. If Peterson figures out we left on horseback, he’d probably expect us to ride east. But we go west instead, and follow the river road to the coast.”
“What’s the point, other than to confuse him?” David asked.
“We could get a bigger ship at Reedsport or Gardiner, board it with the horses, and sail to Oregon City. A steamer would get us there in less than two days.”
“Then you’d be nearly home, and Uncle David and I could ride down to Corvallis to Eb and Elise’s ranch,” Anne said. “I like that plan. Can you stand to be away from your farm a little longer, Uncle David?”
“That doesn’t matter much. It’s staying alive I care about.”
Anne’s face sobered. “Maybe we ought to stay right here until Owens catches Peterson.”
“We’ve done that and he hasn’t even laid eyes on the fellow,” David said. “How long do you think we should we hide in this hotel? It’s been days already.”
“Your uncle’s right,” Adams said. “Peterson is staying out of sight. Unless he makes some big blunder, we’re at his mercy. He could wait forever, though I don’t think he would. I wish I knew where he’s hiding.”
“Must be boarding somewhere,” David muttered. “But I don’t want to stay here any longer. Let’s get out of Scottsburg.”
“All right,” Adams said. “I’ll go have a word with the steamboat’s captain.”
Ernie sent the dishwasher up with a tray of sandwiches and coffee at one o’clock. “Did anyone see you in the hall?” Dan asked when Mudge set it on the table in the sitting room.
“I don’t think so.”
Dan put fifty cents in his hand. “I’d like you to go out to the stable with me after we’ve eaten. Can you have our horses ready at ten o’clock tonight if I show you our animals and gear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dan nodded. “Try not to let anyone see you going into the stable, either. If anyone who works here asks, tell them you’re serving a guest, but don’t give out our names.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll keep mum. No worry there.”
“Good,” Dan said. “When do you finish in the kitchen? I’ll come down and go with you.”
“I could slip out for a few minutes around half past eight, sir.”
Mudge left the room, and Dan locked the door behind him.
Anne had set the sandwiches and cups out on the table near the window. She looked over at Dan. “We’re putting an awful lot of faith in that young man.”
“Yes, we are.” Dan could only pray that their trust was not misplaced.
They gathered at the table and ate their meal. Ernie had included a plate of raisin tarts and a dish of sautéed apples. Afterward, Anne sat quietly on the sofa, mending one of David’s socks, while the men settled the details of their escape.
“I expect Peterson knows what rooms we’re in by now,” David said.
“Just the same, it doesn’t hurt to exercise caution.” Dan sat and studied him, thinking. David’s height and bearing made him difficult to mistake for anyone else, and once he started talking there was no question. “When we leave, you should go out separately from us. Maybe through the kitchen door. We could meet you a short distance away with the horses.”
David frowned but nodded. “All right. Less chance of him getting on to our plan that way. You and Anne get the horses, and I’ll meet you down at the junction.”
“I think that would be best,” Dan said. “Even if Peterson sees Anne and me leaving, he won’t see you. But stay out of sight.”
“I’ve learned to sneak through the shadows.” David’s wry smile lacked any mirth.
Dan glanced at Anne. “Is this plan acceptable to you?”
She nodded, but her face had paled. Dan wished he could reassure her that all would go well and they would soon be away from this place and safe. Together and safe.
They waited in the hotel suite with the drapes drawn through the afternoon. At first all was quiet, but David became restless again. He paced for a while, then sat down on a chair facing Dan.
“Adams, I’ve decided what I want to do.”
“Tonight, sir?”
“No. In the future.”
Anne gazed at him in dismay.
Before she could speak, Dan said, “And what is that, sir?”
“I want to start a stagecoach line from Eugene to Corvallis. Heaven knows we need one.”
Dan nodded, considering the idea. “If one was in place, Anne and I could have gotten to your farm much quicker. I think it’s an excellent idea.”
“They’re bringing the mail up from San Francisco overland,” David said. “Why stop at Eugene? The roads need some improvement, and we’d need better ferries and a couple of stout bridges, but whoever had the mail contract could get money from Washington for those things.”
Having seen the hazards of the route firsthand, Dan began to warm to the idea. “You could offer daily service between the two cities. Or at least three coaches a week each way.”
“Excellent. We’d need a station halfway, where they could change horses, or possibly two swing stations. But one driver could easily make the full run.”
“I wouldn’t mind being a station agent,” Dan said.
David blinked at him. “Wouldn’t you? I thought you were set to grow wheat.”
“My brother’s more keen on it than I am.” He tried to imagine what the station in Corvallis would be like—hustling whenever a coach came in, changing out the teams of horses, loading the mail and freight. The passengers would go in to eat dinner.
That stopped him cold. Who would cook dinner for the guests? Before he could check the thought, he imagined a small, dark-haired woman in an apron standing over an iron cookstove. She looked uncannily like Anne. He glanced over at her. Anne had stopped her darning and was watching him.
He smiled. Anne hadn’t known the first thing about cooking, or even how to light a fire, a few months ago. But she had a quick mind, and he figured she c
ould learn to cook for a crowd if she put her mind to it.
“What’s funny?” David asked.
“Nothing, sir. Not funny exactly. I was just thinking how our perspective changes over time. I never thought about freighting or driving a stagecoach before, but I think I’d like to be involved in such a venture, especially on the organizational end. Buying horses and making sure things run smoothly down the line.”
“You could do it,” Anne said. She turned to her uncle, her face earnest. “Daniel has a good mind for seeing problems and finding the solution.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m about done with placer mining, and I may decide to sell my farm, too. Or I could use it for the home station on the southern end of the line, though a place in town would probably be better. I wonder if there’s a good spot available in Eugene. I’ll have to talk to Skinner about it.”
“But—” Anne frowned. “Won’t you be going back to England, Uncle David?”
He sighed and burrowed down in his chair. “Haven’t decided yet.”
That surprised Dan. Stone could finance a stagecoach line here and go back to his position of wealth and power in England. He’d thought that much was a foregone conclusion. From what Anne had said, the estate must be large, with a sizable fortune entailed. Who would turn down such an opportunity?
The other side of the coin was the danger such a position brought. Why would a man take on the responsibility if it meant others constantly tried to kill him?
“I’ll admit I’m ignorant in such matters,” he said, “but it seems to me that accepting this earldom would be dangerous to you, Mr. Stone.”
David turned languid eyes upon him. “I doubt it would be more dangerous than what I’m enduring now.”
“That’s so,” Anne said, taking another stitch. “Once you’re established as the earl and settle down to run the estate and—”
“And marry suitably, thus providing a direct heir or two,” David said drily. “Yes, becoming entrenched in British society is probably the best way to insure my life if I decide to claim the peerage. But I can’t help feeling I’d be much freer and happier if I simply said no.”
Anne lowered her sewing and stared at him. “You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.”
“I could, and I might. All it would take is a letter. And I might.” He laughed at Anne’s horrified expression. “Don’t you see, my dear? If I stood before a judge and signed a letter saying I give up any claim to my brother’s estate, no one would want to kill me. Cousin Randolph would inherit, and Peterson would leave me alone.”
“How would Peterson know to do that?” Dan asked.
“I haven’t figured that out yet. I suppose we could have a copy of the letter hand delivered to him, if we knew where to find him.”
They sat in silence for a full minute.
“Please don’t do it,” Anne said at last. “I do value your life, Uncle David, and your liberty to do whatever you wish with your life. If you want to stay here and open a stagecoach line with Daniel, why, that would be wonderful. Yet I’d hate to see you make a hasty decision. Please think of all the people in England who depend upon Stoneford. And think of your cousin running the estate. I can’t say I like that picture.”
“Nor do I,” David said. “He was always a selfish twit.”
“I fear he hasn’t changed much—and his wife! Always one to live beyond her income. Randolph and Merrileigh would run through the fortune in short order if their present spending is any indication. Then where would the tenants be?”
“And this is the man who’s hired Peterson to kill you,” Dan said. “This spineless, spendthrift cousin.”
“So it seems,” David said. “I can’t think of anyone else with a motive. And it’s like Randolph to hire someone else to do the work for him. It’s true I don’t like to hand the estate over to him. It’s not an easy choice.”
“Then don’t make it hastily,” Anne said.
“How is this cousin paying Peterson?” Dan asked.
“Yes. He hasn’t much spare money.” Anne eyed the sock in her hand as though she detested it. “He must be giving Peterson a lot.”
“Probably promised to pay out of the estate when he gets it, other than expenses,” David said.
Dan shook his head at the waste, let alone the depravity of it. Imagine what an honest man could do with the money this cousin was spending to kill David. It boggled the mind.
Anne picked up her needle once more. “Well, I think you should take your time deciding what to do. And regardless of your decision, we should send a letter to the solicitor, telling him I’ve found you and that you are alive.”
“So far,” David said.
Anne frowned at that. “Please don’t speak so. If we let Mr. Conrad know you are safe, I expect he will tell Cousin Randolph. Then perhaps Randolph will leave you alone.”
“I doubt it,” David replied. “For one thing, he has no speedy way to call off his hound.”
“And if we found a way to prove your cousin’s involvement,” Dan said, “would he be disqualified from inheriting the estate? If so, who would be next in line?”
“A good question,” David said.
“Randolph’s son, I should think.” Anne continued stitching, but she didn’t seem at ease.
“He’s got children, then?” David asked.
“Yes. Two of them—a boy and a girl.”
“Well, he’s far ahead of me in that, though he must be six or seven years younger.”
“Spoiled and ill-mannered, the lot,” Anne said.
David sighed. “I should have married sooner. Then you wouldn’t have all this trouble I’ve caused you.”
Anne clipped her threads and laid the scissors aside. “I rather hoped you had. Elise and I speculated on the wagon train whether we might find you settled and the father of several little Stones.”
“There was a girl in Independence,” David said with a faraway look in his eyes. “I thought she might be the one. But by the time I got around to asking if I could court her, she was looking at someone else.” He shook his head. “I didn’t do so well at farming there, either. I’d done better as a shopkeeper. I sold out after a few years and got enough to stock three wagons full of merchandise to bring to Oregon.”
“So that’s why you left Independence.” Anne’s sympathetic gaze would have cheered most men, but David still looked sad.
“The only thing is, it’s mighty hard to get a wagon heavily loaded over those mountains.”
“Tell me about it,” Anne said. “I sold a trunk of ball gowns in Independence.”
“Really? That was indeed a sacrifice, my dear.”
Dan smiled. “Wait until you hear about the fellow who told us you were buried out behind his house.”
“What?” David arched his eyebrows.
“Oh yes, Herr Schwartz nearly had us convinced you’d died on the trail.”
“Schwartz? I remember him.”
“Well, Anne and Miss Finster saw through him,” Dan said. “But your niece has undergone a great deal for you.”
Anne reached over and patted Stone’s arm. “I don’t want you to feel you have to return to England, Uncle David, but at least inform the solicitor that you’re alive. If you don’t claim the estate and title within a few years, the crown might dispose of the property and appropriate the money.”
“I suppose you’re right.” David’s reluctance was obvious.
Dan stood. “I was thinking I’d make a quick trip to the mercantile for some extra ammunition. I could take a letter if you want to post one. It might be a good idea to have one on the way before we leave here.”
“I agree,” Anne said. “And I’ll send one to Elise as well. I know we hope to see her in a few days, but if anything should delay us, at least she’ll know our plans.”
“Does she know you’ve found me?” David asked.
“Yes. I wrote while you were resting and recovering.”
He nodded. “All right, I’ll fetch some paper and write t
o Conrad. Heavens, he was old when I was a lad. He must be positively doddering now.”
David rose and walked unsteadily to the desk, using the cane Dr. Muller had provided.
“May I help you, sir?” Dan asked.
David looked down at his arm, still swathed in a sling. “I believe I can write a few lines, but perhaps you’d best open the ink for me.”
He sat at the desk for several minutes, scratching away with a pen. Anne borrowed a sheet of paper from him and composed a note to Elise. At last both missives were ready to post, and Dan put on his coat and prepared to leave for the post office.
“If you’d like anything from the store…”
Anne tilted her head to one side, sending highlights from the lantern glinting over her dark hair. “Rations for the ship, I suppose. Something we can carry and eat easily, without needing a fire. I’ve no idea if we’ll be able to buy things like that when we reach the coast.”
“Or have the time to do so before we sail.” David reached in his pocket and took out a silver dollar, which he handed to Dan. “Get some jerky and ship’s biscuit, if they have it.”
Anne made a dour face. “I suppose that’s practical.”
“It’s only for a short time, and only if we need it,” David assured her.
“All right,” Dan said, “and shall I inquire for your mail, sir?”
“Yes. Let me write a note to the postmaster, or chances are he won’t give it to you.”
Finally Dan set out, hoping the post office was still open. The sun had gone down, and the temperature had dipped. At least the sky was clear tonight.
The postmaster was coming out from behind his counter when Dan entered.
“Well, now, you just caught me,” he said. “Adams, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and I have a note from Mr. Stone, asking you to give me his mail. He and his niece also entrusted two letters to me for mailing.”
The postmaster scrutinized David’s note and compared the writing to that on the letter addressed to Andrew Conrad, Esq., in Middlesex, England. He turned and dropped it into a box and placed Anne’s letter in a mailbag. He scanned the rack of pigeonholes on the wall behind him.
“There’s nothing here for Mr. Stone today. Anything else I can do for you, sir?”
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 60
