“No. I sprained my wrist and I gotta have some violets.” He stared at the two men, then shrugged. “I swear, I thought everybody knowed that the juice of violets was a shore enough cure for a sprained right wrist!”
“I never knew that, Dooley,” Mark said. “What’s the cure for a bad left wrist?”
Dooley slipped his Bowie into the sheath at his side and said in a condescending tone, “I don’t aim to put no pearls before swine!” Then he sobered and shook his head, “Captain, it’s shore a hummer of a place! Miz Winslow said for me to watch you, and that’s what I aim to do.”
“If you can use that cannon you’re packing,” Driver smiled, “you’ll be useful.”
Lowell gave Mark a curious look. “What’s the first step?”
“A visit to the opposition,” Mark said. He straightened his gun on his hip and said, “We wait until Valance steps over the line—then we sit down on him.”
A wicked gleam in his eye, Dooley said, “Boss, ain’t you heard? One of Cherry Valance’s house dealers put a slug in one of Casement’s best track foremen.”
“Killed him?”
“Yep. Paddy Ryan done set his bucket down,” Dooley said. “And he was a good feller, too. The General said it might be a good way to make your intentions clear if you was to yank that dealer out and decorate a telephone pole with him.” He added drolly, “That would give Cherry to understand that you are serious.”
Mark gave the two men a quick glance. “Let’s make our call, boys.”
“Give me a gun,” Lowell demanded quickly.
Mark and Driver exchanged glances. “This isn’t your cup of tea, Lowell. Better wait here.”
Lowell’s youthful face stiffened. He said roughly, “I know it isn’t. But if you think I’m going to stay here while you do the dirty work, you’ve got another thing coming. Besides, General Dodge said I was to help you any way I could.”
“He meant engineer work, Lowell,” Mark argued.
“Give me a gun—or I’ll go buy one!”
Mark sighed, and Dooley pulled an old .38 from under his coat, checked the loads, then handed it to Lowell. “I always carry a spare,” he grinned.
“Try to stay out of trouble,” said Mark grimly.
The four of them shouldered their way down the street until they came to the Wagonwheel. They passed by spielers crying out, “Come on you rondo-coolo sports—come on in and give us a bet!”
As soon as they were inside, Dooley said behind his hand, “That’s the hairpin who done Ryan in, Boss. The one in the striped shirt dealing faro—Hugh Gardner, he calls hisself.”
“Watch out for yourself, Mark. The white-haired man sitting with Valance is Goldman,” Driver softly pointed out. “They’ve got us spotted.”
Mark got a quick glimpse of the two men. Valance was looking down at his hands, but Goldman had his hazel eyes fixed on them. His white hair and rail thin build made him look older than his thirty-four years. Mark noted that the big bouncer was also watching him, but he walked across the crowded room and came to stand behind one of the men at Gardner’s table.
The dealer looked up, started to say something, but seemed to change his mind. “Game’s full, gentlemen,” he said. He gave a quick look to his left and seemed reassured. “Try me later.”
“Get up, Gardner,” Mark said in a loud voice. “I’m taking you in for killing Paddy Ryan.”
His voice carried over the room, and the music immediately died to nothing. The men at Gardner’s table turned, got one look at Winslow’s face, then scrambled out of their chairs and moved to one side, alarmed. Mark heard the men behind him moving to the sides of the tent as well, and he noted that Dooley and Taylor had arranged themselves well back so that he did not have to think about what was behind him, but Driver was nowhere to be seen.
Gardner was a cool one. He carefully laid his cards down, then got to his feet, keeping his hands away from his body. He had a gun, Mark knew, but it was underneath his coat, probably in a shoulder holster. His pale eyes remained carefully fixed on Winslow. “Ryan was drunk,” he said. “It was self-defense—ask anybody here.”
“You’ll have a chance to prove that in court,” Mark said. “Come along.”
Gardner shook his head slightly, saying, “You’re not going to railroad me.”
Valance rose up from his chair to stand about six feet to Gardner’s left—Goldman moving in behind him and still farther to Mark’s right. “You’ve got a bum steer, Winslow,” Cherry said easily. There was a watchful look on his face and Mark noticed that, like Gardner, he wore his gun in a shoulder holster. “Send the town marshal by if you’ve got a complaint.”
Winslow turned to face Valance. In doing so he had to glance away from Gardner, but he noted that Taylor was facing him, his hand on the gun in his waistband. The saloon was still, and Mark’s voice sounded loud as he said, “You’ve been having your own way, Valance, but that’s over now. There’s been a man a day killed in your joint or one like it. The Union’s going to clamp the lid down. I propose to take Gardner in. If you interfere, I’ll stop your clock.”
The harsh words struck against the smooth demeanor of the saloon owner, ruffling his temper. He yelled out, “You’ll be a dead man if you try to take Hugh, Winslow.”
“Don’t move your hand unless you mean to pull iron,” Mark barked. His warning froze Valance’s hand where it reached under his coat. He gave a quick glance at Goldman and the thin gunman let the palms of his hands brush the handles of the twin Colts he wore.
“You’re taking nobody, Winslow,” Goldman said. He smiled as if he were enjoying the tension, and added, “Don’t worry, Hugh. This big wind is out of steam.”
Valance studied the situation and found it to his liking. “All right, get out of here, Winslow, and don’t meddle with my operation again.”
Mark said, “I’m moving around to get this man, Cherry. Don’t try to stop me.”
He was hipped and in a bad position, for he could not keep his eyes on Goldman and Valance and at the same time watch Gardner. Even though both Dooley and Taylor faced Valance, Mark was uncertain about how much help the inexperienced Taylor was capable of providing. He didn’t miss the sudden nod that Valance gave Goldman.
The thin, white-haired gunman kinked his arms, his hands poised like claws over his guns—but a voice broke the tense silence: “You scratch for it, Goldman.”
Goldman swiveled his head to find Jeff Driver behind him to his right, his gun drawn. Goldman was a reckless man, but he could not ignore the yawning muzzle of Driver’s gun. He froze where he was, and Mark, knowing that the gunman was out of it, turned and started around the table. He kept his eyes on Valance, but the saloon owner made no move.
Suddenly a flash of movement caught his eye, and Mark knew that Gardner was going for his hide-out gun. Mark made a smooth draw, lifted the gun and fired two shots just as Gardner’s gun cleared his coat. The bullets took the gambler in the chest and he fell to the floor, dead before he landed. Mark immediately shifted his gun, aiming it right at the owner of the club. “What about it, Cherry?”
Valance did not move. He had been around the hard fringes of the West most of his life, and he had never seen anything like the speed with which Mark Winslow had just drawn and fired. He held his hands carefully away from his body, saying in a clipped voice, “I guess you got the best of the argument, Winslow.”
Mark said, “If I have to come back, Cherry, it’ll be to tear your joint down.” He turned and walked toward the entrance, not giving Lola a glance, but aware that she was sitting behind the blackjack table. Driver slipped Goldman’s guns from their holsters, saying, “You can pick these up outside, Lou. I wouldn’t put it past you to shoot a man in the back.”
Goldman’s face was pale, but he whispered, “Have your fun. There’ll be other days.”
After the four were gone, Lou turned to the swamper and ordered, “Mack, get my guns.” Mack brought the guns back inside, handing them gingerly to Goldman who
had gone to the bar and asked for whiskey.
Cherry shouted, “Well, that’s over. Drinks on the house!” Then he said to Shep, “Get Hugh out of here, Shep.”
Yancy shook his head. “Nope.” He caught the rough glance which Valance threw at him, but he was too tough to budge. “That’s not my job,” he commented, then walked away.
Cherry glared at him, then said, “Mack, Perry, take Hugh out of here.”
“Well, we’re the suckers, Cherry,” Goldman said as the men dragged the dead dealer out of the saloon.
Valance was boiling with rage. “Winslow’ll pay for that! I protect my men!”
“You’ll play hob protecting Hugh,” Goldman said callously. “He’s dead meat.”
Cherry considered the night’s events for a moment, and a way of dealing with Mark’s unwelcome presence came to him. “Drift around town, Lou. Get the word to all the owners that there’ll be a meeting tonight after closing. He’s only one man, this Winslow.”
“Only one,” Goldman said calmly, “but he pulls fast, don’t he?”
“You scared of him, Lou?”
Goldman laughed recklessly. “I pull faster, Cherry. Let me get him in front of me without a gun in my back, and you’ll see the end of Winslow!”
Lola had not moved from her table, but she’d noticed Lowell Taylor as soon as he came in with Mark and the other two men. He recognized her at once, and an hour later, after the crowd was back to its normal condition, he appeared before her. “Mind if I play?” he asked quietly. He was wearing a different suit, and had a black hat pulled low over his face.
“Mr. Taylor, please leave!” Lola said through clenched teeth. “Cherry or Goldman would kill you in a second!”
“But I’m wearing a disguise,” he smiled. He looked down and said, “I’ll take a card.” She put a card face up, and he said, “Busted! Let’s try again.”
She shook her head. “You were very kind to me in Omaha, Mr. Taylor—but you’re a fool for being here.”
“Will you have lunch with me tomorrow?”
“Yes—if you leave now!”
“All right. What place?”
“Adams’ Cafe.”
“I’ll see you there at noon.” He left at once and she saw that her hands were trembling. He had appeared like a ghost from her past, and she dreaded seeing him the next day. But at least saying yes meant she could keep him safe for the moment!
****
Lola had seen much violence in her life, but she was shaken by the scene that had exploded in the Wagonwheel. She dealt the cards mechanically until nine o’clock, then said, “Shep, tell Cherry I’m leaving early, will you?”
“Sure, Lola.” The big bouncer asked idly, “You going to get something to eat?”
“I guess so.” She was not hungry, but the thought of sitting in her small room depressed her.
“You don’t need to be walking the streets alone this late,” he commented. He added, “I’m kind of hungry myself. Mind if I tag along?”
“Not at all, Shep.” The two of them made a strange enough pair—the dainty beauty and the gruff giant. But over the days she had learned that Shep was safe. He often stopped to talk to her, never about anything personal, and never with a hint of any baser motive. As he shouldered men aside for her, and then opened the door, she realized that he was the only person in Julesburg she could trust.
She took his arm as they cleared the entrance, which made him give her a sudden look of wonder. He was a simple man, steeped in the sin of his trade. Many things he’d done had left their mark on his spirit—but somehow the fragile beauty of Lola drew him. He had appointed himself her protector, and she knew the threat of Yancy’s murderous fists had provided her with safety. He had beaten one man who had tried to force himself on Lola, and word got around, “Don’t fool with the Union Belle—Yancy will beat your ears off!”
They made their way to a small cafe run by a short, one-legged man named Caleb Adams. It was fairly empty, and the owner came forward with a smile, his peg-leg rapping on the wooden floor. “Why, hello, Miss Lola—Yancy. Got some fresh pork chops tonight. I saved the choice ones just for you. And we got some new potatoes.” Lola ate most of her meals here, and he had quickly learned her favorites.
“That sounds good, Caleb,” Lola smiled appreciatively. “And if you happen to have some hot tea, I’d welcome a cup.”
“Sure have! Be right out with it! What’ll you have, Shep?”
“T-bone and coffee. Pie if you’ve got any.”
They leaned back in their chairs, and soon Lola was sipping the China tea that only Caleb Adams could provide, while Yancy poured cup after cup of steaming black coffee down his throat. Only two other tables were occupied, so they sat there soaking up the peace of the small cafe, a dire contrast to the raucous noise of the Wagonwheel. Shep did most of the talking, speaking idly of the small events of the day—unimportant things. He had a soft voice for such a rough man, and soon Lola was leaning forward, a relaxed smile on her face—a look which pleased him.
The food came, and it was very good. They ate slowly, and Adams kept their mugs filled with fresh coffee and tea. An hour later they were still there, basking in the feeling of comfort that comes after a good meal. Without meaning to, Lola was led to talk about herself. Shep didn’t look at her, but kept his eyes on the cup of coffee in front of him. He knew that she was off her guard, and was afraid to move lest she suddenly hide herself behind the wall she kept between herself and the rest of the world.
“I never knew anything but a saloon,” she was saying quietly. “I guess it could have been much worse. At least I had a place.”
“How’d you wind up in Julesburg?” Shep asked casually.
She looked at him suspiciously, but his expression showed a genuinely friendly interest. “I came here to find someone,” she said, then added before thinking, “I heard that my father worked for the railroad.”
“That so?” Shep murmured. “What’s his name?”
She laughed shortly. “My mother never told me—but I discovered his first name is Jude. I have an old picture of him—but I’m afraid he can’t look much like it anymore.”
“Can I see it?”
She took the picture out of her purse and handed it over to him. It was very small in his large hand, and he studied it carefully. She felt a shock when he remarked calmly, “I seen him somewhere, Lola.”
“You have!” she exclaimed, clutching his arm. “Where did you see him? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure about seein’ him somewhere—I can’t think where. You know how it is, Lola. I see hundreds of men every night. Hard to keep them separated. They all kind of swim together after a while.”
Lola was disappointed. “Oh,” she said faintly. “I . . . I was hoping—”
“Hey, I got a good memory, Lola,” Shep said quickly. “Let me think about it, all right? If I try to force it, it won’t come. But if I just kind of nibble at it, why, it’ll come to me sure enough.”
“Thank you, Shep,” Lola said. She smiled at him and added, “You’re a good friend.”
Yancy’s face reddened, and he cleared his throat to say something—but a man walked through the front door, and he said quickly, “Well, here’s company.”
Lola turned to see that Mark had entered. Tension filled the room as he noticed her seated across from Yancy. She felt that he wanted to turn and walk out, but after a moment’s hesitation he came to stand beside them. “Hello, Lola,” he said, then added, “How are you, Yancy?”
Shep grinned at him. “You’re not really interested, are you, Winslow? I guess you made it pretty clear tonight that all of us sinners are in for a housecleaning.”
Winslow studied him, sensing that there was no real malice in the big man. “Just tell your boss to keep it quiet in there and I won’t have to come back.”
“Mark, sit down,” Lola begged, hoping to direct his attention back to her. He hesitated, but she insisted. “Please, I want to talk to you.”
Shep got up, saying, “Winslow, you see Lola home, will you?”
“Why—all right.”
Yancy pulled some bills from his pocket and tossed them on the table. “You won’t be as safe as you’d be with me, Lola.” He gave Winslow a careful glance. “Don’t walk by any dark alleys when Lola’s with you. I don’t want her to take a shot that’s meant for you.” He turned and walked away with a devilish grin.
“Sit down, Mark.” Lola waited until he took Yancy’s chair, and Adams hobbled out to take Mark’s order.
After Adams had left to fix a steak, Mark leaned his elbows on the table and waited for her to speak. She looked tired, he thought, but the fatigue lent some sort of special fragility to her beauty. “Mark, did you know that Lowell Taylor came back into the Wagonwheel after you left?”
“No. What for?”
“To see me.” She lifted her chin and added, “When I was in Omaha I persuaded Lowell to help me get out here. You’ve got to tell him to stay out of the Wagonwheel.”
“I’ll tell him,” Mark nodded. “But he’s his own man. I found that out tonight.” He gave her a peculiar look. “Shep may be right,” he murmured. “May not be too safe walking with me.”
“Mark, do you know how dangerous it is—what you’re doing?” she said urgently. “I’ve been listening to the talk. The owners won’t let you tell them what to do.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, though there was no one to hear except him. “They’re having a meeting tonight—Cherry and the rest of them. They’ll be finding a way to stop you.”
“Probably so,” he said, speaking as if he had no particular interest. “They’ve got to be made to mind, Lola. My job is to get the railroad built, and with so many of our workers getting robbed and killed in joints like the Wagonwheel, railroad construction’s bound to suffer. General Dodge wants the town tamed, and I aim to do it.”
She shook her head vigorously. “Men will always gamble, that’s just the way they are.”
Lola was a woman a man couldn’t easily forget, and Mark wished it were not so. He said softly, “Back when you were helping me get away, you knew I was a man. And you knew I had weaknesses, like all men. Why did you get so angry when one of those weaknesses showed through?”
The Union Belle Page 14
