Maggie sent him a saucy grin and quipped in boldness that astonished her afterward, “Lots of them, Mr. Reynolds, just wait and see. I can promise your work with me won’t be boring.”
Hawk was amused and warmed by her words. “I have no doubt that’s the truth, boss lady,” he countered. He told himself it was a good thing they weren’t alone because he’d probably make a romantic move toward her, so great was his desire. He loved the way her blue eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed with vitality. He was almost certain she would be responsive to his overture, but he wasn’t ready to discover where it would lead them, which could be down a perilous and painful road considering they were on opposite sides of the law. He told himself he had to keep his hunger under control until he learned more about her.
They stopped at Black Canyon City to rest for thirty minutes and eat mesquite-cooked venison steaks with beans and biscuits, washed down with strong coffee, at a location operated by the station keeper and his wife, and their two vivacious teenage boys.
Maggie observed as Hawk chatted with the youths about the attempted holdup. Her companion was patient and obliging with their many questions, and even gave them ten cents each for serving the meals and clearing the table afterward for their mother while she washed dishes. Her feelings for him were growing stronger every day, and she knew that she was falling in love with him. She hoped it wasn’t foolish and futile in her current predicament. She wanted to resolve her dilemma fast so she could concentrate on winning Hawk, if that was possible, and it seemed so with the way he responded to her. He brought out a hunger in her to settle down with him, to have his children, to give up her adventurous existence for a glorious life with him.
After they were en route again, Maggie and the other two passengers dozed off and on for most of the night, but Hawk only napped here and there during his self-appointed defensive vigil.
As he had done on the train, Hawk watched the moonlight coming through the window gleam on the sunny streaks in Maggie’s brown hair, and kiss her flawless complexion. He wished she were sleeping in his arms again, but her head was propped against a jacket pillow placed between it and the coach. He had to content himself with only gazing at her and adoring her with his eyes.
As Maggie shifted positions and curled sideways on the bench, Hawk realized.she was.chilled. Without disturbing— her, he lowered the leather shades and secured them to halt the night breeze, then tucked the shawl around her shoulders for warmth. If his gut instinct was right about her, Maggie was everything he wanted and needed in a woman; she would make a perfect wife for him and a good mother for their children. He also was certain that his grandparents would love Maggie and be delighted if he married soon and carried on the family name and ranching heritage, though his grandfather had given up that lifestyle years ago and become a merchant.
Hawk reminisced about his years on the Circle R Ranch near San Antonio, which he had inherited months ago. His parents’ foreman and cowhands were running it for him until he decided to either settle down there or sell the three-hundred-acre spread. When he began his current task on January second, the day after burying his family on Reynolds land, love and marriage were the last things on his mind. Then Maggie Malone blew into his life like a wild desert wind. He couldn’t explain why she had such a potent effect on him, but he couldn’t deny it or ignore the possible grim repercussions.
It amazed him to realize he was lonely and ready to settle down. He was soul and body weary of being on the trail alone and in all kinds of weather, and of being around scum and in rowdy places so much of the time. He wanted to put down roots, have a family, and enjoy the important things in life. But not with just any woman; he wanted Margaret Anne Malone, or rather the woman he believed and hoped she was. Yet, she was in deep trouble and he wasn’t sure if he could extricate her, though he would certainly try. On the other hand, even if she wasn’t promised to Ben Carver or heading for prison, perhaps such a proper and refined lady wouldn’t want to unite herself with a half-breed Cheyenne and trail-dusting loner, or perhaps after learning his other secrets …
The next morning, Hawk told Maggie about the gold and silver camps in all directions from them, camps with unusual and amusing names, such as Grief Hill, Yellowjacket Gulch, Lonesome Pocket, Blind Indian Creek and Battle Flat.
She listened with interest as he related facts about the ancient Indian cliff dwellings and hilltop pueblos not far away. She learned about the Apaches, Navajo, and other tribes that had dominated this territory before the white man came. She heard about Fort Whipple which was on the doorstep of Prescott, placed there to protect the rich mining district and settlers.
The stage veered northwestward around Mount Union and entered Prescott Valley, south of the long and beautiful Chino Valley. The territorial capital was situated on Goose Flats on Granite Creek. It was bordered by mountains, forested wilderness, buttes, rolling hills, and abundant water. To the north, snow-capped peaks were visible. There were plenty of trees and bushes, but most—cedar, sagebrush, mesquite, pine, and thorn—stood alone in ballish forms and were scattered across grassland and knolls.
The many roads entering town and wide streets there— named for living or deceased figures of importance to the capital or encompassing territory—were all in good condition, Hawk told her, as a result of the soldiers’ labors. Though there were some rancherias, pueblos, and adobe huts en route and near town, most homes and businesses were constructed of wood and had raised roofs. Hawk told her that Prescott wasn’t as wild and perilous as places such as Tombstone and Nogales due to the presence of the military, a tough sheriff, and swift justice. It was apparent that Prescott was prospering and expanding because of its importance as the capital, its abundant timber, fertile soil, strong military defense, and vast mineral wealth.
They passed Courthouse Plaza between Montezuma and Cortez streets and halted at the depot. After deboarding, Hawk hired a wagon driver to take their possessions to a hotel on Gurley Street. Maggie rode with the man while Hawk walked there with Diablo, giving him a chance to visit with the mustang before he was corraled, fed, and watered.
While he did so, Maggie registered them and had their belongings placed in their rooms. She freshened up in a hurry and joined Hawk in the downstairs restaurant where she gave him his room key.
Between bites of succulent roast and spring vegetables, Maggie said, “I plan to take a bath and change clothes after that long and dusty trip. Then I’m going to the newspaper office to introduce myself and seek information. I need to see the articles published about the trial; and I need to get the names and addresses of those involved in it. Why don’t you take care of your work while I do mine; then we’ll meet back here for supper at seven? That way, I’ll know if you’re for hire before I’m ready to leave town.”
Hawk swallowed his coffee and said, “Sounds fine to me, boss lady.”
Maggie smiled and returned to her meal. I also need to telegraph Abby and Mother on the sly. Hopefully I’ll have their responses by the time I return to the hotel. Please, God, let it aü ll be good news.
Chapter
Seven
Maggie stopped eating a moment and looked at Hawk. “I remember what you said about Pete Barber and Slim Jones when the stage was attacked and while we were on the train. You weren’t exaggerating, were you?” She watched him shake his head. “Have you ever met them in your work or during your travels?”
Hawk lowered his fork. “Never met them, but I’ve seen them several times in other towns. Just about everybody out here has heard plenty about them, and none of it is good. They’re mean, cold-blooded, and greedy. Few men, even famous gunslingers out to make a name for themselves, challenge either one to a showdown, no matter what they say or do to provoke one. Barber in particular likes to goad men into fights, and he’s skilled with those pistols he wears. He enjoys killing, so that makes him dangerous and unpredictable; it’s about the same with Jones. In my line of work, I have to keep up with such men’s deeds and reput
ations and who they’re riding with at present. If I didn’t listen close to saloon talk and read newspapers, I could go up against a wanted man who has lots of friends nearby. When Barber and Jones started out years ago, word was that any victims of their foul deeds either refused to testify against them or came up dead before their trial began. The Law knows they’re guilty of plenty of crimes, but they can’t put them away without proof. Nowadays, it’s said they don’t leave any witnesses behind unless they get in a big hurry to escape, and those lucky folks hold their tongues.”
Maggie continued her probe for more information. “I asked you before but you didn’t answer: if they were involved in the bank robbery here with Ben Carver, why didn’t they murder the witnesses as usual?” she questioned Hawk. “Or return later to kill them or bust him out of jail, because two of them didn’t hold silent afterward.”
Hawk knew the answers to those queries from Toby Muns, but he couldn’t reveal his knowledge or how he had obtained it, so he said, “Those are good questions to ask the Sentinel editor or sheriff, or Barber and Jones when we catch up with them. I suppose it was one of those rare times when they got in a rush to leave.”
“It doesn’t take long to fire an already drawn weapon, especially since two of the witnesses saw Carver’s face.” Careful, Maggie, or he’ll wonder how, when, and where you gathered your facts. You can’t reveal how you got hold of the trial notes and Prescott articles weeks ago, prior to Ben’s escape! “Exactly how do the authorities know they’re involved in a crime without evidence and if nobody will testify against them?”
“Answering the sheriff’s questions in private is different from taking the witness stand in public. Besides, they didn’t expose Barber and Jones.”
“But they exposed their alleged partner and friend. I find that omission contradictory and suspicious. Perhaps it’s a clue to a much bigger story than I imagined. What do you think?”
“Maybe there were reasons why they couldn’t rescue him or slay those witnesses later. Since those witnesses didn’t expose them and the other two gang members, maybe they just kept moving, on and sacrificed Carver because he didn’t mean anything to them or they were riled at him for being seen. To answer your other question: Barber has bright red hair and Jones has weird gray eyes; a bandanna and hat can’t hide those features. They’re smart in one area; they use stolen horses so their mounts and saddles can’t be recognized.”
“Why wouldn’t Carver reveal the names of his accomplices? Surely turning in criminals like those two and recovering the money would have helped his case, maybe gotten him mercy or a pardon.”
“Carver isn’t a fool or he wouldn’t be running with those two, so he’d never betray them. If he did, nobody could keep him alive afterward, even in jail, because Barber would pay some other inmate or bribe a guard to slay him. Terror tactics give Barber and Jones their power; folks know they’ll carry out their threats.”
Following those enlightening words, Maggie speculated, “I was told Carver had problems with other convicts and guards at the Yuma Prison and spent time in that awful Dark Cell I visited. I wonder if that incident was a paid warning to keep his mouth shut and that’s what panicked him into escaping.” She worried that she had stumbled onto a clue to Ben’s guilt. When Hawk only shrugged, she went on. “Yet, knowing all you do about those horrible men, you aren’t afraid of them, are you?”
“Fear is something a man has to keep under tight control, not allow it to rule his thoughts and actions. But having a healthy dose of caution and wisdom keeps him alive.”
“So, you would agree to go after them with me?”
“Yep, because if I didn’t, you’d probably go alone and get hurt.”
“How else can I obtain the truth and my big story if I don’t follow that lead?” she jested.
As they focused on their meals and their own thoughts, Hawk realized that instead of the truth about Maggie becoming clearer to him, it was getting cloudier! He called to mind the conversation overheard in Wilcox. In some instances, from her tone of voice and words used, it didn’t sound as if she knew Ben at all; and in others, as if she did, as she’d called Newl and Ben by their first names. Since then, whenever she talked about him or spoke his name, nothing in her voice or expression or words implied she knew him or was pining away for him. In fact, instead of hurrying to a lovers’ reunion, she had rushed to Prescott as if to study the crime’s details for loopholes in Ben’s favor. Was it possible she hadn’t been told everything in advance, then gotten suspicious of Ben when certain facts were revealed to her after her bold feat?
Perhaps the Carvers had convinced her Ben was innocent of wrongdoing, and that false belief was why she had been willing to “rescue” him. Had she come to Prescott to search out the “truth” for herself?
Hawk realized it was possible—but not probable—that Toby Muns had lied to him about Ben’s involvement in the bank robbery and in his family’s murders. He had heard from other sources that Ben sometimes rode with Barber and Jones, but neither he nor another marshal had ever seen the three together, and there were no warrants out on Ben for other crimes.
Was it possible Muns lied about Ben to avenge some past wrong while riding together or to protect the identity of the real fifth culprit, especially if it was Barber’s notorious brother? If Maggie knew Ben well enough to determine he was being honest with her, that would explain why she was helping him. It would also explain why his gut instinct and years of experience told him she didn’t know Barber and Jones and, in fact, hadn’t even heard of them until recently. He found that omission odd since they were Ben’s alleged accomplices. Yep, Hawk concluded, this case and woman were becoming more complicated and confusing by the hour!
Maggie approached the structure that housed the. Arizona Sentinel. It was built of wooden slats and painted white and had a large floored porch with “printing office” painted on the sides of its roof. A huge free-standing sign on tall poles reached the second-story level and read “Daily & Weekly.”
She already had sent her two telegrams and requested replies be given by the recipients and delivered to her hotel and slipped under her door. She was certain she looked every inch the lady, clad in a day dress with set-in three-quarter-length sleeves, a high stand collar, a draped apron front, and knife-pleated skirt in a flattering blueberry shade with ivory trim. She wore fine leather boots in black, a straw hat with an upturned brim with lace edging, and carried a parasol. She also held a leatherbound case with paper and pen for making notes. She took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for the challenge ahead. She pasted a sunny smile on her face, readied a heavy southern drawl and feminine charms, opened the door, and entered the newspaper office.
Almost two hours later and with her head brimming with ideas and with bountiful notes recorded, Maggie left the duped and smiling editor and headed to seek the two witnesses.
She walked to the edge of town and found the house the editor had described. It was a white two-story wood structure with a large front porch with rocking chairs and blooming bushes planted around its sides and up to the steps. The yard was fenced off with tall and sharp and sturdy white pickets, and behind the home was a small barn and corral. Everything was clean and in excellent condition.
She knocked on the door and a brunette responded, a rather plain woman in her forties clad in a simple green day dress. “Are you Mrs. Frank Moore, previously Miss Matilda Sims?”
“Yes. Who are you? What do you want? My husband isn’t home yet.”
“If it’s possible, ma’am, I would like to come inside and speak with you about a certain matter. I’m a journalist for a newspaper back East and I was asked to come West to write stories about interesting events and people. I was recently in Yuma and happened upon what I think would be a good story for my editor. I suppose you’ve heard by now that Ben Carver escaped from the Territorial Prison and is still on the loose.”
The woman paled and almost lost her voice as she struggled to speak.
“Ben Carver … escaped? No, my husband didn’t tell me that bad news. How? When?”
“He escaped over a week ago, ma’am, on the twentieth. Sneaked away during a work detail outside the prison walls during a violent storm. The authorities haven’t been able to find him or any clues to his whereabouts so far. Since you were a victim during his crime and testified against him, I was hoping I could interview you. It would be an enormous help to me. To be honest, I’m working on a provisional basis; so if I don’t obtain good stories, I won’t be hired permanently by the newspaper. I would be ever so grateful if you could assist me.”
“I don’t know … I’m not sure Frank would want me discussing it.”
Maggie observed the woman’s anxiety as she softly reasoned, “Whyever not, ma’am, since you testified in court about the matter?”
“Yes, but Frank made me—I mean, he asked me to testify so that wicked man wouldn’t go free. I didn’t want to do it because I was scared he or his friends would harm us for exposing them.”
Maggie caught what she hoped were two slips. She let the first partial sentence go unchallenged, but she pressed with a sweet smile, “Them? You mean you also recognized the other four men?”
“Not exactly. They were all masked. I did see one’s red hair and the other’s ghostly eyes. Only Ben Carver’s mask slipped down, and we saw his face before he recovered it.”
“You know this infamous Ben Carver well enough to recognize him?” Maggie pressed, noting Matilda’s odd look during her last statement.
“Frank told me who he was. Frank knows him and his father. I identified him in jail after he was captured.”
“It’s alleged that two of the other bandits are the notorious villains, Pete Barber and Slim Jones. It’s a miracle they didn’t murder all of you to prevent recognition.”
Wild Winds Page 12
