Taft attempted to sit up.
“Easy there, Mr. Taft,” Mackey said. “You OK?”
“Hell, no, I’m not OK. Damn thieves! How long was I out?”
“They been gone ’bout half an hour,” Johnson said. “Them boys knocked you plumb cold. We was havin’ the damnedest time tryin’ to get you waked up.” He took another draw on his cigarette.
Mackey shook his head, then quickly put a hand to his bruised forehead and sucked in air between his teeth. “I’m sorry, Mr. Taft. You saw me being careful. I shoulda seen ’em comin’.”
“Nothing you could’ve done about it if they were lying in wait for us,” Taft said. He looked around and saw that two more cowpokes were there with Russ Johnson. “Either of you see what Mr. Johnson saw?”
One of the two, a fellow with a week’s growth of whiskers and wearing a dusty black shirt, expectorated to the side. “I saw the same thing Russ here saw—three men runnin’ to their horses, one with a box in his hands. Saddled up fast and hightailed it outta sight.”
“Well, will you boys come down to the marshal’s office with me? Tell him what you told me?” Taft asked as he struggled to get to his feet.
“Sure ’nough,” Russ said.
The fellow in the black shirt nodded. “Yes, sir. Be glad to.”
Taft teetered as a wave of nausea rolled over him. He reached for the wall of the bathhouse to steady himself.
“You sure you can make it over to the marshal’s office, Mr. Taft?” Mackey asked. “You need me to fetch you a doctor or somethin’?”
Taft shook his head and wished he hadn’t. It felt as though croquet balls were banging around against the insides of his skull. “No, I can make it. Let’s just take it slow.”
Twenty minutes later, Taft was seated in the office of Marshal Alonzo Perry. The marshal handed him a cup of hot coffee. “You want a little hair o’ the dog in that coffee, Mr. Taft?” the marshal asked. “Or is it OK just like it is?”
“Plain old Arbuckle’s is fine for now,” Taft said. “My head aches bad enough without worrying about the effects of whiskey.”
Perry’s deputy leaned against the wall behind the marshal’s desk, arms crossed, a pair of revolvers in his gun rig.
The marshal, a middle-aged lawman with a great deal of experience and a couple of extra inches around the waist to show for his years, looked from Mackey to Russ Johnson to the fellow in the black shirt. “So you boys got a good look at the hombres that did this, you say?”
Mackey tenderly touched his contusion. “Right up close, Marshal.”
“I weren’t so close,” Johnson said, “but Billy and me”—he tossed a nod toward the one in the black shirt—“we was close enough to say for sure we saw the same three men that Mackey saw.”
The marshal sat on the front edge of his desk and scratched the back of his head. “Mackey, you know for a fact that the fellow that cleaned your plow was the same one that came into the Wild Hog yesterday demanding that Mr. Taft give up one of his girls?”
“For a fact,” Mackey said. “The one that clubbed me was the same one that somehow grabbed hold of my scattergun yesterday.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Onlyest name I know is Strong. Didn’t get his first name.”
The marshal turned his gaze to Taft.
Taft dabbed at the back of his head and rubbed a bit of blood between his thumb and middle finger. “There was a fellow named Strong in the mix yesterday. Can’t say if he was one of the thieves this morning, though. I was waylaid from behind. Didn’t see who did it.”
“What’s this fella Strong look like?” the marshal asked.
“Probably not quite six feet tall,” Taft said. “Brown hair. No mustache or beard.”
“He’s got some muscle for his size,” Mackey said. “And a cold stare.”
The marshal glanced at his deputy. The deputy shrugged.
“So what was Strong wearin’?” the marshal asked. “Anything stand-outish?”
“Range clothes—clean, though,” Mackey said. He turned to Russ Johnson. “Green shirt, if I recall. Right, Russ?”
Russ’s head bobbed. “Green shirt.”
“What about his pardners?” the marshal said. “Anything special about them?”
“Hell, yes.” Taft perked up. “The one that came in first yesterday, trying to wheedle that calico out of my hands, was an English fellow—talked the Queen’s English.”
“Close-sheared hair,” Mackey added.
Taft eyed his lookout man then said, “And then he’s got this bean-eater traveling with him. Fellow had me by the throat yesterday.”
“Don’t dress like a beaner, though,” Russ said. “Regular range clothes like this Strong fella. Black gun rig.”
At that, the deputy unfolded his arms and crossed the room. He leaned toward his boss and spoke quietly. “Marshal, I believe I seen these fellas they’re talkin’ about before.”
Marshal Perry frowned. “When?”
The deputy looked around the room. “No disrespect intended, but I don’t wanna poison the pot. I’d rather tell you off to the side…if you don’t mind.”
“Why can’t you speak in front of us, Deputy?” Taft frowned. “This bunch friends of yours or something?”
The marshal held up a hand. “Give the deputy his due, Mr. Taft. He’s a professional. And I trust him.” Then to the others, he said, “You fellas have anything to add?”
Billy, in the black shirt, said, “To be honest, I weren’t in the Wild Hog at the time yesterday. But I can say for a fact that the fellas runnin’ away with the cashbox this mornin’ was the very ones they’s describin’.”
The one who’d been silent this entire time—yet another cowhand type, this one with long, stringy, dirty-blond hair and a cavalry-style mustache—finally spoke up. “I didn’t see ’em this mornin’. Got there too late. But I was in the waterin’ hole yesterday. Got a good look at ’em then—looked just like these men all said.”
The marshal stood. “More coffee, Mr. Taft?”
Taft hesitated. “No more coffee, thanks. But I still want to know—what’d your deputy mean, ‘poisoning the pot’?”
Marshal Perry glanced at his young deputy, then said, “How much was in the strongbox, Mr. Taft—rough figure?”
“A little over two thousand dollars—two thousand, ninety-three dollars and fifty cents, to be exact.”
The marshal’s eyes widened. “Sounds like the Wild Hog’s doin’ a boomin’ business since you took over.”
“That’s not the issue here, now is it, Marshal? My guard and I were beat about the head by a band of outlaws. They threatened us at gunpoint yesterday, stole my prettiest prairie nymph, and then—as if that wasn’t enough—they came back today to steal every last dime the Wild Hog has earned me so far. On top of it all, you don’t sound as though you’re in much of a hurry to do anything about it.”
“What do you want me to do, Mr. Taft?”
“Why, get up a posse. Go after them. You’re the marshal. You should know.”
The marshal turned to Mackey, Russ, and Billy. “You fellas see which way they went?”
Russ and Billy eyed one another.
“They rode out headin’ east,” Russ said. “Ain’t that right, Billy?”
“That’s a fact,” Billy said.
“Marshal.” The deputy clasped his boss’s shoulder. “I really think you and me need to confer—before we get up a posse.”
“I hear you, Warren,” the marshal said. He then turned to Taft. “Meanwhile, Mr. Taft, you and Mackey oughta go on down to see Doc Edelson. Be sure you’re fit to carry on ordinary business. I know where to find you once I formulate a plan.”
Taft’s head began to throb again. “So you’re just going to let those thieving outlaws ride? Spot them an even bigger lead?”
“No, Mr. Taft. Just so happens a Texas Ranger friend of mine is due to arrive here around noon today—a particularly talented tracker. You ask him to locate a lizard goin’ by the summer name of Ulysses out there among all the lizards livin’ in the desert, why, he could find him—no matter what rock that ole lizard was hidin’ under. So I’m not worried about these outlaws gettin’ away from us. No, sir. Jack VanDorn’ll find ’em.”
Taft rose and gingerly seated his hat on his aching head. “Marshal, seems to me that you’re not up to the job. You go on, talk to that lizard-tracking ranger friend of yours. But if those outlaws get away, I’m holding you personally accountable, you hear me?” He stabbed a finger into the lawman’s chest.
The marshal stepped aside from the doorway. “As you say, Mr. Taft.”
On the way out, Taft peered back at the deputy. Doesn’t want to poison the pot, huh? Well, what he’s got to say doesn’t matter—those owl hoots are in for a neck stretching. I’ll see to that.”
CHAPTER FIVE
What folks commonly referred to as the San Elizario railroad station wasn’t actually in San Elizario. It was situated a couple of miles north of the old presidio town, not quite twenty miles southeast of El Paso. The Texas and Pacific’s financiers hadn’t taken kindly to a recent Anglo-Mexican conflict—essentially a small-scale war over nearby salt deposits. By routing the railroad just a bit north of, rather than directly through, old San Elizario, they intended to ruin the predominantly Mexican town.
At this point, all that existed out near the train station was the unpretentious Monarch Hotel, a nameless saloon, a fruit market, a small livery stable, and a handful of residences. Not much of a town, but it was just far enough from El Paso and the Wild Hog Saloon to give Emmett some peace of mind.
They had ridden through the night—he, Li, Juanito, Sikes, and Geneve—and since the eastbound train would not pass through until midafternoon, they had gotten rooms where they might catch a few hours’ rest before continuing on their way back to San Antonio.
Around noon, Emmett woke to find his bride propped up on one elbow beside him. She smiled warmly.
“Good morning,” he murmured.
Soft light filtered through the curtains, giving the room a golden glow.
Li’s dark hair hung loose across the shoulder she rested on. “Good morning, my love,” she said quietly.
“You couldn’t sleep?” he asked, shifting so he could lean in and kiss her.
“I slept.” She caressed his cheek and jaw. “You’re stubbly.” She smiled again.
“May get even stubblier until we get back to San Antonio.”
She had gotten a good tub bath that morning while he’d had to make do with washing off out of a basin. Mind you, he had been so eager to make himself appealing to his wife that he’d practically scrubbed his hide off out of that basin.
He pulled her to himself and breathed deeply. “You smell good, Li.”
She laughed softly.
“And you feel good in my arms,” he added.
“I do indeed.”
He could feel her smile against his face. “You know what I mean.”
She leaned back and traced his lips with her finger. “I do.”
He kissed her. It was a delicious kiss. And kissing led to nibbling, and nibbling led to caressing, and next thing Emmett knew, he and his wife were giving themselves to one another once again—passionately and unreservedly. He couldn’t imagine anything sweeter this side of heaven.
Afterward, as he lay on his back, catching his breath, heart still thumping away, Li rested her head on his chest.
They were still and quiet for a while. Then she asked, “Do you think it’s sad that Geneve rejected Sikes’s marriage proposal?”
He kissed her forehead. “Sikes may have gotten a little ahead of himself.”
“So will he ask her again later?”
“Probably.”
“What do you think? Will she finally say yes?”
He tucked a strand of her dark, silken hair behind her ear. “I somehow think so. She just needs time…to adjust.”
“How do you suppose she ended up doing what she did at that saloon?”
Emmett shook his head. “None of us know.”
“She said something about two other men asking her to marry them,” Li said, “and then disappearing. I’ll bet it had something to do with one or both of them.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Maybe someday she’ll confide in me about it.”
“And if she does,” Emmett said, “you’ll be an ideal friend and keep it entirely to yourself, right?”
Li lifted her head so she could see Emmett’s face. “You wouldn’t want me to tell you?”
“Nope. Not unless she gave you permission.”
“So there are things you don’t want me to share with you, even though you’re my husband.”
“Yep.”
“And will you be keeping secrets from me…even though I’m your wife?”
“Yep. But not secrets about me. You’re entitled to know anything and everything about me.”
A grin turned the corners of her mouth upward. “That’s good to know.”
Emmett ran his thumb lightly across the pink scar on Li’s upper arm—a scar she’d gotten during a shoot-out they’d survived together. He and Li had been trying to escape Lucian McIntosh’s desperados up in Nevada and California when the outlaws stormed the train they were on. “Does it still hurt?”
“Not much.” She glanced at the scar, then asked, “Emmett, you said the first thing we need to do when we get back to San Antonio is to visit your brother’s widow. Do you think it will ease her pain at all to know that you—we—killed her husband’s murderer?”
Emmett recalled the last time he’d seen his brother’s wife, Nan. She had pleaded for him to come back and care for her once he had run down his brother’s—her husband’s—assassin. Nan had always troubled him, pretty though she was.
“Emmett?”
“Hm?” He realized he hadn’t answered Li.
“What were you thinking about?”
What he had just told Li a moment before came back to mind. You’re entitled to know anything and everything about me. He drew a deep breath. “Nan is a very beautiful young woman, Li.”
Li pushed up onto both elbows. “And?”
“And she had a bad habit of…how shall I put it? Well, there’s no other way to put it. She was flirtatious toward me. Often. While married to my brother.” Emmett watched Li’s eyes.
She ducked her chin. “She tried to seduce you?”
Emmett nodded. “And I know I’m not just imagining things.”
“But you didn’t…”
“No.” He hoped Li knew how deeply wrong he considered it to want another man’s wife, let alone to give into such a woman’s temptations. “Never. I was still too much in love with Gabriela, even years after her death. Besides, I’d never betray my brother like that.”
Li cupped Emmett’s face in her palm. “You’re a good man, Emmett Strong.”
Emmett was quiet for a moment. He knew what was inside himself. “I’m just a man,” he said. “An ordinary man.” He paused again. “Besides telling Nan about Eli’s killer, I want her to meet you, Li. I want her to see you.”
She searched his eyes. “Why?”
“I want her to see that I’m taken. And that you’re real. And that she needs to move on.”
“It doesn’t sound like it’ll be a very comfortable meeting,” Li said.
“It probably won’t be. And for that, I’m sorry.”
“And what about me being Chinese?”
Emmett compressed his lips and shook his head. “Who knows? That part she may take OK.”
Li bit her lip. “After your brother died, did you ever make any kind of prom
ise to Nan? Am I in the way of anything now?”
“No. No, I didn’t.” Emmett took Li’s hand. “And you’re not in the way of anything. Even when Nan asked, I knew I could never be what she wanted me to be for her. I knew it would never be like that between me and her.”
Emmett noticed Li’s shoulders relaxing.
“I’m yours, Li Xu Strong—one hundred percent. Nobody else’s. So whatever Nan may dish out—and she’s capable of dishing it out—don’t you worry. OK?”
Li’s deep-brown eyes were locked on his. Then she drew herself up close and clung to Emmett tightly.
CHAPTER SIX
Lucian McIntosh stepped down from the broad veranda of his sizeable San Francisco–style house a mile outside of Reno, Nevada. “Walk with me, boys,” he said to two of his hired hands.
As ordered, Lum Walsh and Jarvis Martin followed their boss across the yard toward the corral.
“You’re the two best I’ve got left,” McIntosh said.
Neither hand replied as they trudged along beside him.
“That damn Texan robbed me of my brother, my right-hand man, and a young woman who was practically a daughter to me—not to mention the other good men they gunned down or blew up while stealin’ them damn China girls from me.” McIntosh sighed heavily.
At the moment, he wasn’t in the throes of anger. But the anger was there. He felt it constantly these days, smoldering just below the surface, along with the grief and the bruised pride.
“You got plans to carry the war back to Chinatown over there in Virginia City, sir?” Lum asked. He was short, a bantam of a gunman. He’d worked for McIntosh’s brother, Thaddeus, down in Carson City—before Emmett Strong killed him.
McIntosh shook his head. “Only damn Chinese I got plans to kill is that girl that Emmett Strong stole from me and then took back to Texas.”
“So what do you want us to do, Mr. McIntosh?” Jarvis asked.
McIntosh stared at the cold blue eyes that peered at him from beneath the broad-brimmed gray planter’s hat. “I want you two to back up a fella I’ve hired. Do whatever this fella instructs you to do. Then come back up here to verify to me that Emmett Strong, the damn Mexican, the Englishman, and the Chinese girl is all dead. Dead and cold.”
Strong Suspicions (Emmett Strong Westerns Book 2) Page 3
