Daisies In The Wind

by Jill Gregory

  “Have a seat, Reb.” Russ shoved her backward so that she stumbled down onto the bed. It was crawling with ants. And probably fleas as well, Rebeccah thought in disgust. She sprang up again.

  Russ chuckled meanly and shook his finger in her face. “Kid, it’s damn lucky for you that you’re Bear’s daughter, or I’d give you a whipping right now that you wouldn’t soon forget. Pulling a gun on me, yore old pard. That’s no way to act. And killing Fred. What’s got into you?”

  “I don’t exactly take kindly to being held up on the road by three of my old ‘pards’,” Rebeccah retorted. She flashed a furious glance at Homer, who was standing with his feet planted apart and his thumbs curled around his gunbelt. “And there was no need to shoot at that boy in the woods—he’s only sixteen, he didn’t have a gun, and he’s one of my students! Besides that, he has nothing to do with any of this!”

  But Homer had latched onto her words with contemptuous disbelief. “Students! We heard you was a schoolteacher! If that don’t beat all! Little scruffy Reb Rawlings teachin’ school!”

  “Well, you’ve sure growed up real pretty—and you must be smart too. Bear was right proud, you know.” Russ leered at her and tossed his lank reddish hair back from his brow.

  Rebeccah met his appraisal coldly, though she shuddered inwardly at the filth of these two men, at their unkempt, desperate appearance and at the queer, vicious lights in both of their eyes. “What do you think Bear would say about your grabbing me and bringing me here like a sack of loot?” she demanded, hoping to cow them by the mere mention of her father’s name, but as she suspected, their fear of Bear’s wrath had only endured until he was set in his grave.

  “He wouldn’t like it much, but there ain’t a hell of a lot he can do about it now,” Homer pointed out, his milky blue eyes shining.

  Russ went to the table where a bottle of whiskey sat amid a clutter of tin cups. “Here, Reb, reckon you could do with a bit of refreshment after all that riding. You’re not used to it, no more, I’ll wager. See, we can still take good care of you. Just like Bear would want. Only thing is, you got to cooperate. When you’re part of a gang, everyone looks out for the others. But it works both ways—you’ve got to look out for us too.”

  “That means sharing the profits from that silver mine,” Homer muttered darkly.

  Russ held up a grimy, nail-bitten hand. “Maybe Reb here got the idea we wanted the whole thing for ourselves. Hell, kid, that’s not it at all. We’ll be happy to split with you, Reb. ‘Specially now that Fred ain’t in on the deal no more, there’s plenty to go around.”

  He held out a cup of whiskey to her, regarding her with what she gathered was an avuncular expression. She wanted to hurl the contents in his face, but thought better of it. Instead she accepted the cup without a word, took a tiny sip to quench the painful dryness of her throat, and decided that was enough. She was unaccustomed to liquor, and if two glasses of wine had made her drunk as a skunk, she shuddered to think what a single glass of whiskey would do to her. No, she needed quick wits and luck to extricate herself from this situation.

  If it was possible to extricate herself from this situation.

  During the entire time they’d been riding through the foothills, Rebeccah had been thinking. No doubt Toby and Louisa had run to the Pritchard ranch, which was closest, for help. Word would have been sent right away to Wolf in town, and when he heard what had happened, he would follow her. Wouldn’t he?

  A tiny sliver of hope pierced her heart. Yes, he would. He would never abandon her, or anyone else, to face trouble alone—no matter how bad it was, how dangerous or difficult. That was not in his nature. It would violate the stringent code of honor by which he lived.

  She thought briefly of how she had once scorned him for being a lawman—yet coming to know Wolf Bodine, really know him, she had learned that being a lawman meant far more to him than just wearing a badge and locking people up in jail. His dedication to protecting honest citizens was deeply ingrained in him. It governed him more strictly than any written law or rule or official code of behavior ever could. Perhaps it was because of that crooked sheriff, the one who had killed his brother, Jimmy. Or maybe it was the memory and influence of his father, the Texas Ranger, who had died when Wolf was young. Or maybe it was just the way he’d been born. But he was a man of courage and honor, who would not desert her when she needed him.

  And she needed him now.

  Russ and Homer were getting restless with her continued silence. They paced the room, drinking cup after cup of whiskey, muttering between themselves and casting her dark looks. Well, she would have to stall them until Wolf got there and could help her. Probably it would be dark before the Pritchards even reached him, and he’d have to wait until morning to start.

  Suddenly the brief flicker of hope in her snuffed out, and in its place flared a new fear.

  What if something happened to Wolf when he tried to rescue her? What if Homer and Russ and the outlaws in the saloon killed him? He could hardly take on every single one of them at once—and all alone.

  Dread clawed through her. There has to be a way to better the odds, Rebeccah thought frantically. It’s up to you.

  “Russ.” She slanted him a friendly smile. “How about some food? Maybe we can talk business over a good meal. I don’t know about you and Homer, but I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.”

  The two men exchanged glances. Then Russ fingered his rust-colored beard. “Sure, Reb, sure. We’ll eat. And talk. We’re all friends, right? Come on out and we’ll see what Zack can rustle up.”

  A short while later she chewed tasteless dried beef, hardtack, and burned slabs of salt pork, washing it down with several cups of strong black coffee. She kept her cloak wrapped tightly around her, for the shack was cold. Outside, snow tumbled from the heavens in a froth of white. No one could follow tracks in such a blizzard, she realized dismally, yet against all reason a part of her still clung to hope.

  Russ and Homer ate ravenously and chewed their food as if they were in a race to see who swallowed each mouthful first.

  Rebeccah had an opportunity to survey the saloon.

  There were only three other men here, besides the stout, graying bartender. They all seemed to be keeping pretty much to themselves. But who knew what would happen when a lawman burst in and everyone reached in panic for their guns?

  “Russ,” she said suddenly, “I’m going to be honest with you. I do know something about that mine. But not enough. Otherwise don’t you think I’d have claimed it by now and be living rich as a queen in San Francisco or New Orleans or somewhere else nice and fancy instead of teaching school in a one-horse town like Powder Creek?”

  “We did kind of wonder about that,” Russ nodded, leaning forward on his elbows.

  Homer smeared his napkin across the grease dripping from his lips and all the way down his blond, stubbled chin. “Fred figured you was just biding your time, waiting to cash in on the mine so that you could throw us off the scent.”

  “No, that’s not it at all. I’m more than happy to share with you. The only problem is”—Rebeccah set her fork down carefully on her plate and regarded them with a helpless shrug—“I’ve misplaced the deed and map.”

  “You ... what?” Both men shouted at her.

  The outlaws at the other tables glanced up, stared hard, then quickly turned away.

  Rebeccah lifted her hands imploringly. “I was afraid you’d be angry,” she murmured. “But it wasn’t my fault. It was Neely Stoner.”

  “Stoner?”

  “That’s right. He sent a man—a horrible man—to try to get the deed and the map from me when I was still in Boston. Fortunately I was able to chase him off. You must know, I’d rather eat nails than share one cent with Neely Stoner!”

  They both nodded at this, remembering how Bear had beaten the man to a bloody pulp over some slight that he’d offered Reb when she was just a kid—but no one ever knew exactly what had happened. There was bad blood left over, that�
�s all they knew. And Stoner was kicked out of the gang for good. Everyone had considered him lucky to get away with his life.

  “Well, I packed up all my belongings and my papers quick as could be and left Boston, because obviously Neely Stoner knew where I was and might come after me again! That’s when I went to Powder Creek,” she explained, smiling confidingly at each of the men in turn, “to live on the ranch Bear left me.”

  “The mine, Reb. Get to the mine,” Homer growled. He banged both fists on the table before him.

  Rebeccah hurried on with her tale, her brain racing to concoct it a split second before the words tripped from her tongue. “Of course I meant to claim the silver mine right away, but when I unpacked my belongings, I found that there was no map or deed. All I had to go on was a little paragraph in Bear’s will, mentioning them both.”

  “What did that will say?” Russ inquired, scratching his jaw.

  “Only that the mine was in the Nevada Territory.”

  “Mighty big territory. Are you sure, Reb, that the deed and map weren’t there?” Homer demanded suspiciously.

  “If they ever were among Bear’s papers, they were gone by then, lost or misplaced in my haste to get out of Boston.”

  Russ’s eyes flashed. “Did you see a map or didn’t you?”

  “I can’t remember, and that’s the truth.” She sighed. “There were so many papers from Bear’s solicitor. I don’t seem to recall a map or a deed. So maybe I haven’t misplaced them at all—maybe the solicitor missed them when he collected everything Bear had tucked away. As a matter of fact he did tell me that he had to collect a great many papers and stock certificates and cash and other assets Bear had accumulated, all deposited in various banks across the West. It was quite tiresome for him, but Bear had given him a list of, oh, two or three different banks and the aliases under which he’d left accounts. If there was a map, it would have been in one of those, wouldn’t it? So maybe the solicitor missed something—or maybe I had the map and the deed at one time, but they’re missing now. And without them I can’t find the mine any easier than you can. Believe me, I wish I could.”

  “Son of a bitch. They have to be there somewhere.” Russ ground his teeth in frustration and gulped down another cup of whiskey. “You wouldn’t have lost something so important, Reb.”

  “Not intentionally, of course, but I was pretty scared when that fellow showed up in Boston.”

  “Hmmm. Like you were scared of us, right?” Homer asked slowly, his strange pale eyes taking shrewd stock of her, despite the quantity of whiskey he’d imbibed. “You don’t seem to scare that easy, kid.”

  “I got an idea.” Russ peered over his shoulder to make certain no one else in the saloon could hear what he was about to say. “Let’s say that maybe that there solicitor did miss finding one of Bear’s secret bank accounts. And maybe that’s why you never got ‘em, Reb. Maybe there was one stash, say, that Bear forgot to tell him about, or that he never had a chance to tell him about.”

  They’d swallowed it, Rebeccah thought triumphantly, keeping her gaze downcast so they could not read the satisfaction in her eyes. They’d bought the entire fabricated story. And what was even better, they were starting out on a wild goose chase of her design, one that should easily draw them away from this place by tomorrow, when Wolf might be expected to catch up with them. If she could arrange it so that he caught them out in the open, taking them by surprise with no one else around to interfere, the odds of both she and Wolf coming out of this alive zoomed upward.

  Only too eager to entice them along the path she’d chosen, Rebeccah nodded. “That could be it,” she said slowly, bobbing her head up and down, letting eagerness creep into her voice. “That would explain everything.”

  “Let me think,” Russ mumbled, scraping back his chair. His eyes were bleary from the whiskey he’d drunk as he stretched his bow-kneed legs before him and squinted with concentration. “Now, Bear had a bunch of aliases, and I knew ‘em all. Let’s see, there was Jonah White—that was the one he used in Texas. He went by the same handle down in Arizona and New Mexico. But in Abilene, at the First Main Bank, he liked to go by Edward Tatley. Remember, Homer?”

  “Shore do. Took it from a young feller who tried to join the gang years back and got shot by a marshal first time he pulled a job with us. Edward Tatley, that was his name. Bear thought it had a nice ring to it.”

  Rebeccah shuddered inwardly and changed the subject. “The solicitor showed me the list. Both of those names were on it.”

  She didn’t want to make it too easy for them. Her father’s third alias, Bill Watson, was the one she would claim not to know. She knew he had used that name frequently when traveling through the Montana Territory, particularly when doing business with the Independence Bank of Butte, where he’d kept his stock certificates. But if she pretended that papers from the Butte account weren’t included among those in the solicitor’s possession, Russ and Homer would assume that the deed and map might be there. If she could lead them toward Butte first thing in the morning, away from this outlaw den, Wolf would have a better chance of surprising them in the open.

  And before that even happened, she thought with a flutter of hope, she might find a chance to escape.

  So when they mentioned Bill Watson, she feigned ignorance.

  “That name wasn’t on the list I saw! That could be it!”

  Russ and Homer sat up straighter in their chairs. Russ gave a squeal of triumph. “Last few years Bear spent a lot of time down in Butte. He’d disguise himself and head into town—did a pretty good job of it, too, remember, Homer? Did some business down there with the Independence Bank. Always went by the handle of Bill Watson.”

  “Yep, we never could tell if it was Crystal McCoy who kept him coming back to Butte or that there bank business he was always tending to—I used to think it was Crystal, but now ... hell, we won’t know until we get our hands on whatever he’d got hidden in that there vault.”

  “Crystal?” Now Rebeccah was genuinely surprised. She’d never heard the name Crystal McCoy. “Was she a dance-hall girl or something?”

  Russ and Homer chortled. “Crystal McCoy is a lady,” Russ said, tipping back another cup. “Owns the Double Barrel Saloon. And the sawmill. Rich as hell. First we thought Bear might have left the mine to her, but that wouldn’t have made no sense. Crystal didn’t need a mine—she’s about the richest gal in the Territory. And she didn’t want nothing from him nohow. So we figgered pretty quick that Bear would only have left it to you—his pretty little schoolgal, the apple of his eye.”

  Homer belched and then squinted at Rebeccah over the rim of his cup. “Bear and her were thinking about gettin’ married. ...”

  “Married!”

  Homer guffawed at the stunned look on her face. “You mean Bear never once said nothin’ about her to you? Well, he sure made a point of getting himself into Butte right regular. Even thought about giving up some of our stage jobs just so he could stay close by Crystal McCoy.”

  “He was jest about ready to go straight for her,” Russ snorted, “but before he could make up his mind to it, that posse plugged him.”

  “That settles it,” Homer grinned, leaning back in his chair. “That deed and the map leading to the mine have gotta be in the bank vault in Butte, waiting for Mr. Bill Watson. First thing in the morning we pay that Independence Bank a little visit.”

  “And we’ll split the proceeds of the mine three ways?” Rebeccah asked sternly. They would expect that of Bear’s daughter. “Fair and square?” she demanded.

  “You bet, Reb. We wouldn’t cheat Bear’s daughter out of nothin’—‘specially since she’s growed up to be such a looker.”

  Russ winked at the other outlaw and then playfully pinched Rebeccah’s cheek. “Ain’t that right, Homer?”

  Bell snickered. “Sure is. Everything equal—fair and square.”

  They’re probably planning to shoot me the moment they get their greasy paws on those documents, Rebeccah co
ncluded. But she was counting on things never getting near that point.

  “Come on, Reb, ain’t you beat after that long ride? You come get some shut-eye in the back room with us. Don’t worry, we got bedrolls. You kin have that nice bed all to your lonesome. Unless you want some company?”

  “Isn’t there another room where I can stay in this hovel—alone?” she fired back.

  Russ shook his head, barely able to suppress his drunken excitement. “Even if there was, do you think we’re going to let you out of our sight? Bear taught us a few things over the years, kid, and one of ‘em was, don’t trust no one.”

  “And that means even a pretty little thing like you,” Homer added softly, and this time Rebeccah didn’t at all like the way his strange milky eyes roamed appreciatively over her.

  “What’s the matter, honey, don’t you like us no more?” he continued, seeing the apprehension in her face. “When you was a little girl, we were the ones who taught you how to cheat at poker, and how to spit, and all sorts of useful things. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

  “Don’t you forget that if either one of you comes near me tonight, I’ll find a way to kill you before you touch me—and you know I’ll do it,” she said coldly, and the icy glint in her eyes left no doubt of her determination.

  That threat, the dead-serious resolve behind it, and the derringer still hidden in her boot, were all that stood between her and those two mangy animals, Rebeccah knew. She prayed it would be enough. Still, her knees trembled as she rose, and Russ took her arm to lead her toward the hallway at the rear of the saloon.

  Suddenly the door to the hideout saloon crashed open. A man burst in without warning.

  He had a silver-handled Colt .45 gripped purposefully in each fist.

  “Nobody move!” he ordered in a tone of such iron command that nobody did.

  Wolf! Rebeccah froze between Russ and Homer. The outlaw den was a marble tableau of silent, motionless shock. No one appeared to breathe as every man there assessed the situation and swiftly debated the wisdom of holding still versus that of trying to draw on the heavily armed, tough-looking stranger commanding them to obey his shouted order.