by Jo Goodman
They were both braced for an explosion from inside the bank, so when time passed without any noise, they grew increasingly restless and traded talk about taking two of the horses and bolting. They were on the verge of separating the team when the other men emerged from the bank, straining like draft horses pulling a loaded wagon. The pair of cattle thieves and occasional guns-for-hire stared openmouthed as a Hammer & Schindler safe crashed down the stairs behind them.
They didn’t wait to be told what to do. They moved the team hitched to the sled closer to the entrance and then helped right the safe and roll it through the door and onto the sled. The leather straps that had aided in the removal of the safe were transferred to the sled to hold it in place. The horses required very little encouragement to get under way.
One of the men consulted his pocket watch. From storming the jail to removing the safe, the time was under twenty-two minutes, well within the parameters that had been established for success.
Rose LaRosa was having none of it. She set her hands hard on her hips and stared fiercely at the two men who had entered her establishment against her wishes. The fact that they both produced badges held no sway with her.
“If you are who you say you are, then you should have identified yourselves to Sheriff Cooper. Pinkerton men have no authority here.”
“Afraid we do, ma’am.” The fair-haired gentleman regarded her with some sympathy. “We have a warrant.”
Rose’s hands dropped to her sides, where they balled into fists. “That warrant means as little as those badges. I don’t believe either of them, so go shake them at someone else.”
“Afraid I can’t do that,” he said. “Now go and fetch Rachel Bailey. Mr. Pennway and I need to talk to her.”
Rose didn’t give ground. “There’s no Rachel Bailey here.”
“Rachel Cooper, then.”
“She’s not here, either.”
James Pennway took over when he observed his partner’s frustration. “You’ll have to excuse Mr. Barlow. He’s used to people being impressed by his credentials. We know Mrs. Cooper’s here. We watched her walk in from across the way. She was accompanied by one of your girls. A young woman named Adele, I believe.”
Rose’s features revealed nothing except her frustration. “Then you confused her with another of my girls.” Rose went to the foot of the stairs and called up. “Adele, can you come down? Bring Virginia with you.” She turned to wait, effectively blocking the Pinkerton men from advancing. “I don’t appreciate you disrupting our Sunday.”
Neither man spoke, though they acknowledged the admonition with a mildly apologetic smile.
Adele held the banister as she made her way down the steps. Virginia watched her, prepared to assist her if she faltered. Rose stopped them before they reached the bottom and then addressed her visitors.
“Are these the women you saw?”
Barlow pointed to Adele. “That’s Miss Brownlee. I recognize the hair. And she was limping. But that’s not the woman who was with her. That’s not Mrs. Cooper.”
Rose glanced over her shoulder and regarded Adele. “Do you have anything to say?”
Adele merely shook her head.
Frowning, Rose asked, “You don’t know either of these Pinkerton men?”
Adele looked them over closely. “I might have seen him before,” she said, pointing to Pennway. “I think he was at the Miner Key last night, bucking the tiger.”
“Is that right, Mr. Pennway? You play faro?”
Before James Pennway could confirm that he did indeed like to make wagers on the game, Adele’s knees were giving way. She lowered herself to the stairs, ignoring Virginia’s efforts to keep her upright. “That’s not James Pennway,” she said, drawing back her hand. “He’s not the man I had dinner with.”
Pennway regarded Adele more closely, seeing the bruise on her cheek for the first time. “Indeed, I’m not,” he said. “But I am James Pennway.” He exchanged a glance with Barlow, communicating an understanding that was not necessary to share aloud. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Miss LaRosa. I have my orders, a warrant, and the means to enforce it.” He opened his coat so she could see his gun. A moment later, Barlow did the same.
“Wyatt took your weapons,” Rose said, staring at the Colts each man had strapped to their thighs. “He took everyone’s weapons from the train.”
“And we took them back,” Mr. Barlow said.
Rachel appeared at the top of the stairs. “That’s enough, Rose. I’m going with them.”
“Why didn’t you leave by the rear door?”
It was Pennway who answered. “She probably saw the men we put there.” He stared up the steps. “A wise decision, Mrs. Cooper.”
Adele pulled herself to her feet again. “Who the hell was he?” she snapped, pointing at Pennway. “If you’re James Pennway, then who the hell was he?”
Pennway merely looked past her and gestured to Rachel. “Come down, Mrs. Cooper. It’s time to go.”
Rose backed up onto the stairs to make certain that Adele didn’t fall forward. Virginia also looked prepared to haul her back if she stumbled or leapt. “You’re cowards,” she accused the men. “Coming here to take Rachel when her man isn’t around.”
“Not cowardly,” Barlow objected. “Just smart. No one gets hurt.”
Rachel started down the steps. “That’s what I want as well, gentlemen. No one getting hurt.” She paused when she reached Virginia and Adele and waited for them to part so she could get through. In the end it was Rose who blocked her way. “Don’t, Rose. I need to go with them.”
“No, you don’t.”
“He’ll never stop. You don’t know what he’s like. He believes this makes sense. He believes he’s right.”
“Doesn’t make it so.”
Rachel placed her hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Let me pass. You tell Wyatt that I went willingly so he doesn’t lose his mind thinking I was forced.”
Rose exhaled deeply and set her spine stiffly. “Virginia, you tell Wyatt what she said. Adele, you tell Will that I went along to keep her company.”
Chapter Sixteen
Wyatt and Will met a crowd at the depot when they returned to town. The men had already been discussing the best way to proceed and shouted out their plans while Artie Showalter began whispering in Wyatt’s ear as soon as he dismounted, trying to tell him the whole of what they’d confronted in his absence.
That no-account Beatty boy finally took matters into his own hands and held up his gun, threatening to shoot if they didn’t start talking one at a time.
The story came out in bits and pieces, but this time Wyatt and Will were able to follow the thread that held it together. Wyatt thought Will would be sick when he first heard that Rose had gone with Rachel, but just as quickly, the pallor of Will’s complexion changed, and he stood straighter, his eyes clear and sharp and unnaturally calm.
Wyatt’s attention was caught by Adele Brownlee standing at the center of a clutch of concerned women, and he moved toward her. “Are you sure you’re all right, Adele?”
She quickly put her hand on her jaw, covering the bruise, and nodded. “Rachel put some liniment on it,” she said because she felt as if she needed to tell him something. “And she took photographs.”
“Did she?” Wyatt said quietly. He felt his throat tighten again. “She doesn’t miss a trick.”
“Not one,” said Adele. “They’re on the rack in your parlor.”
“Thanks for getting help, Adele.” He patted her forearm, then addressed Gracie Showalter. “Ezra?”
“Doc’s sewing him up. Virginia’s with him. He’s going to be fine, Wyatt. A safe’s harder to crack than that boy’s skull, Doc says.”
Considering that Foster’s men had fled with the bank’s stronghold rather than try to open it, he supposed that might be true. Wyatt simply nodded and walked off toward the depot’s platform. He held up his hand, signaling for quiet, and got it immediately.
“I need some men to ri
de out to the basin northwest of the number-two mine. That’s where Daniel Seward and three others were surveying. There was no point in it that Will and I could see, but they should be followed all the same and brought back when you have the opportunity.” Hands shot up immediately and Wyatt selected five. “Now I need at least six, no more than ten, to ride out after the train.” Men came forward and stepped up to the platform to stand beside Will. Wyatt looked them over, nodded, then pointed to Abe Dishman standing in the crowd beside Artie Showalter.
“Abe, tell us all again how we’re going to catch that engine before it gets to Denver.”
Abe thrust his lantern jaw forward and folded his arms across his chest. He nodded once, firmly. “It’s like I was sayin’ earlier. I never did like Jack Gordon driving that engine up here on our track. He had no right to do it, no matter what Maddox was payin’ him, so I figured that we was owed something. Could be that something’s wrong with that engine’s boiler.”
“Could be?”
Abe shifted. “I don’t imagine they’ll be getting much more pressure than forty pounds per square inch. That’ll slow them, even on the downhill.”
Wyatt thought nothing could ease the tightness around his own heart, but his rival for the affections of Rachel Bailey did just that. “Abe, I could kiss you, but I’ll step aside for Rachel to have a turn at it when we get back.”
Abe Dishman’s face reddened, but he looked overwhelmingly pleased at the prospect.
Wyatt called out for the supplies they would need, and men scattered quickly to secure their horses, saddlebags, weapons, and explosives. He and Will stayed behind to reassure everyone else as best they could, though reassurances were returned to them in equal measure, and when the two posses reassembled, he deputized them and ordered them out.
Rachel and Rose sat side by side on a leather bench in Foster Maddox’s private car. They no longer whispered to each other, having been given the directive several times to stop talking, the final one being accompanied by a threat to throw Rose from the train when they reached the first drop higher than fifty feet.
Foster was supremely unhappy that Rachel arrived with a companion, and nothing Pennway and Barlow offered in explanation satisfied him. He plucked their badges from their coats and pitched them out a window; then he sent the Pinkerton impersonators to sit in the common passenger car with the other men.
Rachel’s eyes strayed often to Randolph Dover. He sat alone on one of the benches, his head mostly turned toward the window as though he had a genuine interest in the scenery and wasn’t merely trying to avoid facing her. Davis Stuart and George Maxwell shared a bench near the door of the car. The attorneys spoke occasionally to each other, but their voices were pitched low. Rachel observed that Foster had almost no use for them, and she wondered how deeply they were involved in his scheme. The few times that one or the other glanced back at her, however, she saw nothing in their expressions but indifference.
Foster Maddox sat behind a large desk in a heavily padded red leather chair that reminded Rachel of a throne. There were papers spread out before him, and he leaned forward in the chair, supporting his head by pressing his thumb and fingers against the sharp ridge of his brow. He looked as if he had a powerful hangover, but since she knew that he rarely drank to excess, Rachel thought it was more likely that he was suffering from one of his migraines. The way his hand was set across his brow, it seemed possible that he was not merely supporting his head but also shading his eyes. When he snapped at his accountant to pull the shades, she knew she was right.
“Is this everything that was found in the safe?” he asked, shuffling the papers on the desk.
The attorneys turned as one, twisting their heads to address Foster. George Maxwell deferred to his partner. “Everything that pertains to your case,” said Stuart.
“What about the rest? There was cash, wasn’t there? Stocks and bonds, perhaps.”
“All back in place.”
“No one took anything?”
In spite of his attention seeming to be elsewhere, Randolph Dover had been following the conversation. He pulled down the last shade and returned to his seat. “I made an inventory of the contents. Besides the papers you wanted, there was $4,850 in cash, seven deeds, thirteen stock certificates, and a locked box containing various pieces of jewelry. All of it was returned to the safe after your items were removed.”
“If you’re here, who’s minding it now?”
“Ford and Richards.”
Foster removed his hand so that Dover could see one of his eyebrows arching. “The men that the sheriff says are cattle thieves? Did you consider that at all?”
“I did. And I recalled that you weren’t troubled by it. You also ordered their release from jail, so it seemed that you trusted them. I felt I could do no less.”
Rachel felt Rose’s fingers cover hers. She glanced sideways and saw a glimmer of a smile touch Rose’s mouth. Rachel suppressed the same tug on her lips. Mr. Dover’s clever reply gave Foster little recourse but to accept it.
“In any event,” Dover went on, “the man that was finally able to open the safe is in the other car.”
Nodding faintly, Foster said, “Give them the order to push the safe out.”
Dover frowned. “Push it out?”
“I’m not a thief, Randolph. I only want what belongs to me.” He pointed to the papers, then looked in Rachel’s direction and gave her a slight smile. “Tell them to get rid of the safe and make certain it can be recovered.”
“Very well.” The accountant nodded and left the car to enter the one to the rear.
“I think I surprised you,” Foster said to Rachel. “Am I right?”
“It’s only in the broadest strokes that I’ve ever been able to predict what you will do,” she said. “The details are always a surprise.”
“Really? I believe you mean to flatter me.”
“I’m sure I don’t.”
He chuckled and then winced, touching his fingertips to his temple and revealing again how much he was pained by the migraine.
“Do you have any headache powders?” asked Rachel. It was not sympathy that moved her to raise the question, but common sense suggested that if he was not in pain, he might deal with her and Rose more fairly. “I don’t mind mixing them for you.”
He looked her over, his regard suspicious. “There’s nothing like that in the car.”
Rachel pointed to the pocket of her coat. “May I?”
Annoyed by the question, he waved his hand impatiently. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
Rachel stood and withdrew a small cobalt-blue bottle from her pocket. “Do you recall that I told you people come to Reidsville for the mountain springs?” She didn’t wait for him to comment but continued blithely. “This particular elixir has been found to be efficacious for pain, and most people swear it is because of the spring water. I’m not in the habit of carrying it with me, but I had need of it only this morning because a young woman presented herself at my house after she had suffered a beating.” Rachel did not expect that Foster would blink an eye, and he didn’t. “She’s rather small and delicately boned, so she had no use for more than two teaspoons. You will perhaps have to finish the bottle, but I believe you will find it as helpful as she did.”
“Let me see it.” Foster held out his hand.
Rachel approached but kept the desk between them. She placed it in his open palm and waited for him to take it. His fingers closed around it slowly, deliberately brushing her hand. She did not smile, but neither did she look away.
“There’s no label,” Foster observed, turning the bottle. “What’s it called?”
“Coldwell.” When Foster merely stared at her, she explained. “Cold. Well. Our druggist, Mr. Caldwell, perceives it is clever wordplay. I’m told that he originally recommended it as a cold remedy, but it has since proven its worth in regard to general pain.”
Foster stared at the bottle a moment longer, then at Rachel. “You are not generally so am
enable.” He removed the bottle’s stopper, sniffed, and reared back his head. He shoved the stopper back into place. “Jesus! What’s in it? It smells like cat piss.”
In response to having her offer so bluntly spurned, Rachel tried to snatch the bottle back. Foster held it out of her reach.
“Not so quickly,” he said. He moved a little in his chair so he could see past Rachel to Rose. “Have you used this before?”
“Often enough to know that you’re right,” said Rose. “It smells like cat piss.”
Rachel watched Foster’s eyebrows lift a notch and wondered if he would lecture Rose on her language. It was his strongly held opinion that a man could say what he liked, but a woman who repeated it was coarse and common. She carefully released the breath she was holding when she saw Foster was going to restrain himself.
Foster gestured to Rachel to step aside so he didn’t have to crane his neck around her. “Miss LaRosa, is it?”
Rose nodded. “That’s right.”
“You’re a friend of Miss Bailey’s?”
“I am.”
He considered that. “Then you wouldn’t mind supporting her claim about this elixir.”
“I thought I already had.”
“Not to my satisfaction. Come here, Miss LaRosa.”
To her credit, Rose did not hesitate even though she suspected what he was going to ask of her. She went directly to his side, swaying provocatively in concert with the motion of the train. “Do you imagine that she’s trying to poison you?” she asked, extending her hand to take the bottle. “If so, the blame must lie with Chester Caldwell. I’ve maintained he’s been trying to poison all of us for years.”
Foster regarded her, then her open hand. “What is the most effectual dose?”
“I couldn’t say. I’ve never measured. I pour.”
Holding up the bottle, Foster examined the amount of liquid inside. “A full swallow, then,” he said, removing the stopper again. “Just so that I can be sure.”
