by Erin Johnson
Grace explained about the threats in the stable. “I’m worried that someone from the gang or the sheriff might ‘accidentally’ shoot Bullet.” She clenched her jaw angrily. “Or me.”
Joe straightened in the saddle. His voice, when it came, was low and hard. “No one’s going to hurt either of you. They’ll have to go through me first.”
Though she appreciated Joe’s concern, Grace was fairly certain she could take care of herself now. Hadn’t she proven it in the battle the other day? And she’d taken down the javelina single-handedly.
With her knife tucked into the high, cuffed top of her moccasins and Pa’s gun in the holster on her hips, Grace was sure she could face whatever this town had to offer in a fair fight. She’d even become as fast a draw as Joe; if it came to a shoot-out, she would be ready.
Joe slowed his horse. He pulled closer to her and looked her straight in the eyes. “No one in this town’s going to hurt you, Grace Milton. I stake my life on it.”
Grace’s heart fluttered at the meaning in his eyes.
“And in any case, you don’t need my help. They haven’t seen what you can do with a gun or a knife or a rock now, right?” he said.
Grace couldn’t help grinning at his enthusiasm, but then she sobered. “It’s true. I can take care of myself in a fair fight. But it’s cowards like Behan that worry me. They wouldn’t hesitate to shoot someone in the back.”
Her tracking instincts took over as they rode down the main street. Most people didn’t give them a second glance, and Grace was glad Joe had dressed in the Mexican shirt and open black vest that many of the Ndeh had adopted. As for her, she donned buckskin leggings, rather than the skirt, and had her braid tucked up under her Stetson. The buckskin top that Sequoyah had given her was decorated with beadwork, but until she got close, that wouldn’t be visible.
Still, once they reached the center of town, all of Grace’s senses went into high alert. Her skin prickled as they neared the Bird Cage Theater. Rather than avoiding it as her father had always done, Joe rode right up to it.
Grace’s heart plummeted. Not only did she not want to walk through those doors, but her opinion of Joe fell along with her heart. Even if they were only there for supplies, she hadn’t thought Joe was the kind to visit bawdy houses. She kept her eyes averted so he wouldn’t see the disappointment written in them.
“Hey,” Joe said softly. “You all right?”
Grace gave a curt nod.
“You don’t look all right.”
I’m not, she wanted to burst out, but she was afraid angry words would attract too much attention. She set her jaw and dismounted, tying Bullet next to Ash.
Joe put a hand on her arm, but Grace shook it off. She had trusted him, and he knew what had happened to her in the Bird Cage. He obviously thought she wasn’t a real lady.
“Grace?” Joe stepped in front of her and tilted her chin up, the way he often did.
She hoped he wouldn’t realize that the moisture stinging her eyes was a combination of anger and disappointment. It could have come from the sand stinging them during the ride or from the bright sun.
“You know I wouldn’t go in here unless I had to, right? But if we’re going to trade, I have to meet some of the men. You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. I don’t blame you if you’d rather not come with me, but I think we would be safer together.”
“What’s wrong with the mercantile?” Grace murmured.
“That’s fine if we pay, but we’ll get a better deal trading with some of the men in here.”
“You do know what this place is? It’s called the Bird Cage Theater.” Grace spat out the last word. “But it’s a . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say “house of ill repute.”
Joe’s ears reddened, and he studied the wooden walkway under their feet.
“I know,” he said softly. “But the sooner we get the business done, the sooner we can get out of there. Look, why don’t you stay here with the horses?”
Grace bristled. She was just being silly — if she was going to make it on her own, she would have to develop thicker skin. If he was going in there, then so would she. She straightened her spine. “No. It’s fine. I’m coming with you.”
Joe sighed. “You’re right. The Bird Cage is no place for a woman.”
“It’s no place for a man either. Not a gentleman, at least,” Grace snapped.
Joe hung his head. “I know. Believe me, I wouldn’t go anywhere near it if I didn’t have to.”
Grace said brusquely, “Maybe with leggings and my braid under my hat, they’ll mistake me for a man.”
Joe looked her up and down, his eyes appreciative. “No chance of that unless they’re blind or too drunk to see straight.”
Grace’s cheeks flamed, but Joe had already turned and was pushing open the door. The sickness in the pit of her stomach grew.
Joe waited for her to enter, then offered her an elbow protectively. Grace scanned the dark room for the sheriff. The last thing she wanted was for him to know she was back in town. But there was no sign of Sheriff Behan. No Lil with the red feather bobbing in her hair either — although they could be in one of the cages overhead.
Grace headed for the darkest, farthest corner — one where it was unlikely she would be spotted by someone coming in. The place was almost deserted before noon, but she was sure that this bordello, like the other one, would get busier in the evening.
A few men sat at tables scattered around the room, their chairs angled to get the best view of the girls serving drinks or singing and playing the piano. They took little notice as Grace slid into a chair. Joe followed and sat so he blocked her from view of most of the room. He was tense and alert, examining each face as though looking for someone he knew would trade with them.
Grace did the same. None of the patrons looked familiar, except —
The man in the far corner sat hunched over a whiskey, his hat pulled low over his eyes. He’d tucked his face down into his neckerchief so the lower part of his face was hidden except when he took a sip. As the whiskey slid down his throat, something about the tilt of the hat, the set of the shoulders, and the man’s sharp-nosed profile made Grace sit up and take notice.
His coat hung open, exposing two knives in his belt.
A chill ran through her.
He was there the night of her family’s massacre. She could swear it.
He was one of the Guiltless. That was the man who had — who had —
The memory of him unsheathing the knife blade was embedded in her mind.
It brought back the sound of Daniel’s surprised cry, then his body thudding to the ground. Sickness welled up in her. How dare this man sit here in public, drinking as if he had no conscience?
She had to do something.
CHAPTER 21
“Joe?” Grace whispered.
He leaned close.
“That man over there.” Grace nodded furtively toward the whiskey drinker. “He’s one of them. I’m sure of it.”
Grace’s heart hardened, and she knew it showed in her eyes.
Joe’s eyes widened. “One of the gang that killed —”
“Do me a favor,” she interrupted, keeping her voice low. “Can you go over to his table? Get him talking? Find out more about him and who he is. Maybe he’ll give away where the others are.”
Joe shook his head. “What good would that do? Even if he’s who you suspect he is, you can’t shoot him in here.”
Grace had already pulled her gun from the holster. She gripped it tightly underneath the table. “Who says?”
Joe reached over and removed her finger from the trigger. “You want to go to jail?” he whispered.
Rotting in jail would be worth avenging her brother’s death.
Except that she wouldn’t be able to go after the rest of the gang. And the one
she wanted most was their leader, Elijah Hale.
She finally slid the gun back into the holster, and Joe’s shoulders relaxed. He probably wouldn’t have been so calm if he knew what she still had in mind, but first she had to be absolutely certain the man at the bar was the right one.
“Please,” she said, looking at him imploringly. “For me?”
Joe’s gaze wandered to her lips, then back to her eyes again. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I can’t resist that face,” he murmured as he shoved his chair back.
Did she hear him right? Grace stared at him as he strode across the room.
She cast sly glances in the man’s direction, trying not to seem too obvious. Joe approached the man’s table, two whiskeys in hand. The man looked up, startled, when Joe spoke, but after Joe held out a glass, the man gestured to an empty chair. Joe sat down, plunked the whiskeys on the table, and slid one toward him.
Grace watched with narrow eyes as Joe beckoned for refills. Every time the man’s face lifted from the neckerchief he wore, Grace became more and more certain she had sighted her quarry.
She also kept a wary eye out for the sheriff or anyone else who might recognize her.
Across the room, she noticed that Joe barely touched the glass in front of him, but the man had knocked back three more drinks.
He slumped farther and farther down in his chair and soon started drifting to one side. Then he jerked himself upright and sat stiffly for a few seconds before leaning the other way. He was drunker than a skunk, as Pa used to say — and his actions stunk worse than one too. By the time Joe returned to her, his face was a mask of fury.
“His name’s Doc Slaughter,” he spat, “and he’s one of the Guiltless Gang, all right. After I bought him a few drinks, he was only too happy to tell me about his exploits.” Joe grimaced. “It was sickening to sit there and listen to him brag about his ‘triumphs.’ Says he used to be a dentist but turned to gambling and other . . . activities. Said they paid more. If anyone deserves to be shot, it’s him.”
Grace’s hand moved to her pistol.
Joe held out a hand. “No. I didn’t mean by you.” His voice grew hard. “The law should gun him down. From the way he’s talking, he’s on wanted posters from here to Dodge. And all the way north into Minnie-soda, as he calls it.”
“So why isn’t he in jail?” Grace could barely force the words out through her gritted teeth.
Joe’s jaw worked, and his face contorted as if he’d love to strangle someone. “Why do you think?” he exclaimed.
He glanced around to be sure no one noticed his outburst, then he lowered his voice. “He has the nerve,” Joe’s voice was tauter than a bowstring before letting an arrow fly, “to brag — brag, mind you — that he’s safe here in Tombstone because the gang pays off the sheriff. All he has to do is watch out for the deputy, who’s ‘too law-abidin’ for his own good.’”
The anger in Joe’s face was palpable. “But because the deputy never comes into this particular house, that scoundrel’s pretty much safe.”
Grace was so angry she was trembling. Doc Slaughter wasn’t the only skunk around here. “So what are we going to do?”
Joe shook his head. “What can we do? He’s under the sheriff’s protection, and it seems most people in this town do what Sheriff Behan tells them. They’re not even going to report a known criminal, let alone take one down.”
Grace already knew what cowards lived in this town. Not one of them had stood up for her, and the sheriff obviously had everyone under his thumb. It sickened her that Elijah Hale and his gang could get away with murdering a whole family. Her family.
Joe gripped the edge of the table. “He even went so far as to say that if anyone even tried to take him down, the sheriff would make them pay.”
Grace balled one hand into a fist. The other hovered over the gun, itching to draw it and shoot him there and then.
In any other town, he’d be hanged. But here, he had free rein.
He was free to kill. To murder innocent people and get away with it.
Joe laid a hand on Grace’s shoulder. “I know how badly you want to shoot him, but that would be foolish. Your life would be forfeit.”
“Someone has to do it!”
“True, but that someone isn’t you. And especially not now. Not here.”
Grace exhaled, irritated. “Well, what about talking to the deputy? Would he do his duty?”
“Let’s find out. But first I need to get something to eat. I’m not used to drinking whiskey, and my head’s spinning a little.” Joe quickly glanced behind him. “That guy’s so drunk, he won’t be going anywhere for a while. If I understand rightly, the hardest part will be to get the deputy to come in here. He avoids this place like the plague. Besides, if he knows the sheriff’s a regular in here, he’ll figure Behan would do any necessary arresting.”
“Yes, of course.” Grace couldn’t keep all the fury and sarcasm out of her voice, but it softened as she turned to Joe. “Get something to eat, and then we’ll go to see the deputy.”
“The food here is truly awful; most people are too drunk to notice, but I don’t think I could stomach it. I might need to head out and get something. Will you be all right here for a short while? Seems like no one’s paying attention to you.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll sit here and keep an eye on Doc . . .” Grace couldn’t bring herself to say the rest of the scumbag’s moniker. “I’ll watch him until you get back. Then we’ll see that justice gets done. Whatever it takes,” she added in a low murmur.
After Joe slipped out the door of the Bird Cage, Grace focused like a hawk on the bleary-eyed man. He slumped in his chair, head propped on a fist, but still leered at the girls by the piano.
A young girl entered through the back door carrying a stack of laundry. Grace recognized her as the girl who had brought her bathwater at the other bordello.
As the girl trudged up the stairs with the heavy load, Doc’s gaze followed her, and when she came back down, he perked up. He stood up with difficulty and tottered toward her.
When the girl realized he was advancing on her, she backed away. He kept coming, and she ducked out the back door.
Doc followed.
Grace didn’t like the way he looked at that girl. He was up to no good, and there was no way Grace would let her quarry get away. Not when she was so close to justice.
She jumped up and followed, pushing open the back door and finding herself in the alley by the stables. She glanced around and saw no one. Where had they gone?
She heard a cry coming from another alley beside the nearest stable. As Grace raced toward the sound, her braid tumbled from her hat and slapped at her shoulder.
Doc had pinned the girl down on some hay bales. The girl’s cries were piteous mewls.
His hand reached into his coat. “You be quiet, or I’ll slit your throat,” he growled. A knife glinted in his hand.
Images of the night when the Guiltless Gang came to her home flashed before Grace’s eyes in slow motion.
That hand.
That knife.
The one that had killed her brother.
One minute Daniel was charging past the root cellar. The next he lay in a bloody heap.
All the rage thundering through her made Grace snap. Her hand moved toward her holster. “Leave her alone or I’ll shoot,” she shouted.
The hand with the knife stilled, and Slaughter whipped his head around. But when he caught sight of Grace, he laughed loudly. “Little thing like you shouldn’t be playing with guns.”
His words slurred together. Then a lecherous grin spread across his face, exposing a glinting gold tooth. “Want to join us, girlie?”
CHAPTER 22
“I said . . . Let. Her. Go.”
The edge to Grace’s voice was as sharp as a the blade on her knife.
; The man’s bleary eyes raked her body. “What you doing dressed like a blasted injun?”
“Tracking you down,” she snarled. “You killed my parents . . . my whole family. And you’re going to pay.”
His laugh was low and evil. “Ahhh,” he drawled. “Thought I recognized you. You look just like your ma.”
Grace growled, the sound boiling up from deep within. “You keep my ma out of this. Now let that girl go, or I’ll shoot.”
Slaughter sneered. “You talk big, girlie. I don’t know where you got that gun, but a little girl like you don’t know how to use a weapon like that.”
In one swift move, Grace stepped back and whipped out her revolver. “You sure about that?”
Slaughter pulled the girl in front of him, and she whimpered in fright. With his free hand, he grabbed the girl’s hair and wrenched her head back, exposing her neck. He touched the knife blade to the girl’s white skin.
Slaughter chuckled. The evil in his laugh made Grace sick. He turned his narrowed eyes toward Grace. “Drop that gun, or I’ll kill her.”
The girl turned her wide, pleading eyes toward Grace.
Daniel’s eyes would have held the same plea. A plea for mercy. A plea for someone to save him. A plea for life . . .
Sweat trickled down Grace’s forehead and stung her eyes.
He killed Daniel. And he wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.
The knife pressed closer to the girl’s pale throat.
Grace took a breath, and time seemed to stop.
She squeezed the trigger.
As if in slow motion, the bullet left the gun, heading straight toward Slaughter’s forehead like she had learned to aim at a knothole in a cottonwood.
The impact knocked him backward.
His mouth opened in shock for a second, then his arms released the girl as he crumpled to the ground.
The girl stumbled free, crying and gulping for air. “Thank . . . you. Thank . . . you.” Then, crying hysterically, her dress spattered with blood, she fled.
Grace waited for the smoke to clear. She stood over the body, gun pointed at Slaughter’s chest, waiting for him to twitch, to move, to open his eyes.
