Distant Thunder

by Lisa Bingham

  Chief tossed his head, walking daintily around the rock and into a clearing. Daniel’s eyes swept the icy canyon, darting to the dark shapes positioned on the rocks above him. Lifting his rifle in silent salute, Daniel acknowledged the Pinkertons who guarded the breach.

  As he crossed the scant expanse of snow toward the ramshackle cabin butted against the sheer face of one rock wall, a figure stormed from the door and stood glowering at him from the top step.

  “Damn it, Crocker! Where the hell have you been? I asked you to come yesterday.”

  Daniel ignored Jedidiah Kutter, bringing his gelding to a halt beside the stoop. He swung out of the saddle and secured the reins to a scrubby bush growing from beneath the steps.

  “Well?” Kutter demanded impatiently.

  Daniel refused to give the tall, barrel-chested man more than a cursory glance as he climbed the stoop and brushed past Kutter into the shack. “I got delayed.” Not for the first time he felt irritated with Kutter for acting more like a warden than a boss.

  The weak warmth of the cabin was welcome. Daniel tugged his gloves free with his teeth and strode over to the black iron stove in the corner. He took a chipped enamel mug from the shelf above his head, then poured himself a cup of coffee that had probably been brewing since morning.

  “I was worried.”

  “I know, Kutter.” Daniel gritted his teeth and spun to face the older man, then took a deep, calming drag of air, filling his lungs with the acrid scent of old coffee and woodsmoke. As quickly as it had come, his anger drained away. “I got here as soon as I could.” He didn’t bother to tell Kutter he’d forgotten all about the meeting. Daniel Crocker had never been careless, until a green-eyed beauty began to invade his every thought.

  Kutter continued to watch him with the concerned scowl of a grouchy mother bear. He raked his gnarled hands through the curly hair that sprang out around his head like thousands of tiny corkscrews. Then he carefully combed the longer strands over the balding spot at the top of his skull. As if possessing a spirit of their own, the thin waves sprang back, leaving the red-brown skin of his scalp to show through.

  “Come here. I want to show you something.” Jedidiah Kutter visibly relaxed the tense set of his shoulders. With a jerk of his head, he gestured to the maps scattered on the table in the center of the room.

  Daniel took a sip of the bitter brew in his cup, swearing aloud at its taste but savoring its heat. He was about to tell Kutter the truth, that he was leaving the profession now and wouldn’t be back, but Kutter’s serious mien kept the words inside him. Propping one hand on the rough table, he bent over the map spread on top of a jumbled pile of papers and weighted down with rocks.

  “Floyd Dooley will be moved on Sunday.”

  “So soon?”

  Kutter nodded. “He’ll be brought in from Salt Lake City on the Wasatch Territorial. The train will bypass Ashton”—as he spoke, Kutter used a crooked index finger to trace a route on the map—“and stop here, where the two railroads split.”

  Daniel nodded, taking another wary sip of his coffee. While he steeled himself against an urge to join the expedition, his mind automatically formed a picture of the terrain outside the canyon.

  “We’ll have men posted here”—Kutter pointed to the slopes above the fork—“and here.” He stabbed the thick trees that lined the creekbed. “There will be six men in the boxcar with Dooley and six more scattered throughout the other cars.”

  Daniel pinned Kutter with a keen stare. “That’s an awful lot of manpower for a simple prisoner transfer.”

  Kutter opened his mouth, then paused as if carefully choosing his words.

  Comprehension dawned, and Daniel stiffened, setting his cup on the table and remarking softly, “Of all the brazen … You want the whole Dooley gang to ride right into your trap. And you’re using Baby Floyd as bait.”

  Kutter’s lips twisted. “Baby Floyd isn’t our only drawing card, though I’m sure they’d bring a half dozen men to his rescue regardless of the circumstances. But I want the whole shebang. I want the whole damned Dooley clan to ride into our ambush so we can take care of them once and for all.” Kutter lifted his head, his rheumy gray eyes direct. “And in order to do that, we’ve got to have another ace in the hole. You.”

  Cold seeped into Daniel’s body. “What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

  “Grant Dooley escaped from the Missouri prison two weeks ago.”

  Daniel froze.

  “He’ll be searching for the man who put him there,” Kutter continued. “By now he’s probably whipped his family into a frenzy. They won’t be content with just saving their little brother if they know you’ll be on their tail by sundown.”

  “I may not be one of the Dooleys’ favorite people, but the whole clan won’t show up to shoot me.”

  “We also leaked word that a shipment of dynamite will be brought through Ashton this week.”

  Damn. The Dooleys loved dynamite as much as little boys loved firecrackers. Blowing safes and trains and bridges to kingdom come just for the hell of it had become their trademark over the years. They would never be able to resist the lure of a whole crate of the stuff. Grant and Marvin Dooley wouldn’t have to say much to persuade the rest of their family to use the explosives to destroy their arch rival. They would probably spend most of the week salivating over how many ways they could blow Daniel Crocker and the rest of the Pinkertons to bits.

  And through it all Kutter intended to dangle Daniel in front of the Dooleys’ noses like a worm wriggling on a hook. If Daniel had been told of the plan weeks ago, even days ago, he would have completed the assignment as he had any other in the past—maybe even relishing the knowledge that he could outsmart the Dooleys and see they were apprehended and brought to justice. But now there was Susan to worry about. And their future.

  Daniel took his gloves out of his coat pocket and began tugging them over his hands. “No.”

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

  “I won’t do it.” He headed for the door.

  “Crocker!”

  Daniel paused.

  “You can’t leave, Crocker.”

  Daniel threw him a look over his shoulder. “Watch me.”

  “If you walk out of this assignment, I’ll call in your note and you’ll lose your land.”

  An ominous silence settled over the room. Daniel slowly turned, his expression steely. “You know as well as I do that the note is nearly paid off.”

  “Nearly, Daniel. Not completely.”

  Daniel felt a burst of fury and frustration. Damn it all to hell! For years he’d been saving almost every penny he earned to pay for the little spread of land not ten miles from where he now stood. A place of his own—something he’d never known. Five years ago, when the parcel he’d chosen had been about to be sold from under him, Kutter had offered to buy half and to allow Daniel to pay him back over time. And the debt was almost paid. Almost.

  “That’s blackmail, Kutter.”

  “That’s right. Besides, if you don’t help us put the Dooleys away for good, you’ll live the rest of your life suspicious of every shadow. We’ve tried putting them in jail one by one, but damn it, they keep breaking each other out. It’s time to take them all, in one fell swoop, then lock ’em away where the sun can’t shine. I’m not above foreclosing on your land to do it. I could sell it and hire an army if I had to.”

  Daniel glared at his friend. Kutter couldn’t do this to him. He knew how much the land meant to Daniel, how much he’d dreamed of it over the years.

  But Kutter was also determined. And mule-headed. When he got a look like a bull about to charge, there was no stopping him.

  “Do this job for me, Daniel, and the debt will be cleared—above and beyond your usual pay. I’ll even throw in your first milk cow.”

  A gust of air escaped from Daniel’s lungs. The offer was tempting. With a little extra money in his pocket, he and Susan would have the funds
to buy livestock and make the necessary repairs. And the milk cow wouldn’t hurt, either.

  Just one job. One more job. “What exactly am I supposed to do?”

  Kutter wasn’t fool enough to believe Daniel had agreed to anything. Yet, Daniel could see that fact from the careful way the older man schooled his features.

  “Make yourself as visible as possible for the next day or two. If anyone should ask, you’re visiting family.”

  “Hell,” Daniel whispered.

  “Come Sunday, you’ll assist in the transfer of a dangerous prisoner.”

  Daniel snorted aloud at that. Baby Floyd Dooley was a myopic, chuckleheaded piece of fluff. The only man Floyd had ever injured was himself.

  But his brothers were killers.

  “And then?”

  “Then we’ll apprehend Grant and Marvin Dooley … and go home.”

  Daniel shook his head in disbelief. “What makes you think the Dooleys will come after Floyd? Or the dynamite? Or me? They might decide it’s not worth the effort.”

  “They’ll come. Family honor.”

  “Honor like hell.”

  “Then let’s say their shrew of a mother is not about to let her baby be hanged or to let you walk free.”

  That was one reason Daniel was prepared to believe.

  “What makes you think they’ll come to Ashton? Why not stop the train in Salt Lake or farther on?”

  Kutter straightened. “This pass is the weakest spot on the line. The Dooleys know we’ll have to switch railroads in order to get Floyd back east.”

  Daniel waited, knowing there was more to come.

  “There have also been some strange things happening in Ashton.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Petty thefts of chickens from some of the farms, stolen horses, strangers asking odd questions about the railroad station and incoming train schedules. In town, the pharmacy was set on fire. The proprietor, a Mr. Gibby, was severely wounded. He has yet to regain consciousness.”

  “And you think the Dooleys are responsible?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But considering Grant’s fondness for morphine, it’s not an impossibility.”

  Daniel carefully considered his options, but any way he looked at the situation, he didn’t like it.

  “What about the people at Benton House? My being involved in this will affect them.”

  “They won’t be in any danger. Grant Dooley isn’t about to do anything that might ruin his chances of getting his brother back. His only hope is to organize an ambush when Floyd is moved from one rail line to another.”

  Daniel wearily massaged the bridge of his nose. He was tired of all this. So tired. “Maybe you trust Dooley to leave the people at the orphanage alone, but I don’t. I want your word that they’ll be protected. Regardless.”

  Kutter nodded. The tilt of his lips revealed his sense of impending victory. “You have it. I’ll send a guard to the orphanage first thing in the morning.”

  Daniel turned, his eyes narrowing to become dark slits. “And I want out,” he stated lowly. “When this is all over, I leave the agency.”

  Kutter seemed prepared to fight him, then conceded. “All right.”

  Daniel’s head dipped, showing his agreement to their plans. “I’ll take a hotel room in town until this is all over.”

  “No.”

  Daniel’s brows lifted and he shot Kutter a glare rife with warning.

  “You can’t leave Benton House. If you do, it will cause a whole lot of questions.”

  “Damn it to hell, you’re asking me to jeopardize the lives of the people at the orphanage even more than you already have.”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything I haven’t already planned to deal with!”

  Daniel’s chin jutted out at a stubborn angle.

  “Go home, Daniel,” Kutter urged softly, his voice taking on an almost fatherly tone. “Go back to your little girl.”

  Every muscle in Daniel’s body grew taut. “What little girl?”

  “The one you talk about when you’re drunk and lonely. The one in the picture you keep hidden in your bags.”

  Daniel stormed from the cabin, jamming his hat on his head.

  “Crocker!”

  Daniel turned.

  “I’ve got several men planted in town. One of them will contact you prior to the exchange. In the meantime … you take care.”

  Shrugging off the man’s concern, Daniel yanked the reins from the bush and mounted his horse.

  “Hey, Grant!”

  The rough whisper reverberated through Grant Dooley’s drug-induced euphoria. Silently cursing the man who had dared to disturb his fun, Grant eased his head from the prostitute’s breast, grimacing when he met Marvin’s hard-eyed stare.

  “Get outta here, Marvin,” Grant slurred. He dropped his head, nudging his chin into the woman’s enormous cleavage and inhaled the odors of cheap perfume and sweat. Settling deeper into the moth-eaten settee, he slipped his hand beneath the woman’s skirts.

  “I thought you wanted to get back at Crocker—or was that just a lot of talk?”

  “I said get out, Marvin!”

  “She’s alone. The Hurst girl is alone.”

  “So?”

  “So I thought you wanted to even the score? Why can’t we do something to her tonight? Why can’t we sample Crocker’s woman? Seems to me it would work in our favor. If we visit her tonight, he’ll be mad—hoppin’ mad. Men who are mad make mistakes.”

  It took an extreme effort of will, but Grant managed to prop open his eyelids. As Marvin’s words sank into his cloudy head, his body tensed. He turned his head away from the woman’s voluminous breasts so that he could squint up at the man who hovered above him. Then his eyes roamed around the smoky shack, which was crowded with Dooleys and two working women who moved from man to man hoping to relieve the Dooleys of whatever money could be found. After the stirring meeting they’d just had, the boys were rowdy and full of spite.

  “Come on, Grant,” Marvin cajoled. “Just you, me, Bart, and Nate. We could slip away without anybody noticin’. She’s at the orphanage with those kids. Everyone else is in town.”

  Grant’s lips curled in disgust, and his head dropped back into the pillow of womanly flesh. “Crocker’s there by now.”

  “No. He’s not.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Hell, yes. His horse is still gone. I doubt he’ll be back until dawn.”

  Grant began to laugh, a low, rich sound that echoed his enjoyment of the situation. Extricating himself from the clinging arms of the prostitute, he staggered to a chair where he’d looped his gun belt over the back.

  “Round up Burt and Nate and meet me outside.”

  Marvin strode to the door, then stopped. When he turned, Grant caught an expression he hadn’t seen in Marvin’s face until now. Hate. Pure unadulterated hate. “I didn’t haul my ass all over Wyoming Territory following that Pinkerton for nothing. I want a part in dragging him into hell.”

  Grant grinned. “Don’t we all?” he quipped. “And like I’ve said before, that girl is the best way to do it.”

  Chapter 19

  Susan sat up in bed and tried to capture the sound that had awakened her. From far away she heard the muffled stamping of hooves and the snuffling of horses. She swept aside the covers and snatched her wrapper. An inexplicable urgency spurred her on. If Donovan and Essie had returned before dawn, that meant something must have happened to poor Mr. Gibby.

  She hurried downstairs. Once in the foyer, she struck a match and touched it to the greedy kerosene-soaked wick of a glass lamp, then replaced the chimney. Since the sounds came from the drive at the front of the house, she hurried into the parlor, set the lamp on the table in front of the window, and lifted the curtain aside to stare into the pink-edged darkness. It was almost four-thirty. She’d gone to bed after midnight when Daniel still hadn’t returned. Thinking he’d been
detained by his superior, she hadn’t worried. But now …

  An arm snapped around her neck, and a rough hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off Susan’s scream. Her fingers dug into the tight band that held her, trying to press back the acrid panic that was rapidly swelling in her throat.

  Just stand still, little girlie. Stand still while we touch your mama’s pretty skin.

  Bucking wildly, Susan twisted in her captor’s grip. Three dark male shapes entered the room. Apprehensively she watched their feverish expressions. She’d seen men look this way before, twenty years ago when the deserters had pushed her mother to the ground.

  One gaunt, pockmarked man stepped forward, his mouth splitting into a slow smile. Susan flinched, but when she tried to escape the tight hold, the man who held her yanked her against his solid chest.

  “You left one of the back windows unlocked,” the pockmarked man chided. He made a clucking noise deep in his throat as he tugged his gloves off and slapped them against his thigh. “Careless. Very, very careless.” The men on either side of him laughed softly.

  Susan studied the three men in the flickering lamplight. Something about their faces and travel-stained clothing looked familiar. She’d seen these men before. Somewhere.

  Susan moaned deep in her throat, squirming, but she could not escape. She wondered where Daniel could be.

  “Nate.” The leader made a motion toward the open door with his head. Behind him, a younger man—a boy, really—grinned and closed the door.

  The gaunt man advanced. “Susan, isn’t it?” When she didn’t answer, the leader scowled. “I’ve heard Crocker talk about you. About the way you look in bed. How you like a man to be rough.” He chuckled, a dry grating sound that rasped on her nerves. “Well, we can be rough.”

  A cry of outrage bubbled from her throat. The man shook his head, scolding her with mock concern. “You’d best not make a sound, you hear? There are children in the house. You wouldn’t want to wake them.”