Before she pushed back from the table, her initial poke more than intact, she had learned what she needed. Bogardus had heard of the Wichita Falls bank robbery and had heightened security at his three banks, two in Fort Worth and another in Dallas because he knew Three-fingers Frank Bell and his reputation. She caught an undercurrent as the banker mentioned Bell that went beyond reputation.
Kate felt that the banker knew far more than he was willing to say over a card table to a woman who had just come to town. She had to change that.
Chapter Five
J.D. Blaze left the saloon and wandered along Calhoun Street, getting the lay of the land. He had no doubt that the barkeep was going to set a trap for him and Three-fingers Frank Bell was going to pull the trigger. He ducked into another saloon where he positioned himself by a window looking out into the street. It wouldn't be long before the barkeep lit out to warn the outlaw. When he did, J.D. intended to be on his tail and spring a trap of his own.
"What'll it be, mister?" The bartender had come over to personally take his order. He looked up at a well-built woman. She wore a leather apron and stood with one hand on a cocked hip. The smile she gave him was downright lascivious. "I can get you anything you want. Anything."
J.D. knew he was a handsome man and attracted female attention, much to Kate's chagrin and sometime anger.
"A beer. I need to clean my palate." He considered how much more to say, then added, "I had about the worst beer in the world at the sinkhole across the street."
"You're lucky it didn't poison you. Be right back." She made sure she put as much of a hitch in her git-along as possible to keep his attention. It succeeded. She returned and set the beer on the table. "See anything else you like?"
"Plenty. Why don't you join me? The place is deserted."
"It's that time of the day. The places that give a free meal get all the business. My boss is too damn cheap to do that and doesn't understand why we never have customers." She settled down in the chair next to J.D. She put an elbow on the table and settled her chin in her palm so her face was closer to his.
"With a bartender who looks like you, they ought to be lined up around the block trying to get in here."
"You're handsome and you got a way about you. I'm Angela." She reached over and caught his left hand, pulling it up so a ray of sunlight reflected off his wedding ring. "You got a wife, too, unless you're a romantic sort who keeps wearing that after you lost her."
Seeing his ring did nothing to scare her off.
"You might be talking to a desperado who stole that during a stagecoach robbery," he said. A sip of the beer convinced him the watering hole across the street was specially brewed to be undrinkable.
"You got a hard look, but not an ugly hard look. There's a difference. Too many of the hard cases come through here." She laughed. "That's why they call this whole damn area Hell's Half Acre."
"Men like Three-fingers Frank must make your business a mite shaky."
"Damn me if it don't. He's run off more 'n one customer. See those holes in the ceiling? He got drunk the other night and shot the place up. Next time it rains, there's going to be more water dripping onto my head than's coming down outside."
"The other night? Those holes look old."
"Two nights back. He blew into town and was whooping it up. Son of a bitch drunk down damn near a bottle of whiskey, then shot those holes in the roof and left without paying. You and him partners? No, one of you'd kill the other straight away."
"A shame. He didn't offer to pay up?"
"Offer? He was flat ass broke, that's what he was." Angela spat, wiped her lips with her sleeve and took a look around the saloon. No other customer demanded her attention as much as J.D.
He considered this and everything fit together to explain the bloodshed and way the robbers had split up. Morrisey had stolen all the loot from the Wichita Falls bank. The one robber had tangled with Deputy Davis, ending up dead and buried, and Three-fingers Frank Bell had gone after Morrisey who somehow had both of his partners' gold.
"You know a kid named Zeke Morrisey?"
The bartender frowned in thought, then brightened.
"Yeah, the name's familiar. Him and a whore down the street got a thing going. Might be the usual cowboy getting the raging randies for a girl, when it's only business with her. Funny you should ask about him, though." Angela saw his interest.
"Why's that?"
"Three-fingers Frank wanted to know about him, too."
Before J.D. could say another word, he saw Caleb Kraft leave the saloon across the street, step out, and look around furtively. The man hitched up his drawers, then lit out, going south. There was more J.D. wanted to ask Angela about Zeke Morrisey since she was so accommodating, but if he let the other barkeep get away, he'd miss an easy chance at snaring Three-fingers Frank Bell.
"Got to go. I'll be back."
"You do that. I'm off at midnight when the owner comes in to count the money and get drunk. Me and you can..." Angela looked expectant that he would take her up on the offer, despite his wedding ring and what it meant.
J.D. ignored her offer as he dashed into the street. He saw the barkeep turn west at the next intersection. At a dead run, J.D. followed him. As he rounded the corner, he skidded to a halt and cursed under his breath. Caleb had disappeared into thin air. Not willing to give up easily, J.D. walked down the middle of the street, eyes darting left and right for any trace of his quarry. He stopped when he came to the Keg Saloon. The swinging doors were only now coming to a halt, as if someone had crashed through them full speed. He touched the Colt slung in its cross-draw holster and made sure it came easily to hand. Then he went to the doors and peered over the tops.
Caleb frantically talked to a man seated at a table in the back, the barkeep's broad back blocking direct view. When Caleb nervously moved to one side, J.D. saw that his hunt had come to an end.
Three-fingers Frank Bell saw him at the same instant.
The outlaw kicked over the table and dropped to one knee, poking his six-shooter over the chipped, splintery edge. J.D. slipped through the doors and took a few quick steps sideways to put part of the Brunswick bar between him and the six-gun. He reached shelter an instant before Bell's first bullet exploded from the barrel. Splinters from the side of the bar flew into the room. The only other patron looked up in a drunken stupor from where he sprawled across a table on the far side of the room. The patron held up his beer mug to order another, then figured out what was going on around him. No amount of booze or beer held a man in check when two others were shooting it out. The drunk half stood then dived, hitting the side of the saloon and splintering away part of the wall. A second kick and twist got him outside into the space between the Keg Saloon and its neighbor.
"You're not getting away, Bell. Give up."
"You're that sorry son of a bitch J.D. Blaze. I recognize you from when we shot it out over in Tombstone. You ain't gettin' off so easy this time. I ran outta bullets then."
"You were the one who came up short, Frank."
"Try all you want, Blaze, but you can't make me mad, not with puny insults like that. I done lost my finger to that federal marshal outside of Bisbee when he ambushed me. I've got used to doin' without it. I even like not havin' it. It lets me show you what I really think." The outlaw thrust his gun hand up, middle finger straight. Then he curled it around the trigger and squeezed off a round.
J.D. fired straight through the table after figuring where Bell crouched. The table provided no real protection, not like the massive bar gave J.D. cover. Then J.D. heard a sound he never expected in a saloon. A wildcat growled, then let out a snarl of rage.
He chanced a look around the edge and saw a coal black panther chained in the shadows of the far back corner. The cat reared, pawed the air, then dropped down, raging at being chained so securely. Yellow eyes flashed hatred for any human. It rattled the heavy chain around its neck as it reached out a huge clawed paw in an attempt to claw Bell.
&
nbsp; From behind the bar someone begged him and Bell not to hurt the cat. As long as the Keg's barkeep didn't poke up a head or enter the fray holding a gun, he was safe enough. From J.D. the panther was safe, too. His rounds were reserved for Three-fingers Frank Bell.
"The reward's for dead or alive. You might as well give up and stand trial, Frank. Otherwise, you're going back to Wichita Falls belly down over your saddle."
"So they can hang me? I'm no fool, Blaze. Men died in that robbery."
"You and Morrisey got away. When did he steal your share of the loot?"
"He didn't. It was that snake Nesbitt."
J.D. didn't know for certain but that had to be the dead outlaw Deputy Davis had put into the ground.
"He's not got it. A Wichita Falls lawman shot Nesbitt and put him into the ground."
"Don't doubt it. That must be when Morrisey made off with the gold. The little shit was more of a thief than I gave him credit for. I thought he was all meek and mild and just along to make a quick buck. Never thought he'd turn on us, first chance he got."
J.D. fired when Bell showed the crown of his hat. The sky piece went sailing, but it had been a diversion. The outlaw stood, reached over the table and slammed his six-shooter into the side of Caleb's head, buffaloing the man. J.D. got off a shot, but he couldn't drive Bell down. The outlaw grabbed the stunned Caleb Kraft by the scruff of his neck. The man yelped, then screamed as Bell lifted him off his feet and threw him in the direction of the panther.
The screams turned to agony, mingled with the panther's hunting cry—and the sound of fangs ripping human flesh. The cat fastened its fangs into the barkeep's belly, then twisted and turned and yanked free a section of bloody flesh. Intestines trailed.
In spite of himself J.D. stared stunned at the carnage being wrought. This gave Bell a chance to get out the back way. J.D. was after him in a flash, then slowed and stared at the panther mauling the barkeep. He lifted his six-shooter to shoot the cat.
"You're a dead man if you hurt my panther."
J.D. glanced over his shoulder and saw the Keg's bartender with a scattergun aimed at the back of his head. A million thoughts raced through his head. The pitiful moans from the mutilated man drove out good sense. There was no way Caleb was going to live. J.D. knew he should go after Frank Bell. Letting the outlaw escape meant he could fade into the lawless section of Fort Worth that was Hell's Half Acre.
"Don't shoot me." He slammed his six-shooter back into his holster and grabbed a chair on his way to the rear of the saloon. With a mighty swing he broke the chair over the panther's back.
The cat cowered away, momentarily leaving its victim alone on the floor. J.D. grabbed the barkeep and pulled hard to drag him beyond the length of chain securing the panther. He stopped when it was obvious how much pain the man endured.
His face had gone pasty white. His eyes flew wide open, and he tried to reach out to J.D. The arm was missing a hand.
"H-he done this to me. Shoulda never trusted him."
"You're in a bad way." There was no reason to lie. The man had to know he wasn't going to live much longer. His life's blood had mostly drained into the sawdust on the floor, making it a sticky morass.
"Three-fingers Frank. He's after Morrisey. I lied. I know Zeke."
"I figured as much. You're a terrible liar."
"Gotta get even with him. Frank's been hangin' out at Miss Purdy's. Must think he...he can find the..." Those were the barkeep's last words.
J.D. turned to the bartender who had come from around the bar, the shotgun still pulled in snugly to his shoulder.
"You need to sweep up before the crowd comes."
"Naw, I'll feed him to the cat. The cowboys will get a thrill outta that."
J.D. came within an inch of throwing down on the barkeep, then decided it wasn't worth wasting the lead. He left, the sounds of the panther roaring in his ears.
* * *
Kate waited until he left, then moved to a spot where she stared into the bank lobby. It might have been a bank in any other town, but she focused on the door at the rear with the elaborate gold lettering proclaiming this to be Justin Bogardus' private office. Kate took a deep breath, considered the possibility the bank president would return soon, then walked boldly into the lobby and looked around, nose up tilted just enough.
The bank manager saw her and came over immediately.
"May I help you, ma'am? I'm—"
"I want to see Justin."
"I don't understand. Justin?"
"The president of this bank. Justin Bogardus. You have heard of him? If you work here, you must know the bank president."
"I'm the bank president. Mr. Bogardus owns the establishment."
"Humph." She looked past the actual bank president. "Where is he? He told me to come by and that he would personally see to my needs." She looked down her nose at the man again to see if he came to the conclusion she hoped. He did.
"I didn't understand, Miss..."
"There's his office. Is he in? He said he would be. It's not like him to disappoint me, because I never disappoint him."
"Mr. Bogardus just left. I'm not sure when he will return."
"I'll wait in his office. I can't imagine why he forgot he was meeting me at 3 P.M.."
"Ma'am, it's only 2:30." He pointed at a Regulator clock balefully ticking off the seconds.
"Oh, dear me. I'm sorry. I arrived too soon. I apologize, sir."
The bank president smiled without real emotion behind it.
"That is quite all right. If you wish, you can wait in my office for Mr. Bogardus." He turned as if to usher her to an office on the far side of the building from where she wanted to go.
There had to be something useful in Justin Bogardus' office. Only by searching it could she hope to find what he had hinted at during their poker game. He had reacted when Three-fingers Frank Bell had been mentioned. She wanted to be sure it had nothing to do with recognizing the name of a notorious bank robber. This was a slim chance that they worked together, but she had to find something definite.
Finding it quickly looked to be her only course of action if she wanted to trump whatever J.D. found in Hell's Half Acre.
"He said he would assist me in opening an account here, though I hardly need his help for that. Do you have the forms so I may make a deposit?"
"How much will you entrust to the bank, miss?"
"Oh, a thousand to start with. There is more coming soon for the business my brother and I intend to start. Justin said he had the perfect plot of land in town."
"A thousand? Very well, miss." The banker made a grand gesture to indicate a writing desk near the door to Bogardus' office. "Filling out the forms is simple enough. I shall fetch them for you."
She stopped in front of the office door and leaned against it, hiding her hand with her skirts. Rattling the doorknob convinced her the lock could be snapped with a sharp twist. She bent slightly, then straightened. The knob spun freely. She had broken the locking mechanism. Before she could duck inside, the banker returned with a handful of forms.
"There you are. Should I take your money now or will you deliver it later?"
Kate considered flashing the roll she had won in the pool and poker matches, but having the money in Justin Bogardus' clutches didn't appeal to her. She waved it off with vague promise of a wire transfer from Kansas City coming in later that day.
"Very well, miss. If you have any trouble with the forms, don't hesitate to call me. I must go tend another customer."
She smiled as she saw a drunk stagger into the lobby. But this wasn't just any drunk from the look of his fancy design boots and the cut of his coat. He was likely a rancher come to town for a bender and now had run through what cash he carried. The bank president steered him away from where she was supposed to be filling out the forms. Kate used the chance to slip into Justin Bogardus' office.
Leaning against the door, her heart hammered as she looked around the large office. The man's desk was barren of pape
rs, but two large file cabinets on the far wall by a window looking out across a town square held promise. She crossed the room and studied the labels. Unable to decide where to begin, she opened the top drawer and rapidly flipped through the folders hoping something caught her eye.
What did slowed her. An envelope tucked into one folder matched the scrap they had found on the dead bank robber's body. She held it up, wondering at the address. Could it be the entire address? It wasn't likely since this was directed to a bookstore. She found several more envelopes using the same stationery. The outlaw had used an envelope from Bogardus' office. Had the letter been meant for the bank owner?
She pawed through the files, hunting for something more to leap out at her. Only when she got to the bottom drawer did she think she was onto something. This drawer was securely locked. It took a full minute using a hairpin to defeat the lock. She pulled it open and saw twenty or more files.
Flipping through them, not sure what she saw, she committed the names to memory before pulling out the first file to read it. As she opened it, she froze. Voices just outside the office door came through muffled but still identifiable. The bank president was telling Justin Bogardus of his visitor.
"I made no appointment with any woman. I wanted the entire afternoon free to see to my properties along Calhoun Street."
"I don't know where she went. She was here a minute ago when I went to deal with Mr. Tomlinson. He wanted another hundred dollars for his debauchery."
"He is quite an expert at that, isn't he? I should take him with me the next time I want a night on the town," Bogardus said, chuckling. The mirth died when he discovered the broken lock on his office door.
Kate shoved the file back into the drawer and kicked it shut. She reached into her skirts and touched the derringer but knew shooting her way out of this mess would only land her in worse trouble. Spinning about, she slid her fingers under the window sash and heaved. Headfirst, she dived out the window and landed hard on the ground.
"Someone's been in here."
She pressed her back against the wall and looked up as Bogardus leaned out the window and looked around. If he glanced down, he would see her and no amount of explanation would satisfy him. Kate gripped her pistol and waited for the inevitable.
Blaze! Hell's Half Acre Page 4
