Lionhearted Libby

by Joyce Armor

  “I’m coming, DeJulius,” he said, slapping his holey hat on his thigh to release the dust, as was his habit, and replacing it on his head. Then he began making his way to Three Forks and the marshal, pulling the horse with the corpse behind. Edward DeJulius had no idea of the fury he had unleashed. The young Butterman foreman couldn’t wait to catch up with him.

  * * *

  At the Three Rivers Hotel and Emporium in Three Forks, Edward DeJulius was getting nervous. He’d left Butte in a panic after he learned the stupid cowboy had shot the man he’d hired to take care of him. Luckily there were plenty of other men willing to do just about anything for money, and he’d hired three more. Winslow wasn’t invincible.

  He unbuttoned his waistcoat and loosened his tie as he paced the surprisingly well- appointed room. The unholy men he had hired to kill Garrett Winslow should have been back by now. How could something have gone wrong? There were three of them, for God’s sakes. He had only paid them half the money he promised. The men were greedy, like the others he’d hired, so he knew they would return when they finished the job. Unlike the two he had hired to kidnap Libby. They must have just taken off with the half payment he had given them. One just could not trust people anymore. It was disgraceful.

  For the hundredth time, he peered out the window of his hotel room at the street below. A man with a handlebar mustache and several pounds of trail dust staggered from a saloon, two little boys in ragged clothes rolled a barrel down the dusty street and a lady of the evening ignored the disapproving stares of two women carrying colorful pastel parasols as they passed on the boardwalk. Winslow should be dead and rotting in the ground. He wasn’t bulletproof. He was just some dumb cowpoke. Some incredibly lucky dumb cowpoke.

  DeJulius quickly had figured out he would have to get Elizabeth’s husband out of the way if he was to claim her, and time was running out. He couldn’t believe his good fortune when one his spies had telegraphed that Winslow was on his way toward Butte. It seemed like a happy coincidence. But now he was starting to wonder, thinking it might not be a matter of happenstance after all. Maybe he needed to hire a bodyguard. Or several bodyguards. When would this damn thing be over? He needed Elizabeth’s dowry and he would have it. Time was running short. Curse everyone who stood in his way. If he ran into Elias Parminter, he would put a bullet in his brain.

  And then he stopped in mid-pace. This could all work out, he suddenly realized. If his hirelings didn’t kill or severely wound Winslow—he wouldn’t mind a slow, painful death, as long as it didn’t take more than two or three days—and the cowboy came after DeJulius, he could be shot in self-defense. Yes, that would work quite nicely. Edward would invite him to his room, pretending that he wanted to parlay, and shoot him before he had a chance to say a word. Then he would fire the cowboy’s weapon to make it look as though he shot in self-defense. Ah, at last, now he could see a bright future. For the first time in days, Edward DeJulius felt truly confident. He should have realized it from the beginning. If you wanted anything done right, you needed to do it yourself.

  With that cogent thought, he opened his traveling case and dug out his Colt 45. He wasn’t a sharpshooter, but anyone could hit a man from three feet away. For the first time in several days, Edward DeJulius smiled. And then he went back to the window, watching the street below.

  * * *

  As Elias Parminter traveled across the country, the buzzing in his head got worse, even as he had lounged in his luxurious private rail car, purchased from the sale of his some of his late wife’s extensive jewelry collection. The anger he felt toward his wayward stepdaughter had gone from outrage to a blinding hatred that only could be appeased by her suffering and ultimate death. He had noticed that the porters on this trip gave him a wide berth, but who needed them? Elias Parminter knew what he had to do, and no one would distract him or sway him from his objective. Instead of taking a stage for the last long leg of the trip, which he thought would take far too long, he’d had his butler purchase a horse. Not a great equestrian, despite having raised thoroughbreds, Parminter was fueled by his determination and loathing. Every discomfort along the way, and there were plenty, just added to his need for vengeance.

  At one point, the horse stumbled and he fell off, banging up a knee and tearing his trousers. This, too, was Libby’s fault.

  “I’ll get you; you’ll pay for this,” he kept saying, over and over, as a mantra, camping rather than stopping in towns during his journey. As his facial hair grew, his clothing frayed and his general appearance deteriorated, so did his mind. The Elias Parminter who had left St. Louis was troubled, cunning and ruthless. The man traveling ever nearer to Deer Lodge, Montana Territory was obsessed, vengeful and rather insane. But he was still cunning.

  When at last he arrived in Deer Lodge, the disheveled man made haste to a ramshackle boarding house on the edge of town, where he found the disgraced Pinkerton man he had hired to keep tabs on Libby and her husband. The man, shocked by his employer’s appearance, managed to cover his amazement and distaste. So focused on his goal, Elias Parminter probably would not have noticed his expression anyway.

  “Well, what can you tell me?” Parminter demanded. “Out with it, man,”

  “The husband left a week ago, apparently to track down Edward DeJulius. Along the way, he’s killed at least one man who tried to bushwhack him.”

  Parminter grabbed the bottle of cheap whiskey the man was holding and poured himself a long drink. “So he’s going after DeJulius. Excellent. Where?”

  “Last I heard, DeJulius was in Butte, but that was several days ago.”

  Parminter eyed him suspiciously, and the detective became nervous. This man was dangerous, hanging by a thread.

  “Why would he be in Butte when he’s after Elizabeth?”

  “He’s sent several gunmen to try and kill the husband, Winslow. He’s probably staying out of the area so he cannot be connected with the shooting.”

  “What a coward,” Parminter spat out. Literally. Some of the whiskey in his mouth landed on the table. As low as his own standards were, it was all the detective could do not to cringe. How he’d gone from being a respected Pinkerton agent to this, he didn’t know. Well, actually, he did. It was the drinking. But a fella had to make a living. And please his clients if he wanted to get paid, no matter how downright deranged they were.

  “Yes, he certainly sounds like one.”

  Parminter poured himself more whiskey as the other man eyed him cautiously. The “gentleman” needed a shave and a bath, and his eyes darted around as if he were seeing something that wasn’t there. “I need someone who can get on that ranch where Elizabeth is and deliver a message.”

  His companion smiled. “I know just the person.”

  Chapter 15

  “What do you want?” Carmen said disdainfully, as though she’d just swallowed a bug. She stood at the ranch house door as if guarding the premises from the plague.

  “I would like to speak to Elizabeth Winslow, if you please,” Cindy Lou said sweetly.

  “I do not please. I will give her your message,” Carmen responded stubbornly, and when Cindy Lou said nothing, she tried to shut the door. The strumpet stopped it with her foot.

  “I have to deliver it to her personally.”

  Carmen slowly opened the door, crossed her arms and just stared at Cindy Lou.

  “This is important, Carmen.”

  Carmen studied the woman suspiciously, but she “tsked” and huffed. “Follow me,” she said as coldly as she could. She knew Garrett had spent some time with the woman, but for the life of her, she could not figure out why. Cindy Lou was a tramp and gave her body freely, but Carmen was fairly nonjudgmental about that. What she objected to were the woman’s mean spirit and manipulative actions, always trying to charm the men who had money and treating so many of the women, the ones she obviously saw as threats, cruelly.

  Cindy Lou, dressed in a too-tight satiny outfit of sea green, flounced into the ranch house, her white f
ront lace-up boots clicking on the polished oak floor and her hips swaying so much Carmen could practically hear them. She led the scheming creature into the dining room and stopped abruptly. “Wait here.” She started to walk out and then turned back. “And do not touch anything.”

  “Thank you,” Cindy Lou said, smiling sweetly.

  As if she had a sweet bone in her body. “Puta!” Carmen mumbled under her breath as she walked off to find Libby. Well, maybe she was a bit judgmental about the woman’s morals. She would have gone straight to Jackson if he wasn’t out on the range somewhere. She found Libby in the library, reading. The young woman looked up when Carmen entered the room.

  “I saw her when she drove her carriage up. What does she want?”

  “She says she has a message for you. I do not think you should hear it.”

  Libby set her book on the side table and sighed. “It could be about Garrett. I have to.” She stood, straightening the skirt of her pale rose day dress.

  “Do not let her get in your head, cariña.”

  “I don’t think her breasts would even fit in my head,” Libby said and Carmen laughed heartily.

  “I left her in the dining room. We had better count the silverware.”

  “Thank you, my dear friend. I might as well get it over with.” Libby squeezed Carmen’s shoulder and walked out of the room, feeling for some reason as if she were heading to her doom. She was fairly well recovered from the latest attack and was definitely not ready for another one. As she approached the dining room, she saw the ever-voluptuous, ever slightly slutty Cindy Lou studying the sideboard, as if she were assessing its value. “It is not for sale,” she said.

  “I was just looking,” snapped the tart. “You don’t have to act so high and mighty.”

  Libby felt a little guilty because the comment was rather nasty. “Would you like something to drink, Cindy Lou? Tea, coffee? Lemonade?”

  “No. I will not be staying. You do not look like you’re expecting a child. Why else would Garrett ever have married you? You will never keep him.”

  Libby was pretty much immune to Cindy Lou’s criticisms of her. “Is that your message? I think you already delivered that one.”

  “No,” Cindy Lou said. “I have a message from your father.”

  “My father?” No one in town knew Jackson was her father, as far as she knew.

  “Elias Parminter.”

  In spite of herself, Libby paled and sunk into a chair. She didn’t miss the gleam in Cindy Lou’s eyes when she saw how the name affected her.

  “He’s here?”

  “Yes, he’s in Deer Lodge.”

  “What does he want?”

  “He knows now that you have a husband and you will not be marrying Edward whatever-his-name-is. He is sorry for any trouble he has caused you and wants to give you your mother’s jewelry.”

  Libby’s heart leapt. She had left St. Louis so quickly, she had nothing to remember her mother by. But she was no fool. “Where is it? Give it to me now.”

  “I did bring it with me, but I left it behind a rock on the trail.”

  Libby looked at her suspiciously. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I wasn’t sure you would see me or how you would treat me. I did not want you to take it from me if I decided I did not want to give it to you.”

  “And now you do. Why?”

  Cindy Lou hesitated a moment. “Truthfully, your father kind of scares me. I do not want to do anything to make him angry at me. I can take you to the jewelry.”

  Libby stood up and approached Cindy Lou, her eyes narrowed. “Describe it to me.”

  “I did not really look at it.”

  “I don’t believe you, not the way you were looking at the furniture as if you’re planning to move in.”

  “Well, maybe I took a little peek.” She squinted her eyes as if deep I thought. “Let’s see, there was a gold brooch with purple stones and a diamond necklace in the shape of a teardrop with matching earrings. Oh, and a rosebud pin that I am guessing is rubies.”

  Libby gasped and Cindy Lou knew she had her. Libby twisted her hands as she thought frantically. How could she protect herself and still get the jewelry? Finally, she stood. “Wait here. I’ll change clothes and get my cloak. I’ll ride, so you can drive your carriage back to town from there.”

  “As you wish,” Cindy Lou smiled.

  Libby started to leave the room but stopped and turned around. “What are you getting out of this, Cindy Lou? Some of my mother’s jewelry?”

  The woman smiled again. “Just a small item.” Garrett. He had been nasty to her and she had been angry with him, but that was water under the bridge. Garrett could not possibly want this bland woman he married. Even if he did, she was about to disappear. Garrett might be upset, and Cindy Lou would be there to make it all better. She smiled. Oh, she knew Garrett wasn’t rich, yet there was something about him. And if she didn’t miss the mark, he would most likely inherit the Butterman spread anyway. He was so close to being hers, she could almost taste him. She looked around the room again. When she lived here, this rustic décor would have to go.

  A few minutes later, Carmen trailed after Libby, trying to stop her. “You cannot trust that viper. At least wait until señor Butterman returns. He can go with you. Por favor, I am begging you, señora.”

  Libby adjusted her new dark blue split skirt and donned her cloak. “It’s my mother’s jewelry, Carmen. It is all I have of her. She left it out in the elements where anything could happen to it or anyone could find it. I have my pistol in my reticule. It will be all right.”

  “Garrett or Jackson will buy you more jewelry in your mother’s name.” She was holding onto Libby’s cloak at this point.

  Libby dragged the woman with her for a few steps and then stopped. “It is not the money, Carmen. It is the only tangible memories I have of my mother. I have to go. I know Cindy Lou is not trustworthy. I’ll be careful.” She gently removed Carmen’s clutched hands from her cloak, one finger at a time.

  “I will go with you.”

  “You will not. You will stay here and prepare a wonderful lunch for the men as you do every day. I will be back in less than an hour. It will be fine. I am armed and not the weak woman you saw a few days ago. Do not worry, Mamacita. I won’t be taken by surprise.” I am Lionhearted Libby.

  Cindy Lou waited impatiently by her carriage, brushing dust off her wrap, while Libby saddled a horse and led it out of the barn. When Cindy Lou and Garrett were married, she decided, she’d talk him into buying a big house in town, far away from all this dust and the smelly cattle. And he could get a job in the bank or something so he would not smell like cows either. They could come out here occasionally to get away from town.

  “How far is it?” Libby asked her nemesis, who was studying her painted fingernails.

  “I’m not good on distances. Maybe a mile or a mile and a half from here, toward town.”

  “Okay, lead on. I’ll be right behind you.”

  As Cindy Lou climbed into her conveyance, Libby felt in her pocket where she’d moved the pistol she had brought along as insurance. She could not take the chance that Cindy Lou was not telling the truth, but she realized that something that looked too good to be true probably was not true. While it seemed like a stupid move, she was not stupid. Lionhearted Libby was done being a victim. If this was some kind of a trap, she would turn the tables or go down fighting. She just could not take a chance that she could have a tangible memento of her mother. She should have taken the jewelry when she had fled her home. The new, tougher western Libby would have.

  She estimated they had gone a little over a mile, as Cindy Lou had predicted, when the dirt road curved sharply to the right around several large boulders, in front of which was a sign with an arrow: Deer Creek – 11 miles.

  Cindy Lou stopped the carriage. “It’s here.” She pointed. “I put them behind that rock.”

  Libby looked suspiciously where Cindy Lou indicated and dismounted.
“You come, too.”

  “You don’t need me.”

  “Just in case they’re not there, you come, too.”

  Cindy Lou complained about the inconvenience, the dust and the heat, but she got out of the carriage huffily and led the way.

  “This jewelry is the only thing I have to remember my mother by. It better not be damaged.”

  “It isn’t,” Cindy Lou said, with little empathy. Libby doubted she had any to give.

  They walked around the large boulder. Cindy Lou bent down and reached under an overhang. “I can’t quite get it,” she grunted.

  Libby crouched down beside her and tried to look under the rock. “I can see the pouch!” she said.

  She started to reach under the rock when she was grabbed from behind. She struggled mightily but was not at full strength since her last ordeal. If she had time to think about it, that might have been a familiar thought. She was fumbling to reach the pistol in her pocket when her assailant pressed a sweet-smelling rag on her face. She tried desperately to hold her breath as long as she could, but finally she gulped in air and began to lose consciousness. Carmen’s words of warning came back to her as she saw the smirk on Cindy Lou’s face. Her last conscious thought was that she apparently was stupid after all, just before everything faded to black. Once again Libby Butterman Winslow—that’s who she was in her mind—was unconscious.

  * * *

  By the time an exhausted Jackson rode in from the range, Carmen was in a frenzy. Hiking up her multi-colored, billowy skirt, she took the porch steps by twos and ran across the expanse to the barn, her boots kicking up dust as she scurried. Jackson had just dismounted as she burst into the building.