Private Dicks (24 page)

With Elliot safely out of sight, McCoy grabbed the Gentleman's collar, knocking his hat and cool composure asunder and nearly pulling him off his horse, but the dappled mare's quick movements saved him. Holding the Gentleman close enough to his face that the Gentleman could see every fleck of over-chewed tobacco caught in the red thicket of his beard, McCoy spat, "I don't appreciate you orderin' him around."

The Gentleman held onto his saddle horn with one hand and with the other adjusted his hat. He was forced to stand in his stirrups to make up for the difference in height between his and McCoy's horses. A lopsided smile crossed his face. "C'mon, McCoy, don't tell me you've never used that sweet 'n' innocent lookin' face of his to your advantage. Send a sickly-looking boy like that into any store in any country, the storekeep's gonna feel sorry for him and give him a heck of a deal. That boy could rob a town blind by simply takin' one of those coughing fits of his. Whole place'd be beggin' him to take their money. He is a goldmine, McCoy—" the Gentleman poked at his oversized gut, "—and don't you forget it."

With an angry grunt like an agitated boar, McCoy released the Gentleman's shirt and handkerchief; he'd spared the duster and vest. "You leave him alone," he said. Turning his horse roughly, he headed toward the small stream cutting its way through the dry creek bed.

Wilton gazed puzzledly across the dry plain toward the building Elliot had disappeared into. "He is a might peaked, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is," the Gentleman said, readjusting himself. He shouted over his shoulder after McCoy, "You ever think about takin' that kid to a hospital? If he were a horse, I'd have shot him by now." He turned to see McCoy watering his horse with his back to them. "That's a good idea there, McCoy. I bet these old nags could use a drink." Turning his own mount toward the water, the Gentleman paused to ask Wilton, "How'd you get mixed up with a guy like him?"

"Well, I, uh …" With no answer readily available, Wil laughed nervously. He dug his heels into his horse to ride ahead and join McCoy along the creek bank.

The Gentleman stared after them. He lifted his hat to shake loose his dark curls, scratching his head in perplexity at the same time. "It's only 'til Thursday," he told himself, and then nudged his own mare toward the water's edge. As she lowered her head to drink, he dismounted to fill his goatskin. Neither McCoy nor Wilton paid him any mind, nor he them. By the time Elliot had returned with a feed sack full of canned goods, a couple of dried slabs of wild game, and a few freshly baked biscuits slung over his back, one of which he nibbled on greedily, a strained silence had fallen over the others that persisted even as the Gentleman mounted back up and they rode on.

Their ill-tempered quiet was only broken to discuss the finer points of their great caper, and even then it was broken only by Wilton. "So, while we're on the train, waiting for the signal, what do we do?"

The Gentleman had nearly been lulled to sleep by the gentle sway of his surefooted mare and had to rub at his eyes to stir himself awake. "Well, you gotta scope the place out, Wil. Walk around, see where all the fancy people are sittin'. They're gonna be the ones you go after when it's time. Now see, our duchess is gonna be a lot easier to spot than you may think. Not only does she travel with all her stuff, she also travels with all her people. Anyone that's being fussed over by five or six different people? They've got money and lots of it."

"So we're mainly after money, then, right?"

"Money's the best thing, sure. But you can go after jewelry, gold, things like that, too. Pocket watches go pretty well. You get into these minin' towns? Those boys go crazy for a good pocket watch. 'Specially if it's got a big, long chain on it. The only thing about getting those sorta things is they can be … oh wha'cha'call it." He wracked his brain for the word but couldn't think of it, which may have been just as well. He was doubtful some in his current company would understand it anyhow. "People will know they's theirs if they see them out somewhere. If you steal a man's pocket watch and it has 'To my dearest John, Love yours truly, Sue' engraved in it, it'll be a bit harder to sell it off. And if the law catches you with it, you're bound for a heap of trouble. Stick to money as best you can. 'Less there's somethin' that really catches your eye. Anything that sparkles is worth somethin', I guarantee it."

"Right," Wilton said to himself. "Anything that sparkles."

They stopped to rest their horses as the warmest part of the day began to take hold, setting them to graze as they themselves turned their own thoughts toward food. The Gentleman motioned for the feed stack Elliot still carried over his shoulder. He handed it off with no comment. "Let's see what we've got here," the Gentleman said to him, sitting down to riffle through the sack. He voiced his approval at what he found on top, passing a biscuit to each of his assembled gang and setting one on the top of his boot for himself. He pulled two cans of beans from the sack and distributed them to McCoy and Wilton with the instruction, "Open these up, boys." Then, tossing an extra biscuit Elliot's way, which he caught with a questioning look, he complimented him, "Good work."

Elliot said nothing, simply bit into his biscuit and returned to looking at the ground. The Gentleman brushed it off and turned in his seat to look north at all the miles and mountains that still separated them from their final destination. Tilting his hat back on his head to get a better look, his expression grew worrisome. "We could ride into Laurel late tomorrow," he said. "But 'deed I'd like to get there before the depot closes. And the boy and I'll have to make it on past before it's too dark."

McCoy looked up from his can. "What're you doin' with my boy?"

The Gentleman turned back, picking up his mug for Wilton to fill with a helping of beans. "I have it figured like this: you and Wil will ride the train, the boy and I'll pick you up somewhere before Big Timber."

"Like hell you will."

"McCoy, I assure you, this is the best course of action. It makes total sense. We need someone on the train who can actually do a shakedown—no offense, Wil. But we also need someone who looks like he belongs on a train so we don't arouse any suspicions." He gulped down a mouthful of the soft, flavorful cooked bean mash, speaking around it as he continued. "It'll take more than one person to run all four horses up along the tracks to pick up the others, and with my reputation and your boy here's ill health, we're the most sensible candidates. Ain't nobody gonna let us on a train."

McCoy still looked less than impressed, staring down at him from under the brim of his hat.

The Gentleman sighed. "Look, maybe tomorrow I can explain it to you in a way that you'll understand. But we don't have a lotta time for debate. That train rolls through Thursday morning—that's the day after tomorrow. If you've got a better idea, I'd like to hear it sooner rather than later."

"Hmph." McCoy turned his attention to his meal and didn't look up. He poured a piddling portion into a mug and handed it to Elliot; then he commenced to fill his own gullet.

The Gentleman picked up the biscuit he'd left resting on his boot and bit into it, tearing a piece of it off and taking out all his frustrations on the poor pastry. He swallowed and then cleared his throat. "It's gonna be a long ride tonight. We've got a lotta miles to put behind us still, so we probably won't bed down until past dark again. Then it's back up at first light. That's the only bad thing about these trains; they don't wait for ya. If any of you wants to take a little siesta before we head back out, that's fine by me."

"How do we know you're not gonna ride off and leave us?" McCoy asked.

The Gentleman grinned at him lopsidedly. "Has the Virginia Gentleman ever shorted his boys?"

"Not that I've heard of," Wilton answered.

"Exactly." He took another bite of his biscuit and then put what remained atop the beans in his mug. "Besides, I can't pull this off with any fewer than four boys. And where else am I gonna find a crew like you three?" He slapped Wilton's back heartily, sending him into a fit of sputters as he choked on a dry piece of biscuit. Then the Gentleman grabbed the feed sack and stood, crossing the distance between himself and Elliot to offer it back. "I am entrusting you with this." Elliot looked up at him, eyes growing slightly wide, darting to check McCoy's reaction. "It is your responsibility to look after this. Don't let the bears get into it, don't let any of us eat more than his fair share, don't let it fall in a creek. You look after it. You got that?"

Elliot took the sack and held it close to him as though he were cradling an infant. "Yes, sir."

The Gentleman ruffled Elliot's hair and headed off to check on the horses as they grazed on the dry grass. "Take 'er easy for a bit, boys. These old nags are still restin' up," he called back. He moved among their horses, listening to them rip at the grass, inspecting them all thoroughly. His own mare lifted her head to watch him for a moment with her ears pricked in curiosity before returning to her meal. Elliot's paint also looked up to greet him. It was then that the Gentleman noticed the poor creature had the face of a mule, and a dumb one at that. God had not been kind in painting it white to draw further attention to it. He ran a hand up the shoulder of McCoy's towering steed, attempting to touch the curve of its cheek flat-footed and very nearly succeeding. He ran the hand back down the horse's neck to give it a solid pat. "I think I could sell you for a fair price," he whispered to himself. Wilton's horse came up behind him to steal the remains of his biscuit from where it sat in his mug. The Gentleman pushed his muzzle away but looked on the black gelding fondly. "Might keep you, though. Anything but that paint. Lordy sakes."

*~*~*

They rode until the cloud-obscured moon overhead was no longer enough to light their path. As much faith as the Gentleman put in his trusted mare, if he couldn't see what lay in front of her hooves, he doubted she could either. If the terrain had remained flat and rolling, he'd have pressed on for another hour or so, desperate to make it to Laurel in time. But with the mountains beginning to form under them and the terrain turning rocky, there was no choice but to make camp until daybreak.

The long hours in the saddle had left them all stiff and weary, eager to join the Gentleman as he tended to his fire that night. The four of them gathered around to ease their aches in the soothing heat of the flame's glow before dozing off for a few hours. The Gentleman looked around the circle at all the tired, slack faces staring into the flames. "Don't none of you boys know any songs?" he asked. "Yankee Doodle? Clementine? Dixie?"

Wilton looked too tired to be his usual eager-to-please, nervous self. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed at his eyes. "I'm afraid I'm not much for music."

"What about you, McCoy?" the Gentleman continued, finding it hard to keep the twisted sense of glee out of his voice. "I'm sure you've got a lovely voice."

McCoy spat into the flames, a patch of them dying down before springing back to life as the moisture evaporated in the hot, dry climate of the fire. He leaned his head back to look out from under his hat. "You've got a pretty smart mouth, you know that?"

"It's all a part of my charm," the Gentleman said. He looked at Elliot pointedly. "The ladies love it."

"I think I'll turn in for the evening," Wilton said as he stood, carrying his bedroll with him and scratching at his behind lazily. He turned to the Gentleman. "We'll want to get an early start tomorrow, I suppose?"

"We've gotta make Laurel by Thursday." The Gentleman stretched and settled in against the large rock he'd found for his lean-to for the night. A wry smile curved under his mustache as he added, "I guess tomorrow's as good a time as any."

"Right. Good night, all." Wilton turned to go but could hardly put one foot in front of the other. His legs refused to meet up as they once had, bowing out to either side at an angle that was unnatural for a person of his disposition. His hips had suffered in the remolding of his lower half that day as well. What had once been a set of fully rotating ball and socket joints now swung like the doors of some of the fancier saloons. He planted one foot, then swung his entire body around to plant another, and so forth. He didn't make it much more than a few steps from the fireside before deciding he'd found the perfect spot for the night.

The Gentleman watched him go, an amused concern overtaking him at the sight. "'Night."

McCoy also excused himself from the firelight, saying, "Try not to oversleep this time," as he backed off in search of his own rock to lean against.

"Oh, I won't." The Gentleman watched Elliot rise and go with him, his heart giving a small leap of joy when Elliot turned back to look at him before lying down at McCoy's side. Before long, the valley was again filled with the snorts and snores of McCoy's sleeping form. Elliot joined in the symphony with a coughing fit not long after he'd bedded down, and he remained racked with a dragging hack long after his breath had caught up with him again. Wilton slept through the whole of it, too tired to be awoken by anything less than the Rapture itself.

The Gentleman had pulled his hat down over his eyes in an attempt to succumb to his own weariness, but before his mind could settle itself to sleep, he felt those eyes upon him again. He sat up, tipped his hat back, and gave a small wave of his hand to beckon Elliot over. Without so much as a glance over his shoulder to see if McCoy was still asleep, he came, quietly sitting down beside the Gentleman with his back to the rock and the warm fire climbing skyward in front of him. The Gentleman smiled; he'd taught him well.

The Gentleman slipped off his duster and offered it up once more. Elliot readily accepted it, pulling it over his shoulders and holding it closed in front of him. He whispered a quick, "Thank you." They both watched the fire in silence for a moment; then Elliot turned to the Gentleman, asking flatly, "Is Gentleman Blankenship your real name?"

The Gentleman leaned back on his rock and intertwined his hands to lay them on his stomach. "What makes you ask that?"