Anita Mills (7 page)

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I get off at Eagle Lake, in case you’ve forgotten.”

It was a dispiriting thought, one she didn’t want to deal with just now. But no matter what, she wasn’t going to ask him to stay with her, she told herself. She wasn’t about to give him any power he could use against her. Instead, she took a small bite out of the fried tortilla. It was soggy with grease, but it was food for an empty stomach.

“She wasn’t there, Gib! I’m telling you she wasn’t there!” Lee Jackson all but shouted at Hannah. “You tell ’im, Charley—tell ’im there wasn’t any sign of the Howard girl!”

“Gib, we looked the length of the whole damned train,” Pierce explained patiently. “She wasn’t on it.”

“Hell, we even watched ’em get off to eat, and when we didn’t see her, Charley got on to look for her!” Jackson went on angrily. “I’m telling you there wasn’t no lone female there. There wasn’t but a couple of women on the whole danged thing! Doncha think we’d a told you if we’d found her?”

“Maybe he’s kinda thinking you were wanting to keep her to yourselves,” Bob Simmons spoke up. “Maybe he’s thinking you could be planning to split it two ways instead of four.”

“Is that what you think, Bob? That we’d cheat you?” Pierce demanded. “If that was the case, why the hell would we come back at all? Why wouldn’t we just grab ’er and run?”

“I wasn’t meaning
I
thought it, Charley—I was saying maybe that’s what Gib was thinking,” Simmons said soothingly. “Hell, we’ve been in the saddle night and day now, and it ain’t easy to think straight like that. We’re all downright jumpy.”

“Been like looking for the needle in the haystack,” Jackson muttered. “I knowed we oughta waited in San Angelo—said so even.”

“She’s got to be on that train,” Gib reasoned. “She was on the
Norfolk Star’
s passenger list coming into Galveston. And she sure as hell didn’t hire herself a buggy to travel halfway across Texas in.”

“Looks like she’s vamoosed,” Jackson declared.

“The word is vanished, Lee,”

“Huh?”

“It looks like she’s
vanished”

“Hell, I ain’t got book learning like you, Gib,” Jackson countered sarcastically. “But I’ve sure as hell got eyes! And there’s nothing wrong with Charley’s neither!”

“All right, all right.” Gib Hannah ran his fingers through his hair, then rubbed the stubble on his face. “Look, there’s no sense in quarreling amongst ourselves. We missed her, that’s all. But we know she got off that steamer, and we know she stayed overnight at the Harris house—I saw the register myself. And according to the Harris woman, she asked for an early call to breakfast so she’d have time to make the train,” he recounted. “Damn.”

“Maybe we shoulda waited until the agent got back to ask ’im,” Pierce offered.

“There wasn’t time. Train’d been gone nigh to an hour by then, and the window was already shut down,” Simmons reminded him. “Hell, it wasn’t opening again until four o’clock, and by then, it’d a been too damn late to catch up at all.”

“Something must’ve happened, and she didn’t get on the nine-fifteen—that’s got to be it, Gib,” Jackson insisted. “Ain’t no other way of explaining it.”

“You said the Harris woman told you the Howard girl was real pretty—maybe something happened to her. I mean, there’s a lot of rough customers in a place like Indianola.”

“It was a short walk in broad daylight,” Hannah snapped. “Somebody would’ve seen something, and the whole place would’ve known it.”

Lee Jackson sighed. “All right, then, Gib—we ain’t got no brains between us—that’s what you’re saying, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, Gib,” Charley said, “if you’re so damned smart, then you tell us where in the hell she is.”

“She’s on the train.”

“And I suppose that makes the both of us blind,” Lee muttered. “Well, since you got all the brains and two good eyes, why don’t you find ’er?”

“Look, it doesn’t do much good to fight among ourselves, does it?” Hannah said tiredly. “All right, you looked over the passengers, and—”

“And saw nobody as could be Verena Howard,” Charley Pierce finished for him. “There wasn’t any women but a farmer’s wife with a passel of kids hanging on ’er and—”

“And what?”

“The only halfway young one had a husband with her.”

“Did you get a good look at her?”

Pierce shook his head. “Couldn’t. The poor little thing was so sick she couldn’t hold her head up, and her husband was having a time of taking care of her. She’s having a baby, he said.”

“Maybe she got off before we caught up,” Simmons ventured slowly. “Maybe she got fed up with the company.”

“And went where?”

“I dunno.”

“No, she’s on that train,” Hannah declared positively.

“Well, if she is, she’s passing herself off as a cowboy and doin’ a damned good job of it,” Jackson muttered. “Ain’t nothin’ but cowpunchers and Mexicans on the whole damned thing.”

“She wouldn’t have any reason to disguise herself,” Bob Simmons pointed out.

“Unless she knows about the gold.”

The other three looked at Gib Hannah. Then Charley Pierce found his voice again. “How the hell would she know that? You said the Hamer fellow didn’t even know.”

“Jack left everything to her. Everything,” Gib repeated for emphasis. “It’s not impossible that he might have written to her before he died. Or that he could have left something to be mailed to her afterward.”

“But I’m telling you there wasn’t no—”

“Charley, did you get a good look at the husband?” Hannah asked suddenly.

“Yeah.” Pierce sucked in his breath, then let it go. “He was a real good-looking Reb from Arkansas. Fought with something called the Hell Brigade, he said. Got black hair—brown eyes, I think—real nice clothes, too. Looked like he could be a lawyer or something.”

“Or a sharp. Anything else?”

“He was sitting down, so I couldn’t say for sure how tall he was, but he looked like maybe he was a little taller than you, Gib.”

“What about the wife?”

“Hard to tell. Like I said, I couldn’t see her face, but she looked pretty well-dressed to me.” Charley’s forehead furrowed as he tried to remember. “She was sick, real sick, Gib. And he called her Bess. Yeah, that’s about all, I’d say. Oh, yeah, she had a wedding ring. Guess that lets her out, don’t it?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I think mebbe we oughta go back to San Angelo and wait,” Lee Jackson murmured. “Make a whole lot more sense. She’ll be showing up for probate, anyway.”

“We already know what you think,” Hannah snapped. “No, I still think she’s somewhere on that train, and I aim to find out for sure.”

“How you going to do that, Gib?”

“The way the train’s running, having to stop every few miles to clear the tracks, we’ll keep up with it. Every time the passengers get off to eat, I figure there’ll be one of us there watching.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And if she knows, sooner or later she’s going to make a mistake that’ll give her away.”

“It’ll be dark when they change at Harrisburg. Can’t see much in the dark, Gib,” Bob pointed out.

“To make the stage connection for San Antonio, she’ll be going on to Columbus. What’re the stops after Harrisburg?”

Unfolding the timetable, Bob Simmons smoothed it with his hand, then read the list aloud. When he was finished, Gib Hannah nodded. “All right, I figure we ought to catch up somewhere past Harrisburg. After that—”

“Ain’t they gonna wonder how come the same strangers is showing up everywhere?”

“They won’t question a Ranger.”

“But we ain’t—”

“I’ve still got this,” Hannah said, cutting Jackson off again. Reaching into his coat pocket, he took out the state police badge and polished it on his sleeve. “The further west a man gets, the more everybody trusts a Texas Ranger.”

“I didn’t know the Rangers was using badges, Gib,” Charley mumbled. “I didn’t think they was gettin’ anything but pay and ammunition.”

“Some of ’em buy their own,” Jackson pointed out.

Hannah nodded. “This one was going to cost me two dollars, but I wasn’t about to pay any Mexican for it,” he declared flatly. “I never liked the notion of Negroes and Mexicans enforcing the law, anyway.”

“You killed ’im to get his badge?” Simmons asked incredulously. “You killed a state policeman, Gib?”

“I killed a Mexican. I don’t figure that counted.”

“Hell, there ain’t any state police no more, Bob,” Pierce reminded him. “Way I heard it, everybody hated ’em, so the governor finally had to do away with ’em and bring back the Rangers. All there is down here now is a few Rangers—and a bunch of county sheriffs,” he added.

“For once, you’ve got it right.” Hannah took another look at the badge, then slipped it back into his pocket. “I guess you could say this Yankee made himself a Ranger,” he said, smiling. “And there’ve been some times when that’s come in real handy.”

She’d been asleep, her head pressed against the window, when the train stopped so abruptly that she pitched forward. She would have hit the empty seat in front of her if McCready hadn’t caught her.

“What—what on earth?” she managed, coming awake. “What was
that?”

“We stopped again.”

“Yes, I know. That much was pretty obvious. But why?”

Opening the door behind them, the conductor stood beneath the
NO EXIT
sign to announce, “Trouble on the track, folks! Crew’ll be coming out from Eagle Lake to fix it!”

“How long will that take?” somebody called out.

“Can’t tell—rail’s broke!” he shouted back.

To Verena, it seemed like the final straw. After numerous unscheduled stops for cows on the tracks, they were now stranded just before supper. Leaning forward, she rested her head on the seat back, too tired to even cry. Every bone in her body ached with fatigue, and there just wasn’t any end to it. She’d been traveling forever, and she was nowhere.

“How far to Eagle Lake?” she heard McCready ask.

“ ’Bout four miles,” the trainman answered.

“I could’ve walked from Galveston to Columbus by now,” she muttered under her breath. “And the worst of it is that once I get there, I won’t even be halfway to San Antonio. I’m beginning to feel as though Pennsylvania is a world away.” Taking in the rough assortment of remaining passengers, she sighed. “Texas might as well be another country.”

“You’re not exactly seeing the best it has to offer,” McCready murmured. “But at least the worst of the bunch got off at the last stop.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

“Have I lied to you yet?” he asked lightly.

“Have you ever told the truth?” she shot back.

He looked injured. “I could’ve left you to your long- lost relations, you know, but I didn’t.”

“Quite frankly, I’m still wondering why you didn’t,” she admitted.

McCready looked up at the conductor. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of getting a ride into Eagle Lake instead of waiting for the track to be repaired, is there?”

The trainman glanced over at Verena. “The missus sick again?”

Before she could deny it, McCready laid a warning hand on her shoulder and nodded. “I expect it’s the heat. I’m afraid if she doesn’t get some fresh air, she’s going to faint.”

“You could walk her around outside.”

“That won’t help for long. She’ll just be coming back in, and now that we’re not moving, the heat’s going to get considerably worse. And with the lavatory closed—”

“They’ll be sending a wagon out with the repair crew, but—” The man’s gaze shifted to take in the rest of the car. Already a number of passengers were grumbling among themselves, and as the temperature rose inside, tempers were sure to flare. “Well, there’s just not room in a wagon for everybody as’ll want to be going,” he finished lamely.

“Right now, I’d pay just to get her somewhere where she can lie down for a while.” Reaching into his coat pocket, McCready found the wad of bills. Pulling it out, he peeled off ten dollars. “Don’t suppose you could make some sort of arrangement to accommodate her, do you?” he asked casually.

Eyeing the money, the conductor considered a moment, then allowed, “Well, I could see about it, anyway.”

“You do that,” McCready murmured, handing the banknote to him. “I’ve got another one exactly like it if you succeed.”

As Verena looked on in disbelief, the trainman discreetly folded the money and stuffed it into his watch pocket. Barely waiting until the man had backed out of the car, she turned on McCready.

“I’ve never fainted in my life,” she declared. “Never. And that was nothing but bribery, plain and simple.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you always throw your money away like this?”

“Would you rather sit here and stew in your own sweat?” he countered, obviously unrepentant. “In fifteen minutes, it’ll be like sitting in an oven.”

“What about everyone else? How’s it going to look when we just get up and leave, and they cannot?”

“If they get hot enough, they’ll figure out something.”

“That sounds terribly selfish, Mr. McCready. And don’t think for one moment that I don’t know you’re just using me for an excuse to escape the heat yourself,” she told him severely.

“My mama always said, ‘Take care of yourself, son, and let God worry about the rest,’ ” he murmured. “ ’Course she was talking about behaving myself at the time, but I’ve since found a lot of other uses for the advice.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Looking out the window, she could see the undulating waves of heat rising above the grassy prairie. Along the horizon, small hills boasted stands of timber that beckoned invitingly. But in this heat, they were too far away for anyone on foot, she noted wearily. And with silk stockings, elastic garters, knee-length drawers, a chemise, a corset cover, and a starched petticoat beneath her dress, she felt more than halfway to a heat stroke already. If she had to be grateful for anything right now, she guessed it’d have to be her decision not to wear the corset.

“How long do
you
think it will take to repair the track?” she asked abruptly.

“I’m a gambler, not a railroader,” he reminded her.

“Well, you must have an opinion. You seem to have one on everything else, anyway.”

“You know, this heat’s making you downright cranky,” he complained. As her color heightened, he relented. “But if I had to place a bet on it, I’d say several hours at the least.”

“I’d give almost anything for a bath and a decent meal,” she muttered under her breath. “I feel like a wet dishrag before it’s been hung out to dry.”

“You can probably have both—for a price.”

“Yes, well, I can’t afford any luxuries right now. I’m determined to hoard what money I have left.”

“I tried to give you part of my winnings,” he reminded her.

“I don’t want to be beholden to anyone, Mr. McCready. All I want is—Well, it’s too late for that, anyway. He’s dead, and I should’ve stayed home.” Turning her body away, she leaned her head against the warm window glass and closed her eyes. “I’m all right,” she said, as much to convince herself as him. “I’ll survive.”

“We all do, one way or another.”

He felt as tired as she looked, but rather than give in to his fatigue, he heaved himself up from his seat, and stood to stamp the numbness from his legs. His toes tingled painfully in the heavy-soled boots. To get his blood circulating, he walked the length of the car and then back, several times.

“Game, mister?”

He turned around, spotting a terribly young, obviously green cowboy. And for a moment, he was tempted. No, he hadn’t sunk to fleecing innocents—not yet, anyway. Not when the kid already looked pretty desperate. He shook his head.

“It’s too hot.”

“I figger a man’s gotta do something to take his mind off his misery,” the boy responded. “You’re a gambler, aincha? Afore they got off, A
l
and Billy was sayin’ as you’re a real sharp, mister.”

“How much have you got?”

“It don’t matter—I got enough.”

“How much?”

“I got money left,” the kid insisted. “I ain’t lost all of it.”

“Then you’d better hang on to it.”

As he turned away, he heard the telltale click of a gun hammer being cocked, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. His first instinct was to go for the Army Colt, but if the kid’s gun discharged wildly, everybody around him was at risk. Besides, killing the young fool would be a stupid thing to do—all it’d get him would be closer scrutiny from the law than he could stand. He’d have to gamble that the kid wouldn’t shoot him in the back.

“Ain’t nobody says my money ain’t good enough,” the boy said evenly.

Instead of responding, Matt took a deliberate step away.

“You’re yellow-bellied, mister,” the kid said.

He still didn’t answer.

“Better put that gun away, son—there’s no telling who you might hit,” a cowboy behind the boy said.

“Ain’t nobody walks away from John Harper and lives,” was the kid’s response. He raised the gun and aimed it at the gambler’s back.

“You better start praying, mister.”

As everyone held a collective breath, Matt kept walking.

The sudden and total silence drawing her reluctant attention, Verena sat up and looked down the aisle to where McCready stood. For a moment, she was merely curious. Then she saw that everyone around him seemed to be frozen in position. Standing up for a better view, she caught a glimpse of the boy holding the gun. It was aimed at Mac McCready.

Alarmed, she stepped into the aisle, and cried, “Don’t shoot!” to draw the gunman’s attention. As all eyes turned to her, she squeezed hers shut, held her breath, and pitched forward as if she’d fainted. The instant her body hit the floor, the smells of tobacco juice, dirt, and sawdust assaulted her nose. She had to fight the urge to gag from the nasty stuff. And she was getting it all over her dress.

Startled, the kid lurched from his seat for a look. “What the hell—?”

Taking advantage of his confusion, McCready swung around, ducked his head, and charged, throwing his shoulder into the boy’s chest, knocking him backward. As the kid stumbled, the gun fired, and the bullet pinged against the tin ceiling of the car. The older cowboy took quick advantage of the boy’s confusion by whacking his head with the butt of an old six-shooter before he could get up. At the sound of the thud, the kid’s body crumpled, and the gun dropped harmlessly to the floor.

“Don’t teach youngsters no manners nowadays, do they?” the older man observed as he returned his own gun to its holster.

Surprised by the sudden turn of events, Matt pushed his way through the gapers crowding into the aisle, then dropped to his knees beside Verena. Lifting her head, he cradled her against his knees while calling out, “Stand back—give her air! She’s fainted!” Even as he said it, he could feel her tense. Leaning over to shield her from the eyes of the curious, he spoke low for her ears alone. “Don’t move yet, and thanks.”

“My dress—it’s ruined,” she wailed.

“I’ll buy you a brand-new one.”

“You can’t.”

With one arm holding her halfway onto his bended knee, he slipped his other one around her and quickly undid the top buttons of her bodice. When he slid his fingers under the cloth, her whole body went rigid.

“No!” she gasped, catching his hand.

“Shhhh. It’ll look better if I loosen your corset,” he murmured against her ear.

“I’m not wearing one,” she gritted out. “And if you touch me again, I’ll scream.”

“What sort of husband would I be if I didn’t?” he countered. Looking back over his shoulder, he announced, “I’ve got to get her outside—she can’t breathe.”

The conductor burst through the
NO EXIT
door, demanding, “What’s the commotion in here? Who discharged the firearm?” Then he saw the woman on the floor and thought the worst. “My God—what happened?”

“She fainted afore the kid could shoot her husband,” somebody answered.

“Better look t’ his missus. Tom done took keer o’ the boy fer ye. Whupped his haid with the back end of a six-shooter, he did. Be nightfall afore that kid comes to.”

“She’s all right, isn’t she?” the trainman asked Matt hastily. “She’s not injured?”

“She’s plumb overhet,” another passenger answered. “Plumb overhet. Ain’t no s’prise she done swooned plumb out.”

“Hell ain’t no hotter’n this, I’ll be bound,” someone else declared.

“If it is, I ain’t going,” his companion added.

“If I can just get her someplace where she can rest, she’ll be all right, I think,” Matt said, looking up at the conductor. “But I’ve got to get her out of here. And she’s got to have water.”

Feeling as though they were all blaming him for the heat, the poor trainman raised his hands for silence. “I’m doing all I can, folks,” he tried to reassure them. “I knowed she was sick, so I’ve done sent for an ambulance to take her in to Mrs. Goode’s. Wagon ought to be here anytime now, bringing the work crew with it.”

“It ain’t doin’ no good a-comin’,” a burly fellow insisted. “His missus could be daid afore it gets here. Like Jake was sayin’, she’s plumb overhet.”

“Overheated,” Verena gasped, correcting him.

“What I said, ain’t it?”

Apparently, someone else took the request for water to heart, because just as she was about to sit up, he emptied a full canteen over her head, soaking her hair. Sputtering and choking, she fought the hands that held her down.

“Danged if she ain’t havin’ a fit!”

“Now, dearest, you just lie real still, and everything will be all right,” McCready said soothingly. Afraid she was going to expose the ruse, he moved his hand to cover her mouth and nose with his palm. Looking up again, he announced, “She’s hot—feels like she’s running a fever.” Thoroughly bedraggled and embarrassed, she closed her eyes to hide.

“Told
you—woman’s het up—had a dadblamed heat stroke!” the burly man insisted triumphantly.

At the other end of the car, a group of men were hammering and pounding furiously, cursing all the while. Then there was a shout of victory.

“We done got it! Here, Tad, gimmee a hand with this!”

Almost immediately, there was a traveling ripple of expletives as the flat slab of metal was passed head over head until it reached the men hovering over Verena. Somebody set it on the floor next to her.

“Come on, boys, let’s get ’er on it and carry ’er outside fer air.”

Verena’s eyes flew open as somebody grabbed her feet and shoulders. Looking up, she saw McCready stand back, his expression of concern marred by the tic of a suppressed smile, and she realized the scoundrel was laughing inside.

“I can walk—really,” she protested as they shifted her onto something hard. “Please, I don’t need—”

Instead of listening, they pushed her down, stuffed her petticoat and skirt underneath her, then hoisted her up. Afraid of changing the balance, she couldn’t even turn over and really hold on. It was all she could do to stare at the moving ceiling and pray silently. Grasping the sides of the door, she endured a frightening descent from the car to the ground. When she dared to look up, a crowd of strange men, most of them in dire need of a bath and a shave, ringed her, studying her as if she were a sideshow exhibit.