Lone Star 05 (6 page)

“It seems, Mr. Carpenter, that Thomas Starbuck is trying to convince a lot of people that he's my father's son. I have no solid evidence, and neither does the boy, I gather. In any case, I must be allowed to see him to find out. That's why I came to Skyler, and I won't leave before I can talk to him.”

“I've heard about your family, young mistress, and how your father amassed a wealth of worldly possessions before he was cut down by the hand of God. Every man receives his just reward—as the boy murderer shall receive his!”

Jessie was halfway between rage and tears. “My father was not cut down by any hands except those of thieves and murderers and corrupters. You have no business judging my father, Mr. Carpenter. He was a good man. But I am not here to defend his reputation. I just want to get to the truth of the Thomas Starbuck matter.”

The Mormon patriarch was a bit startled, and he looked over to Deputy Marshal Ulysses Scott. “You brought this impudent child to me, Marshal? She certainly does not help your cause. I cannot allow you or this girl access to the prisoner—now or ever. You are dismissed.” He sat down behind his crude desk and began shuffling through the soiled papers, pushing aside the plate of food. He fully expected them to leave.

Jessie, however, stood her ground. “Wait a minute,” she said. “You can't get rid of us just like that. The marshal here has a federal warrant for the boy. And as a blood relative, I have a right—”

“So, then, you
do
claim to be the killer's sister,” Carpenter snapped. His fierce eyebrows rose and fell as he parried her renewed thrust.

“If that will get me in to see him, yes,” she replied. She would not let him cow her or frighten her away.

“Young woman, are you a believer?” the Mormon leader demanded.

“I believe in God, if that's what you mean,” she said. The blood rushed to her face, and she stood flushed but unflinching. She would answer his questions, but she would also continue to press for a commitment from him to let her see the prisoner.

“That is not enough!” Carpenter boomed. “There is only one true manifestation of the Lord—and that is through His holy Church.” He rose from his chair and pounded his heavy fist on the table. “If you are not baptized in the Church, you are unclean and not fit to traffic with the Lord's people. Like the Gentiles of old, you are not sanctified by the grace of our angry God. As such, you are fortunate to set foot in this house!”

As he roared on, two bearded men, each bearing a shotgun, stepped into the front room and took their places on either side of Carpenter. His eyes gleamed fanatically.

“Harken to the word of the Lord! Verily He shall smite down the enemies of his people and raise up the Chosen Children to rule over all the earth; and His name shall be spoken in fear by the peoples who oppose Him!”

Scott tugged at her sleeve, indicating that it was time to leave. Jessie, though, stood her ground. Ignoring the gun-toters behind the angry prophet, she continued to press her case doggedly.

“There's no need to resort to threats, Mr. Carpenter. I, respect your religious beliefs and have no thought of opposing them. My only interest here is to speak with the prisoner, to find out who he really is. I mean no harm to you or your people. Please, all I am asking is a chance to see him.”

Then Scott spoke up. “See, Carpenter, the lady does have a legal right to do so, if she is the prisoner's sister. And as a federal officer, I'm obliged to tell you so.”

“Silence!” The imperious command erupted from the Mormon's lips like a cannon shot. “You speak of rights. My people have been denied their rights by your government for forty years. We have been driven from state to state, hounded like animals. Only when the great prophet Brigham Young, inspired by a holy vision, brought us here, to Deseret, did we find peace. And now even this sanctuary is being violated by thieves and murderers and fornicators and those who trade in blood and money. When will it cease? When will we know peace? Don't talk of rights to me, Mr. Marshal. For I know that they do not exist for God's people!”

Then it occurred to Jessie to change tactics. Perhaps Carpenter would listen to an offer for financial support of his town—if it were presented in a properly subtle manner. After all, he was a political as well as a religious leader in this community. One cannot build the Kingdom of God without adequate funds. But it must not sound like a bribe offer.

“What the marshal and I are saying,” she put in, “is that we fully recognize your position, and we bear no ill will toward your people. And further, Mr. Carpenter, we expect to bear any expenses we may incur and to reimbuse the town for any inconvenience we may cause. Like you, all we seek is justice.”

Carpenter chewed on that for a while. He waved the two gun-bearing protectors away, and they disappeared into the back of the house. Hobbling out from behind the littered desk, he confronted Jessie directly. Pulling thoughtfully on his long, unkempt beard, he growled, “Yes, justice. That is the chief love of my people. After its having been denied us for so many years, it is a precious commodity indeed.”

Jessie felt him wavering. She added, “My late father's company is always interested in finding new locations and business interests, as well as investing in towns like Skyler. I find that we can be of great help to people in growing communities such as yours. For example, the assay office which the boy tried to rob—perhaps we could arrange to reorganize it and insure its safety. We have a very efficient operation just like it in Provo.”

A prophetic fire lit Carpenter's face. He smiled, revealing a set of brown-tinged teeth. “Whoever this boy is,” he said, “he has been put here for a purpose. The Lord, as we all know, works his will in mysterious ways. Yes, very mysterious.”

Jessie and Scott exchanged puzzled glances. The Mormon evidently had his own interpretation of events.

“Very well, Miss Starbuck, you may visit the prisoner for one hour,” he declared, his hard gaze leveled on Jessie. “When you have established your relationship with him, then we shall talk again. And you, Marshal Scott, shall report to me every day from now on. As a federal officer, you have been charged with the prisoner's safety, and I want to know if it is threatened—by anyone. There are already too many unfamiliar and unfriendly faces in Skyler. And sentiment among my people is running strongly against the boy. You and I both will be well served if we see that these bounty-hunting vultures are kept away from the jail.”

Marshal Scott nodded and tugged again at Jessie's sleeve. It was time to go, before the volatile Carpenter changed his mind again.

“Thank you,” Jessie said. “I'll return to the jail immediately and arrange for a visit with the young man. And if there is anything I can do for you, Mr. Carpenter—”

“I shall let you know, Miss Starbuck.” He returned to his chair and buried himself at once in the work he had to do, letting them find their own way out.

Jessie and Scott found the air more breathable in the street. Although the audience with the Mormon patriarch had been a limited success, she was still apprehensive about what lay ahead for her in Skyler. As she and the deputy marshal turned to head back to the hotel, her fears were reinforced by the appearance of three men coming toward them.

One was a small, impeccably dressed man in his forties, with blond hair and an erect, almost military carriage. His head was large, and the features of his face well formed, but she did not find him handsome in the least. A deep scar shot across his forehead, and his lips curled jaggedly. The other two were hulking men, each over six feet tall, who followed the shorter man's lead. Jessie guessed immediately that the short man was Mueller.

Scott drawled out of the side of his mouth, “That's the foreign feller I told you about, and his bodyguards. Wonder what he's up to.”

Mueller walked directly up to them, his boys staying a step behind him, and nodded curtly to Scott. “Marshal,” he acknowledged. Then his gaze shifted to Jessie Starbuck. He eyed her appreciatively, from head to toe and said, “I have not had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Miss Starbuck. And it is indeed a pleasure.” His blue eyes sparkled confidently, and he toyed at his gold watch chain with a well-manicured hand. He bowed slightly, inclining his head, then snapped erect. His polished black boots seemed impervious to the street dirt. “I am Heinrich Mueller, at your service,” he said.

“That's what I figured,” Jessie replied, already distrusting the oily-mannered Prussian. “How do you know who I am?”

“Ah,” the little man said. “Your name is well known in the American West, as was your father's. And in a small town like this one, people talk. It was not long after you signed the register in the Skyler Inn that everyone with ears knew of your arrival.”

“And do they say why I am here?” She wondered what the hell this man was getting at—and why he was here in the first place. His slight accent sounded carefully cultivated, as if he could speak pure, perfect English if that suited his purpose. He was an altogether repugnant figure to her, and her gut told her that he was in the employ of the cartel that had killed her father. Hatred for him boiled up within her.

“They say many things. They say you attempted to visit the prisoner Thomas Starbuck, the boy killer who says you are his sister.”

“I'm here to disprove that,” she replied. “And I don't have time for idle talk. Come, Marshal.”

“Perhaps later we can engage in a less idle converstion, Miss Starbuck,” the German said. “I too have business to conduct. I am meeting with Mr. Carpenter—a remarkable man, don't you agree?”

But Jessie did not reply. She took Ulysses Scott's arm and spun away. A killing rage was coming over her, and she did not want to explode in front of Mueller until she knew more about him—why he was in Skyler, and what business he could have with the fiery Mormon leader.

The town deputy carried a smoky coal-oil lamp into the dark cell. Jessie could hardly breathe, the air was so foul, dank, and musty. The lamp barely lit the cell, casting a yellowish glow that tinged everything a dirty gold. For the first time she looked into the eyes of the young man who claimed to be her father's son.

Thomas Starbuck looked to be every bit of twenty years old, but not a day older. His unlined oval face, though begrimed and half covered with a shock of chestnut hair that spilled over his eyes, was strangely appealing and—could it be?—familiar. Those eyes, green and piercing, held the secret of many days on the run, many strongboxes looted, and many men killed. They were deadly eyes. Yet his gaze was steady and clear. He did not flinch under Jessie's scrutiny. From the look of him, he was all secrets and contradictions. She wanted to know everything about him.

Jessie looked at his long, lank frame as he stood, noticing the same broad shoulders as her father, though the boy was much thinner. She remembered an old daguerreotype of Alex Starbuck in which, at age twenty or so, he also had been lean and angular. She caught herself improbably wondering what Thomas Starbuck would look like in thirty years—assuming that he lived that long, which seemed to her unlikely.

This dirty-faced young man in trail-torn rags, sitting in a stinking dungeon in distant Utah, could not be Alex Starbuck's son. But she had to prove it, and she realized it wouldn't be easy.

“This here is him,” the morose deputy said. He held the lamp up close to the kid's face and Thomas Starbuck winced, his eyes unaccustomed to light. “Straighten up and talk to the lady,” the deputy said. “She done come a long piece. Why she'd have a thing to do with a murderin' devil like you, I'll never know.” He shot a hard look at Jessie. “Best be careful around him, ma‘am. I'll stay here to see no harm comes your way.”

“That won't be necessary,” she said, wondering at the young deputy's sudden concern for her, after his earlier hostility. “I want to speak to the prisoner alone.”

“But, ma‘am, them's my orders from the marshal hisself.”

“Do as I say,” she snapped, abruptly dismissing him. “I'll explain to the marshal if necessary.”

Surprised that a woman would speak to him in such a way, the deputy backed off, his small eyes reflecting hurt and surprise. He stepped out of the cell, but left the door open. “Just call me if‘n—”

Jessie turned to the young man in the cell. She saw that he was chained to the wall, allowing him almost no freedom of movement. He didn't present a threat to anyone right now. “My name is—” she began.

“You're Jessica Starbuck, my half-sister. I figured you might show up if you heard I was in here. Don't do nothin' for the family name to have a Starbuck, even a black sheep like me, locked up and in chains. Pleasured to meet you after all these years,
sister.”
The impudent kid was giving no quarter. His deep, troubled eyes were aimed squarely at her.