Territory (11 page)

He shook it vigorously. She felt the cell keys bounce in her handbag, and her stomach turned to ice. But they didn’t clank. “Evening, Mrs. Benjamin.” He held the front door for her.

Outside she passed Dunbar’s man. She felt him like a cannon pointed at her back. Her knees quaked as she walked, and she listened for footsteps behind her.

All the way down the block, she was in sight of the jail. The Vizina Hoisting Works occupied most of the frontage on Toughnut Street. There was no cover there; only the relentless racket of second shift around the shaft building—workmen’s shouts, the clang of metal on metal, the ground-shaking grind and scream of the hoist and the engines starting up. Each sound made her heart lurch.

Mildred crossed Fifth. She needed to continue down Toughnut if she wanted to be seen heading back to the
Nugget
office—another straight, relentless
block with her back to the jail. She turned abruptly up Fifth and looked back the way she’d come. Darkness closed her trail behind her. There was no one there.

She stumbled against a hitching rail and clutched it to keep from falling. She couldn’t do it. If her nerve failed just walking away, how could she walk back with a saddled horse, with a pistol ….

There was more broadcloth before her eyes, charcoal-gray this time. “Mrs. Benjamin? Are you well?”

She looked up past smooth frock coat lapels, a maroon silk tie, a crisp white collar. Lamplight from a window fell sideways on the clean-shaven face. She didn’t recognize it until she saw the eyes, the clear ruddy brown of good tea.

“You’re
not
well,” said Jesse Fox. “Come sit down.”

He put his hand under her elbow—and a shock went through her, like static electricity or a blow to a nerve. She cried out. He went pale under his tan, but he didn’t let go.

“I’m fine,” she gasped.

“It’s nothing—” “Sit.”

Fox’s voice was like a second shock. She sank onto the bench outside the Russ House. She wanted to put her head between her knees to stop the buzzing in her ears, but the pistol against her stomach kept her upright. She leaned against the wall instead and closed her eyes. The Russ House front door and windows were open. She could hear the muted clatter of crockery and the buzz of voices from inside as the staff cleared tables and served diners.

“Do you have smelling salts?” Fox asked. She felt his hand close on her handbag.

“No!” She pressed the bag into her lap.

He looked into her eyes. His own were unfocused, as if he were seeing past her. Then he blinked and sat down beside her.

“Let me help,” he said. It was less a request than an order, like the command to sit.

She took a breath and summoned a polite smile. “How kind. But there’s nothing to help with.”

“All right.” His face settled into the expression she’d been trying for. “Pardon my presumption, Mrs. Benjamin. I realize we haven’t been introduced, but you seem to be in some distress. If I may be of assistance …”

She wanted to laugh in spite of the commotion of her nerves. “Heavens. You’re not an actor, are you?”

“Only when I have to be. Do you need one?”

“No, no. Thank you. You have helped, actually.” She stood up. “Good evening, Mr. Fox.” She turned away.

He said, “Do you always carry that much iron in your bag?”

It rooted her feet to the sidewalk.

His voice was quiet behind her. “You don’t have to explain what you’re doing with a ring of keys that size. You don’t have to explain anything. Just tell me what you need done.”

There were people around them—on the street, at the hoisting works, in the lodging house whose doors and windows shone out light only feet away. But Mildred felt as if she and Fox were standing just out of their reach, like angels walking among men.

“How did you know they were keys?”

His face was blank for an instant; then he smiled. “Well, that’s the part
I
don’t have to explain.”

She looked at him properly for the first time since he’d appeared in front of her. He was beautifully dressed and freshly shaved. His brown hair was cut. “Tombstone seems to agree with you, Mr. Fox. I thought you weren’t staying.”

“So did I. Do you think I might get a mention in the social column after all?”

“I have to go. Good-bye, Mr. Fox.”

She whisked out into the street. After a moment she felt him at her side.

“Where?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Where do you have to go?”

“To hire a horse.”

“Aha. I knew you needed help.” He took her elbow again and drew her into the shadow of the buildings. “Think ahead, Mrs. Benjamin. You arrive at the livery and rent a horse. Is that your riding habit?”

It was obviously not. “What business is it of theirs?”

“None. But whoever they are will remember the woman who asked to hire a horse at a late hour and wasn’t dressed to ride it. Of course,” he said cheerfully as he continued in the direction she’d chosen, “that may not bother you.”

Mildred stopped, which tugged her arm out from under his well-tailored one. He stopped, too.

She had the jailhouse keys in her handbag, and a stage robber’s pistol under her skirt. Her good name, and Harry Woods’s, and if Harry was right, Luther King’s life, were being juggled like oranges in the middle of the street by a man who, for all she knew, was Lucifer himself. She had to do something.

“Mr. Fox,” she said, though her tongue was dry and her chest was tight as stretched hide, “would you be so kind as to hire me a horse?”

He raised his eyes to hers and said, unsmiling, “I’d be pleased to, ma’am. Distance, or speed?”

“Both. Pioneer Livery is closest—around the corner on Toughnut Street.”

“Sidesaddle?”

Her face grew hot. “No.” If he’d believed the horse was for her, he wouldn’t have asked.

“Where shall I bring it?”

Oh, God, she hadn’t decided. She closed her eyes and tried to recall details of the block the jail was on. “On Sixth Street, between Allen and Toughnut, there’s an alley … It runs alongside a boardinghouse. Tether the horse there. And then wait—please.”

From the breast pocket of his coat, Fox took the spectacles she’d first seen him in, and put them on. It was so odd, the sight of a man in dark spectacles after dark, that Mildred could only stare. He touched his hat brim to her. Then he turned, walked back to Toughnut, and disappeared around the corner.

I’ve gone mad,
she thought. But what choice did she have? Well, if he arrived in the alley with a horse, he was as guilty as she was.

And if he was not, in fact, Lucifer, but a considerate, overzealous, honest man? Then she was involving him in a crime without his consent.

For the first time, Mildred thought about what would happen if she were caught. The Territorial Prison in Yuma, without a doubt. She walked down Allen Street as quickly as she could without making anyone stare, to Sixth. She turned right, even as she wondered,
Why am I doing this?

The boardinghouse she’d described to Fox was actually a brothel, but on the west side of Sixth Street the polite fictions were respected. She turned down the alley, trying to look innocent and purposeful at once.

Behind the brothel was an open lot, its dust and scrub hidden by darkness. A few little cabins, raw and unfinished-looking, dotted the space almost at random between the hoisting works and where she stood. Only one showed light through a curtained window. The ground between the brothel’s back wall and the rear of the jail was empty, and faintly illuminated by light from the street. Mildred clenched her hands on her bag and darted across it.

Perhaps Harry had come to his senses. Perhaps he’d barred the back door. She turned the knob and pulled. It swung open.

The hallway was empty. She unbarred the door to the cells and opened it.

The only prisoner was a skinny young man who looked up when the door opened. His eyes were big with fear. He opened his mouth, but Mildred put her finger to her lips. When she opened her handbag, he cowered back against the wall.

“Oh, God—”

“Shush!” Mildred hissed. She pulled out the ring of keys and shook her handkerchief back into her bag. Then a horrid thought stopped her. “You
are
Luther King?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered.

“Thank heaven.” At least she hadn’t been waving the stolen keys in front of the wrong person. Though surely anyone met in the cells of the county jail was automatically wrong in one way or another. She felt a tickle of hysterical laughter, and began testing keys to drive it off.

The third key opened Luther King’s cell door. “In front of the boarding-house behind this building, you’ll find a man in a dark gray coat waiting with a horse. Oh, and here.” She turned away from King and tugged his pistol out of her skirt.

He stared at it as she put it in his hands, then at her. “This is a trick.”

“If it is, I’m tricked, too. Now, ride out of town and don’t come back.”

She went to the hall door and peeked out. Still no one there. She hurried King into the hall and to the back door. “There,” she said, pointing, “on Sixth. Now, go!”

King stuffed his pistol into his waistband and scurried into the night. Mildred shut the door and leaned on it, breathing hard.

She was done. Wasn’t she? No, put the keys back. She leaped to the peg on the wall by the office door. If anyone opened that door, she’d die of fright …. The ring dropped onto its peg, and she flew to the back door and out into the darkness.

Now she had only to walk away, back to the
Nugget
office. Instead she found herself heading toward Sixth Street. The worst thing to do, if anything had gone wrong; but she had to know if Fox had brought a horse, or the law, or hadn’t come at all.

The sound of hoofbeats made her look up. A dark chestnut horse was coming down the street at a canter, with a man in the saddle.

It was Fox. He wore his dark spectacles, and the shabby corduroy coat she’d first seen him in. He spurred the horse and galloped by without a glance.

She swept up her skirts and ran toward the alley. What did it mean? Where was Luther King?

On the sidewalk ahead of her she saw the silhouette of a man in a frock coat. He appeared to be admiring the stars over the eastern hills, or the prostitutes’ cribs across the street. She stumbled to a walk. It was Jesse Fox.

“My compliments, Mrs. Benjamin,” he said. “The perfect spot for your business. People in this neighborhood have their minds on … other things.”

She could speak, after all. “I just saw you ride down the street.”

Fox smiled, his eyes half-closed. He looked like a cat in a patch of sun. “You might have seen someone in my old coat. I threw it out when I got this one. Oh, and I’ve misplaced my spectacles.” He sighed, but he was still smiling. “I’ll miss those.”

Had she seen the coat and the dark glasses and filled in the rest? Luther King had a short, receding chin, sandy hair, and a sparse moustache. She thought the man on the horse had been clean-shaven, sharp-jawed, and brown-haired.

“It’s all right,” Fox said. “He’s safely away. Isn’t that what matters?”

She looked into his face and found him looking inquiringly into hers. “Don’t you want to know who he is?”

He laughed. “For no good reason, I know where the county jail is. And everyone in town knows who’s in it. Or
was
in it. Or were those the keys to somewhere else entirely?”

Fox offered his arm. Mildred laid her hand on it and tried to seem relaxed. Had she just helped Fox free a partner? Or was Jesse Fox one of the names King might have mentioned, and Fox one of the people who wanted King dead? If so, where was King, and who had she seen riding down the street?

She’d been insane. She knew nothing about this man. And now he knew a great deal too much about her.

“Given your suspicions, you were awfully quick to offer your help,” Mildred said. Which, she realized, was a grown-up version of “If I’m one, you’re another.”

Fox nodded. “I suppose I have faith in your judgment, Mrs. Benjamin. Now that we’ve broken the law together, do you think we could use first names?”

They reached Allen Street. It was startling that there could still be streets full of people going about their business. “Certainly not,” she said, and was glad her voice was strong and steady. “It would look suspicious.”

He laughed, and two women walking past turned their heads and smiled. “You’re not a newspaperwoman, you’re a lawyer. I’ll pick my argument more carefully next time.” He looked at her from under his hat brim. “May I buy you dinner?”

“I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged,” Mildred said. Fox had power over her. If he meant to use it, she wanted to know.

“What a shame.” He grinned. “I’m looking forward to a nice, leisurely supper at the Cosmopolitan Hotel. After which I’ll hotfoot it down to the Pioneer Livery and tell them someone stole my hired horse. Tombstone seems like a mighty lawless place, Mrs. Benjamin.”

There was not a hint of threat in his expression. “It’s hardly safe to walk the streets,” she agreed faintly.

The next morning she set the copy describing her first criminal act.