The Bride's Prerogative (29 page)

“What good is a deputy without a gun?”

He considered that. “Another pair of eyes.”

“All right. Let’s go then.”

It was almost fully dark outside when they walked out to the street.

“Which way?” she asked.

“I just came from the Nugget, and things looked peaceful at the boardinghouse. Let’s head down the street as far as Bitsy’s place.”

She fell into step beside him on the walkway. “Did you see Isabel at the boardinghouse?”

“No, I didn’t go in. But I saw her father at the Nugget.”

“So he hadn’t picked up Isabel to take her home yet.” Trudy scowled at that, and Ethan didn’t blame her. Cyrus had been seeing Isabel home to the ranch every evening, and the sprinkling of boarders, which now included the coach drivers and shotgun riders, were left to have pleasant dreams on their own.

“Wonder if she had many guests tonight?”

Trudy said, “I took her two pies this morning after the Boise stage came in, and she was bustling around getting lunch. Myra Harper was helping her. She said she’d have two people staying tonight for sure, and maybe more off the Silver City coach this afternoon.”

“Cyrus made a good decision to reopen the place.”

“Yes, but Isabel’s afraid he won’t let her go back to teaching.” She stepped down at the break in the boardwalk between a vacant house and the haberdashery. “This fella we’re watching out for.”

“What about him?” Ethan should have known her thoughts would go back to the criminal who eluded them.

“He seems to like fire.”

He offered her a hand up onto the sidewalk at the other side of the alley. “I reckon that’s true. That seems to be his weapon.”

“That and bashing people’s heads in.”

“Yes.” They walked on in silence to the front entrance of the building where the church services were held. Ethan paused and shook the locked door to make sure it was secure. He’d long since found cracks in most of the shutters or planks nailed over windows in town. These allowed him to peer into the interiors of the unused stores and houses to make sure no flames sputtered within. Two fires so far—at the emporium and the warehouse. And who knew but the Pearts’ cabin fell to arson as well? But he tended to think that was carelessness with the stove on Milzie’s part.

“Maybe we should walk around the back of these places,” Trudy said.

“Sometimes I do. Let’s make a circuit of Main Street. Then maybe we’ll go the long way around, one street over.”

“All right. We can go check the livery and go up the back of that side as far as the burned warehouse, at least.” A horse nickered nearby, and Trudy turned toward the street. “Look at that. Horses lined up from the Spur & Saddle all the way down here.”

“That’s right. It’s Saturday night. Bitsy’s place will be full. It was early when I stopped in at the Nugget, but quite a few men were in there getting primed. Probably by the time we get back down to that end of the street, it’ll be starting to get rough.” He eyed her ruefully. “Maybe Saturday night’s not the best time for a female deputy to patrol.”

Trudy stepped over to the edge of the boardwalk and patted one of the horses at the haberdashery’s hitching rail. “It’s early, like you said. If it gets too wild, you can take me home and make Hiram go with you. I just hope Cyrus goes for Isabel before it gets noisy.” She made her way down the row of horses, patting each one on the nose.

Ethan smiled as he watched her. Sometimes he forgot she was a girl. She was so competent and levelheaded. She never threw a fit of hysterics.

“Isn’t this Ralph Storrey’s paint?” She stroked the nose of the horse on the end of the row.

“Sure enough.” The rest could have been anyone’s, with all the dark colors blending into the night. The bays and chestnuts all looked black, but the flashy pinto’s white patches stood out.

“I always notice him when Ralph rides down Main Street. He looks so … I don’t know … happy. And eager.”

“He’s a good horse, all right.” Ethan felt a little disloyal, comparing this animal mentally to Scout. While Scout had gotten a little long in the tooth and wasn’t as fast as he used to be, he was a good horse, too, and they’d have several good years together yet.

Trudy stepped down off the boardwalk beside the paint. “Hey, fella. You tired of waiting for your master?” She rubbed his snout and slid her fingers up his broad face to scratch beneath his forelock. The gelding nickered and tried to rub his head against her arm.

“No, you don’t. I don’t want you slobbering all over my clean clothes.”

Ethan laughed. Had she changed her clothes for him tonight? She looked good.

She rejoined him, brushing her hands together. They continued on until they reached the front of the Spur & Saddle. The place was bright with lamplight. A half dozen horses dozed at each of the two hitching rails out front. Gentle music and laughter floated out to them.

“That sounds like a piano,” Trudy noted.

“Bitsy’s got a nice one in there.”

Trudy cocked her head toward the sound. “It sounds real pretty.”

“Yes.”

“Who plays it?”

“One of those bits of girls.” Ethan felt his face flush. He hated to admit he even knew girls lived and worked here. “Goldie or Vashti?”

“I dunno. The one with the blond hair.”

“That’s Goldie.”

“Mm.” He shrugged.

“She’s not bad at it, is she? I wonder if she practices every day.”

“I don’t know. The cowboys come in on Saturday night to hear her play.”

Trudy gave a little bark of a chuckle as though she doubted the music was the main attraction.

Ethan shifted his weight to his other foot. “I usually go in and ask Augie if things are peaceful.”

“Let’s do it.”

He gulped and stood rock still. “You can’t … you can’t go in there. Not now.”

“What do you mean,
Sheriff?”

“I mean that ladies don’t go in there on Saturday night.” It came out louder than he’d intended.

Trudy’s eyes, dark, stormy gray in this light, sparked up at him. “What’s the difference? Saturday night, Sunday noon, it’s the same place.”

“Yeah, but …”

“Same people running it.”

“Well, yes.”

“And I’m a deputy sheriff.”

“I can’t deny it.”

“Then let’s go.”

It dawned on him suddenly that she wanted to see the place. “Uh, Trudy, have you ever been inside?”

After a moment’s silence, she shook her head. “Never ate Sunday dinner here?”

“Nope. Hiram and I usually stick to home on Sunday. I don’t think my brother’s ever been inside either saloon.”

“Uh … I don’t think you should go in. For all the reasons you never have before.”

She held his gaze for a long time. At last she exhaled and reached up to settle Hiram’s hat lower on her brow, shadowing her eyes. “Lots of women go there on Sunday.”

“I know. And if Hiram wants to take you, he can.”

She nodded, her lips tightly compressed. “All right. I’ll wait here. Get going.”

He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Thanks. I won’t be long.”

Ethan bounded up the steps and entered the saloon, determined not to leave Trudy standing in the street more than a minute.

Two men came out of the Spur & Saddle. Gert eased back into the shadows under the overhang of the eaves. They lurched down the steps and headed for the hitching rail. After untying his horse, one couldn’t seem to get the momentum he needed to bounce into the saddle. He led the horse over to the steps and mounted from the second stair. They never saw her but turned their horses toward the road that led out past Harpers’ farm.

Gert left her place of concealment and walked to the hitching rail. She didn’t recognize any of the horses for sure, though one compact dun looked a lot like the one Starr Tinen rode to the shooting club. Maybe her husband had ridden into town to hear the piano music. She curled her lip and patted the dun’s sleek neck. “It’s not your fault if your owner has bad habits.”

Across the street, a solitary figure left the boardwalk and came toward her. Gert backed up until she stood once more in the shadows beneath the saloon’s eaves. With her brother’s hat pulled low, she watched from beneath the brim.

The man paused and looked northward, the length of Fergus’s principal street. Perhaps he considered visiting the Nugget instead of the Spur & Saddle. He faced toward her, his thin shoulders slouched. Mayor Walker. His friend Cy Fennel was down at the Nugget, by Ethan’s account. Still boycotting Bitsy’s establishment. As Walker approached, Gert shrank down and hoped he didn’t notice her.

He reached the boardwalk before the saloon and lifted his foot to the first step. Gert noticed movement beyond him. Down the street, between the closed telegraph office and the old haberdashery, a dark figure stepped out from between the buildings. He stood still. She wondered if he was as indecisive as the mayor on where to buy his whiskey.

She saw a flash of light. The bang of a gunshot cut through the air and echoed off the fronts of the buildings on the far side of the street. Mayor Walker spun around and fell on the steps. Gert’s heart squeezed, and she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to duck down behind the stoop, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the dark shadow that flitted toward the prone man. Would he shoot again to make sure the mayor was dead?

Without thinking of her danger, she jumped up and dashed to the front of the steps. She was a deputy sheriff. If he wanted to make sure he’d done the job right this time, he’d have to go through her.

“Leave him alone!” She threw herself to her knees beside the mayor.

The other man stopped several yards away. Light from the windows glinted off the barrel of his pistol. For a moment, Gert feared he would shoot at her. Why, oh why had she listened to Ethan and left the rifle home?

He gaped at her. His dark hat shadowed his face, and she couldn’t see his features, but it looked like he’d tied a dark cloth over his mouth and chin. He raised his other hand over his head and thrust it toward her as though throwing something.

Everything happened so fast, Gert barely noticed the men pouring out the door of the Spur & Saddle. All she could take in was the mayor lying on the steps gasping, the small
click
as a tiny object hit the stair tread beside his body, and the shadowy man fleeing down the boardwalk. He ran to the horses tied before the telegraph office. In a flash, he had unhitched Storrey’s paint horse and leaped into the saddle. Gert turned her attention to the mayor. He sucked in a big breath and shut his eyes. The other man disappeared with only staccato hoofbeats testifying to his flight.

“Trudy! I heard a shot. What happened?” Ethan crouched beside her. “Is that the mayor?”

She looked up and nodded. Her eyes filled with tears, multiplying the images of a dozen men who stood above her, staring.

Augie thundered down the steps with a linen towel in his hand and knelt by Walker’s other side. He pulled back the mayor’s jacket.

“He’s bleeding bad.” Augie stuffed the towel over the wound. “I think he’s breathing.”

Ethan looked up at the other men and singled out Ezra Dyer. “Go get Bitsy. Ask her where we can put him.”

“Sure thing, Sheriff.” Ezra turned and clumped through the throng.

Ethan slid his arm around Gert’s waist. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“The penny man,” she gasped. He stared at her. “Wh—you sure?”

She nodded. His strong arm felt so warm and reassuring, she didn’t want to move. But she had to, before they lost track of the evidence. She leaned across the mayor’s body and picked up the small object by Augie’s boot. It had bounced off the step above, spun, and lodged against the stair riser. She held it up to Ethan.

He turned his palm upward, giving her a place to drop the penny.

CHAPTER 33

C
yrus ran up the middle of the street. Long before he reached the Spur & Saddle, he was gasping. When had he gotten so out of shape? He didn’t work as hard as he used to on the ranch or in his mining days. Now he mostly sat around his office all day. Suddenly the run from the Nugget to Bitsy Shepard’s place was too much for him. He slowed down near the telegraph office and pressed one hand to his chest. No sense bringing on heart failure.

Parnell Oxley dashed past him. The young ranch hand had burst into the Nugget with news that the mayor had been gunned down outside the Spur & Saddle. Ted Hire, the Nugget’s bartender, followed Oxley. Twenty or more men crowded around the front entrance of Bitsy Shepard’s saloon. Cyrus shoved aside two at the fringe.

“Let me through.” He halted, staring at the tableau on the steps. It was true. Charles Walker lay sprawled as though he’d fallen on the steps in midstride. Augie Moore hovered over him, and on the other side, Gert Dooley sat on the bottom step with the sheriff beside her. Cyrus glared at Ethan. “What happened here?”

Ethan stood and pushed his hat back. “Mr. Fennel. We’re about to move the mayor inside where we can tend him.”

Cyrus pushed past another man and went to his knees by his friend’s head. “Charles, can you hear me?” Walker moaned, and relief coursed through him. Cyrus wasn’t prepared to lose the one man he called a true friend.

The mayor’s eyes flickered open. “Wh … what happened?”

The sheriff leaned in close and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Someone shot you in the belly, Mr. Walker. We’re going to take you into the Spur & Saddle. Miss Shepard’s getting a room ready. Then we’ll see if Annie Harper will come look at you.” Annie not only served as a midwife, but in the absence of a doctor, she was known as the person best at sewing up knife cuts and setting bones.

Mayor Walker lifted one hand and grasped the front of Ethan’s vest. “No! Don’t take me in there. Orissa will have cats. Take me to my own house. It’s not far.”

“He’s right,” Cyrus said. He wasn’t sure Orissa would stoop to entering the saloon on a Saturday night, even to see her gravely injured husband.

Ethan looked questioningly at Augie.

“I can lug him that far,” Augie said. “He don’t weigh more’n a magpie.”

Bitsy appeared in the doorway, and the men parted for her. “We got the room all ready, Sheriff. Did someone go for Annie? And what about Mrs. Walker?”

Ethan said, “Change of plans, Miss Shepard. The mayor’s talking, and he wants to go home. Sorry we put you out.”

Bitsy waved her hand. “That makes no nevermind. Did you send one of the fellas to tell his wife?”

“Yes, ma’am. And then on to the Harpers’.”

Augie slid his meaty arms beneath the mayor’s slight form. The lamplight gleamed off his bald head. “Hold on, Mr. Mayor. I’m going to pick you up now.”

“Let me help you,” Cyrus said.

Augie shook his head. “The best way to help me is to run ahead and make sure his missus knows we’re bringing him over there.”

As the brawny man rose with the mayor in his arms, a wail reached them from the east side of the street.

“Not my Charles! Oh why? Why?” Orissa Walker, a black crow crying doom, swooped toward them.

Cyrus saw his duty and reached her in the middle of the street before any of the others moved.

“Orissa, calm yourself.” He reached for her arm. “Is he dead? Tell me.”

“No, my dear. Far from it. Now, be quick and get his bed ready. They’re bringing him home, and Annie will be here soon to help you care for him.”

“Oh me!” She put both hands to her face and sobbed. “What shall we do? Is it bad?”

“I don’t know.” Cyrus swallowed hard, but the ache in his chest had worsened. “I think perhaps a prayer would not be amiss.” He took her hand and drew it through the crook of his arm. Augie walked toward them with his burden. Ethan and Gert came behind him. “Miss Dooley,” Cyrus called, “would you kindly inform my daughter of the reason for my delay?”

Gert stopped walking. “I can do that.”

Cyrus nodded and turned back to Orissa. “Come,” he said gently. “Let’s get things ready.”

“You need to tell me everything you saw,” Ethan said to Gert. “I’ll send someone else to tell Isabel.”

“Send Bitsy so she won’t be frightened.” Gert shivered. She reached to fasten the top button of her jacket. “You need to go after the man who did it.”

“Did you see where he went?”

She lifted her hand toward the north end of the street. “He jumped on a horse and galloped off toward Mountain Road.”

Ethan dashed up the steps to the Spur & Saddle and spoke to Bitsy. She ducked back inside, and he turned at the top of the steps, in the light. “Gentlemen, prepare to ride out with me. We need a posse to go after the man who did this. If you’re sober and you have a horse and a weapon, prepare to leave from the livery stable in ten minutes.”

As he came down the steps toward her, the men dispersed, and Bitsy and Vashti hurried out of the saloon, spreading shawls about their shoulders. They headed together down the boardwalk toward the Fennel House.

Ethan reached Gert’s side. “Walk with me as far as your house, Trudy. Tell me on the way what you saw.”

“He was all dressed in black. I was standing there, behind the steps.” She swiveled and pointed to the spot beyond the hitching rail where a half dozen men were preparing to mount. “The mayor reached the steps, and this man came out of the alley yonder. I couldn’t see him well—just that someone else was coming. Then he fired a gun, and the mayor fell.” She stopped walking in front of the telegraph office. Her throat burned as she recalled the moment. “He was right about here when he did it. I don’t think he saw me. He started walking toward the mayor, and I jumped up. I was afraid he’d shoot Mr. Walker again.”

“Oh, Trudy.” Ethan slid his arm around her and pulled her close for a moment. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

She leaned away from him. “I’m the law, Ethan, same as you. I wasn’t going to let him do worse than he’d done. I suppose if I’d stayed put I might have seen him more clearly, but then the mayor would be dead for sure.”

“I expect so.”

“That’s when he threw the penny. I think now he was maybe just coming closer to leave it by Mr. Walker’s body, but at the time …”

“Hey! Where’s my horse?”

They both whirled toward the hitching rail. Ralph Storrey stormed down the boardwalk toward them. “Sheriff, someone’s up and stolen my horse.”

“When I yelled at him, he threw the penny then grabbed the nearest horse and galloped off,” Gert said to Ethan. “It was Mr. Storrey’s paint. He rode that way, at least as far as the smithy. After that, I don’t know.”

They all turned and stared northward. Several horsemen already trotted toward the livery stable.

“I’ll ask Griffin if he saw anyone ride by,” Ethan said.

“I’ll ask Bane to loan me another mount,” Storrey said. “If I lose that horse—” He stomped off down the street.

Gert took a deep breath, certain her next request was doomed. “Ethan, I want to go with you.”

“No.” He kept his arm around her, pushing toward home.

“I’m a deputy. And I saw him do it.”

“No.”

Bitsy, Vashti, and Isabel ran up the boardwalk toward them.

“Sheriff, is the mayor going to live?” Isabel grabbed Ethan’s arm and clung to it.

He cleared his throat. “Well, Miss Fennel, I don’t know. He’s over at his own house, and your father’s with him. You might want to go see if there’s anything you can do. I’m raising a posse to go after the man who did it.”

“We’ll see her safely to the Walkers’ house,” Bitsy said. “Is the shooting club riding with the posse?” She looked eagerly to Gert.

Gert gazed at Ethan. “Please?”

“I can’t let you ladies come. But you can do a lot of good here. Help Mrs. Harper with the mayor. The men riding with me can leave their women and children there so they won’t be alone while we’re gone. Gather the ladies in, won’t you, Trudy?”

Gert felt her face flush. The whole town would know before morning that the sheriff had a nickname for her.

“Yes, we’ll do it.”

Bitsy, Vashti, and Isabel left them to hurry across the street and south to the Walkers’ house.

“Now tell me quick,” he said to Gert. “What did he look like besides dark clothes?”

She squinted her eyes almost shut, picturing the penny man in the shadows. “He wasn’t as tall as you, nor as fat as Oscar Runnels.” She looked up into Ethan’s eyes and nodded. “He was young. At least he moved fast. I’m sorry I can’t tell you who he was.”

Ethan squeezed her hand as they reached the path to her house. “You’ve done fine.”

Hiram came from the back of the house.

“Gert, is that you? What’s going on? I heard a lot of commotion.”

“The mayor’s been shot.”

“You want to join the posse?” Ethan asked. “I’ll fill you in when you get to the livery with your horse and gun.”

Hiram turned on his heel and bolted for his corral behind the house.

Parnell Oxley ran toward them diagonally across the street.

“You coming, Sheriff? Griff Bane says someone rode past the livery hell-for-leather on a paint horse.”

“I’m right behind you.” Ethan touched Gert’s sleeve for a moment. “Don’t stay here alone. Get over to Walkers’. If you go out to bring other women in, go by twos and threes.” He hesitated a moment then pulled her to him.

His lips met hers, and fire shot through her. This was all wrong. He couldn’t kiss her and then rush off to hunt down the killer. He might not return, and—

“Be safe, Trudy.” He turned and ran after Parnell for the livery.