The Circuit Rider (15 page)

B
ird
rode the Appaloosa hard, not sure why she was racing out to Dawn Ratcliffe’s
spread, but her intuition told her time was of the essence if she wanted to
find Toby Raines. Find him, that is, and kill him.

She
felt that old Perkins woman at the boardinghouse hadn’t been completely honest
or forthcoming. Claiming that she hadn’t known anything, really, about the
girl’s death. Just that Sadie Bell was a sweet, innocent girl. Well, it sounded
like everyone knew that.

But
the old man with the pipe, now, he had told them something they could use.

And
Bird knew he couldn’t be the only one who knew more than what they were saying.

Someone
somewhere knew how Toby Raines was involved in all of this.

The
little ranch presented itself around a bend in the trail. It was set back in a
thick stand of blue pine, and the only sign of life was a thin plume of smoke
from the chimney.

 Bird
rode ahead into the small clearing in front of the main house. It was in a sad
state. Several boards had simply fallen off the building’s side and remained
there. The narrow porch was swaybacked, with gaps big enough for a grown man to
fall through.

There
had once been a small working corral to the right of the house, but its
lodgepole fencing was in complete disarray. Entire sections were missing.
That
corral couldn’t hold a blind mule
, Bird thought.

“Hello
the house,” she called out.

Inside,
she heard someone laugh and then the sound of glass breaking.

Bird
climbed off her horse and approached the front door. She knocked.

“Who
the hell is it?” a man’s voice shouted out. To Bird’s experienced ear, he
sounded drunk.

“I’m
looking for Dawn Ratcliffe. Is she here?”

“Hell
yes, she’s here—she sure as damn lives here! Let me see who the hell’s askin’! Come
on in!”

Bird
pushed open the front door, her right hand loose and brushing up against the
butt of her gun.

She
took a quick peek inside and saw a man seated at a table with a bottle of
whiskey in front of him. A woman lay on a cot at the side of the room, looking
at Bird with a blank expression completely devoid of interest.

Bird
stepped inside, letting her eyes adjust to the darker interior.

“Damn,
look at this!” the man said. His voice was slurred and thick.

“Dawn?”
Bird said to the woman on the cot. The woman sat up, her hair a mess, and
yawned.

“What
do you want?” she said. And then, “Who are you?”

“I’m
a friend of Sadie Bell’s,” Bird lied.

“Shit!”
the man said. He got up and grabbed a second glass, set it on the table, and poured
some whiskey into it for Bird. “Let’s drink to Sadie!” he said.

Bird
recoiled at the smell of the man. He probably hadn’t bathed in ages, and the
combination of whiskey and filth was overpowering.

“Dawn,
do you have any idea what really happened to her?” Bird said. She eyed the
whiskey, then downed it. It was rotgut and the glass was probably dirty, but
she didn’t mind. Anything to help mask the smell of the place.

The
woman got up from the cot, came to the table, and sat down. Her skin was
sweaty, and a smattering of angry red pimples was splashed across her forehead.

“Those
Chinamen killed her. What else is there to know?”

“Damn
yellow-skinned animals!” The man looked like the young woman, but with a glint
in his eyes that reminded Bird of a rodent.

“Peter,
you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Dawn said. “You’ll have to
forgive my brother, ma’am. He lets the whiskey do most of his talkin’.”

“You
mind stepping outside with me so we can have a talk?” Bird said. “It smells
like shit in here.”

“Well,
lardy-dardy to you, too!” Peter said. He waved a hand at them like he was
shooing flies away. Bird wondered if the stink was even too bad for the flies.

She
led Dawn away from the house, and, since there was nowhere to go, they stood by
Bird’s Appaloosa. Dawn patted the horse’s flank.

“I
love horses,” she said. “They’re so gentle.”

“I
heard tell that Sadie was a gentle young woman, too. That true?”

Dawn
smiled. “She sure was. Sweet as honey.” The girl’s smile faded a bit, and Bird
knew she’d stopped herself from adding something.

“Had
she stayed sweet right up until the end?” Bird said. “I heard things might have
changed for her a little bit. You know anything about that?”

“Working
for Mr. Whitcomb is not an easy job,” Dawn said. She ducked her head a little
bit, as if she expected to be struck for saying such a thing.

“Why
is that?” Bird said.

“Well,
he owns everything,” Dawn said as if she were talking to a young child. “He
does what he does, and if you don’t like it, you might as well leave town.”

Bird
caught something in her voice.

“Did
you work for him?”

The
girl nearly flinched.

“I
can’t—”

“Dawn.
Those Chinamen didn’t kill Sadie. I know that, and you know that. So let’s be
honest with each other. What was going on between Sadie and Mr. Whitcomb?”

A
little tear slipped down Dawn’s face.

“OK,”
Bird tried. “What happened between you and Mr. Whitcomb?”

“He
did some things to me,” she said. “And when I refused to go back, he said it
was fine but I couldn’t tell anyone. So he pays us a little bit every month to
let some of his horses graze on our property. It used to be enough, but then my
brother started drinking the money away.”

“Which
is why you’re working now for Big Kate.”

Dawn
nodded. “Hell, those men don’t do nothin’ to me that Mr. Whitcomb ain’t done.”

“So
he was doing the same thing to Sadie.”

Dawn
let out a long breath that rattled her thin, narrow shoulders. “I think so. Sadie
was real private. But I could tell something was wrong.”

There
was a disconnect for Bird.

“So
was she planning on getting away from Whitcomb? Quitting her job? Where was she
going to go?”

“Sadie
was real smart,” Dawn said. “A lot smarter than me. And a whole lot braver. She
said she had something that would get justice for both of us. She was going to
meet someone who could help us. She stopped here on her way, and that was the
last time I saw her.”

“Who
was she going to meet?” Bird said.

“A
territorial marshal.”

Dawn
looked up toward the mountains.

“Did
this marshal have a name?” Bird said.

Inside
the house, they heard a chair tip over and more glass breaking.

Dawn
turned to her.

“I’ve
got to go,” she said.

“Please.
Dawn. Do it for Sadie. Did she say if this marshal had a name?”

Dawn
nodded and then said the name softly.

“Toby
Raines.”

T
he
scent of burning wood still lingered, but the smoke had cleared. Tower paused
at the entrance to Hop Alley. It looked like things had returned to some sense
of normalcy.

The
joss shops and gambling dens appeared to be occupied, while the laundry businesses
were busy with people scurrying to and fro.

Tower
continued on, past Hop Alley, and went to the hotel he and Bird had checked
into. As he walked, he thought about his conversation with Whitcomb.

It
had not gone well.

There
was something about the way Whitcomb had become so defensive when he talked
about his wife that gave Tower the feeling that Whitcomb’s sudden and intense reaction
outweighed the moment. It was an overreaction.

Why?

Tower
entered the hotel, went to the front desk, and asked if there were any messages
for him.

There
weren’t.

He
walked to the staircase and began to climb the steps, pausing to step aside as
a Chinese person carrying a large basket of bedsheets passed him by. Tower
climbed the rest of the stairs, went to his room, unlocked the door, and went
inside.

He
was looking forward to a little bit of time for reflection. He would have loved
to set up a service for Twin Buttes, but he was torn. The Chinese were the
people in most need of help and guidance, but they weren’t Christian.

Tower
would have to see about organizing a prayer session with the non-Chinese
population of Twin Buttes and preach a sermon of forgiveness and acceptance of
others.

He
set his Bible on the table next to his bed and took off his boots, jacket, and
shirt.

There
was a washbasin and a pitcher near the door, so he filled the basin with water,
then washed his face. He used a small towel embroidered with red flowers to
wipe his face.

He
looked in the mirror at his reflection, saw a man still young but with a face
that showed a lot of years in the saddle, a lot of years fighting demons, both
internal and external.

Tower
went back to the bed and was about to sit down when he noticed a small slip of
paper peeking out from beneath one of the pillows.

He
lifted it out and opened it.

It
was thick paper, and the words were written with a fine hand.

To
Whom It May Concern,

My
name is Sadie Bell and I am writing this letter and entrusting it to my
faithful friend, Lop Shee, should any harm come to me. I am leaving tonight for
a meeting with the territorial marshal as I plan to file a rape charge against
Mr. William Whitcomb. He sexually attacked me after my first week as his
housekeeper and threatened to kill me if I told anyone. Mrs. Whitcomb did not
know what was happening, but she is also in fear of her life. She arranged a
meeting for me with the marshal. Hopefully, no one will ever have to read this
letter.

Yours,

Sadie Bell

Tower
put the letter inside his Bible. He felt anger overtake him. Whitcomb had been
hiding something after all. And Tower instinctively knew that the territorial marshal
had been a setup. Someone had discovered Sadie Bell’s plan. And that she had
entrusted Lop Shee. Tower guessed that Sadie Bell had unwittingly signed the
Chinese man’s death warrant, too.

Because
if his hunch was correct, Lop Shee was one of the Chinamen who had been hung.

“Y
ou
stupid bitches don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Bird
looked up.

Peter
Ratcliffe stood, swaying, on the porch. The bottle of rotgut was in his hand.

“Go
away, Peter,” Dawn said. She looked at Bird with a hopeless expression on her
face. And a tinge of embarrassment.

“Fuck
you, Dawn,” he said.

Bird
stepped away from Dawn and faced Peter.

“Why
don’t you come down here and enlighten us?” she said.

Peter
stumbled down the steps toward Bird and stood in front of her.

“You
think I’m afraid of you, Miss Tough Lady? You and your two guns?”

A
fine mist of spittle flew from Peter’s mouth.

“No,
I don’t think you’re afraid of me,” Bird said. “If you were sober, you might
be. But you’re too drunk to be scared. So show us how smart you are, Peter. What
do you know that we don’t?”

Peter
giggled, then belched. Bird could smell the cloud of rotgut in the air between
them.

“She
wasn’t goin’ to see no marshal, the stupid bitch,” he said. “There weren’t no
marshal.”

“What?”
Dawn said from behind Bird. Her voice was unnaturally high. Bird recognized
near hysteria when she heard it.

“What
are you talking about, Peter? Sadie was my friend. Why didn’t you say
something? What did you do to her?”

Bird
now felt like a peace officer standing between the two siblings.

“I
didn’t touch a hair on her precious damn head,” Peter said. “So don’t worry, my
sister the whore.”

Bird
swung, a right cross, and she twisted her wrist inward at the last moment to
put a little extra torque into the punch. It was how she compensated for having
to protect her hands. A gunfighter with swollen and injured hands was a dead
gunfighter. So she took a little off the punch. Still, it landed solidly on
Peter’s jaw, and he listed forward, then fell face-first onto the ground.

Bird
rolled him over onto his back.

She
picked up the bottle of rotgut, poured a little on Peter’s face, then wiped off
the mouth of the bottle and took a drink.

The
stuff was poison.

But
it was free.

Peter
Ratcliffe struggled to his feet and stood there, weaving in front of Bird. She
drew her gun and put the muzzle against his sweaty forehead.

“If
I ever hear you refer to your sister that way again, I’ll cut off your dick and
shove it so far up your ass you’ll be pissing into your own belly.”

Peter
Ratcliffe turned pale, and Bird thought he might be about to vomit.

“Now,
what do you know about Sadie?” she said.

“Fuck
you,” Peter mumbled, blood dripping out of the side of his mouth.

Bird
thumbed the hammer back on her pistol, and the sound of it cocking echoed in
the quiet air.

She
heard Dawn gasp behind her.

“You
have two choices,” Bird said. “Tell me what you know. Or I will make your
sister sole owner of this property, and probably the happiest woman in Twin
Buttes, by putting a bullet through that pea brain of yours.”

“I
don’t know anything. I’m just guessing about what happened to Sadie,” Peter
said. He licked his lips, and his tongue looked dry and swollen.

“Well,
tell us your best guess of what happened then,” Bird said.

“Whitcomb’s
got some gunfighters out in a mining camp near the Silvertip. Heard one of ’em supposedly
liked to pretend to be a territorial marshal and sometimes rob people.” Peter
glanced down at the whiskey bottle like a dog begging for a treat after it had
done a trick.

Bird
drank from the bottle instead and gestured for Peter to continue.

“They
mostly were there to keep the workers in line, but occasionally they’d get
bored and rough up some people or have fun with a young lady who wasn’t all that
willing. I heard all about ’em. That’s the marshal Sadie probably
thought
she was going to see.”

Bird
drank the last of the rotgut in one long pull from the bottle. She threw it
into the air and fired four times in rapid succession, shattering the bottle and
each of the biggest pieces.

“Thanks
for the drink,” she said.

She
turned to Dawn.

“Get
rid of this piece of shit and have a go at this ranch. You don’t need to be
selling your wares down at Big Kate’s. And if he gives you any trouble, let me
know. I’d love to come back and finish the job.”

She
swung up onto her horse and headed for the camp near the Silvertip.