Authors: James D. Best
Tags: #Western stories, #Nevada, #Westerns, #Historical fiction, #Fiction
The Shopkeeper (25 page)
I suppressed a “yes, sir.” Until tonight, McAllen had been brisk but polite. I looked at him still holding Jenny’s elbow and decided perhaps I was not the only one infatuated with her. She was always pretty, and with some of her animation returned, she had begun to regain her power to captivate. Did McAllen’s ill temper disguise the fact that this enchantress had ensnared him as well? And whom was he trying to fool? Others or himself?
I pulled the shed door open, standing to the side, so Joe’s lantern could light the interior. Sprague sat on the mattress, eating something from a tin plate—something other than jerky and hardtack. Evidently word about the dethroning of Baroness Bolton had reached the bunkhouse, and someone had been thoughtful enough to bring the prisoner a plate of beans—and a single candle to light his elegant meal.
“Who brought you beans?” I asked.
Sprague barely looked up. “If you didn’t bring thumbscrews, I’ll never tell ya.”
Joe swung the lantern around to search the corners of the shed. After his search, he said to me, “No thumbscrews, but I got a rusty old vise that might do the trick.”
“Bring it on in, if you want me to squeal.” Sprague said this around a mouthful of beans.
“Captain, things look tame in here,” I said loudly enough to be heard outside.
Joe and I squeezed around to where Sprague sat to allow McAllen and Jenny enough room inside the tight quarters. Joe stood at the head of the bed and held the lantern high so Jenny could see Sprague’s face, and I bent at the knees so as not to throw a shadow.
When they entered, McAllen still held Jenny’s elbow in a protective manner. I started to get angry as I watched McAllen play the guardian role, when suddenly I felt a tug and found myself lying in Sprague’s lap. He had my hair in one hand, pulling my head back, and held something sharp at my throat. How would he have gotten a knife, and how did he find someone at this ranch to help him?
“Nobody move!” Sprague yelled.
“Now what good will that will do you?” McAllen asked the question with as little emotion as if he were asking directions in a new town.
“Tell your man outside to sit easy.” Sprague shifted under me, and I could tell he was positioning himself to stand while still holding me hostage. “Pull my horse around to the door here, and make sure my rifle’s in the scabbard. Tell your man to move quickly.”
“He already has his orders,” McAllen said. “You heard ’em. You step through this door … he kills you.”
“If you don’t give him new orders, then I’ll complete my contract on this greenhorn, right here and right now.”
“With a fork?”
Knowing what was at my throat, I felt less terrified. Surely, Sprague could not seriously injure me with a table fork. I slowly lifted my arm to drive my elbow into his ribs when I felt a pinching pain in my neck—and then the pain became sharp and throbbing. Before the thought entered my mind, I had dropped my arm.
“That’s foolish,” McAllen said. “I’m not going to let you go because of a little blood.”
“It will gush in a minute. I studied to be a doctor before I went into bookkeeping. This fork is pressed against his carotid artery. One more little shove with this fork, and he’ll spurt blood all the way across this fucking shed. I’ll twist his neck back and forth and splatter all of you like I was holding a fire hose.”
“And how long do you think you’ll live after that?” It bothered me more than a little that McAllen’s voice sounded less confident.
“You’re taking me back to hang me. What difference does a week or two make?” When he didn’t get an answer, he said, “I’ll tell you the difference. This way I die having never failed a contract. I’ll go out with a perfect record. You know I’m ruthless enough, so get me my horse. Now.”
“I can’t do that. I’m responsible for your custody. I have a reputation as well.”
“Doesn’t that put you in a pretty pickle? Lose a Pinkerton client or lose your prisoner. In the matter of pride and honor, you lose either way, and I win.”
I felt a different type of twinge and recognized that Sprague had twisted the fork to get my attention. I sensed that his back was against the wall, and he was using it for support as he slowly scooted up to his feet, dragging me with him. For a second, I feared I would not be able to get my feet beneath me, and he would ram the fork home. Then desperation gave my legs a spurt of energy, and I managed to ascend with Sprague.
“Decide,” Sprague said.
“How do you know I won’t shoot you when you let go of Dancy to mount your horse?”
“No more stalling. You’re unarmed. When I get to the door, you tell your man I want to see him throw his rifle and gun as far as he can. Give the orders, or we’ll just call it a night here and now.”
McAllen looked livid, but he gave instructions to the Pinkerton outside to comply with Sprague’s demands. I was trying to figure out if there was any way I could gain some advantage over Sprague, when Jenny stepped from the shadows into the light.
“This has gone far enough,” she said. “Captain McAllen, do not interfere with Bill Sprague’s escape.” She took another step toward Sprague and met his eyes. “Sir, you have done me a great service. My husband was a depraved pig. Now I am rid of him and rich to boot. You may go … and you have my word that no one will follow you until morning.”
“You can’t control the Pinkertons.”
“But I can set you free,” she said.
Bang!
In the small, enclosed space, the gun’s report was magnified to earsplitting intensity. I automatically twisted away from the noise, ignoring the fork in my neck. Before I could grasp what was happening, another gunshot ruptured the tiny shed.
As I hit the wall with my shoulder, I craned my neck around to see if Jenny had been hit, but the shed was dark. Joe had evidently flinched and turned away from the gunfire, unconsciously lowering the lantern. As he recovered and raised the light again, I saw a smoking derringer in Jenny’s hand. McAllen had instinctively moved to stand in front of the door and block the only path of escape.
I took in Sprague next. Blood seeped from a chest wound, and a bloodless hole had appeared where his left eye used to be. As I watched, he slid to the floor, leaving two swaths of blood on the wall behind him, one from each of the two places where large-caliber bullets had left his body.
I heard someone say, “Shit!” and realized that it was me.
McAllen reached around Jenny and took the gun from her hand. “This work out ’bout the way you expected, ma’am?”
She took a long look at Sprague on the ground before she spoke. “I only said what I did so I could get close to him.”
McAllen cocked his head, “To me or to Sprague?”
Jenny turned to look the captain in the face. “Excuse me?”
“Why did you bring a gun into the shed against my specific orders?”
“I forgot I had it hidden in my dress.” She looked back down at the body. “Lucky for us, I suppose.”
“I doubt that luck had anything to do with it.” McAllen’s voice had a nasty edge.
Jenny lifted her chin. “What are you implying?”
Instead of responding, McAllen stormed out of the shed. I touched Jenny’s shoulder and gently pushed her toward the door. As we stepped into the night, I noticed McAllen had marched on toward the house without pause. I stopped Jenny and said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She gave me a genuinely sweet smile and said, “I believe we’re even now.” And with that, she marched toward the house. Befuddled, I had no choice but to follow.
As we approached the porch, McAllen came out of the house wearing his gun. He stepped down the three steps and held out the derringer to Jenny. “I believe this is yours.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“You always carry a derringer?” he asked.
“Since my sojourn in the bunkhouse, yes. It makes me feel safe.”
“And now you’ve revenged your husband, and the ranch hands know you’re a man killer. You’ve pretty much taken charge.”
“I only did what I thought was necessary.”
“Necessary for what?” I suddenly wished I had my own gun, because McAllen looked crazed. “I could have handled the situation and kept both men alive.”
“It looked to me like Sprague was in control.” There was now an edge in her voice. “Mr. Dancy has done me numerous services. I could not let him die in front of me like my husband.”
“Your husband?” McAllen shouted. “Like you cared a hoot for him.”
“Mr. McAllen, leave this ranch immediately and take that carcass with you. I’ll not have you denigrate John. Whatever you may think, he was the first person to treat me well, and I cared for him. Now get off my ranch.”
“With pleasure. I was on my way to do just that.”
He immediately marched away toward the shed and yelled for one of the men to gather up and saddle the horses.
“Captain!” I yelled. “What about Mrs. Bolton?”
“You escort her in the morning. I’ll leave one man to go with you.”
Jenny started toward the house, and I stopped her with a couple of fingers on her forearm. “Can I speak to you alone for just a moment?”
She looked ready to ignore my request but then walked to the corner of the house and stood still until I followed.
“There’s a new moon, and they’ve been drinking far too much to ride in the dark. This has been traumatic for all of us. McAllen takes his reputation a bit too seriously and said things I’m sure he’ll regret in the morning. Let them stay in the bunkhouse, and we’ll leave at first light.”
“McAllen’s ridden in the dark before … and drunk too, I suppose.”
“Perhaps, but if we leave this way, the wounds will fester.”
Her face softened a bit, and she craned her neck to get a look at my own wound. Noticing her attention, I put my hand to my neck and could feel dampness. “Come in the house, and I’ll bandage that.”
As we walked into the house, she said, “Joe, tell Captain McAllen that if he prefers, he may stay in the bunkhouse and leave in the morning.”
“Yes, ma’am.” And he scurried away.
While I sat at the kitchen table, she examined my neck wound and said it didn’t need stitches. I enjoyed her attention as she expertly bandaged the cut. I put my hand to my neck. The bandage felt secure. When she stepped back to appraise her work, I asked, “Where did you learn how to do that?”
“Brothers. Three rowdy ones.”
I wanted to ask about her family but instead asked, “Are you all right?”
She looked at me queerly and then said, “Of course.”
“I just thought—” I let it go.
“He was going to kill you,” she said. “Released or not. As he said, he had a contract.”
I suddenly knew she was right. It had been close. Even closer than with the Cutlers. I nodded and asked, “Can you handle things after we leave?”
“I had good teachers. John built this ranch from a middling homestead. He took me everywhere, and although he didn’t mean to, he showed me how to run his enterprises. His mother taught me toughness.”
A nasty voice suddenly came from the door. “Is that little gun of yours empty, dearie?”
We whirled to see Mrs. Bolton standing in the doorway, holding a shotgun.
Chapter 44
My hand automatically went to my side, but my gun still hung on a chair in the dining room. Mrs. Bolton saw my futile movement and cackled in a way that made my stomach tighten.
I heard Jenny beside me speak in a calm voice. “You won’t shoot me.”
She raised the shotgun. “Why shouldn’t I? Because you killed the murderer of my son? That don’t buy you redemption for stealing everything from me. I have nothing.”
“Because you won’t kill your grandchild.”
Mrs. Bolton’s face flashed many emotions but settled on incredulity. With a sneer, she said, “How do you know its John’s?”
“Because I’m nearly three months pregnant.”
Her eyes immediately went to Jenny’s midsection. “I don’t believe you.”
I didn’t know whether to believe her either. My mind raced. Pregnant? What did this mean? Did this dampen my infatuation? What were my expectations, anyway? I had never contemplated marriage, and I certainly had never envisioned a family. What did I want? A tryst? I had never thought it through, but obviously I needed to figure out why I had let my life get mixed up with hers.
Jenny, on the other hand, remained composed. “Is it so hard to imagine?” she asked. “John and I had a complete marriage.”
“What took so long?” Mrs. Bolton continued to hold the shotgun in a threatening manner but seemed to aim at some point between us.
“I don’t know. Certainly not from lack of trying. John was a gentleman, but insistent … and I met my obligations.”
“You met your obligations? You bitch. A woman should love her man, not see it as an obligation. You’re nothing but a commonplace whore.”
“I was young when my father sold me. He said it was my duty. No one ever spoke to me of love.”
“John adored you. You should have returned his affection.”
“I gave John what he wanted. I don’t know why it took two years, but now I’m carrying John’s baby … your blood.”
“Damn you!” Mrs. Bolton slammed the shotgun barrel against the doorjamb so hard I was surprised it didn’t go off. She swung the barrel back in our direction. “Why should I care? You’ll never let me see it.”
