Town Tamers (20 page)

A
sa made it a point to sit by a window on the station side so the marshal and his deputies could see him, Noona, and Byron.

“I hate slinking off with my tail between my legs,” Noona complained.

“You don’t have a tail, sis,” Byron said. “I do.”

“Enough about tails,” Asa said. He stared out at the law dogs, and Marshal Pollard glared back.

“You sure made him mad, Pa,” Noona said.

“I aim to make him a lot madder.”

Other passengers filed on and presently the whistle sounded and the conductor started down the aisle collecting tickets. The locomotive chugged, spewing a thick column of smoke, and the wheels began to turn.

“At last,” Noona said.

Asa shifted and stared back at Pollard as the train got under way. He kept on staring until a bend hid the station.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Byron said. “To get his goat.”

“Temper is a weapon,” Asa said. “You make a bad man mad, he gets careless. And when he’s careless, he’s easier to kill.”

“I never thought of it like that.”

“I think of everything like that,” Asa said. He settled back and folded his arms. “Now we wait for Denver.”

“Our tickets say we’re supposed to switch to another train,” Noona mentioned. “What if they check and find out we didn’t?”

“I doubt they’re that thorough,” Asa said. “Pollard reckons he’s scared us off. But even if he does, he’ll have no idea where we got to.”

“He might suspect later on,” Byron said.

“Let him. Suspicion isn’t proof. He’ll have to catch us or kill us to have that, and we’re not about to let him.” Asa cocked his head. “This plan of yours, son. I honestly don’t know if it’s brilliant or insane.”

“I do,” Noona said. “It promises to be great fun.”

“Don’t make the mistake of not taking this seriously,” Asa warned.

“You know me, Pa,” Noona said. “I’m always serious except when I’m not.”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything,” Byron said grimly. “I never thought of myself as vengeful, but I guess I am.”

“Revenge, son,” Asa said, “is another word for justice.”

“Is what we’re doing really just? Or are we deluding ourselves?”

“You saw how it is there. Or didn’t that beating teach you anything?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Please don’t start, you two,” Noona said. “We’re together on this one, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Byron said, “we are.”

In silence they watched the scenery roll by. In the distance, peaks reared miles high into the bright sky, a few gleaming white with snow. Closer, the mountain slopes were thick with forests of pine and spruce and ranks of tall fir, sprinkled here and there with stands of aspens that in the autumn would display spectacular colors.

The train passed through valleys green with life. In some cattle grazed, a ranch sprawled, and in other valleys the soil had been tilled and a red or white farmhouse was basked in sunshine.

Wildlife was everywhere. They saw elk higher up and deer lower down. Eagles and hawks soared. Ravens and jays and a host of songbirds did what birds do.

“This sure beats Texas,” Noona said at one point.

“Texas has nice parts, too,” Asa said.

“Not as nice as this.”

“I like the Poetry House,” Byron said wistfully. “When this is over I’m going back. I wrote Myron a note so he wouldn’t think I deserted him.”

“You did what?” Asa said.

“All I told him was that I had to leave, and I’d explain when I saw him again.”

“Damn.”

“What’s wrong?”

“If Pollard finds out, he might suspect.”

“Myron’s not about to show it to him. Relax. Our plan will work just fine.”

“It better,” Asa said, “or we’re liable to find ourselves gurgling at the end of a rope.”

“No rope for me, thanks,” Noona said. “Or prison, for that matter. I couldn’t stand being caged like some poor critter. I’d shoot myself first.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Asa said.

T
he Express rolled into Denver on time, as it nearly always did when the weather cooperated.

In the thirty years since a gold rush saw its founding, the city had prospered. The largest city along the front range of the Rockies, with a population of over thirty-five thousand, each year the number climbed.

“It’s a regular beehive,” Noona commented as they started their search.

The buildings weren’t as new as in Ordville. The people didn’t dress as fashionably. Despite its size, Denver had a frontier atmosphere—and a reputation for violence and some of the sassiest whores this side of anywhere.

No one paid any attention to the Delawares, which suited Asa fine. No one would remember them should Marshal Pollard or one of his deputies come to Denver and ask around.

They roved along various streets until they came upon a clothing store.

“This should do us,” Asa said.

It did. They each bought new clothes.

For Asa, it was a wide-brimmed black hat, a black Macintosh, and black pants.

For Byron, it was a checkered shirt, bib overalls, and a straw hat. When Noona looked at him and raised her eyebrows, he said, “They’ll think I’m a farmer gone bad.”

“You look as if you have plows on the brain,” she teased.

“Why, thank you,” Byron said.

For her part, Noona chose a man’s shirt and pants, both too big, which made them baggy like she wanted them. She also selected a high-crowned hat into which she could tuck her hair. “So they’ll mistake me for a man,” she said when Byron gave her the same look she’d given him.

“The clothes aren’t all we need,” Asa reminded them, and led the way to the feed and grain.

They found a bin of grain sacks, and each of them picked one up and fingered it.

“I don’t know about this, Pa,” Noona said. “It’s too rough and thick. It’d scratch our skin and we’d half-suffocate.”

“Not to mention we won’t be able to see a thing, even with eyeholes,” Byron said.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Asa agreed. “Let’s keep looking.”

Two blocks down, a mercantile bustled with customers. Asa found some burlap sacks for sale, but they were as rough as the grain sacks. He considered pillowcases. It would be easy to cut the holes, but when they were sweaty the cotton would cling and he didn’t want that. He was still searching when Noona came up holding a roll of white material. “What have you got there, daughter?”

“Muslin,” she said. “Feel it and hold it up to your face.”

It had a loose weave so air would pass through. And when Asa placed it over his eyes, he could see through it.

“This would work wonderful for the masks,” Noona was saying. “The holes will be easy to cut, and if they shift on our face somehow, as you just saw we can still see through it.”

“I don’t like the white,” Asa said.

“They sell bottles of dye. I figure we color the masks black.”

“This will work fine,” Asa complimented her. He looked around. “Where did your brother get to?”

“Where do you think?”

The books were at the very back. Byron was paging through one and didn’t realize Asa was there until Asa nudged him.

“More poetry?”

“I wish. It’s not as popular as in Lord Byron’s day.”

“I wonder why.”

“Pa, please. I thought we agreed to a truce.”

“I’m sorry, son. I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I just can’t get used to it.”

“Well, once this is over, you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“It’s not the verse, it’s you.”

“Have I ever failed to do what needs doing? Have I ever not squeezed the trigger for you?”

“For that I’m grateful.” Asa turned. “Come on. Your sister has found what we need.”

Byron touched his sleeve. “Hold on. Something is starting to bother me.”

“Uh-oh,” Asa said.

“We didn’t talk this out when I brought it up before, and we should.”

Asa looked around to be sure no one was listening. “All right. Air your lungs.”

“This won’t be a typical taming. Some might say all we’re doing is taking the law into our own hands.”

“Taming is always taking the law into our own hands.”

“But that’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Here we go again.”

“Please. I’m serious.”

Asa looked around again. “If you’re going to back out, now is the time to do it.”

“Who said anything about backing out? I told you I’d see it through and I will.”

“Then quit bellyaching,” Asa said. “No, we’re not duly sworn law officers, or knights in shining armor or any of that poetical nonsense you like.”

“Then what are we, exactly?”

“Killers,” Asa said.

T
he Overland stage rumbled into Ordville nearly an hour late. The stationmaster wasn’t worried when it didn’t show on time. The stage was often late. Rockslides, fallen trees, and steep grades were common causes. But on this particular day the cause was something else.

Cockeyed Jack was on the box, and he commenced bellowing at the outskirts. He cracked his whip and bawled over and over, “The stage was robbed! The stage was robbed!”

By the time the stagecoach reached the Overland building, a considerable crowd was trailing along.

The stationmaster, Harvey Spence, heard the ruckus from blocks away and was out under the overhang when the stage came to a stop. Harvey swiped at the cloud of dust it raised, and coughed. “What are you hollering about up there?” he asked even though he’d heard clearly.

Cockeyed Jack sprang down, a remarkable feat given his years, and seized Harvey by the shirt. “We was held up! And it was the strangest damn holdup you ever did see.”

Harvey noted the presence of women and children among the onlookers and exercised his authority with, “Watch your language. There are ladies and whatnot.”

“What?” Jack said. He glanced around, his left eye looking one way and his right eye looking another. “What?” he said again.

“The holdup,” Harvey Spence said. “Let me hear about the holdup.”

“Hold on,” a voice commanded, and through the throng shouldered Marshal Abel Pollard. As nearly always, Deputy Agar was a second shadow.

The stage door opened and a woman in her fifties poked her head out. “Marshal! You should have been there. A man pointed a gun at me and everything.”

Another passenger, a pasty-faced man in a rumpled suit, vigorously bobbed his chin and declared, “I thought I was a goner.”

“Oh, posh,” the woman said. “They were polite as could be.”

Marshal Pollard held up a hand. “Quiet down, all of you. I’ll take your statements in a minute.” He turned to the driver. “Let me hear your account.”

Cockeyed Jack licked his dry lips. One of his eyes appeared to be looking at Pollard while the other was fixed on Agar. “We were comin’ up the last of the bad grades. You know the one, Marshal, about a mile down.”

Pollard nodded.

“Well, it slowed us, of course, and the team was at a walk by the time we reached the top. And there they were!” Cockeyed Jack exclaimed.

“Who?”

“Why, the robbers. Or highwaymen, I reckon they’re called nowadays.”

“How many? And what did they look like?”

The woman had climbed down and was fluffing the hair that hung from under her hat. “There were three. They were on horseback, and they held guns on us.”

“Are you tellin’ this, or am I?” Cockeyed Jack said.

“No need to be huffy,” she said.

“Keep telling,” Marshal Pollard instructed Jack.

“Well, anyhow, they pointed long guns at us and one of them said, ‘Would you be so kind as to come to a stop?’”

Marshal Polllard blinked. “He said what?”

“‘Would you be so kind as to come to a stop?’” Cockeyed Jack repeated.

“I told you before they were as polite as anything,” the woman said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of bandits so polite.”

“Consarn you, Maude Adams,” Cockeyed Jack said. “He wants me to tell it, not you.”

“She’ll get her turn,” Marshal Pollard said. “What happened next?”

Cockeyed Jack rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Well, with three long guns pointed at me, I wasn’t about to say no. I stopped and the farmer came up close and said—”

“Wait,” Marshal Pollard said. “The farmer?”

“That’s what I call him on account of how he was dressed,” Cockeyed Jack said. “He had overalls and a straw hat and looked just like a farmer except for the mask.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Marshal Pollard said. “Let’s back up a bit. What did the other two look like?”

“One was wearin’ one of those raincoats. Macintoshes, I think they’re called. He was all in black.”

“I took him for the mean one,” Maude Adams said. “Outlaws always have a mean one in the bunch.”

“Damn it, Maude,” Jack said, and continued. “Him and the farmer were middling sized. The third man was shorter, and didn’t speak once. The farmer said, ‘Would all of you inside please step down’ —”

“Gosh, he was mannered,” Maude said. “I bet if you invited him to supper, he’d say ‘please’ each time he wanted the salt.”

“Mrs. Adams, please,” Marshal Pollard said.

“Now she’s got you doin’ it,” Cockeyed Jack said.

Pollard glared.

“Anyway, as I was sayin’, the farmer asked for everyone to climb down and Mrs. Adams and the other four passengers obliged. And the farmer pointed his gun at them and asked if they had any biscuits.”

“He what?”

“You heard me,” Cockeyed Jack said. “The robber said, as nice as could be, ‘Would any of you fine people happen to have fresh biscuits? I am enormously hungry.’”

“Enormously?”

Cockeyed Jack nodded. “His exact word. You don’t think I’d sling a ten-pounder like that around myself, do you?”

“And then what?”

“Well, the passengers all said as how they didn’t have any biscuits and he said they could climb back in. And once they did, he said to me, ‘Thank you for stopping. You can go now. But I do ask a favor of you.’”

“A favor? What kind of favor?”

Cockeyed Jack looked at Maude Adams with his right eye and Jack and Maude looked at the other passengers, and all of them looked at Marshal Pollard.

“I don’t know as I should tell you,” Jack said.

“Why in hell not?”

“It’s liable to make you mad.”

“Goddamn it, Jack.”

“All right, all right.” Cockeyed Jack took a deep breath. “The farmer said to give you his love.”

A great hush fell. The onlookers who had been whispering stopped and stood stock-still and stared at the marshal. The passengers and Jack stared at the marshal, too.

Pollard’s mouth had dropped open. For all of ten seconds he appeared stupefied. Then the scarlet tinge of anger crept up his neck and face, and he put a hand on his six-shooter. “Was that your notion of a joke?”

Cockeyed Jack thrust out his hands. “He said it! As God is my witness, he did.”

“We all heard him,” Maude Adams said. “That nice outlaw sent our town marshal his love.” And she tittered merrily.

More than a few of the onlookers laughed.

Deputy Agar was a study in confusion. “What in tarnation is going on, Abel?”

Marshal Pollard stared down the mountain. “I wish to hell I knew.”