Wild Cards and Iron Horses (22 page)

“And before you get all upset about drinking some vile concoction, this is good coffee. My own personal blend. I always carry some with me.” He waved a hand behind them back into the shadows. “Always prepared.” The smile was weak, but there.

Sam squinted, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness as the tears cleared her vision. Behind the man she could just make out the silhouette of a wagon and a horse, the beast munching on some grass. The silly man hadn’t even unhitched the poor animal from the wagon, leaving the reins dragging in the dirt.

She flinched as Victor touched her cheek with one finger, drawing her attention back to the offered hot coffee. She glared at him before clamping her lips together as tightly as she could.

“Don’t be an ass, woman.” He shook his head before standing up. Victor pressed one hand against the small of his back, wincing as he leaned backwards. “You’ll want this before long. I can’t believe that foul taste in your mouth is something you want to keep.”

Unfortunately, the man had a point. She sighed. “Could I have some water instead? Please? I’d rather have something I don’t mind spitting out. Be a waste of good coffee, as you said.”

Morton took a deep swallow from the cup before answering her. “A reasonable argument. I hoped you’d come to your senses.” After putting the tin cup on the ground next to the fire, he walked into the darkness near the wagon.

Sam closed her eyes, trying to banish the buzzing in her ears. As she licked her lips she could taste fresh blood, probably from the head injury.

She heard the gurgling of water. A minute later he was next to her again, offering a canteen to her lips. Flinching inwardly, she allowed him to tip the moss-colored container upwards, the lukewarm water trickling into her mouth. She swallowed the first mouthful and then held the second, shaking her head.

Morton stepped back just as she spat it out, splashing into the dirt near his boots.

“Nice try.” He screwed the top back on the canteen and tossed it to one side. It bounced once, twice, sliding behind a pile of rocks. “But a little water isn’t going to get you out of this.” Victor pulled on his waistcoat. “All I want from you is the secret of that hand, and you’ll be free to go. That’s all.”

“There is no secret. I told you already.” She wrestled with the coarse rope holding her hands firmly behind her. “There is nothing at all odd about Jon’s hand brace.”

“Oh, now it’s
Jon
, is it?” The man sneered, putting his hands on his hips as he stood in front of her.

“You find Mr. Handleston interesting, yes?”

“He is nothing more than a good gambler,” Sam protested. “There is nothing about his hand that gives him an advantage over you or anyone else.”

“You’re lying.” Morton kicked a stone into the fire, sending sparks spiraling into the midnight sky.

“I’ve been trying to get hold of the plans for that toy, trying to bribe the designers to tell me what they did to it, trying to get inside information to find out what it does and no one can or will tell me. But now you’re going to tell me or else.”

“Or else what?” she responded, her voice steady and calm. “Mr. Morton, you haven’t quite thought this out. The military, not to mention the sheriff and my father, will be out at dawn to search for us. They know the terrain, you do not. They will find us and they will capture you and charge you with kidnapping, not to mention a variety of other crimes. And you will never play a hand of poker again, unless it is in a prison far, far away from here.” The long speech made her head dizzy, the aching on the side of her skull growing. “The best thing you could do right now is untie me and throw yourself on the mercy of the authorities.”

“The best thing I could do to you…” Victor moved closer, towering over her. “The best thing is to get you to tell me what I need to know before I have to resort to more…primitive interrogation techniques.” He grinned. “I won’t go into my past, but let’s just say that I know how to make people talk.” Picking up a stick, he sat on one of the larger rocks surrounding the campfire. “I’ll let you think on that for a minute or two. Just imagine what your father would feel like if he found his daughter…injured in some way.” He poked the fire, sending another series of sparks skyward. “I am a reasonable man, Miss Weatherly. Do not make me become unreasonable.”

Sam failed to suppress the shiver running down her spine. She stared at the night sky, calculating the odds for her survival. And if Jon Handleston was as good at beating them as he said.

“What do you mean, you can find her?” Jon knelt by the street urchin, putting his good left hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Tell me, please.”

Gil nodded. “I can track ’em. I’ve got the gift.” He stared at the ground, the words a mixture of pride and loathing. “My dad was an Injun. We know how to do tracking.”

“Your father died when you were a baby.” Doctor Weston watched the boy. The elderly man was clean shaven, with only a few small tufts of grey hair poking out from under his bowler cap. He knelt as well. “You weren’t old enough to learn anything from him. You don’t even remember him, I wager.”

“Yes, that’s true. But people kept telling me I’m a damn Injun, so I went and learned some things.

Some from books and some from talking to other Injuns. And I know I can find Miss Sam in the dark. It ain’t any worse than sneaking ’round town at night.” He looked at Jon, chewing on his bottom lip. “She’s been good to me. I can’t sit around and do nothing until morning.”

Jon studied the eagerness and angst in the young face. He had seen enough lives thrown away on the battlefield for noble causes, youthful determination and optimism overriding common sense and survival.

But this was different, this was a young man who truly loved and cared for Samantha. As he himself did.

Robert shook his head. “You’re a damned fool, boy. Once you get outside of the town you’ll be as blind as a bat. I don’t care what sort of night vision you think you’ve got or Injun blood or what, you won’t be able to find her.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Gil replied. “But I’m gonna try with or without you fellows.”

“And I’m going with you.” Jon stood, turning to face the two lawmen and Jake. “Doctor, please make sure Mr. Weatherly here is fine.” He held up his right hand, seeing Jake about to protest. “Sir, your daughter will not stand for it if she returns and finds you unwell. And for you two, start your search at dawn, as you said you would.” Jon put his hand on Gil’s shoulder. “We’re going to go out now and try and find her.”

“Don’t be stupid.” William spat a long stream of tobacco juice into the spittoon. “You’ll get lost out there and then we’ll be trying to rescue you as well.”

“The only way you’re going to stop us is to arrest us.” Gil crossed his arms. “And if you ’rrest us, I’m gonna scream the entire night.” He drew a deep breath as if to begin his threat in earnest. Jon couldn’t help grinning at the shocked faces on the deputies. Obviously they had little experience in dealing with temper tantrums.

“Let them go, please,” Jake said to the deputies. The doctor knelt beside him, checking his pulse. “I’m fine, just a little shaky. You don’t expect to get knocked about in your own home.” Pulling away from the doctor, he turned around in the chair. “Go find my daughter and bring her home, Jon. Please.”

“Sir.” Jon touched his forehead with two fingers, bowing as he studiously ignored the deputies. “Let’s get going, Gil. We’ve already lost precious time.” Turning his back on the two lawmen, he strode towards the front door, Gil trotting alongside him. He snatched up the derringer from the floor, checking it before replacing it in his waistcoat pocket. Two shots against a madman’s rage. But it’d have to be enough to save Samantha.

“Don’t do it.” Robert’s bellow followed them out into the street. “Don’t be an ass, man. If you go out there and find him alone, he’ll kill all of you.”

Gil swung the workshop door shut with a resounding thud. He shrugged, looking up at Jon. “They talk too much.”

“Indeed.” He grinned at the boy. “Now, let’s get going.”

Victor Morton looked at the full moon rising over the horizon. He sat on a large rock near the campfire, rubbing his hands together so intensely that Sam thought he would wear the skin off, leaving nothing but scarred bones behind. The thick fingers wove in and out of each other’s grasp, twisting back and forth until Sam was sure they would tangle in a Gordian knot.

“I know you’re not part of this whole thing. You weren’t there at the beginning when it all started.”

He spoke to the darkness surrounding them, not directly at her. “And I can’t blame you for finding Jon Handleston attractive. He’s had quite a few lovely ladies wanting to play cards with him over the months, if you catch my meaning.”

The first burning embers of jealousy started in the pit of her stomach. She mentally stamped them out before they could gain momentum. Victor was no fool. Making her angry at Jon would encourage her to break and give up the brace’s secret.

“I suppose he’s told you about my fiancée.” He scratched his beard. “My Lily-Beth. My Lily.” His booted foot kicked a stray twig into the fire. “She was a wonderful woman, she was. Everything a man could ask for and more.” Victor cleared his throat, spitting a gob of phlegm to one side. “Pardon me.”

Feeling a sharp pain on her left side, Sam shifted her weight. Her eyes widened. Shifting back, she wriggled closer to the sharp stone jutting from the ground. She grimaced, touching it with her fingers.

There was no real edge, but…

Wrapping her fingers around it as tightly as she could, she tugged on the rock. It began to move, ever so slowly, into her grip. It wasn’t a knife, but it could be helpful.

“You probably wouldn’t have liked her much,” Victor mused, digging into a pocket of his jacket with one hand. He came up with a small silver cigarette case. “She didn’t like women who put on airs, thought they could do a man’s job.” After taking out one cigarette, he picked up a twig from the fire and pulled it close enough to light the hand-rolled stick. “Thought women had it good and didn’t want upstarts spoiling it for everyone. Know your place and stay in your place, that’s how she thought. And I agreed with her, of course.”

Sam opened her mouth to speak and then thought better of it. Interrupting Victor’s reveries might not be the best thing right now. The longer he kept rambling the more likely they were to be found. Especially when he built a campfire that could be seen for miles, a bright spot in the darkness surrounding the town.

Heck, she was surprised some renegade night flyer hadn’t dropped in to see if he could beg a cup of coffee.

“Told her not to fret, I’d take good care of her. Promised her father that. Like a good husband would.”

A limp smoke ring drifted across the campfire towards her. “Sure, I was a bit older than her, but true love knows no barriers. Give me some sons, keep the house clean, you know—woman stuff. And I’d keep her happy in return.” He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and turned it, staring at the burning edge as if it were a strange creature he’d never seen before. “And he took it all away from me.” His gaze went to her, his eyes dragging over her restrained body. “And now I’m going to take it all away from him.” He tossed the barely burnt cigarette down and ground it into the dirt with the toe of his boot. “I’m going to take it all.”

Sam shifted again, clutching the rock tighter in her right hand. One edge rubbed against the rope holding her hands together. She wasn’t sure if it was sharp enough to cut through the binding in time, if ever.

Victor continued pacing around the fire, muttering to himself. After tossing his jacket into the back of the wagon, he rolled up his sleeves and undid the top buttons of his shirt, still walking around in circles.

“What do you want?” Sam said in what she hoped was a low, calming voice. She often used that tone with Gil when he was into one of his temper tantrums, usually involving going to school.

“I want you to tell me what the secret is.” Victor walked over to her and crouched down. He leant so far forward she thought for a horrific moment he was about to kiss her. “I realize that you have a reputation and all, but I have my own to repair. And I cannot do it without knowing what makes Jon Handleston a better gambler than me.” His breath washed over her, thick with whiskey and coffee.

Sam tilted her head to one side, trying to draw in fresh air. “What would your Lily-Beth think of you kidnapping a helpless woman and dragging her out into the wilderness?”

Victor’s moustache twitched once, twice. “Do not think me a fool, woman. I will not be thwarted from my goal by a snip of a girl,” he roared.

He stood back up and resumed his erratic patrol around the campfire. “Either way, Handleston is finished. Either you give me the secret and I expose him for the fraud he is, or he comes out here like a fool, with or without the authorities, to save you, and he misses the tournament.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “The tournament.” She’d forgotten about the very reason why Jon Handleston was in Prosperity Ridge.

Morton laughed. “Yes, the tournament. It’s fine for an established gambler like myself to leave a game or two suddenly, but for a rookie like him?” He kicked a clod of dirt into the fire, sending sparks everywhere. “He’ll have to forfeit his stake and then what will he do?”

“Stake?” A sudden wave of dizziness came over her, matched by a hollow ache in her belly. “Stake?”

“The amount you pay to enter this tournament, dear. Not just anyone gets to walk in, not at this level of play. You have to have a certain amount of wins and you pay to secure your spot.” He smiled, sending a shiver up Sam’s spine. “He put up, like I did, a hundred dollars. I can afford to lose that, but can he? Not just the money, but also his loss of face. The embarrassment of not showing up for such an event, especially one with such publicity?” Throwing his head back, Victor laughed again. “No matter what happens here, Handleston is finished. Finished!”

The tears started to run down her face, washing trails through the dirt and dust. Her fingers tightened around the rock, nails digging into the rough surface. She began scraping it against the coarse rope, putting all of her strength into breaking the bonds holding her hands at bay. She wasn’t going to let Victor win, not by a long shot. And if that meant saving herself before the authorities arrived, then so be it.