Wilderness Double Edition 22, page 6
“Are you all right, Uncle Shakespeare?” Evelyn asked.
Shakespeare could not say anything.
“All is well,” Blue Water Woman said. “Evelyn saved herself, and you saved me. But I am afraid I lost my rifle.”
“And I lost mine.” Evelyn was particularly sad. “The one Pa had custom made for me by the Hawken brothers.”
Shakespeare couldn’t bring himself to meet their gaze. Clearing his throat, he managed, “We were lucky. Damned lucky.”
“Don’t be sad. We’re fine now.” Evelyn’s slim arm looped around his neck, and he wanted to cry. “I was so afraid. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to either of you.”
Shakespeare groaned and bit his lower lip and inwardly cursed himself for being the vilest man alive.
The rest of the crossing went smoothly. Blue Water Woman led their horses onto shore. Shakespeare glumly followed, Evelyn’s hand in his. Every time he looked at her, she smiled. Every time she smiled, he wanted to tear out his eyes.
The ferryman approached. “I need your address.”
“Beg pardon?” Shakespeare said, his mind as sluggish as his body.
“I heard your wife and the girl say they lost rifles. I need your address so I can reimburse you for the loss. My poke is on the other side. My wife never lets it out of her sight.”
Blue Water Woman commented, “This is very kind and generous of you.”
“Generous nothing,” the ferryman said. “I don’t want to end up in court like Weston. He operates a ferry half a mile lower down. Not long ago he was taking a herd of cattle across when they spooked and went over the side. Thirty head drowned. The owner took Weston to court and the judge made him pay. So I’m not being generous, lady. I just don’t want to be sued.”
“We don’t know where we will be staying yet,” Shakespeare said. “How about if we pick up the money on our way west?”
“It’s yours anytime you want it.” The ferryman shook and bustled onto the ferry to help unload.
Accepting the mare’s reins from his wife, Shakespeare turned to mount.
“I say there! May I have a moment?” asked a small man in a suit in need of an ironing, and a bowler. “One of the other passengers was telling me about your narrow escape. I’d like to hear all about it.” He had a pencil and pad. “I’m a reporter for the Kansas Sun. Clarence Potts.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” Shakespeare lifted his leg to slide his moccasin into the stirrup.
“But it would be a great story,” Potts said.
Some people, Shakespeare reflected, just couldn’t take hints. “Go find the lady who brought a crate of chickens across. I hear they got seasick.”
Evelyn, though, was bubbling with excitement. “Oh, my uncle was wonderful! My aunt can’t swim, and he dived right in after her when she was knocked in by those horses!”
“Tell me more,” the journalist coaxed, and jotted down the details. His interest heightened when Evelyn mentioned why they had come to Kansas. “You’re the younger sister of Zach King? He’s been front-page news for weeks! And you’ll be too, little darling. Suppose you tell me your full name?”
“Suppose she doesn’t,” Shakespeare said, and pulled Evelyn away. “Mount up, Ophelia. More of your conversation would infect my brain.” He poked Clarence Potts in the chest. “And I’ll thank you not to be so familiar with a girl her age.”
“Hey, old man, I didn’t mean any harm.”
Shakespeare balled his right fist, then remembered the incident at the landing, and how the last man he knocked senseless was one of those who had pulled him from the river. He relaxed his fingers and settled for saying, “Call me that again and I’ll shove that notebook where you won’t get to write in it until after your next visit to the outhouse.”
“Harrumphhh,” was the reporter’s indignant rejoinder, and off he went.
Evelyn’s lower lip was sticking out. “You can be cranky at times, Uncle Shakespeare, do you know that?”
“At times?” Blue Water Woman echoed, and smiled.
“Females!” Shakespeare climbed onto the mare and reined toward town. He was trying to be lighthearted, but he could not stop thinking about the mishap and the horror of his decision. “Let’s find a place to stay. I’m soaked to the skin and I need to clean and reload my guns.”
“A hot bath might improve your disposition,” Blue Water Woman remarked.
“O curse of marriage,” Shakespeare quoted, “that we can call these delicate creatures ours, and not their appetites! I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapor of a dungeon, than keep a corner in the thing I love.”
“My, my,” Blue Water Woman jousted. “Aren’t we in a mood?”
“My pa gets grumpy too,” Evelyn said. “My ma says it has something to do with men being men.”
“You are all in all in spleen,” Shakespeare quoted, “and nothing of a man.”
“Isn’t he cute when he talks like that?” Evelyn asked Blue Water Woman.
“That is one word for it.”
“I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual jabbering,” Shakespeare paraphrased.
Blue Water Woman grinned. “Oh. That was a good one. I cannot tell you what a delight it is to be married to a walking book.”
Evelyn thought that was uproariously funny.
As for Shakespeare, he was grateful little else was said until they reached the outskirts of town. Its size amazed him. Five years ago there had been a few cabins and shacks. Now the population had to be upwards of five to six hundred. Streets had been laid out, and building after building constructed. There was a stable and restaurants and a laundry and the newspaper and taverns and saloons and not one but two hotels. Over a square mile of land was encompassed. That included all the outlying houses, cabins, shacks and hovels. The streets were rivers of dust at the moment, but in heavy rain must turn into rivers of mud. Gullies broke the terrain at frequent intervals.
If emigrants continued to flock west, in a few years Kansas would qualify as a full-fledged city.
“So where do you want to stay?” Blue Water Woman ended his contemplation of their surroundings.
After the arduous trial of crossing the plains, after weeks and weeks of sleeping on the hard ground and having to make do with the scantiest of fare, Shakespeare had a hankering to sleep in a soft bed and eat like a glutton. He said as much, ending with, “I say we stay at the best hotel they have.”
“Shouldn’t we look for Zach first?” Evelyn had been twisting and turning in her saddle as if she expected to come upon her brother any second.
“We’re tired and wet and hungry, and our horses are about worn to a frazzle,” Shakespeare said. “We take care of them, then we take care of us, then we go find Zach and Louisa.”
The stable was full, but the stable owner let them put their horses in the corral out back and promised to see that the animals were fed and watered. He also let them keep their saddles in the tack room for ten cents extra.
A parfleche over each shoulder, Shakespeare paid him. “I saw two hotels on our way in. Which would you say is the best?”
“The Armistead,” the man said without hesitation. “They’ve got a dram shop that sells the finest liquors. And a necessary on every floor, if you can believe that.”
“What’s a necessary?” Evelyn wanted to know.
“Never you mind.” Shakespeare started to leave, but she grabbed his hand and tugged.
“Ask him. Please.”
The man overheard. “Ask me what, little one?”
“We’re looking for her brother,” Shakespeare said. “Maybe you know where we can find him. Zach King?”
Like dew evaporating under a blazing sun, the man’s smile evaporated. “I wish I’d known that.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” the man said guardedly. “But I wouldn’t go around telling everyone she’s related, were I you.”
“Why not?” Evelyn asked.
“Sorry to break it to you, missy, but your brother isn’t the most popular person hereabouts right about now. Truth is, if I stood him on a barrel and offered a free shot to everyone who wanted one, half the town would line up.”
“That’s mean.”
“Come along, Evelyn,” Blue Water Woman said.
They made off down the street. The comments troubled Shakespeare but not overly so. Soon they would find Zach and Lou, and in a day or two they would be bound for home. Then all would be well.
He couldn’t wait.
Eight
From the restaurant, Largo went straight to The Armistead. He went around to the back and slipped up the stairs when the desk clerk was distracted and climbed to the third floor. He used his key to enter 303 and set the valise on the table. “The lawyer has been disposed of, mistress.”
Athena Borke wore a black pelisse that clung to her figure, accenting her many charms. She was sipping a Citronella Jam while seated at a window overlooking the town. “Wainwright did as I instructed him?”
“So he assured me.”
“Then go next door,” Athena instructed. “And remember. I want them alive.”
Largo turned, then immediately turned back again. “With your indulgence, mistress. I am puzzled.”
“Be specific,” Athena said.
“This elaborate charade we have conducted. Why not dispose of them and be done with it? Why the hundred dollars? Why have Wainwright take a room for them?”
Athena sipped her Citronella Jam. “Where is the pleasure in killing them outright? The breed must suffer as I have suffered. The breed must feel the pain I have felt. Sending you to garrote them would be much too swift and much too elegant.”
“But why here? Why do we not take them at the girl’s apartment?”
“When would we do it? In the dead of night when their door is bolted and locked? Or in broad daylight, when the street is filled with passersby?”
“I could sneak up the stairs—” Largo began, but his mistress held up a hand.
“And risk being seen? No, I have gone to extraordinary lengths to dispose of any and all who can incriminate us.” Athena gazed toward the distant river. “Besides, you must not take the young half-breed lightly. He is a savage, that one. He has lived among the red heathens and been tutored in their barbaric ways. His senses, his reflexes, are sharper than those of normal men.”
Largo’s cheeks pinched inward. “I am not without skill, mistress.”
“Who knows that better than I? But why take unnecessary chances?” Athena took another sip. “Think of this as a game of chess, faithful one. We must plan out all our moves well in advance so when we put the Kings in check, they will be helpless.”
Largo still wasn’t satisfied. “All our effort to cover our tracks, yet we take a suite next to theirs?”
“For two reasons. First, I refuse to stay at The Missourian. As a hotel it would make an excellent pig pen. The Armistead is the only place worthy of my patronage, and even here they barely meet my standards.”
“And the second reason, mistress?”
“Convenience. We will take them out the back in the early hours before dawn. No one will wonder at their absence. It will be assumed they returned to the Rockies, and good riddance.” Athena smiled. “Is anything else troubling you?”
“As always I am in awe of your brilliance.” Largo bowed. “I will go do as you bid me.”
The suite in 304 was nearly identical to 303; the same spacious rooms, the same rich red carpet, the same dark brown walls, the same two bedrooms, the same large closets. The one noticeable difference was a cart by the front door. On it sat a silver tray, and on the tray stood a bottle of wine with a card attached: Courtesy of the management.
From his jacket pocket Largo removed a corkscrew he brought specifically for the purpose of opening the complimentary bottle. He did so with the utmost care, and when the cork was out, he dipped his huge fingers into a different pocket and palmed a vial that he treated as gingerly as he would the most fragile glass. It, too, was capped by a cork, which he carefully removed. Then, being sure not to spill the contents, he poured about a thimbleful of white powder from the vial into the wine bottle.
Largo slowly swirled the wine so the powder became thoroughly mixed. Then he corked the vial and slid it into his pocket. He sealed the wine bottle with a new cork and set it in the middle of the silver tray.
Now came the part Largo was not looking forward to, because it meant he must be separated from his mistress. He walked to the second bedroom, opened the closet, backed into it, and slid the door shut. Squatting, he folded his enormous arms across his knees and settled down to wait for as long as was necessary.
Eventually the Kings would come.
And be undone.
“No,” Zach said for the tenth time in half an hour. “Why do you keep asking me when my answer is always the same?”
“Because I want to go,” Louisa said. “Just think. A night at the best hotel to be found between here and St. Louis. And for free!” She stepped to the window. “It will be dark soon. Please.”
“It’s enough that we’re keeping the hundred dollars. We’ll probably wake up tomorrow and find out charges have been filed against us for stealing it.”
“You can be such a worrywart, do you know that?” Lou said. “What’s your real reason?”
Zach glanced up in mild exasperation from the sofa. “When did you turn into a nag?”
“And when did you start insulting me?” Lou stalked to the door. “I can see this will get me nowhere. I need some fresh air.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No. You lie there and try to remember what it was like to be a human being. I haven’t often asked much of you, Zach King. The one time I do, you act like we’re walking into a Blackfoot ambush.” Lou had one parting shot left. “Believe it or not, there are nice people in this world. People who do generous things for others because they think it’s right.”
Lou slammed the door. It was childish, but she was mad. After all she had gone through on his behalf, after all the uncertainty and anguish, he wouldn’t indulge one little request. Men could be so pigheaded!
A brisk breeze was blowing. Lou broke out in goosebumps and almost went back up to fetch her shawl. Instead, she wrapped her arms tight about her and started walking. She didn’t care where she went, just so she stayed in motion. She was too agitated to stand still.
A variety of scents tingled Lou’s nose; the dust of the street, the horse droppings that littered the ground like obscenely bloated flapjacks, fragrant hints of food on the stove. Snatches of conversation drifted in and out of her hearing. She passed countless pedestrians without seeing them.
Suddenly Lou stopped. A new scent made her realize how far she had come; the smell of water. She had reached the west edge of town and saw the river glistening in the twilight like a broad serpent.
Wheeling, Lou took several steps—and stopped again. Twenty yards away a figure had darted between buildings to keep from being seen. A tall figure in a brown hat and a brown jacket. She realized it was the man who had been following them earlier. And now he was following her!
The street was practically deserted. The supper hour was a quiet hour when hardly anyone was abroad. She was on her own, and she had left all her weapons at the apartment. Turning left, she crossed an unfenced yard to the next street and turned again, heading back into town. She expected the man to follow her and was taken aback when he appeared at the corner of a building up ahead. He had cut across a yard to cut her off.
Lou fought down bubbling panic. She was a King, by damn. She had fought hostiles, had survived blizzards and bears and mountain lions. She would rely on her wits and the skills her husband and father-in-law and mother-in-law had taught her. She ran north, past a cabin and an outhouse from which the most abominable reek issued. Her aim was to elude her stalker, then swing east again to the apartment. She was a swift runner. Everyone said so. For a hundred yards she ran at her top speed. Then, darting behind a shack, she peeked out.
The man in brown was nowhere in sight.
Lou thought she had succeeded. But seconds later he strode into view, glancing this way and that. Clearly, he had lost track of her but knew she was somewhere near and was determined to find her. His jacket was open, and she could see the pepperbox. Suddenly he looked toward the shack and Lou ducked back. Breathless, she waited half a minute, then peeked out.
The man was gone.
Emboldened, Lou continued north, crossing yard after yard. She was almost to a ramshackle house when a dog on a rope came rushing out of nowhere and barked furiously, raising enough racket to be heard in St. Louis. Avoiding it, she ran on.
That was when the back door to the house opened and a grungy man in a greasy shirt came out. “Hey! What are you doin’ skulkin’ around my place, boy?”
What with her short hair and loose-fitting buckskins, Lou was often mistaken for a male. Zach had made the same mistake when they first met. She kept on going without answering.
“Didn’t you hear me?” the grungy man bellowed. “Are you a thief, lookin’ to steal something?”
Resentment sparked Lou to respond, “I’m no thief! I’m just out for a stroll.”
“Sure you are. And I’m the president and this here is the White House.”
Lou ignored greasy shirt, thinking he would stop pestering her and go back inside. But he started after her at a jog.
“Stop, I say!” he bellowed. “We’ve had a rash of thievery around here, and I bet you’re the culprit!”
“Jackass!” Lou said without thinking.
The man’s cheeks puffed out in anger and he came on faster. “I’ll get the truth out of you, boy, one way or another!”
This was the last thing Lou needed. She ran flat-out, across a weed-strewn yard to a street. She had doubled the gap, but he was still doggedly in pursuit. Swearing under her breath, she hoped he tripped and broke his fool leg.
