According to Hoyle (11 page)

Wash cleared his throat and nodded. “Good thinking,” he said to Cage.

The man nodded and lowered his head again.

“What, he afeared of gettin’ shot?” Hudson asked in amusement.

“Shut up,” Flynn warned with a point of his finger at the man. He watched with a sinking feeling as realization seemed to dawn on the big man’s stupid face.

“He’s afeared of bein’
seen
,” the man crooned as he raised his chained hands above his head and looked around. “Hey!” he shouted in a surprisingly loud voice. “We got Dusty Rose right here!”

Flynn and Wash glanced around in alarm as several passersby stopped and stared. Others had slowed and were looking on curiously as they continued walking.

Beneath the coat, Rose began cursing under his breath and moving as if he were about to sit up.

Wash went over and placed a hand on what Flynn thought might be Rose’s shoulder, pushing him down. “Stay down, son,” he murmured to the man as he glared over at Hudson.

“Dusty Rose here!” Hudson continued to shout. “He’s unarmed!”

More people began to take notice and a buzz of murmured conversation began to circulate through the growing crowd. Flynn darted over the seat of the wagon, grabbing Wash’s shotgun as he went. The butt of the shotgun landed with a sickening thunk against Hudson’s head and he slumped to the side. But people around them were already taking notice, whispering to each other, pointing and staring.

“You really got Dusty Rose in there, mister?” a boy of about ten years called to Flynn.

“Let’s see him!” a man shouted, and several shouts of agreement rang out as the crowd edged closer.

Flynn began shouting at the crowd to back up and be on their way, brandishing the shotgun and then pulling his duster aside to reveal the US Marshal’s badge on the front of his vest.

“What the hell are we going to do with him now?” he hissed to Wash as the crowd began to murmur unhappily.

“You could let me go,” Rose said in a voice muffled by the coat covering him. “It’ll be fine entertainment, we’ll see if I’m able to fend for myself. You could place bets, it would be fascinating.” Flynn rapped him on the head with his knuckles. “Ow.”

“Shut up,” Flynn responded almost without thought.

“Let’s get them into the hotel,” Wash growled as the crowd backed away from them and began to disperse grudgingly.

Flynn was thankful that Cage was cooperating. The other two prisoners certainly weren’t making life easy. Hudson was just large and ornery and obviously knew that he would be going to the gallows if he did indeed make it to Virginia. He didn’t care that he would be tried for attempted murder now as well, because while Rose’s attack on Flynn was arguably self-defense, or so Wash claimed, Hudson’s attacks on Rose were pretty straight-forward.

It helped that Hudson was still unconscious as Flynn dragged him into the hotel. As heavy as he was, he would have been more trouble if he had been awake. Rose was actually cooperating, but the fact that word of his identity was spreading didn’t make it easy to move him. Some crowded around, just wanting to look at him and be able to say they saw him, while others appeared at the hotel well-heeled, guns slung low and ready to make a name for themselves. There were plenty of men west of the Mississippi that would kill in such a cowardly manner to be known as the man who got the drop on Dusty Rose. Flynn was sure if Rose was actually shot today, the fact that he was in hand irons at the time would be forgotten in the retelling.

After dragging Hudson into the hotel and making certain he wasn’t going anywhere, he and Wash guided Rose to the room they had procured, Cage on one side and Wash on the other, protecting him with their bodies.

“I begin to sympathize with Rose’s predicament,” Wash muttered to Flynn under his breath after they had made it safely into their rented rooms.

“That’s what he gets for killing,” Flynn responded coldly as he looked out the window at the street below. “They’re still milling down there,” he muttered.

“Your life would be a lot easier with just two prisoners, Marshal,” Rose said to Wash as he reclined on the bed behind them. He hung his dusty boots over the side of the bed, seemingly reluctant to get the linens dirty.

Wash turned around and huffed at him. “I suppose you want us to set you free and let you take your chances?” he scoffed.

“Actually, I was talking about my silent companion here,” Rose answered with a nod of his head to Cage, who sat beside him on the bed.

Cage glanced at him in surprise and then looked up at Wash with wide eyes, as if he feared being implicated in anything Rose had thought up.

“You and I both know he doesn’t deserve whatever the Army will give him,” Rose continued in a low voice.

Wash looked over Cage for a long time, his face set in a worried frown. Flynn realized with a bit of a shock that Wash was truly considering what Rose was saying.

“Wash,” he said in a harsh, outraged voice. “That ain’t our decision to make.”

Wash cleared his throat and turned to meet Flynn’s eyes before glancing back out at the street again. “I know.” He pulled the lace curtain aside and peered down at the street. “We’re going to have to take them one at a time,” he murmured after a long moment. “We can’t leave Rose here unguarded, and can’t just one of us handle Hudson and Cage both on top of the crowd.”

“I’ll take Hudson first,” Flynn said with a nod of agreement. “You stay with these two,” he added, but then stopped and turned to frown at Rose and Cage, who were both watching him. Flynn glanced again at Wash worriedly and found his friend glaring at him.

“You don’t have to worry about no damn escape,” Wash hissed. “Take him,” he grunted, then turned away and thumped down into the only empty chair in the room.

Flynn pursed his lips unhappily. Nothing about this job had gone right. He turned to Hudson, who was still wallowing groggily on the floor, and gestured for him to stand. “Come on,” he muttered.

Hudson stood with great difficulty, his head bleeding at his hairline, and sneered at him.

“First sign of trouble from you, and I’ll save the Army some rope, understand?” Flynn warned, his hand deliberately loosening the strap over his gun.

“See you on the other end, hoss,” Rose drawled with pleasure, and Flynn hastily escorted Hudson out of the room before they could start fighting one last time.

Chapter 6

B
AT
S
TRINGER
and his roughly two dozen hired men rode into the city of St. Louis just as an excited crowd was dispersing from the riverfront. Stringer watched the festivities silently from atop his horse, wondering what was going on and if it was important to them.

Finally, he decided it was nothing to concern them, probably just some local excitement over this or that, and he nodded for his boys to disband. They didn’t want to attract attention by bunching up near the docks. They were to meet later, after the scheduled departure of a paddle steamer called Oil Cake Jim. Until then, the only thing Stringer ordered them to do was stay away from the drink and keep a wary eye on the extra ten men they’d recruited. The riverboat pilot they’d found was a drunk, which was why he was found in a saloon and easily cajoled into helping them, and not out on the river piloting a boat. But Stringer had high hopes that he’d be relatively sober by the time they needed his brand of expertise.

Stringer dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to Frank Alvarado. The man looked down at him expectantly from atop his horse.

“Head to the docks, hire a skiff,” Stringer ordered as he pulled out a leather pouch full of coins and folding money and tossed it to Alvarado.

“Just one?” the man asked. He caught the bag and put it quickly into his vest.

Stringer nodded. They would need two, but Stringer intended to steal the other one just before setting off downriver. He told Alvarado as much and the man nodded obediently and headed off with the horses.

Stringer watched him go, knowing how lucky he was to have a man he could trust at his right hand. The thought bent his mind toward Jack Kale and he winced.

He stood on the bustling street alone, looking around at the city. He’d never been to Missouri. In fact, before making the trip to Colorado to take the meeting with John Baird, Stringer had never been further from Texas than Old Mexico. He wouldn’t even have been tempted to make this trip if the man who’d approached him in San Antonio hadn’t said Jack Kale’s name. He’d almost hoped Kale would be in Colorado. Most folks thought Stringer himself had killed Kale and buried him in the Texas desert, a spat between partners or lovers or adversaries, depending on which version you heard.

But that hadn’t been the case. Stringer had indeed tried to kill Kale, but only after Kale had informed him he was leaving. Just picking up and walking away, without so much as an explanation or even a proper goodbye. Kale had managed to cut off Stringer’s finger in the ensuing fight, and Stringer knew he’d lodged a bullet in Kale’s ribs in return.

But whether Kale was still alive somewhere, Stringer didn’t know. Stringer did know that if he was, he’d sure like to find him. Whether to kill him or kiss him, Stringer hadn’t yet decided.

With the amount of gold they were receiving for this simple job, Stringer could afford to pay other men to find Kale if he was so inclined.

Right now, though, he was tired. He didn’t want to think about anything but a glass of whiskey. He began making his way toward the nearest hotel, rolling his big shoulders under the leather duster and working out the kinks.

He nodded to two men coming out of the hotel, noticing the marshal’s badge on the blond man’s lapel and the hand irons on the big guy he was dragging along beside him.

Stringer tipped his hat carefully, holding his head to the side in case his likeness was known this far north.

The marshal merely nodded to him in passing, growling to his prisoner to move along and not cause any more trouble. Stringer turned and watched them go for a moment, his eyes on the chains that restrained the big, dirty prisoner.

“But for the grace of God go I,” he murmured to himself wryly before stepping into the hotel.

“
H
EY
, boss,” Gabriel Rose murmured after roughly ten minutes of silence. “How about a bath, hmm? Cage and I both could certainly use one.”

Marshal Washington glared at him silently for a moment, then he looked at Cage and his expression softened. Why he seemed to be able to affect the marshal in such a way, Cage didn’t know. He had seen many reactions to his silence; most involved a distant sort of pity, others disdain or outright dismissal.

Marshal Washington’s reaction was peculiar in that he couldn’t seem to decide how to react. Gabriel Rose’s reaction was even more peculiar in that the silence seemed to intrigue him. It almost felt like Gabriel admired the way Cage was.

Cage cleared his throat and glanced at Gabriel, catching a quick wink from the charismatic shootist. He’d been expecting this ever since they’d rolled into St. Louis. He knew Gabriel had a plan, he just hadn’t figured out what it was yet.

“A bath,” Wash finally muttered grudgingly as he sat forward.

Cage leaned forward and nodded, looking at the marshal hopefully. Whatever Gabriel had planned, he hoped it included water. He had been dirty for so long, he thought he might actually feel like a person again if he could get clean.

“I’ve got the money for it, Marshal, if that’s the problem,” Gabriel offered. “I’d pay a lot more than a dollar for a bath right about now.”

Cage nodded vigorously and looked at Gabriel urgently in agreement.

“So would Cage,” Gabriel supplied.

He had yet to misunderstand Cage’s actions, and that in itself made Cage appreciate the man more than he had thought possible. He would miss Gabriel Rose when he was gone.

Wash sighed long and loud and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. Finally, he looked over at Cage and Gabriel again and nodded curtly. “First sign of trying to skin out on me, and I will shoot you,” he warned in a no-nonsense voice, and Cage believed him.

“You’ve got little to worry about from us, Marshal. If anything we’d escape
after
the bath,” Gabriel assured him with a smile.

Cage reached over and smacked him on the arm, causing Gabriel to laugh.

Wash stood up and began to pace, holding his chin in his hand. Cage knew that he was trying to figure out how to let one of them bathe while still keeping an eye on the other and not force all three of them to remain in the same room.

Cage glanced at Gabriel and met the man’s intelligent black eyes. His fingers brushed Cage’s wrist under the cold iron and Cage shivered, looking down at Gabriel’s hand and back up. He nodded in answer to the unasked question. Yes, he wanted more time with Gabriel. Another touch, another kiss. Anything they could steal from their borrowed time.

He could see the cunning shining in Gabriel’s black eyes as he looked at him. He wondered if the two marshals understood what sort of man they were dealing with. He almost felt sorry for them.