The Barefoot Bride (29 page)

Men had stepped aside as he shouldered through the batwing doors of the saloon and looked around. Apparently he hadn't found whoever it was he'd been looking for, because he sauntered over to the table against the wall—Pike Hardesty's table—and sat down. He had asked Red in a low, raspy voice—obviously disguised—for a deck of
cards and a glass of rye. Since then, he had played solitaire and ignored the rest of the room.

When Pike started down the stairs, a hush settled over the saloon. Hardesty had his Colt revolver drawn and aimed at the Marauder. He walked right up to the masked man and said, “This time I aim to find out who's under that mask.”

“You will, Pike,” the Marauder said.

Since all eyes were focused on the confrontation across the room, it was easy for Patch and Whit to slip in under the batwing doors of the saloon. They sidled along the wall trying to be inconspicuous.

“I don't see Pa,” Patch whispered, searching the barroom.

“Maybe he ain't here yet.”

Patch shot Whit a look of disdain. “We're here. And he left before we did.”

“Maybe he's upstairs,” Whit suggested.

At that moment Patch caught sight of the Masked Marauder. She grabbed Whit's arm and said, “He's here.”

“Where? I don't see him.”

“Not Pa, you idiot! The Masked Marauder!”

Whit's eyes rounded when he spied the masked man dressed all in black. “What's he doing here?”

“Looks like he's facing down Pike Hardesty.”

Patch looked up the stairs. If Pa was up there, he'd be with Dora. She didn't think he'd had much to do with Dora since Molly came along. If she went upstairs, she could warn Pa not to come down. But if she left the barroom, she might miss the Masked Marauder in action. She finally decided to station herself at the bottom of the stairs. That way, she'd be able to warn her pa if he showed up.

Patch's heart was thudding as she watched the Masked Marauder play his game of solitaire, despite the gun trained on him by Pike Hardesty. She could see him talking but couldn't hear what he was saying.

/
don
V
care what he told me. The Masked Marauder has to be Ethan,
she thought.

He had left the ranch right after Pa, riding to the rescue. He could have stopped to get his mask from the warehouse at the edge of town. Why else would the Masked Marauder have appeared in public like this and forced Pike Hardesty into a confrontation, except to save her pa?

“Why don't you take off that mask and let all these fine folks see who you are?” Pike said.

The Marauder turned another card. “Does it really matter who I am, Pike?”

“Naw. I'd just like to see your face when I kill you,” Pike said with a grin. “Now get up slow and easy, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Everyone in the saloon held their breath, waiting to see if the Marauder would go for his guns. There was a murmur of surprise when he stood up, just as Pike had ordered.

Abruptly, Red spoke from behind the bar. “Do your killing outside, Pike. I've laid down enough fresh sawdust on your account.”

Pike slowly backed away from the Marauder to bring Red into his line of sight. The bartender had a shotgun aimed at him. “Whatever you say, Red. Just don't go gettin’ an itchy trigger finger.”

“Come on, you,” Pike said, gesturing the Marauder out from behind the table with his gun. “Outside.”

Patch and Whit melted into the wall as the Masked Marauder passed by them. Patch could have reached out and touched him, he was so close. It wasn't until he had nearly reached the batwing doors that Patch realized he didn't have Ethan's hitching gait. But if the Masked Marauder wasn't Ethan Hawk, who was it?

“That's Da,” Whit croaked.

“What?” Patch hissed.

“Da is the Masked Marauder!” he hissed back. “Look at him. At his hands. At his mouth. It's him!”

Patch's eyes rounded, and her jaw dropped. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Ethan was—But Ethan
wasn't
the Masked Marauder. The Marauder didn't have Ethan's limp. If Whit was right, her father was about to face down Pike Hardesty in a gunfight!

She shoved Whit ahead of her and urged, “Let's go! We have to help him if we can!”

They were caught up in the crowd that poured from the saloon into the street after the two gunmen. The onlookers backed up against the buildings on either side of Front Street, out of the line of fire. Patch and Whit found a spot behind the horse trough from which to watch the showdown.

“We have to do something!” Patch said.

“Da doesn't need our help,” Whit said confidently. “He can handle this with one hand tied behind his back.”

Patch stared at Whit for a moment, then out at the masked man before her, whom she now recognized as her father. Whit seemed confident that her pa could save himself despite the fact Pike Hardesty was standing
there holding a gun on him. Patch thought of the reverence she had always felt for the capabilities of the mythical masked hero. She cringed at the memory of all the unnecessary battles she had fought on her father's behalf. He was not a coward. Never had been. She was the one who had been afraid—of what people would think. Patch felt a welling of emotion in her throat.

“You're right,” she said to Whit. “Pa can take care of himself.”

In fact, the Marauder didn't seem the least perturbed by the fact Pike held a gun on him. When he reached the middle of the street, he turned to Pike and said, “I warned you what would happen if you didn't get out of town. I'm willing to make this a fair fight.”

Pike snickered. “I ain't.”

When Molly drove into Fort Benton, she saw the crowd gathered on Front Street. She saw the two men in the distance faced off against one another and knew what she had to do.

She stopped the buggy and said, “Climb down, Nessie, and wait here for me.” She helped her daughter out of the buggy, then lashed the buckskin gelding with the whip, sending him galloping down the street straight for the two men.

Pike heard the excited roar of the crowd behind him and took his eyes off the Marauder for one second to see what had caused it.

In that moment the Marauder drew his gun and fired.

Pike saw his own shot go wide in the same instant he felt a bullet strike him in the chest. He staggered, then his knees crumpled and he fell on his face. The Marauder walked over and knelt down beside him.

“Who are you?” Pike rasped.

The masked man leaned over to whisper in his ear.

Pike's eyes widened. “Bullshit! You can't be —” It was the last thing he ever said.

The crowd converged on the Marauder, shaking his hand, patting him on the back, and begging him to take off his mask.

Molly had pulled the buggy to an abrupt stop when she heard the gunshots and saw a man fall. She sat in the buggy seat, heart pounding, hands tight on the reins to restrain the excited buckskin, and stared at the scene before her. At last she realized it was Pike Hardesty on the ground and that the Masked Marauder was kneeling beside him.

She felt relieved that Pike was dead, but where was Seth? She searched the crowd and
found Patch and Whit peeking over the horse trough in front of the saloon. She would tan their hides when she got them home! She backed the buckskin up and headed the buggy toward them.

Among those watching the events on Front Street with avid interest was Drake Bassett. He was not at all happy with what he had seen. He had counted on Pike to get rid of the Masked Marauder. But usually, if one wanted something done right, one had to do it oneself. Bassett took a Winchester down off the wall mount beside his desk and balanced it on the windowsill to take aim on the Marauder. He had to wait for the shot because the crowd had converged on the masked man.

“I sort of suspected this might happen.”

Bassett froze.

“If you want to live, I suggest you drop that rifle.”

“Who's there?” Bassett stood as the rifle clattered to the floor.

“Turn around and find out,” the voice said.

When Bassett turned, he felt his skin get up and crawl all over him. “It can't be—”

He looked out the window at the man who had shot Pike Hardesty, then back at the masked man standing in front of him—unarmed.
“Is this some kind of joke? A trick? Which one of you is the real Masked Marauder?”

The masked man flashed a smile. “Both of us.”

“Who are you?” Bassett demanded. “And who is he?” He pointed out the window.

“The bane of your existence,” the masked man said in a hard voice.

“I don't think I—” Bassett pulled the gun he kept inside his coat, certain he could kill the unarmed man standing before him. Only, before he even had the gun out of his coat, the man had pulled a knife from behind his back and thrown it. Bassett looked down and saw the hilt protruding from his belly.

“How did you do that?”

“Lots of practice,” the masked man said with a cynical twist of his mouth.

Bassett fell on his side, the lifeblood ebbing out of him.

The masked man stood there for a moment staring at the dead man before him. He tensed as he heard someone at the door, then relaxed when he saw who it was.

“Is he dead?” Dora asked.

“Yes.”

“I'm glad, Ethan.”

Ethan reached up and untied the mask
from his face and shoved it into his pocket. “I'll be moving on now, Dora.”

“But I'm glad you came, Ethan. I'm glad you remembered, and that you came.”

“I owe you, Dora. If you ever need me, Seth will know how to find me.”

“Do you think you'll ever settle down somewhere, Ethan?”

“A man with a price on his head never can.” Ethan looked bleakly out at the Masked Marauder being cheered by the townspeople. “I have to say my good-byes to Seth, but then I'll be on my way.”

Down on the street, Molly was starting to get worried. She had retrieved Nessie, and she had Patch and Whit in tow, but nowhere did she see Seth. Where was he? Had Pike somehow gotten to Seth before the Marauder confronted him?

Patch suddenly jerked free. “There's Pa! Pa!”

Molly turned to see where Patch was pointing. Her jaw dropped as she saw the man standing in the center of the crowd, the man dressed all in black who removed his mask at last to reveal who he was.

Patch and Whit grinned at each other as sheer amazement quieted the crowd. An instant
later, a babble of excited voices erupted.

“Who'd have thought it?”

“Sure had us all fooled, Doc!”

“My God, and we all thought you was a—”

Coward.

Stillness descended for a sobering instant as they all thought the word. Then the babble began again.

“That sure was some fancy shootin’, Doc!”

“You were something else! Just something else!”

Molly felt herself pushed forward by the crowd, who had recognized her and the children and were anxious to reunite them with Seth.

Seth looked sheepish. “I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner, Molly,” he said. “It just wasn't possible.”

“We're having a baby, Pa,” Patch said. “That is, Molly's having a baby.”

The crowd laughed, and someone shouted, “Seems like you been a pretty busy man lately, Doc.”

Molly flushed bright red.

“You gonna keep on wearing a gun, Doc?” someone yelled.

“We need a sheriff here in Fort Benton,” another said. “Seems you'd do a good job.”

“I just want to be a doctor,” Seth said in a quiet voice.

“Come on, Doc. Will you at least think about it?”

“All right,” Seth said. “I'll think about it. Right now, I'm taking my wife and kids home.”

“Sure, Doc, sure.”

Seth wrapped an arm around Molly's shoulders. She remained stiff against him. He had known she would be upset when she found out he had been sneaking out at night to be the Masked Marauder. But he had thought she would at least see the humor in the situation.

Molly wasn't laughing. She wasn't even smiling. As he lifted her up into the buggy seat, she arched a brow and said, “When we get home, we have to talk.”

Ethan joined them at the buggy with Seth's big black horse, which he tied on behind.

Patch leaned out of the buggy and asked, “Did you know Pa was the Masked Marauder, Ethan?”

“How about that!” Ethan said.

Prompted by Ethan's enthusiasm, Patch launched into a litany of accolades for the Masked Marauder.

It was easy for Seth and Molly to avoid
talking on the way home because Patch and Whit never shut up. They argued vociferously over which was the most dangerous exploit of the Masked Marauder. And whether Whit was going to help Patch build a ship in the whiskey bottle she had taken from the saloon. At last Patch said, “For a while I thought Ethan was the Masked Marauder, Pa. Can you imagine that?”

Seth turned and shared a smile with Ethan, who was riding along beside the buggy. “Oh, I can see how you might have been fooled.”

When they got home, Molly took the children inside and fed them supper. Seth unharnessed the buggy and rubbed down the buckskin. Ethan joined him in the barn.

“I wanted to thank you for being a friend when I needed one,” Ethan said.

“Anytime.”

“That Masked Marauder idea of yours worked just fine. You should have seen the look on Bassett's face when he realized there were two of us.”

“How is Drake?”

“Dead,” Ethan said. “Dora's gonna make up some story about a drifter passing through to account for the stab wound in his belly.”

Ethan straightened the buckskin's mane. “It's time I moved on, Seth. Especially now
that the town has seen you use a gun. Eventually, they'll find out who you are. And then
they'll
know where I am.”

“Maybe not.”

Ethan shook his head. “Can't take the chance. Might put you and your family in danger.” Ethan grinned. “Speaking of families, it looks like you're going to be a proud papa again.”

Seth grinned back. “How about that?”

“With another mouth to feed, you might want to take that sheriff's job they offered you in town,” Ethan said.

“I'll think about it.”

“You know, Seth, the past is over and done. It was an accident.”

Seth heaved a sigh. “Yeah.”

“I guess I'd better go say good-bye to Patch before I leave.”