Authors: Linda George
“
Sure do. Outside of Denver, where it's cool. We don't ever have it this hot. Eighty, maybe, at summer’s peak. In Colorado, a man can take a deep breath and not feel like his lungs have been branded by wind and dust.”
“
Gosh. I'd love to see your ranch sometime.”
“
Maybe you will. If you ever get to Denver, just ask in town where the McCabe Ranch is. We'd be glad to have you visit.”
“
Honest?”
“
Honest.”
“
Wow. Can I tell my Grandpa?”
“
Sure, why not?”
Josh
ran into the hotel, boots clomping on the stairs.
For a moment, Tom felt lonely with the boy gone.
Someday, maybe he and Rosalie would have a son like Josh. And a daughter he suspected they'd name Rose Elizabeth. Tom shook his head to clear away those thoughts. This wasn't the time to be dreaming about having babies and what to name them. They had a long way to go before thinking about anything so pleasant and satisfying.
Josh
came downstairs, then ran off toward a bunch of boys on the far side of the street who waved for him to join them. In two shakes, he headed back, fast as his bare feet could run.
“
Mr. McCabe! He's out!”
“
Whoa, now. Slow down. What are you talking about?”
“
That man who got put in jail in the Acre twice. He got out, sometime yesterday. He told the marshal if he tried to put him back in there again, he'd get him fired! Then, he went to a saloon and drank so much, he passed out. Bartender dumped him out back. He's awake now, though.”
“
Are you talking about Zane Strickland?”
“
That's the one! Toby says he's looking for you. If I's you, Mr. McCabe, I'd leave town quick. We been hearing 'bout what he done in the Acre. He might shoot you! Or cut you with that big knife of his. We heard tell it was more'n a foot long, and sharp on both sides, with a jagged tip that rips, 'stead of cutting clean.”
“
Most of that's exaggeration. I can take care of myself, Josh. You stay away from him, you hear?”
“
Yes, sir. I ain't been anywhere near him since he came to Fort Worth. We heard that he cut a lady into six pieces!”
“
You heard wrong. Don't go telling stories about him, or he might come looking for you.”
That seemed to make a believer of
Josh Winslow.
“
No, sir, I won't tell no more stories!”
“
Now, go get me a saddle horse. Quick.”
“
Yes sir!” He ran off toward the stable.
If Strickland was out of jail, he might very well go back to The Yellow Rose.
Tom had to get back there. Fast.
<><><><>
Rosalie was just going out the front door when Zane Strickland arrived, looking better than she'd ever seen him. Clean clothes, his hair cut and oiled, didn't make sense at all after being in that filthy jail. He must've gone straight to a hotel to clean up.
“
Stop right there, Mr. Strickland. Don't come any closer.”
Zane leaned against the gate post, swaying slightly, as though intoxicated.
No surprise there.
“
I just came to tell you we'll be leaving for Denver in the morning. The marshal didn't cotton to my paw’s lawyer showing up on the train to bust me out of his jail again. He's just looking for a reason to put me back in that filthy hole and throw away the key.”
“
I have a proposition for you.”
Zane's eyebrows went up at that.
“I'm all ears, sugar plum.”
Rosalie swallowed her retort and squared her shoulders.
“My father was murdered yesterday.”
“
Oh, was he now?”
“
Yes, he was. Shot in the back. If you hadn't been in jail, I would have sent the law looking for you.”
Zane said nothing.
“Also, my sister killed herself. I hold you directly responsible for her death. If you hadn't attacked her the way you did, twice, she would be alive today.”
“
You thinking about calling the marshal?”
“
It would do no good. I am aware of how things work in the Acre.” Grief clutched at her, but she pushed it down and continued. “This means I'm the sole owner of this house, The Yellow Rose, and the horses my father prized so highly.”
Zane brightened at that.
“Once we're married, all that will be mine.”
“
I won't marry you. You cannot force me to do so. I am betrothed to Tom McCabe.”
“
Well, now, isn't that nice. There's still the matter of the money your sorry paw couldn't cover in the game. You may be betrothed, but you're also indentured. To me.”
“
You don't have to remind me. That's the reason for what I'm about to offer you in exchange for my being released from that indenture.”
“
I'm listening.” He switched to the other elbow, on the other gate post.
“
All of what I own here in Fort Worth is yours, including the horses, in exchange for my freedom.”
Zane considered a moment.
“The whole lot isn't worth two thousand dollars. No deal.”
Rosalie was afraid that would be his reaction.
“Very well, then, I have another deal to offer you.”
He swayed so much, he almost fell.
After recovering his feet, he slid down the fence post and sat on the ground, knees bent to brace himself. “I'm listening.”
“
A race. Between my horse and yours. If you win, I shall serve my indenture as house maid to the Strickland family. Not as your wife. You will own this house, The Yellow Rose, and my horses, everything of value that's mine. I'll have it appraised as to fair market value. That amount will be deducted from the two thousand dollars owed, and I shall work off the rest at acceptable wages for a house maid.”
“
And if I lose?”
“
Then my indenture is cancelled and I’ll keep what’s mine.” It pained her to think he might come out of this mess exactly as he went in. “And your horse will be mine.”
Zane laughed until he lost his balance against the post and fell backward.
Rosalie saw a rider heading for the house in a big hurry. Tom. She'd hoped to have everything arranged before he knew what she was doing. He'd try to talk her out of it for sure. Zane Strickland still had not agreed to the terms she'd presented.
Tom stepped down from his horse.
“I'll take care of this filthy, stinking pile of garbage for you, Miss Kincannon.”
“
Leave him be. He isn't threatening me.” She stared at Zane for a moment, appalled at the thought of this man as Tom's banker. “What do you say, Mr. Strickland. Do we have a deal?”
Tom frowned.
“A deal? What are you talking about?”
Zane pulled himself off the ground, grabbed the fence post, then grinned that malevolent grin she'd come to hate.
“Deal, Miss Kincannon. You’ll need to give me four days to get my horse to Ft. Worth.”
“
Agreed. Saturday. Shall we say one o’clock in the afternoon?”
“
Works for me. And now, I'm heading for someplace with lots of whiskey.” He turned, walked past Tom as though he weren't there, and headed down the street.
Tom came to the porch.
“What was all that about? What have you done?”
Rosalie started to tremble.
The shaking got so bad, she had to sink onto the top step to keep from falling. Tom sat beside her.
“
Rosalie, answer me! What have you done?”
She told him.
“Dammit, woman, are you daft? Making deals with the likes of that scum? You don't honestly think he'll live up to his end of the bargain if he loses, do you?”
“
I've thought of that. I'm going to write everything down and get him to sign it in front of the marshal, before the race. In Denver, That way, he’ll have to live up to it.” She gripped Tom's arm, needing him to understand. “Don't you see, Tom? This is the only way. I care nothing for this house, that dance hall, or the horses. Unless Zane Strickland brought a horse with him from Denver, he's going to have to buy the fastest horse he can find. It won't make any difference, though, because Rusty has beaten all of them. This is my chance to be free of him, of this place. Free to pledge myself to you, body and soul, for the rest of our lives. Isn't that what you want, too?”
“
You know it is.”
“
Then support me in this. If you turn away, I'll have nothing. Nothing!”
Tom gathered her into his arms.
“Rusty will beat the horse set against him, and then we'll go home to Denver.”
He could feel some of the tension leave her as the trembling stopped.
If he'd gotten here only a few minutes earlier, he could've stopped this nonsense. There was one rock-bottom fact about Zane Strickland that Rosalie didn't know. He never played fair.
Chapter 15
After Tom left, saying he had to wire his paw and let him know what was happening,
Rosalie sorted through everything in the house, searching carefully for any sign of the money William had stashed.
She couldn't think of him as
her father any more. The word stuck in her throat like a day-old biscuit, dry and unpalatable.
Some of the furnishings could be sold, but most of what she owned had no real worth.
The antimacassars on the chairs and sofa had been crocheted by Rosalie and her mother, while Rosalie was learning the gentile art of needlework. The intricate tatting escaped her, though. Folded carefully in a trunk, waiting for just the right table and time, lay the tablecloth Rose Montgomery had tatted two years before she died.
Rosalie pulled out the old trunk and found the cloth.
It had mellowed to the soft yellow of candlelight. Perhaps, someday, it would grace the dining table in the Tom McCabe household.
With a sigh, Rosalie refolded the cloth, placed it between two quilts, and closed the trunk.
Four days until the race. Four short days to sort through her life, select what she could take with her, and decide what to do with the remainder. With a rush of heat and anger she knew what she'd like to do when the time came to leave Fort Worth.
She wished she could burn the dance hall to the ground
, just throw a torch through the front door, then watch the building consumed, just as Elizabeth had been consumed. But such a thing was unthinkable. The next building, less than two feet away, would burn, too, and the building next to it, and the next, down the line.
With another flush
, but this time one of gratification, she watched in her mind as the whole of Hell's Half Acre burst into flames and disappeared from the face of the earth in billows of acrid black smoke. Yes. That's exactly what she'd do if she could.
But the house and dance hall
wouldn’t be hers to burn if Rusty didn't beat Zane Strickland's horse come Saturday.
<><><><>
Rosalie's comment about Zane having to have a horse brought to Ft. Worth prompted Tom to find out if his paw knew anything about the Strickland horses. Tom went across the street to the restaurant to see what he could learn.
If he'd had any doubt about getting people to talk about the race going in the front door, that doubt disappeared the minute he stepped inside.
No one seemed to be able to talk about anything else.
Bat Masterson and Luke Short sat in the center of the room, big as life, having arrived in town late the night before.
Notorious for betting on any sort of contest, it hadn't taken them long to hear about the race and get in the big middle of it.
Tom had never met either man, but stories drifted from city to city about them.
William Barclay
“Bat” Masterson, referred to as personable and debonair, had kept company with some real scoundrels in his time, but never seemed violent or vindictive himself. He could read, enjoyed a good game of poker as much as any man, and would gamble on virtually anything, from cards to dice, horse racing or prizefights, just for the sport of it. He remained loyal to his friends, including Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, and Luke Short.
Luke Short, no
torious as a gambler, had met the famous threesome, Earp, Masterson and Holliday, in Tombstone, Arizona a couple of years back and the four of them had been dubbed “The Dodge City Gang,” since they'd all come to Tombstone by way of Dodge.
Short gambled his way back to Missouri and got involved in the famous,
“Dodge City War” last spring, when the local lawman tried to evict him from the Long Branch saloon for having whores on the premises. No one got killed, but Short had to call in his friends, Earp and Masterson, to protect him.
Tom remembered long discussions over the dinner table with his father and brothers over this group of men
, about whether they should be considered respectable or, as some considered them, outlaws, gamblers and killers.
When Earp and Masterson left Dodge, Luke Short discovered his popularity with local people had fallen too far to rescue the Long Branch.
He sold his interest in the saloon and headed for Texas. Even now, talk in town hinted that Short might stay in Fort Worth.
Tom could care less if Luke Short decided to move his gambling operations to Texas or not.
What Tom didn't like was the gambler betting on Strickland's horse in the race Saturday.
Shooting his mouth off as usual, Short, talking about Zane's horse, said,
“Never been beaten. Man who rides him swears there are times when all four of his legs are off the ground at the same time, just like flying.”
“
Where did Strickland find this horse?” Masterson asked.
“
He won't say. Just said be at the depot at ten tomorrow morning to see the winner of the race arrive.”
Zane had wired his father to send a horse
, as expected. Tom searched his memory, but came up with no recollection of any racing initiated by the Strickland family in all the years they'd known Richard Strickland. Tom listened for another twenty minutes, but learned nothing new. Wagering leaned heavily toward Strickland, due to the bragging he'd been doing and the reputation of the horse, substantiated by Luke Short. The last thing Tom heard before he left the restaurant was the horse's name.
Triumph.
There was something familiar about the name, but Tom couldn’t focus on it right now. Outside, he glanced up and down the street, not knowing quite what to do next, feeling at loose ends. He headed for the telegraph office.
“
Morning. I want to send a wire to Denver.”
The little man behind the counter touched the point of his pencil to his tongue and swept a piece of scrap paper across the desk to write on.
“Whata ya wanna say?”
Tom took the paper and pencil, scribbled the message, then handed it back.
“I'll be at the El Paso when the reply comes. I'd like to have it immediately.”
“
You'll have it as soon as I have a chance to bring it to you after it gets here.”
“
Thanks.”
Outside, Tom spotted
Josh coming across the street from the restaurant and called him over.
“
I just sent a wire to Denver. Will you check from time to time and be sure he brings me the answer in a hurry when it comes?”
“
You bet!”
Tom dropped another two bits into
Josh's sweaty palm. At this rate, Josh would have a sizable portion of the little money Tom had left before the train pulled out of here with Tom aboard. He'd arrived expecting to spend a week or less in this God-forsaken hole. Already, he'd been here two weeks, with no clear idea of when this nightmare would end.
Tom chided himself for selfishness.
Rosalie had been years in this nightmare. He would stay however long it proved necessary to get her away from here. Damn, but he felt helpless!
<><><><>
The clock inched toward two o'clock before Josh came running to Tom's room, pounding on the door as though fire had broken out and he'd been told to spread the alarm.
“
It came! I brought it the second he stopped writing!” He puffed and panted through a wide grin, holding the wrinkled paper out to Tom.
“
Thanks, Josh.” He reached into his pocket.
“
No sir. You done paid me. Fact is, you've paid me so much already, I'll do anything you want while you're here at the hotel, no extra charge.”
Tom's estimation of the boy rose another couple of slots.
“Thanks, Josh. You're a fine man to do business with.”
“
Any time.” Josh tipped his hat and strutted back down the stairs.
Tom read the wire quickly.
NO NEWS YET ON TRIUMPH STOP STRICKLAND WON'T TALK TO ME STOP WILL KEEP DIGGING STOP NEED YOU HOME SOON STOP AMOS MC CABE
Tom wished his father could be here in person.
Always, in the past, whenever he needed a man to talk to about a problem, he'd sought his father first, then Will. Bo still didn't have a lick of sense and they all wondered if he ever would.
But neither Amos nor Will happened to be in Fort Worth right now.
Any other time, Tom would've dropped everything and headed home after reading that last phrase, “need you home soon.” All his life, Tom had done precisely what his father requested or instructed. Having to ignore that request left a sour taste in his throat.
What would Paw suggest?
With a grin, almost hearing his father's voice in his mind, Tom decided to pay a second visit to Phillip Mallory. Could be Phillip might know something about this horse, Triumph.
Tom stopped by Rosalie's on his way to the Mallory Ranch, to see if she wanted to accompany him, but she declined.
“There are matters I must clear up before Saturday. Come by when you get back,” was all she'd tell him.
He had no choice but to accept her decision and go alone.
He reached the Mallory Ranch mid-afternoon. Phillip, out mending fence, wouldn't be back to the house until suppertime. Marietta took Tom's hat, ushered him to a chair, disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes, then brought both of them a glass of cold lemonade with chipped ice.
“
I want to say again, Tom, how proud we are for you and Rosalie. She's such a lovely young woman.”
“
She is, for a fact. Thank you, ma'am.”
“
Marietta. Ma'am is from the time when you were nothing but a child, being polite to your elders.”
Tom smiled and nodded.
“Something is wrong. I can tell. I know you've come to talk to Phillip, but if I can be of any help at all, I’ll be happy to listen.”
“
As a matter of fact, I think you can help.” Somehow, Marietta seemed the perfect person to talk to right now. But he didn't talk about the horse. He'd save that for Phillip. He told her, instead, about Rosalie and the sad news she'd faced, returning to Fort Worth. Tears gathered in Marietta's eyes as he recounted the tale.
“
Oh, that poor, poor dear. How dreadful that must have been for her, to lose her sister and her father in the same day.”
Tom took a deep breath.
“She wants me to go back to Denver without her.”
“
But why on earth?”
“
She's afraid my knowing her is the cause of our financial difficulty.” He told her about the bull and Strickland calling in all the McCabe notes. “We'll be able to handle it,” he added quickly, “but it's damned inconvenient, to say the least. We’ll have to wait on buying a new bull, but Gabriel has agreed to loan us his bull for this year’s calves.”
Her lips pressed together in a flat line.
“Despicable. What kind of man is this banker of yours?”
“
Exactly what he sounds like. Up until now, though, he's been fair, if not friendly.”
“
This isn't Rosalie's fault. Would it help if I talked to her?”
“
You haven't heard the worst part.” He told her about the indenture and Rosalie's bet with Zane Strickland.
Marietta rose and paced about the room, wringing her hands, shaking her head from time to time, mumbling to herself.
He caught the words, “horrible,” and “distressing.” When she finally stopped her pacing and came back to the chair opposite Tom, she said, simply, “What can I do to help?”
Tom released a long breath.
“You've already helped, just by listening. I want to clear all this up, take Rosalie to Denver, and marry her. But none of that's possible until she's free of Strickland's hold on her.”
The back door slammed.
Phillip Mallory came into the front room, dropped his hat on a chair and extended his hand to Tom with a wide grin.
“
I saw your horse out front. Didn't expect to see you again, so soon.” He sat next to Marietta on the sofa.
“
Phillip, Rosalie is in terrible trouble,” she told him.
Phillip frowned, darker and darker, as she related the story Tom had told her.
“Strickland, did you say?”
“
Richard Strickland. The son is Zane.”
“
I've heard of him. Amos mentioned him once, I think.”
“
Our quarrel isn't with Richard, though. Or hasn't been, until he called in the notes. Paw wouldn't want me burdening you with this problem. I'm glad he isn't here to cuff my ears for telling you.”
Phillip smiled tolerantly.
“If Amos were here, I'd stand ready to help, just as I'm ready today to help you, Tom.”
“
I appreciate that, sir.” Tom leaned back in the chair and stared at the beamed ceiling for a moment. “There doesn't seem to be anything to do. We can only pray Rosalie's horse can beat this horse, Triumph.”