Trackdown (9781101619384) (13 page)

Eugene came back with a lariat. Hannah took it and wrapped it around Eden’s body and the tree trunk several times before knotting it on the other side of the tree, well out of Eden’s reach even if she could move her arms.

Caleb stalked up in the gathering darkness and said, “What in blazes are you doing?”

“You don’t want her getting away, do you?” Hannah challenged him, an obvious note of defiance in her voice. “Hell, she won’t do us any good as a hostage if she runs off.”

“That’s no reason to mistreat her.”

“I didn’t tie her that tight.” Hannah’s tone was surly now. “She’s fine.”

“All right. Just don’t get any ideas. She might turn out to be important to us.”

Hannah just snorted, as if to say how unlikely she considered that possibility.

Hannah was worried about
Caleb
getting ideas, Eden thought. The redhead didn’t like the way he had been treating the prisoner, didn’t even like the fact that Caleb had grabbed Eden and brought her along. Eden had a feeling that if she gave Hannah even the slightest excuse, the redhead would shoot her and claim that she hadn’t had a choice.

So she was going to do her best to cooperate for now and stay alive until Bill had a chance to rescue her. She wouldn’t try to escape, and she wouldn’t pay any attention to Caleb.

But all she could do was hope that he wouldn’t try to pay too much attention to her, at least while Hannah was around…

Exhaustion—and, he supposed, the whiskey—finally caught up to Mordecai Flint and he dozed off sometime during the night. His wounded arm hurting woke him up early, though, and when he wasn’t able to get back to sleep he clambered up off the cot, stumbled into the main room of the marshal’s office, and stirred up the embers in the stove. At this time of year, the mornings were just cool enough to need something to take the chill out of the air.

When the stove had heated up enough, he put coffee on to boil. He would go over to the Nilssons’ café in a little while for breakfast, he decided, but before that he needed something to perk him up. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he was a mite hungover.

Thank goodness the night had been a quiet, peaceful one in Redemption, he thought.

It
had
been quiet and peaceful, hadn’t it?

Mordecai hoped so. Nobody had come looking for the law, so that was encouraging.

The coffee wasn’t ready yet when the office door opened and Glenn Morley came in. Mordecai, sitting behind the desk,
frowned at him and said, “You’re a bartender. What the hell are you doin’ up and around this early in the mornin’?”

“I came to see how you’re doing and change those dressings,” Morley replied. “And I’m up because I haven’t been to bed yet.”

Mordecai grunted.

“Busy night at the Prairie Queen, eh?”

“Yeah. People are upset and worried about that bank robbery, and a lot of people drink when they’re worried. Some of them lost their life’s savings.”

Mordecai scratched at his beard and said, “I never did hold much with banks for that very reason. And o’ course I was always movin’ around a lot, so it seemed to make more sense to keep whatever I had with me. Not that I ever had enough for a banker to want my business.” He used his good arm to gesture toward the stove. “Want a cup of coffee?”

“That would probably be a good idea,” Morley said. “Might keep me awake while I’m messing with that arm of yours.”

“Well, help yourself and pour me a cup while you’re at it.”

Morley smiled wryly.

“I just can’t get away from pouring drinks for people, can I?”

The process of changing the bandages and checking the wounds on Mordecai’s arm took almost half an hour, but the bartender was pleased with what he found. The injuries were clean so far, with no sign of festering.

By the time Mordecai was bound up and his arm was back in the sling, he was starting to get hungry.

“I’m headin’ over to the café for some breakfast,” he said. “Care to join me?”

“No, thanks,” Morley replied. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you this evening. Be careful with that arm between now and then.”

“As careful as this star-packin’ job will let me be,” Mordecai promised.

Before either man could leave the marshal’s office, Mordecai heard an odd, unexpected sound outside. It was similar
to bells ringing but lacked the musical quality bells would have. Instead it was more of a discordant clanging.

“Jehoshaphat!” Mordecai exclaimed. “What’s that racket?”

He went to the door and stepped out onto the little porch in front of the office. Glenn Morley followed behind him. Both men stood there watching as a big, boxlike wagon rolled slowly past, drawn by a team of four mules.

It was hard to see the wagon itself because the outsides of it were covered with pots, pans, washbasins, tin plates, bowls, cups, shovels, hoes, saws, axes…Almost every kind of metal tool or implement a person could think of hung from hooks attached to the wooden sides of the wagon.

The man on the driver’s seat of the vehicle was eye-catching as well. He wore a bright red shirt with loose sleeves, a black vest over it, and black trousers. A red bandanna was wrapped around his head, with a black plug hat pushed down on top of it. His hawk-like face sported a gray goatee around his mouth. Beside him on the seat rode a medium-sized, black-and-white, long-haired dog.

At the sight of Mordecai standing there watching him, the driver pulled back on the reins and brought his team to a stop. He lifted a hand in greeting and called, “You are the sheriff, yes?”

“Yes,” Mordecai replied, then gave a shake of his head and went on, “I mean, no, I ain’t the sheriff. But I’m the deputy town marshal, which means I’m the law in these parts right now, the marshal bein’ out of town. What in the name of all that’s holy are you?”

“I’m a tinker,” the colorful stranger said. “I sell pots, pans, and all these other goods you see hanging on my wagon. Also I sharpen knives, axes, scissors, and anything else that needs a keen edge. My name is Gregor Smolenski.”

“You’re a gypsy,” Glenn Morley said. There was a note of accusation in his voice.

Smolenski’s shoulders rose and fell.

“I prefer to think of myself as a citizen of the world. But in point of fact, I was born in England.”

“That doesn’t make you any less of a gypsy.”

“A traveling businessman, that’s all I am.”

Morley grunted in obvious dislike.

“What brings you to Redemption?” Mordecai asked. “Mr. Smoz…Smok…Smoltz…”

“Call me Gregor,” the tinker said. He scratched the dog’s ears. “And this is my friend and business associate Tip. He does tricks to entertain the children while I conduct transactions with their parents.”

“You mean the dog distracts folks while you pick their pockets,” Morley said with a scowl. “I’ve seen your type before.”

Smolenski pressed a hand to his chest.

“You wound me, sir,” he declared. “I barely arrive in your town, and already the insults and the suspicions begin.” He looked at Mordecai. “I stopped to introduce myself, Marshal—”

“Deputy,” Mordecai corrected.

“Deputy, then. I stopped because I always introduce myself to the local peace officers when I arrive in a new town. I’m a law-abiding man, Deputy, who wishes only to do a little business and then be on my way.”

“Don’t trust him,” Morley warned. “I never saw a gypsy yet who wasn’t a thief.”

“Yeah, some folks say that about Injuns, too, but I’ve known a heap of ’em who were better men than me,” Mordecai said. He fixed Smolenski with a hard stare. “You sure you don’t intend to do nothin’ except sell those goods you got?”

“That and sharpen blades and do any repair work that needs to be done. I can repair any tool or piece of machinery.”

“Reckon I don’t see any harm in that. But I’ll be keepin’ an eye on you, mister. And I won’t be in the mood to put up with any tomfoolery.”

Smolenski nodded toward the black sling and asked, “What happened to your arm, Deputy?”

“I got winged shootin’ it out with a bunch of bank robbers. So let that be a warnin’ to you not to cause any trouble. My gun arm still works fine and dandy.”

“I hope you recover quickly,” Smolenski said. He lifted the reins. “I’ll park my wagon down at the end of Main Street, yes?”

“That’ll be fine. You can stay as long as I don’t get any complaints about you.”

“You’ll get no complaints, of that I assure you.”

The tinker slapped the reins against the backs of the mules and started the wagon rolling along the street again. Mordecai and Glenn Morley watched him go, and the bartender said, “I hope you’re not making a mistake by letting that crook stay here, Deputy.”

“We ain’t got no proof he’s a crook,” Mordecai pointed out, “and if I am makin’ a mistake, it sure as blazes won’t be the first one I ever made! Now, I’m headin’ for the café. My belly’s plumb empty.”

Bill didn’t think it would be possible for him to sleep at all, as worried about Eden as he was, but weariness had a way of catching up to a man, no matter what sort of tragedy had befallen him. And having been a cowboy, sleeping in a blanket roll on the hard ground was nothing new for him. So despite the circumstances that might have combined to rob him of slumber, he dozed off and slept for several hours that first night on the trail.

He was still plenty tired the next morning, though, and his eyes felt gritty and raw. He ignored those annoyances, knowing that a couple of cups of coffee strong enough to get up and waltz around on its own hind legs would take care of them.

“Any problems during the night?” he asked Josiah Hartnett. Thinking that he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, Bill had taken one of the first shifts of standing watch. He didn’t know if a guard was necessary, but it seemed like a reasonable precaution this far from town.

“Everything was quiet,” Hartnett replied. He had been the last one to stand guard. “Except for that cowboy’s snoring. For a young man, he saws more wood than anybody I ever saw.”

“That ain’t true!” Jesse Overstreet protested from where he hunkered on his heels, sipping from a tin cup of coffee. “I been told I sleep like an angel, with nary a peep.”

“Whoever told you that was lying to you, son,” Hartnett said.

“Well…I got to admit, it was a soiled dove in Dodge City named Flossie, and she might not’ve been all that truthful. Come to think of it, I believe she stole my watch.”

Bill glanced at the eastern sky, where the gray of approaching dawn was growing lighter.

“Let’s eat and get ready to ride,” he said. “It won’t be long until there’ll be enough light to pick up the trail again.”

Before the sun had even started to peek over the horizon, the members of the posse were back in their saddles. Enough reddish-gold light filled the sky for Bill to see the hoofprints of the horses they were following. That many riders, traveling in a bunch, weren’t that hard to follow.

But it wouldn’t continue to be this easy, Bill thought. So far it appeared that the bank robbers hadn’t even attempted to hide their trail. They had just galloped out of Redemption to the west, then curved north, moving as fast as they could. No doubt they had slowed down from time to time or even stopped to rest their horses, but for the most part they had been concerned only with speed, with putting distance between them and any pursuers.

Today, Bill told himself, today they would start to get tricky.

The sun hadn’t been up long when the posse followed their quarry to a low line of bluffs.

“Is this that escarpment you were talkin’ about?” Bill asked Josiah Hartnett as they reined in to study the terrain.

The liveryman shook his head.

“No, that’s a little taller than this and farther on. This is just a rough spot in the prairie.”

“Looks like they headed for that canyon,” Bill said, pointing to a narrow gap.

One of the other men asked, “You reckon they’re holed up in there waitin’ to ambush us, Marshal?”

Bill had already thought about that. He said, “I don’t think
so. Doesn’t look to me like there’s enough cover for that. But just in case, the rest of you hang back. I’ll go check it out.”