Trackdown (9781101619384) (9 page)

Tom’s eyes widened, and for a second he didn’t know what to think—or to hope for. If Walter Shelton had gotten himself killed, that might distract Virgie from her lover for a while. In her grief, she might even turn back to her husband for comfort.

Tom supposed he should feel bad about letting those thoughts cross his mind, but somehow he couldn’t.

“Is he all right?” he asked, not knowing what he wanted to hear in reply.

“Yeah, but from what I heard, he pulled out a gun and took a shot at those outlaws while they were robbing the bank. Can you believe that?”

Tom couldn’t. He could no more imagine dry, dour Walter Shelton blazing away with a six-gun than he could flap his arms and fly to the moon.

“They didn’t kill him?”

“No, Roy Fleming tackled him and knocked him down to save his life. It wasn’t much of a gunfight.”

“Where is he now?”

“At home, I guess,” Harry replied.

“Thanks,” Tom said. He turned his horse and started toward the Shelton house.

If Virgie had heard about the robbery and her father’s involvement in it, and it seemed likely she had, she would have headed for her parents’ home to see about Shelton. She might not be very good at following the commandment about adultery, but she damn sure honored her father and mother.

The house was two stories, one of the biggest in town, and it had been expensive to build out there on the Kansas plains where lumber had to be freighted in. The place even had a picket fence around it, with an iron gate set into it.

Tom brought his horse to a halt in front of that gate, swung down, and looped the reins around one of the pickets. He went up a flagstone walk to the columned porch and knocked on the door.

His mother-in-law opened it a moment later. Clarissa
Shelton was what some people called a handsome woman with graying blond hair that was worked into tight braids and wound at the back of her head. As far as Tom was concerned, she was as dumb as a post, but she didn’t get on his nerves as much as his father-in-law did.

“Tom!” she exclaimed when she saw him. “Thank God you’re here. Come in.”

Her reaction to seeing him confirmed her stupidity. She had no idea what her daughter had been doing. She believed that Virgie and Tom were still happy in their marriage.

“You heard what happened?” she went on as Tom stepped into the foyer.

“Something about Walter shooting it out with some bank robbers?”

“That’s right! He was so brave. Foolish, but brave. He’s in the parlor with Virginia.”

Clarissa never called her daughter “Virgie.” Shelton did, sometimes. Tom always did, because it didn’t sound as highfalutin as Virginia.

Shelton was sitting in an armchair in the parlor. Virgie perched on a stool that was drawn up next to his right knee. She held his right hand in both of hers. When Tom came into the room, she glanced up at him and said, “There you are.” She didn’t sound nearly as glad to see him as her mother had.

Shelton had a big bruise on the side of his forehead. Tom didn’t know if he’d gotten it when Roy Fleming knocked him down or if something else had happened. He never would have expected to see Shelton looking like he’d gotten into a fight.

“Hello, Walter,” Tom said. “I hear you had some excitement today. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Shelton snapped, “and one of those blasted bandits would be dead now if Roy Fleming hadn’t butted in.”

“You’d be dead, too,” Virgie said. “The other outlaws would have shot you.”

Shelton snorted and said, “Maybe, maybe not. Criminals like that are cowards. They might’ve turned tail and run once somebody stood up to them.”

Tom didn’t believe that for a second. Judging by what
he’d heard so far, those outlaws would have blown Shelton full of holes. He supposed he was glad that hadn’t happened.

“Where’d you get a gun?” he asked. “I didn’t know you packed iron.”

Shelton looked at him with narrowed eyes and said, “There’s probably a lot you don’t know about me, Tom.”

That might be true. Right now, Tom didn’t care. He had missed the excitement, and the money his father had lost didn’t really matter that much to him, so as far as he could see, today’s events didn’t affect him at all. He could go on with what was really important to him.

Plotting his revenge on his wife and Ned Bassett.

“Is the marshal putting together a posse?” Shelton continued.

“I’m pretty sure he is. His wife was kidnapped.”

“We heard,” Clarissa said. “That poor woman. Carried off by bandits like that.” Her voice grew hushed. “There’s no telling what’s going to happen to her.”

“She’ll probably be all right,” Tom said. “Even outlaws won’t mistreat a decent woman too much.”

That was usually true, he thought, but he would have hated to bet money on it if he was Eden’s husband.

“I think I should get my horse and go with the marshal,” Shelton said, proving that this day held no end of surprises.

“You most certainly will not,” Clarissa said, and her tone made it clear that she wouldn’t put up with any argument. “You’re injured. One of those brutes kicked you in the head. You’re in no shape to go chasing after outlaws.”

That explained the bruise.

Virgie looked at Tom and asked, “What about you? Are you going with the posse?”

Tom hesitated in answering. Actually, the thought had entered his mind. He was a good rider, able to stay in the saddle for long hours at a time, and a decent shot with both pistol and rifle. He didn’t have any lingering affection for Eden Monroe, but he didn’t want anything bad—anything
else
bad—to happen to her.

But when he looked at Virgie, he realized how much she would like it if he accompanied the posse. If he was gone for
several days, she could spend that time with Bassett. He knew she was cheating on him, but he was damned if he was going to
help
her do it.

“No, I think I’d better stay here,” he said.

“The marshal wanted every able-bodied man who can to go with him.”

“It looked like he’d already got plenty of volunteers. Anyway, they may have left by now. I think it’s more important that I stay here to look after all of you.”

Clarissa smiled and said, “Isn’t that nice?”

Shelton just gave him a hawk-like stare. The old man might not know exactly what was going on, but he wasn’t as gullible as his wife. He knew that Tom had some other reason for staying behind.

He probably thought that his son-in-law was just a coward.

Shelton would find out differently soon enough, Tom told himself. Once he’d figured out exactly what he was going to do, everybody would know about Virgie. She’d be exposed for what she really was: a whore.

Tom felt a sudden qualm as he looked at her. She was his wife, after all. When they were first married, he had loved her, genuinely loved her. That had to be worth something.

But she had changed, and what she had become was unforgivable. His resolve strengthened.

He might not be going along with the posse in pursuit of those bank robbers, but he had some justice of his own to deal out.

By the time Bill emerged from the general store wearing a new pair of boots, with a couple of boxes of .44s in his pockets, he felt considerably stronger. He still experienced a touch of dizziness from time to time, but he was confident that he would be all right.

Josiah Hartnett was with him. The liveryman said, “I’ll go saddle my horse and yours, too, Bill. I imagine you’ll want to check on Mordecai before you leave.”

“I do,” Bill said, “but I’m going back to the office first to get my rifle.”

While he was there he picked up his hat, too, and settled it on his head. He felt even better as he walked out of the office. As long as a fella had his hat, his boots, and his guns, he could start to deal with his problems.

Fear for Eden and her father and worry over Mordecai’s condition gnawed at his guts as he walked across the street to the newspaper office, though. The door was open and several men were standing around on the porch.

They moved aside quickly as Bill stepped up onto the planks. One of the men said, “The deputy’s still alive, Marshal.”

That was good to know. Bill gave the man a curt nod of thanks and went inside.

Mordecai was stretched out on an old sofa that sat against one wall of the office. Bill knew that Phillip Ramsey, the editor and publisher of the Redemption
Star
, sometimes slept on it when he’d been putting in late hours at the paper. Ramsey stood to one side now while Glenn Morley knelt next to the sofa and swabbed blood away from Mordecai’s upper left arm. Several other people were in the room as well, including Jeffrey McKenna, the Methodist preacher, and Charley Hobbs and Leo Kellogg, two local businessmen and members of the town council.

Mordecai had been propped up with some pillows behind him, and he was awake but obviously woozy. He looked up at Bill and said, “Howdy, Marshal. Sorry I…I got…plugged. Happened so fast…there wasn’t a durned thing…I could…I could do about it.”

“Is he drunk?” Bill asked. He was mighty glad to see that Mordecai was alive, but that wound on his arm was an ugly one.

“He’ll need to be even drunker before I start digging around after that bullet,” Morley said. “If I had anything to knock him out, I would.”

“Can’t knock…knock me out,” Mordecai said. “Ol’ skull o’ mine’s…too damn thick.”

“I don’t think he means—” Bill stopped and addressed Morley instead. “How bad is he hurt?”

“The bullet hit the bone. It’s bound to be cracked, but I don’t think it’s a clean fracture. The problem is that the bullet skidded up the bone and is lodged somewhere higher in his arm. I have to find it and get it out, otherwise he’ll stand a good chance of losing that arm.” Morley paused, then added, “Of course, there’s a chance he’ll bleed to death while I’m working on him, too.”

Mordecai didn’t seem to hear that. He said, “I’ll be fixed up here…in a jiffy, Bill. Then we can get after them…damn bank robbers.”

Morley glanced at Bill and shook his head.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, Mordecai,” Bill told his deputy.
“You’re hurt too bad for that. You’ve got to stay here and let these folks look after you.”

Mordecai blinked and said, “But you’re gonna need my help!” He seemed to be making an effort to be more coherent. “I’m the best damn tracker in these parts! If anybody can follow those owlhoots, it’s me.”

Unfortunately, Mordecai was probably right about that, Bill thought. The old frontiersman likely was the best tracker around here.

“I can follow a trail just fine,” Bill told him, hoping that was true. “We’ll find ’em, don’t worry.”

“Thought I saw…thought that one of the varmints…” Mordecai’s voice grew hushed and solemn. “Bill, did I see that one of ’em had your missus with him?”

“That’s right,” Bill said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. “But we’ll find her and bring her back. She’ll be just fine.”

He hoped that was true, too.

“You’re gonna need another few shots of redeye now, Deputy,” Morley said. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Ain’t that…just like a bartender?” Mordecai said. “Always tryin’ to…pour hooch down a fella’s throat.”

Bill couldn’t wait any longer. The delay was already chafing at him. He reached down, grasped Mordecai’s good shoulder, and squeezed for a second.

“I’ll see you when I get back,” he said.

“Bill.” Mordecai lifted his head. His eyes were bleary from pain and whiskey, but he was dead serious as he said, “You just get Eden. Don’t worry about the town. I’ll look after things around here.”

“I know you will,” Bill said, even though he wasn’t confident of that at all.

Redemption might just have to get along without a lawman for a while, because he wasn’t coming back without Eden, no matter how long it took.

“I need the sharpest knife you can find, and heat it up over a flame until it’s red-hot,” Morley was saying as Bill left the newspaper office.

When he stepped out onto the porch, the first thing he saw
was a familiar but surprising face. Jesse Overstreet stood there blocking his path.

It seemed like days since Judge Dunaway had fined the cowboy and Bill had released him from jail, instead of only hours. So much had happened since then, all of it bad.

“What do you want?” Bill snapped.

“To go with you,” Overstreet said.

That brought Bill up short.

“You want to join the posse?” he asked. “Why?”

“I heard those outlaws took your wife with them. That ain’t right. Besides, lookin’ back on it now, you treated me halfway decent, Marshal, especially considerin’ that I’m from Texas and you’re a Kansas lawman.”

“I’m from Texas, too, remember?”

“Still and all, you’ve could’ve been a lot harder on me. I reckon I owe you somethin’ for that.” Overstreet smiled faintly. “Anyway, you know how it is. When somebody asks a Texan why, he just naturally says why the hell not.”

Even under these bleak circumstances, Bill couldn’t help but return the young cowboy’s smile for a second. Overstreet still looked a little hungover, but if he could stay in a saddle, that was all that mattered right now.