ChasetheLightning (15 page)

“Not to worry,” she said with a smile. “Shopping is what I
do best.”

She watched him walk down the street toward the livery,
wondering what kind of business he mean. She supposed he’d tell her when he was
ready. Turning, she strolled down the boardwalk. She crossed the street at the
corner, drawn by a sign that read, “Green’s General Store.”

A small bell tinkled above the door when she opened it. A
heady blend of coffee and fresh tobacco and kerosene and foodstuffs engulfed
her. The stock seemed to be organized in sections. With lots of time to kill,
she wandered through the store, looking at everything.

The left side of the building held grocery items and kegs
and barrels filled with sugar and flour and coffee, beans and salt, pickles and
sauerkraut. There were fifty-gallon barrels of vinegar and coal oil. There was
a set of balance scales on the counter, and she watched as the clerk weighed two
pounds of sugar and poured it into a brown paper bag, and then tied it with
string.

Another clerk pulled a box of cigars from under the counter
and opened it for a portly man in a battered straw hat who picked out several
cigars. The clerk snipped the ends of one of them for him, and lit it with a
large wooden kitchen match, scratched to light on a rough support beam. Amanda
thought she remembered from somewhere that such matches were called Lucifers in
frontier days.

Pots and pans, straw hats, whole hams wrapped in muslin,
bridles and bits for horses, hung from the rafters. The hams smelled wonderful,
and so did the oiled leather of the tack.

She took a deep breath, her nostrils filling with the scent
of and tobacco and leather and fresh ground coffee.

A huge cracker barrel stood near a cold pot-bellied stove.
Two men stood there, helping themselves to the crackers.

She saw a handful of women sitting on benches near the door,
talking and laughing. Others were bent over a mail order catalog.

Near the back of the store was the hardware department. She
saw zinc tubs in three sizes, stacked one inside the other. Nearby she saw
chamber pots and coffee pots, dish pans and coffee grinders, milk pails and
flour sifters, dust pans and bread pans, wash boards and tea kettles.

There was a case filled with knives of all sizes. A rack of
rifles and shotguns behind the counter, and a glass display case full of
gleaming revolvers. Boxes of cartridges on a shelf. Remembering Rob’s comment
about the modern value of Trey’s six-shooter, she realized she was looking at a
fortune’s worth of firearms by twenty-first century values. For that matter,
everything in the store would have commanded exorbitant prices as treasured
antiques. She couldn't help smiling to herself. If Relámpago could just be
hitched to a wagon full of this stuff… She shook off the thought as silly. If
the big white horse could get
her
home again, that was all she cared
about.

A large black and white cat slept on a pile of bedding.

She had spent a good hour wandering through the store when
she went back to the front and approached the counter. A portly, balding clerk
moved toward her. He had green garters on his shirt sleeves and wore a black
vest whose buttons were threatened by his paunch. His smile was friendly.
“Afternoon, ma’am. How can I help you?”

A half hour later, the counter was piled high with her
purchases: a blue-speckled enamel coffee pot like the one she had seen in
Trey’s saddlebags at her house, a pair of matching plates, knives and forks; a
can opener, several boxes of what she would have called kitchen matches, the
ammunition, canned beans, two canteens, and a package of jerky the clerk had
sliced from a hanging slab with a sharp butcher knife. In addition to the items
Trey had asked for, she’d added a hairbrush, a package of hairpins, and a bar
of lavender-scented soap.

With the clerk’s help, she loaded everything into the new
saddlebags she had purchased. She draped the two blanket wrapped canteens over
her shoulder, and pocketed her change, amazed that there was still quite a bit
of her forty dollars left.

Leaving the general store, she crossed the street gingerly,
holding up the hem of her skirt out of the thick dust, and stepping carefully
as she glanced up and down the street, wondering if Trey’s luck was holding.
The chiming of a distant clock told her it was four. She still had two hours
before she was supposed to meet him.

She was on her way back to the hotel to drop off their
supplies when she saw the wanted poster nailed to a post supporting the
boardwalk overhang. Printed on thick stock, it wasn’t very big, about the size
of a sheet of stationery. She read it once, then read it again.

Wanted for Bank Robbery and Murder

Trey Long Walker

Hair: Black

Eyes: Brown

Reward $1,000

Anyone having information

Contact J. S. Hollinger

First National Bank

Wickenburg, Arizona

There was a crude sketch, which didn’t do Trey justice. She
wondered how many other posters were plastered around town. No doubt bounty
hunters were scouring the west for him, and who knew how many armed men with a
need for ready cash had read this poster or one like it, and yet he was sitting
in a saloon somewhere on this street, playing cards as if he didn’t have a care
in the world.

* * * * *

Trey leaned back in his chair and regarded his cards. A pair
of aces and three sixes. Face impassive, he laid his cards face down on the
table and tossed five dollars into the pot. The other three men at the table
met his raise. Two of the men were shrewd poker players, showing little emotion
whether they won or lost. The third man, sitting to Trey’s left, managed to
keep his face blank during the play, but wasn’t shy about letting his feelings
show when a hand was over.

When the pot was right, Trey turned his cards over one by
one.

“Full house,” exclaimed the man on his left. “Damn!”

With a shrug, Trey raked in the pot. He glanced out the
window while the man to his right shuffled the cards. It was almost time to
meet Amanda. He wondered how she had spent the day. Why the hell was he sitting
here, when he could be with her? Overcome by a sudden urge to see her, he
drained the one beer he had permitted himself. Damn it tasted good.

Gathering his winnings, he stood up. “Thanks, gents, but I
think I’m gonna call it a day.”

“Good,” muttered the man on his left. “Maybe I’ll have a
chance to win a hand for a change.”

Trey tossed a five-dollar gold piece back onto the table.
“Drinks and dinner on me, boys. Thanks for the game.”

Outside, he took a deep breath. There was the smell of rain
in the air. Settling his hat on his head, he struck out for the hotel. He
shouldn’t have left her alone so long, not that there was anything to worry
about. Canyon Creek was a law-abiding town. Still, she was a stranger here and
had some outlandish notions about a woman’s place. It could have caused some
difficulty.

He was approaching an alley when that sixth sense that had
served him so well in the past caused the short hairs to prickle on the back of
his neck.

He dropped his hand casually to the butt of his gun and paused,
his gaze searching the long shadows on both sides of the street. The sun was
well down, and the shadows between the buildings were deep and dark. He saw no
movement, heard nothing, but the feeling of danger persisted. He backed up a
few steps slowly, and turned into the last saloon he had passed. He walked
straight to the bar.

“What can I get for ya?” the bartender asked.

“You got a back entrance to this place?”

The bartender grunted. “Somebody lookin’ for ya?”

“Could be,” Trey allowed.

The bartender jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Back
there.”

“Thanks. And if anyone…”

“I know the drill. If anyone asks, you were never here.”

Grinning, Trey headed for the door.

It opened onto a short side street. After glancing up and
down, Trey turned left and took the long way back to the hotel.

He entered the lobby cautiously. There was only one man
there, an elderly gent reading a newspaper.

Keeping his hand close to the butt of his Colt, Trey crossed
the floor and climbed the stairs to the second floor. He knocked on Amanda’s
door, glanced over his shoulder while he waited for her to answer it. Damn, he
was as nervous as a whore at a prayer meeting.

She opened the door just as he was about to knock again.
“Hi, I got all the stuff you wanted…”

He pushed past her, closed and locked the door behind him.

She looked at him, one brow raised.

Trey shrugged. “I think I’m being followed.”

“I’m not surprised. Did you know there’s a wanted poster out
with your name on it? A bank in Wickenburg is offering a thousand-dollar
reward.”

Trey whistled softly. “Old Hollinger must be scared
shitless.”

Amanda nodded. “His name was on the poster. I guess he put
up the reward.”

“Yeah. Damn.” He ran a hand over his jaw, then went to the
window. Standing to one side, he peered down at the street.

“Maybe we’d better leave?” Amanda suggested.

“You’re reading my mind, sweetheart.” Moving away from the
window, he began to pace the floor. “As soon as it’s full dark, I’ll be on my
way. I think you’d better stay here.”

“Not on your life!” she exclaimed. “You’re not going off and
leaving me behind. No way!”

“You’ll be safer here.”

“I don’t care. I don’t know anybody else in this town. Hell,
I don’t know anyone in this
time
. Besides, I want to go home! You and
that horse got me here, and I’m counting on the two of you to get me back.”

“There’s no time to worry about that now,” he said.

He went to the window and looked out. She was right in what
she said, but it just wasn't smart to take her with him into possible danger.
He smiled wryly. Sometimes he just wasn’t smart. He ran a hand through his
hair. Who was it down there on the street? Langley and his men? Or just some
cowboy looking to make some fast money?

Out of nervous habit, he pulled his Colt and checked his
ammunition, then settled the gun in his holster. After a moment’s hesitation,
he added another round to the chamber he usually kept empty. He might need
every edge he could get. His every instinct for survival was screaming at him
to get out of town. Fast.

“All right,” he said. “Get your stuff together. We’re
leaving.”

She picked up the bundle holding her jeans and top. “This is
all the stuff I have. Remember?” Unfastening the flap on one of the roomy
saddlebags lying on the bed, she stuffed the clothing inside.

Trey took a minute to examine the contents of both bags and
then buckled them shut. “Good work,” he said. “We’ll fill the canteens at the
first clean water we come to. You carry them. And don’t let them knock
together!” He slung the saddlebags over his left shoulder. “Stay behind me,” he
warned, “and keep quiet.”

She nodded, then followed him out the door into the hallway.
She frowned when he turned right, instead of left toward the stairs. “Where are
we going?” she called softly.

“Out the back way.”

He stopped at the back door, opened it a few inches. The sun
was down now, and dusk had settled in. He stood stock still, all his senses
alert, then beckoned for her to follow.

She tiptoed down the outside staircase behind him, his
unease communicating itself to her. The whisper of her Nike's soles seemed
loud; she wondered how he could move so silently in those clunky boots. She
glanced nervously from side to side. Every shadow seemed fraught with menace.
Who was out there that had spooked him so?

Bypassing the main street, they made their way down an alley
toward the livery. Trey rapped on the rear entrance.

A moment later, a brawny man wearing overalls opened the
door. “Whaddya want?” he asked gruffly.

“I need to buy a horse.”

“Come back tomorrow.”

“I need it tonight, Abe. And a saddle and bridle, too.”

The man regarded Trey for a moment, then nodded. “Come on
in.” He stood away from the door so they could enter the barn. “I got a pretty
little gelding for sale. He’s ten years old. Sound as a dollar. I’ll let you
have him for, oh, say, sixty dollars. Throw in the tack for another fifty.”

Trey narrowed his eyes. “Must be a good horse. And a mighty
fine saddle.”

The other man spat a stream of tobacco juice. “Them’s my
night-time prices, Trey.”

“Done,” Trey said. “Saddle the gelding for me, will ya?”

“Sure. As soon as you pay for it.”

“You've made your sale,” Trey said flatly. “Saddle the
horse.”

Abe lowered his gaze. “Sure, sure.”

Trey pulled his winnings out of his pocket, counted out a
hundred and ten dollars while the man went to get the horse.

When Abe led the bay gelding out of its stall, Trey
exchanged the money for the reins, and turned them over to Amanda. She noticed
the horse had one white sock, and a narrow blaze from its forehead to its nose.
So now she had a horse, just as she been thinking about—but hardly the way she
had planned! She rubbed its muzzle distractedly.

“I'll get ‘Pago,” Trey said. He found his gear in the tack
room. He saddled and bridled the stallion, secured the saddlebags behind the
cantle, quickly and efficiently.

“Mount up, Miss,” Abe said. “I’ll adjust them stirrups for
you.”

Amanda draped the canteens over the saddle horn, then put
her foot in the stirrup and pulled herself into the saddle, no easy task in a
skirt and petticoat. She would have liked to change into her jeans and shirt,
but Trey had been in such a hurry, she hadn’t suggested it. Leaning forward,
she patted the gelding’s neck. “Does he have a name?”

Abe shrugged as he deftly adjusted the stirrups for her. “If
he does, he never told me.” He handed her the reins. “Them’s mighty
funny-looking riding shoes,” he said. “Be careful you don’t let your foot slip
through the stirrup.”