Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (43 page)

“Rowe’s up near the bunkhouse, organizing the men,” Katy said breathlessly.

“Stay here, lass, so I’ll know where ya be.” Hank set Theresa on the bench in front of the stone jail, kissed Mary quickly, and took off running toward the group of men gathering in front of the saloon.

When Mrs. Chandler and her girls came out of the eatery and hurried across the street, Katy called to them.

“Mrs. Chandler. Over here. Can Myrtle stay here with Theresa and Julia while we women form a bucket line from the well?”

“You bet! Floss, get over there and get to drawin’ water ’n’ fill the horse tank. I’ll fetch buckets. Elias,” she yelled when the storekeeper, carrying Julia, raced up with Laura trotting along behind him. “Get all the buckets you can find.”

Katy was surprised to see Art Ashland arrive with the women from the Bee Hive. He carried one of them wrapped in a blanket.

“She’s got to lie down,” he announced in his booming voice.

Mary was the first to react. “There’s a bunk in the jail building.” She led the way, carrying the lantern.

Art placed the woman on the bunk, knelt down and tucked the blanket around her.

“Who done it, Goldie? Tell me who done it ’n’ I’ll kill the bastard.”

Goldie was the youngest of Lizzibeth’s girls. She had golden hair and a delicate beauty. Now her face was bruised and broken. Blood ran from a cut that slashed her eyebrow.

“Ah . . . mercy!” Mary exclaimed when the swollen lips trembled and the girl began to cry.

“It was that no-good Howard what done it,” Lizzibeth said from behind them. “He sneaked up to her room. I had Hank throw him out more’n once. He was mean, pure mean. Goldie didn’t want nothin’ to do with him.”

“I thought he and his friend had left town,” Mary said.

“Did. A couple days ago. That don’t mean nothin’.”

“I gotta go, girl,” Art said in the softest, kindest voice Mary had ever heard him use. “I’ll be back ta see about ya. Ya ain’t to worry none ’bout that bastard what done this. He’ll not hurt ya again.”

Art left the building quickly.

“I got to bind her up a bit, Mrs. Weston,” Lizzibeth said. “She might have a busted rib.”

“Can I help you?” Mary asked and set the lantern on the table.

“I’ll take care of her.” The big red-haired woman soothed the girl’s forehead with a gentle, motherly hand. “You’ll be all right, Goldie. I’ll tear me a strip off my petticoat ’n’ wrap you good and tight. I’ll tell you one thing, I’d hate to be in Howard’s shoes when that big, ornery cuss that’s taken such a likin’ to you catches up with him.”

Above the town Lee Longstreet waited and seethed. He had a notion to shoot Sporty Howard on sight. The dumb ass! He had gone to the whorehouse when he knew damn good and well it would be risky to their plan. Their only reason for coming back to town was to set it afire, not for Sporty to plow some whore who had refused him! Sporty had said he had a grudge to settle, and Lee had understood that. But when he came out of the whorehouse, Sporty had set the other fires before Lee had a chance to fire Rowe’s cabin and trap him and the woman inside. He was sure they had gotten out. The damn dog had raised enough racket to waken the dead. He would have shot him, but that would have alerted everyone in town.

Looking down from the hill, Longstreet could see the Jew drawing water from the well. The women had formed a bucket line. Vera as well as his daughter must be there, working their tails off to save something for someone who didn’t care a doodle-d-shit about them. If only that damn Howard had done what he was supposed to do, the whole town would be afire by now.

The men had given up on the buildings above the town and now were trying with wet sacks to beat back the flames from the unfired buildings. There was one more thing Longstreet intended to do before he rode out. He was going to kill Rowe or his woman, whichever one he could get in his gun sight.

The woods above the town were burning. The wind was pushing the flames downward; but should the wind shift, it would trap his horse. Lee moved through the trees to where he had left the blooded animal. The one thing he prized above all others was his horse whose sire had been his papa’s prize stallion.

The smoke from the green wood stung his nostrils as he hurried to where he had tied the animal. Amid the sumac bushes he stopped and looked around. He was sure this was the place. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled softly. There was no answering nicker. His eyes fell on the broken branches of the bush where he had looped the reins, the trampled grass around it, and cursed. In near panic he ran quickly to the area where the trees had been cut in preparation for a road. He paused and caught his breath before he could manage the whistle the stallion always responded to.

Then he saw his horse, a small form perched on its back, trot past the burning bunkhouse heading toward the center of town. Rage like a bubbling pot came boiling up to choke off his breath. Taylor had stolen his horse! He was the only person who could get near the big stallion besides himself. Lee jerked the pistol from his belt and held it out with both hands. Common sense told him that there was little chance of hitting the rider even as he fired two shots in rapid succession.

The bullets missed their mark, but they pinpointed Longstreet’s position to Howard, who was looking for him, and to the big, angry man who was seeking Howard.

“Ya damn fool! What the hell ya shootin’ at?” Sporty materialized out of the darkness to grab Lee’s arm.

“My . . . horse! That goddamn little bastard took my . . . horse!” Rage had tightened Lee’s throat until he could scarcely speak.

“Yore own kid? How’d he know you was here?”

“How do I know? The sneaking little son of a bitch can see in the dark like an owl. I’ll break every bone in his body when I get my hands on him.”

“I ain’t waitin’ for that. Give me my money. I’m gettin’ the hell outta here—”

“The job’s not done. Get down there and fire the livery.”

“I’ve done all I’m goin’ to do. I want my money.”

“Where’s your horse?”

“Back yonder a ways.”

“We’ll have to ride double.”

“The hell we will. Damn you! I did what I was hired to do. Pay me or you’ll get a knife like Cullen did.”

“Ya ain’t goin’ to be needin’ no money.” The words came from behind Sporty and an arm like steel clamped around his neck.

The words had scarcely left Art’s lips when Lee flung himself into the underbrush, got to his feet, and ran as if the devil were after him.

“What . . . what—” Sporty choked.

Art spun him around and planted a heavy fist in his nose, slamming him to the ground.

“I’m goin’ ta beat ya till you’d wish ya was dead for what ya done to Goldie.”

“No! It was Longstreet—”

“Then I’m goin’ ta tie ya to a tree and set it afire for burning my shed!”

In desperation, Sporty tried to drag his gun from its holster, but a heavy boot struck his arm and snapped the bone. He screamed with pain.

Art hauled the man to his feet by the hair and slammed his fist into Sporty’s face again and again until it was a bloody pulp. Then he loosened his grip and lifted Sporty off the ground with another blow. His head crashed into the trunk of a tree, and he sank to the ground as if he were boneless.

“Get up! I ain’t through with ya!” Art yelled as he attempted to haul Sporty to his feet. The man’s body sagged, his head hung at an odd angle. Art cursed. “Drizzlin’ shit! I broke yore goddamn neck!” He roared with rage. “Ya dirty yellow-bellied son of a bitch. I wanted ya to hurt more!”

The words came faintly to Lee as he crouched behind the stumps where the trees had been felled to build a new cabin. One thought drummed in his head—he would never be able to get to his own horse. The damn kid would make sure of that. He had to get a horse and get out of here. Ashland would be looking for him now.

The livery hadn’t caught fire as of yet, Lee reasoned. But it would. The straw used in the livery and the hay used to feed the horses had been soaked with coal oil. When the flames reached them, the flash of fire would engulf the entire livery. He was reasonably sure he had time to get down there and get Rowe’s stallion, the one horse in town fast enough and strong enough to take the kind of riding he’d have to do to escape down the creek bed.

On that stallion and in the confusion, the townfolk would think he was just one of the men rescuing the horses.

Lee put his gold watch in his pants pocket and pulled off the distinctive coat and vest, that would identify him to anyone in town. After checking the load in the pistol, he tucked it into his belt and carefully made his way down to Trinity.

Katy worked alongside Helga and Laura, passing buckets of water until she thought her arms would fall off. The men fighting the fires were making headway. By beating back the flames with wet sacks and blankets they had kept the fires from reaching the hotel and the mercantile. The eatery and the funerary were saved. The newspaper office with all Laura’s possessions was gone, as was the blacksmith shop, the empty assay office, and the Bee Hive. The cabins behind the town and the half-constructed homes for the workers’ families were gone too.

Every once in a while Katy heard Rowe’s voice shouting encouragement to the men. She glimpsed him, shirtless, his face smoked, his back and arms glistening with sweat, as he fought to save his town.

The fires had been deliberately set. Everyone realized that now. Taylor Longstreet had come riding down the hillside on his father’s horse. Someone had shot at him. Vera had never been so frightened in all her life. She dropped her bucket and ran to Taylor when he slipped from the back of the huge horse.

“It was
him,
Ma. I saw him sneakin’ round when I went out to pee. When the fires started, I went up the hill and whistled. Beaumont came right to me.”

“Taylor! He might of killed you. He’s a desperate . . . crazy man!”

“I think he tried, Ma.” Taylor’s young face was frozen with hatred. “He won’t get away on this horse. I’m goin’ to tie him right here in front of the hotel where I can watch him.”

As Katy worked she watched for a sight or a sound from Rowe. She worried for him as Mary worried for Hank and as Helga did for Anton. Laura dipped water from the horse tank near where Elias drew it from the well. She was proud of how strong he was despite his slight build. He was proud of how hard she worked to fill the buckets and pass them along the line. Myrtle stayed with the children, and Agnes and the two girls from the Bee Hive returned the empty buckets from the head of the line.

Anton came to place his hand on Helga’s shoulder to let her know he was all right. Her hair hung down around her face, her dress was wet and torn. She had passed buckets until her hands were raw, but she smiled when she turned to see him standing close behind her removing his glasses to wipe away the smudges.

“Be careful. Please, Anton—” she whispered and placed her palm against his cheek.

“You too,” he whispered back.

“Anton, have you seen Rowe?” Katy asked anxiously. “He was here a few minutes ago.”

“He went to the livery to let the horses out. Someone told him the hay had been soaked with coal oil and the fire is going that way.”

Later Katy was to wonder what it was that compelled her to go to the livery. The longer she waited, the stronger the feeling persisted until apprehension was a tight knot in her chest. When she could stand it no longer, she grabbed Pearl and asked her to take her place in line. The urge to look for Rowe was so strong that she ran as if her life depended on it. She was breathless, and her heart beat like a hammer in her breast as she rounded the mercantile and ran toward the livery, slipping on the ground made slick by water flowing from the stock tank and churned into mud by the horses’ hooves.

Fire had raced along the brush beneath the corral poles and was licking at the walls of the clapboard building. The double doors were open and propped back. In the flickering light from the burning cookshack across the street, she saw a man standing with his back to her, holding Apollo’s reins with one hand and a gun in the other.

It was pointed at Rowe.

Katy ducked back out of sight and clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. The man’s voice was unmistakably Southern and arrogant and came to her faintly through the sound of the blood pounding in her ears. She stood as still as a stone.

“I just want you to know before I kill you that a Longstreet always settles his scores. This is working out better than I hoped. I thought I’d have to go looking for you.”

“You got just what you deserved. You’re lucky we didn’t hang you.”

“You sealed your fate, Rowe, and that of the arrogant bitch you married. When I ride out of here, I’ll go by that bucket line and shoot her in the belly. It’ll take her a long time to join you in hell.”

“You’ll never ride out of here on that horse,” Rowe said calmly.

“I’ve not seen a horse yet that I couldn’t ride.”

Katy unfroze. She looked frantically about her for a weapon and spotted a long-handled shovel that was propping open one of the double doors. She grabbed it in both hands, moved toward the open doorway, and waited her chance.

“Why are you doing this?” Rowe asked, stalling for time. “Your wife and kids can stay here, and you’d be free to go.”

“What the hell do I care about that peasant and her peasant brats? She’s tried for fifteen years to drag me down to her level, but I’ve survived. A Longstreet always rises above the lower class.”

“If you try to get on that horse, he’ll kick you to death.”

“What do you care? You’ll be dead.” Longstreet moved his hand to hold the reins closer to the bit so he would have more control over the horse.

Katy could wait no longer. She stepped out into the open and swung the shovel with all her strength. The metal end hit Lee alongside his head slamming it into the stall post. The gun went off and Apollo bolted past Katy knocking her against the side of the door. When she righted herself and looked for Rowe, she saw him on the ground. At that same instant the loft where the hay was stored burst into flames with a loud
pooff.
Hissing and crackling, the furious flames devoured the hay and the straw.