Power in the Blood (107 page)

“I don’t know,” admitted Nevis, “but it hardly constitutes proof.”

“He did it, I bet,” said Winnie.

All three had resorted strongly to the bottle following news of their disaster. The mood in Smith’s shack was somber, all the optimism of recent weeks gone. Nevis felt responsible somehow. At least they still had the glass case, unharmed and complete, although what use it could serve now was debatable. Winnie was the least perturbed; she had thought the scheme foolish to begin with, and the loss of the Indian seemed no more than what was called for to bring her men to their senses. They should have been thinking about real work to replace the jobs that soon would be lost, not setting themselves up as amateur Barnums with their pickled redskin. She knew better than to say so; they would see the error of their ways soon enough, and do what they should already have done.

“Where would he take it, do you think?” asked Smith.

“We don’t know that he did take it,” Nevis reminded him.

“But who else would?”

“I haven’t the least notion, but that doesn’t necessarily mean Price is implicated.”

“You don’t want to believe it because he works for the feller that’s keeping your lady friend.”

“She is not my lady friend! What a ridiculous thing to say. You’re drunk, Smith.”

“I am not. You’re always visiting with her. Who is she really? Did you know her before?”

“Never in my life! Lovey Doll and I were complete strangers before I approached her regarding the Savage.… Oh … I meant Miss Starr, that is.…”

Smith and Winnie looked at each other, then at Nevis, whose face was becoming mottled by confusion.

“Lovey Doll?” Winnie leered. “Did you say Lovey Doll?”

“He did,” said Smith, “I heard him. Now I want to hear some more, and I don’t want no lies about never knowing the fine lady before, all right?”

Nevis squirmed with discomfort. He had done it again, for the second time in as many days. Price might have been polite enough to overlook the name, even if his ears had pricked, but Smith and Winnie were a different proposition.

“I … may have misled you, but for perfectly acceptable reasons,” he said, a sickly smile on his face.

Lovey Doll made her suggestion again, this time with some asperity. Leo had of late been distracted by problems he would not discuss with her, and had been running a mild fever that seemed to have weakened his constitution somewhat. The time to be firm had arrived, and Lovey Doll would not be put off any longer.

“Are you attempting to humiliate me, Leo?”

“Whatever do you mean? I would never do such a thing.”

She sat close to him and assumed a sorrowful expression.

“Humiliation is my lot, nonetheless.”

“I find myself unable to understand you, Imogen. Please speak plainly. I feel dreadful tonight.”

“If you cannot understand, Leo, it’s because you don’t wish to. You know very well the topic to which I refer. The topic, Leo my love, is holy matrimony, and there is none closer to a woman’s heart, yet you insist on ignoring my needs, while fulfilling your own. How very like a man that is. I’m dismayed and disappointed to find that you are, perhaps, without integrity in this matter. There! I have said it aloud! Whip me if you will for speaking my mind!”

“I … whip you? Nonsense!” blustered Leo, for whom the idea was suddenly very appealing. Ashamed of himself, he said, “I could never hurt you, my dear, not for the world, but you must cease these accusations, indeed you must! What have I done to be so deserving of your scorn?”

Lovey Doll became contrite, and suggested meekly that Leo might consider making her happier than any woman on earth by the simple expedient of proposing marriage to her, especially since she was carrying their child, their son.

Leo had a ready answer. “I am not yet legally separated from my wife,” he stated. His attorney was arranging matters, but not very quickly; Leo was reasonably confident that Rowland’s assassin-for-hire would locate Zoe faster than any legal document of separation.

“But why, Leo?”

“These things take time, my dearest one. The mills of jurisprudence grind exceeding slow, you see.”

“But when you have your annulment, what will happen then?”

“Then? I suppose … I intend to make you my wife. Yes, that will certainly be my intention. We’ll be married when I am free of … her. There now, does that make you happy, Imogen? You have my promise, my word on it, and I see no reason why the question should be raised again until that time, by God, do you hear?”

“Yes, Leo. Leo?”

“Well?”

“You have made me the luckiest woman in creation.”

“Just so.”

“Leo?”

“Yes? Yes?”

“Might I have some token of your intent?”

“A ring, you mean? That might not be seemly, under the circumstances. Would you like a necklace or tiara?”

“You have been so generous already, my darling, but Leo, there is something that has been thrust into my thoughts lately. I hesitate to make this suggestion, because I’m not yet your wife, but the house, Leo, it concerns the house.”

“This house?”

“Your house. Elk House, Leo.”

“What of it? Naturally you’ll take up residence there, when things have been formalized. A wedding ceremony with all the trimmings—how does that sound to you?”

“Wonderful, my love, but the purchase I had in mind is of a kind that will require considerable time for preparation in advance of that wonderful day. I should so like to see it there when I arrive at Elk House as your bride, Leo.”

“Find what?”

“A statue, dearest, for the front yard.”

“Statue? What kind of statue? A fountain, you mean?”

“A stag.”

“A stag …,” said Leo, his concentration failing. His fever was becoming worse, much worse. It was the various worries he currently faced that were causing his gradual debilitation, he was sure. It had been a mistake to visit Imogen that night, feeling as he did. He had already proposed marriage, in a roundabout kind of way, and he had intended no such drastic step when he raised the knocker on her door. His mind was becoming unhinged, incapable of fully understanding the words that reached it. Now Imogen was talking of a statue, but all he could think of was whipping her naked buttocks to a fine pinkness.

“I have a model here. Wait one moment and I’ll fetch it.”

“Model …” said Leo softly.

Lovey Doll was gone from the room for less than a minute, returning with a statuette in her hands. She set it down before Leo, and he dragged his attention from the beguiling images quivering in his brain to take note of what it was. The thing stood ten inches or so high, and was made of heavy brass, a proud stag with its head lifted, the tremendous rack of antlers tipped back almost to its spine. It was a fine piece, and Leo stared at it for some time.

“Just like that,” said Lovey Doll, “but large as life.”

“Ah, yes … certainly.”

“You’ll get it for me?” Lovey Doll beamed.

“To be sure.”

“Oh, Leo, how generous you are! Did I tell you the other thing?”

“Other thing?”

“Its metallic structure, I suppose one would call it.”

“No, you didn’t tell me.”

“It should be of gold, solid gold, Leo, to be the symbol of your mining business. Your first mine was named after a deer, was it not, and from that mine has come more gold than from any other in the entire nation. A gold deer, Leo. It would be so perfect for Elk House.”

“Deer are not elk, and elk are not deer.”

He wanted very much to lift her skirts and bend her over like a naughty child, and lay on with a whip until she begged him to stop, at which point he would be ready to mount her.

“A gold elk, then,” she said, “as big as a real one, a big bull elk, Leo, of solid gold taken from your own mine. Wouldn’t that be the most thrilling statue in the world?”

“Yes indeed, and you shall have it, my dear, but you must first allow me to be your big bull elk.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He lunged at her and began reaching beneath her skirts to pull down her pantaloons. Lovey Doll pushed against his shoulders. “Leo, what are you doing …? Leo, kindly allow me to attend to it.… Leo!”

There being no whip available, he used a length of silken drapery cord.

He was a home-loving man by inclination, but sometimes Smith wanted to mingle with his fellows in a saloon. On those occasions, generally no more than two or three times a year, he would visit a bathhouse for a slow soak and send his clothes across the street to the Chinese laundry for a quick cleaning. It was understood that he would pay double for these services, since the presence of himself or his clothing tended to be bad for business.

On this night, made presentable for inclusion among the public, he entered the bar of his choice and began tossing drinks down his throat with a machinelike regularity. He did not want to drink at home because Nevis and Winnie both were irritating him, Nevis by way of his long face and fretful manner, and Winnie on account of her told-you-so smirk. To hell with them both. He wanted rough company, and the Big Bear Saloon was the place to find it. While he drank, Smith wondered if he would be fortunate enough to be included in a fight. He would never pick a fight solely to give himself satisfaction, since that would not have been an honorable thing to do, but he knew that if he lingered long enough among the drinkers of the Big Bear a fight would be thrust upon him, and Smith dearly wanted to push his fist into the face of anyone who deserved it. He was not a violent man as a rule, but recent events had soured his temper considerably.

“Smith.”

He turned. Two men unknown to him had slid along the bar. The one who had addressed him wore a smile Smith found offensive.

“What of it,” he said.

“Heard about you and the other feller’s Injun getting stole. Too bad about that.”

Smith turned away. He didn’t want to discuss the Sleeping Savage with anyone.

“Worth money, they say,” said the second man.

“Most likely still worth it, if you could find the dang thing again, I figure,” added the first.

“Find it?” Smith asked. “Find it where?”

“Wherever it’s at, friend.”

“And would you be knowing that place,
friend
?”

“I might.”

“We both might,” said the second man. “For the right price, like they say.”

“I’d give money, sure,” said Smith, “but only to fellers that made me believe they’re not just looking to take my dollars for nothing, see.”

“Oh, that ain’t us.”

“We know, we do.”

“Know what?” insisted Smith.

“Where it’s at.”

“And where might that be?”

“Can’t be telling without a sight of some green.”

“Can’t expect us to give away what’s for sale, Smith.”

“Not interested,” Smith told them, creating consternation on the faces of both men.

“But … don’t you want him back?”

“You fellers don’t know beans about that old Indian, now do you. Get away from me. I don’t like fools.”

The two men retired to a corner and spoke between themselves, then returned.

“Smith, we figure if we tell you who told us to take it, you’ll believe us about knowing where it’s at.”

“That way you wouldn’t have to be trusting us so much,” said the second man.

“Who was it?” Smith asked.

“Well, it was a woman, a lady.”

“She had herself a carriage. Took us inside of it to talk it over about robbing you and your partner.”

Sensing that Smith had begun to believe them, and sensing also that he was becoming angry, the first man said, “It was cash money she give us, and we both of us been looking for work lately and not finding any, see, so it was hard to say no.”

“We couldn’t say no,” agreed his friend, “but now we feel badly about what we done, we do.”

“So we’re wanting to make it up to you and your partner about the Injun.”

“What woman?”

“A real fine looker, she was, with feathers in her hat and fluffy stuff all around her.”

“I never seen a better-lookin’ piece.”

“She’s big man Brannan’s whore, they say.”

“Is that right,” Smith said. He laid some money on the bar, but kept his meaty fingertips on top. “Where’s the Indian?”

“A couple miles outside of town. We know where exactly.”

“We put him there, we did.”

Smith set the money free, and it disappeared.

“The same again when I see the Indian in one piece.”

“Sounds like a square deal to me. You ain’t mad about the taking, are you? You’re gonna get him back.”

“She give us plenty. It was temptation.”

“We spent it already,” admitted the first man.

“Drunk it, mainly,” confessed the second.

“Gentlemen,” said Smith, “we’re going to go fetch that Indian right now, and when we get him we’ll bring him back to town where he belongs, and then you’ll tell my partner what you told me, and after that you can go get yourselves a fresh bottle of the best, on me.”

“Square deal, all right. I reckon you’re a gentleman yourself.”

“Amen.”

The Sleeping Savage, when delivered by wagon to Smith’s yard after midnight, was unrecognizable and unusable. Nevis and Winnie stared at the pitiful remnants while Smith explained, and the two strangers confirmed the story. Smith paid them and they left. Nevis felt close to weeping. Wolves had torn apart the ancient but well-preserved flesh of the Savage, devouring most of it and separating the skeleton into disparate sections that could never be reassembled, given the missing leg and arm.

Even worse was the revelation of Lovey Doll’s perfidy. Nevis wanted to disbelieve, but could not; the halting and shamefaced sincerity of the body snatchers was too credible for that. Lovey Doll, his special friend, the very one who had persuaded Leo Brannan to include an article on the Savage in his newspaper. Why had she done it? Smith and Winnie were watching him, aware of some shocking betrayal behind his grief, yet too polite to inquire after its origins.

Smith poked at the remains. “It’s rotten now. Even if he was all there we couldn’t use him.”

Nevis turned away and went inside. Winnie said to Smith, “He’s hurt bad about this. What’s the woman to him?”