True to the Law (36 page)

“You told me you arrested them,” she said, prompting. “You took them in. I remember that.”

“Yes.” He closed his eyes a moment, remembering. “The Boleys never confessed. The opposite, in fact. They never stopped proclaiming their innocence.”

“Did they convince you?”

“No. But it was no longer my job to be convinced one way or the other. I finally had two women who were willing to testify. I had evidence in the form of mementos that the Boleys kept. And I had pages of meticulous notes of how they had perverted scripture to support their crimes. Some of those verses were exact quotes from Boley as he was arguing his innocence.

“I had all of that to put before a prosecutor, a judge, and a jury. Where I failed, Tru, was in making that delivery. I failed to understand that the nature of the crimes could turn law-abiding citizens of a town like Hempstead into vigilantes. I failed to protect my prisoners, and I failed to serve justice. They were guilty, Tru. I know that. But it doesn’t change the fact that they were entitled to a trial before they hanged.”

“The men in your posse? Marshal Yates? The responsibility wasn’t your burden to carry alone. Didn’t they help?”

“Marshal Yates escorted me to jail and assigned one of the deputies to make sure I stayed there.”

“But why?”

“He didn’t want me to interfere. Again.”

“Oh. You tried to stop them.”

“And failed,” he said.

“Did you hurt anyone?”

“Not badly. Not permanently.”

Tru thought about that. “Is it possible the marshal saved your life by locking you up?”

“Not just possible. Very likely. They lynched the Boleys in the courthouse square. I couldn’t see what was happening from my cell, but the deputy went in and out and kept me informed. As soon it was over, he unlocked the cell. Yates came by while I was collecting my things, paid me, and offered to accompany me to the state line. I don’t know whose safety he was concerned about then. I told him I’d rather go alone, and I did.”

Tru was silent for a long time, then, “I imagine there are a lot of people who would say it was justice that was served and the law that went begging that day.”

“There are. I even understand their argument. I just don’t agree with it. If the law can’t serve justice when we’re confronted with twin evils like the Boleys, then it doesn’t stand for anything. And neither do we.”

Tru dropped her elbow and inched closer so she could rest her head against his chest. He automatically made a cradle for her by lifting his arm around her shoulder.

“I think you are a very good man,” she said. When he didn’t say anything, she suspected it was because she’d made him uncomfortable. “That wasn’t a compliment exactly. More like an opinion. I could be wrong.” She felt the vibration of quiet laughter rumbling in his chest. She patted his hand. “I probably am.”

He turned his head and kissed the top of hers. “I suppose I could try living up to it.”

“If you like.”

His head fell back. Cobb thought he was a lucky man more than a good one. What he said was, “I almost didn’t take the Mackey job.”

Tru’s slight frown tugged at her eyebrows. “Really? You had reservations?”

“Some. Mostly because he wouldn’t tell me what it was you had stolen.”

“I suppose you’re used to people trusting you.”

He nodded. “I am. When someone hires me, it’s with the expectation that I can do something for them that they can’t do for themselves. Sometimes finding things is only a matter of following the money. I’m good at it.”

Tru chuckled. “Why, Cobb Bridger, I believe you were insulted by Andrew’s lack of trust.”

“I suspect that’s true.”

“And how decent of you to swallow your pride.”

“He offered me a great deal of money to ignore the aftertaste.”

“And that still surprises me. About the money he offered, I mean. Maybe the brooch is even more valuable than I think it is. He might not want to ask me about it for fear that I’ll disappear with it again. That’s what he thinks I did in the first place. Took it and disappeared.”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“Because I’m not. If he wanted the brooch back there are easier ways of getting at it than marrying you. I’ve been reading up on Wyoming law. That brooch isn’t necessarily shared property here in the Territory. The way I understand it, if you can prove that it’s yours, you’d have the right to keep it as your own even if you marry Andrew.”

“Even if I marry you?”

“Especially if you marry me. I know I don’t want it.”

Tru thought he sounded certain of that. Satisfied, she snuggled against him, and it wasn’t long afterward that she finally fell asleep.

* * *

Cobb had a full breakfast of steak, eggs, stewed tomatoes, biscuits, and hot, black coffee in front of him when Mrs. Sterling pulled out the empty chair at his side and put herself in it. His fork hovered at the midpoint between his plate and his mouth.

“Go on,” she said. “I’m not here to interrupt your meal. You mostly just have to listen, and if you have a mind to say something, I don’t care if you talk around your food.”

Agreeing to her terms, Cobb took his first bite.

Mrs. Sterling glanced over each shoulder before she pulled her chair closer. As an extra precaution, she leaned forward. “It’s about Mr. Mackey.”

Cobb nodded once and continued eating.

“I didn’t like it much when Cil let him have the rooms on the third floor. That’s a private residence. I don’t suppose that Mrs. Coltrane would make a fuss about it, but I would have liked her permission. It feels a little like I’m doing something behind her back, and that doesn’t set right with me. Now, Mr. Mackey, he’s all paid up so that isn’t the problem, but he tells me last night—last night, mind you—that he’s got a cousin coming in from Chicago, probably today. Probably this afternoon, in fact, and he’s saying it to me like he just learned about it, even though I got wind of the very same thing days ago.”

Cobb drizzled honey on a biscuit. “Maybe you should have some pity for him, Mrs. Sterling. He obviously doesn’t understand how the grapevine works in Bitter Springs.”

“Ain’t that the truth? And I’ll save my pity for someone deserving of it, thank you.”

Deciding that he was better off listening than commenting, Cobb bit off a third of his biscuit.

“Now, you might be wondering why he saw fit to tell me anything, but the answer is that he wanted accommodations here at the Pennyroyal for his cousin. I told him we’re full up, but I think he knew that already. We had a vacancy for a couple of days, and he didn’t mention it then. It was like he was purposely waiting until he thought I wouldn’t have a choice except to give him what he wanted. He told me he did not mind sharing his rooms with his cousin. Said it just like he was doing me a favor. Trouble is, he doesn’t want to pay extra. Says his cousin won’t either. I told him there would be two beds to make, two sets of linens to put out, double the work for my girls and Walter, but he didn’t want—”

Cobb put down his knife and fork and turned to Mrs. Sterling. “I’ll take care of it.”

She opened her mouth.

“I’ll take care of it,” Cobb said more firmly this time. “How much is it that you want?”

“A dollar a night. Same as if he had a room on the second floor. And I want a week up front. I don’t trust him or his cousin to pay at the end.” She pulled her spectacles from where they rested above her widow’s peak and set them on her nose. Her mouth curled to one side. “Imagine a man like him fussing about a dollar. Plain as plain can be that he’s as rich as a Rockefeller. Every one of his suits made in London, England, Mrs. Garvin says, and she would know. There’s a suspicion that his shoes come from Italy. I ask you, what possesses a man to want shoes from Italy when we all know the best shoe leather is cobbled from Wyoming cattle?”

“It’s a mystery, Mrs. Sterling.”

“Isn’t it just?” Her chair scraped noisily against the floor as she pushed it back and stood. “Well, you get my money and solve that conundrum, and I’ll swear to it in church that you walk on water.”

Cobb’s narrow smile curved in wry amusement. “Only when it’s frozen.”

* * *

Jefferson Collins was out of breath when he reached the marshal’s office. His Adam’s apple bobbed above his collar as he sucked in air and swallowed hard.

“You didn’t have to run, Mr. Collins,” Cobb said, rising from behind his desk. “Here. Let me get you something to drink. There’s fresh coffee on the stove.”

“No time for that. I just had word that No. 486 cleared the Cheyenne Pass. There’s no good reason for a delay now. Snow’s not going to be a problem for that engine. You can set your watch by its arrival at thirty-five minutes past the hour.”

“Thank you.”

Collins nodded and adjusted his scarf so that it covered his neck. “I have to go. I don’t like leaving Mrs. Collins alone for long at the desk, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

Cobb stopped him before he had lifted a foot. “I wonder if you might leave her alone long enough to do me another favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Find Mr. Mackey and tell him that No. 486 is waiting in a snow shed on the wrong side of the pass. The delay doesn’t have to be long. I don’t need more than a half hour with his cousin.”

“He’s going to know that I lied. His cousin’s going to tell him different.”

“Blame it on the telegraph operator.”

“You think quick on your feet, Marshal Bridger. It’s a mite disturbing.”

“I know. Will you do it?”

“I don’t suppose there’s any harm in it, save for my immortal soul.”

Cobb simply pointed him in the direction of the door and then watched as the station agent turned sharply right toward the Pennyroyal.

* * *

Frank Mackey stood between his brassbound trunks with the collar of his coat turned up against the cold. Shifting his weight from side to side, he craned his neck to see past the station platform and in the direction of the town. The station agent had promised him that someone would be along directly to transport him and his things to the hotel. He glanced at the station. Through the window, he could make out the agent behind the counter. The man seemed wholly uninterested that the most recent visitor to Bitter Springs was going to freeze to death on his platform.

Cobb guided the buckboard up to the edge of the platform and stepped off. Tru had not exaggerated Frank Mackey’s resemblance to his cousin. From what Cobb could see of the younger man’s features from under his stylish black bowler, the likeness was uncanny. The ginger hair was the most notable difference, but with his hat on, there wasn’t much of it in evidence. Even the cut and color of Franklin’s beard was similar. Cobb had a vision of them both being attended to by the same barber.

He nodded to Frank as he approached. “I heard the train come and go. I thought there might be someone here who could use a hand with their bags.” He looked down. “Or their trunks. George and Amelia Sedgwick operate a fine boardinghouse. You want me to take you and your things there?”

“I know someone who is staying at the Pennyroyal Hotel. That is where I want to go.”

“Huh. I could have sworn I heard Mrs. Sterling say they didn’t have any rooms to let.”

“That’s not your problem.”

“No, it’s not.” Cobb grabbed the end of one of the trunks. “The Pennyroyal is expensive, twice as much as the boardinghouse. But I don’t expect that much bothers a man who travels with brassbound trunks.” He started dragging the trunk toward the wagon. “Keep an eye on that one,” he said. “I’ll be back for it directly.”

“How expensive?” Frank asked when Cobb returned.

“Three dollars a night.” Cobb hefted the other trunk by taking the straps at both ends. “A week up front, especially since Mrs. Sterling will plainly see you mean to stay a while.”

“Twenty-one dollars? Isn’t that steep away from the city?”

“I said it was, didn’t I? I can take you to the boardinghouse.”

“I’ll manage.” He followed Cobb to the buckboard and climbed on.

As soon as they were away from the station, Cobb changed course and drove the wagon past Ransom’s Livery and in the direction of the stockyards.

Frank looked around. “Where are we going?” He pointed over his shoulder. “Isn’t town that way?”

“All roads lead to the Pennyroyal.” Cobb snapped the reins, but the mare did not appreciably pick up her pace. She was used to meandering under the guidance of Rabbit and Finn, not being driven off her course by unfamiliar hands. He held her up once the wagon was on the far side of the yard. Loosely holding the reins in his left hand, he held out his right one to Franklin.

“Cobb Bridger, Mr. Mackey.”

Frank’s ginger eyebrows all but disappeared under his hat. He slowly offered his hand. “Mr. Bridger. Andrew’s Mr. Bridger?”

“If you’re asking if I’m the man your cousin hired in Chicago, then the answer is a qualified yes. Qualified because I no longer work for him. We settled our business after he got here.”

“How did you know I was—”

To keep him off balance, Cobb did not allow him to finish. “Paul Mackey sent Andrew a telegram. If that displeases you, you’ll have to take it up with your uncle. Andrew thinks your train was delayed by weather otherwise he would have met you.”