“True, but it could happen, and actual witnesses pretty much make it a closed case, a trial after capture just a matter for the court records. I’ve only come across one exception to that, with only one witness claiming this fella by the name of Horace Johnson had shot the man’s brother in cold blood. The witness was a known member of the town. Johnson wasn’t, having only just moved there, so a Dead or Alive poster went out on Johnson. But after I talked to his mother and one of his friends I tracked down, it started sounding like the witness was the culprit. And sure enough, after I confronted him, his guilt had eaten at him long enough that he broke down and confessed to being the one who’d killed his brother.”
“Amazing,” Damian said. “You actually saved an innocent man from getting gunned down and likely killed by a less scrupulous bounty hunter. I didn’t realize you were so thorough in what you do.”
Casey blushed, which annoyed her no end. She hadn’t been trying to impress him, she’d merely been trying to make her point.
She said so. “I was only explaining why I’d like to hear Curruthers’s side of it first.”
“But there are witnesses, the two men he hired—”
“Paid killers aren’t witnesses in my book, Damian, they are accomplices. And killers aren’t known for being scrupulously honest. For all you know, those two men could have held a grudge against Curruthers for some unknown reason and, being caught themselves, figured they’d get some payback out of it by naming him as the one behind the killing. He could have run for that very reason.”
“There is still the embezzled money.”
“Yes, there is that. But what will it hurt to question the man when we find him?”
“Suit yourself—as long as we find him.”
Chapter 12
It should have been an uneventful trip to Fort Worth, but Casey and Damian were both of the opinion, for different reasons, that luck had plain and simply deserted them. As it happened, they were still a few hours away from the Texas border when their train nearly derailed. But the engineer managed to stop just short of the missing tracks. The suddenness of the stop, however, threw a lot of passengers in the forward cars out of their seats.
Casey, ensconced in one of the big, thickly padded chairs in the parlor car, was merely jarred. She glanced at Damian to make sure he was all right, then moved to stick her head out of one of the windows. She couldn’t see the missing tracks, but the masked riders coming out of a clump of trees and heading for the train with weapons drawn were definitely noticeable.
She sat back down, adjusted her poncho, and told Damian, “Relax, it’s just a train robbery.”
His eyes flared. “Another robbery? You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking. The odds on being robbed again this soon—”
“Were pretty high,” Casey interrupted, “Considering the territory we’re passing through.”
“And what, pray tell, has that to do with it?” he asked huffily.
“This area has always been tempting to outlaws, Damian. Half of it became a Territory just a few years ago, when the Cherokee Strip was bought from the Indians for white settlement. This half we’ve been traveling through still belongs to the Indians.”
“Indian Territory? You couldn’t have mentioned that previously?”
“Why? They’re tame Indians. But before ’90, the entire area was beyond white jurisdiction, and the Indians that the government had moved here years ago pretty much minded their own business, as long as the outlaws left them alone. Hell, the panhandle isn’t too far from here, and it wasn’t known as No Man’s Land for nothing.”
“No Man’s Land?”
“It was an outlaws’ haven, since neither the whites nor the Indians had any jurisdiction, it being completely unclaimed land. And they’ve still got their hideouts in that area as well as in the rest of the area. Just because the three land rushes that the government sponsored here in the last couple years moved in a slew of new settlers didn’t mean the outlaws were going to move out.”
“And you couldn’t have mentioned that previously?” he demanded.
Casey shrugged, then grinned. “Was hoping I wouldn’t have to. After all, despite what you’re probably thinking right now, train robberies do not occur daily.”
“The statistics that seem to be following me on this journey dispute that claim,” Damian said as he moved toward his rifle case stored in the corner of the car.
Casey frowned at him. “And just what do you think you’re going to do with that?”
He gave her a determined glance. “See to it that I keep my money this time.”
“Get yourself killed is more like it,” Casey grumbled in answer.
“I’m inclined to agree with that,” the man stepping in through the door muttered beneath his bandana, having overheard Casey’s prediction. “So sit yourself down, mister, and you might live through this.”
Damian halted his movement, but he didn’t back off or sit down. He looked angry. Of course he was, but to show it was plain foolish, considering that the stage robber who had joined them looked damn nervous—and young. He didn’t appear much older than Casey. A good guess was this was probably the young man’s first holdup.
“The big fella there isn’t going to attack you, so don’t do anything stupid,” Casey said.
She was looking at the robber, but the words had been more for Damian’s benefit. And the remark didn’t ease the robber’s nervousness any. His gun was visibly shaking, his eyes darting warily back and forth between her and Damian.
But he gathered up enough bravado to order, “Just toss your money over here and I’ll be on my way.”
“You might want to consider leaving without the money,” Casey suggested calmly.
“Why?”
“It will be less bloody that way.”
Casey wasn’t a bit surprised that his eyes flew back to Damian. The big Easterner appeared to be the greater threat. But being dismissed as harmless didn’t annoy her this time, since it allowed her to draw her weapon without the robber even noticing.
And because this was the second time someone had tried to rob her in a matter of days, she didn’t shoot just to disarm. She hit the man’s gun hand squarely to damage it enough that he wouldn’t be using it again for robberies, at least not with any proficiency.
The weapon fell with a soft thud on the carpeted floor; blood splattered all around it. His scream was plaintive though brief, but the groaning that followed continued unabated. And his eyes above the bandana were boggled with pain and terror. However, he didn’t move, not with Casey’s gun still trained on him, other than to grasp the wrist of his mutilated hand, holding both hard to his chest.
Casey sighed inwardly. Stupid people always ignored good advice.
Aloud, she snapped, “Get!” He did, immediately. But she yelled after him as he ran out the door, “And find yourself another line of work, cowboy. This one’s going to get you killed in a big hurry.”
He probably didn’t hear her, he was running so fast. Casey moved back to the window, but only to make sure he headed for his horse and took off, rather than gather his cohorts for a little retaliation. She was glad to see he was already hightailing it back toward that clump of trees. And after a few more minutes, the other robbers were spilling out of the train to do likewise. Whether they’d heard the shot and panicked, or been quick to collect their loot, only the other passengers would know at this point.
And then Casey nearly jumped out of her skin when the rifle went off next to her. She glared at Damian, but only because of the scare he’d just given her.
“Let them go.”
He glared right back at her. “Like hell—”
She cut in. “They’re just a bunch of young, out-of-work cowboys.”
“They’re train robbers, plain and simple,” he said, firing off another shot. “And let me add, while I’m at it, I am twenty-seven years old, if you hadn’t noticed. Having a child protect me is ludicrous, so don’t do it again.”
r /> “Excuse me?” Casey said stiffly.
“You heard me. I can damn well take care of myself. So from now on, let me make my own decisions, if you don’t mind, about how to deal with these unpleasant situations.”
Casey shrugged and sat down in her seat. Protect himself indeed. Now that she would like to see. As for him firing off that new rifle of his, he wasn’t going to hit anything he was shooting at anyway, so it didn’t make her no nevermind if he wanted to waste good ammunition. She was surprised to see he was even holding the weapon correctly to fire it. At least she wouldn’t be tending any dislocated shoulders from wrong handling.
After four more successive shots, he turned to her, apparently finished, but not quite done with his complaints. “You had one of them captured. Since when do you advocate letting outlaws go on their merry way?”
“Since I got hired to find one particular killer. Or didn’t it occur to you how much time would be wasted taking them fellas in?”
“Killing them wouldn’t have taken any time at all, and is no more than they deserve.”
Casey wasn’t surprised to hear an Easterner say that, which was why she snorted before remarking, “Then be glad you can’t hit the side of a barn, tenderfoot, because you’re angry enough to say that now, but your conscience would be giving you hell for it later on.”
He glanced back out the window for a moment. Then he smirked in satisfaction.
Casey shot to her feet to see for herself if he’d actually hit something. But by then the train robbers were mere dots on the horizon, and no dead bodies were littering the ground out there.
She gritted her teeth, figuring he’d just had a go at pulling her leg. Still, she wasn’t going to add to his satisfaction by remarking on it.
So instead she told him, “I’m going to go see if it’s rail damage that stopped us and how bad it is,” then headed for the door.
But his next question halted her momentarily. “What made you think they were just cowboys?”
“The chaps they were wearing. Wranglers get used to wearing them after working the range long enough. And that fella’s nervousness. It was pretty obvious he’d never done anything like this before, was either desperate or, more likely, got talked into it when he was drunk.”
“That’s a lot of presuming, Casey,” Damian scoffed.
She shrugged. “I’m not always right.” Then she grinned. “But it’s rare when I’m not.”
She left the car. He followed and kept up, despite Casey’s long strides that had him walking much faster than he was used to.
“Are you always in such a hurry?” he asked her along the way.
She glanced sideways at him before saying thoughtfully, “Never thought of it, but I guess I am. Suppose it comes from being in a hurry to grow up.”
“If you ever reach that point, let me know.”
“My, aren’t you chock-full of sarcasm today. Remind me to keep you out of any more holdups. They purely don’t agree with your disposition.”
It was his turn to snort, but she didn’t give him an opportunity to say anything else that might annoy her. She just strode on a little faster. And then they reached the front of the train, where most of the passengers were gathered. They were in time to hear the conductor announce that they would be returning to the last town they’d passed through, there to wait until a crew could be sent out to repair the tracks. Damian looked like he was about to explode over this new delay.
Casey tried defusing his anger by asking him, “You want to stay with the train or ride on to the next town on the train route and catch another? Would mean doubling up again.”
She almost kicked him when he leaned forward to sniff her before answering, “Let’s ride on.”
Chapter 13
The next town along the route wasn’t really a town, though someday it might reach that distinction. Right now it was just several extra businesses that had moved in around the train depot: a saloon that also housed a restaurant, a general store, a bakery, a telegraph office, and what passed for a hotel, despite its having only two rooms.
Considering the late hour when they arrived, Casey sent Damian to the hotel to get them rooms for the night; she went to the train depot to report the robbery and the missing tracks. When she joined him in front of the hotel, it was with bad news.
“The next train isn’t due for about a week,” she told him without preamble, “which is about how long the fella at the depot reckons it will take to fix those missing tracks for the southbound train to get through.”
Damian sighed. “I don’t suppose there are any stages that run through here?”
“None, and it gets worse,” she warned him. “There isn’t a stable in this settlement, either, to buy you a horse from, and the nearest ranch that might have extra mounts for sale is a good day’s ride from here. But it’s not guaranteed to have any extra stock available, so could be a pure waste of time riding out there.”
Damian gave the buildings around them a sad glance. “So we’re stuck here for the next week?”
“Unless you want to continue doubled up on Old Sam. I might not mind, but he’s sure to start complaining pretty soon about the extra load.”
Damian almost smiled, but not quite. “I have bad news as well. There was only one room to be had in the hotel, so we’ll have to share it.”
Casey stiffened. Share a bedroom with him for an entire week? One night she might manage, but a whole week, not damn likely.
“We’ll find you a horse,” she said in a tone that brooked no opposition, and in fact, she was eyeing several horses across the street in front of the saloon as she said it.
He followed her gaze. “Stealing is out of the question,” he thought it prudent to mention.
Casey snorted, but said no more, already heading across the street. Damian followed the kid with not much enthusiasm. There was no bank in this little settlement either, or he would have no difficulty in meeting the price, whatever it was, to acquire a horse. He still might be able to meet it with the cash he had on hand, but the lack of mounts available in the area made it doubtful someone would be willing to part with his for any price.
Not that Damian wanted to continue on this journey on horseback. Riding doubled up behind Casey was one thing, since he wasn’t actually controlling Old Sam. Riding his own mount would be something entirely different, and he’d just as soon not add that to his learning experiences on this hellish trip.
The saloon was the first Western tavern Damian had entered, and if it was typical of its kind, it would be the last. It wasn’t large and certainly wasn’t crowded, but the smell of sour ale and whiskey, as well as smoke and vomit, permeated the air.
Sawdust constituted the floor. Three round tables, scarred and filthy, allowed for sitting. Only one was occupied. There was a separate room with a sign over the open door that read, “Not the best chow, but all you’ll find hereabouts.” Only two tables were inside, obviously, because they didn’t expect many customers.
Casey was standing at the long bar and looking right at home, as if he were in the habit of frequenting such places. Damian shook his head. There ought to be a law out here about serving children hard spirits.
The kid had already ordered a drink and had it in hand when he turned to survey the one occupied table. Three men were sitting there enjoying a game of cards; money near their elbows suggested they were gambling. They had eyed the kid, but quickly dismissed him. Damian they stared at a bit longer when he entered and moved over to join Casey.
Staring at the three men, Casey asked, “Who owns the pinto out front?”
A young man with a thick untrimmed beard answered, “Reckon that would be me, ’less there’s more’n one.”
“You a gambling man?”
“When the mood strikes me,” he said and looked down at the cards in his hand with a chuckle. “And I guess it’s done struck me.”
“I’m in need of an extra mount,” Casey told him. “How about a little wager that bets you
rs against mine?”
Hearing that, Damian hissed at Casey, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Getting you a horse, so just go along with this, will you?” Casey whispered back.
The man was asking, “And where’s yers?”
“Across the street in front of the hotel. Take a look. You’ll never see finer.”
The fellow got up to do just that and, standing in front of the swinging entrance doors, gave a soft whistle. “Now that’s some horse.” He turned back to Casey, definitely interested. “What’s the bet?”
“The tenderfoot here is going to drop a coin in front of himself. I’m betting I can shoot it out from between his legs before it hits the floor—making sure I don’t hit nothing of his, of course.”
There were some chuckles, but only because Damian was beet red—whether in embarrassment or anger, it was hard to say. But the bearded fellow scoffed, “I’ve seen that trick before. It ain’t so hard.”
“Did I mention I’d be drawing to make the shot?” Casey added.
The fellow raised a bushy brow. “Drawing, huh? But still, them are long legs he’s got, with a lotta leeway. If you miss, you just lose a horse.”
“You think that isn’t enough consequence?”
Obviously not, because he said, “How ’bout shooting it out of his hand instead—from the draw?”
Damian stiffened. Casey whispered aside to him, “Well, I guess some sore fingers is a small price to pay for getting us on our way.”
“As long as it’s sore fingers and not bloody fingers,” he grouched.
The kid grinned at him. “I’d say make sure it’s not your gun hand that you use, just to be safe, but you don’t have a gun hand, so it don’t rightly matter, does it?”
He did not appreciate Casey’s humor, but he wasn’t really all that worried. He’d seen what the kid could do with a gun. However, he did start to worry when a dime was tossed to Casey with the order, “Use that un,” and Casey eyed the thing as if he couldn’t see it very clearly, which brought on more laughter from the saloon patrons.