Chasing Rainbows Page 18

  The sheriff turned to the cowhand. “That what happened, Dwight?”

  Dwight’s lips worked in silent, angry willfulness. He spit out a long brown stream of tobacco and wiped the dribble from his chin with the back of his sleeve. “If she didn’t want to dance, then what the hell was she doing there?”

  Jake Moran’s voice carried over the excited murmur of the crowd. “Seems to me that the lady has a right to go anywhere she pleases.”

  Annie felt an immediate, inexplicable rush of relief at the sound of Jake’s voice. She spotted him making his way through the crowd, standing a good head and shoulders taller than most folks there. As his eyes met hers, she no longer felt quite so alone.

  “You let me handle this, Jake,” the sheriff said.

  “You go right ahead, Walt.” His tone was friendly enough, but as he scouted the faces in the crowd, there was an underlying firmness to it. “I just don’t want to see Miss Foster blamed for something that doesn’t appear to be her fault.”

  “Nobody’s getting blamed for anything. At least, not yet.” The sheriff turned to face the crowd. “All right, folks, the party’s over. Those of you who want to help my deputies clean up are welcome to stay. The rest of you can go on home. And as for you, Dwight, I want to see you in my office tomorrow morning at eight. You don’t show, and I’ll send my deputies out to Parker’s ranch to bring you in and fine you a day’s wages for wasting my time. You understand me?”

  Dwight nodded glumly and turned away. The crowd broke up and slowly dispersed, grumbling but compliant.

  Annie turned to head back to the hotel, but the sheriff’s voice stopped her. “If you don’t mind, Miss Foster, there are a few questions I’d like answered. Would you follow me to my office?”

  The question was framed as a polite request, but the sheriffs gaze was unrelenting. Annie shot a glance at Jake. He shrugged, and the two of them stepped into line behind Sheriff Pogue. Funny how just a few weeks ago Annie would have bridled at Jake’s intrusion. But now his presence felt perfectly natural. They made their way to the sheriff’s office and stepped inside. Walter Pogue took a seat on one side of a broad rough-hewn desk, then motioned to two chairs across from him.

  Once she and Jake were seated, the sheriff quickly got to the heart of the matter. “Heard you went for a little ride this morning, Miss Foster.”

  Annie didn’t bother to question where he had gotten his information. In a town the size of Two River Flats, nothing went unnoticed. “Any law against that, Sheriff?”

  “Depends. You talk to anybody while you were out there?”

  “My horse.”

  Sheriff Pogue steepled his fingers, his expression flat. “I can talk all night if you want me to, Miss Foster. But I reckon you’d like to get out of here, go back to the hotel, and maybe get some sleep. You answer my questions straight and you’ll leave that much sooner. You understand me?”

  Annie leveled a cool, hard look at him. “I understand you.”

  “Good.” He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk. “Then, why don’t you start by telling me who you met with when you rode out of town this morning?”

  “I didn’t meet with anyone.”

  “Well, you didn’t ride out there just to enjoy the view. Who were you looking for?”

  Annie hesitated, then reluctantly answered. “Someone’s been trailing us the past few days. I thought it might be a fella by the name of Jim Garvey. Folks who know him call him Snakeskin Garvey.”

  “Snakeskin?”

  She nodded. “That’s about all he wears. Fancy snakeskin boots, snakeskin belt, snakeskin vest, even the band on his hat is made out of snakeskin.”

  “Did he ride with the Mundy Gang?”

  “Not for long. Pete kicked him out, whopped him so bad he almost killed him. Garvey blamed me for what happened. He swore he’d come back and even the score with me once Pete was gone.”

  “Why’d Pete kick him out of the gang?”

  Annie stiffened, then lifted her shoulders in what she hoped was an indifferent shrug. “Snakeskin… gave me a hard time.” She felt Jake’s gaze on her, but couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

  “I see.” The sheriff exchanged a veiled look with Jake, then continued, “You find any sign of this Snakeskin fella?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t find anything. I rode back into town about noon.”

  “All right.” The sheriff stood and moved to a cast-iron stove that sat in a corner. He filled three tin cups with coffee and passed a cup to her and Jake. He took a deep sip, studying her for a long moment in silence. “When was the last tune you talked to Pete Mundy?”

  “Three months ago, the morning he and the boys were killed.”

  “You mind telling me how it happened?”

  She shifted in her chair, fighting back her natural instinct to clam up when talking to the law. These were the same questions Sheriff Cayne had asked her — the same questions she reckoned she would hear over and over again for the rest of her days. She might as well keep answering them until somebody believed her.

  “The boys were fixin’ to rob a payroll off a train,” she said. “Normally I stayed home to wait for them, to see if any of them needed doctoring up. But that morning, I was leaving for good. The gang was getting too rowdy, and the jobs they were pulling were getting too serious for my taste. I didn’t want any part of it. But before I left, I followed them out to the train and hung back and waited, just to make sure that none of them were hurt. I guess I figured I owed them at least that much.”

  “What happened next?” the sheriff asked bluntly.

  “It was a setup. The train wasn’t carrying a payroll but a boxcar full of lawmen instead. The door slid open, and those lawmen blasted the boys off their horses before they could move or lift their hands in surrender.”

  Annie fought back a shudder at the grizzly memory. It had all happened in less than a minute, yet it seemed to take forever. She remembered the screeching sound of the railcar door sliding open, then the shock of seeing the armed men inside. It seemed she had been able to hear each individual bullet they fired — and there must have been hundreds of them. She smelled the blood, heard the boys scream in shock and terror, and watched in stunned horror as they writhed in agony, then tumbled from their mounts.

  She had been hidden in the woods, too far away to fire her gun or do anything to save them. All she had been able to do was watch the boys die. She hadn’t been able to scream or to move, or even to look away. She had sat frozen in her saddle, unable to stop watching, as though she were trapped in a nightmare. But that nightmare had been real.

  “You sure they were dead?” Sheriff Pogue asked.

  Annie swallowed hard. “I know what dead looks like.”

  “And the whole gang was there?”

  “Yes.”

  The sheriff frowned. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” he drawled. “You’re telling me that Pete Mundy, Frank Wade, Neil Abbott, Woodie Harold, and Diego Martinez were all shot down in cold blood by a group of lawmen who ambushed them from a railcar?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Didn’t it strike you as odd that a group of lawmen would bring down a gang as notorious as the Mundys and not spread the word — or collect the reward? Didn’t it seem awfully strange that the news never hit the papers? That should have been the lead story in the territorial papers for weeks.”

  “I know what I saw, Sheriff. I can’t explain the rest of it, but I know what I saw.” In truth, Annie had been bothered by the same thing, but this didn’t strike her as the time to air her doubts.

  “Where’s all this leading, Walt?” Jake asked.

  “I’ll tell you where,” Sheriff Pogue answered, his gaze turning hard and flat as he looked at Annie. “Fact is, I’m not a big believer in coincidences, Miss Foster, and we’ve got a whole string of them to contend with here. Let me start with what was happening at the northern end of town while you were coincidentally caus
ing all that ruckus down at the town hall. Five men rode up and tried to break into the bank.”

  Annie stiffened. That explained the shots she had heard earlier. And she had a sinking feeling that there was more bad news to come.

  “They wore handkerchiefs over their faces, but my men and I saw enough to make a guess at who they were. Would you like to hear it?”

  “I’m listening,” she managed.

  “All right. One man was a Mexican. Medium height, stocky build, and short, curly black hair. He rode a big black mare and had a black custom-made saddle embossed with red crosses.”

  Diego. Annie listened as the sheriff described three more men who could easily be Frank, Neil, and Woodie.

  “The leader of the gang,” Walter Pogue continued, “was a tall, slim fella with long blond hair peeking out from beneath his hat. He wore a buckskin vest with long fringes and fancy stitching, and black boots with unusual spurs — looked like little silver arrows. He rode a sorrel gelding with one white sock on its left foreleg. That sound familiar to you?”

  Pete.

  But it couldn’t be. The boys in the gang were dead. She’d seen them die herself.

  Annie tilted her chin, looking the sheriff straight in the eye. “I don’t know who those men are, but they ain’t the Mundy Gang.”

  “Is that so?” Walter Pogue replied, unimpressed.

  Jake shifted in his chair, regarding the sheriff steadily. “I thought you and I had an understanding, Walt.”

  The sheriff glared back at Jake, a scowl on his face. “I’m afraid I’ve got a bit of a problem there. If folks in town discover that I let Outlaw Annie ride out of town clean as a whistle after the Mundy Gang tried to rob the bank, I’m going to have a damned hard time getting elected next year. Especially when they find out that she set the town hall on fire at the exact moment the boys in the gang were attempting to rob the bank. Folks around here don’t like that kind of coincidence any more than I do.”

  “How much?” Jake asked flatly.

  Annie and the sheriff both turned to stare at Jake at the same time.

  “How much will it cost to fix it?” Jake repeated.

  “It’s not just a question of money,” the sheriff replied.

  Jake smiled thinly. “Everything’s a question of money, Walt.” He reached across the sheriff’s desk for an ink pen and paper, scribbled a few lines, and passed it back. “That’s a draft note. Take it to the bank in the morning and have them wire for the funds. That ought to cover the damage and then some.”

  Jake reached for Annie, took her elbow, and politely assisted her up. “You did your job, Walt. You stopped the Mundy Gang from robbing the bank, got rid of Outlaw Annie, and collected damages for the town hall. I reckon that’s a fair night’s work by anyone’s standards.”

  Annie listened, flinching at his reference to her as Outlaw Annie. It was painfully clear that Jake didn’t believe her any more than the sheriff did when she swore that the boys in the gang were dead. For some reason, his distrust bothered her far more than she would have thought.

  Walter Pogue stood, picked up the bank note, and stuffed it into his pocket. He fixed Jake with a look that was so dark it was almost hostile. “I’ll expect to hear from you sometime in the next few weeks, Jake.”

  Jake nodded. “You’ll hear.”

  As they stepped out into the street, Annie glanced up at Jake. “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing. Just some business between old friends.”

  The walked toward the hotel. It was nearly midnight and the town looked deserted. The crisp autumn breezes that Annie had enjoyed earlier that day had turned into frosty gusts that seemed to tear through the thin fabric of her dress. The hotel beckoned in the distance, emitting a soft glow through the windows that promised both warmth and security. She wrapped her arms tightly around her waist and quickened her pace.

  They reached the hotel and made their way upstairs. Annie paused at the door to her room, searching for something to say that might lessen the evening’s disaster. Pasting a brave smile on her lips, she announced brightly, “Well, mister, at least I made an impression.”

  Jake stared at her for a moment in silence, then he shook his head. A slight smile curved his lips as he unlocked his door and pushed it open. “Next time, darlin’, try to make a good one.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They left Two River Flats the next morning just after sunrise. Annie rode hard, driven by an emotion that was part desperation, part fear, and part anger. She didn’t examine her feelings, nor did she discuss them with Jake. She simply rode. As far as she could and as fast as she could. All that mattered was getting as many miles between herself and the town of Two River Flats as possible.

  Shortly after noon, they stopped at the banks of a river that had swollen to near impassibility as a result of the previous week’s rain. Remembering the last time she had ridden through the territory with the boys, Annie mentally calculated the distance to the nearest shallow ford where they could safely cross. It was at least three days’ ride away — and then three days back. Almost a week’s time lost. They studied the river in silence for a long moment, neither one speaking.

  “We’ll go around,” Jake finally said with a sigh.

  “We’ll go across,” Annie countered, tucking Cat securely inside her coat as she spurred Dulcie on.

  “Damn it, Annie! Wait a minute!”

  She ignored him. Jake Moran could follow her or not; the choice was his. At that moment, it was all she could do to keep her seat. The banks of the river were thick with mud, and Dulcie spooked as she sank to her knees and tried to find solid footing. Undaunted, Annie spurred the little mare on, urging her into the swift current.

  After a moment, she heard Jake behind her. “I’m glad you thought this over,” he called as he and Weed plunged into the river.

  Annie didn’t answer. Icy, muddy water splashed her face and soaked her clothing. The river swirled around her, threatening to suck her under. The water was much deeper than she had anticipated, and the current was much stronger. Dulcie began to swim. Annie slipped off the saddle and clung desperately to one stirrup, attempting simultaneously to keep her own head above water, to prevent Cat from drowning, and to avoid Dulcie’s thrashing hooves. The threat of being pulled under by the swirling, rushing current was suddenly a very real thing.

  She glanced over her shoulder and tried to catch sight of Jake and Weed, but the effort was in vain. Icy water splashed her face and stung her eyes, totally obscuring her vision. Although she couldn’t see him, doubtless he was caught in much the same struggle as she.

  Dulcie finally reached the opposite bank and lurched up, snorting and breathing hard. Annie dropped to her knees and scrambled through the mud and brush, thankful just to be back on solid ground. Her hat had been knocked off her head and swept away by the current, and her hair drooped in her face like river weed. At least twenty pounds of mud and silt coated her skin and filled her boots and clothing. On top of that, she had probably lost at least half the contents of her saddlebags. But at least she was alive.

  She heard the sound of hoof-beats behind her and turned to see Jake, still atop Weed, looking relatively dry and in control. He studied her and let out a short laugh. “You look like a drowned rat, darlin’.”

  Annie released a dripping wet and thoroughly unhappy Cat from her coat, then rose to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster. “Thank you very much.”

  “You ever think things through before you do them?”

  “We made it, didn’t we?” she shot back, her patience at an end. “And why do you always have to be so damn smug about everything?”

  “I’m not smug, just right.”

  “We saved ourselves six days.”

  “How are your guns?” he parried.

  Annie glanced down, mortified and embarrassed. As she had underestimated the depth of the river, she hadn’t taken any precautions with her weapons. Her guns and cartridge belt were soaked thr
ough, as was her carbine. In effect, her weapons were now completely useless. Not only had Jake kept his seat, he had shown the forethought to wrap his cartridge belt and holsters across his chest and hold his rifle above his head while he crossed. His guns, saddlebags, and clothing were all still relatively dry.

  She, in contrast, was sodden, icy cold, and unarmed. A gust of wind whipped around them, sending a chill down her spine. The fight suddenly went out of her. The strain of the hanging, the bandits, the fire, the reappearance of the Mundy Gang — it was simply too much for her to stand anymore. The emotions she had been keeping so tightly in check bubbled to the surface and overflowed like a pot that had been left untended.

  Annie clenched her jaw as a tight, burning ache filled her throat and her eyes swelled with tears. She blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, turning her back to Jake.

  She heard him sigh, then dismount. The sound of his footsteps carried toward her as he moved in her direction. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him, pressing her face against his chest as he gently stroked her hair.

  “The hell with it, Annie. Go ahead and cry if you want to.”

  She took a deep, shuddering breath and clenched her fists tightly at her sides. “I never cry, mister. Never.”

  “I can tell.”

  That started her crying even harder.

  “Shh, darlin’. It’s all right. It’s going to be all right.” He eased her down until they were both sitting, Jake on the ground, Annie in his lap. He rocked her steadily and let her cry, occasionally murmuring low, soothing nonsense or softly caressing her back. Finally her tears dried up. Annie took a deep, gasping breath and hiccupped, wiping her cheeks on the collar of his jacket.

  “Feel better?” he asked, passing her a handkerchief.

  She blew her nose. “No.”

  He smiled and removed a shiny silver flask from within his coat pocket. “Here, have a sip of this. It’ll put some hair on your chest.”

  “I don’t want hair on my chest.”

  “Drink it anyway.”