Friends and Enemies (28 page)

Stuart mashed his lips together and nodded his head.

Thelma Speaker strolled up holding a four-year-old's hand. “You tore your trousers, Uncle Bobby.”

“Yes, I did, Casey.”

“You aren't supposed to play under the porch.”

Robert laughed and shook his head. “I know. I'll try better next time. Now, where have you and Mrs. Speaker been?”

“To the privy!” Casey shouted.

Thelma Speaker's face turned beet red.

Robert leaned over and kissed the older lady's cheek. “Blush-red looks good on you, Mrs. Speaker.”

“Robert, dear, Sarah Ruth would never approve of you coming to a public event so attired,” the gray-haired lady replied.

“No, ma'am. Your sister has already reminded me of that.” He glanced around the crowd. “Actually, I just need to talk to Jamie Sue, then be gone. I've still got work to do.”

“She's on the other side of Daddy.” Todd pointed through the crowd.

By now two more ropes had been thrown around the sorrel stallion's neck, and they were trying to coax him off the racetrack. Suddenly he yanked his neck back, lifting one of the men off his feet and tossing him over the rail into Whitewood Creek.

The crowd hurrahed.

The rest of the racehorses and riders were milling around the starting line.

Robert spotted his father leaning against the rail, his .50 caliber Sharps carbine over his shoulder, talking to a very fat man who wore a round straw hat.

Robert weaved through the crowd. His path was cut off by a rugged man in dirty shop clothes.

“Did you get beat up?” Riagan Moraine asked.

Robert pushed his hat back and let his hands slip down to his hips, but he purposely avoided his holstered revolver. “Not yet. I've been trailing a lady jewel thief who robbed a man on the train. She's the one that typed that letter on my stationery, Moraine.”

“Why did she type it?” Moraine demanded.

“She didn't want me on the train when the robbery took place. She thought she could talk you into stopping me.”

“She was almost right.”

“But you found you couldn't shoot a man in the back, could you?” Robert challenged.

Moraine glanced down at his boot tops. “No . . . no, I couldn't.”

Robert took a deep breath and could feel his muscles start to relax. “Now about that novel . . .”

Moraine rubbed his chin. “Your daddy already explained that to me.”

“He did?”

“He and that fat man over there.”

“Who is that man?” Robert asked.

“Hawthorne Miller, the one who wrote the book. Your daddy marched him up to the shop at gunpoint and made him tell me everything.”

Robert shook his head. “Yep, that sounds like Daddy.”

“Turns out that Fortune in the book isn't your kin after all,” Moraine declared.

“I'm glad to get that worked out, Riagan.” Robert held out his hand for the Irishman to shake.

Moraine hesitated. “Just one thing. We were born Catholic, and we die Catholic. I don't want you tryin' to change that.”

“I'll leave that up to the Lord. Fair enough?” Robert replied.

“That's fair.” Moraine reached out and shook his hand. “Did you see my boy on that black stallion?”

“Eachan did a great job on that horse.”

“He's a natural at it, you know.” Moraine put his hand on Robert's shoulder. “I hear your boy can ride too.”

“Little Frank's learning. It comes from hanging around cavalry soldiers all his life.”

“Maybe I should give them a hand with the sorrel.” Moraine ducked under the railing. “Or the second race will never begin.”

Robert strolled up to the rail and leaned his elbows against it next to his father.

“I knew you'd make it,” Brazos said, without looking at Robert.

“Daddy, I'm glad you feel like getting out a little.”

“There's no way on earth I'd miss this race.” Brazos motioned at the man next to him. “This gentleman is that famous author, Mr. Hawthorne Miller.”

All three men leaned against the rail and watched a dozen men yank the sorrel out of the track into the corral at the north end.

“Mr. Miller, I hear Daddy talked you into explaining things to Mr. Moraine.”

“Yes . . . well . . . your father is very persuasive,” Miller huffed. “I never thought anyone ever believed any of my stories.”

“I believe the one about Todd's ‘flying fist of death',” Robert said.

Brazos cleared his throat and pointed the carbine in Miller's direction. “All of them books about Stuart Brannon are true, aren't they?”

Miller pulled his hat off, wiped his sweating forehead, then cleared his throat. “Eh, yes definitely. . . . All the Brannon books are true.”

Brazos brushed his hand against his thick, sagging, gray mustache. “I met him once, you know . . .”

Oh no, I'm going to have to listen to those “me and Stuart Brannon” stories?
“Daddy, I need to talk to Jamie Sue. Why don't you tell Mr. Miller about the time you and Stuart held off that renegade Confederate veteran army down in Sonora, Mexico.”

Brazos's eyes lit up. “That was a day, wasn't it!”

“Yes,” Miller said, “but before you leave the track I need to talk to you about a book on how the ‘Fortune Family Foils the Fearsome Five.'”

“What?” Robert gasped.

Miller shrugged. “It's just a working title.”

“For what?”

“For how you, Jamie Sue, and the kids busted up that Wild Bunch gang on the train,” Brazos laughed. “I reckon it's your turn.”

“We don't want a book written about us,” Robert insisted.

“I'm going to write it anyway. It's a matter of whether I get the story straight from you or have to make all of it up.”

“Give him the facts, Bobby,” Brazos said. “We don't want any more make-believe stories about Fortunes.”

Robert pointed over to where Jamie Sue and the girls stared out at the racetrack. “I'll have to talk it over with my family.”

He pushed on through the crowd, which was intently watching as the horses formed a crude, dancing, prancing line, nervously waiting for the signal gun to fire.

Patricia wore the rose satin dress, Veronica the yellow.

Veronica spotted him first and ran and grabbed his arm. “Daddy! Isn't it exciting! Curly Mac is riding that bay mare! I think he'll finish right behind the gray, don't you? It's like first place. Everyone knows the gray will win.”

Patricia grabbed the other arm. “Daddy, did you see Eachan? They let him ride the black racehorse. He is really, really good.”

“I can't believe you two got this dressed up just to see a local horse race.” He stepped up next to Jamie Sue and put his arm around her waist.

She stepped back away from him and studied him boot to hat. “Robert Paul Fortune, what happened to you?”

“Chasing train robbers. I'm fine. I'll explain it all later.”

Veronica held on to the rail, dancing from one foot to the other. “The race is about to start, Daddy!”

Patricia chewed her lip. “This is the most exciting day of my entire life.”

“Darlin',” Robert began, “we're going to need to keep Guthrie's two boys until . . .”

“Certainly, helping others is what I do best. You know that.” Jamie Sue put a soft finger against his lip to silence him. “But tell me later. There's the gun!”

“I'm trying to tell you something important,” Robert hollered above the crowd. “What is so important about a horse race!”

“Because our son in on that big gray racing horse!” she shouted back.

Robert looked up to see Little Frank spur the big gray past the first turn.

My son . . . riding a professional racing horse? But he didn't . . . I didn't . . . Jamie Sue must have . . . I can't believe . . .

Veronica was bouncing clear off the ground with each jump.

Patricia chewed on her lip like it was candle wax.

Jamie Sue yelled, “Go, Little Frank!”

Robert stared. He stared at his wife, his daughters, and most of all his son who had a full-length lead on the bay mare on the back side of the track and was starting to pull further away.

“Go, Little Frank!” he screamed. “Go!”

The big gray thundered across the finish line three lengths in front of the big bay mare. The crowd roared approval.

Robert studied the crowd.
Are they cheering for the gray horse? Cheering for Little Frank? Cheering for the mare. Cheering for all the horses . . . Or just cheering because it's summer in Deadwood, South Dakota, in 1891 and it's a great time to be alive!

Most of the crowd, including the twins, moved down to the finish line to greet the winners. Robert and Jamie Sue stayed at the rail.

“He did very, very well,” Jamie Sue declared.

Robert took Jamie Sue's hand and laced his fingers in hers. They felt very soft. Very warm. Very right. “I can't believe you let him do it.”

“Me? It was how you answered his telegram.”

“I didn't answer any telegram. I was out chasing train robbers.”

“Yes, I know.” She put her hand in his arm. “I believe it said: ‘Train robbery. Delayed. Go ahead with plans.'”

“Well . . . yes, I sent that when I left Rapid City, . . . but it didn't have anything to do with a horse race. I meant go ahead with the plan I told you about the Raxton sisters.”

“We thought you meant go ahead with Little Frank riding the horse.”

“Well, it's over now,” he mumbled.

“Oh, Bobby, there is a naive statement if I ever heard one. Look at your daughters visiting with those boys. It's not over, Robert Fortune.”

Robert looked around at the milling crowd. “Look at all these people. They all saw Little Frank ride to victory.”

“Did you notice the entire family is here? Dacee June even brought the sweet little girls.”

“That's funny,” Robert added. “When we moved to town, no one was at the depot. This is like our welcoming. The entire family is all dressed up and gathered together.”

“Not everyone is dressed up,” she said.

“I think maybe I should wear duckings on this job.”

“And take an extra pair with you on every trip. I will not have my husband look abandoned.”

“Abandoned? Look at this crowd. Every friend we have in this town is here.”

“And every enemy,” Jamie Sue cautioned.

Robert noticed Patricia visiting with Eachan Moraine. “I suppose we will spend a lifetime trying to tell which is which.”

He looked up to see Daddy Brazos walking along with one arm around Little Frank's shoulder. His other hand carried his carbine.

“I saw you in the crowd, Daddy!” Little Frank shouted as he approached. “I told Mama as soon as you read my telegram you'd be here. I just knew you'd make it back in time! Is that the fastest horse you ever saw?”

“I'm proud of you, son. You did a fine job, didn't he, Daddy?” Robert replied.

Brazos continued to keep his arm on his grandson's shoulder. “I've never seen anybody that good since we buried Big River Frank up there under a Dakota cross.” He pointed at the graveyard on Mt. Moriah. “Now I've got a present for my oldest grandchild, Frank,” he announced.

Jamie Sue glanced over at Robert. “Frank? No longer Little Frank?” she murmured.

Brazos glanced back up at Mt. Moriah. “Well, Big River won't mind. He was always too big a man to let petty things bother him.” He turned to his grandson. “Frank, this carbine has been with me from Brownsville to today. Except for when I sent it to bring your Uncle Sammy home. It's like a member of the family. It's put meat on the table and driven all sorts of wolves from our door. Don't ever sell it. Don't ever trade it. Don't let it rust. It's yours.” He handed the gun to his stunned grandson.

Tears ran down Little Frank's cheeks. “Really, Grandpa? . . . Really . . . it's mine?”

Robert put his hand on his father's shoulder. “Daddy . . . you don't have to . . .”

Brazos held up a slightly shriveled but still-calloused hand to quiet Robert. “Yes, I have to, Bobby. It's somethin' I've been plannin' since the day Frank was born.” He scratched the back of his neck, reset his hat, and stared up at the cloudless, blue Dakota sky. “Isn't that right, Sarah Ruth?” he mumbled. He took a deep breath, then patted Frank on the back.

“And now, Bobby,” Brazos cleared his throat. “I have to go buy me a horse.”

“Which one, Grandpa Brazos?” Frank called out. “Which horse are you goin' to buy?”

Brazos winked at Robert. “Why, that big sorrel stallion, of course.”