Gideon, Robin - Desire of the Phantom [Ecstasy in the Old West] (Siren Publishing Classic) (48 page)

Despite the heat, Dylan shivered at the prospect of ex
plaining to Jonathon Darwell that his son had been shot in
the back. But at least Dylan knew who the murderer was.
Pamela Bragg had been spotted riding hard and fast away from the scene of the crime. Everyone in Whitetail Creek had
long thought her dynamite just waiting to explode. Should
Jonathon Darwell want to take his anger out on Dylan, at
least the deputy would be able to defend himself by saying
that the killer would soon be in custody.

As Dylan continued walking his trophy through town,
word traveled quickly.

Residents began lining the street to watch him leading the trail horse. The deputy authoritatively pulled his hat
down over his eyes, hoping to give himself an appearance
of mystery and of quiet competence.

“You know who killed him, Deputy?” someone from the gathering crowd shouted.

Dylan tried in vain to see who had asked the question.
But it really didn’t matter so long as he had the answer he knew the crowd wanted.

“I’ll have the guilty party in custody by morning!” he replied, raising his voice enough to make it carry.

Receiving a cheer from the crowd, Deputy Dylan McKenzie never felt better about himself.

* * * *

In her small barn, brushing down the mare Paul Randolph had loaned her, Pamela decided she’d need to figure
out some kind of payment schedule so she could keep the horse. On two different occasions, Garrett had insisted that
she not worry about paying for it, but Pamela couldn’t accept
such a valuable gift. She didn’t want even the slightest suspicion that the mare was a payment for sexual favors.

Finished brushing, feeding, and watering the horse, Pamela
returned to her other chores, finally returning the pitchfork to its proper place, hanging the water bucket up on
the wall peg, and then walking out into the bright morning
sunlight.

She was still squinting when she felt the muzzle of a rifle jab her in the back.

“Just raise your hands nice and slow and don’t make a play for it ‘cause I’ll shoot a woman just as quick as I’ll shoot a man,” a man said.

Pamela was
shocked. She recognized Deputy Dylan McKenzie’s voice. This deputy, renowned for laziness and cowardice, had caught her? In the blink of an eye she saw herself
first in a courtroom, standing before a judge, then pacing a tiny prison cell.

“Just stay right where you are,” the deputy said.

Pamela’s composure returned. She knew better
than to argue with the deputy, or put up any resistance.
Dylan, the coward, was the type who’d shoot a woman in the back. When
he twisted her wrists behind her back one at a time to
lock on the handcuffs, Pamela closed her eyes against a sink
ing feeling that her life was over.

Once her hands were securely cuffed, Dylan put his hands all over her body under the pretense of searching
for hidden weapons. At first Pamela twisted away from him,
but then she realized how much he enjoyed overcoming her struggles. Finally, when he’d finished manhandling her, she glared at him. “First time you ever touch a woman, Deputy?”

Dylan just grinned and took her by the arm, leading her to the porch where he forced her to sit.

“Mind telling me what I’ve done?” Pamela asked. Could
she have been recognized during her thwarted attempt to
steal from Darwell Cattle #2? As she sat down, she again
realized the wisdom of Garrett’s advice to plan every move
out carefully in advance.

“I’m arresting you for the back-shootin’ murder of
Richard Darwell,” Dylan said over his shoulder as he walked
into the cabin.

Pamela’s head began to spin, and she was afraid that she’d fall over.

Murder? There had to be some mistake. She was a thief.
In court, she might even confess to that, and when she did, she’d tell the jury that she had stolen from Jonathon
Darwell to help those poor families like the Pellmans, who
had been so grievously hurt by Darwell. She was no murder
ess. There had to be some mistake.

Pamela shook her head and blinked to stop the
spinning, but now there was a ringing in her ears. Pan
icking, she tested the strength of the handcuffs, but thick
bands of iron bit into the tender flesh of her wrists.

Murder? Richard Darwell?

“You’re out of your mind.” It took a moment for Pamela to realize she had actually spoken
the defiant words not just thought them. She could hear the deputy
rummaging through
her possessions. “I said, you’re out of your mind!” she shouted. “When my brother finds out you’ve gone through our place and arrested me on this silly charge,
he’s going to skin your hide. He’ll do it, Deputy, and don’t
think he won’t.”

The ringing in her ears had finally ended, and her confidence was returning. Despite everything, she was com
pletely innocent of murder, and the facts would prove it.

“Well, well, well,” Deputy McKenzie said smugly as he walked back onto the porch. There was a swagger to his step now that hadn’t been there before. In his hands were the black silk cape and mask Garrett had made for
her. “You have been a busy young lady, haven’t you? I
haven’t just arrested the murderer of Richard Darwell, I’ve arrested the Midnight Phantom to boot!”

* * * *

Rage roiled inside Garrett. For this, someone was going
to pay dearly.

Why had it taken so long—nearly four hours—for news
to get to the ranch of Pamela Bragg’s arrest for the murder of Richard Darwell? And now virtually everyone in Whitetail Creek was talking about how Pamela had also been revealed as the Midnight Phantom.

“Don’t go off half-cocked,” Paul said, standing in the
doorway to Garrett’s bedroom.

“Trust me. I’m not. I’m loaded for bear,” Garrett replied
as he carefully slipped his arm
into a figure eight-shaped holster strap then dropped a
small revolver into the leather pouch. He seldom carried
concealed weapons, but with his gray pinstriped jacket on, the revolver nestled under his left arm was all but invisible.

“Remember, you’re a lawyer,” Paul said quietly
.

Paul had earlier assembled some men as backup should
the situation take on illegal dimensions. Now these
men were getting their weapons readied, their horses sad
dled, and they were being given assignments with military
precision.

“I won’t forget,” Garrett stated with savage sarcasm, in
specting some papers before he shoved them into his brief
case. “With an honest-to-God lawman like Deputy Dylan
McKenzie arresting Pamela for murder, and such shining
examples of integrity in our local government, how could
I possibly forget that I’m a lawyer and must abide by the
law?”

How unjust it all seemed! Why should he, Garrett Ran
dolph, be handcuffed by the law, by all its rules and stat
utes, when men like Jonathon Darwell and Deputy Dylan did
whatever they desired?

Had becoming the Midnight Phantom had any positive
impact after all?

Paul excused himself, saying he had other things to do. Garrett knew that meant looking in on the boys to see how
their efforts were progressing. He himself had been on the organizing end when Garrett’s fiery temper and desire
for immediate justice had had to be dealt with, so he knew
that beyond the range of his vision, men were scurrying about and readying weapons, and Paul would be explain
ing that they must stay out of Garrett’s way while at the
same time remaining close enough to help him if they
were needed.

As Garrett’s ribs began to throb, he let out a laugh. The
damn pain would provide a reminder of the ruthless enemy
he faced. He embraced the pain, knowing it would keep
his senses deadly sharp.

A horse was waiting for him when he got outside. As
he strapped his briefcase into the saddlebags, he could
see men running past the nearby bunkhouses.

“I’ll be going to the sheriff’s office first,” Garrett said
to the young ranch hand, taking the reins of his horse. He knew that whatever he said would be passed on to the
appropriate men. “Once I get Pamela out of jail, I’ll figure
out my next step. Tell the boys to stay out of range for a
while. I don’t want the townspeople thinking they’re being
bullied.”

The boy, his eyes wide, said nothing. New to Randolph Ranch, he’d never before seen the place mobilize
against an enemy, and he clearly found it exciting.

As Garrett raced toward town, his mind worked through
possible strategies. Once he arrived, his horse lathered
from the breakneck pace, he saw curtains moving as peo
ple posted at their windows tried to avoid being seen. The
men lounging outside stores and shops stopped talking and watched silently as he rode past. Randolph’s angry
arrival had been nervously anticipated.

Garrett hoped Sheriff Max Stryker was in town. Max was
a good and decent man, hardworking and honest, reason
able. Deputy Dylan McKenzie, on the other hand, was the
type to be bought, bribed, or bullied into submission.

Garrett saw Dylan standing outside the sheriff’s office,
talking to three young women, likely telling them a fantastically exaggerated account of how he had bravely and he
roically captured the dangerous Midnight Phantom. Then
Dylan spotted Garrett riding quickly toward him and hastily
dismissed his female audience to rush into the sheriff’s
office. By the time Garrett arrived, Dylan was standing in
the doorway, holding a sawed-off shotgun.

“Afternoon, Mr. Randolph,” Dylan said, his cheek bulg
ing with fresh chewing tobacco. He spit a long brown
stream into the dirt, close enough to the highly polished
toes of Garrett’s boots to be an insult, not so close that it
couldn’t be called an accident.

Garrett tried to ignore the indirect confrontation and the
swinish behavior.

“Better start packing your bags,” Garrett said, swinging
down from his mount. It took all his willpower to keep
from reaching for the small revolver hidden in the holster
beneath his left arm. “You’re not going to be working in
Whitetail Creek much longer.”

“Now how do you figure that?” the deputy said, a smirk
on his face. With the shotgun,
Dylan gave the appearance of feeling pretty confident. A
small crowd had gathered
.

“I want Pamela out. Now.” Garrett’s voice was extremely
calm, but a murderous rage boiled inside him. “I don’t know who put you up to this, but you’re going to pay for it, Deputy. Pay dearly.”