Lone Star 04 (4 page)

Chapter 3

If Jessica Starbuck had simply wanted to
see
Roster, Kansas, she could have accomplished that without stepping off the train. The whole town was visible from the window of her compartment. Past the one-room depot was Main, fronted on either side by two saloons, the hotel and livery, and half a dozen other squat structures baking in the sun. From the tracks to the last building in town was a bare two hundred yards. After that, a person was either leaving town or just coming in.

Jessie stepped off the Kansas Pacific seconds before the squealing brakes brought the train to a halt. She was calm and relaxed now—her encounter with Lucy Jordan had taken care of that. There were no more uncertainties about the way things were. The enemy had shown his hand and the battle lines were drawn.

“Hey, look.” Jessie touched Ki's arm and nodded to the right. “There's our friend getting off now. Lord, Ki, I
guess
it is, anyhow. That girl is sure some granny!”

“Yes,” Ki said soberly, “indeed she is.” He followed Jessie's glance three coaches down, where a pair of conductors were marching Lucy Jordan past the tracks toward the town marshal's office. Without the heavy cotton padding of her disguise, she was truly a sight worth seeing. No one in Roster was going to mistake her for an old lady now. She wore a light blue, form-fitting gown laced with narrow white ribbon. The hot Kansas sun made rivers of light in her hair, turning amber to brass. Lucy held her head high and proud, stalking well ahead of her guards: Her long, determined stride emphasized the slender lines of her body, and an ample supply of womanly curves.

Ki pulled his eyes away and found Jessie grinning. “Not hard to guess what you're thinking,” she said lightly. “They're not making assassins like they used to, are they?”

“No. I suppose this is true.” He cleared his throat and squinted past Lucy down the street. “Are we going to find Tom Bridger now, or go first to the hotel?”

“Both and neither, I guess. I'd like to follow Lucy over to the jail. You and I are the only ones who can tell the law what happened back there. We ought to get it settled.” Jessie frowned past the tracks. “That girl's dangerous, Ki. I'd just as soon make sure she's not running around loose somewhere.”

Ki picked up their two leather valises and followed Jessie past the depot and the first saloon to the town marshal's office. The scene inside the office set her green eyes blazing. Lucy Jordan was perched in a chair looking scared, and all of fifteen years old. Her hands were crossed primly in her lap, a gesture that somehow managed to press her young breasts up high. Her big doe eyes were locked on the marshal, and tears streamed down her cheeks. The marshal wasn't even listening to the trainmen. He was having Lucy for supper, and starting on dessert.

When the front door slammed, the lawman jerked around, irritation crossing his weathered features. “All right, damn it, who do you think you—” He got a look at Jessie and his eyes went wide. One breathtaking beauty in Roster was an event. Two were a little more than he could handle. “Uh—yes, ma‘am?” he grinned sheepishly. “I'm Marshal Gaiter. What can I do for you?”

“You can start by putting your eyes back in your head,” Jessie said coolly. “After that, we can get down to business, Marshal.”

“Uh—well, sure...” The lawman shuffled his worn boots on the wide-plank floor. He blushed hotly. “You like a chair, Miss—”

“Starbuck. Jessica Starbuck. And this is my friend, Ki.”

The marshal blinked. “Are you
that
—”

“Right.
That
Starbuck.” She nodded to the conductors. “These two gentlemen tell you what happened on the train?”

“They was starting to. Only I can't hardly believe this pretty little chile—”

“Believe it,” snapped Jessie. “This
child
tried to kill me. With this.”

She reached behind her, pulled open her valise, and tossed the Smith & Wesson at the marshal.

“I never even saw that awful thing before!” bawled Lucy.

“Shut up,” said Jessie. Reaching further into the satchel, she dumped the cotton-padded gown, patterned shawl, several tins of makeup and powder, and a bristly gray wig on the floor. “Here's her grandma suit. You'll need it at the trail.” She looked at the two conductors. “If you make out some statements before you leave town, I'd be grateful. Guess you need to be getting back, if that's all right with the marshal here?”

“Yeah, sure,” Marshal Gaiter grunted. He cast a leary eye at Lucy Jordan. “I'm real disappointed in you, young lady. Damned if I'm not.”

“None of this is true,” pouted Lucy. “Not a word of it, sir. Just ‘cause she's a rich lady an' I'm poor—”

“Uh-huh.” The marshal's hard face softened. “Well now, I reckon you'll have a chance to tell your side.” Reluctantly he led Lucy to a cell past the rear door of his office, and then rejoined Jessie and Ki. He was a gaunt, weathered man with a tobacco-stained beard. When he moved, he took time planning his route, and Jessie guessed he'd gotten the job because there wasn't much to it, and nobody else in Roster wanted it.

“You be in town a while, Miss Starbuck? Reason I'm askin' is, Roster's not all that big to keep a judge busy full time. Don't know when we'll get around to having a trial.” He looked over his shoulder and made a face. “Don't know what I'm going to do with
her,
if we get a couple of drunks or something. Hell, I only got one cell.”

“I wouldn't worry,” Jessie said blandly. “Lucy won't hurt them unless she gets her hands on a weapon. Oh, I almost forgot,” she added, giving the lawman her best smile. “You can help me if you will. I have some contacts here, but I know the marshal has his finger on what's
really
happening. You know?”

The old lawman swelled at Jessie's remark. “Why, I'll sure do what I can.”

“Good.” Jessie leaned forward on her chair. “I'm here on business concerning the new group of farmers in your county. Do you know them at all? The immigrants from Europe?”

The marshal shrugged and scratched his ear. “Know
of
‘em. What there is to know, which ain't a lot. They're a peaceful bunch. Don't cause any trouble.”

“Do you know any of them personally? They must come in town to buy supplies and things.”

“Most folks do, but these is some different. Don't buy much of anything, what I hear. Or get into Roster, either. Stick pretty much to themselves.”

“And you don't know
any
of them by name?” Jessie persisted.

“Don't have any cause to,” Gaiter said bluntly. “Isn't any of ‘em got in trouble. Have their own little settlement out to Firelick Creek, and a kinda . . .
elder
, or somethin', to keep the peace.” The marshal shrugged and cleared his throat. “Don't hold much with foreigners myself, but—” He stopped abruptly and looked at Ki. “No offense, of course, mister. I will say those folks tend to their own business.”

Jessie looked down at her boots, and then back to the marshal. “Does anyone bother
them?”

“Huh?” The marshal closed one eye. “You mean folks ‘round here? Naw. Nothing out there to bother. Why'd you think that?”

Jessie stood quickly. “I'm very grateful, Marshal Gaiter. Thank you for your time. Where's Tom Bridger's place? Right down the street, I guess?”

The marshal pulled himself together and gave her a curious look. “Damn, that's right, ain't it? Bridger did work for Starbuck, didn't he?”

“What?” Jessie caught the man's words and frowned. “You said
did
work, marhsal. As far as I know—”

The marshal stopped her with a hand and walked past Jessie to the door. “Tom's place is straight down on this side of the street. But you ain't going to find him there, Miss Starbuck. He's dead. Shot down last night some time. Found him this morning behind the Morgan Dollar.”

“He's
dead?”
Jessie's face flooded with anger. “Damn, Ki!” She turned on Gaiter. “Do you know who killed him?”

“Nope.” The marshal shook his head. “Likely never will, either. Someone just come up to him and poked a Greener shotgun in his belly and pulled the trigger. Didn't hardly make any noise.” He cleared his throat and set his lips. “Made a helluva mess, though. Whoever it was took Tom's watch, and whatever money he had on him.”

“Of course,” Jessie said evenly. “A back-alley robbery.”

“Looks like it.” Gaiter frowned at Jessie's expression. “Why? You think it was somethin' else?”

“No, I'm sure it wasn't...” said Jessie.

 

 

“There's only one reason they'd kill him,” she said outside. “Tom's the one who alerted us to this business in the first place. He knew something about what the cartel's up to here, Ki. Something he didn't want to put in a telegram.”

“Most likely,” Ki agreed. “Or they simply killed him as an extra warning to us. They are quite capable of that.”

“I won't argue the point,” Jessie said flatly. “Only I don't think that's it. Tom knew more than he was saying, or he wouldn't have rung the bell on Roster.” She sighed and squinted down the street. “Why don't you go on over to the hotel and get us settled in? I'm going to walk down and see if any of Bridger's people know anything. It's a long shot, but it's worth a try. Then maybe we can ride out to that settlement before dark.” She caught Ki's look and shot him a grin. “Hey, I'll be all right, old friend.”

“Perhaps Tom Bridger thought so too.”

Jessie raised an eyebrow. “They caught him at night in the dark. Nothing's going to happen in the middle of Roster, Kansas, in daylight.” She glanced down the bright empty street. “Doesn't look to me like much ever has.”

“Probably not,” Ki said flatly. “But they haven't had Jessica Starbuck here before.”

Jessie laughed. “You make me sound like trouble.”

“I don't think I will answer that. In the interest of good relations.”

 

 

Tom Bridger's place was at the far end of town, Roster's largest building. Henderson Implements sold everything a man needed to go into farming: plows, seed, harvest machines and tools, and parts to fit anything that broke. And if a man didn't have a good place to sink his plow, the Green River Land Company, with offices above the store, would help him find one. Both the Henderson and Green River operations were examples of Alex Starbuck's ability to see a need and fill it. Starbuck's combined implement and land establishments were scattered all over the fertile Midwest. Managers like Tom Bridger kept the stores well stocked by rail from company warehouses in Kansas City, Omaha, and a half-dozen other major centers, and did a thriving land-office and crop-futures business. These enterprises did a great deal more than increase profits for the company; like townships with a solid bank behind them, they played a big part in ensuring the community's survival from year to year.

Jessie was well aware of the way the business worked, and of Tom Bridger's part in it. She knew, too, even before she talked with Bridger's employees, that they'd be totally unaware of the true reason behind his murder. Still, it was a thing she had to do. As she expected, the clerks and other employees were shocked by the boss's death, and thought something ought to be done about the increasing lawlessness in Kansas...

 

 

Jessie left that dead end behind her and walked back to the hotel to find Ki. There were a lot more people on the street now, most of them men. She could feel their eyes as she passed, but paid them no mind.

The men looked, but kept their peace. Jessica Starbuck was a real beauty, they decided, but there was something about her that made them forget their usual catcalls and whistles. She was a puzzle they weren't real sure how to handle. All woman for certain—soft, slender, and a pleasure to watch. But at the same time, she walked like a lady who might meet a man face to face and look him right in the eye. They didn't know many women like that, and weren't sure they cared to. Still, she was by-God worth walking outdoors to look at. No question at all about that ...

 

 

Ki quickly arranged for rooms at the Roster Hotel, dropped off his satchel and Jessie‘s, and walked next door to the Great Atlantic Saloon. The name seemed out of place on that flat Kansas plain, but Ki decided that was probably the whole idea.

At the long wooden bar, he ordered a beer he didn't want. When he drank at all, he preferred good Scotch whisky. The Atlantic barkeep had likely never heard of any such drink, and Ki wasn't about to ask.

Half a dozen midday drinkers were scattered about, and all pretended to ignore him. Ki knew they were well aware of who he was—that he was the peculiar-looking Oriental who'd come in on the Kansas Pacific with Jessica Starbuck. He was certain, too, that there were as many fanciful opinions about what he was doing with such a beauty as there were customers in the room. Moreover, Ki's appearance gave the other drinkers something to think about. While he was dressed the same as most every other man there, in worn denims and plain cotton shirt, he wore no gunbelt, as some did, and only a pair of rope-soled cloth slippers in lieu of the heavy working footwear—boots or high-topped shoes—favored by most men of the region. Unless he was traveling by train and the occasion demanded more formal attire, Ki seldom wore boots or shoes. His training had toughened his feet into lightning-swift, iron-hard weapons, and at the same time had made them almost as sensitive as a second pair of hands. To encase these instruments in tightly bound, cumbersome packages of heavy leather would have been foolish.