Lone Star 05 (13 page)

Marshal Scott knocked once and opened the door. He too was weary. No longer a young man, he had just seen the results of three brutal killings—and even after all the years he'd worn a star, the idea of so much killing was repugnant to him. His vest hung loosely over his thin trunk, weighted down by the metal star pinned to his pocket.

He stood his rifle against the wall and pulled up a chair to close the circle, throwing his leg over the seat to straddle it. He rested his head in his hands on the back of the chair. Exhaustion lanced through his eyes, but he said, “Well, the boy is still in there, but for how long I don't know.”

Jessie said, “Mueller plans to have Thomas released to his custody by bribing the Mormons. And the exchange, he guesses, will take place tomorrow.”

“Then we'll have to act tonight,” Thad Hill put in.

“Hold on, children,” Scott raised his work-hardened hands. The marshal was an experienced, world-weary man, close to retirement age—if he lived that long. He was the voice of caution. “Let's not jump to conclusions. No offense to you, Mr. Ki, but I wouldn't believe a damn word Mueller says. He might just be trying to make you play your hand.”

“No offense taken, Marshal,” Ki said. “However, I do believe that the German has worked out a deal with Carpenter, whether the Mormon has admitted it or not. In any case, the sooner we act, the better our chances of saving the prisoner from him. Mueller is determined to have him.”

The lawman rubbed his eyes. “You're talking like
we
have already decided to break the boy out ourselves. Up till now, I haven't been sure that's the way. I don't know how my boss in Denver would react to my busting him out like that.”

Jessie Starbuck smiled. “Seems the Denver office is used to unorthodox tactics by now, Marshal. Our friend Custis Long usually works that way.”

“Well, I ain't Longarm, ma‘am.”

“Of course not. I'm sorry I said that, Mr. Scott.” Jessie liked the man and did not want to push him further than he was willing to go. “Still, I think we have to act, all of us together, to keep Thomas from being hanged or dragged off by Mueller. And of the two, I fear Mueller more. He's got something up his sleeve—I don't know what. And I want to know why exactly he wants the kid—and what he's really doing here.”

She did know, however, that Heinrich Mueller was a representative of the hated cartel. A second, more thorough inspection of the diary book had confirmed it. In her father's careful hand she had read H.
Mueller, San Francisco.
There was no other information on the man, but that was enough for her. She had shared her find with Ki alone; no need for the others to be burdened with her personal motivations. They had enough to worry about.

“Look, Mr. Scott,” said Thad, “we all agree that the kid has to be brought to trial—back in Provo probably. And if we don't see to it, nobody will.”

“I can't argue with that, son. It's just that if I'm going to bust him out, I want to be sure we can get him where we want him. And with only the four of us—” He shrugged. “I don't see it.”

Jessie looked at Scott, sympathetic with his plight. She had to convince him to support her effort to get the boy the hell out of there. But Scott, unlike too many star-toters, lived by the law and by a set of principles. He was a rare breed. But surely, if he could see that there was only one way for justice to be served in this case, he would go along with them.

“Mr. Scott,” she said, starting again at the core of her argument, “you do realize that the boy is in great danger here. The only question is who will get him—MueHer or the mob. And if it's Mueller, I'm afraid he'll encourage the boy to do even more damage.”

The marshal broke into a smile. “Surely, Miss Jessie, I understand all that. But what if you do bust the boy out and start off for Provo and he escapes from you? You going to take responsibility for his next killing or robbery? My boss will blame me and his boss will blame him, and so on and so forth. To say nothing of the right of it. As it is, with him in jail he's not harming a soul.”

“But you yourself told me your job is to see that he doesn't get killed before he can be brought to court. That's impossible if he remains here.”

By now Scott's crushed hat was in his hands. All he wanted was to do right. What she said made sense, to a point, but his instinct told him that the kid would be a bigger headache outside bars that behind them. And he said so.

Thad said, “The marshal's right, Jessie. I'll go along with you, whichever way you decide to do it. But you've got to know that it'll be more dangerous once we have the kid with us. We'll have both the Mormons and that slimy Mueller on our tails.”

“But it's the only way!” the young woman declared. Jessie knew the dangers. She was caught between her own irrational, conflicting emotions and the commonsense advice of these men. She
had
to prove Thomas was not her father's son. Only by getting him in a court of law would she ever be able to discover the truth.

“There are many ways that merge into the one true way,” Ki said quietly. Jessie and the two men looked at him quizzically. He sat there stern-faced, unmoving. In his eyes flickered the ancient wisdom of his people. As always, he exerted authority over many different kinds of men. Scott and Thad both respected this softspoken Japanese man who had earned Jessie's trust in all things. Therefore they were prepared to listen to what he had to say.

“Like the
ninja
warriors of my country, we must strike swiftly and silently. There is no doubt that by taking the boy we will invite attack from all sides. However, believing that what we do is right, and acting now, in darkness, we increase our chances and the boy's tenfold. As we sit and debate, the opposing forces, already greater than ours, grow stronger. But soon they must sleep. Then will come our opportunity. If we don't act immediately, there will be no cause for further debate.”

In his oblique Oriental way, Ki had laid his finger on the heart of the problem: Jessie and the men did not have the luxury of considering the fine points of the question. They must move now or never, as Ki said.

Marshal Scott raised his gray eyebrows. “You've got a point there.” His long legs were wrapped around the chair like tightly clinging vines on a chimney.

Thad Hill nodded. He was ready to follow Jessie Starbuck to hell if she wanted him to. His only reservations concerning the proposed breakout were for her safety. He didn't give a damn for the murderer in the lockup, or for his own hide.

“Hell,” Thad said, “we're wasting time here jawboning about it. Mr. Scott, I'm with Miss Jessie, whatever she decides. And we'd appreciate you siding with us.”

“None of this makes any goddamned sense to me,” the lawman grumbled. “Maybe if I had a drink, I could think better.”

Thad produced a bottle, like a conjuror, out of nowhere. Jessie looked surprised. He grinned. “I calculated we'd need it,” he said, “so I retrieved it from my saddlebag. Liquor's not easily got around Mormon towns like this, so I always bring my own.”

“That's the first sensible thing I've heard you say,” Scott countered with a crooked smile. He took the bottle from Thad, uncorked it, and tilted his head back to take a deep swallow.

Jessie said, “I'll take a drink too.” The marshal obliged her, first wiping the mouth of the bottle with his sleeve. “Thanks,” she said, bringing it to her lips. She took a slug, swallowed it, and wiped away the new tears it brought to her eyes.

Thad took the bottle from her. “Careful there, Jessie, this here's good Tennessee whiskey.”

“Tastes fine,” she breathed hoarsely. But one shot was enough for her. She didn't want to be fuzzy tonight. She turned to Scott, who once again was guzzling the good liquor. “What do you say, Mr. Scott? Ki is right—it's now or we might as well forget it.”

“Little girl,” Scott said, “because I happen to like you and trust you—and I can't say the same for Mueller and the others—I' ll ride with you. And I'll find some way to explain it to my superiors in Denver.”

“Oh, Mr. Scott, thank you!” Jessie counted herself very lucky indeed. With two good men like Scott and Thad Hill on her side, along with Ki, no one could stand against her. “Thank you all. Now how shall we go about it?”

Immediately they began to discuss a plan of action. Jessie listened intently as the men traded ideas.

“Well, I've ridden these foothills and gullies and canyons for nigh onto twenty years,” the deputy marshal said, “and it's not easy to run in this country. I can map out a route that will get us twenty miles in four or five hours, with luck. Best bet is to head out of town to the north, circle back south and west till we hit the Strawberry River, and follow that as long as we can. Unless they get a jump on us, we can put a lot of territory between us and this town before they catch wise to us. But the riding won't be easy—and we'll be guarding the prisoner at the same time.”

“That's fine as far as it goes,” said Thad. “What about breaking the kid out in the first place? That's where those two detectives went wrong. And Carpenter will likely beef up the guard force at the jail.”

“Will he?” Scott asked. He narrowed his gaze as he explained to Thad that the marshal wouldn't necessarily do that. “Not at all. They won't be expecting us so soon, as Mr. Ki said. If it was me guarding him, I sure as hell would figure no one would be bold enough—or stupid enough—to try again the same night. So we've got surprise on our side, if we work quietly.”

“That's where Ki comes in,” Jessie said. “He can attack them and put them out with no noise at all.”

The marshal tilted his head. “Now how do you go about that, Mr. Ki? Without stabbing them, that is. Or bashing their heads in.”

Ki smiled enigmatically. “You'll see when the time comes.”

“If you say so.” Scott scratched his head. Sure was a queer lot he was associated with now—a girl, a bounty hunter, and a Japanese. Out to spring a killer. How the hell
would
he explain it to Denver?

“We'll follow Ki,” said Thad. “Once he puts them out, it'll be easy to get to the kid.”

“Won't he scream and holler and draw attention to the jail?” the marshal wondered.

“I can silence him as well,” Ki said.

“Perhaps that's best,” said Jessie. “As long as you don't hurt him.”

“I shall take care to see he is not injured, Jessie,” he answered firmly.

“While you three see to the boy, I can watch the horses,” Scott added. “Behind the courthouse. You got a horse to carry the prisoner?”

“Yes,” Jessie said.

Thad picked up the half-empty whiskey bottle from the floor. After one gulp, he handed it to the lawman. Wiping his lips, he said, “So all we have to do is wait for a while. Let the town settle down before we make our move.”

“Right,” said Scott. After another belt of whiskey, he smiled. “That stuff is damned fine for drinking. Tennessee, you say?”

“Yeah. Leastways, that's what the fellow sold it to me said.”

“Well, it makes the waiting a bit easier.” Scott drank some more. Jessie hoped he could hold his liquor. It was no good to have a drunk lawman leading them through the treacherous foothills. And as if he knew what she was thinking, he said, “It takes a lot more than part of a bottle to make me drunk. And besides, it improves my night vision.”

“As long as you know what you're doing, Mr. Scott,” she allowed.

“I do, ma‘am. I know I'm helping you folks steal a prisoner. I think it's a mite loco, but I'm with you.”

 

When the time came, a few hours later, they were ready. They had all cleaned their weapons and checked their supply of ammunition. Among them they had over five hundred rounds—for both rifles and handguns. That should be enough until they could replenish their stock in another town. Jessie took special care with her converted .38 double-action Colt with its grips made of polished peachwood. In her travels she had found it a most reliable weapon that fit her needs perfectly. It was a gift from her late father. When she had oiled it and wiped it with a dry cloth, she replaced it in the specially made holster of cordovan leather that she wore above her right hip.

Thad Hill watched her, cleaning his own Smith & Wesson, fascinated with the woman. He couldn't help asking, “Where did you get that little beauty, Jessie?”

“My father. He had it specially made for me. I found a regular .44 too heavy, with too much kick. But with .38 cartridges I can handle it much easier.”

“I'll bet you can. And you're good with it?”

Jessie smiled. “Good enough. I hope I don't have to use it, though.”

“Me too.” He couldn't take his eyes off her. In the soft yellow light of her hotel room, with the others occupied and her face turned toward his, he felt overwhelmed with feeling for this unusual girl. He wanted to bend over and kiss her, but he dared not. Not with Ki here. A stab of jealousy went through him as he wondered whether she and Ki ever... but he wouldn't think about it. He would just enjoy being at her side for as long as he could. That should be enough for any man.

Now the deputy U.S. marshal rose. His rifle canted against his shoulder, he put on his battered hat. “I'll see to our mounts. Meet you behind the courthouse in one hour, with the boy. We got rope to tie him with?”

Ki was about to reply affirmatively when Tad produced a pair of handcuffs. “No need. Stole these once from the town I worked for down in New Mexico.” He winked at Jessie. “Put them to use several times since. They ought to keep the kid in line.”