Nan Ryan (8 page)

The princess nodded and took a seat when Hantz Landsfelt said he would check to see if the train’s departure would be on time. Realizing how important it was that she attract no attention, Princess Marlena sat quietly, patiently waiting. Anxious to board the train.

After hearing Hantz Landsfelt’s glowing reports of how successful her stand-in had been on the bond tour, the half-jealous princess was more than a little eager to take her rightful place before the impostor got any foolish ideas.

And, before their shared duplicity could be found out.

Gripping the lace shawl closely under her chin, the princess looked up expectantly when Hantz Landsfelt, a frown on his florid face, returned.

“What? What is it?” she asked, puzzled.

“Bad news, I’m afraid, Your Highness,” he told her regretfully. “I’ve just learned that yesterday afternoon a band of renegade Apaches tore down the telegraph lines.”

“So?” She shrugged with disinterest. “We’ve no need of sending telegrams. Montillion and the others know full well we are on our way to meet them in San Antonio.”

Hantz Landsfelt exhaled heavily. “Well … ah … now … it seems that this morning …,” he cleared his throat nervously, “the savages blew up the railroad trestle a few miles down the mountain. It happened only minutes after the morning train passed over the trestle on its way up the mountain. The telegrapher says it’s more than likely that the Apaches have blown up portions of the tracks all the way down the line.” He paused, waited for the outburst he knew was coming.

For a long moment, Princess Marlena didn’t fully grasp the meaning of what he had told her. Then, with a flash of understanding, she realized exactly what this news meant.

Speaking quietly, she said, “Are you telling me that the noon train will not be running on schedule today? That we will be getting a late start?”

Hantz Landsfelt grimaced. He leaned down and whispered, “Not merely late, Your Highness. The train will not be running today. We won’t be getting out of Cloudcroft at all. Not until the tracks have been repaired.”

“Oh? And how long will that take? An hour? two?”

He shook his head. “It could be days before—”

Princess Marlena shot to her feet so swiftly, the lace shawl fell to her shoulders. Her voice lifting, she said, “But we must get to Texas! We can’t wait around here forever! You just go right back over there and tell them that they had better get those tracks fixed immediately!”

“Shhh,” Hantz warned, glancing nervously about, concerned that she would attract attention.

“Don’t you shhh me,” she said angrily, her emerald eyes snapping with impatience. “And don’t just stand there. Do something!”

“Be reasonable, Your Highness,” he entreated, fearful she would make a terrible scene. “There is nothing I can do and—”

“Then I shall do something!” she again interrupted, brushed past him, and headed for the ticket window. The lace shawl fell forgotten to the floor. Bright New Mexico sunlight, streaming in through the tall depot windows, set her ginger hair aflame.

She caused quite a commotion. People turned to stare. The ruckus alerted a reward-hungry cowhand. He stared openmouthed at the upset young woman and then he began to smile. He had, like many another lucky man, spent more than one happy drunken evening in Las Cruces’s most famous saloon. He recognized this angry redhead who was so anxious to get out of Cloudcroft.

The Queen of the Silver Dollar!

Trapped right here in the Cloudcroft train depot. There was, he had learned a couple of hours ago, a reward on her head. She and that British beau of hers were wanted in Texas.

The grinning cowhand slipped unnoticed out of the waiting room. He ran as fast as he could toward the High Country Saloon, hoping the tall Texas Ranger would still be there. The cowboy’s heart raced when he spotted the Ranger, not a block away, standing on the wooden sidewalk outside the stage station, talking to one of the drivers.

Virgil Black listened, then shook his head in frustration. The stage driver had just told him that the long wooden railroad trestle, three miles south of town, had been blown up.

“Must’ve happened just minutes after the morning train cleared the trestle,” said the driver.

Virgil knew immediately who was responsible. He knew as well that the Apache wouldn’t be satisfied with wrecking only one railroad trestle. If he were a betting man, he would bet everything he owned that the red devils had blown up portions of the tracks all the way to the Border.

As if the stage driver had read Virgil’s thoughts, he said, “You know the Apaches, Captain Black. Eight to five they’ve destroyed track clear to El Paso.”

“Sure enough,” said Virgil, absently tapping his Stetson against his twill-trousered thigh. Then, “Jesus Christ! No train service. No wire service. The way my luck’s going, the woman I’m after probably slipped out of town last—”

“Captain Black, Captain Black,” shouted the out-of-breath cowboy as he came rushing up. Pointing excitedly, he sputtered, “She’s here! She’s here! The woman you’re looking for! She’s down at the train depot right now throwing a hissy fit because the train’s not running.”

Virgil Black nodded. He put on his hat, pulled it low on his forehead, turned, and walked away.

“Hey, wait just a damned minute, Ranger!” The cowboy hurried after him. “What about my reward?”

“Go to the livery stable,” ordered Black calmly, never slowing his pace. “Have my horse saddled and bring him to the near side of the depot. Leave him there. Put your name and address in my saddlebags, then get lost. And keep your mouth shut,” warned Black. “You’ll get the reward.
If
it’s her.”

Virgil Black walked with a sure, determined stride directly to the train depot. He stepped inside, scanned the room, and immediately caught sight of her. She was hotly reprimanding a stunned railroad conductor. Her ginger hair, pulled back from her face, flamed in a shaft of alpine sunlight. She tossed her head angrily, and Virgil got a good look at her ears. Small. Well shaped. But protruding slightly.

Virgil Black calmly bided his time. Sinking back into the deep shadows, he leaned against the wall, long arms crossed over his chest, and watched her every move. The crowded depot began to empty as thwarted travelers gave up and went back to their homes or to the hotel. The redhead continued to berate the railroad employee until a stockily built man, clearly urging her to calm down, took her arm and drew her away from the ticket window.

Virgil had a hard time repressing a smile of wry amusement. The angry Queen of the Silver Dollar sure hadn’t allowed any moss to grow under her feet. Already she’d taken up with a new man. Poor old British Bob. He would be heartbroken.

Virgil pulled his hat lower over his eyes and turned aside so she wouldn’t see his face, as her muscular companion led her out of the depot waiting room. Virgil counted to ten, then followed the pair out onto the now deserted platform. He waited near the doorway as the solidly built man stepped down to the ground and walked up the tracks, obviously searching for a carriage for hire.

There were none.

The woman now stood alone on the platform. Virgil Black moved in to take advantage of the unexpected opportunity.

His eyes pinned to the heavily muscled man attempting to hail a carriage, Virgil stepped up beside the Queen of the Silver Dollar, took her arm, and said in a low, flat voice, “Sorry, Red. I’ve got to take you in.”

Princess Marlena’s head snapped around in stunned surprise. Speechless, she looked up to see a tall, dark, hard-faced stranger whose sky-blue eyes, glinting from beneath his hat brim, instantly shifted to her. When he began to draw her to him, the startled princess promptly came to her senses.

Attempting to free her arm from his firm grasp, she commanded, “Get away from me! You let me go!” He did not obey. Frantically she looked around, shouted, “Hantz! Hantz! Come quickly. Help me!”

Hantz Landsfelt turned, saw the princess struggling with a tall stranger, and came running, his eyes round with alarm.

“You there,” shouted Hantz Landsfelt, throwing back his suit coat and drawing his revolver. “Unhand her at once or I’ll fire!”

Virgil Black’s reply was a flat “No, you won’t. Stay where you are, my friend. This woman is under arrest. I’m a Texas Ranger and I’m taking her into custody.”

“Taking me into … Are you insane!” screeched the princess, struggling furiously against him.

“You’re taking her nowhere!” shouted Landsfelt, but he hesitated to shoot, afraid he might hit the princess. Shoving the pistol into the waistband of his trousers, he leaped up onto the platform with the agility of a much trimmer man, bellowing like an angry bull. He lunged at Black with the full force of his muscular body.

Never releasing his hold on the now-screaming princess, Virgil deftly sidestepped the charge and threw a well-placed, lightning-fast left uppercut. The powerful, unexpected blow caught Landsfelt directly under the chin and knocked him flat on his back, stinging and stunning him badly. By the time he could clear his head and get to his feet, Virgil had snatched the clawing princess down off the platform. Hurriedly he carried her, kicking and screaming, around the side of the depot, lifted her up onto his saddled stallion, Noche, and swung up behind her.

“Oh, God, no! No!” Landsfelt choked, staggering on weak rubbery legs toward the mounted pair, again drawing and aiming his pistol, determined to save the princess. “Stop!” he ordered. “Come back here! Let her go! Let her go!”

“There are no wants or warrants on you,” Virgil Black told the frantic man, and calmly backed the stallion away, “but Queenie here is a thief, and she is going to jail.”

Virgil then yanked on the reins, wheeled the stallion about, and whisked the frightened princess away with a helpless Hantz Landsfelt running wildly after them, terrified of firing his weapon, lest he strike the princess. Out of breath, lungs laboring, Landsfelt stumbled, fell, got up, and ran again. But he was no match for the fleet-footed stallion. Soon he was left far behind.

Battling frantically against the long arms imprisoning her, a terrible thought quickly flashed through the princess’s mind.

The impostor! The woman who was taking her place on the tour was a fugitive from the law! Dear God in heaven! The stand-in Montillion had chosen was a common thief! And now, this big Texas lawman thought that she … that she was …

Angry now as well as frightened, the princess began shouting loudly, telling him that this was all a terrible mistake. That he had her confused with another woman. That she was no thief! She was visiting royalty!

“You stupid, misguided fool,” she screamed, attempting to make him understand. “You have the wrong woman! I am not who you think I am!” In her furious struggling, she managed to free one hand. “You’re not listening to me!” she accused, and reached up, intending to rake her long punishing nails down the smooth tanned skin of his cheek.

Virgil swiftly grabbed her wrist before she could do much damage, but with her middle finger she managed to scratch one long furrow down his jaw, drawing blood. And she continued to shout, “You let me go! I command you to release me at once! I tell you I am not the woman you’re seeking! I am Crown Princess Marlena of Hartz-Coburg!”

But Ranger Captain Virgil Black wasn’t buying it.

The ginger-red hair. The flashing emerald eyes. The distinctive ears. The exaggerated accent. He had the right woman. She might have lost a pound or two since last his arms were around her, and she was well scrubbed and fresh faced instead of covered in heavy stage makeup. And she wore a simple cotton dress instead of a skimpy satin costume. But Virgil was not fooled. This was the woman he had carried up the stairs at the Silver Dollar Saloon.

“Are you deaf? Can’t you hear me?” she shouted into his face, “I am a royal princess!”

Deftly untying the pale blue bandanna knotted around his throat, Virgil raised it to his jaw and carefully blotted away the droplets of bright red blood.

He looked directly into her furious green eyes and said, “Sure you are, Princess. And you’re going to feel right at home in your new palace. The El Paso County jail.”

10

Hantz Landsfelt continued to run
after the galloping stallion in a futile attempt to save his frightened mistress. Winded, choking, his face beet red, the helpless bodyguard was beside himself with worry.
He
had allowed the royal princess to be snatched away from right under his nose!
He
alone was responsible for her safety and well-being, and
he
had failed her.

Bolting wildly down the dusty street, leaving the buildings of Cloudcroft behind, Hantz Landsfelt tripped and fell once more. His breathing so labored it was deafeningly loud in his ears, he lay on the ground for a second, panting, regaining his strength, wondering what to do next.

He was up in an instant, running back toward town. On weak, rubbery legs he sprinted straight to the sheriff’s office, only to find it closed, the door locked, the shades pulled.

Frantically he looked around, saw an old-timer, halfway down the wooden sidewalk, seated in a barrel chair tipped back against the wall of a dry-goods store, whittling. Coughing and wheezing, Hantz Landsfelt trotted down to him, bent, grabbed the lapels of the startled old man’s jacket, and yanked him to his feet.