Ride the Panther (22 page)

Cap Featherstone’s gunman cut a dashing figure this morning in his gray trousers, black sash at his waist, white ruffled shirt, and gray waistcoat. He swept his hat across his chest and gallantly bowed and introduced himself. Lorelei guardedly told him her first name.

“May I help you down, my pretty?” He toyed for a moment with the patch covering his left eye as he quickly took in the ripe contours of her figure. She wore a plain, pale peach-colored dress buttoned to the neck. She struck a coquettish pose and adjusted the hem of her dress to “inadvertently” reveal the slender curve of her ankles.

“I’m waiting for someone,” she replied, seemingly indifferent to him.

“Not a husband, I hope,” he said.

“No. I’m staying with Raven McQueen out on her farm.”

“Slopping hogs and shucking corn, what a terrible waste. Beauty like yours should be draped in finery, caressed by silks and satins,” he purred. “It transforms these homespun rags into the raiments of a queen.”

“My, you are a fountain of empty compliments, dear sir,” Lorelei replied, and turned a shoulder away from him.

“Come with me and decide for yourself whether they are empty or not.” He stepped back and gestured toward his horse. “You can ride like a queen on my stallion.”

“Ride where?”

“Why, to the only palace I know of around here. The Medicine Wagon up on the hill, where there is music and merriment and the nights are never dark.”

Short, stocky Al Teel emerged from the front of his store, breathing heavily beneath a fifty-pound sack of oats. He heaved it onto the wagon bed alongside a barrel of nails, another of dried apples, and smaller sacks of flour, cornmeal, horseshoes, and a box of fabric scraps Teel had saved for Raven to use in a quilt.

“I think that’s the last of it,” Teel said, and glanced up into Pardee’s grim features. The gunman’s expression left no doubt in Teel’s mind that he had intruded on Pardee. The gunman’s deadly reputation was common knowledge. The merchant hurriedly excused himself and beat a hasty retreat toward the safety of the mercantile. Pardee chuckled, then spied Raven making her way along the wooden sidewalks from the north end of town.

“Are you coming with me?” Pardee asked the girl. He held the reins of his horse in a loose grip with one hand and reached out to help her down from the wagon.

“I don’t think so,” Lorelei replied. “No.” She couldn’t believe her own ears. She had no love for farm work, which only left her all the more puzzled. There was an aura of danger about Pardee that appealed to her. There was no denying it. “Maybe later, I don’t know.”

“The door I’m opening might well be closed to you—
later.”
He turned back and mounted the black stallion. The animal’s nostrils flared as it fought the bit. Pardee brought the animal under control with a firm hand. He touched the brim of his hat as Raven approached.

“Good morning, Mrs. McQueen. It appears I underestimated that valley of yours, if this sweet little gal is any indication of the treasures you are hiding out there. I might just have to come calling and see your place first-hand.”

“Don’t,” Raven firmly replied. “We already have enough snakes.”

Color drained from Pardee’s features, and for a brief moment Lorelei thought the one-eyed man was going to pull a gun on Pacer’s grandmother. Pardee’s hand trembled and muscles along his jaw twitched as he brought his anger under control and trotted his mount back down the street.

“What did he want?” Raven asked. She gave the wagon bed a brief once-over glance and then climbed up alongside the young girl.

“He wanted me to come with him to the sporting house over on Cherokee. I’ve heard they drink champagne out of real crystal. And the ladies all wear silk and feathers.” Her expression took on a dreamlike quality.

“Why didn’t you go?” Raven said, bursting the girl’s reverie.

Lorelei blinked and then shrugged. “I—I don’t know.” She studied Raven with newly won respect. “You shouldn’t have got him so angry.”

Raven leaned over and unwrapped the reins from the brake. She released the brake and with a flick of her wrist started the team of horses forward.

“We have enough snakes,” Lorelei repeated, chuckling. “I swear, I thought he was going to swell up and bust or go for his gun.” Her laughter was infectious and carried to Raven. It released the tension and drew the two women together, forging a bond that hadn’t existed until now. “You ought to be more careful,” Lorelei added. “Pardee doesn’t look like someone to trifle with. He’s dangerous.”

“So am I,” said Raven.

After today, Lorelei tended to believe her.

Lucius Minley lingered over his coffee, taking care to enjoy these few precious moments of solitude. Rose Minley was in a terrible mood this morning. They had argued again. He hated to see her so upset. He was concerned, too, for her outbursts centered on the same grievance—Cap Featherstone was not treating them fairly! She could see no reason why Cap should receive the lion’s share of the profits from the venture that involved not only Featherstone but the banker as well. Rose Minley wanted her husband to stand up for what was rightfully theirs, equal shares in Cap’s elaborate scheme. Lucius, on the other hand, figured he’d just about used up his good luck in yesterday’s confrontation with the Tellicos. He was loath to lock horns with the likes of Cap Featherstone.

Lucius sighed, and sipped his coffee and wondered why wives could never understand that some things were better left alone. After all, this whole scheme had been Cap’s idea. Nine months had passed since Cap had met with the banker right here in the parlor at the rear of the Minleys’ house on Choctaw Street. He had come at night, unannounced, with a plan to make Lucius and himself two very wealthy men. Cap was a keen judge of character and had spent time studying Lucius and knew of the banker’s desire to return to the East and leave the territory forever. Cap was also keenly aware that Rose Minley had expensive tastes and that before the Union blockade much of her wardrobe and finery had come from shops in Boston, New York, and Europe by way of New Orleans.

Cap’s proposition was simple. He would see to it that the majority of homesteads, businesses, and farms victimized by the Knights of the Golden Circle would belong either to those families owing money to the bank or to families who would be forced by the raids to borrow money from Minley only to eventually be foreclosed upon by the bank once their notes were in default. Now and then someone came in looking to sell out, even at a substantial loss. All foreclosed-upon properties were immediately purchased by Cap Featherstone for a pittance of their real worth. He already had an interest in several businesses in town. Several choice pieces of property totaling thousands of acres were now owned by Cap Featherstone with Lucius Minley as his silent partner. Eventually the war would end. With peace and prosperity the order of the day, Cap intended to be in control of most of the southeast corner of the territory. With such a base, who knew how far Cap could go?

A handful of pebbles clattered against the window and Lucius looked up to see Cap Featherstone standing in the flower garden Rose had so laboriously coaxed from the soil; green plants whose names Lucius could never remember. He was always surprised that a woman of his wife’s breeding would deign to dirty her hands in the soil. But she enjoyed flowers and considered their arrival each spring her own personal triumph.

Cap Featherstone’s thinning hair was hidden beneath his black bandanna. He kept his gray woolen trousers tucked inside his boarhide boots. His upper torso strained the buttons on his charcoal frock coat. Lucius frowned, but motioned for Cap to come around through the back door that opened into a well-stocked pantry where glass jars of plum and persimmon jellies and preserves were arranged in orderly rows along with a few jars of dark purple jelly made from the ripened fruit of the black nightshade.

The Minleys employed no houseservant except a woman hired from town to periodically visit and clean the house both upstairs and down. Rose had an innate distrust of permanent employees and felt such servants tended to intrude on one’s privacy.

The banker checked his pocket watch and noted it was seventeen minutes past noon. Rose entered from the kitchen, all flustered and obviously displeased.

“Lucius, he’s here. Mr. Featherstone in broad daylight paying a visit.”

“Maybe our neighbors will think we’ve invited him to share our noonday meal.”

“The man thinks he can do whatever he pleases. Really.”

“I suppose Cap has his reasons,” Lucius said. “Now, I can’t be ungracious, my love.”

“No,” Rose said, “but since he’s come, you tell him exactly how we feel. A thirty percent share of Featherstone’s holdings is unfair. Heavens, you’re selling off the bank’s properties for practically nothing. Our part in this is equal to his own. Half the profits are due us. You mustn’t settle for a penny less.”

“Yes, dear,” Lucius patiently agreed. The kitchen door opened. Rose beat a hasty retreat out of the parlor, down the hall, and up the stairs to her bedroom. Cap’s bulk filled the doorway.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” he called to her departing figure, and touched the silver gator head of his cane to the narrow brim of his hat. He stepped into the parlor, a room well lit by a back wall of windows that ran half the length of the house. The room contained a settee, a pair of cushioned chairs, end tables, and a harp that Rose used to play for her father, but which had remained silent since his death.

“Afternoon, Lucius,” Cap said. “You know, the only cure for a haughty wife is a good roll in the bushy park, if you catch my drift.”

“Mr. Featherstone, with all due regards, my domestic life is my own affair and no one else’s,” Lucius replied. He stood and set his coffee cup aside. “I must protest the timing of this visit. I thought we agreed—”

“We agreed that the bank would sell me all recovered properties. In return, you’re listed as co-owner. Farmland and developed townsites we’ll one day sell at a substantial profit. The Texas road is paved with gold for us, Lucius, you wait and see.” Cap reached inside his coat and brought out a dark amber bottle of French brandy. “A gift. And it’s the real thing, not like the rat piss Shug throws together for the customers,” Cap added with a wink. He placed the bottle on the closest shelf.

“You are most kind,” Lucius said.

“The hell I am. I never do anything without a reason.” Cap chose a cushioned, wide-backed chair and sat down. “Hack Warner told me he sold out to the bank after the Knights burned his way station.”

“Yes. He wasn’t happy with my offer but took it all the same. See here, Featherstone. We can do this at the bank. I’ll be back there at one, sharp.”

“And what of the Tellicos?” Cap asked, ignoring the banker’s suggestion.

“They tried to pay off their note in Richmond dollars. The bank did not accept their payment. As of tomorrow, the Tellico farm belongs to the bank.”

“Good. Draw up a deed then on both places. We’ll work it just like all the others.”

“Maybe we should hold off, what with Jesse McQueen in town,” Lucius said.

“I can handle that young pup,” Cap replied.

“What if Ben McQueen should show up? He’s far cleverer than his son. He might suspect something. I’m worried, I tell you.”

“You are always worried. Fortunately, I have enough courage for us both,” Cap said with a bemused expression on his face. “Anyway, all you have to do is scribble a few pages of a transaction. The Knights will do most of the work for us.”

“What of those folks who cannot be driven off?”

“They’ll leave or be buried where they fall.” Cap leaned forward on the hilt of his sword cane. He looked as predatory as the silver likeness of the alligator beneath his folded hands.

“No.” Lucius gulped the last of his coffee and wished he’d had something stronger in the cup. “I won’t be a party to murder.”

Cap stroked his beard in thought. There were more silver hairs than brown. Alas, his youth was a distant memory now. But before Cap went under, he’d vowed, he would make his mark, carve an empire out of the Indian Territory. He stared at Lucius. “You’ll be a party to whatever I tell you, Lucius.”

“I will not be threatened, Mr. Featherstone.”

“Threat? Me? You wound me, Lucius.” Cap stood and walked across the room and clapped Lucius on the shoulder. “Cheer up, my friend. You now own a third of everything I own. Cotton fields, cattle, grazing lands, timber—why, after the war ends, we’ll be rich.”

“If we aren’t hung first,” Lucius grumbled. “Some of these people are my friends.”

“It’s all right to steal their homes and property, but don’t harm them,” Cap cut him off. “Be careful, Lucius. You see, I think of our partnership as sacred, like a marriage. We have a bond, you and I, till death do us part.” Cap straightened and headed out of the room, whistling as he left, like a man without a care in the world. Lucius grew flushed. It was humiliating to think that Cap took him so lightly. He’d begun to regret ever becoming involved with the owner of the Medicine Wagon Saloon.

“Oh, by the way,” Cap said, returning to the parlor doorway. He had moved quietly. Lucius gave a start and his eyes grew wide with alarm. They grew wider still when he heard Cap Featherstone’s departing remark.

“Don’t lose any sleep over Ben McQueen. Last month, back in Kansas City, I had him killed.”

Lucius never heard the back door shut. He did not see Cap make his way across the garden. He was oblivious to Rose, who entered the parlor from the narrow hallway dividing the sun parlor from the library.

“Lucius? Did you tell him? Did you tell him we insist on equal shares of all the transactions?”

Lucius Minley stood and shuffled somnambulantly toward the brandy, broke the seal, and poured a measure into his coffee cup. He had wanted to be rich. He had wanted to be able to keep Rose, to prove to her she had married a man. Ben McQueen…dead. The first blood was the hardest. The next one would be easier. And the one after that easier still. If Jesse or Pacer ever suspected the truth…there’d be no place to hide. The McQueens would track him till his dying day and hold him accountable for his silence and indirect involvement.