Rough Justice (21 page)

He was angling toward the Bachmann House when someone spoke up from a darkened alley to his left, saying, “You're hurt.”

It was a woman's voice, but Ryder swung his rifle that direction anyway. Tonight, unless he knew who he was dealing with, the rule was caution first, last, always.

“Who's there?” he challenged.

From the darkness stepped the Butlers, Anna letting go of Abel's arm to close on Ryder, while he let the Henry's muzzle drop.

“We couldn't just pack up,” her brother said. “Well, Anna couldn't. We came looking for you. Heard the shooting.”

She was pulling back the left side of his jacket now, saying, “Is this . . . ? My God, you're shot!”

“Birdshot,” Ryder replied. “It shouldn't be too deep. The other is a pistol graze. It looks worse than it is.”

And
felt
worse, too.

“Come back to our house,” Anna said. “We'll clean this up and bandage you.”

“It's best,” Abel agreed. “In case the sheriff's looking for you, or the Knights.”

“The sheriff's dead,” Ryder informed them. “Back where Coker had you caged. You likely missed him in the body pile as you were leaving.”

“Still, the Knights—”

“Don't know me, without Coker pointing them in my direction.” With a glance back toward the Red Dog, Ryder added, “And he's long past pointing at anybody.”

“Still, your wounds need tending. You can't go to the hotel looking like this. And you're still bleeding! I can fix this, if you'll just—”

She talked nonstop until they reached the house and ushered him inside. Abel was quick to lock the door and pull the blinds before he started lighting lamps. He had retrieved his old Colt Paterson, dropped in the living room when Coker's men kidnapped the two of them, and kept it ready, close at hand.

It was a slow and touchy business, cleaning Ryder's wounds, but Anna had skilled hands and minimized his grimacing. Abel stood guard, stepping outside from time to time and bringing back reports of progress with the fire. His final bulletin, as Anna finished taping Ryder's ribs, suggested that the blaze, if not extinguished, was at least under control.

Dressing, Ryder remarked, “I hope it didn't burn the Western Union office.”

“Shouldn't have, from what I've seen,” Abel replied. “But with the hour and all that's going on, I doubt you'll find an operator there.”

Ryder assayed a shrug and instantly regretted it. “Won't matter. Long as I can get inside the office, I can handle it myself.”

And would prefer it that way, if the truth be told.

“Wait!” Anna caught his sleeve as he was putting on his jacket. “Won't you stay here overnight, in case they're watching the hotel?”

“My guess would be the Knights have had enough excitement for one evening,” Ryder said. “No one to give them orders now. They'll need time to recover.”

And before that happened, Ryder hoped, someone in Washington could spur Captain Legere to start making arrests of KRS members.

“Will I . . . will
we
be seeing you again?” asked Anna.

“I wouldn't rule it out,” said Ryder, edging toward the exit. “Washington's not too far from New York.”

A fantasy, already turning into mist.

“I only wish—” she said, then caught herself and forced a smile. “Be careful, Gideon.”

“I always am,” he lied.

*   *   *

R
yder had Mexican for breakfast, something called
huevos in el purgatorio,
translated by his waitress to mean “eggs in Purgatory.” What that meant, in practice, was two eggs simmered in spicy tomatillo sauce, with rice and hot chorizo on the side. He wolfed it down, relieved that no one interrupted him, then walked back to the Bachmann House, to finish packing up.

He'd gotten off a wire to Washington the night before, no problem getting into Western Union—which was locked up tight, as Abel had predicted. One of many things he'd learned while working for the U.S. Marshals Service had
been picking locks, a skill Ryder believed that every lawman ought to have.

The clerk, same one who'd checked him in when he arrived, spied Ryder entering the lobby and called out to him. “Oh, sir! You have a telegram.”

Ryder retrieved the flimsy Western Union envelope, checking for any signs it had been tampered with and finding none. He thanked the clerk and went upstairs to read the message in his room.

It was from Washington, of course. Chief Wood was spare with praise, but Ryder was becoming used to it. The message read:

CONCLUSION SATISFACTORY STOP LEAVE REMAINDER TO UNITED STATES ATTORNEY AUSTIN STOP ATTENTION NOW REQUIRED IN BONHAM TEXAS STOP REGRET NO RAIL LINE ACCESS STOP DETAILS TO FOLLOW STOP WOOD ENDS

Bonham? He'd never heard of it, would have to find a map somewhere and find out where it was, how far from Jefferson. “Details to follow” could mean anything, but Ryder guessed it would be trouble. Why else was he going there at all?

The part about no rail access was worrisome, until he thought about the local livery.

And wondered if that Appaloosa was for sale.