Under a Texas Star (9 page)

Between the two gardens was a path that led back to a chicken coop, pig pen and a shed for the goat that was kept staked out of reach of the flowers and produce.

"Who takes care of all this?" she asked.

"The pigs belong to the Trilby twins," the Señora explained. "The chickens are owned by the ladies, collectively. The goat is mine. We trade with The Oasis against our room and board. The Señorita doesn't mind how we contribute to the business as long as the bills are paid and the customers are happy."

"Different from what I expected," Marly admitted.

"Quite," Fred said. "Now, if you ladies will excuse me, my chief contribution to the cause is keeping the mistress happy. She should be rising from her postprandial nap about now."

He bowed and left.

It took several seconds before Marly noticed his slip.

After Fred departed, the Señora took Marly around and made introductions. Whatever Fred and possibly the Señora had divined, the ladies treated her like the young man she pretended to be. They were curious about the kid who had been taken under Marshal Strachan's wing and was now an interest of the taciturn Fred.

In the late afternoon, when it was time for the ladies to dress for the evening, Marly was kicked out. She left The Oasis via the gate in Louis' garden and checked at the stables on her way to the office. Grandee was still out. Trouble was in the corral and came to her expectantly.

That was encouragement enough for Marly to decide to meet Jase on the trail. She let Hank know she'd be back for Trouble and went to get her Winchester.

The office was locked up tight.

To go, or not to go, that was the question.

Chances were she would meet Jase just outside of town. He'd been gone all afternoon and must be on his way back. Hank had saddled Trouble for her, refusing her coin for his services. It would be churlish not to go out.

Marly swung into the saddle with something almost like grace and let Trouble set the pace out of town.

Jase was having mixed luck. When he reached the Lazy-E Ranch he discovered that Matt Egan was visiting outposts on his far ranges. The ranch foreman, Tierny, reluctantly entertained him and though the man was neither communicative nor overly cooperative, he did show Jase around and answered direct questions.

It was obvious that Tierny was loyal to the Egan family. Matt Egan Sr. had given him his start almost forty years ago. Tierny had grown up working the Egan ranges. His prime was spent ramrodding Lazy-E cattle. Now he managed the ranch, answering only to Matt Jr.

As he was shown around, Jase observed the man. Though on the shady side of fifty, Tierny was still powerfully built. Iron muscles matched iron-gray hair and eyes. He looked strong and agile enough to take Strothers down. He didn't strike Jase as the murderous type, but Jase knew his kind. Tierny had given his loyalty to the Egan family. He would do anything he felt necessary to protect them.

"What kind of men does Egan hire?" he asked Tierny. "Are there any new faces around?"

"There are new faces every season. Not every cowboy is willing or able to stick to one place."

Jase knew many were drifters, hired on as needed.

"I'm choosy about those I hire," Tierny said. "If there's even a whiff of the outlaw on him, he can go elsewhere. Mr. Egan trusts my judgment, but if I ain't sure, all I got to do is introduce the buck to the boss. Mr. Egan knows his men. He's a canny one."

All it took was a well-phrased remark to encourage Tierny in extolling the virtues of his employer.

"Egan's a tough and fair. Above all, he rewards loyalty. He demands the best of his men, and generally got it. He's generous to a fault."

In the same breath, Tierny assured Jase that the boss wasn't likely to have the wool pulled over his eyes and he could be ruthless as he was generous.

"Would you like some coffee, Marshal?"

"No, thanks." Jase paused. "What do you remember about the night of the murder?"

The man's mouth shut tighter than a miser's purse.

"Well?" Jase said.

"Don't remember a thing."

"Where were
you
that night?"

Tierny shrugged. "Maybe I was in town. Maybe I wasn't."

"Did you see anyone strange that night?"

"I can't rightly recall."

Jase gritted his teeth. "Well, thanks for your hospitality. You'll have to drop by the office some time."

Tierny scowled. "I will, will I?"

"For a friendly chat. Share some of my coffee. Maybe you'll remember something."

"Doubt it."

Looking back over his shoulder as he rode off, Jase noticed Tierny leaning against a corral post, lighting up a cigar.

He wondered if it was a Fuego.

At the Bar-B Ranch, Baker's house was nearly as impressive as Egan's. While flowers, shade trees and a neatly scythed lawn had surrounded Egan's home, Baker's landscaping consisted of a couple of half-dead trees, a flagstone walk and a lot of hard-packed earth.

At the Egan place, everyone was busily employed, but Baker had several men hanging around, on call for a show of force. One of those men was Tom Tyson, the man who had drawn on Jase at The Haven. His right arm was in a sling, but judging by his left-handed rig, he could compensate.

Before Jase reached the yard, Tyson barked, "Boss!"

His master appeared.

Baker was as dry and hard as his yard, greeting Jase with a scowl. "What are you doing here, Ranger?"

"Investigating a murder, Mr. Baker. Your cooperation would be appreciated."

"Would it?"

"I'd like your permission to talk to your men about the night Ellery Strothers was killed."

Baker gave him a half smile. "We work for a living around here, Ranger. If you want to talk to my men, you'll have to find them in town on their time off."

"Won't take long and I won't interfere with their work."

Baker shook his head. "I'd prefer it if you got off my land."

"You can make that request right now, sir, but it doesn't look good when supposedly upright citizens are so uncooperative. Makes it seem like you're hiding something. Think on that."

"The law hasn't been anyone's friend around here. It's brought this town nothing but distress. Strothers gave few people reason to trust him." Baker cocked his head. "You haven't fared much better. Think on
that
, Ranger."

Jase did. He also thought the man
was
hiding something.

About the same time Jase was leaving the Baker place, Marly was riding up the road, approaching the site of Strothers' murder. A trickle of sweat tickled her back. As the gully closed in, she felt a chill. Trouble felt it too and balked.

"Don't want to go there?" She reached down and patted his neck. "That's okay by me. Shall we go back or go on?"

She found a place to scramble up the bank they took to the open country. Trouble's impatience to run decided the issue. She pushed her hat firmly down and let the horse have his head. As they galloped over the hill, the breeze blew away the ghosts.

Trees cut them off from the road for a stretch. Further along, Marly had to circle around a patch of scrub and stone. She intended to rejoin the road on the other side, but was intercepted by three cowboys riding south.

They came on her suddenly.

Looking down at her saddle holster, she winced. She'd left her rifle behind at the office.

She continued at a fast trot, but they veered off, blocking her. She slowed Trouble to a trot, reigning in about six feet away.

One of the riders was Jed, the freckle-nosed young man Duke sometimes employed. Another cowboy she remembered from the livery. He was the one who had spat at her from The Haven porch. The third man was a stranger.

"Afternoon, gentlemen," she said politely.

She couldn't fight and flight wasn't practical. That left hoping for the best and trying to act braver than she felt.

"So here's the marshal's spy," said the spitter. He pushed his hat back, revealing greasy brown hair. "Don't look like much, does he?"

"Not much at all, Roy," Jed concurred, obviously the most junior of the three.

The third cowboy was older. He had a leathery tanned face and small black eyes. He hung back slightly, watching and chewing on the end of a cigar.

Marly eyed him with some curiosity. She also spared Roy enough attention to notice him gathering up a wad of spit.

She jerked Trouble out of range.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," she said, giving them a nod. "I'm meeting Marshal Strachan up the road."

She started to wheel Trouble around, but Roy blocked her and signaled Jed to take a position blocking the other direction. She backed up. The third cowboy moved in behind her.

Surrounded, she shivered.

Roy gave a low chuckle of amusement. "Scared?"

Beyond fear, all she could think of was how angry Jase was going to be. She had been so stupid, riding out without a rifle. Forget the trouble she was in now, what if she'd met a wildcat or a coyote? What if Trouble had disturbed a rattler?

Well, a rattler won't bother you if you don't bother it, she recalled Aunt Adele telling her repeatedly.

That dark-eyed cowboy struck her that way
―a coiled snake who wouldn't strike without reason.

Best not to give him reason.

Roy was another matter. He was a classic bully, intent on playing a cat and mouse game with her. She wasn't sure what she would do about him. Jed, on the other hand, reminded
her of the boys attending her aunt's one-room schoolhouse. They'd strut like the cock of the yard, looking bigger and tougher than they really were.

Marly fixed Jed with a hard stare. "Is this as good as you were brought up? Did no one teach you better?" She turned to Roy and shook her head. "You think I'm an easy mark? Maybe, but you'd be borrowing a lot of trouble messing with me. You could beat me, even kill me, it wouldn't stop the marshal's investigation. Besides, attacking an unarmed man, three against one, that's just plain cowardly."

Roy sidled forward, reaching out as if to pull her off her horse, but Marly backed up toward Jed, who hastily stepped out of her way.

She had her opening. All she needed was a small diversion.

As if in answer to her prayers, she heard the faint clip-clop of hooves in the distance.

"Let's go," the third man said, tossing his cigar.

"Not yet," Roy said. "You got a badge under that bandana, boy?"

Marly stood her ground, waiting for Roy to reach out. When he did, she grabbed his arm with both hands and yanked hard. Instinctively, Trouble backed away and Roy was unseated. With a shriek of rage, the man thudded to the ground. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed at her foot. Trouble was having none of that and knocked Roy over.

Marly spurred Trouble between Jed and Roy's horse.

"Get him," Roy hollered.

Jed started to follow, but Trouble seemed to have sprouted wings. The horse flew toward the road, gliding over the rough ground, sailing over the berm and crossing the wheel-rutted trail.

Marly blew out a pent up breath.

Jase heard shouting and urged Grandee from a trot to a canter. The next thing he knew, Marly and Trouble were flying toward him, followed closely by two cautious riders, who skidded down the short embankment and ended up staring down the business end of Jase's carbine.

One man managed to stop. The other wasn't as quick. Panicking, he reined in sharply with little regard to his horse's mouth. In retaliation, his beleaguered mount bucked and threw him. The young man sat up, a stunned expression on his face as his horse rode off without him.

Jase ignored him and kept his rifle trained on the man still mounted. "Who is the instigator of this melee?"

Before the man could answer, a third man rode up, halting on the top of the grassy ledge.

Jase waited until Marly wheeled Trouble abreast of Grandee.

"So, brat, what trouble have you got into this time?"

His eyes flicked from one man to the other.

"We were just having a little fun with the boy," the man on the ground said. He attempted a smile. "No harm done."

"Well, brat?"

"I thought I might meet you on the trail. Instead, I met these fellas. I don't think they like me."

"No accountin' for taste. Where's your rifle?"

"I couldn't get into the office."

Jase grunted and handed her the Winchester.

"Sorry," she said.

"We'll discuss it later."

He hunched forward, leaned his hands on his thighs and addressed the cowboys. "All right, boys. Let's have a few introductions. I'm Marshal Strachan. This is my assistant, Landers. Who the hell are you?"

Chapter 8

Marly waited, but there was no answer from any of the men. Roy played deaf and looked sullen. Jed couldn't seem to find his voice. The black-eyed man acted as if the question didn't apply to him.

Roy moved, maybe to get ready to make a run for it, maybe to try his luck against Jase's draw.

Marly took no chances. She swung the rifle level with his face.

Roy froze.

"We can do this nice," Jase continued, as if nothing had occurred. "Or I can take you in and you can do your talkin' from a jail cell. What'll it be?"

Roy's eyes moved from Jase to Marly, his contempt obvious. "Won't be the first time I've seen the inside of that jail."

Jed, who had since scrambled to his feet and backed off to a safe distance, looked up sharply. He didn't seem to like the direction things were going.

"He's Roy Parker," the third man said, his voice betraying a trace of a New England accent. It sounded odd coming from a man who otherwise blended in. "That's Jed McKinley. Jed works where he can get it. Parker and I are with the Bar-B."

Jase's eyes narrowed. "And you are?"

"Locke." The cowboy made a point of keeping his hands where they could see them. "These boys got out of hand, Marshal. Landers has put up a few backs. They just wanted to scare him a little. I wouldn't have let them hurt the boy."

Marly stole a sideways glance at Jase.

"All right," he said. "I'll let it go this time. But you mark me, boys, and set the word 'round. I only have so much patience. Less when it comes to bullies. Get on your way."

Jed headed back to town, while Roy and Locke veered south.

Once they were out of earshot, Marly said, "Can we go back the way I came?"

Jase nodded, taking the lead until they reached open country.

"I suppose," he said after a few minutes silence, "I should get you a key to the office."

"I suppose." She brought Trouble abreast of Grandee. "But I shouldn't have gone out without a rifle."

"No. You shouldn't have."

"I sure was glad to see you." When Jase didn't respond, she added, "Want your rifle back?"

"Nope. Hold on to it. We're not home yet."

Marly slowed when they reached the place the cowboys had stopped her. She searched the ground, but couldn't find what she was looking for.

The cigar butt.

"Which way were they headed when you met them, brat?"

"Southeast."

"Egan's place."

"You think they're messengers from Baker?"

"If they are, it ain't Egan they're takin' word to. He's gone 'til the end of the week. Baker would know that, I expect."

They rode toward town.

"What do you think's going on?" she asked.

"I don't know what to think. Seems most folks 'round here would rather aid a killer than the lawman after him. Knowing Strothers, can't say I blame 'em much. That hombre had a real talent for setting backs up."

"What did he do to get on the wrong side of you?"

Jase didn't answer at first and she wondered if she'd overstepped some boundary.

"He abused his power," he said finally.

Marly set her mouth in a firm line and waited.

"I knew Strothers back in my Battalion days. Even then, he thought he was something else. A handsome smooth-talker and quick draw, which always impresses. He knew how to look good to those who could help him on his way. The flip side of that coin was that if you couldn't help him, he didn't care about you. He didn't care whose toes he trod on to get ahead. He got himself promoted based on
that
, not his abilities."

Jase took a swig from his canteen and offered it to her. He must have just refilled it because the water was cold and fresh.

"I don't know how much you know about the Texas Rangers," he said. "We've been the law, order and militia almost since there was a Texas. Since there's not too many of us and a lot of state to cover, Rangers wield a fair amount of power. We've also been known to stretch the bounds of our jurisdiction."

"And Strothers stretched it a bit too far," she guessed.

"He used his position to raise a posse to recover some stolen cattle. He wanted to make a name for himself
―be another McNelly crossin' into Mexico with thirty men, retrievin' the cattle and returnin' a hero. Except Strothers was no McNelly and most of his men weren't Rangers. I was given a dozen men and the job of cleanin' up his mess. We got most of his posse
home, maybe half of 'em in one piece. Then he acted like we messed up his grand plan. He got some people to buy his story."

This tarnished the image Marly held of the Texas legends.

"The Rangers kept him on?"

"In a manner of speakin'. He was never put into a position where he could exercise that kind of power again. I think that's why he took the marshal's job. It put him back in the limelight."

"Back where he could stir up trouble."

"Speakin' of which," he said, "you better watch yourself or you're the one who's gonna stir up trouble. This ain't the end of the matter, you know. Roy Parker, at the very least, still feels he has a score to settle with you."

"I'm sorry I let you down, sir."

Jase reached over and clasped her shoulder. "You haven't let me down yet. You made a mistake and you recognized it. You won't make the same one again."

The next morning, Jase rousted Marly at first light. She got up with a guilty start, mumbling something about a chore for Fred.

"Just remember who you're working for, brat."

"Sorry...promised...important..."

The words came out between pulling her jeans on and trying to put the left boot on the right foot. Then she used his wash basin to wash her hands, face and neck.

"I'll be right back," she said on her way out the door, buttoning her shirt as she went.

After a good head shake, Jase washed, shaved and strolled over to the hotel for coffee. A half hour later, he returned to the office and found Marly at the desk, stuffing a fried egg sandwich in her mouth.

"When I got here," she mumbled, pushing a greasy paper package toward him, "this was hot. Not so sure now."

"How was I to know you'd be on time for once?"

The sandwich was warm and smelled pretty fine.

"You had coffee yet?" he asked, feeling guilty.

She nodded, mouth full again. She mumbled something and pointed to the chair she was sitting in.

"I'm fine," he replied, taking another chair. "I don't wanna dally much longer. I have Hank saddlin' the horses. We're gonna ride a patrol this mornin'
―get the lay of the land."

"Can we do some target practice too?"

Jase grinned. "It's already on my list of things to do."

In the middle of the night, he had lain awake, worrying about Marly and her close call. It's not that he thought those cowboys would h
ave seriously hurt her, but any roughhousing would have revealed her secret. He couldn't let that happen.

Watching her sleep, he had run through scenarios where Marly wasn't pretending to be a boy. All involved them parting company. He couldn't let that happen either. That left treating Marly as his apprentice.

Once their wide circuit of the town was complete, Jase rode to a field recommended by Winters as a suitable place for target practice. An assortment of bullet-ridden empty cans and broken bottles marked the spot.

"Go set up as many targets as you can," he told Marly.

While she was busy, he strode over to his saddlebags and pulled out an extra holster and a Remington .44-40 he'd found in Strothers' personal armory. It was shorter and weighed less than the Colt Navy
―easier to draw.

When Marly returned, he handed her the gun and holster without preamble. She took it without a word, though there was some grunting as she tried to do up the buckle and support the weight of the revolver at the same time.

"Here," he said,
trying not to laugh.

For a moment, they worked at cross-purposes. Then Marly raised her hands and let Jase buckle the belt. Her fingertips were so close to his shoulders that if he leaned forward, he could slip his arms around her waist and―

He pushed away
the thought.

"You can practice the art of quick buckling tonight," he said, backing away. "For now, we'll work on your quick draw. To start, let's test your reflexes." He emptied his Peacemaker and re-holstered it. "Catch it when I draw."

It took several tries before she could grab the barrel.

"Now it's your turn," he told her.

The first time she drew, Marly could barely get the gun free of the holster. Jase adjusted the angle of the holster and the second draw was much better. He had her repeat the exercise until her actions were smooth.

"This is harder than it looks," she said, massaging her wrist.

"You just need to work at it. Let's see how you accurate your aim is."

They loaded, then took turns drawing and shooting the targets. It wasn't long before Marly was showing acute signs of frustration.

"Something else that's harder than it looks," he said, patting her on the back. "You're doing fine."

She looked up at him, leaning in to his touch.

Jase hissed in a breath. The temptation to end the masquerade was almost irresistible, especially with her looking so soulfully into his eyes.

"I'll never be a great gun fighter, will I?" she asked.

"Marly, you don't want...I never meant..."

He stopped, not only embarrassed that he'd allowed himself to be ruffled, but that she was laughing at him.

"Brat."

They were back in time for the bank to open.

Marly watched as Jase strode down the street, his marshal's badge winking in the sunlight. He'd told her that Chet Winters had his own guards, but Jase wanted to make his presence known. The payrolls were coming in at the end of the week and he wanted everyone to know he was keeping an eye on things. He'd already told Winters he would drop into the bank during his patrol, but that he'd vary his route day to day.

"Predictability is the bane of law officers," Jase warned.

The banker passed this information along to Troy Riley, his armed clerk. Winters had hired a father-son team to protect his bank.

Mick Riley, the father, sat in a rocker all day just outside the bank. He had lost a leg in the war and needed a crutch to get around. But he was no pensioner. A busy-body by nature, he kept tabs on everything going on around town. As he rocked in his chair, a LeMat grapeshot pistol lay across his lap.

Troy Riley was a pleasant young man. Like his father, he was tougher than he appeared. He wore a two-gun rig and was an acknowledged sharpshooter and quick draw. He was the inside guard. When things were quiet, he helped with the bookkeeping and teller duties. When they were busy, Mrs. Winters stood at the teller's window and Troy stood on guard, holding a double-barreled shotgun. The thought of being shot at close range with a shotgun was a wonderful deterrent.

Jase left Marly in the office with orders to file papers and pack cartridges. Both jobs were fiddly, boring and took forever. By the time he returned, her normally even temper was wearing thin.

"I'm done," she said with a defiant scowl.

"There's always more and there's always another day," he said. "We'll use the chipped jug to collect them and wait 'til it's full before pullin' out the powder and shot again."

Marly nodded. With any luck, they'd be on their way to El Paso before she had to repeat the chore.

After lunch and the inevitable cleaning that required, she was itching to get away.

"Think I could go to The Oasis this afternoon?" she asked Jase. "I think Fred might have some work for me."

"I suppose Fred will keep you out of trouble for me."

She bit back a sharp answer. Then she realized he was making fun. In keeping with her boyish role, she stuck her tongue out at him on the way past.

Marly had several reasons to go to The Oasis, not the least of which was the possibility of enjoying afternoon tea with Fred and the Señora in the rose garden. Now that she had gotten over her prejudice, the place held a fascination for her. The people captivated her.

In exchange for a little hard work, which came naturally to her, she gained a wealth of knowledge. The Oasis staff provided valuable insight regarding the late Marshal Strothers. For instance, even if he frequented The Oasis, Strothers had not ingratiated himself with its staff.

Ella found him a dashing and heroic figure, but she was too young to work nights. Eileen, her mother, preferred keeping her out of the business, so Ella never experienced the slights and indignities meted out by Strothers to those he considered beneath him.

"Not that it stopped him from trying to get our favors," Judith Trilby pointed out.