Betrothed to the Bandit

Chapter Twelve

Lydia’s head pounded. She couldn’t move without pain radiating throughout the top and left side of her face. She tried to sleep that night, but her throbbing head and confusion continued awakening her. How could that man John be Dean’s partner? When she met him on the coach, she’d felt that there was something slimy about him. Memories of him came to her in nightmares and fitful periods of wakefulness. She recalled the luggage that he’d clutched to his body.

She thought about how he was a lawyer who knew about acquiring a patent. She thought about the few other times Dean had mentioned him, without saying his name. Dean had always given the impression that his partner was someone who had selflessly ensured that Dean would get the money he was owed. Her head continued to pound as she tried to reconcile this information with the man she’d met on the coach.

At daybreak, she awoke suddenly. Her headache was gone and her mind clear. She sat up in bed and let out a tight scream as fear skittered down her spine. In that moment, the truth revealed itself to her. She’d figured it out. Now the robbery made perfect sense.

She couldn’t get dressed fast enough. She tied her hair back into a bun and threw her coat over her body, not even taking the time to button it. She flew down the stairs and out the front door, not even taking the time to exchange hellos with the front desk. Dean was in mortal danger. She had to save him.

Lydia ran along the sidewalk until she reached the marshal’s office, wondering whether she should elicit the help of the law. That thought evaporated before she’d even passed the building. No, Dean believed the law of this town to be corrupt, and that’s all the information she had.

She reached the stable where their horses were being boarded. Dean’s horse was gone, as expected, but her horse remained. She led the mare to the hitching post and saddled her.

A young man walked up to her as she was tightening the cinch. “Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t hear you come in. I could have done that for you.”

“No worries, I’ve saddled a horse often enough. Perhaps you can help me another way. You know the gold mine outside of town? How do I get there?”

“Sure, everyone ‘round these parts knows about the mine. The first mine to use the girder, did you know that?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Lydia said impatiently.

“Right, right,” he drawled, his speech infuriatingly slow.

Lydia forced herself to take deep breaths. It would do no one any good to panic. “So, directions, please?” she said in as level a voice as she could manage.

“Take the road south out of town. Travel until you meet the giant willow tree. There you’ll see a little pig trail off to the right side. That’s the fastest way to get to the mine, but you’ll have to travel by foot. There’s another roundabout way if you keep going along the main road. You’ll see the sign.”

“And do you know where the owner’s house is? The owner called John.”

“Yes, you’ll see it on the way to the mine. A big house painted yellow.”

“I’m awful grateful for the information,” Lydia said, as she buckled the neck strap on the bridle. She slid her foot into the stirrup and hoisted herself up. “Mind opening the door for me?” She was already walking the horse to the stable’s exit.

“It’ll be my pleasure,” the young man said.

As soon as she reached the main road, Lydia nudged her horse into a fast trot and was soon a few miles from town. She berated herself for not asking the man how far away the mine was. She had been in too much of a rush. Now she didn’t know how hard to push the horse. Galloping might tucker the horse out before she was even near her destination.

She patted the mare’s neck. “We’ll go easy for a bit,” she told her. “I need to wrap my head around what to do when I get there anyway.”

She guessed the mine was about forty miles away—a journey long enough that Dean would have to spend the night, but short enough that he was able to start it in the afternoon.

After what seemed like hours she came to a yellow house like the livery boy had described to her. She called out loudly, asking if anyone was home. When she received no answer, she dismounted and turned the knob to the front door. She walked inside.

“Hello? Anyone home?” she called, then listened for a response. Nothing. “Dean, are you here?”

She searched the house, starting with the bedrooms. She looked in closets and under beds, half expecting to find Dean dead somewhere. But there was no sign of him or any disturbance. The house was tidy and organized, but without much character in the way of rugs, curtains, or ornaments, like a very meticulous person without much imagination lived there. It fit her perception of John exactly.

She spotted a desk in one of the rooms and realized she should search it to make sure this was indeed John’s house. For all she knew, there was more than one yellow house along the road. Upon opening the first desk drawer, she confirmed she was in the right house. Bank statements with John’s name on them were stacked neatly inside.

She considered whether to spend time searching for the suitcase John had clutched to his chest during their journey there. “Would you be so foolish, John, as to keep it here at your house?” she wondered out loud. She resolved to spend no more than a half hour searching, and then she would resume her journey to the mine in search of Dean.

She looked in the closets and under the beds again, this time looking for the suitcase instead of Dean. Just when she was about to give up, she glanced around a small room in the back of the house and noticed something she hadn’t before—a hope chest one might normally see at the edge of a marital bed. This one stood out to her because it was pushed against a wall and covered with blankets. It was large enough to contain a suitcase, so she opened it, not at all expecting to find it.

But there it was. She could hardly breathe, and when she picked it up by the handle and had to use both hands to pull it out, the weight of it caused her hopes to climb. She set it on the floor with a thud.

She unclasped the brass fasteners and lifted the top shell. Upon removing the thin strip of cloth that covered the contents, she gasped and fell back. There, clear as day, were hundreds of crisp twenty-dollar bills, each neatly wrapped inside strips of glued paper. She had found the money exchanged for the stolen gold, the money John had convinced Dean was hidden inside passengers’ carpetbags. She spent only a short time observing it before slamming the lid shut and securing the clasps.

With difficulty, she lugged it to the front of the house and on to the back of the horse behind the saddle. She used leather ties to secure it, then ran back inside to grab a blanket. Returning with a brown one, she covered the suitcase.

As she mounted her horse and resumed her journey to the mine, thoughts raced through her head. Her theory had been correct. John was the thief who had stolen the gold. He’d been the one to set Dean up. If she was right about this, she was likely right about the rest of it. She hurried her horse forward. She hoped there was still time.

A crooked wooden sign with the burnt letters “Elkio’s Gold Mine” carved into it alerted her that she was on the right track. “Almost there,” she told herself as well as the horse, whose ears flicked back.

A clanging sound reached her ears before she spotted anything. She rounded a corner and saw benches, a well, and a wheelbarrow in front of a hole in the mountain framed by wooden panels. A few men lounged around, but no one appeared busy or in a hurry. Lydia guessed that operation of the mine was at a near standstill, since no one had received their promised bonuses.

“Howdy!” a lanky man called out, waving at her. “You’re not the new cook, are you? Afraid there’s not too many lads to feed today.”

Lydia dismounted. “No, not a cook. I’m here to see Dean Hunter. Is he around?”

“I saw Mr. Hunter head for the auger’s hut with Mr. Peters a couple hours ago. Haven’t seen him since.”

“John Peters?” Lydia asked. Her heart pounded.

“That’s right. They’re the owners of the mine.”

“Thanks. Can you point me in the direction of the hut?” She tried to keep her expression neutral and her voice level, but knowing that Dean had left with John hours ago and hadn’t been seen since was not a good sign.

The man jutted his thumb behind him. “Less than a mile that-a-way. You’ll see the trail.”

“Much obliged,” Lydia said, leading the horse in the direction indicated.

She spotted the trail right away. It was narrower than the main path but wide enough to lead her horse through. Small mercies. She wouldn’t have to lug the suitcase of money herself.

She spotted the hut, appropriately named. It appeared to be built from pine trees fashioned into wooden planks. The roof was thatched, and there was no door, only a person-sized rectangle covered with a brown cloth drape.

Deciding that if she didn’t act now, she would lose her nerve, she walked to the hut and threw open the cloth shielding the entrance. She stepped into the interior, which smelled of the earthen floor. It was only dimly lit by a small open window, but there was no mistaking who was inside. His back was turned, and he was surveying something on the table in front of him.

“Dean!” she cried.

He started and spun around. “Lydia? What are you doing here?”

She ran to him, never so grateful to see anyone as she was in that moment. “Oh, thank God! I got here in time. I thought you might already be dead.” She pressed herself against his chest and wrapped her arms around him, catching a glimpse of the shock on his face before she did.

He returned the hug. “Of course I’m not dead.” He took hold of her arms to push her gently away from him so he could see her face. “Are you still ill? Is your headache not improved?”

“My head’s fine!” she said.

“Then why would you think I might be dead?”

Lydia tried to settle the beating of her heart. She drew a deep breath and said as calmly as she could, but knowing it would make little difference to the effect her words would have, “Because your partner John is going to kill you.”

“What?” He felt her forehead with the back of his hand.

She slapped his hand away. “Listen! I’m not sick. Come, I’ll show you.”

She turned and walked out of the hut. He followed her with a worried expression on his face. To Lydia it appeared he was not worried about his own safety, only the state of her mind.

She untied the blanket covering John’s suitcase, then untied the suitcase from the back of the saddle. “This is heavy,” she said. “Help me carry it inside?”

Dean strode forward and lifted the suitcase from the back of the horse as though it was light as a feather. Wordlessly he walked with it inside and set it on the wooden table.

“Brace yourself,” Lydia said. “You’ll be surprised at the contents.” She unlatched it and popped the top open, then removed the cloth. She looked at Dean’s face to catch his reaction.

Just like she had done, he fell back as though punched in the face. His eyebrows shot up and he knocked the top of his Stetson back from his forehead. “What’s this?”

“This,” Lydia said, “is the money you were looking for on the coach. I found it in John’s house. He was clutching this suitcase to his chest the entire coach journey from Bells to Elkio.”

“Bullshit!” Dean exclaimed, not removing his eyes from the money.

“It’s not bullshit,” Lydia said, the oath feeling foreign to her lips. “The puzzle pieces fell into place as I was recovering from my headache. It never made sense to me that your business-savvy partner suggested you rob a coach. He should have known you could get a bank loan. What you told me last night didn’t make sense to me either. How could he make such a monumental paperwork error indicating he had equal rights to your royalties? Because it wasn’t an error, Dean. It was purposeful. Don’t you see? He betrayed you. He plans to get rid of you, one way or another. Either get you imprisoned for the stagecoach robbery or shoot you dead. Then he will have sole rights to your incoming great wealth, no question.”

Dean stepped back and sank onto a chair. He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. “This can’t be, this can’t be.”

“It is,” Lydia insisted. She rested her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened to you. I know what it feels like to be betrayed by someone you think cares about you. But you must believe me, and you must act fast to save yourself. What if John is already gathering evidence against you to report to the marshal?”

“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t he just travel back alone with the money? Why go on the coach?”

“The suitcase is too awkward and heavy to travel great distances on horseback, so he used the coach. That way he could help you with the robbery and transport the cash at the same time. Kill two birds with one stone.”

Dean breathed heavily, his large chest expanding with every inhale. “I was so blind.”

“But now you see? What are we going to do? Where’s John?” she asked.

“He’s stalling.” His tone was bitter. “Said he needed to take care of something before going with me to the bank to resolve the banking error.”

“He’s probably planning to come back and kill you!” Lydia exclaimed. “He’ll never willingly remove his name from the account. You must run. Take this money and run!”

Dean shook his head. “No, I won’t be running. I’m going to set things right.”

“How?”

***

“Do you trust me?” Dean asked Lydia. He searched her frightened eyes, wishing he could wave a wand and expel the troubled look from them.

“Yes, more than I’ve trusted anyone,” she said.

He couldn’t help but feel great gratitude alongside the heaviness he felt upon learning that his best friend had betrayed him. He pulled Lydia close to him. “I trust you too. Thank you for showing me the truth. You were right to say I’m na?ve. But that’s no longer the case.”

Lydia wrapped her arms around him. “Betrayal tends to suck all the na?veté from your bones, for good.”

He stroked her dark tendrils, loving how soft her hair felt in his hands, before releasing her. He picked up his canteen, which was nearly full of water. Handing it to her, he said, “I’m guessing you haven’t had much to eat or drink after waking and rushing here to warn me. You’d better nourish yourself before your headache comes back.”

She took it from him and drank immediately. In between giant gulps of water, she said, “You shouldn’t be worried about me now. Worry for your own safety.”

“I’ll be ready when he comes back,” Dean said, patting the revolver at his hip. He walked the two short strides to a small cupboard and removed a loaf of bread and butter, along with a knife. He methodically sliced the bread for her and took his time buttering each one. He handed it to her on a simple metal plate. “You must be hungry.”

She smiled sheepishly and took the bread from him. In between bites, she said, “I didn’t realize until now how hungry I am. You’re a good man, Dean. Even after learning terrible news, you take the time to care for me.”

“You deserve to be cared for. Now that I know the feeling of betrayal myself, I’m even angrier that you felt it. You didn’t deserve to go through what your wretch of a husband put you through. How alone you must have felt! At least I have you.”

Memories of John were coming to Dean. Looking back, every strange or confusing word spoken by John now suddenly made sense in light of his newfound knowledge.

He emptied the money from the suitcase into a black cloth sack. Once he was done, he scratched out a note for Jimmy, the lead miner and next in charge after him and John.

Dear Jimmy, the stolen money has been recovered. John masterminded the theft and conspiracy, and he is not to be trusted. I will soon explain everything. In the meantime, please kindly distribute a bonus in the amount of five hundred dollars to each miner and his family. Fill out a receipt of payment and have each man sign. Rejoice! Prosperity has found all who mined the gold from our bountiful mountain. Best regards, Dean Hunter.

Once Lydia had finished the last of the bread, he took the plate from her. “Be on your way, darlin’. Meet me back at the hotel.”

“But can’t I stay with you?” she protested. “Be here when you confront John?”

“No.” His voice was firm. There was no way he would put Lydia in any more danger than he already had.

“What are you going to do? How can I be assured of your safety?”

“I asked if you trusted me for a reason,” he said. “You’ll need to do that now and let me sort this out.”

“But I don’t trust John. I’m afraid he’ll kill you.”

“He won’t have the chance. I’ve a much faster draw and better aim.”

With a bit more coaxing, Lydia left, grumbling as she mounted the horse. He watched her ride away until she was out of sight. Then he hurriedly grabbed the sack of money along with the note and locked it away in Jimmy’s box. Only Jimmy had the other key, and though Dean was loath to trust anyone besides Lydia at this point, he was confident in Jimmy’s upstanding-ness. Jimmy wasn’t scheduled to be at the mine until the following day, giving Dean plenty of time to attend to business with John before the money was discovered and fairly distributed.

He tacked a dark cloth to the window, shrouding the hut in darkness. His eyes would soon adjust, but John would see nothing upon entering. Dean scraped one of the chairs in the hut along the dirt floor to a dark corner. He then pushed the small table next to the chair and positioned John’s suitcase so that it faced the entrance, open and empty. He lit the oil lamp next to it, then dimmed it fully. He sat on the chair, his gun in his lap, and waited to confront the man he’d known for more than a decade, the man he thought was his greatest friend but who had turned out to be his greatest foe.

***

An hour later, John Peters entered the hut with his gun drawn, then stopped in confusion from the unexpected darkness.

Dean saw him clearly. “Stay where you are, drop the gun,” he instructed, cocking the hammer of his revolver with a loud click.

John cursed with surprise. “Is that you, Dean? What is this? Some kind of joke?”

Dean stood and pointed the gun at his head. “That’s what you think of me, isn’t it? That I’m a joke.”

“No! What’s this about?”

“Drop the gun!” Dean held his gun on him and turned up the lamp with his other hand, illuminating the emptied suitcase. John stared at the suitcase for a moment before he opened his hand and let the gun fall to the floor.

“I-I can explain the money that was in that suitcase,” John said. “I found it. I hadn’t gotten around to telling you—”

“Shut up,” Dean barked. “The jig is up. I won’t believe a word you say. This is what’s going to happen. You and I are going to travel to the bank in town. There, you are going to remove your name from my account. You thought you would steal my royalties? Fuck you. You’re also going to sign over full ownership of the mine to me.”

John didn’t speak right away. He rolled his head around, as though trying to relieve tension in his neck. “You think this plan of yours will work? You think you can make me do all that at gunpoint from inside the bank.”

Dean holstered his weapon. “I won’t need a gun. You’re going to do it willingly.”

“Like hell I will.”

“Otherwise,” Dean continued. “I won’t tell you where I hid that money. I won’t let you collect it and leave. Instead, I’ll lead the marshal to it and make sure you’re the one punished for stealing it. There are four witnesses who saw you with that suitcase, including Lydia who found it with the money inside.”

Dean could practically see the cogs in John’s head spinning greedily. “You’ll let me have the money if I do what you say? You’ll tell me where it is?”

“You heard me. You can have the miners’ money as long as I can have the mine and my royalties. Take it and run. Leave everything behind and start plotting someone else’s demise somewhere else.”

Rage colored John’s face. “But it’s not nearly enough! The mine and your royalties are worth far more than what was in that suitcase.”

“Better than prison, wouldn’t you say?”

John huffed and balled his hands into fists. “So you swear you’ll tell me where that money is?”

“I swear,” said Dean.

“I guess it will have to do.”

“Fine, let’s go.” Dean stepped forward and grabbed him by the shoulder of his shirt. He shoved him out of the hut. “Get on your horse and ride.”

John rode his horse in silence, as Dean followed behind, ready to shoot him in the arm if he dared to try anything.

Along the way, Dean asked, “Were you planning to kill me to have full access to my royalties? Was that your plan all along?”

“Only if I couldn’t get you locked up for robbing the coach,” John sneered.

“How kind of you to consider sparing my life,” Dean said sarcastically.

“It’s your own damn fault. I can’t believe how easy it was to convince you to you rob the coach.”

“I wouldn’t have been convinced if I hadn’t been urged by my longtime friend.”

John let out a short laugh. “Won’t make that mistake again, will you? How did you figure out I stole the money? How did you figure out I planned to steal your royalties? I didn’t think you had the brain for it.”

“Lydia figured it out.”

“Just my luck. That stuck-up bitch wasn’t even supposed to be on Friday’s coach.”

“Watch your filthy mouth.”

Dean couldn’t wait to set things right at the bank and be rid of the Judas in his life forever. It was funny to Dean that John didn’t consider that Dean might betray him. After his account was settled, the mine was in his name, and the money from the gold was in the hands of the miners who deserved it, Dean would give John a false location of the money. While he left to find it, Dean would report John’s theft to the marshal. Hopefully the marshal wasn’t as corrupt as John had led him to believe, and John would end up in prison regardless of his compliance. But even if he remained free, at least he wouldn’t gain a penny. At least all money would go to the people it belonged to, not to the criminal who had so callously plotted to steal everything from Dean and the miners while pretending to be a friend.