Chapter 22
A Matter of Urgency
The clang of metal reverberated through the building as Seth shut the heavy cell door. Roscoe Hubbard, a twice-escaped cattle rustler, stretched out on the cot with his arms crossed behind his head like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Seth had plenty for both of them.
Exhausted from two days of chasing the escapee from his jail, Seth trudged wearily toward the outer room.
The job was taking its toll. He’d spent more time on the trail than in town since he’d started, but it couldn’t be helped.
His deputies were mostly new and inexperienced; it would take time to train them.
But he’d never get a handle on things in Laramie if he didn’t get to be in Laramie.
He stopped in front of his two shamefaced deputies who stood waiting for an ass chewing. “Can I trust you not to let him escape this time?”
“He’s not pulling the wool over my eyes again,” twenty-four-year-old Luther Hess declared.
Hubbard had played him for a fool during supper delivery. The kid ended up stuck behind bars, watching helplessly as Roscoe walked out the door. Luther’s face had burned bright red when Seth unlocked the cell door and let him out, but he was young and would learn.
Forty-year-old Arnie Collins didn’t have that excuse. He’d let Roscoe’s pretty sister distract him while his brother picked the lock. Two days later, his ears were probably still ringing from the dressing down Seth had given him.
“He’ll be here to appear before Judge Simpson next week,” Arnie vowed.
“He better be,” Seth said quietly. “Or you’ll be looking for another line of work.”
“Yes, Sheriff,” he muttered.
With one last glance at Roscoe, who was watching, a smirk on his face, and clearly enjoying himself, Seth walked out.
The heavy rain coming down all day had slowed to a drizzle.
He took his wet hat off, raked his damp hair back, and resettled it with a sigh.
The minute his head hit the pillow, he’d be out cold, but pressing matters with Charlotte demanded his attention first.
***
The streets had transformed into a muddy mess.
The sticky ooze tugged at his boots as he walked toward the saloon.
Upon entering, the absence of piano music and the sight of mud smeared across the usually clean floor was startling, as were the overturned chairs, dirty glasses scattered on the tables, and the stench of stale beer.
Stanley was missing from behind the bar, and the few saloon girls present seemed skittish and subdued.
If he didn’t know it was the Red Eye, he would have thought he had entered the wrong saloon.
All the changes were easily explained by the presence of Quentin Sneed and a half dozen rough-looking armed men. Maneuvering around the upturned chairs and puddles of spilled beer, he approached Sneed’s table.
“Where’s Charlotte?” he demanded, dispensing with politeness and pleasantries.
“Don’t know. Don’t care,” he said, picking a nonexistent piece of lint off his puke-green jacket.
“You ran her off,” he accused. A saloon girl by the bar nodded, confirming his allegation.
“It was her decision to leave. Don’t blame me if she disagreed with how I protect my property while waiting for farcical court proceedings.”
Each time he encountered Quentin Sneed strengthened his distrust and confirmed his belief that Charlotte’s suspicions were true.
The sight of him and his smell—cloying cologne used to mask unwashed body odors—sent a fresh wave of revulsion washing over him.
The man’s very presence felt slimy and wrong, and he had the overwhelming urge to snap him in two, but his badge kept him from acting.
If he wanted to expose the man’s scheme, he’d need concrete proof to show the judge.
Seth pulled a chair out and sat at the table.
Not expecting this, Sneed stiffened and asked snidely, “Care to join me, Sheriff?”
He leaned back, stretching. “Don’t mind if I do. I’m beat.”
“Whiskey?” Sneed grudgingly offered.
“Why not?”
Sneed signaled one of the saloon girls, who brought a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. While she poured, Seth didn’t miss the fear in her eyes before she walked away. When the older man slid a glass in front of him, he drained it in one go, waving off another.
“I’ve been told your brother was an excellent gambler. You must have taught him well.”
As an opening salvo, it was effective because he got to watch Quentin Sneed squirm. He also poured himself another shot. Liquid courage, perhaps? The man’s smug demeanor was starting to crack, revealing a nervousness Seth found satisfying.
“So, you’re from New Orleans? I’ve spent some time there. What part are you from?”
“I, uh, we, um, moved around a lot. We’re from all over the South.”
“But your brother visited you there last month. Where was the poker game that brought you this unexpected windfall? The French Quarter? A riverboat. Or was it a private game at your home?”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t. But I always enjoyed visiting the Crescent City and had several favorite haunts in my youth. The Mississippi Queen was known for a challenging game of cards and roulette. Then there was Sazerac House. Do you know it?”
“Sazerac, you say?”
“Yes. They serve the finest cognac a man will find, unlike the coffin varnish your brother served. Surely, you know of it. On the corner of Canal and Chartres Street. They’ve been there for years.”
Quentin shifted in his seat, avoiding Seth’s gaze. “Yes, yes. Fenton and I dropped by when he was in town. He imbibed deeply, which probably contributed to me winning big that night.”
“You know what’s funny about that? Sazerac is on the other end of the Quarter at the Merchants’ Exchange on Royal, not Canal.”
“I, uh, must have misheard you. Of course, I know it’s on Royal.”
“It was, you mean,” Seth challenged.
“Excuse me?”
“There were financial troubles, and the owner sold last winter. The first thing the buyer did was tear down the crumbling old building. The new Sazerac House is still under construction, so you and Fenton couldn’t have dropped by before your poker game, could you?
” Seth asked, his voice cold and accusing.
“I, uh, well,” he sputtered. “I must have been mistaken. There are so many coffeehouses and clubs. I-I just got the details mixed up.”
“That seems to happen a lot with you.” Seth leaned in, his jaw clenched. “And what about Fenton signing over the saloon to you? That doesn’t seem like something he would do willingly.”
Quentin’s eyes darted around the room, his anxiety palpable. “He was in a tight spot. I offered him a way out, and he took it.”
“A way out…” Seth echoed, not buying Quentin’s excuses for a second. “Charlotte says he had a thriving business and was content here. Why would a man, not a young man, mind you, risk the source of his livelihood?”
“Because he was a gambler and couldn’t help himself,” he snapped, red-faced and agitated. “Exactly what are you accusing me of, Sheriff?”
“Did you hire Emmett Thorn to kill Fenton?”
Quentin’s face paled, and Seth could see the flash of fear in his eyes before he surged to his feet. “That’s preposterous! I would never harm my brother.”
“The brother who never mentioned your existence in the thirteen years Charlotte knew him?” Seth asked as he leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “I don’t know Judge Simpson, but I hear he issues harsh penalties. Folks in Laramie call him a hanging judge.”
Seth had heard nothing of the kind, but he paused for effect, and Sneed grew even paler.
“Rumor has it, he’s most astute. He should find the inconsistencies in your story interesting at the very least. Especially with you showing up only a few days after Fenton’s death, new deed in hand.”
Quentin swallowed hard, his hands shaking. “The judge will decide in my favor because everything I’ve told you is the truth.”
Seth’s gaze hardened as he stared at him for a moment. Then he slapped the table, making Quentin jump. If the man were a cat, he’d be clinging to the ceiling.
“I’m heading out to find Charlotte.” He started to leave but stopped in front of the lying worm, gripped him by his puke-colored vest, and raised him onto his toes. “You better hope nothing bad has happened to her, or I’m holding you responsible.”
When he released him, he stumbled backward, arms flailing, before he crashed into the table.
“See you in court, Mr. Sneed. If not sooner.”
As Seth walked to the door, he heard him railing at his men. “You’re all just sitting around! Why the hell didn’t you do something? What am I paying you for?”
One drawled, “If you want us to get into a dust-up with the law, you’ll have to pay us more.”
“A lot more,” another agreed.
Seth would have laughed if he weren’t so tired.
When he walked outside, a gust of wind and rain hit him like a slap in the face. The streets were quiet, likely because of the weather, but Seth’s mind was racing. First, he needed to find Charlotte and ensure her safety then get proof that Quentin Sneed wasn’t all that he claimed.
“Sheriff Walker,” someone called before he could mount up. Charlotte’s friend Violet stood on the porch. She seemed not to notice the foul weather, or that she was getting soaked, the distress written clearly on her face for a different reason.
Seth retraced his steps and, once on the porch, pulled her away from the doors and windows so Quentin and his men couldn’t see her talking to the law. He doubted that would go over well after the play he’d just made.
Violet blurted out, “I should have gone with her.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“To the inn, but when I went to visit her yesterday, she wasn’t there. The snooty clerk at the desk said she never checked in.”
Her regret was painfully obvious. Seth placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his own emotions running high. “It’s not your fault, Violet. I’ll find her. But tell me, what did Sneed do to make her leave?”
“No one wants to stay under the same roof with that slimy little man and his men. They think they have a right to all the booze they can swill and free services upstairs. Most have left.”
“What about you? Why have you stayed?” he asked.
Looking down at her hands, she whispered, “Some of us have no place else to go.”
“I’ll think of something. Come with me.”
“No. Find Charlotte. If something were to happen to her, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. What’s more, we’ll have no hope of ever getting Sneed out of the Red Eye.”
With that, she quietly disappeared around the corner of the building.
“Hellfire,” he cursed under his breath. He despised leaving defenseless women to the likes of Sneed and his outlaw crew.
Being new to town, he didn’t know where else they could go for refuge but knew someone who might—Mayor Jackson.
As he strode to his horse, he added another task to his already long list.
***
Seth returned downtown, stopping at the bank first then the telegraph office, which was on the way to the inn. The telegraph clerk was closing up, but his badge gave him privileges. He sent inquiries to two contacts in New Orleans, asking for everything they knew about the Sneed brothers.
Next, he made his way to the inn. It was a long shot after Violet had not found her there. The clerk at the desk had recently returned to work following a week-long illness. He couldn’t say who had checked in or out during that period but confirmed no female guests were staying alone.
As he was leaving, he experienced several strokes of good luck. Charlotte’s attorney was conversing with the mayor and his wife on the boardwalk across the street, and the rain had stopped for the first time all day.
“Mr. Bennett,” he called out as he crossed, narrowly avoiding a mud-splattering feed wagon passing by. “I beg your pardon,” he said, tipping his hat to Janelle. “But this is a matter of some urgency.” He glanced at the solicitor. “Sneed has taken over the Red Eye.”
“Taken over!” Bennett exclaimed. “What gives him the right?”
“Six intimidating armed outlaws is my guess. But a bigger concern is that Charlotte left when Sneed arrived, and no one seems to know where she’s gone.”
Aaron glanced behind him. “She’s not at the inn, I take it?”
Janelle sniffed and muttered, “She’s too good for that dump.”
Her husband’s intense gaze bore into her. “What do you know about this?”
“I...uh...nothing,” she stammered.
“Janelle,” Aaron pressed, the weight of his warning hanging between.
“I can’t say,” she admitted. “I was sworn to secrecy.”
“Is she somewhere safe?” Seth demanded.
“I wouldn’t say safe, exactly.”
“If she’s in danger, you must tell the sheriff,” her husband insisted.
“I suppose these are extenuating circumstances,” she allowed. “I haven’t seen it, but Jenny and Wisteria say it’s awful. No inside water or plumbing of any kind, and Jenny said the roof was half caved in.”
“It sounds like a hovel,” Mr. Bennett concluded.
“Where is this place?” Seth asked, his frustration rising.
“She bought the old Owens place west of town.”
“I know it,” Aaron grunted. “It is a hovel.”
“I feel awful for her. She had nothing except some clothing, so Wisteria brought supplies, and Jenny asked George Gleason and his men to do repairs, but according to the girls, the only hope for the place is to level it and start over.”
“Where?” Seth repeated, eager to get going.
“Three miles out of town on the Rawlins road, in the woods,” Aaron advised.
“She can’t mean to live out there alone!” James Bennett exclaimed.
“She had no choice,” Janelle advised. “According to Jenny, after the inn turned her away, she got the same inhospitable answer from the boarding houses.”
“I’m bringing her back,” Seth asserted.
“To live where?” She glanced at Aaron. “Our house?”
“You mean the mayor’s house? You know that isn’t possible.” He paused a moment, clearly weighing other options. “She could stay on the ranch at Heath’s old cabin near the stables.”
“That’s a good idea, Aaron,” Janelle agreed. “She’d be alone but safe on Jackson land.”
Seth wanted to sprint to rescue Charlotte, but there were other women in danger, and he had an idea. “Your offer is generous, and I hate to ask for more, but how big is this cabin? There are a few other ladies at the Red Eye who want to leave but have no place to go.”
“It will be cozy, but certainly they can stay. As long as they need to!” Janelle offered without hesitation.
When he looked at Aaron for confirmation, he nodded his complete agreement.
With a solution to several problems, he mounted his horse, his mind consumed with worry for Charlotte. He couldn’t bear the thought of her alone, in a hovel, and possibly in danger. As he headed west, he’d be damned if the rain didn’t pick up again.