Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Click!
Effie’s eyes flicked open.
The room was dark, but she knew she was no longer alone.
Fear shot through her instantaneously. She froze, fright taking its toll.
After a short while, her mind began to function and reason asserted itself. Though panic leapt through her, she realized she could not give rise to it. She must stay calm. Slowly, so as not to make any sound, she turned her head on the pillow.
A figure in black stole through her room. It was a slender man. What did he want?
The artifacts. Someone had broken into her room to steal the artifacts. It was the only thing that made sense.
But how would anyone know of them? Let alone that she carried them on her person. The only people who even knew of them were in her crew.
“You will not discover them here.” Perhaps she was insane, but Effie found herself speaking to the intruder as though she might, with simple words, change his mind. “Do you really think I would be so stupid?”
The figure faced her, even advanced toward her, but he said nothing.
“Who are you?” asked Effie. “How do you know of them?” She didn’t name what it was she referenced, certain they both knew exactly of what she spoke.
Silence.
Timidly at first, she sat up in bed, picking up an object that always stayed close to her. “I should warn you,” she spoke as though with ease, “that I sleep with a gun. I have done so since I was a child.”
Holding the weapon with both hands, she cocked the pistol to give emphasis to the fact. The sound of the catch was loud in the otherwise silent room.
She continued, “I have this pretty little Colt revolver pointed at your head. If I were you, I would leave as silently as I came. For if you don’t, you will soon not have the means to do so.”
The figure made no further movement. However, the sound of another pistol being cocked shot through the room.
Effie’s heart leapt into her throat. Summoning her courage, she kept her voice steady as she said, “My father always encouraged me to expect the best in people and to give fair warning, and so I will with you. I will give you only until I count to ten, and if you are still here then, I promise that I will shoot you. One…two…”
The black figure crept closer.
“Three…four…five…”
The figure darted to the side, but in doing so, had come one step closer to her.
“I am not pretending a skill I do not have,” Effie elaborated. “I may be a woman, but I have no reservations about shooting you. Six…seven…”
The man in black leapt forward but was still too far away to reach her.
Shocked, but with the gun held steadily in front of her, she counted down more swiftly, “Eight…nine.”
A blast filled the room, but not from her revolver. Her assailant’s bullet must have hit the bedding close by her. Feathers flew everywhere.
Pretending a calmness she was far from feeling, Effie said, “You missed. Ten.”
Effie pulled the trigger, and the sound of the explosion was deafening.
Had she hit her target? She peeped around the bedpost.
No. But then what should she have expected? She had not aimed to kill, only to hurt, to disable.
But the intruder, as though a mere shot had taken away his boldness, turned, and executing a rather classical pirouette, opened the door and disappeared beyond it.
Gun still clutched with both hands, still pointed toward a now absent “guest,” Effie sat quietly in the aftermath. She let out her breath, hardly able to account for the fact that someone had to know what treasure she carried. Indeed, someone had to know what her project intended to do.
How had this happened? How had this news leaked out to society’s unsavory element?
A few moments passed, and Effie became aware of the sounds of people—probably other hotel guests and her crew—who were on the other side of her door. However, it was beyond her ability to move, let alone speak or explain what had happened. Briefly, she was glad they were out there, not in here.
She was unnerved. True, she slept with a gun. True, she knew how to use one.
But never had she been forced to take action against another human being with one. She found the experience far from pleasant.
Gradually, someone opened her door—it wasn’t, after all, locked.
Not anymore. One of her colleagues, Carl Bell, was followed immediately by another one of her associates, Henry Smith.
Then came the rest of her crew, Lesley and Madeline, who were followed by a few others Effie didn’t know.
As people began to filter into the room, it occurred to her that the worst thing that could have possibly happened to the project just had.
Not only were the artifacts no longer safe, neither was she.
I… We need protection.
On this thought, she steeled herself to explain, as best she could, what had transpired only a moment earlier.
The very next day the man she had hired as their guide quit, stating that she had misinformed him of the exact sort of danger her project entailed.
“How on God’s green earth did my guide hear about the raid on the project? On me? And so quickly?”
“Bad news travels fast, ma’am.”
“Within hours?” Effie stared at the gentleman who called himself Sheriff Hopkins, the only law in this town. He was seated before her in his office, his booted feet propped up on his desk.
“This is a very small town, ma’am,” said Hopkins, whose mustache was so long it appeared as if he had no upper lip. “Who was the first person you told about your nightly visitor?”
“There were several people staying at the hotel, Sheriff, including my crew. All were awakened by the shots. And of course I had to make a report to the manager of the hotel. I believe he said his name was Mr. MacDermitt.” Effie swept her full, blue-striped silk dress in front of her as she advanced farther into the room.
On her head was perched a little hat with a plume that hung down over her chignon in back.
Because there was still a chill in the fresh Montana air, she wore a shapeless peplum over the dress.
“But I only told him of it first thing this morning. There was no manager on duty last night.”
The sheriff raised his shoulders as if to say, Well, that explains it. Meanwhile he lit his pipe.
Effie exhaled, exasperated. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”
Taking a few puffs on his pipe, Sheriff Hopkins extinguished the match then glanced up at her.
“Tell me, ma’am,” said the sheriff without answering her question. “Why is a pretty little gal like you here? All alone? And in a country that’s wild and unruly?”
“I wasn’t aware it was a crime to be here. And, for the record, I am not alone.”
“Now don’t go gettin’ all sassy with me. Just askin’.” The sheriff removed his boot-clad feet from the desk. “I’m tryin’ to understand the reason why some man would break into your room in the middle of the night.”
Effie shrugged.
“Jealous husband?”
“I’m not married.”
“Lover’s quarrel?”
“No.”
“Irate father?”
“I am over twenty-one.”
The sheriff drew a long puff on his pipe, set it to the side then slowly shifted his weight in the chair. At length he stood up, as if only now remembering his manners.
“Now, ma’am.” He skirted around the desktop. “I have to ask myself—and you—again, why is a pretty gal like you here? I know you said you was goin’ diggin’ in the mountains—”
“I’m an archaeologist.”
“Yes, miss, I heard you the first time, but any digger I’ve ever heard tale of didn’t look like you—young, pretty, even if a trifle overdressed.”
Overdressed? Effie pressed her lips together before she said, “Then I expect your experience is very limited.”
Heaven forbid that the man should smile. Yet he did, and Effie was struck at once by the fact the sheriff did, indeed, have an upper lip.
“You’re sure a cheeky little thing.”
“And you’re not helping me, though I’m certain you mean to. Now, Sheriff Hopkins, what I really need to know is what is going to be done to discover who entered my room last night—and also where I might hire myself another guide.”
The sheriff took a step toward her. Effie backed up.
“’Fraid I won’t be able to assist you, ma’am, less’n you tell me what it is someone might be lookin’ for. And as far as a guide, you’ll just have to ask around town…but don’t expect much.”
“Don’t expect much? What does that mean?”
The sheriff backed up to lean against his desk. “It means that no one here wants to take on a job that’s jinxed.”
“Jinxed? Who said the job was jinxed?”
Sheriff Hopkins shook his head. “Too much bad luck. Someone breaks into your room in the middle of the night and shoots at you. Then your guide quits on you right sudden. What’s next? Shootin’ your guide?”
“But—”
“We have a sayin’ here in the West that goes like this: Trouble comes in threes. Don’t rightfully reckon you’re goin’ to find many folks here who want to take on that kind of liability. What you really need isn’t a guide. It’s protection.”
“I see.” Hadn’t she had a similar thought last night?
“Do you?” The sheriff squinted at her.
“I think so. And you’re going to provide me with that protection?”
“No, ma’am, I’m not. My job here is to keep the peace.
I figure I’m doing that by informin’ you that there’s a double whammy sittin’ over you.
If goin’ into Blackfeet country isn’t dangerous enough for a white man—takin’ you and your party through savage and perilous mountains where many men have got themselves lost—you also need someone to act as both lookout and sharpshooter. ”
“No, sir, I don’t. I can shoot, and we can post a watch.”
“Yes ’em, I reckon you can. All I’m sayin’ is that you’re asking a lot of a man.”
“Am I?”
“I believe so. Now, if I was you, I might start lookin’ elsewhere than here for a guide. Someplace where they don’t know you.”
Effie’s chin shot up in the air. “Was that an insult?”