Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
A number of saloons in Elkhorn were not so choosy as to exclude women from their clientele, but the Belle Saloon was Red Annie’s favored place to drink when she was in town. Before going in, however, she needed to drop off the mail at Wilson’s General Store.
As they passed the judge’s building, she went in and dropped his mail with the clerks in the lobby.
“Always gets his mail delivered separate,” she told Caleb with a shrug.
Once they reached the Belle, the two of them found a table near the door, where Caleb sat with his back to the wall. Though the Belle wasn’t exactly famous for serving breakfast, quite a few miners were in, drinking theirs.
The stove was warming the place nicely, and the two of them shed their coats as the barman called to them, asking what they’d like.
“Brandy for me,” Red ordered, putting her saddlebag and rifle behind her.
“That coffee I smell?” Caleb asked. The Scottish bartender raised his eyebrows, exchanging a look with Red Annie.
“Look, the fella’s got a lot on his mind,” she said. “Rassling bears. Knife fighting with preachers.” She sat back in her chair. “Just get him his damn coffee.”
The barman tugged at his collar, displaying the tattoo of an upright lion with the claws extended. Then, without another word, he shrugged and went to get the drinks.
“Going soft on me, Marlowe?”
“Like you said. Got a lot on my mind.”
“Cuz if you order buttermilk the next time we come in here, we ain’t drinking together no more. A girl can get a reputation in this town, you know.”
He tapped the table. “Duke Ortiz found you?”
“I ain’t too hard to find, even in a place like Denver.”
“I told him the places where you usually boarded and drank when you were there.”
“He found me.” She reached inside her coat and produced a letter that she handed over. “Every time I think I got you figured out, Marlowe, you surprise me a little more.”
“How’s that?” Caleb stared at the letter in his hand.
“For one thing, the company you keep. You’re the best of friends with all sorts of fellas.”
“I’ve known Duke Ortiz for a long time. We been in some fearsome scrapes, as I’m sure he told you if you gave him ten minutes. And Bass Dart? That fella is a good man. We’ve traveled some hard miles together.”
“I liked both of them. They actually drink hard liquor. Surprisingly, they talk real good about you.”
Caleb nodded, impatient to open the letter.
“And that Chinese family you paid me to take to Denver this past summer.” Red Annie smiled. “They all but made me a member of the family. I got a real warm feeling for that bunch.”
The barman put her brandy and Caleb’s coffee on the table in front of them.
“Hell, Marlowe. You even call me your friend.”
The first time Caleb met Red Annie was at a stagecoach way station up in Wyoming.
He’d come in as she was going to war with two fellas who’d taken exception to her wearing trousers and riding as a guard for Wells Fargo.
She had no trouble handling both of them.
Caleb had only stepped in when a third, in the solemn defense of manhood, tried to jump her from behind.
He couldn’t wait any longer and opened Duke’s letter.
It was brief and Caleb struggled with the handwriting.
The gist of it was that they were in Denver, as if he didn’t know that, and the herd of longhorns had arrived by cattle car and were shipped north to Cheyenne City.
Addressed to a Mr. Eric Goulden. They were following.
Caleb shook his head, trying to figure out why a railroad baron would be interested in stolen cattle. Elijah Starr had surely cut his ties with Goulden when he went to work for the judge, Goulden’s sworn enemy.
When the answer came to him, it was like seeing a rattler slither into a privy.
Starr was working for both sides. Or rather, he never stopped working for Goulden.
Maybe that herd of longhorns was a gift to his boss to smooth over any rough patch that had come up when Caleb thwarted his plans in Elkhorn.
Four dollars a head in Texas brought as much as forty a head by the time they reached St. Louis.
More in Chicago. Even for a fella as well-heeled as Eric Goulden, a forty-thousand-dollar gift had to be considered a serious apology.
“Did you hear one word I said?”
Caleb looked up at Red Annie. “What did you say?”
“I said, you even call me your friend,” Red repeated, banging a hand on the table.
“Of course I heard that.”
“Well, you was supposed to answer before burying your nose in some damn letter.”
“Hell, Red. We got history. We’re friends. What else is there to say?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to say something. We’re having a conversation.”
“About what?” he asked.
“We were discussing the kind of friends you keep.”
“Oh.” Caleb realized what she was getting at. “Red, your idea of a conversation is like going to San Francisco by way of Mexico. If you got something on your mind, go ahead and say it.”
“I do not understand Henry Jordan.”
“Henry again?” Caleb asked. “Why are you so interested in him?”
“I ain’t interested.”
“Sounds like you are.”
“Well, I ain’t.” She drank down her glass of brandy and waved for another.
With all Caleb had on his mind, he didn’t want to get involved in this. But for someone who wasn’t interested in Henry, she always asked about him.
The two of them had been at odds from the day they met up north. At the time, Henry had a woman on his lap while he was playing poker and putting down red-eye faster than a city barber goes through hair oil. She took exception to his lack of attention to the cards apparently.
Something about Henry tickled Red, though, whether she was willing to admit it or not.
“But, just for conversation,” she continued, “where is the chucklehead? The last time I come through, he was out of jail and trying out his new life on the ranch. Is he staying out of trouble?”
“Hate to say it, but he’s back in jail.”
Her drink arrived, and she frowned at it for a moment before her gray eyes lifted to his. “Drunk and disorderly again?”
“Nope. Murder.”
“Hats and horseshit! Murder? Henry? He ain’t the type.”
Red Annie tried to say it casually. But there was something in the way she pushed her glass away that made Caleb think she was more upset than she was letting on.
“You’re right, Red. He ain’t the type. He didn’t do it.”
“You helping him?”
“Doing my best.”
She thought about it. “But you ain’t wearing the badge, are you?”
Caleb pocketed Ortiz’s letter. “No. Zeke Vernon is still the sheriff.”
“Maybe I’ll go by and say howdy to Zeke. And while I’m there, say howdy to Henry. Just to be friendly like.”
Caleb nodded. “I think he’d like that, Red.”
She took a drink and shrugged off the cloud hanging over the table. “But he’s still a dang fool. And you’re a dang fool taking him on for a partner.”
“If you say so,” he replied into his coffee cup.
They both looked up as the door to the saloon opened and Sheila sailed in. Regardless of how much she tried to fit into the frontier town, there was something about the way she carried herself that said she came from East and money. Caleb had decided long ago that it was the confidence.
“Uh-oh. That who I think it is?” Red asked.
“You be nice,” he said, rising to his feet.
One of the Belle’s girls was standing by the bar, chatting it up with the tattooed Scotsman, and Sheila went straight to her. The saloon girl looked downright shocked at being addressed, but then smiled and replied to whatever was asked.
Caleb immediately realized that he might have jumped the gun, thinking she was here to see him. He remembered that she and Belle Constant were on speaking terms. He knew she’d been here before.
Sheila turned and her eyes settled on Caleb and Red Annie.
Her face glowed and her eyes shone from the cold outside and exercise. She had snow at the hem of the long blue dress that hung below the heavy wool coat. She’d apparently left her wide-brimmed hat at home, along with her gun belt.
He watched her every step as she approached.
And he didn't try to talk himself out of it. Sheila Burnett wasn't a passing fancy or a pleasant dream. She was part of the life he intended to fight for.
To give her credit, she had no trouble weaving her way through the gawking miners. He hadn’t jumped the gun. Sheila came directly to him.
“I heard there was a fight,” she said in greeting.
Her eyes immediately moved over him, checking for fresh injuries. The gesture was quick enough that most folks wouldn't notice it.
Caleb did.
“Nothing compared to Bull Run or Antietam.”
“And the boys were involved.”
“They tell you that?”
“They said that horrid Amos Stubbs was slandering you.”
“Hard to imagine Paddy using the word ‘slandering,’ but I reckon that’s about right.”
It was impossible for Caleb to ignore the way Red Annie was staring at one of them and then the other, a smile lifting a corner of her mouth. Finally, she couldn’t restrain herself any longer.
“Marlowe, are you going to introduce me to Mrs. Marlowe?”
A blush immediately colored Sheila's cheeks, but to Caleb's surprise she recovered almost at once.
“Not Mrs. Marlowe,” she said. “At least not today.”
Red Annie barked out a laugh so loud half the saloon turned to look.
Caleb nearly choked.
“Not today?” Red repeated. “Well then, when is the happy event?”
Sheila tilted her head thoughtfully.
“I suppose that depends on how long it takes Marlowe to come to his senses.”
Red slapped the table. “Oh woman, I like you already. There’s so much I can tell you about this feller. The trouble he gets into. The poor decisions he makes. The hardheaded foolishness.”
Caleb groaned.
“Hold on there, Red,” he warned, seeing the devilish expression in her face.
“Now, don’t you get no bee up your bumble chute. You didn’t say nothing was a dang secret.”
The grin Sheila was trying to suppress only made matters worse. “Please continue,” she said sweetly.
“Traitor,” Caleb muttered.
Red looked from one to the other and shook her head.
“Oh, this is better than whiskey.”