Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(41)
Falcon didn’t smile, but it made a man feel mighty fine to hear his woman speak highly of him. And Cheyenne didn’t like admitting anyone could out-track her, so it was a real compliment.
It seemed Sheriff Gatlin knew that, too. “Really? He’s better’n you?” He pulled off a dirty white Stetson and scratched a thatch of gray hair. Then his eyes turned to Falcon. “That’s sayin’ something, mister.”
“We slipped around and found him. Still aiming at the trail. After that first shot hit Rachel, Cheyenne and I made for the forest while he fired more times. I think he stayed there, covering the trail just in case he got another chance at us, but Rachel Hobart was clearly his main target.”
“He needs to be patched up some.” The sheriff went over and clipped one handcuff on the prisoner and one on a leg of the bed. He was nice enough to cuff the hand that wasn’t bleeding. That seemed considerate of him. Or maybe he just thought he couldn’t cause much trouble with a shot-up hand.
Falcon took it as a sign Gatlin trusted them, or at least he trusted Cheyenne.
The doctor was leaving the lawyer till last and working on Rachel. He straightened from where he’d been working on her chest and held up a small, round object.
“This saved her life.”
Falcon, Cheyenne, and the sheriff all leaned closer.
“Is that a . . . button?” Cheyenne asked.
“Yep, a good-sized metal button was inside the wound. The bullet hit it and drove it into her chest. But it slowed down the bullet. The button was flat, not as easy to embed in the skin. God was watching out for her today.”
Cheyenne looked at Falcon and smiled. Neither of them had done much smiling since Rachel was hit.
“She’s still knocked cold. There’s a bump on the back of her head. I’d say she hit a stone or the knot of a tree root when she fell. No bleeding but she’s knocked into a good solid sleep. I’ll put in a few stitches here, and it’s just as well she be unconscious for that part. But she’ll be fine.”
Falcon reached out and caught Cheyenne’s hand. “I didn’t like her much at first. Now I’m real happy she’s gonna be okay.”
“I reckon we still oughta hang Kingston,” Sheriff Gatlin said. “And if we’re gonna, it seems like a waste of your time to patch him up, Doc Reynolds. But he probably oughta be able to get out of bed to stand trial, so it has to be done.”
“Got no other cases once I finish with Miss Hobart, here,” Reynolds said with a shrug. “I don’t mind a few more stitches.”
“Can we go look through his office?” Cheyenne asked. “We have no idea why he wanted Rachel dead. We’re hoping we can find a reason he turned murderer.”
“I oughta come along, but I don’t want to leave Doc alone with this varmint, even with the shackles on. You’re gonna find Kingston isn’t well liked in Casper. A sharp character who’s cheated more than a few. Shooting someone from cover don’t surprise me overly. Finding his reasons don’t make no never mind. Can you look around without my help?”
“Be pleased to, Sheriff Gatlin,” Falcon said.
The sheriff reached in Kingston’s pocket and pulled out a key ring holding three keys. “Seen him with this clutch of keys plenty of times. He had a habit of tossing them up and catching them while he’d stand talking. His office, the rooms abovestairs where he lived, and the third one I don’t know. His house is the nicest one in town, on the north side, just up at the end of the street outside. You won’t miss it. Town’s too humble for such a house. Never was sure why Kingston settled here. Bring the keys back, and let me know what you find.”
Nodding, Falcon went out, Cheyenne right behind him.
They didn’t bother to untie their horses. It wasn’t far to the north end of a town barely clinging to life after the fort left.
“Let’s send the telegram first and post the letter,” Cheyenne said. “Asking the Pinkertons to look into your ma’s death doesn’t seem so important anymore, but it needs to be done. And the Pinkertons need to know what happened to Rachel.”
Cheyenne thought a moment. “She told us not to mention her name, but I think she was afraid she was dying. With the man who shot her arrested, do we still keep the details a secret?”
Considering it carefully, Falcon said, “I’d say we’d better do as she asked. If we don’t hear anything from the Pinkertons, we can wire them again, tell them straight out what happened.”
They sent the wire and posted the letter, then headed for Kingston’s office.
It stood off by itself, looking more like a house than an office. A mighty grand building for a small town. They walked up five majestic steps to a porch that stretched across the front. The biggest key fit perfectly.
Seventeen
Molly picked up the pitcher and walked upstairs, making as little sound as possible without actually tiptoeing, for fear Mr. Hawkins would notice that. She recognized that she was making mental excuses, practicing explanations, in case Mr. Hawkins asked her what she was doing.
This was how a fearful woman behaved. Young as she’d been, she remembered her ma acting this way. Trying to avoid her husband’s wrath. In the end, Ma hadn’t been able to.
Molly walked straight to his room and set the pitcher in place. Moving fast and listening for Mr. Hawkins to come upstairs and bother her, or worse, she crouched and saw the envelopes still in place with the kitchen knife beside them. She grabbed all of it, tucking the envelopes deep into her pocket and hiding the knife in the folds of her skirt. Then she rushed out of the room. She caught herself before she broke into a run.