Gun Work: The Further Exploits of Hayden Tilden (21 page)

Men, women, and wide-eyed kids took turns examining the bloodstained boardwalk as though they'd discovered a long-hidden treasure. They stepped off the distance between the spots where the shooters stood. Loudly cussed, discussed, proclaimed, and rehashed the details of the horrible scene. Some acted out the various parts of the killers and those killed—whether they knew what in the blue-eyed hell they were talking about or not.

Others, folks with an extra three dollars burning a smoking hole in their pockets, stood over the bloodied boards, pointed, and had their solemn-faced likenesses preserved for posterity by a local photographer. Industrious gent used a big-box camera perched on a set of spindly wooden legs. Contraption required the efforts of two men just to move it from one spot to another.

Carl, Nate, and I took breakfast in the hotel's dining room that morning. Place proved right homey. Lip-smacking aromas of baked biscuits and frying bacon, alongside heaping mounds of grilled steak and eggs, put me in mind of Elizabeth's kitchen. Between the three of us, think we might have consumed nigh on two dozen of those cackleberries, along with the better portion of two slabs of bacon, three or four pounds of steak, ten or twelve biscuits, and half a gallon of flour and sausage gravy.

We had the best window seats in the joint during all the growling, grunting, and slobbering. Could easily observe most of the foolishness going on over next to the White Elephant while we ate. Have to admit, it was one hell of a show.

Bob Evans dropped over about the time we'd almost finished our meal. He slid into the only available seat and went to asking questions again. Carlton finally got all he could stand, pushed the remnants of his third plate of steak, bacon, and eggs aside, clattered a coffee cup into its saucer, and snapped, “ 'S damned 'nuff, Bob. We've gone over the whole dance twelve or fourteen times since last night. There simply ain't no more to tell.”

“Well, I know, Marshal Cecil, but . . .”

Carlton held an authoritative hand up in Evans's face. “Look, I'll say this one more time and that's gonna have to be the end of it. We confronted them three sidewinders in the saloon. Spoke with 'em for maybe five minutes. Maybe some less. Then we headed for the street. Cowardly sons a bitches blew the Elephant's batwings off their hinges 'fore they followed us out. Went to blastin' at everything any of them belly-slinkin' snakes thought they could see or hear.”

“Yes, yes, I know . . .”

Carl waved Evans into silence again. “No choice in the matter. Had to kill 'em, Bob. If we hadn't, Jemson and his friends might well have put more of your citizens down than that one poor pilgrim who got hit. Man's fortunate as hell he ain't dead, you ask me. Hear tell as how he's missin' part of one ear, but he'll get over that. Inch or two over, somebody'd be burryin' the poor gotch-eared sucker later this afternoon.”

Nate eyeballed the perambulating carnival and doodah show out in the street. Wearily shook his head, then said, “Carl's right, Bob. Sure you won't need a story any more detailed than what he just gave you to satisfy Marshal Farmer when he gets back from Waco. No point diggin' at this pimple. Just ain't nothin' else there. You've got three dead men, all of 'em notorious for their sorry behavior from one corner of the Nations to the other. 'S all you need to know.”

“Yeah, but we don't have any outstanding . . .”

I reached over and squeezed Evans's arm. Said, “True enough we didn't have any active wants or warrants on Jemson, Staggers, or Neely at hand last night when the unfortunate confrontation took place. No paper on them in Arkansas, the Nations, or Texas existed insofar as we were aware of—at the time.”

Evans nodded. Let out a long exasperated sigh. “Boy howdy, Marshal Tilden, but I do hate to hear that.”

I slapped his shoulder, then leaned back in my chair. “Well, now, hang on, Bob. Earlier this morning I wired Mr. Wilton back in Fort Smith. Through some quick and concentrated effort on his part, he discovered that all three of the dead men have arrest dodgers and rewards posted on them for a double murder in Bienville Parish, Louisiana. Appears Jemson and a few of his dearest friends made a raid over that way about a year ago. Killed a popular sawbones name of Thibodaux during the course of a bank robbery. Documents to that effect are being forwarded to you as we speak.”

Of a sudden, Evans appeared to relax like an untwisted banjo string. He ran one finger across a sweat-covered brow. “Damn. Gotta say I'm right glad to hear that, Marshal Tilden. Sure clears the way for me when I have to explain this blood-soaked hairball to Marshal Farmer. Ain't had a gunfight in the streets of Fort Worth to match this one. Not as I can recall anyway. Ever.”

Patted the distressed man on the shoulder again. “Always glad to help in any way we can, Bob. Now, you reckon we can drop all these questions and get on with other business?”

“Oh, sure. Just tryin' to be thorough. You understand, don't you, Marshal Tilden?”

Pushed back from the table. Dabbed at crumb-covered lips, then dropped the napkin in my plate. Said, “Absolutely, Bob. But right now, think it'd be best if you escorted the three of us up to the third floor and introduced us to the enigmatic Miss Daisy Cassidy. Want to get this travelin' shootin' match headed back toward Fort Smith tomorrow morning, if possible.”

Man almost fell all over himself getting to his feet. Came near knocking his chair over when he stood. “Oh, sure. You bet. You fellers just follow me. More'n happy to take you fellers upstairs my very own self.”

We trudged our way to the third floor. Trailed Evans down to the end of the narrow hallway. He introduced us to the men he'd stationed outside Daisy Cassidy's door that morning—couple of fellers named Boo Higgins and Carter Dillworthy. After everybody shook and howdied all around, the guards dragged their chairs aside and made way as we stepped up to the door.

Evans knocked. Stood right next to him, and I swear the man acted as though he was afraid someone might actually answer. He knuckled the door several times before we finally heard a female voice call out, “Do come in, gentlemen.”

Had to move out of his way, as Bob Evans motioned us inside, then quickly turned on his heel and headed for the staircase. Over one shoulder he waved and called out, “Good luck, boys. Want my advice, don't believe anything you hear and keep your hands on your pistols.”

As I pushed the door open with one finger, heard Carl say, “What the hell'd he mean by that?”

We stepped into the first of a suite of rooms so poorly lit it took several seconds for my eyes to adjust to the hazy darkness. Thin ribbon of sunshine entered by way of an inch-wide gap between heavy drapes covering the window that overlooked what I felt sure was the corner of Third and Main Streets. Same window I'd seen a nude, cackling Daisy Cassidy standing at the night before.

A brocaded armchair appeared to have been strategically placed directly in front of that selfsame window. Seated, as though on a ceremonial throne, a shadowy, imperial-looking young woman waved us inside with the motion of one regal hand.

Clad in a high-necked, long-sleeved, dove-gray dress that sported a frilly, chin-tickling white blouse, Daisy Cassidy could have easily been taken for any brush popper's vision of a cow-country queen, or, at the very least, a princess. In spite of her obvious, near-overwhelming beauty, something tactile, almost feline, and decidedly sinister seemed to envelop the girl like an undertaker's blackest shroud. Vision proved somewhat disconcerting to say the very least.

Boy, who looked like he couldn't have been much more than fifteen or sixteen years old, stood at attention on the girl's right hand. Dressed in a dark, three-piece business suit, the youngster rested one hand on Daisy Cassidy's seat back in a kind of formal, stylized, ready-to-have-his-picture-taken stance. Entire scene had a pompous, overly formal, carefully staged look about it.

Then, you know, out of the clear blue, a niggling thought darted across my mind. Got to thinking as how the pair of them bore absolutely no physical resemblance to one another. In point of pure fact, their outward appearances could not have been any closer to exact opposites. Where Daisy was fair and blond, Matt Cassidy had a dusky, ebon-haired, eyes-drawn-up-like-birdshot, sullen look about him. Honest to God, the kid appeared about as Indian in his lineage as any man or boy I'd ever seen, or perhaps a breed of some sort at the very least. Additionally, young Master Matt instantly struck me as being mad enough to start foaming at the mouth with little or no provocation on our parts.

Carl leaned over and whispered, “What the hell you think these two are trying to pull here, Hayden? This entire cooked-up scene looks like a couple of kids working real hard at trying to fool the grown-ups.”

Removed our hats and moved to the center of the room. Closer we got to Daisy Cassidy, the greater her impression on all of us. Girl proved exactly the stunner Bob Evans had described and more—an incomparable beauty. In spite of that, there existed something about the girl's astonishing good looks that took a backseat to an eerie, difficult-to-fathom strangeness that crinkled around catlike eyes and danced over the carefully crafted tightness at the corners of her full-lipped mouth.

Daisy Cassidy forced a counterfeit, snaky-looking smile and said, “Gentlemen.”

I nodded her direction, then got right to the point. “Miss Cassidy, I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal Hayden Tilden. These are my associates, Deputy Marshals Carlton J. Cecil and Nate Swords. We have come to act as your escorts and protectors for the trip back to Fort Smith tomorrow morning. As a courtesy, just thought we'd stop by, introduce ourselves, and let you know that all the necessary arrangements have already been put into place. M.K. & T. Flyer going north pulls away from the passenger loading dock of the depot at ten. We will see the both of you downstairs and accompany you on the short jaunt to the station.”

Swear before Jesus the boy looked like I'd slapped him, and he fidgeted like a frog in a hot skillet.

A fleeting look of stunned disbelief flashed across Daisy Cassidy's beautiful face. But she quickly regained her composure and said, “Most sorry to have inconvenienced you and your colleagues with a grueling trip, Marshal Tilden. But your journey has been in vain. I have not the slightest intention of going back to Fort Smith.”

First words out of her pouty mouth and I had no doubt, Daisy Cassidy was as smart as the proverbial whip. But a curious and oddly foreign feeling leached off the girl's decidedly defiant words. Couldn't put a finger on exactly why, but the sound of that girl's voice, and her condescending demeanor, made my skin crawl.

Before I could stop him, Carlton snapped, “And why is that, miss?”

Girl blinked as though somewhat taken aback, but didn't hesitate, or back away. Carl's question still hung in the air when she said, “Because my very life is in jeopardy if I do, sir. As you may or may not know, Jesse Coltrane has sworn to kill me. I personally witnessed the horrors he perpetrated upon my family, and the man will do whatever he deems necessary to see that my rendition of the story of his murders never sees the light of day. I fled our home for the safety I've found here in order to get as far away from that horrid scene as possible.”

“That's not exactly the version of your appearance in Fort Worth made privy to us, Miss Cassidy. It was our understanding that you were forced here under great duress,” I said.

She eyed me like a tumblebug that needed killing. “Well, whatever you might've heard from local law enforcement, Marshal Tilden, I am here through my own efforts and am not going back.”

I nodded, then said, “Suppose it is possible, as our information is third- and fourthhand, that we were misinformed. Marshal Farmer might well have misunderstood your reported situation when you first arrived in town. Or maybe he simply misterpreted what you told him.”

A counterfeit smile etched its way onto the girl's face. “I think you are correct, sir. Nonetheless, I will not be stampeded into a trip back to the Nations by those who have no real understanding of my situation.”

“You have our guaranteed assurance that you'll be perfectly safe as long as you're in our care, Miss Cassidy. Deny our assistance and you might not live out the week,” Nate offered.

Like a starving tomcat with its back arched and ready for a spitting scratch fight, the boy snarled, “She's told you we ain't goin' back, you ignorant wretch. There's no more to be said about it.”

Nate's glare narrowed up on Matt Cassidy like the sights on a Sharps rifle. Could see the beginnings of a heated disagreement in the making. An argument the Cassidy boy would surely lose if he pushed Nate Swords too far.

I said, “You're almost right, Matt. It is Matt, isn't it?”

Boy trembled, as he leaned away from the conversation. Sounded suspicious when he said, “Yes. That's right. Matthew Cassidy. Daisy's brother. Matt Cassidy. Yes, that's my name.”

“Well, Matt,” I said, “You were absolutely correct when you intimated that there's no need to debate this question any further. You're both going back to Arkansas with us tomorrow morning. Won't be any of this ‘oh, we won't be making the trip' stuff. You were ensconced in these rather nice digs at the expense of the federal court in Fort Smith. Your sister must return with us to testify at a grand jury hearing into the murders of your family. I have John Doe warrants in my pocket, and if necessary, I'll place the pair of you under arrest and shackle you hand and foot for transport. Do we understand each other?”

Color of barely controlled anger bubbled up Matt Cassidy's neck and reddened his ears. Boy appeared about one heartbeat away from popping a major blood vessel when his sister raised a hand and shushed him into silence.