The Devil You Know (36 page)

Israel poked his head out of Felicity's stall. “Say that again.”

“You heard me, you just can't believe it.” She repeated herself anyway. “Annalea spent a lot of time putting it together in her mind. I'm thinking you can appreciate that perhaps
better than anyone. I have no idea what Easterbrook's connection is to a Mississippi showboat, but that's in his past. The Barbers are paying his wages now. There is no other way he could have come by one of their working horses.”

“Stole it?”

Willa closed that door with a highly doubtful look.

“All right. So you don't think that's likely. What is everyone thinking then? That he's acting on his own or that he was sent here by one or both of the Barbers?”

“The Barbers,” she said succinctly.

“And?”

“We are divided on the ‘one or both' part of your question, and if it's only one, which one. Happy thinks Malcolm is behind Easterbrook's visit. Zach, because of that conversation he had with Eli a while back, thinks Eli is responsible. Cutter made a case for it being Malcolm and Eli, along with Easterbrook, who took you for that ride.”

“What do you think?”

“I know better than anyone what Malcolm Barber is capable of, and I don't see him as part of this. I believe that if you did something to rile Mal, he would have killed you where you stood. Even if I could be assured that he was part of the trio that got you out to the ridge, I cannot convince myself that he would have left you alive. Oh, I know they
thought
you were dead, but Mal would have made sure of it.”

“So it's Eli, then.”

“Yes. Only my opinion. We all have one.”

“And the third person?”

“I don't know. Someone else from Big Bar probably, but we don't know everyone who works there. There's Buster Rawlins, who's been around for a long time. We know him on sight. Cowboys come and go; it's the nature of the work. Most of the hands that the Barbers hire come from somewhere else, same as our men. Cutter, being a local boy, is more the exception than the rule. That's why I kept him on.”

“Does any of this connect to Monarch Lake?”

“We talked about that again. None of us can draw a straight line to it. I'm inclined to think it's a red herring.”

Israel patted Felicity on the jaw and moved to Galahad's stall. “That's interesting.”

“Hmm. Maybe ‘distraction' would be a better word for it. I'm not sure how purposeful anything going on there is. You heard Zach and Cutter when they got back last night.”

“I was at the table while they were talking about it,” he corrected, removing Galahad's saddle. “I had other things on my mind.”

“Well, they found evidence that someone had been out that way, but the wind swept snow across the trail.” She shrugged. “Had they been able to follow it, it would have likely led them to Big Bar, not some rustler's hidey-hole. The important thing is that there was no evidence that anyone is trying to divert the water supply. How that could be accomplished at this time of year is a mystery to us anyway. If Malcolm still wants our water, he'll wait until the thaw or he'll make another legal run at it. On the other hand, it'd be very much like Malcolm to hassle us for the pleasure of it.”

Israel began brushing Galahad. “This is not the first time that someone's ridden out from here to investigate a disturbance at the lake.”

“As I said, it's a distraction.”

“Mm-hmm. A dangerous one.”

“I don't know about that.”

“All right. A potentially dangerous one. What if Zach and Cutter had been out there when Easterbrook showed up? You and I weren't here. Happy and Annalea would have had to fend for themselves.”

“I understand what you're saying, but fending for ourselves is what we do. It's what we've always done. You taking off this morning like you did, to do what you were doing, well, that says to me that you want to fend for yourself, too.” Her slim smile appeared as he turned to look at her. “Not only for yourself, but for all of us.”

Israel's eyes dropped to Willa's slanted smile. He put down the grooming brush and advanced on Willa, lifting her to her feet when he stood in front of her. “Your mouth, Wilhelmina, now that's a red herring.”

Eli Barber studied his cards for a long minute before he moved money into the pot. He was aware of the collective sigh that circled the table, and he looked up, settling his gaze one at a time on the three men who had waved him over to play. It occurred to him that they were regretting it. Not only was he winning, but he was taking his time doing it.

He had no reason to hurry the play along. His three companions at the table would all be going home tonight, while he would be going back to the Viceroy for the third consecutive evening. As he had anticipated, the weather had turned again. He had been wrong, though, about the ferocity of the storm. The roads out of Jupiter were blocked within hours of the first wave of snow and folks in town were mostly staying indoors or trudging through hip-deep drifts to get to the mercantile, the apothecary, or most often, the saloon. Even the train's arrival had been halted. Rumor had it that it was taking shelter in a snow shed somewhere east of Lansing.

Eli was playing with men he knew by name but did not know well. They were all better acquainted with his father, as was true of most people in Jupiter. Malcolm was everyone's friend, although no one's intimate. Eli was no one's friend and everyone's acquaintance. He knew he stood in his father's shadow, but he also knew, just as everybody did, that someday that would change. Folks in Jupiter had a long memory, and the older ones among them could recall a time when Malcolm Barber had been in
his
father's shadow. Eli accepted that and enjoyed certain liberties because no one who considered the future ever crossed him.

Eli followed the play around the table, and when it came
back to him, he set his cards down and turned them over. “A full house, gentlemen.” He smiled and shrugged helplessly as they tossed their cards in mutual disgust. “Seems as if I win again.” He used his arm to shovel his winnings toward him. “Another?”

They all nodded but with different degrees of enthusiasm.

“All right, then,” said Eli. He passed the cards to Paul Beetleman on his left. Beetleman, a squat, square man with protruding lips, was a member of Jupiter's council and a funnel for information of what was going on in and around the town. Eli kept his voice casual and addressed the players at large instead of Beetleman in particular. “Any of you hear anything about how the Pancakes are faring this winter?”

It was Danny McKenney who answered. He sat deeply slouched in his chair, putting Eli in mind of Jesse Snow when Jesse had a few beers in him. McKenney, however, was merely spineless in body and spirit and never stood if he could lean and never leaned if he could lie down. Eli could not imagine how he had drummed up the courage to ask Wilhelmina to marry him, although the man was well suited to any position that called for kneeling.

“Haven't seen anyone from the valley in a while,” said McKenney. “I swear they hibernate. My old man does same thing come winter. All of them like bears. You're lucky you got out when you did, Eli. You'd be holed up at Big Bar, just like your father.”

“So I would.”

Beetleman's eyes went to the stairs and followed them to the second floor. “Seems I recollect seeing one of your hands with you earlier. He's probably glad he got out as well. Can't imagine that he's not enjoying himself with Louise.”

“Mary Edith,” Eli corrected absently.

“What's his name?” asked Noah Cuttlewhite. Unlike McKenney, Cuttlewhite was sitting straight up, elbows tucked close to his sides, feet flat on the floor. This attempt to be taken seriously, as well as add inches to his height, was undermined by a jaw as smooth as a baby's bottom and a receding chin. “I think I've seen him around a time or two.”

“Jesse Snow,” said Eli.

“Guess he's not much for cards,” McKenney said, studying his hand.

“Would you be,” asked Beetleman, “if Mary Edith led you up those stairs?”

McKenney made a dismissive sound. “Can't afford her now. Eli has all my money.”

“Surely not all,” Eli said, looking at the pot. “You're still in, aren't you?”

“Barely.” He threw a few coins in the middle of the table. “I did hear tell that Willa got her knot tied, if you take my meaning.”

“I think we all do,” said Beetleman.

Eli did not move, but he felt as if had suddenly snapped to attention. “How's that again, Danny?”

“Willa. She finally said yes. Couldn't believe it myself, not until I had it straight from Mrs. Hamill.”

“Mrs. Hamill?” Eli asked. “Oh, of course. Cutter Hamill's mother. Yes, it would make sense that she'd know.”

“You'd think so, wouldn't you?” It was Beetleman's turn to play and interject something into the conversation. “But she only knew that much. She said she couldn't pry a name out of her boy. For all we know, Willa Pancake might be married to Cutter himself. Wouldn't that twist his mother's corset?”

Eli smiled because the situation demanded it, not because emotion provoked him. It was the same every time he got close. Mrs. Hamill either truly didn't know, or she was keeping the secret so close that nothing short of threatening one of her children would get it out of her. Eli responded the same way he always did when he reached the end of this inquiry. In Jupiter, speculation was sometimes more useful than fact.

“Where do you suppose Willa met this fellow she married?” It was rare that anyone answered with more than a shrug. Eli had never been able to pose the question to someone who had actually asked Willa to marry him, but here was Danny McKenney, and even as indolent as the man was, he had probably spared some thought for the matter.

Cuttlewhite shrugged, but Beetleman said, “A drifter, most likely. No one from around here, or we would have heard of it.”

McKenney closed his cards and tapped the corner of them on the table. “Probably someone passing through, looking for work, and ending up in the catbird seat. Still, I thought I should find out what was what on account of having thrown my hat in that ring a while back.” His heavy-lidded eyes settled on Eli. “I figure that's something you and I have in common, which is probably why I brought it up in the first place. Hasn't been on my mind for a spell.”

Eli was about to ask what McKenney knew, but he hesitated and Beetleman asked the question for him.

“Well, I figured if she was married, then someone had to do the deed. It's a legal contract, right? Maybe a religious one, too, although Willa hasn't much been one for church since her mama died.”

Eli wanted to grab McKenney by his slack collar and shake information out of him. Drawing on a well of patience previously untapped, he sat there quietly and pretended a renewed interest in his cards.

McKenney shrugged his sloping shoulders. “So I did what made sense to me. I asked the justice when he was here if he performed the marriage, and when he said he didn't know a thing about it, I went to the preacher and asked. Abernathy only knew what I did and hadn't given any thought to how it had come about, but when I posed the question, it sure did tickle his curiosity. He reminded me the Pancakes set a whole lot of store by the preacher who was there before him. Remember William Beacon?” When he saw everyone nod, he went on. “So Abernathy supposed that it might have been Pastor Beacon since he's only in Lansing and that's not too far. If he's right, there'd be a record of it with the church and by now a legal record in the county courthouse.”

“There's some good thinking,” said Eli.

Beetleman and Cuttlewhite spoke up at the same time. “So what did you find out?”

McKenny regarded them as if they'd each sprouted a third eye. “Not a damn thing,” he said. “It's one thing to ask after local folks, but paying for a ticket to Lansing, or God forbid, riding the distance on horseback, well, there's
nothing I need to know that costs me money to get it—or puts calluses on my ass for that matter.”

Beetleman shook his head. “It is hard to believe you are Old Man McKenney's son.”

Far from taking offense, McKenney grinned. “I know. He says the same thing. Only my mama knows for sure and she's taking that secret to her grave.”

Beetleman's chest swelled and shook with laughter. Cuttlewhite snickered. Eli smiled and was able to maintain it because he was seriously considering calling McKenney out for cheating and killing him right there. It was only out of respect for Old Man McKenney that he didn't.

Eli said in bored tones, “Is someone going to ask for a card? Whose turn is it anyway?”

Cuttlewhite stopped snickering. He held up a hand. “That's me.” He asked Beetleman for two cards and then said to Eli, “I thought a player like yourself would be keeping track, even with conversation going on around you.”

“I'm no card sharp. I don't even play around here much. Did you hear differently?”

“I never heard you called a sharp before, and I know you don't have a regular place at a table, but my parents mentioned they saw you in what looked to be a real serious game on the train coming from Denver. Someone told them it had been going on since Saint Louis. There was a train switch in Denver and the players made the switch, too. My mother didn't hold much with that, but Father told her it was dedication to a craft.”

Eli forced an appreciative chuckle. “I'll keep that in mind.” He waited for Cuttlewhite to finish looking at his hand before he spoke again. “When was this? I don't remember seeing your parents. I'd know them.”

“Oh, it's been months now. They were visiting my sister. She had a baby. That'd be sometime in October. Mother didn't think you saw her or Father. They'd been warned by the conductor to pass through the car quickly so as not to disturb the gentlemen playing.”

“How about that? I must really have been playing dedicated. I don't recall anyone passing through. Did your parents recognize anyone else at the table?”

“I don't think so. They didn't say, so I would guess they didn't. They thought the game might have broken up around Lansing.” He whistled softly. “Saint Louis to Lansing. What I wouldn't have given to sit at that table.”

McKenney said, “You can hardly sit at this one, Noah. I swear you're ready to either jump out of your chair or out of your skin. It's time for you to show us what you got.”

The tips of Cuttlewhite's ears turned pink, matching the flush that slowly rose above his collar and disappeared under his scalp. He spread his cards in his hand and then set the fan on the table. “Three of kind. Anyone have anything better than that?”

Eli folded his straight and tossed the cards away without revealing his winning hand. It was time to gather his winnings and yank Jesse Snow from between Mary Edith's thighs.

*   *   *

Calico and Quill pored over another map, this time in the comfort of their hotel room. It was their third evening in Denver and they were feeling confident that they had enough information to take their search in the right direction. The weather and the trains were their current obstacles. Calico had suggested they buy horses and ride out, but Quill sensibly told her that would only happen over his dead body. She gave him the eye that said she was considering it, but then ruined any chance she would be believed by bursting into laughter. So now they waited, Calico less patiently than Quill, for the weather to break and the trains to move and sometimes for the baby to kick. Although they both knew this last was still months away, it was an event, unlike the others, that they looked forward to with more pleasure than trepidation.

The map was spread out on the bed, and they studied it from their respective corners, Calico in the southwest and Quill in the southeast.

“So we are decided,” said Calico. “We will go to Lansing.”

Quill nodded. “If we can trust what we learned here, then yes, that seems the next logical step. I admit that I entertained thoughts of finding him here, or at least learning
that'd he stayed for a time and shared his plans with someone, but that does not appear the case.”

“No, it doesn't. Israel was dedicated to the play.”

Gaming and whoring, supplemented by the occasional vaudeville act from the East, was largely confined to three notorious streets in Denver: Holladay, Blake, and Larimer. There was so much territory to cover in the tenderloin that Calico and Quill split up, going door to door with an end agreement to meet at Bat Masterson's Palace Variety Theatre and Gambling Parlor. They secured a private box to watch the entertainment and discuss what they'd learned. A bottle of beer came at the dear price of a dollar, but since they were still there at midnight, they, like all the patrons, were treated to a free meal, which included their choice of succulent roast pork, prairie hen, or venison.

Their exhaustive search had turned up several important clues. Quill found someone at a gaming establishment called Chase's Cricket Club, who told him that not only did he know Buck McKay, but that he'd also had the pleasure of sitting at a table with him for part of the journey from Saint Louis to Denver. Mr. Adam Randolph left the game before Denver, but he did not leave the car, and he had some regrets about disembarking when he did because the game, as he described it, was a masterfully conducted symphony of card play.

Calico thought Quill made that up, but he swore he was repeating Randolph verbatim. It was obvious that the man took the game quite seriously. Randolph was able to recount several hands in the exact order of play, but other than Buck McKay, who turned out to be the masterful conductor of the symphony, he was less clear about the names of the other players. He thought there might have been someone named Davenport or Cavendish or maybe it was Ravenscroft. Another fellow, whose name he could not recall, said he was a barber. He was fairly certain there was someone named Elijah at the table, and another fellow, who stayed with the game when it moved to another car on another train, by the name of Groom.