The Outrider (Redbourne Series #5 - Will's Story) (22 page)

Albert looked up at her, eyes wide, shoulders
shrugged, and a triumphant grin spread across his face.

Will was off his horse in an instant and pulled
the boy out from the back and set him on his feet.

“Albert,” he said, “we had an agreement.” Will
dropped down onto his knee. “Do you remember when we talked about commitment?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said, dropping his head, then
he looked up brightly. “But it doesn’t matter on a count of I crossed my
fingers.” He held up both hands, fingers crossed.

“Albert.” Will tilted his head.

“I know.” Albert dropped his hands to his sides.
“But, what if you didn’t come back?”

“Of course, I’d come back. I made a commitment to
you, didn’t I?”

“That’s what Willie said too and he never came
back.”

Will stood up and ruffled the kid’s hair.

Elizabeth watched the exchange with admiration.
Will was good with the boy.

“Who’s Willie?” Opal asked, her hands at her
chest.

“Will someone please tell us what is going on
around here.” Gertrude stomped her foot and folded her arms, her lips pursing
together to show her displeasure.

“Willie was Albert’s brother,” Will told her,
then glanced around at the others in the group. “Well, we’ve got him now.” He
looked at Mr. Glenn. “I’ll take care of his passage, Ellis.” He nodded at the
driver. “Then, I’ll wire my father
and
the sheriff,” he said turning to
look at Albert with a raised brow, “once we get into Kansas City.”

Caspar dashed from one side of the stage to the
other, running circles around the people all standing around.

“I think she’s happy to be out of that trunk,”
Elizabeth said, dropping down onto her haunches and allowing the dog to lick
her face. “It’s good to see you, girl.” She hugged Caspar tightly.

“What are we supposed to do with a dog?” Marshal
Fenton asked.

“Don’t worry, Darius,” Will said, “she’ll just
run alongside the stage or with us. When she gets tired, she’ll have to ride on
Albert’s lap in the cabin.”

Albert nodded heartily, but the look on Gertrude’s
face distorted her otherwise pretty ordinary features and she threw her hands
up in the air and climbed back into the travelling compartment.

“Come on, Opal. You heard the marshal,” Gertrude
turned and smiled at Marshal Fenton, “it’s only for another hour or so.”

The rest of the ride from Plain City into Kansas
City was unexpectedly uneventful. The delightful aroma of freshly baked bread
greeted them as they rode into town. Several passersby came in and out of the Walnut
Street bakery. A man leaned against the pillar in front of the barbershop,
raising his head in acknowledgement as they passed. Horse drawn streetcars trod
the dirt road down both sides of the street, and buildings two and three
stories high towered over them. It reminded Elizabeth of home.

Bittersweet feelings bubbled up inside of her.
She missed her mother more than anyone and wished she could come to America also,
but Margaret Archer had refused to believe what kind of a man her husband had
turned out to be. She was blindly devoted to the man and would never leave the
comforts of London society and their home.

Elizabeth breathed in deeply, her mouth watering
at the delicious smells filling the air, and she sat up straighter in her seat.
If her new life was supposed to happen in the middle of God’s country, she’d
take it.

Sometimes, Will missed life in the city. He loved
the clarity that working on the ranch had often provided as he worked through
one problem or another, but there was something to be said for the hustle and
bustle of a town like Kansas City.

They passed the building where they were supposed
to deliver their cargo on their way into town. It looked empty. After Ellis had
sent word from Plain City to the benefactors of the bankroll that they had been
delayed, he had received a telegram with new instructions to meet at the land
office at noon.

Will slipped his watch from his vest pocket and
flipped it open. Eleven o’clock. They were early. Luckily, there was a livery
next to the building where he hoped they would be able to secure the stagecoach
in the interim. He motioned for Paulie and the marshal to join him.

“We have another hour before we can deliver the
bankroll,” he explained. “In the meantime, I will head over to the telegraph
office and wire back to Plain City, and to my father, to let them know about
Albert.” He glanced over at the stage.

Elizabeth’s head pushed against the window, her
eyes closed, her mouth slightly open. He couldn’t decide if she was actually
tired or if she’d slept to avoid listening to Gertrude Arnold chatting
incessantly. He smiled.

“The train station is supposed to be at this end
of town,” he told Paulie and Fenton, “so I’ll see if I can pick up a train
schedule for the ladies. They’ll need to exchange their tickets. Then, I’ll stand
guard while you both take Ellis and the ladies to get something to eat.” He
knew the marshal would never agree to leaving Paulie alone with the bankroll.

“Then we’ll settle our business,” the marshal
said with a nod.

“Sounds good, Will,” Paulie joined his agreement.

The stage pulled up behind them into the livery
yard and Will dismounted. He paid the groomer who met them out front to take
care of Indy until he returned. He spun around to find that Marshal Fenton had
beat him to the stage. He opened the door and held out his hand for the ladies.

Will removed his hat and thrust a hand through
his hair. Thoughts tumbled like weeds through his mind. He hadn’t felt this
conflicted in a long time. He started for the boardwalk and caught Elizabeth’s
gaze as she stepped down off the stage. It was hard to believe that a woman who
looked like that was any relation to Sterling Archer, let alone his daughter.
She was beautiful. Breathtaking. His eyes lingered longer than was probably
appropriate, but when she smiled at him, his heart turned to butter in the sun.

The marshal held onto her hand longer than was
necessary, and leaned down again to kiss the back of her hand.

Will rolled his eyes.

Marshal Fenton must have said something amusing
because Elizabeth smiled up at him and did a little curtsy before joining the
other women.

“Arggg.” He wished he had more time. It wasn’t
really Fenton that he needed to worry about as much as the preacher she was
headed to marry in Silver Falls—though he still cursed the streak of jealousy
that rose to the surface whenever she smiled at the marshal. What could he do
now? He barely knew the woman. Maybe it was for the best.

When he arrived at the telegraph office, he was
surprised to see that there was a line. He pulled his pocket watch again from
his vest. His stomach grumbled. He’d been so upset this morning that he hadn’t
had anything to eat, and now, his belly protested a little too loudly for
comfort. He smiled uneasily at the woman in front of him who turned around and
shot him a disapproving look.

In a small wooden display on the wall, the train
schedule had been written out for the day. The next train to Denver would be
leaving at one thirty. If things kept moving along, he would have plenty of
time to run by the station and possibly even pick up a little something to eat
on his way back. The idea of riding all the way back to Stone Creek
tonight—especially, if he had a young boy and a dog in tow—did not appeal to
him. Maybe he would stay the night in Kansas City before returning home. He
just hoped he wouldn’t miss Jem.

“Next,” the kindly old man behind the counter called.

Will stepped forward and placed his scribbled
note down in front of him. An odd, empty feeling started in Will’s chest and spread
throughout his gut. Something was wrong. He glanced around over his shoulder at
the others in the room, but nothing seemed off or suspicious.

The bankroll.

He needed to go.

Now!

As soon as the telegrapher confirmed the telegrams
had been sent, Will hurried outside and looked around. He caught a hazy glimpse
of a familiar tall, blond man slipping around the corner toward the livery before
he could get a good look at him.

It can’t be.

Will strode to the edge of the building and
peeked around, but the alleyway was empty. Unable to shake the uneasy feeling,
he rounded the corner and took the first few steps back toward the livery at a
normal pace, but something inside of him urged his feet to move faster and he quickened
his pace until he was at a full run. He stopped short as he approached the
wooden building, drawing his gun as he pushed open the door. The place was unnaturally
quiet.

“Hello?” he called, his voice like an echo coming
back on him.

He glanced around, gingerly making his way across
the floor, peeking into each stall as he moved toward the back where they’d
planned for the stage to be kept while they waited. There was no sign of
Paulie, the marshal, or any of the passengers the stage had carried. They must
have still been out, getting something to eat.

He took in a deep breath and strained to listen.
The sound of low, but urgent grunts were barely audible above the silence. He pulled
back the hammer on his pistol. Something wasn’t right.

“Paulie? Fenton?” he called as he passed through
the dark stable.

Tension rested on the air as thick as his
sister’s black-rye bread. Some of the horses pranced about in their stalls and
others swished their heads back and forth accompanied by a few snorts.
Something was definitely off.

“Mr. Liveryman?” he said, feeling foolish for not
knowing the man’s name.

A knocking sort of noise caught his attention
from the direction he was headed. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on
end and gooseflesh ran down his arms. He took another step.

Light poured in through an open door at the far
edge of the stable. Will aligned himself with the wooden wall and followed it
until he came to the opening. He darted a quick look around the corner, only to
discover that there was an entirely different space behind what he’d believed
to be the hay and grains storage area.

Double doors had been swung wide open at the back
and the stage was parked just a few feet away from him. The horses were still hitched
to the stage and they pranced about in place, blowing and twisting their heads
anxiously.

The muffled sound of voices pulled him to the
left. There, on the floor behind the stage, lay Paulie and the marshal, both bound
and gagged. Will looked around, but didn’t see anyone else. He slipped over and
knelt down next to Paulie, noticing bright red stains growing on the material
of his shirt. He was bleeding again.

Will holstered his gun and worked quickly to
untie the man.

“Where are the ladies?” he asked quietly as he
moved to help the marshal.

“They’ve already gone down to the café with
Ellis,” Paulie said after taking the handkerchief from his mouth and spitting
rapidly.

Will removed Fenton’s gag, but as he was working
to untie the man’s wrists, he noticed that the strong box, that should have
contained the bankroll locked inside, lay all catawampus on the floor next to
the wagon’s wheel, pried open and empty.

“We were going to join them once you got here, but—”

“Will, look out!” The marshal yelled.

He turned and ducked out of the way just in time
to see a shovel head swinging toward him. The unmistakable sound of a cocking
gun filled his ears and he glanced up to see a sweating and pallid Sven,
holding him at gunpoint.

Sven swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from his
upper lip with the back of his sleeved arm.

“Where is it?” he asked calmly, with the hint of
a smile.

“Sven?” Will asked, shocked to see him here in
Kansas City, let alone out of bed. “What are you doing?”

“Where is it, Will?” Sven screamed, his voice
scratchy and weak, as he pounded the tip of his gun against the air. “Don’t
mess with me.”

Will had his hands raised to his shoulders and
took a step forward.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sven said shakily, “but
I will if I have to.”

“What do you want, my friend?”

The Norwegian’s eyes darted to the right and he
shot the ground by the marshal’s feet. Will guessed the gun tucked in Sven’s
belt belonged to the lawman. He took a step backward, stepping protectively in
front of Fenton, hoping the man would see the holstered gun at his hip.

“You’re sick, Sven.” Will could see the man
growing weaker by the moment.

“You don’t understand,” the tall brute said
quietly, a whimper escaping his lips. “I have to get it. Where is it?” he
sobbed.

“Where is what?”

“The bankroll!” he screamed.

Will didn’t understand. The strong box had been
opened. There was nothing inside. Sven had to have the bankroll, nothing else
made sense.

“Sven, why don’t you just put the gun down and
we’ll talk about this.”

“Like you talked to my friends? To my brother?”

Will’s brows scrunched together. The man was
talking nonsense—presumably from the fever.

“You killed them,” he said, his voice sounding
more irrational as the moments passed.

The puzzle pieces started to fit together. The
only men who had been killed were those who’d attempted to rob the stage in the
ravine outside of Plain City.

“Sven, tell me you didn’t do this. Tell me you
are not the one who arranged to steal the bankroll. Tell me you were not
involved with those men who shot Paulie and tried to kill Elizabeth.”

“I need that money, Will. Where is it?” Sven
dropped to his knees, the gun wilting in his hands.

It wouldn’t be long before the large Norwegian
would pass out. Will just needed to stall a little longer. He took a step
toward him. The man had been his friend and he couldn’t just let him die on the
floor of a livery like an animal.

“Hold it right there.” Another man, with a wide
girth and meaty hands, stepped inside of the livery through the large open
doors, his gun pointed at Will.

Will put his hands up again.

“Please, we need to get a doctor. Can’t you see
that this man is very sick?”

“What’s it to you?” the man asked, pushing up the
brim of his hat with the tip of his gun.

“He’s my friend,” Will stated,
non-apologetically.

A light came on in the man’s eyes. “You must be
Redbourne.”

Will nodded.

“Sven said you were a good man. Couldn’t stop
whining about how he wanted to be more like you, didn’t you, son?” He grabbed
Sven by the shirt collar and hauled him to his feet. “Wanted to be more like
you than his old man.” The old brute scoffed. “I believe the man asked you a
question, Redbourne,” he said the name with disdain, directing the comment at
Will as he pointed his gun at Will’s chest and pulled back the hammer until it
cocked.

Will backed up until he ran into the seated marshal’s
knee.

“Where is
my
money?” the older man
demanded.

A light tug on his hip told Will that the marshal
had picked up on his hints.

CRACK!

The old man fell backward and Sven dropped back
down to his knees, falling over to the ground. Another man darted in from
around the corner, gun raised, and with another precise shot, the marshal took
him down.

Will rushed forward.