Travelin' Money Page 6

  The house porch, broad but narrow, was supported by four native stone pillars, all freshly daubed with whitewash. Leaving the strongbox where it rode in his saddle-bags for the time being, Joe stepped up on to the porch, removed his hat and knocked on the door. Looking around he saw no other people, no other horses. The sky was still faintly coloring. A bee buzzed past Joe’s eyes.

  The door opened and Joe found himself looking into the deep blue eyes of a perfectly made young, dark-haired woman. She resembled a porcelain doll with her wide eyes and tiny well-rounded body. He had to swallow before he spoke.

  ‘Mrs Malloy?’

  ‘I’m Tess Malloy.’

  ‘My name is Joe Sample. I’ve come bringing you some bad news, and some good.’

  ‘They hung Amos,’ the young woman behind the screen door said, almost expressionlessly.

  ‘Well … yes,’ Joe answered, not sure what else to say.

  ‘I knew it,’ Tess said. ‘I don’t know how Pierce thought he could stop it.’

  ‘Pierce …’ Joe began.

  ‘They got him, too?’

  ‘Yes. I’m afraid so. Gunned him down – I was there when it happened.’

  ‘They never learn, this family,’ Tess said with a sigh. She unhooked the latch on the screen door and opened it to admit the stranger with his hat in hand.

  ‘Come in and have a cool glass of water. I appreciate your coming all this way to tell me, although I had already come to terms with the idea that it was inevitable.’

  ‘I would appreciate the water. Then I’ll need some for my horse. First, though, I’d like to give you something that Pierce sent. I’d like to get it off my hands and off my conscience.’

  ‘What is it, money?’ Tess asked with a sort of patient weariness. Joe squinted at the girl, a little puzzled by her reaction. ‘They always thought that was the solution to everything,’ Tess explained. ‘I couldn’t think of anything else Pierce would think to send me.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Joe said in a faltering voice, ‘that’s what it is – money. Quite a bit of it.’

  ‘All right. Bring it in then, although there won’t be enough to buy my husband’s life back, will there?’

  ‘No, not that much,’ Joe said. He found himself wondering what sort of life Tess had been living if this was indeed an outlaws’ hideout and her husband, Amos, had been among them. Always watching out for the law, wondering who would make it home alive? It was no wonder that she scorned the gift of money. For some reason he thought of Desiree Delfino who had thought that money would buy her respectability in Yuma.

  None of what might have happened to Tess Malloy was his business either. He walked to the black horse, extracted the strongbox from the saddle-bags and returned.

  The interior of the house was dark, a little musty, and not particularly cool. Joe began following Tess across the hardwood floor toward the interior. He made it three steps before he heard a muffled sound behind him and had a blurred glimpse of a man stepping from behind the door to club him down.

  It was dark when Joe awoke, barely able to achieve a sitting position. It was as if the house had a tilted floor which slowly rotated beneath him. He simply sat there in the murk of night. His head, which seemed to be everyone’s favorite target, ached and throbbed. Fortunately – or maybe not – the man who had clubbed him had struck the opposite side of his skull from where Dub had used his rock. Everyone had always told him that he had a thick skull, perhaps now that was proving fortunate.

  Joe rolled over with a groan and made his way on hands and knees to a cowhide-covered sofa which he used to assist him to his feet. The house was silent. He had the vaguest of memories of horses having been ridden away from the rear of the house, but that might have been delusion.

  Where was Tess!

  That started his blood pulsing quicker. Had someone stolen the money, and worse, stolen away with her? He started slowly, clumsily, toward the interior of the house. Moonlight shone through a window there, blue and faint. It was the kitchen, he saw as he stood there, using his hands against the doorframe to brace himself. There was no sign of Tess, no indication of a struggle. The room, arranged around a round, sawn-plank table was as neat as a pin. Joe stumbled across to the kitchen door and looked out into the night. The moon cast shadows beneath a shaggy pepper tree. A kit fox – or some other small animal – scuttled away.

  Joe wiped his hand across his face. He was weary, plain tired. Perhaps the latest blow to his head was making him feel that way, but he was dizzy and ready to pass out. Yet he knew that remaining in this house was not wise. Maybe he should have listened to the goat man.

  At any moment the man who had clubbed him down could return to finish the job. There might have been a swarm of bandits using the place for a hideout. Joe had no way of knowing. He was determined to leave, but first, he had to find out if Tess was still here, in some sort of trouble.

  He started moving through the house in the dark, pistol in hand.

  The floors of the house creaked under his boots. The same murky blue light glimmered from the rising moon in all of the rooms. Joe eased down the hallway, keeping his hands on the side of the wall nearest him. Each door he came to opened on nothing but darkness. Each had a high, narrow window and a neatly made bed. There was no human warmth lingering in the place.

  There was a faint tapping from somewhere and a furtive scurrying, like rats moving about.

  But nothing human. He began to believe that whoever had struck him must have taken Tess with him. Poor little wide-eyed girl.

  He continued on his way, coming at last to a broad room, twice the size of the others – the master bedroom, where all was in neat order, patchwork quilt smoothed over a double bed. No one there. Joe took a deep breath, touched fingers to his bloody head and started back up the hall, wishing to be out of there before someone returned.

  The tapping came again.

  Joe frowned and inched forward. Halfway along the hallway he brushed what seemed to be a knob and glanced down, He could barely make out the door to a half cupboard set low in the wall.

  The tapping came again, more urgently and he could now tell that it was coming from inside the tiny cupboard. There was a barrel-latch on the door and he slid it open, holding his revolver at the ready. Opening the door he saw by the faint light of the moon through the windows, the huddled figure of a woman with tangled red hair, her hands bound behind her, ankles tied, gag over her mouth.

  Joe crouched down and removed the gag as wide, frightened eyes watched him. The woman gasped for air, coughed once and licked at her dry lips.

  ‘Who are you?’ Joe asked, trying to untie the tight knots in the rope that bound her ankles.

  ‘I’m Tess Malloy,’ the red-haired girl answered.

  ‘But if you are Tess Malloy, who was…?’ Joe asked as the two sat at the kitchen table, the girl rubbing her chafed wrists.

  ‘That was Marcie. Marcie Epps. Pretty little thing, isn’t she? So pretty that men believe anything she says. That’s one weakness all of you seem to share.’

  ‘Who hit me?’ Joe Sample wanted to know.

  ‘That was Trace Balmer. He was the only one at home. He and lovely Marcie had a little something going on between them. They talked about leaving together now and then.’ The girl – Tess – had wide green eyes which she kept fixed on Joe’s as she spoke. She, too, was a nice-looking woman with a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her hands, Joe noticed, were slightly work-roughened as Marcie’s had not been.

  ‘They took the money.’

  ‘Of course – running away to some lovers’ paradise; no need to split it with the rest of the gang.’

  ‘How could they have known that I was coming, that I had the money?’ Joe asked, puzzled.

  ‘The news of what happened came over the wire yesterday – we’re a modern town now, we even have a telegraph line. The boys – by that I mean Cornish, Stiles, and Frank Singleton, were off looking for a bank to rob. Trace Banner, as I told y
ou, stayed behind to be with Marcie. When they found out that my husband had been hanged and that Pierce had died in a shoot-out with the local law, they talked things over. Trace, well all of them, really, had told Pierce not to try dealing with the warden down in Yuma. He was new on the job, not the old one who had gotten fat enough on bribes to retire.

  ‘What they actually wanted, of course, was the money – I never did learn where that came from. Amos never told me, and none of the others had said either. They always clammed up when I was around, I suppose so that I could never provide any evidence against them. I have an idea or two where the strongbox came from, but I could be wrong….

  ‘Anyway,’ Tess said, now rubbing the ankle of the leg she had crossed over the other. ‘Pierce told them all pretty much to go to hell. “I’ll not see my brother given to the hangman if I can stop it!” is what he told them, and no one was going to argue with Pierce when he was in a bad mood. He was the leader, of course, and the men did what he said.’

  ‘Then what?’ Joe asked. ‘Marcie and Trace waited to see what would happen?’

  ‘They knew Pierce. We all did. They had discussed that if Pierce couldn’t get to the warden he would find a way of getting the money back to us. He had told us that before he left. Well, some of the gang didn’t believe that. They took the money for a lost cause, but I knew he would find a way to do it if he could – Pierce was a hard man and a deadly one, but he always kept his word. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gone to Yuma in the first place. He had a … sense of honor. Unusual in such a rough man, but he did.’

  Tess placed her foot down and smoothed her off-pink skirt. Salmon-colored, or something, women would call it, he thought irrelevantly. Joe was aware again of his limited knowledge of or concern about colors.

  ‘Then they just sat and waited for me, or someone like me to come?’

  ‘Pretty much. Of course we can see anyone approaching for a long way – one reason why Pierce and Amos chose this place for a hideout. It doesn’t take a lot of attentiveness to keep watch. Then, when they saw you, the likely dupe – sorry to use that word – coming, they tied and gagged me and stuffed me in the little closet.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? Because I knew what they had planned. Taking the money and running before Frank Singleton and the other boys could get back.’

  ‘When will that be?’ Joe asked with some apprehension. He glanced toward the front door although he would certainly have heard the arrival of horses.

  ‘That all depends on what kind of luck they have been having. Tonight, if everything went smoothly and no one got shot or cornered by the law … you never know when they’ll show up.’

  ‘Tess? Is this the sort of life you like?’

  ‘It’s the sort I fell into. I didn’t know much about Amos when I married him. He told me he was a horse trader by profession. He was tall, with curly hair and an easy laugh. I was a very young girl. Now,’ she spread her hands, ‘I just can’t leave. There’s no place for me but here.’

  ‘Without money?’ Joe said, pursuing the point.

  ‘Without money.’ she said and he saw a tear glistening in her eye. She buried her face in her hands and shook her head. Her thin shoulders trembled a little.

  Joe stood, walked behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. When she looked up, he asked:

  ‘Where were they going? Marcie and Trace Banner, I mean.’

  ‘They always talked of Flagstaff. Marcie has family up there. Why? Why do you ask, Joe?’

  ‘I thought maybe I would just travel along that way, and see what I can do about getting that money back,’ he said. ‘It’s not only men like Pierce Malloy who have a sense of honor.’

  SEVEN

  The land rose higher and cooled as Joe made his way toward Flagstaff. Cedar trees and pines, sometimes standing in thick stands along the flanks of the mountains, became more common. To the north the pines grew by the thousands, forming a sea of green moving with the breeze. There were a hundred little rivulets and sheer waterfalls rushing off the granite of the hillside. Joe let the horse walk lazily up the long slope; there was no point in racing madly after Marcie and Trace Banner. They likely would not be hurrying either, certain that their plan had worked and they had outdistanced any possible pursuit.

  Distantly Joe could now see the town of Flagstaff set prettily among the tall timber. He had to find the family home of the Eppses – that was where Tess believed they had gone. She was probably right. In the other direction lay the long desert and Yuma, neither of which they would be likely to attempt, especially since, according to Tess, the remnants of the Malloy gang: Frank Singleton, Cornish and Stiles, had apparently ridden out in that direction intending more mischief. There were not many roads across the desert, and the chances of running into the returning gang were too great to be ignored.

  Joe kept his black horse to its easy pace, although now as they neared the town, the animal began trying to pull ahead, perhaps sensing other horses or anticipating the opportunity to enjoy decent fodder after its haphazard foraging of the past few days.

  They made their way down a long slope, Joe sizing up the town. It was larger than he remembered. A lot of other people were finding it attractive, it seemed. Along the main street and four or five side streets, false-fronted buildings, and a few of yellow brick, had sprouted up. These were the stores, stables, banks, hotels and general stores. Flagstaff had no intention of withering and blowing away like the tiny desert towns on the long flats beyond.

  Where first?

  Joe hated to start asking around randomly about the Epps family. Perhaps they, too, were an outlaw bunch – he didn’t want to give anyone a hint of his intentions. The black horse had made its own intentions clear as they approached a stable along the bustling main street. It wanted fresh hay and oats and some time from under the saddle. Joe realized that he could also use some food and rest, some time out of the saddle, if he were to do his work efficiently. His head had almost stopped aching, but his leg was getting worse, healed improperly as it was.

  He mentally counted the little silver money he had remaining in his jeans – the scant amount Tittle Sparks had not been able to steal as he slept. It should be enough both to board the horse and to feed himself.

  It was evening already when Joe walked from the stable. Through the pines he could see a long crimson banner of sheer cloud against the sundown skies. He trudged uptown, looking for an inexpensive restaurant. There must be many there, as crowded as the town seemed to be with workmen and cowboys who would need to be fed.

  It was nearly full dark before he found the sort of place he was looking for. Long plank tables resting on wooden barrels ran along both sides of the interior and a trio of high-aproned, weary-appearing waitresses moved between them, carrying platters of beef, potatoes and biscuits. Nothing fancy, of course, but enough to fill the stomachs of working men who had been hard at it all day long. Joe found a spot near the end of one of the benches and sat down.

  Everyone was drinking coffee, though a few of the men were doctoring it up with whiskey, so Joe ordered a cup plus whatever the usual fare was. Then he sat silently watching the throng, his elbows on the table, clasped hands under his chin.

  Joe was served a smallish steak and a mound of fried potatoes. The meat was tougher than he would have liked, but he was hungry enough not to care much. Beside him a whiskered, lantern-jawed man finished his meal, stretched and leaned back in his chair, smiling vaguely at Joe.

  ‘The apple pie’s good here,’ the stranger said.

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘I’m going to order a slab to finish off my supper.’

  Joe nodded as he sawed at his meat. Then, deciding he would have to begin his search somewhere, he asked:

  ‘Are you from around here?’

  ‘Most of my life,’ the stranger acknowledged, holding up a finger toward a waitress who apparently knew what he wanted by the gesture, scribbled on her pad and went away to the kitchen.

  Che
wing, Joe said, ‘Do you know some people named Epps living in the area?’

  ‘Epps? Yeah, I know them.’

  ‘Do you know where they live?’

  ‘Not far. Have you business with them?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Joe answered, pushing his plate away as the harried waitress returned with his neighbor’s slice of apple pie. ‘Can you tell me where their home is?’

  ‘It’s out a way,’ the man said, cutting into his pie with his fork. ‘Not so easy to describe.’ Around a mouthful of apple pie, he said, ‘I wouldn’t mind taking you out there – I’ve got nothing else to do.’

  ‘I’d appreciate that,’ Joe said.

  ‘I’ll tell you what: pick up the check for my supper and I’ll show you out there. Just let me get my horse.’

  ‘All right,’ Joe agreed with relief. He wondered if he had enough money left to pay for two meals, figured he did and said, ‘My own horse is at the A-l stable. I’ll meet you over there in half an hour.’

  ‘You got a deal,’ the stranger said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. ‘I’ll be there.’

  The two shook hands and the stranger recovered his hat from a row of pegs along the wall behind them before strolling out. Joe finished his own meal quickly and dipped into his pocket, silently counting his change. He took what was needed to the cashier behind the small counter and told the woman that he would be paying for two. He waited while the bills were totted up, paid, grabbed a toothpick from the glass jar filled with them and walked out into the cool of night, headed for the stable.

  The black horse looked up at him unhappily as he entered the A-l, but seemed resigned to traveling on as it was saddled.

  ‘I brushed him down pretty good,’ the chubby stableman said with a touch of pride. ‘Looks all glossy now, don’t he?’

  ‘He looks fine,’ Joe said. If the man was hinting for a tip, he was out of luck.