Chapter 21
They covered several miles the first day and camped on the bank of a creek that flowed into the Kansas River from the north. They planned to follow the railroad tracks, which ran along with the river past Abilene, to the point where the Saline and Smoky Hill Rivers flowed together to form the Kansas. From there the railroad continued running almost due west, The Kid knew, though the rivers twisted and turned away from the steel rails and then came back again.
Over the campfire that night, as trains rumbled past on the tracks several hundred yards away, The Kid mused as he sipped from a cup of the good coffee Arturo had brewed. “If Pamela hid the twins somewhere along the way, she likely would have done it someplace the train was already scheduled to stop. If she’d gone too far away from the railroad, she’d have had to hire a wagon and a driver, and I don’t see her doing that. We’ll have to stop in every settlement where the train stops.”
“But I was under the impression Miss Tarleton was capable of almost anything, sir,” Arturo said. “You can’t be sure she didn’t leave the train and strike out on her own with the children and her servant.”
“No, that’s true, I can’t be sure,” The Kid said with a shrug. “But that’s what my gut tells me, and I’ve learned to play my hunches.”
“If you’re wrong, it’s possible we may travel all the way to San Francisco without finding the children.”
“I know. Believe me, I know.”
“What will you do then?”
The Kid took a sip of the hot, strong coffee. “Reckon we’ll turn around and start back this way. Do it all over again.”
“That could take years.”
“Yeah. It could.”
The Kid’s tone made it clear that if the search took years, he was fully prepared to spend that much time on it.
Arturo didn’t say anything for a long moment. Off in the distance, a wailing sound arose, joined by another and another until they formed a discordant melody. Arturo lifted his head to listen. “Are those … wolves?”
“No. Coyotes.”
“Are they dangerous?”
“Not to a man who can stand on his own two feet. If you were wounded and there was a whole pack of them, they might come after you, but otherwise you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I see.” Arturo hesitated. “Mr. Browning?”
Arturo sighed as if that was going to be difficult. “Are there savages out here?”
“You mean Indians?”
“Yes, sir. Kid.”
“There may be some still roaming around. Most of them are on reservations now, though.”
“Are they dangerous?”
The Kid smiled. “There haven’t been any Indian fights in these parts for a long, long time, Arturo.”
“Well, that’s good to know. I wouldn’t want to be scalped.”
“Neither would I,” The Kid said, looking off into the night for two reasons. He knew better than to stare into the fire, because it would ruin his night vision, and he didn’t want Arturo to see the grin on his face.
Yeah, this trip was going to be an education for Arturo, he thought.
Lawrence was the first good-sized settlement they came to. It had been raided twice by jayhawkers, first before the Civil War and then during the war by William Quantrill’s marauders, who had burned the town to the ground. Lawrence had rebuilt and was now a peaceful farming community, with few if any reminders of the bloody violence that had taken place there.
They spent two days camped outside town while The Kid and Arturo asked questions of the settlers. Nobody seemed to know anything about Pamela. Nobody tried to kill The Kid, either, which told him she probably hadn’t disembarked the train there.
It was a good break for Arturo, too, since he wasn’t used to sitting on the hard, bouncing seat of a buckboard all day long. His skin was already starting to tan, and he was handling the four-horse team with more confidence.
They moved on to Topeka. For a capital city, the settlement was on the smallish size, but still large enough that The Kid and Arturo spent a week there, poking around and asking questions. The Kid wired Charles Harcourt to find out if there had been any new developments in Boston, but Harcourt reported that he and Jack Mallory had been unsuccessful in their efforts to uncover any more facets of Pamela’s far-reaching plot.
After a week, The Kid thought it was time they moved on. He began to have the feeling that Pamela wouldn’t have hidden the children in a large town or city where he wouldn’t have any realistic chance of finding them. She hadn’t wanted that. She’d wanted him to stay on the trail, and he wouldn’t do that if the chances of finding the twins were so small as to be hopeless. She’d wanted him to keep going, so he could keep stepping right into the traps she had prepared for him.
The Kid was convinced it was much more likely the children were hidden away in some small settlement along the rail line, and that was where he and Arturo would devote their efforts.
Abilene was still famous for everything that had happened during its days as a wild, hell-roaring cowtown. The sleepy little farming community bore little resemblance to that bloody hell on wheels where Wild Bill Hickok had ruled as city marshal. It was just the sort of place where Pamela might have stashed the twins, The Kid thought as he and Arturo rolled across the bridge over Mud Creek and down Front Street.
Dusk was settling over the town. The Kid turned in the saddle and pointed toward a two-story brick hotel. “We’ll stay there tonight. Be nice to sleep in a real bed, won’t it?”
“I don’t know. I’m getting used to being uncomfortable. How will I know what to do if there aren’t insects biting me and rocks jabbing me all night?”
“You’ll figure it out,” The Kid said with a smile. “Here’s a livery stable.” He swung down from the saddle and led the black and the pack mule through the open double doors into the barn. Arturo brought the buckboard to a halt just outside.
An elderly hostler, quite spry despite his age, greeted them. “You gents want to put them animals up for the night?”
The Kid nodded. “And I reckon we can park the buckboard out back?”
“Sure, sure, no charge for that. Two bits a night for the critters, though.”
“Fair enough,” The Kid said. He took a five-dollar gold piece from his pocket and handed it to the old man. “That’ll cover three nights with a little left over. Give them a little extra grain. They deserve it.”
“I sure will. You fellas been travelin’ a far piece?”
“Far enough.” The Kid paused. “Have you been around these parts for long?”
“Oh, shoot, yeah. Twenty years or more.” The hostler held out a hand. “Name’s Barlow.”
The Kid shook with him. “Morgan. My friend’s Vincent.” Arturo’s last name was really Vincenzo, but The Kid had given the moniker a more American sound. With his neutral accent, Arturo didn’t sound Italian.
“Pleased to meet you both,” Barlow said.
“We’re looking for some old friends of ours. You might remember if they’ve been here.”
A grin split the old-timer’s face. “I see ’most ever’body who comes through town, except for the folks who never get off the train when it stops.”
“This lady would have come in on the train,” The Kid said. “A very beautiful lady with two young children, traveling with a friend of hers. She brought the children out to let them stay for a spell with either some friends or relatives of hers, I’m not sure which.”
The Kid had devoted considerable thought to the matter and figured that was the story Pamela might have used. The sudden, unexplained presence of two new children in a family might draw too much attention, but people took in youngsters belonging to friends or relatives all the time, when there was some sort of hardship or other circumstance that warranted it. Pamela would have made it worth the trouble to any family where she left the twins to spread that lie.
Barlow scratched his jaw, which bristled with silvery beard stubble. “That don’t sound familiar. About how long ago are we talkin’ about, Mr. Morgan?”
“Three years or so. Maybe not quite that long.”
“Three years, huh? That’s a long spell, especially to a fella like me who’s gettin’ older and don’t remember so good anymore.”
The Kid slid a hand in his pocket. “Would a double eagle improve your memory?”
“What?” Barlow looked confused, then suddenly moved his hands back and forth in front of him as he figured out what The Kid meant. “Oh, no, no, I’m tellin’ the truth, not hintin’ for more money. I been right on the straight and narrow ever since me and my brothers got in some trouble with the law years back. I really don’t remember so good no more, Mr. Morgan. But I’m thinkin’ I never heard tell about no lady bringin’ some kids here like that and leavin’ ’em.”
The Kid tried not to sigh. “Well, if anything comes to you, my friend and I will be staying over at the hotel for a day or two. Let us know, will you?”
“I sure will.” Barlow’s eyes widened as a thought occurred to him. “Say, I know who you ought to talk to. Marshal Fisher. He’s been around Abilene even longer’n I have.”
The Kid had been trying not to involve the law in his search, but maybe the suggestion was a good one, he thought. “I’ll do that,” he told Barlow. “We’ll get these horses unhitched and unsaddled—”
“Let me do that,” the hostler said. “I got to earn my keep. I been an honest businessman for a long time now. You get whatever you want to take to the hotel with you, and I’ll lock up your saddle and the rest of your gear in the tack room.”
The Kid nodded. “Much obliged.”
He slid his Winchester from the sheath strapped to the black’s saddle and draped the pair of saddlebags over his shoulder. Arturo took a pair of small valises from the back of the buckboard.
“Well, he was quite a colorful character,” Arturo commented as the two of them walked toward the hotel.
“I’m sure he’d think the same thing about you,” The Kid said. In the fading light, he spotted a squarish, solid-looking building made of stone, up ahead on the left across the street. An oil lamp burned in front of the building, and the windows glowed yellow with lamplight. A sign attached to the wall beside the door read MARSHAL’S OFFICE.
Since the lawman appeared to be in his office, The Kid said to Arturo, “Why don’t you go on to the hotel and get a couple of rooms for us? I think I’ll stop and talk to the marshal, like Mr. Barlow suggested.”
“Do you think he’ll be willing to help you?”
“I don’t know, but Barlow said that he’d been around Abilene for a long time. If he’s been packing a badge all that time, he’s probably kept a pretty close eye on the comings and goings in town. He might be more likely to remember seeing Pamela than anybody else.”
“That strikes me as a reasonable assumption. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” The Kid started to step down from the boardwalk so he could angle across the street to the marshal’s office, then paused. “Get us rooms in the back if you can. Quieter that way.”
“Of course.”
Arturo continued on his way, and The Kid stepped into the broad, dusty street. He was only partway across when he heard the sudden rataplan of hoofbeats. Stopping, he saw a group of riders coming quickly toward him. The red glow from the setting sun in the sky behind them cast them in stark silhouette. Four men on horseback, and they didn’t seem inclined to slow down or go around him. With his mouth tightening in anger, The Kid took a fast step back to avoid being trampled.
He wanted to call out to them and tell them to watch where the hell they were going, but that could lead to an argument or a fight and he didn’t have time to waste. Once the horsemen were past him, he started toward the marshal’s office again.
He slowed as he saw the riders pull their mounts to a stop in front of the stone building. They swung down, stepped onto the boardwalk, and then paused for a second. Even in the fading light, The Kid’s keen eyes saw the men reach down and check to make sure their guns were loose in their holsters.
That was a sure sign trouble was brewing, The Kid thought as one of the men jerked open the door and all four of them marched into the marshal’s office.
Whatever was about to happen, it was none of his business, he told himself. He didn’t know who those four men were, and he had never even heard of Abilene’s Marshal Fisher until a few minutes earlier. The smart thing to do would be to turn around, follow Arturo to the hotel, and come back to see the marshal later.
But suppose there was trouble, and Fisher got himself shot full of holes. He might know something about Pamela and the children … but a dead man was no use to Kid Morgan.
The Kid drew a deep breath through his nose and started walking again. He still had the Winchester in his hands, and he worked the lever to throw a round into the rifle’s chamber.
The four men had left the door partially open. As he stepped onto the boardwalk, The Kid heard a harsh voice say, “You can let him outta there, Marshal, or by God we’ll take him out! You won’t like what happens if we have to do that.”
It was enough to give The Kid a pretty good idea of what was going on. Using the Winchester’s barrel to push the door open the rest of the way, he stepped into the doorway and drawled, “And I don’t reckon you boys will like what happens if you try.”