Bounty Hunter

Chapter 18

“Mickey Kerr was the least of them,” Luther Penman said. “During the late war he wasn’t even an officer, just an ordinary seaman with more brawn than brains.”

The lawyer opened his briefcase. “Nevertheless, you have a payment coming to you, Mr. Tone, less deductions for the guns you bought and miscellaneous expenses incurred while entertaining whores.”

Chastity gave Tone a sidelong look, half annoyed and half amused.

“Penman, I didn’t kill Mickey Kerr,” Tone said. “Miss Christian did. The money should go to her.”

“Perhaps, but Miss Christian has no contract with Mr. Sprague to cover that exigency. The fee is yours, Mr. Tone. You are free to pass it on to a second party as you see fit.”

When Tone handed Chastity the bundle of notes, she looked at it for long moments, a triumphant little smile on her lips. She then handed the money to Penman. “Invest this for me,” she said. “Opium, whores, slaves, whatever . . . I trust you to make the right decisions on my behalf.”

The lawyer nodded and shoved the money into his briefcase. “I declare, Miss Christian, you’ll be the richest woman in America one day.”

Chastity nodded. “That is my intention.”

Penman shifted his attention to Tone. His hard eyes searched the younger man’s face but slid away, baffled, as though he’d tried to read a message carved in stone and had failed.

“I have left a man at the dock,” the lawyer said. “He will tell us when Mr. Sprague’s longboat is in sight. He will have fighting men with him and the war against his five surviving enemies will begin in earnest.”

Again Penman sought Tone’s eyes, and again he turned away, seeing something in their blue depths that disturbed him. “Mr. Tone, you’re not having second thoughts, are you? You know what will happen if you break your sacred oath.”

“Don’t try to railroad me, Penman,” Tone said evenly. “I signed on with the brand to fight, and that’s what I’ll do.”

“Despite your rather colorful frontier language, I’m glad to hear that,” the lawyer said. “When the shooting starts, Mr. Sprague will expect you to be at his side.”

Tone nodded, his talking done.

“What now, Mr. Penman?” Chastity asked, filling in the silence.

“Now, my dear, we await Mr. Sprague’s arrival. In the meantime I suggest that you discard the Chinese garb and dress in your normal fashion. I fear that the time for disguises is past.”

The woman nodded. “It served its purpose. This little Chinese girl got close enough to Mickey Kerr to kill him.”

“And there’s more killing to be done, Miss Christian.”

“I’m ready,” Chastity said. Her eyes were glittering, like sun-splashed ripples in a brook.

The sun was nudging noon when a man scratched at the door and told Penman that Sprague’s longboat was in the bay. The lawyer passed the man a coin, dismissed him, then said, “We will make our way to the dock.” He glanced at Chastity. “You look lovely, Miss Christian. The green color of your afternoon dress becomes you.”

The woman smiled and dropped a graceful little curtsy.

“You are armed, of course?” Penman asked.

“Of course.”

“Then if you are also ready, Mr. Tone, shall we proceed?”

At that time of the day, most of the people in the streets and alleys along the waterfront were Chinese, though a few sightseers from the city were in evidence, elegantly dressed men and women shivering with delight as they passed drinking dives, whorehouses and opium dens, chattering in high, excited voices.

As Tone and the others arrived at the dock, Sprague’s longboat was just tying up. Tone did a quick count. Including Sprague and his shadow, the giant Blind Jack, there were thirteen men crammed into the small craft.

Superstitions of childhood coming back to him, he felt like crossing himself. Thirteen, the number at the Last Supper, was an unlucky omen.

But Tone was reassured by the swaggering confidence of Sprague’s men. Each one of his tough, weather-beaten sailors wore a brace of Colt revolvers and had a wicked-looking cutlass tucked into his belt. They looked like men to be reckoned with, and Tone had a sudden premonition that before this war was over, Sprague would need every one of them.

Sprague himself looked as hale and hearty as ever, short, stocky and indestructible. He had not dressed himself from the slop chest, but wore an expensive pearl gray suit, a top hat of the same color and a huge diamond stickpin sparkling in his cravat. He did not appear to be armed, perhaps trusting to the Colts of his men for his protection.

As soon as he set foot on the dock, he beckoned Penman to one side and the two had an animated, heads-bent conversation. When it was done, Sprague stepped to Tone, his hand extended.

“One down, five to go, Mr. Tone,” he said. “But there is still much work to be done.”

Tone made the appropriate response, and Sprague’s attention was drawn to Chastity. His eyes moved over her body from shoes to hat. Then he said, smiling, “And who is this divine creature?” He looked at Tone. “Yours?”

Tone shook his head, then nodded in Penman’s direction. “His.”

Sprague was surprised. “Luther, you’ve been holding out on me. I didn’t know you’d given up boys, you old rogue.”

The lawyer was quick to explain. “I hired Miss Christian to be Mr. Tone’s assistant,” he said. “To aid him in any way he deems necessary.”

“You mean as a private secretary or something?” Sprague asked, puzzled.

“He means as a bounty hunter,” Tone said. “I didn’t kill Mickey Kerr. She did.”

Sprague was silent for a moment as he took the mental step from puzzled to completely bewildered. Finally he said, “I’ve never heard of such a thing. There are no lady bounty hunters in the West.”

Chastity smiled. “There are now, Mr. Sprague. Well, one at least.”

“She’s good at her job,” Penman said. “Men who underestimate her have a habit of ending up dead.”

“In Boot Hill. Isn’t that the term, Miss Christian?” Sprague grinned.

“That’s the term. And I’ve put a few there.”

“And are you as pure as your name implies?” Sprague asked.

“I’m sure you will very soon endeavor to answer that question for yourself,” Chastity said.

Sprague laughed. “Damn my eyes if that wasn’t well said! Come alongside o’ me, lass, and take my arm. We’ll walk together. I keep a fine establishment on Kearney Street befitting a lady like yourself.”

“Mr. Sprague, we’ve got trouble,” Penman said, his voice low and urgent.

Tone looked ahead of them and saw two dozen policemen shaking out in a loose skirmish line, guns drawn. At their head, stern as ever, was the broad and determined form of Sergeant Thomas Langford.