West of the Law

Chapter 10

John McBride lit the lamp beside his bed, filling the room with a dim, flickering yellow light. Shadows danced in the corners where the spiders lived and the boisterous wind beat at the windows, noisily demanding to be let inside.

McBride stretched out on the bed and stared at the play of the restless lamplight on the ceiling. He felt a mild surprise that New York, with its tall, stone buildings, horse trolleys, streetlamps and forty thousand teeming, crime-ridden tenements, was already fading from his mind’s eye.

Did the West change a man that fast?

He had seen the vast, endless land only from a railroad car or while, bored, he kicked around for hours on the platform of an out-of-the-way station. But away from the smells and dirt of the city, he had found room to breathe. A few steps beyond dusty, noisy High Hopes and he could fill his lungs with air scented by tall grass and distant pines. He had read that the Western lands were filling up fast and that the old ways were already fading into memory. The Indians had been cannoned and sabered into submission and only a few Apache, far to the south in the desert country, were making a doomed, last stand.

Should he leave High Hopes on the next train and see all of the West before it was gone forever? He could remember it and in later years tell others about how the land had been.

It would be easy, just pack his bag and go and he would leave his increasing list of troubles behind. Inspector Byrnes had told him to lie low, vanish from sight. All he’d be doing was following orders. He was still on the payroll as a serving New York police officer, a detective sergeant, and it was not in his interest to get involved in the affairs of High Hopes. Theo Leggett had lived here and the town’s concerns were his own. But he had no ties to this place. . . .

Then McBride thought of Shannon Roark and one by one all his hollow arguments for leaving popped in his head like bubbles.

He would leave here one day, that was certain, but when he did, Shannon would be at his side as his wife.

His mind made up, McBride rose, cleaned and reloaded his gun and placed it back beside his bed. He glanced at his watch. It was four in the morning. Outside the street had cleared and there was less noise from the Golden Garter—even the ceaseless piano had stilled. Veils of dust as high as a man on a horse lifted from the street and the wind had blown out the oil lamps. The alleys were tunnels of darkness and shadows slanted everywhere. The wind had transformed the night, making it restless with movement as it pushed, shoved, bullied and wailed.

A rap at the door. Soft, almost timid.

McBride picked up his gun and stepped to the door. ‘‘Who is it? And remember, I can drill you.’’

‘‘John, it’s me. Shannon.’’

McBride opened the door and Shannon Roark slipped inside. She wore a hooded, dark green cloak over her dress, dusty from the street.

‘‘What a wind,’’ she said, smiling, showing her wonderful teeth. ‘‘I declare, I thought I would be blown over.’’ She undid the cloak and passed it to McBride. ‘‘There, that’s better.’’

He laid the cloak over the back of the chair and said, ‘‘You know, it’s not proper for a young lady to visit a gentleman’s hotel room.’’

Shannon laughed. ‘‘John, in High Hopes? I wish I had a dollar for every young lady that’s spent the night with a man in this room.’’ She sat on the edge of the bed and patted a spot beside her. ‘‘Here, sit right here. We have to talk.’’

McBride did as he was told. Then Shannon studied his face, a frown gathering between her eyebrows. ‘‘Lordy, John, you are a sight. Your poor eye!’’ She leaned forward. ‘‘Let me kiss it better for you.’’

The woman lightly brushed the swelling under McBride’s eye with her lips, then sat back and smiled. ‘‘There, that will make it all better.’’

McBride felt a hot surge of desire, but battled to control himself. ‘‘Shannon,’’ he said unsteadily, swallowing hard, ‘‘why are you here?’’

‘‘Can’t a lady visit with a handsome gentleman?’’

‘‘Right now, I imagine I look anything but handsome. Are you here to get me to work for Trask?’’

‘‘Nothing like that.’’ Shannon shook her head. She hesitated a few heartbeats, then said, ‘‘John, I’m frightened.’’

McBride could see enough in her face to know that she was telling the truth. ‘‘Frightened of what?’’

‘‘Gamble. I saw another side of him tonight, the way he acted after you brought in the dead cowboy’s body.’’ She laid her small hand on the back of McBride’s huge, scarred paw. ‘‘I think he did hire that boy to kill you and Theo Leggett. In fact I’m sure of it.’’

‘‘Why the change of heart all of a sudden? You told me yourself that the kid could have been trying to rob us.’’

‘‘Even as I told you that, I didn’t believe it myself. I think Gamble was afraid Theo would tell you something that could harm him, so he wanted to silence the old man, and you.’’ Shannon’s fingers touched her slender throat and her dark eyes were haunted. ‘‘John, what did Theo tell you?’’

‘‘Only that Trask is trading in opium and Chinese girls and that when he leaves, High Hopes will die because there will be nothing to take his place. The gold mines are playing out and the miners will soon be moving on. Theo said the only way the town has a future is to get rid of Trask and attract the local cattlemen.’’

‘‘That was it? That was all?’’

‘‘As he was dying he said something about Trask and orphan trains. Have you any idea what he meant by that?’’

‘‘No,’’ Shannon answered. ‘‘Maybe Theo was delirious by the time you spoke to him.’’

‘‘It could be. But he repeated it twice. He held on to life long enough to tell me about the orphan trains.’’

‘‘Yes, I suppose it is strange,’’ Shannon said without interest. She moved closer to McBride and placed her hand on his thigh. ‘‘John, I told you I was frightened and I am. Gamble told me tonight he plans on pulling out of High Hopes soon and he wants me to go with him. He said we can get married back East, maybe in New York or Boston. Then he said a couple of things that scared me. He said he was planning to make one big score before he left that would bring him enough money to ensure our entry into high society. Then he said he would cover his tracks, that he’d leave no loose ends behind him in High Hopes. If I don’t leave with him, I know I’ll be one of those loose ends.’’

‘‘He’s in a dirty business, Shannon,’’ McBride said. ‘‘Opium, heroin and slave girls. I can see that he’d want to cover his tracks. A past like that won’t help his political ambitions.’’

Shannon nodded. ‘‘Tonight, for the first time, Gamble admitted to me he was shipping young Celestials to Eastern brothels. He said when we’re in Washington all that will be forgotten by both of us.’’

Shannon’s eyes showed sudden fear. ‘‘John, I don’t want to marry Gamble Trask.’’

‘‘Did you tell him that?’’

‘‘No. I was too afraid. I told him I’d think about it, and then his whole attitude changed. He said, ‘Don’t think about it for too long, Shannon. I’m not a patient man.’ He scared me, John. The look in his eyes . . . it was . . . murderous.’’

‘‘Those loose ends you were talking about—I expect that includes me.’’

‘‘Yes, John, you, and the men Theo Leggett confided in, Dr. Cox, Grant Wilson and a few others. I believe that’s why Gamble has hired the Allison brothers. They’re professionals who will do Gamble’s killing, including Hack Burns at the end. He’s someone else who knows too much, another loose end.’’

‘‘I’d say Stryker Allison would find Burns a handful.’’

‘‘Maybe, but Stryker isn’t the worst of the brothers. The miners say the youngest, Harland, has killed seven men. He has a vile temper, especially when he’s drinking, and he shoots first and talks later. Like Stryker, the other two, Julius and Clint, will kill only if the price is right. Last year, up in Wyoming, the Allisons hired their guns to a rancher who wanted to clean out nesters in the Shoshone Basin country. When the brothers left and the bodies were counted, seventeen men and half-grown boys and two women were dead on the ground.’’

‘‘The big score Trask was talking about, any idea what it is? The Allison brothers might also be involved in that,’’ McBride said.

‘‘I don’t know. He didn’t confide in me that much.’’

McBride thoughtfully rubbed the harsh stubble on his jaw, his trained detective’s brain working. ‘‘Could be it’s about what Theo said, something to do with orphan trains.’’

Shannon laughed. ‘‘Maybe Gamble is thinking of starting up an orphanage. It would really impress voters when he gets to Washington.’’

The two sat in silence for a few moments, busy with their own thoughts. Then McBride said finally, ‘‘Shannon, you didn’t come here tonight just to tell me you were frightened.’’

The woman shook her head. ‘‘No, I came here to ask for your help. You’re the only man I can trust in High Hopes and I’m asking for your protection.’’

McBride’s smile was slight. ‘‘I’d be outnumbered. Do you think I’m up to the task?’’

‘‘Yes, I do. I’ve never put my trust in any man before, but I’m doing it now. I need you, John.’’

‘‘And I need you, Shannon,’’ McBride said, his voice husky with desire.

‘‘Your poor eye,’’ Shannon whispered, kissing him lightly again. Her fingers moved through McBride’s hair. ‘‘I’ve never met a man like you. . . . Never . . .’’

Their eyes met and held for a long time. Shannon’s moist lips were parted as though she was finding it hard to breathe and McBride’s entire being cried out for her. He pulled her toward him and felt the swell of her breasts against his chest and he kissed her. Shannon gasped and returned the kiss with an abandoned passion.

‘‘Love me, John,’’ she murmured, her head thrown back as McBride’s lips sought her throat. ‘‘Love me forever.’’

‘‘I will,’’ he said, his head filled with the sweet, woman smell of her. ‘‘Forever . . .’’

An hour later, after they parted ways, McBride lay back on the tumbled bed.

The scent of Shannon Roark’s perfume lingered . . . and he saw her everywhere.