West of the Law

Chapter 31

The only person in the saloon was the bartender. The man looked frightened, uncertainty bright in his eyes.

‘‘Donovan?’’ McBride asked.

The bartender silently jerked a thumb in the direction of the office. The door was slightly ajar and McBride kicked it open and rushed inside, his Colt ready in his hand.

He saw only Shannon, who had changed into a shirt and a canvas riding skirt. She was kneeling at a small J. Watson & Son safe, a bundle of money in her hand. She looked up in alarm at McBride, then rose to her feet.

‘‘Where is he?’’ McBride asked.

‘‘If you’re talking about Sean Donovan, I don’t know,’’ Shannon answered.

McBride looked at the woman he loved. ‘‘Shannon, it’s over, but I didn’t want it to end this way. I thought it would be so different. You and me married, having a family.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘That’s how I thought it would be.’’

The woman’s beautiful mouth twisted into a sneer. She opened a drawer in the desk and dropped the money into it. ‘‘McBride, you’re a fool. Did you really think I’d go with you back to New York and live on a policeman’s salary? What did you think, that I’d be a dutiful little wife content to stand barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen of whatever hovel you could afford?’’

‘‘Yes, I thought that.’’

‘‘Then you’re an even bigger fool than I imagined. Once I had it in mind to make you my partner, that together we’d take everything Gamble Trask owned. But you’re weak, McBride. I soon realized you didn’t have the stomach for it.’’

‘‘For what, Shannon? Murder?’’

‘‘Yes, if that’s what was needed. Now all you’ve done is spoil everything. I won’t have the hundred thousand from the sale of the orphans that I arranged with Sean Donovan, but there was enough in Gamble’s safe to see me through. Besides, when I live with Sean in New York, I won’t need money. I’ll eventually take his.’’

‘‘You arranged the orphan train?’’

‘‘Of course I did. Sean was doing business with Gamble, but I wrote to him myself and set up the whole deal. I figured the girls would be my ticket out of here. And I was the one who contacted Portugee, an old friend of mine from my San Francisco days, and I had him get in touch with the Arab slaver. Then I made Gamble think it was all his idea. He was another fool.’’

‘‘And the opium and the Chinese girls?’’

‘‘My ideas, my plans. I just got Gamble to carry them out, knowing that I’d eventually kill him and take it all. That’s why I convinced him to hire the Allison brothers for his own protection.’’

‘‘And in the end you did kill him.’’

Shannon smiled. ‘‘No, I had one of the Allisons kill him for me.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘I offered to pay them more than Gamble was paying them.’’

‘‘And it was you who had Leggett murdered.’’

‘‘He was sniffing around, getting too close. I paid that fool cowboy to kill him.’’

‘‘And me?’’

‘‘You were in the way. That was all.’’

‘‘Recently I told someone that you played me for a sap, and you did, all along the line.’’

Shannon laughed. ‘‘McBride, you may not have noticed, but you are a sap. Did you really think I needed your protection? That was when I thought you might take care of Trask for me. I don’t need you or any other man’s protection. I was fourteen years old when I first worked the ’Frisco waterfront as a whore and I’ve been taking care of myself ever since. Hell, McBride, I’d killed two men by the time I was eighteen. I never let clients get rough with me, but now and again one of them would cross the line. It’s amazing how a forty-four in the belly cools a man’s desire to beat up on a woman.’’

Shannon took bundles of money from the drawer and stacked them on top of the desk. ‘‘It’s been nice talking to you again, McBride. But now I have to be going.’’

McBride shook his head. ‘‘Shannon, you’re not going anywhere except to the nearest law.’’

‘‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’’ Shannon said.

The gun had been in the drawer and it came up very fast. Shannon pulled the trigger and McBride felt like a club had crashed into his head. He was already unconscious, tumbling headlong into darkness, when he hit the floor.

McBride woke, aware that someone was lifting him into a sitting position.

‘‘John, are you all right?’’

It was Inspector Byrnes’ voice.

‘‘I’ve been shot,’’ McBride said.

He saw the inspector nod. ‘‘I know, but the bullet only grazed you. Still, you’re lucky you’ve got a thick skull.’’

McBride looked around, an effort that brought him pain. ‘‘Where is she?’’

‘‘Who?’’

‘‘Shannon Roark.’’

‘‘Is she the one who shot you?’’

‘‘Yes. She pulled a forty-four on me.’’

‘‘I don’t know who Shannon Roark is, but I’d make an educated guess that she skedaddled with Sean Donovan.’’

‘‘Where?’’

Byrnes shook his head. ‘‘I don’t know. I was kind of busy at the station.’’

‘‘The Allisons?’’

‘‘Both dead.’’ A shadow crossed Byrnes’ face. ‘‘I lost a man too, Detective Sergeant Stanton.’’

McBride was shocked. ‘‘Bill Stanton?’’

‘‘Yes, Bill. But like the others from the detective department, he volunteered to come here. He knew the odds he was facing.’’ Byrnes groped for something to say that would ease the fact of a good man’s dying. ‘‘He went quickly, a shot to the heart. There could have been little pain.’’

Stanton was married and had three young children. McBride felt his loss keenly.

‘‘One of the Allisons kill him?’’

‘‘No, John. Sean Donovan did. He fired a couple of shots and then disappeared into the crowd. One of his bullets wounded an orphan girl. The other killed Sergeant Stanton.’’

McBride struggled to his feet, the room spinning around him. When he touched the side of his head his fingers came away bloody.

‘‘How did you know about the orphan train?’’ he asked.

Byrnes smiled. ‘‘Good police work, John. Remember that? I got a tip about the orphan train from a railroader, a good company man, I guess. I arrested the train crew that had been paid by Donovan and replaced it with another. Then I asked for volunteers to come save your stubborn hide . . . and, well, you know the rest.’’

McBride looked at Byrnes. The left side of the man’s coat was black with blood and he was obviously in considerable pain. ‘‘Better let the doctor take a look at that wound, inspector,’’ he said.

Byrnes nodded, a wan smile touching his pale lips. ‘‘I’ll be all right. When this is over I’ll see a real doc back in New York.’’

McBride picked up his gun from the floor and stuck it into his waistband.

‘‘Where do you think you’re going?’’ Byrnes asked.

‘‘After Shannon and Donovan.’’

‘‘No, you’re not,’’ the inspector said. ‘‘John, you’re in no shape to go anywhere. I’ll take care of Donovan.’’

‘‘Can you ride a horse, Inspector?’’ McBride asked.

‘‘No, but I can commandeer one of the wagons at the station.’’

‘‘Too slow. Donovan has a head start—you’d never catch him.’’ McBride smiled. ‘‘You can follow on behind me.’’

‘‘In what direction?’’

‘‘That, I don’t know. At least, not yet.’’ McBride stepped toward the door, then stopped. ‘‘Inspector, you’ll find a dead man in the box of the lead wagon. He’s wearing my hat and probably has my Smith & Wesson, money belt and watch. Get them for me, will you?’’

‘‘All right, that’s the wagon I’ll commandeer,’’ Byrnes said. He watched McBride walk unsteadily to the door. He said, ‘‘John, be careful. We’ll be right behind you.’’

McBride nodded his thanks, stepped out of the saloon into the daylight and headed for Marshal Clark’s barn.

There was a grim determination in McBride. He intended to bring Shannon Roark and Sean Donovan to justice.

The question was—where were they?