Messenger by Moonlight (4 page)

Emmet shrugged. “All right. If you really want to, we’ll try again—when all three of us have jobs. But you’ll have to wait a bit to go back to that hotel. Frank and I aren’t about to let you wander the streets of St. Joseph without an escort, and if Gould doesn’t want the mules, we’ll probably have to muck out a few stalls to pay for board.”

“He said he’d look at the rig,” Annie reminded him.

“And when he does,” Frank said, “he’s not going to want it.”

Emmet chimed in. “Have patience, little sister. It shouldn’t take us too long.”

“But I can see the top of the hotel cupola from here. I can’t possibly get lost.”

“That’s not the point,” Emmet insisted.

Frank nodded agreement. “He’s right.”

Annie had just opened her mouth to argue some more, when the livery owner stepped outside—followed by a burly stranger he introduced as Luther Mufsy.

The stranger shook hands with Emmet and Frank and tugged on the brim of his hat by way of greeting Annie. “Ma’am.” He spoke to Emmet: “I’ve done a little blacksmithing in my day. Ira said something about the rear axle on your wagon. Want me to have a look? See if it’s an easy fix?”

“We appreciate the offer,” Emmet said, “but we need to sell the wagon—as is.” He glanced over at Mr. Gould, clearly inviting the livery owner to make an offer.

Instead of acting on Emmet’s invitation, Mr. Gould weighed in on the subject of Annie’s heading off on her own. “As to the idea of your walking about St. Joseph unescorted, Miss Paxton, I add my voice to the
nays
.”

“See?” Emmet said. “I’m right.”

Annie glowered at him. “Then settle up with Mr. Gould and let’s get going.”

“If you don’t mind my inquiring,” Mr. Gould asked, “I didn’t hear enough to know where it is your brothers don’t want you going. Mind telling me?”

“Just up the hill to the Patee House. I want to see if I can get hired to work in the kitchen.”

“As it happens, I know one of the ladies who works there. And I need to talk to Mr. Lewis at the Pony office just off the hotel lobby. I’d be happy to have you come along. I could introduce you to Fern. Can’t make any promises, of course, but with business picking up, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re hiring extra kitchen help.” He nodded at Emmet and Frank. “If you two will help Luther mind the livery while
we’re gone, I’ll consider us square regarding last night. Does that suit?”

Emmet accepted for them all. As he and Frank left, accompanied by Mr. Luther, Annie took Mr. Gould’s proffered arm. “Just so you know,” he said, “Mr. P-a-t-e-e pronounces his name
PAY-tee
—not
Patty
.”

“Thank you for telling me. I don’t suppose it would help my chances at working there to mispronounce the owner’s name.”

Mr. Gould shrugged. “An honest mistake. On the other hand, there’s no reason to announce the fact that you don’t come from around here.” The hotel was just ahead when he added, “I should probably warn you about Fern. She can be mighty demanding.”

“I’m not afraid of hard work.”

Mr. Gould smiled. “Then the two of you just might get on.”

When a local reverend asked to hire one of Ira Gould’s buggies for the day, Frank left Emmet to finish mucking out stalls and helped hitch up a bay gelding Luther referred to as “Dependable Old Dobbin.”

As the reverend drove the hired rig away, Frank glanced behind him to where Emmet was busily cleaning out a stall. Lowering his voice, he said, “About our wagon, Mr. Mufsy—”

“Luther. Just call me Luther.”

Frank nodded. “All right. Luther. Emmet wants to sell it outright, but I’m thinking there’s plenty of work to be had down on the levee, now the ice is breaking up and freight’s moving again on the river. Thought maybe I could start a delivery business. I can’t pay you cash money for fixing that axle, but—”

Luther interrupted him. “No reason to worry about how to pay until we know if I can fix it. I’ll take a look after we get morning chores done.” He paused, then asked if Frank had a plan for “fixing” the aged mules.

“I can get a few more miles out of Bart and Bill,” Frank said, sounding more confident than he felt. “I’m good with horses and mules.” To prove the point, he reached for the lead rope hanging outside the closest box stall. “In fact, why don’t I turn this guy out into the corral, then come back and muck out the stall. Maybe you could take a look at the wagon while I do that.”

“Whoa!” Luther stayed his hand. “That’s Outlaw, the meanest horse this side of a meat market. Kicks. Bites. I helped Ira’s regular blacksmith shoe the son-of-a-gun last week, and you never saw the likes of it. We had to throw him on his side and lasso each foot separately to keep him from kicking the blacksmith all the way to Hades—which is where that horse was spawned, if you asked me.”

Frank peered into the stall. “He talking about you?” When the black horse tossed its head and kicked the side of the stall, Frank forced a laugh. “Oh, yeah. I’m scared.”

Emmet stepped up. “Look at the way he’s standing. He’s braced for a fight.”

“I doubt the peppermint candy treatment would work,” Frank said.

“Candy?” Luther snorted. “Not unless you want to lose a finger.”

Frank glanced over at Emmet with a grin. “Two bits says I can stay on longer than you.”

Luther shook his head. “Even if I was a gambling man—which I am not—Outlaw’s off limits. Unless, of course, you want to try him out later this morning when he’s ‘interviewing’ Pony hopefuls.”

Frank frowned. “What’s a ‘pony hopeful’?”

“Someone hoping to ride for the Pony Express. You know—the new mail run. St. Jo. to California in ten days.” Luther paused. “You haven’t heard of it?” When Frank and Emmet both shook their heads, Luther told them to stay put, then hurried into the livery owner’s quarters. When he returned, he handed Frank a handbill.

“St. Joseph to San Francisco… in
ten days
?” Frank glanced over at Emmet. “How far is that? Has to be—”

Luther interrupted. “Nearly two thousand miles.” He lowered his voice. “It hasn’t been officially announced yet, but Mr. Gould said he has it on good authority that St. Jo.’s been selected as the jumping-off spot. Keep that to yourselves. It’s supposed to be an all-fired secret.” Frank and Emmet swore to keep the secret, and Luther continued. “First rider leaves April third. Fresh horses every ten or fifteen miles. Switching at Overland Stage stations wherever there is one, but they’ve had to add plenty of relay stations along the way. It’s all about
speed. I’ve seen the stock, and there’s some fine animals lined up to make those runs. The Pony paid nearly two hundred dollars for some of ’em.”

Frank whistled low.

“Like I said, some fine animals.”

“And they’re still hiring riders?”

“Yep. Outlaw’s being treated like a king to keep him in shape for the ‘interviews.’”

Frank pointed at the
$25.
“Is that real?”

“Real as spring rain on the prairie,” Luther said. “I’d be trying for it myself if I was half a foot shorter, a hundred pounds lighter, and twenty years younger.”

“With money like that—” Frank swallowed. “Shoot.” He looked over at Emmet.

“It says ‘not over eighteen.’” Emmet said. “We’re both too old.”

“Not by much,” Frank said. He looked at Luther. “I’m nineteen. Emmet’s twenty-four. But we’re good riders. Better than most.”

Luther shrugged. “I think the age is more of a guideline than a rule. And they aren’t
all
orphans. I know that for a fact. Mostly they want fellers willing to ride like Old Scratch himself is after them. Night and day, rain or snow.”

Frank grinned. Emmet nodded. Together, they asked, “When do we ride?”

It was all Annie could do to keep from skipping alongside Mr. Gould when the time came to return to the livery. She couldn’t wait to see Frank and Emmet. “I don’t care what Frank said about her, I think we’re going to get on just fine with Miss Stanton.” She smiled up at Mr. Gould. “She seemed so stern when we talked to her last night. But she didn’t hesitate to show me those two rooms just now—thanks to you. I don’t quite know how to thank you for all you’ve done.” In a rush of enthusiasm, she stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on the old man’s weathered cheek. If she had a grandfather, she’d want him to be kind, just like Mr. Gould.

“Well now,” Mr. Gould blustered, “I’d say you just did. Don’t give it another thought. And call me Ira, why don’t you. I’ve known Ellie since the two of us were knee-high to a grasshopper. She’s not to be trifled with, but she has a good heart. As for Fern up at the Patee House, just—be sure you keep her happy, or I’ll never hear the end of it.” He cleared his throat. “I, um, I squire Fern to church now and then.”

“I won’t let you down. You have my solemn promise.” Annie smiled up at him. “You don’t happen to need help at the livery do you? My brothers are just about the finest horsemen anywhere.”

“Horsemen, you say.” He sounded doubtful.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Annie said. “Bart and Bill
aren’t exactly a good advertisement for their abilities. But—have you heard of Hillsdale Farms?”

“Who hasn’t? Mr. Hillsdale’s sold dozens of mounts to the Pony Express.”

Annie didn’t know what a “pony express” was, but that wasn’t the point. Mention of Mr. Hillsdale had made an impression, and so she continued that thread. “Frank was one of Mr. Hillsdale’s jockeys for a while. Our pa was the head man over the broodmares before Mama died. Pa quit then. Said he needed to stay closer to home and that he’d take up farming. But then he started drinking and—” She broke off. It wouldn’t do to make Ira think she was appealing to his sympathy. When it came to horsemanship, neither Frank nor Emmet needed anyone’s sympathy. “Both Frank and Emmet spent a lot of time in those fancy Hillsdale barns.”

Ira frowned. “Why aren’t they working for Hillsdale instead of mucking out my livery to earn a night’s keep?”

“Emmet’s good with horses, but his heart’s in farming. As for Frank, he and Mr. Hillsdale had a falling out.” She hurried to explain. “Not because of anything Frank did wrong, mind you. It’s just—well, I don’t like to speak ill of a man, but when Frank was riding for him, if a horse won, Mr. Hillsdale took the credit. And if a horse lost—”

“—he blamed Frank?”

Annie grinned. “You really do know Mr. Hillsdale.” Ira laughed, then broke off abruptly when a cheer rang out from a crowd gathered around the larger of the two corrals in the livery’s back lot. Standing on tiptoe, she could just see a black horse pitching and fighting to escape the hold of several men. How had they managed to get a saddle on the crazed animal?

“You don’t want to see that,” Ira said. With Annie in tow,
he led the way to the opposite side of the barn and the wide double doors that opened onto the street.

Annie glanced at a handbill nailed to the doorframe. “That wasn’t there last night. We would have seen it when we drove in.”

P
ONY
E
XPRESS
. E
XPERT RIDERS
…

“I nailed it up myself this morning on my way back from the printer. Got a few boys hired to put ’em up around town today.” He paused. “That horse in the corral? That’s Outlaw. The Pony hired me to board him. Outlaw sorts the men from the boys when it comes to riding for the Pony.”

The crowd whooped and hollered—and then fell quiet, as if taking a collective breath. A redheaded youth wearing a red shirt charged past the open stable doors. Shouting something about getting a doctor, he raced off up the street. Just as Annie’s heart lurched, Emmet stepped through the single door they’d used when they returned to the livery last night.

Catching sight of Annie, Emmet called out, “It’s not Frank.” He hurried to where Annie stood, directing his next few words to Ira. “Jake Finney went for the doctor. Broken leg, most likely.”

Annie tottered over to a rustic bench near the blacksmith’s forge and sat down.

Emmet sat beside her. “Darned fool greenhorn had no business trying it. That horse is—evil. After he throws ’em, he wants to pound ’em into the dirt.” He took his hat off and swiped his forehead with a dusty forearm. “You’d best stay here when we go. Won’t be long, now.”

“When you go… where?” Annie asked. Emmet reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a copy of the same flyer Annie had just read. “I know about that.” She snatched it away.

Emmet scratched the back of his neck, then raked his hand through his hair. “You can’t expect us to turn down two hundred dollars
a month
.”

“You just said that horse is a killer.” She crumpled the handbill. “And you said there’s plenty of work
here
. In St. Joseph.”

The redhead named Jake sprinted past again, this time with an older man in tow. “Hey, Emmet! You chickening out?” he called. Then he paused and turned to Ira as the doctor hurried on. “Doctor wants to use one of the wagons to haul the patient away.”

The old man departed to help with the injured rider, and Annie latched onto Emmet’s arm. “Don’t do it,” she begged. “Please. What would Luvina say?”

That made him hesitate. He seemed to mull it over, but then he shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. Earl Aiken will never give permission for us to get hitched unless I can provide for his daughter.” Gently, he pried her hand off his arm. “This is my chance to do that
and
get you a little place—before Luvina forgets me.”

“She won’t forget,” Annie said. Guilt flickered at the burden sharing her dream of a little house had placed on her brothers. She should have kept that to herself. She’d never meant it to weigh them down. “I don’t expect you and Frank to do everything on your own. I got—” The words
a job and rooms
were drowned out by renewed shouting and hollering from the back lot.

Emmet stood up and put his hat back on. “You don’t have to watch,” he hollered. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

Emmet hurried back outside. Again, the horse screamed. The horrible sound sent a chill up Annie’s spine. What if Frank or Emmet got hurt?
Or worse.
She couldn’t bear to
just sit here and wait. Nor could she bring herself to join the raucous crowd. If Emmet saw her, he’d probably order her back inside, anyway. She glanced up.
The loft.
No one would expect her to be up there. She’d be able to see into the back lot. She could watch in peace—or hide. At the moment she wasn’t sure which it would be. At least she’d have a chance to collect herself before facing—whatever might happen.

Gathering her skirts, she scaled the ladder and made her way across to the open haymow door, ducking down behind a pile of fresh hay so the men below wouldn’t see her. She could see a bit of what was going on if she peered over the top. Luther was in the corral helping three other men restrain the horse. Near the street, two men hoisted a makeshift litter and bore the injured man away.

When a boy she’d never seen before slid into the saddle, the animal screamed and lunged, but failed to break free. Annie ducked down, her heart pounding. When the crowd roared, she looked again. The hopeful rider signaled that he was ready and the men who’d been restraining the horse dove through the corral poles to safety. The creature reared. Coming down on all fours, it twisted and bucked. In seconds, the young rider went flying. He rolled beneath the bottom corral pole, barely ahead of the flashing hooves.

Frank was up next.
That horse is evil
Emmet had said. Annie gulped. She directed a
please
toward heaven just before Frank scaled the corral poles and settled into the saddle. The horse strained to be released. Frank tugged at his hat to settle it firmly on his head. He shifted his weight in the saddle. The animal whinnied a protest. The second it was released, the creature reared up, pawing the air. Terrified, Annie ducked down, desperate for it to be over. Listening. Wishing she could pray better.

The second Frank slid into the saddle, he felt the horse collect himself, ready to explode with fury the moment the men holding him let go. Envisioning closing an iron vise about the horse’s midsection with his legs, Frank gathered the reins to keep the animal in check. He nodded. The men let go and dove out of the way.

The shouts and sounds of the crowd faded. Frank was aware of nothing but the surging beast; its flying mane and flashing hooves; the tremendous power rippling beneath a gleaming black coat, all of it focused on freeing itself of the unwelcome weight on its back. When Outlaw arched his back and crow-hopped across the corral, Frank clenched his jaw and stayed put. The horse twisted and bounced, surged and fought. Every muscle in Frank’s body screamed, every joint protested. He choked on dust, but still he hung on. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a shot rang out, signaling the end of the longest three minutes of Frank’s life. He flung himself out of the saddle, keenly aware of Outlaw charging to the far side of the corral. Taking a hasty bow, Frank trotted to safety. Men pounded him on the back. Congratulations rang out.

The redheaded kid who’d helped haul the injured rider away grabbed his hand and pumped it. “That was something! Best ride yet!”

This was better than winning a race for old man Hillsdale. Today, no one else would try to take the credit.

Annie hadn’t wanted to watch, but in the end she hadn’t been able to resist. She nearly cried with relief when Frank ducked out of the corral. Safe. Whole. The joy lasted only
seconds, though, for Emmet would ride next—and Emmet wasn’t quite as good as Frank. When he mounted, she closed her eyes.
Please don’t let him get hurt. He talks to you all the time. Just—please.
She heard rather than saw what happened next. A loud crack, a collective
oh
, a thud, and horrible silence. With her hand clamped over her mouth to keep the scream in, she peered over the hay and down into the back lot. Emmet lay in the dust just outside the corral. Still.

Her heart in her throat, Annie spun about and charged toward the ladder, but before she reached it, a collective cry went up from the crowd. “He’s okay!” She hurried back to the haymow door to see what was happening below. Frank was helping Emmet up. Talking. Nodding. Slapping him on the back.

“He wants to go again,” Frank called out.

Anger replaced fear and dread.
Go again? Had they both lost their minds?
The crowd was silent for a moment, and then a tall man wearing a knee-length black coat and a broad-brimmed hat stepped forward. Emmet strode to where the stranger was standing and argued his case. He must have argued well. The man raised one hand and drew a circle in the air, as if preparing to throw a lasso. The crowd cheered. Luther Mufsy and the others took the black horse in hand.

Annie hunkered down again. Hiding. Closing her eyes, she waited, alternating between inwardly cursing the gol-durned horse and swearing at her dad-gummed brothers. And then she begged God to please forgive her bad thoughts and to keep Emmet from breaking his fool neck.
I’m not good at the words, but you know what I want. What we need. Please.