it.”
“You mean like this kind of thing?” Tower asked, gesturing toward the poster.
“That, and the harshness with which the guilty are treated. From what I understand, Big River has a reputation as a place cattle thieves avoid.”
Tower was about to ask more, but in the distance, they heard the whistle of the train.
“Right on time,” Morrison said.
The church secretary had been circumspect when Tower tried to find out who was arriving. He half wondered if Silas came out from San Francisco to see how the investigation was going. It would surprise him if that was the case, but then again, Big River had been full of surprises so far.
The train pulled into the main platform and the folks with luggage moved toward the cars, ignoring the fact that those onboard would have to disembark first. Tower and Morrison stood off to the side.
As passengers began to emerge from the train, Morrison walked forward, looking for the person he was expecting.
By now, Tower’s curiosity was thoroughly piqued.
The stream of passengers exiting the train began to thin, until finally, one last group emerged. In the middle of that group, a woman stepped through the train doors. She was older, with stylish gray hair swept back beneath a floppy purple hat. Morrison approached her, said something, and then extended a hand that she took.
The woman stepped onto the platform and Morrison led her to Tower. Tower watched her walk toward him. She carried herself well, with excellent posture and square shoulders. The expression on her face wasn’t haughty, however; if anything, it was open and welcoming.
Tower knew at once that he was going to like her.
“I will retrieve your suitcase, ma’am, while I leave you in the goods hands of Mr. Mike Tower,” Morrison said.
He turned to Tower.
“Mr. Tower, I would like you to meet Evelyn Egans. Bertram’s mother.”
Thirty-Eight
“Ever rent out your shotgun?”
The bartender looked at Bird.
“Pardon me?” he asked.
“I know you’ve got one, probably a double-barrel, underneath the bar,” Bird said. “I’m hoping it’s loaded with double-aught buckshot.”
The man refilled Bird’s glass and looked at her. He had a square jaw and fierce green eyes that had seen plenty of bends in the trail. He moved down the bar and poured drinks for two other customers who had just come into the saloon.
Bird drank her whiskey in one smooth pull and licked her lips after it went down. She had been mulling over her options ever since her old friends had entered the bar and made a point of not looking her way.
It was clearly her move.
The bartender finished with his customers and slowly made his way back to Bird, wiping down the bar on his return trip.
“I can see you’ve got two guns already. What do you need a third for?”
Bird smiled. “Most of the time, the firepower I bring to a party is more than enough to do the job. But occasionally, I come face-to-face with bigger game. The kind that that can eat a couple of .45s and keep coming. For those unpleasant creatures, I need something that’ll bring them down without too much trouble. Your shotgun, for instance.”
“The thing is, I don’t want ‘my’ shotgun to get me into trouble. Even if someone else is using it.”
“Believe me, that shotgun and I will be keeping whatever happens between us.”
“I don’t want any trouble here in the saloon,” he finally said.
“You won’t get any from me,” she said. “Especially if you rent me that shotgun right now.”
She had already done the calculations in her head. There was no way she was going to try to ride back to Big River tonight. She’d bunk up in Harlan’s Crossing—there had to be a room somewhere, and head back in the morning. But she had a pretty good idea that she could expect company tonight. A part of her was impressed with the brazen manner in which Henry Jones and Mr. Seven made no attempts to conceal their presence.
They wanted her to know they were
“You mean like this kind of thing?” Tower asked, gesturing toward the poster.
“That, and the harshness with which the guilty are treated. From what I understand, Big River has a reputation as a place cattle thieves avoid.”
Tower was about to ask more, but in the distance, they heard the whistle of the train.
“Right on time,” Morrison said.
The church secretary had been circumspect when Tower tried to find out who was arriving. He half wondered if Silas came out from San Francisco to see how the investigation was going. It would surprise him if that was the case, but then again, Big River had been full of surprises so far.
The train pulled into the main platform and the folks with luggage moved toward the cars, ignoring the fact that those onboard would have to disembark first. Tower and Morrison stood off to the side.
As passengers began to emerge from the train, Morrison walked forward, looking for the person he was expecting.
By now, Tower’s curiosity was thoroughly piqued.
The stream of passengers exiting the train began to thin, until finally, one last group emerged. In the middle of that group, a woman stepped through the train doors. She was older, with stylish gray hair swept back beneath a floppy purple hat. Morrison approached her, said something, and then extended a hand that she took.
The woman stepped onto the platform and Morrison led her to Tower. Tower watched her walk toward him. She carried herself well, with excellent posture and square shoulders. The expression on her face wasn’t haughty, however; if anything, it was open and welcoming.
Tower knew at once that he was going to like her.
“I will retrieve your suitcase, ma’am, while I leave you in the goods hands of Mr. Mike Tower,” Morrison said.
He turned to Tower.
“Mr. Tower, I would like you to meet Evelyn Egans. Bertram’s mother.”
Thirty-Eight
“Ever rent out your shotgun?”
The bartender looked at Bird.
“Pardon me?” he asked.
“I know you’ve got one, probably a double-barrel, underneath the bar,” Bird said. “I’m hoping it’s loaded with double-aught buckshot.”
The man refilled Bird’s glass and looked at her. He had a square jaw and fierce green eyes that had seen plenty of bends in the trail. He moved down the bar and poured drinks for two other customers who had just come into the saloon.
Bird drank her whiskey in one smooth pull and licked her lips after it went down. She had been mulling over her options ever since her old friends had entered the bar and made a point of not looking her way.
It was clearly her move.
The bartender finished with his customers and slowly made his way back to Bird, wiping down the bar on his return trip.
“I can see you’ve got two guns already. What do you need a third for?”
Bird smiled. “Most of the time, the firepower I bring to a party is more than enough to do the job. But occasionally, I come face-to-face with bigger game. The kind that that can eat a couple of .45s and keep coming. For those unpleasant creatures, I need something that’ll bring them down without too much trouble. Your shotgun, for instance.”
“The thing is, I don’t want ‘my’ shotgun to get me into trouble. Even if someone else is using it.”
“Believe me, that shotgun and I will be keeping whatever happens between us.”
“I don’t want any trouble here in the saloon,” he finally said.
“You won’t get any from me,” she said. “Especially if you rent me that shotgun right now.”
She had already done the calculations in her head. There was no way she was going to try to ride back to Big River tonight. She’d bunk up in Harlan’s Crossing—there had to be a room somewhere, and head back in the morning. But she had a pretty good idea that she could expect company tonight. A part of her was impressed with the brazen manner in which Henry Jones and Mr. Seven made no attempts to conceal their presence.
They wanted her to know they were
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