Riding With the Devil's Mistress (Lou Prophet Western #3) by Peter Brandvold

Yes,
but, you know what, Mrs. McBride? I think her passing was made more
comfortable by having her only granddaughter at her
side.’
    ‘ Oh,
I’m sure it was, I’m sure it was,’ the old woman cooed, drawing
Louisa to her great bosom, hugging her and patting her back.
Brushing a stray tear from her cheek, she said, ‘Well, I think
you’ll find mine and Mr. McBride’s home quite comfortable, child.
Run along now. It’s the second-story room to the left of the
stairs. The hired boy will probably have a fire going in the
hearth, so you can heat water for a bath. Have the boy stable your
horse in the barn with plenty of hay and oats.’
    ‘ Thank
you, Mrs. McBride. As meager as my means, I don’t know how I’ll
ever be able to repay you.’
    ‘ Your
gratitude is thanks enough, child.’ The old woman gave Louisa a
gentle shove toward her horse, adding, ‘Hurry along now, dear. You
look positively exhausted.’
    ‘ Yes,’
Louisa said, lacing her voice with a weary trill as she untied the
Morgan’s reins from the hitching post, ‘I do feel a bit worse for
the wear.’
    The girl mounted up and, waving to the old
woman, turned the Morgan into the street. When she saw Prophet
sitting atop Mean and Ugly and staring at her with a look of amazed
disbelief on his unshaven face, she stuck her tongue out at him and
gigged the Morgan into a trot.
    Prophet turned his head to watch Miss
Bonaventure disappear around the corner, a grim smile on his face.
A survivor, that girl. Turning back to the old woman, who remained
on the boardwalk before the general store, staring at him with her
gnarled fists on her hips and a scowl on her face, Prophet gigged
his horse toward her and reined up.
    ‘ Ma’am,’ he said with a tug on his hat brim, ‘you have any
idea where a poor, weary traveler might find a soft bed for the
night?’
    Brusquely she said, ‘Down by the river
there’s plenty of soft grass, young man.’ She wheeled around on her
stout, black shoes and disappeared into the store.
    ‘ Much
obliged, ma’am,’ Prophet grumbled at the door slamming
closed.
    He turned to the saloon sitting
on the corner of the next block. The horses remained at the hitch
rack, and, knowing what he knew about the gang inside, the poor
animals would probably remain there all night, saddled and bridled.
From the sound of the whoops and muffled laughter from inside the
place, he suspected the gang was having one hell of a time. The
girl they ’d
kidnapped was probably in one of the upstairs rooms, no doubt going
through a hell administered by each of the drunken gang members in
turn.
    The thought set
Prophet ’s
blood to boiling, but there was nothing he could do to help her at
the moment. If he walked in there now, he’d be dead in two
minutes.
    Prophet rubbed his bristly jaw. Shit.
    He thought it over and decided
the first thing he had to do was free the girl, and the best time
to attempt that was after dark, at least three hours away. The gang
would be fairly drunk by then, and his chances of stealing into the
place unseen would be fair to good. His chances of getting
her out without being seen were probably only poor to fair, but he
had to try it, and he didn’t have much time.
    The girl was living on borrowed
hours. The gang would no doubt head out of here in the morning, and
Prophet doubted they ’d take her along. They’d get all they could from her
tonight, then probably slit her throat and leave her in one of
those upstairs cribs to bleed to death.
    First thing he had to do was
get Mean and Ugly stabled, fed, and rested, so
he ’d be able
to ride later. To that end, he reined the horse back along the way
he had come. Seeing a barn and paddock down a side street, he
headed that way and paid a lad to bed the horse down with fresh hay
and oats. He gave the boy an extra dollar to tie the horse before
the general store in three hours. Taking only his shotgun and
leaving his rifle and the rest of his tack with the boy, he headed
back