Only West Texas dust kicked up by building wind showed anywhere around him. It was lonely out here. He felt good that it was. He wasn’t up to fighting off Apaches—or a crooked partner wanting the whole bag of loot from the robbery for himself.
Sweat drenching him and stinging the wounds in his arm and side, he prowled about and quickly found the cloth bag with the stolen property. A look inside showed perhaps a hundred dollars in greenbacks, a string of pearls, two diamond stickpins and the ruby necklace. He fastened the drawstring and tucked the bag into his pocket.
“If I can’t bury you, and I’m not inclined to leave you for the buzzards, there’s only one way to profit off your dead body.” Ike grunted as he got the outlaw upright, then heaved him over the horse’s hindquarters.
It took a little soothing, but he gentled the horse, then mounted himself. The horse protested the double weight, but showed appreciation at being untethered by briskly trotting along. Ike shielded his eyes from the sun, considered following the tracks into Eagle Pass, then cut across the desert.
If his sense of direction proved accurate, he’d cut a couple dozen miles off the trip to Eagle Pass compared to using the train tracks as a guide.
Less than a half hour riding made him reconsider his plan.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” he decided. If there hadn’t been a full canteen dangling from the saddle horn, he would have changed plans—and maybe died. The desert stretched endlessly, but he headed for the shimmer to the west that had to mark where the Rio Grande flowed. There weren’t mountains to speak of, just low hills. He wondered why the railroad came southwest from San Antonio to Eagle Pass before heading northwest to El Paso. There had to be something worth the detour from a more direct route.
But if he didn’t get to the town soon with his cargo, he vowed to dump the body. In the hot sun it had begun to stink, and buzzing flies annoyed the horse as much as they did him. Worse than the smell, worry about Lily Sinclair gnawed away at him. She had no idea what had become of him.
“Will she even care?” he wondered aloud. He put his head down to use his hat brim to shade his face from the burning sun. It became harder as he rode because the sun sank fast. “But she must care. She followed me onto the train.”
He pondered that as he rode. Had Lily trailed him from San Antonio or was it only coincidence that they were on the same train? It was the next one leaving town after she got free of Kinchloe and his henchmen. It made sense that she and Ike chose the same train. She had used her theatrical skills to put on makeup that disguised her from him—and it as easily hid her identity from Martin Schofield’s detectives. That made more sense than Lily wanting to play a trick on him.
“What do you think?” He patted the horse’s neck, then looked up. A crooked smile came to his lips. “So that’s why they call this Eagle Pass.” The low hill directly ahead spread across the desert like the wings of a flying eagle.
He urged the horse to a faster gait when he saw railroad tracks curving around and going directly over low hills. He rode to the top of a rise. Stretched out before him was a sleepy-looking town. Smoke curled up from dozens of chimneys, and beyond flowed the Rio Grande, lined with bright green–leafed trees. Crossing the river a railroad spur vanished into Mexico toward the larger town of Piedras Negras. That explained why the tracks had been laid this way. Whatever commerce flowed from the interior of Mexico shipped directly to San Antonio along this steel-railed route.
And who knew what merchandise was shipped into the country on the far side of the Rio Grande?
“Come on, you get oats when we reach town.”
The horse understood and trotted along, tiredness gone. Ike felt a surge of energy of his own. He hoped the train was delayed in town so he could find Lily and boast to her of his exploits. Somehow, bragging about the shoot-out and his bravery seemed important. But a woman with her worldly experience was sure to have seen and heard it all. Impressing her wasn’t going to be easy, although she had seemed to find his being a deputy Federal marshal rousing.
From the top of the ridge, he cut directly for the tracks and followed them to the depot. His heart sank when he saw that no locomotive stood there, huffing and puffing steam, pulling passenger cars, one of which held Lily Sinclair.
Dejected, he rode past the depot to find the marshal’s office. The anticipation of seeing the redheaded woman again now dashed, he wanted nothing more than to get rid of the body weighing down the horse and stinking to high Heaven.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ike ignored the stares from the townspeople as he rode down the main street. More than one of the men touched a pistol stuck into his waistband or dangling in a holster, but no one drew. He took that as a good sign. Several women clutched at their companions’ arms and whispered in concern, but none pointed or called out for “something to be done.” He counted that as a success. Seeing a stranger riding through town with a dead body slung over the back of a horse wasn’t usual, even here on the border. If the town marshal kept a tight rein on folks, this might be the first time many of them had seen such a sight.
He rode slowly past a saloon. Although it was getting toward nightfall, the place was subdued. He heard someone playing a banjo inside, but no one sang along. The expected cloud of smoke boiling outward was thin, and if two lanterns were lit inside, it’d be a surprise. Dark, grim, not the common saloon.
“Eagle Pass isn’t a place for wild partying,” he decided. He had money in his pocket. Since the depot was empty and he’d missed the train Lily rode, he was stuck here for a spell. Or maybe not. He had a horse now. There wasn’t any real reason to keep heading northward after the woman. By now she might be halfway to El Paso.
He drew rein and looked down at a man that could only be described as a short drink of water. Standing barely five-two, the man tried to look taller with a big-crowned hat. He wore a gaudy vest, with red and white stripes running vertically to give an added illusion of height. If his legs hadn’t been so bowed, he might have stood an extra couple inches tall, but Ike saw there wasn’t any reason for the man to puff himself up.
All the authority he needed was there for everyone to see.
He wore a huge shiny silver badge on his coat. Just in case he encountered someone not paying attention, the lawman ran his fingers under his lapels and thrust out the badge far enough that a blind man couldn’t miss it.
“You got yourself a curious set of saddlebags, Mister,” the marshal observed with a wry grin. “Any reason you’re bringing in a body all covered with flies and creating such a public health hazard?”
Ike dismounted and stretched. He wasn’t the tallest man in the world, but he towered over the Eagle Pass marshal.
“He robbed the train from San Antonio,” he said without exchanging any of the usual pleasantries since the lawman had launched right into criticism. “The robbery had the air of being done by an owlhoot who’d done such a thing before. I stopped him and thought there might be a reward on his head.”
“Did you, now?” The marshal walked around, grabbed a handful of greasy hair and lifted. He made a face. “Can’t abide with corpses getting all mushy like this.” He dropped the head.
“Think you might leaf through wanted posters and see if he’s worth anything?”
“This one’s worth more dead than alive. I know him,” the marshal said with distaste. “Name’s Lester Buchanan.”