Otherwise the rest of the trip into the El Paso depot was uneventful.
The train slowed. Ike had to shake Lily awake. She looked up at him, her emerald eyes slowly focusing and becoming the sharp gems that had first captivated him.
“Have you ever been in El Paso before?” he asked. “Finding a lawman quick as a fox to search the freight cars is the best we can do.”
“Mama and I talked about coming here, but we never have. Mostly, she wanted to bypass all this horrible desert and go straight to California. There’re men who have found gold out there, you know. Rich men.”
“We’ve arrived,” he said. “Let me find the marshal. You can . . .” His voice trailed off. He had no idea what to say to her.
“I can come with you,” Lily said firmly. “I don’t want you to get lost in a strange border town.”
“If you’ve never been here before, we’d be lost together.”
She smiled winningly and said, “You figured that out all by yourself. Congratulations, Marshal.” She covered her mouth with her hand and said, “Sorry, Ike.”
He headed off her obvious question. If he was a deputy Federal marshal, why didn’t he arrest Schofield himself?
“I need a couple more deputies to back me up. That’s why I want to find the town marshal.”
“It might be a good idea to find one of your colleagues.”
He stared at her blankly, not understanding.
“Another Federal officer,” she said, exasperated. “You’re out of your jurisdiction, so don’t you need to tell whoever’s district this is of your intentions?”
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her after him. They stepped out on the platform and looked around. For all he could tell, this was Marfa or even the San Antonio depot. The layout was identical, as were colors and personnel. The ticket agent had to be the brother of the one in Marfa. That made Ike a tad uneasy.
If they were all related, they all shared in the illegal gunrunning. Only a stroke of luck had kept him from spilling everything he knew to the Marfa sheriff. If he had, he doubted his body would ever have been found. Memory of the lawman bragging how his brother rode with the Comancheros reinforced Ike’s determination not to trust anyone until he verified their allegiance.
There had to be a reason this was where Schofield had run when he left San Antonio.
Ike waved to the conductor who, stone-faced, failed to acknowledge him. Directly behind the conductor came Smitty, followed by his boss and the other detective. Spinning fast, Ike hid his face and stepped between the railroad owner and Lily to hide her.
“Down the steps,” he said, herding her. She tried to slip away to one side or the other, but he kept her moving in the direction he intended. At the base of the steps leading to a dusty street filled with wagons and buckboards, he looked around.
“I almost expected to see the horse I took from the Apache brave waiting for me. That’d be loco.”
“Loco,” Lily repeated. “That’s a good word.” She glared at him. Again he wanted her to go on her own way. It had been dangerous before, but arresting Schofield was going to be the closest thing to an all-out war El Paso had seen in many a day.
Then he shook himself. He was thinking and planning as if he were Augustus Yarrow and would be the one to get the drop on Schofield. He had no authority. The best he could do was tell the marshal everything that had happened and have a real lawman backed up with deputies perform their sworn duty.
He called out to a passerby, “Where can I find the marshal?”
“In Hell,” came the snarled reply. “If we’re lucky. If not, he might be at the Golden.” With that, the man spat and turned pointedly away.
“The town marshal does not seem to be held in high esteem,” Lily said.
This almost caused Ike to back out. What did he care if the entire territory was set ablaze by Comanchero-sold rifles? The feud with Schofield had started because of Lily and her mother. He had no personal gripe with him. Except for the man trying to get him lynched. And repeatedly attempting to murder him. And . . .
A loud cheer went up a street over. Ike stopped, closed his eyes and remembered being in the San Antonio jailhouse, looking down on a lynch mob Schofield had sent to see him swing. The railroad magnate had no idea who he was, other than finding the dead man in the roundhouse.
“Come on,” Ike said, taking Lily by the elbow and moving her along quickly. She tried to pull free, but he kept his grip. She had involved him in this mess. She’d be there to see it play out with Schofield in custody.
“There’s the saloon,” she said, finally jerking free. “The Golden. That’s where that ever so informative gentleman said we’d find the marshal.”
Ike growled like a stepped on mongrel. The sooner they brought Schofield to justice, the sooner they could move on.
They?
He glanced at Lily and doubted that would happen. Their trails parted here once the cell door clanked shut on Schofield and his men.
He stepped in and looked around the dimly lit room. The familiar odors hit him and brought back the need for old vices. Stale beer. Tobacco smoke. The closeness and feel of men sharing and drinking and—
“Where is he? Do you think that might be him?” Lily pushed past him and boldly entered.
“You can’t be here,” he started.
“Nonsense. This is my kind of place, I’d wager.” She clucked as she looked around. “No faro table. There are only two poker tables. Not even a chuck-a-luck to be seen. However do they make a profit here?”
“Keep quiet while I ask the barkeep.” Ike wasn’t able to keep Lily behind him. She leaned her elbows on the bar and waved the bartender over.
“You in the right place, missy?” the man asked. He twirled his well-waxed mustaches as he eyed her.
“I was told the marshal was here.”
“Dallas?”
“He went to Dallas?” Ike’s ire mounted.
“That’s his name. Dallas Stoudenmire. He’s not here at the moment, but he comes in real regular like.”
“We’ll wait outside,” Ike said.
“You need something to liven this place up,” Lily cut in. “Do you mind?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She strutted over to a piano, opened the lid and lightly brushed across the keys, then began to sing. Ike wanted to crawl away and hope no one saw him.
“Real purty voice she has, yes, sir. You her agent? I can use someone to entertain on weekends.”
“Why’s the marshal not so well liked?”
The barkeep blinked at the question. He picked up a rag and took a few swipes at a perfectly clean glass.
“Well now, that’s hard to explain to somebody that just blowed into town. Dallas is a good man, but he likes the taste of whiskey a mite too much. That with about lightning speed on the draw and never missing his target’s ruffled feathers. But he has cut down on lawlessness in town. Nobody crosses him. Nobody, even when he’s sober.”
Stoudenmire sounded like the man he needed to bring Schofield to justice. Ike pointed to a whiskey bottle and gestured that he wanted a couple fingers poured. It had been too long since he’d appreciated a shot of firewater. The barkeep silently poured and took his money.
“She want a drink?” the man asked, looking at Lily. “From the look of it, she’s been through hell. What’s wrong with her face? It’s real purty but there’s, I don’t know, patches on it like the skin’s peeling off.”
“Makeup,” Ike explained. “She’s an actress and was auditioning for a role. There hasn’t been time to clean it all off.”
“An actress, eh? I got a small stage in the back. If she puts on a show I can offer her more ’n I could if she just sings.”