“Yes. It leads out to Crucifixion River.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s…a kind of ghost camp.”
“Nobody lives there?”
“Nobody.”
“And the side road continues through it and back to the south of here?”
“No. There’s another road in the camp, a track the people who lived there used.”
“Easy to spot, this track?”
“It’s overgrown. But I know where it is…I can show you.”
“You’re not lying to me?”
“No! I swear it.”
I stared at her, long and hard. Her blue eyes were guileless. Some of my rage began to ease and I let the coattail fall closed. Her death sentence had been reprieved-for however long it took us to reach Crucifixion River.
Caroline Devane
Rachel was standing at Mr. Hoover’s bedside when I went in to check on him. From her expression it was plain that she was upset and trying to hide it, but the reason was not her lover’s condition. He was conscious, although not fully alert, and his color was good and his eyes clear. And his pulse, when I checked it, was strong.
The dressing on his wound needed changing. I removed the old one and was relieved to find no sign of infection. He would be all right until the doctor came from River Bend, and eventually, I thought, he would mend good as new. I put on more sulphur powder and a fresh bandage. His grimace prompted me to ask if he was in pain.
“Some,” he said weakly, “but it’s tolerable.”
I gave him a spoonful of laudanum anyway, to help him sleep. He needed to rebuild his strength, and rest was the best remedy.
When I was done, Rachel squeezed his hand and whispered something to him that I deliberately did not listen to. Then she plucked at my sleeve and gestured toward the door. Whatever was upsetting her, she didn’t wish to discuss it in front of Hoover. As soon as we were in the hallway, with the door closed, she said: “It’s gone, Caroline.”
“What is?”
“The money. The three thousand dollars I took from my husband’s safe. Joe had it in his belt pouch and now the pouch is empty.”
I vaguely remembered seeing the pouch when Mr. Murdock and I had taken off Joe Hoover’s jacket and shirt, but in my urgent need to extract the bullet and clean and dress the wound, I’d thought no more about it. “When did you learn this?”
“A few minutes ago, just before he woke up.”
“Perhaps the Murdocks removed it for safekeeping.”
“I don’t think so. They’d have said something to me.”
Yes, they would have. In the chaotic aftermath of Luke Kraft’s sudden intrusion, I had forgotten his mention of the $3,000 and I suspected the Murdocks and the others had as well. All except one… and there was only one person among us that could be.
Rachel realized it at the same time. “James Shock,” she said. “He took it last night.”
Of course. Shock had slipped into the room, late, and talked her into leaving him there alone. Out of the goodness of his heart? Hardly. He was a cold-blooded opportunist, perfectly capable of taking note of the rancher’s words and Hoover’s belt pouch, and conniving to steal the money.
“Yes,” I said, “but it’s too late to confront him. Mister Murdock told me he drove off early to summon the doctor from River Bend.”
“The money’s gone for good, then. He won’t stop in River Bend.”
“Mister Murdock and Mister Nesbitt might be able to catch him on horseback…”
“Why should they bother? It’s not their place.”
Footsteps, coming quickly from the family’s quarters. Sophie Murdock appeared, her mouth set in grim lines.
“Have either of you seen my daughter?”
“Not at all this morning,” I said, and Rachel shook her head. “She’s not in her room?”
“No, and some of her things are missing. Clothing and her carpetbag.”
“Oh, Lord. You think she may have run off?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible. She’s young and restless, she dislikes her life here, and after what happened last night…”
I recalled the adoring looks Annabelle had lavished on James Shock. Was it possible that he’d sweet-talked her into leaving with him? Or that she’d decided to join him on her own?
My face must have betrayed what I was thinking. “What is it, Missus Devane?”
Sophie Murdock asked. “Do you have an idea where Annabelle’s gone?”
“Yes,” I said, “I’m afraid I do.”
Boone Nesbitt
I was out in the livery barn, watching Murdock help Pete Dell harness the stage team, when Mrs. Murdock came rushing in. The look of her was both frantic and frightened. “Thomas,” she said to her husband, “Annabelle’s gone.”
“What do you mean…gone?”
“She’s nowhere on the property, and some of her clothes and her carpetbag are missing. But that’s not all. Missus Kraft just told me Joe Hoover was carrying three thousand dollars in a belt pouch, the money her husband was shouting about last night, and that’s missing, too.”
“My God, you don’t believe Annabelle stole it?”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
“She’d never do such a thing. She’s not a thief.”
Mrs. Murdock was looking at the stalls. “The saddle horses…they’re all here.”
“Yes, and she’s not foolish enough to go traipsing off on foot.”
“Missus Devane thinks she may be with the peddler, Shock.”
“What!”
“Missus Devane may be right,” I said. “Shock was in a hurry to pull out this morning. Stolen money in his pocket and maybe the girl hidden in his wagon could be the real reason.”
“What’re you saying, Nesbitt? That he kidnapped my daughter?”
“More likely she went of her own free will, with or without his knowledge.”
Murdock said grimly: “Well, I’ll find out. It’s been less than two hours since Shock drove out and he can’t make fast time in that wagon of his. With luck I can catch him on horseback before he reaches River Bend.”
“I’ll go with you,” I said. “Shock’s fast with that revolver of his, and a crack shot. Two makes better odds.”
“Three makes better still,” Pete Dell said.
“Murdock and I can do the job. Best if you stay here with the women.”
“You hand out orders real easy, mister. Who put you in charge?”
“Don’t argue with him, Pete,” Murdock said. “We don’t have any time to waste.”
He sent his wife into the house for his sidearm and shell belt; I was already wearing mine. I saddled the rented piebald. Murdock didn’t own a decent saddle horse, but Luke Kraft’s roan gelding was broke enough to let a stranger throw Kraft’s old McClellan saddle on his back and climb aboard. We were out of the barn and on the levee road inside of five minutes.
The road was in reasonably good shape after the storm. Rain-puddled and muddy, so we couldn’t run the animals even though it chafed Murdock not to. I set the pace at a steady lope that was still some faster than Shock could drive that peddler’s wagon of his, and we had no trouble maintaining it.
Mostly we rode in silence, except for one brief exchange. Murdock twisted his head my way and said: “Just who are you, Nesbitt?”
“Does it matter?”
“You talk and act like a lawman. Are you one?”
“In a way. I work for the Pinkertons.”
“So that’s it. That’s how you knew about me.”
“We’ll talk about that later.”
“Does Bellright know yet?”
“Not yet.”
“All for yourself, eh? How much are you getting for me, dead or alive? Five thousand? Ten? More?”
“Later, Murdock. Keep your mind on Shock and your daughter for now.”
The morning was cold and gray, the debris-choked slough waters on both sides receding and mist rising here and there from the half-drowned cattails along the banks. Birds screeched and chattered, frogs croaked long and loud-the only sounds that reached my ears. We had the road to ourselves, but there were fresh wheel and hoof tracks to mark the passage of Shock’s wagon.