An Outlawed Heiress and Her Duke Page 8

  “What do you mean?” George frowned.

  “That land up there. It’s bad blood.” Wilson looked over his shoulder again, but this time his gaze got stuck in darkness. "Who knows what the government will do to cover their tracks?”

  “Cover their tracks, for what?” George inquired, somewhat annoyed now. Why was he acting like this?

  “It’s all in there.” Wilson pointed at the envelope in George’s pocket, his gaze still drawn toward the darkness. “And that is further than I'm willing to go. Now give me the rest of my money.” He stretched out his hand.

  George was tugging a small, folded envelope out of his inner coat pocket, when he heard the unmistakable sharp metallic click from a revolver’s hammer. On instinct, he slid his hand toward the other coat pocket that hid his own pistol.

  Wilson shot around in panic, spitting out a fearful whisper at the silhouette of a skinny person approaching from the shadows. Wilson jerked his lantern toward the intruder, revealing the metal of a small pistol barrel aimed toward them.

  “Hands up where I can see them,” George's cold voice shot at the intruder, holding out his own gun, a rare silver revolver with a rotating cylinder that could hold six bullets at a time. His aim was fixed on the approaching threat, his eyes sharp as an eagle, before they relaxed.

  “You,” he sighed at the newspaper boy’s brother from earlier as he lowered his weapon, not because he thought this skinny lad didn’t know how to shoot, but something inside him told him that this pretty-faced boy wasn't much trouble. From his time in the military, George could smell a cold-blooded killer from a mile away. This boy smelled more like fruits and whiskey. He recalled the way he’d protected his little brother. There was honor and selflessness in his heart. George’s arm flopped to his side.

  “What is going on here?” Wilson’s frightened voice whispered to George, who answered with an honest shrug of his shoulders before turning to the boy.

  “I’m afraid your little brother has already taken all I have to give,” he said with an underlying tone of sarcasm.

  “And we are grateful for that,” the boy said, his pistol still raised and held steady. George raised a brow. What was going on here? But before he could inquire about that, the boy suddenly yelled into the dark:

  “Do you hear that, you rats? Nothing left to steal, so get the hell out of here!” George and Wilson exchanged confused looks, and for a moment there was silence. Then two men crept out from the shadows of the bridge’s mighty tower footing. In an instant, George drew his pistol once more, pointing it at the two men who soon identified as Murphy and one of his drinking buddies. Murphy, that snake, returned the courtesy by pointing his own gun, a long-barreled flintlock pistol, while his friend held up a butcher knife.

  George could feel his body tense in anger.

  “Is this service included in the price for your filthy beer?” his tone deepened.

  “Take another step an’ ye'll find out.” Murphy spat on the ground, pulling back the hammer of his gun.

  “The police will be here soon,” the boy now yelled.

  George noticed that his slim arm was shaking, clearly nervous. Murphy and his friend focused their gaze on Wilson, exchanging worried looks, when all of a sudden, Wilson jumped for the envelope that George still held in his hand and made a run for it.

  “Splendid,” George mumbled sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

  Murphy and his friends now smiled, revealing the shimmer of yellow teeth.

  “What’s so funny?” the boy sincerely wondered.

  “That was the police,” George said, letting out a loud sigh.

  “Damn it.” The boy bit his lower lip. George had to do something before someone got shot.

  “Are you somewhat good with numbers?” George hollered over to Murphy, who wrinkled his forehead.

  “Gran enoof to know yer have a treasure map from Chama,” Murphy grinned as if he’d just uncovered George’s long-kept secret. His friend followed suit, excitedly shifting weight from one leg to the other with a big smirk on his face.

  “Ch-chama?” the boy stuttered as if he had seen a ghost. Murphy noticed it too and didn’t waste a second to try to turn him.

  “Aye boy. A hidden treasure, in Chama,” he pleaded his case. “Why don’t yer come over here an’ join us? We will split it evenly.”

  George instantly peeked over to analyze the boy’s face. Would he fall for this nonsense? Side with that foolish man-child?

  “No treasure is worth getting hanged for,” the boy shouted with fire in his eyes. “Or shot,” he added.

  Now it was George’s turn to grin. This boy was truly fascinating.

  “So, shall we go over the numbers then?” George sassed over to Murphy. “Last time I counted, it’s two guns against one gun and a knife. A large knife, but a knife nevertheless.” George stepped closer. “And I shall make sure to shoot you first, Murphy.”

  “Sounds good to me,” the boy chipped in, following George’s footsteps.

  Murphy busted out a chuckle as his rusty hair bounced on his ball shaped face. "I count only one," his gun aimed at George while pointing a finger at the boy. "That lad can barely shoot." His words seemed to have only emboldened his knife-wielding friend as he now took a step closer. It was impossible to see his face with all that muddy hair in front of it. For a brief moment George wondered whether he could even see them?

  "Well, let’s practice some shooting then, what do you think, Boy? Murphy first?" George said in a confident tone.

  "I think that’s a fine idea.” The boy played along, smirking straight at Murphy. George shifted his gaze to his unexpected ally who was starting to look older and bolder by the minute. But if Murphy wouldn’t bite and stop this nonsense right now, George had no choice but to shoot him to save the boy. Killing someone, even a pig like Murphy, was the last thing he had set his heart on when he’d opened his eyes this morning. George was an incredibly skilled shot, and of course he would aim for Murphy’s hand first, but in this gloomy light, there was a chance he would miss his hand and drop all of Murphy straight to the muddy ground.

  But the fool Murphy was, he took another step closer, then another...

  Damn it, George cursed at Murphy once more. The time for debates was over. George gathered his calm and held his breath, finger on the trigger, aiming for Murphy’s hand—and pulled.

  The shot boomed across the gloomy night sky, startling everybody but George. Then there was a dead silence which seemed to last forever, until finally, Murphy’s gun glinted across the floor with a clanky sound, accompanied by a sharp howl from Murphy who now held his bleeding wrist, shaking and cursing in curses better left unsaid. His lanky friend analyzed the situation, then cursed at George and Murphy alike before turning on his heel, running away to be swallowed by the darkness. Murphy cleared his throat and spat a slimy liquid on the floor in the absolute most disgusting way George had ever witnessed. Then he fled, too.

  “Lovely,” George turned his head away, repulsed by Murphy, while the boy shivered in clear disgust. George put his gun away, turning toward the boy with an impression of admiration.

  “Thank you for your help.” George locked his gaze on the boy. "You were extremely brave here tonight; I am truly impressed," he complimented him.

  "I-it was nothing," the boy mumbled with a shy stare as he looked away. George couldn’t help but smile in response to such modesty. He stepped closer and stretched his hand out.

  “George Astley,” he introduced himself with a nod. It took the boy a moment to realize that George had just introduced himself.

  “Oh, yes, of course. Egan,” he finally said in his soft voice, and shook his hand.

  George took a step back to analyze him for the second time tonight. Odd. Egan was rather pretty for a boy. His brown eyes were big like those of a deer and his smile was warm and honest. George’s eyes wandered to the boy’s full, rosy lips. They were beautiful. No doubt, those lips were made to ki—George violently shook his head
to tear himself out of his thoughts. What the hell was he doing?! When had he ever paid so much attention to a man’s looks and even worse, lips! He forced a cough to pull his mind away.

  “What could Murphy possibly have been referring to when he addressed some sort of treasure in Chama?” the boy carefully inquired in perfect high-society English. George curled his lips and raised a brow. Egan was extremely well-spoken for a street kid. Egan seemed to be reading George’s mind.

  “I used to work for fancy folks,” he explained, looking inward while blinking rapidly. George analyzed him for a moment longer. That explanation was obviously nonsense, but why would he care about the real reasons a street kid was able to form grammatically correct sentences? He was ankle deep in horseshit, as the Americans used to say, and had unsolvable problems ahead of him.

  “Utter nonsense,” George said crossing his arms. Egan swallowed loudly, opening his mouth as if he wanted to explain his suspicious language skills further when George relieved him of this worry. “The treasure map,” he clarified. Egan let out a huge sigh.

  George started walking, Egan following closely on his heels.

  “So, there is no treasure in Chama?” he asked innocently.

  “No, not like that.” George shook his head. “I have a gold mine near Chama that seems to be more of a headache than all the gold in the world would be worth.” Egan froze to the spot, hypnotized by those very words that had just been spoken.

  George peeked over his shoulder but kept walking. Why was this boy so interested in his affairs? A few moments later, he heard Egan’s footsteps echo on the pavement to catch up with him.

  “So, are you going to Chama then?” he heard Egan’s voice from behind, out of breath from chasing him.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Egan skipped past George and jumped in front of him, blocking his path with arms wide open.

  “Well you got yourself a guide then.” His enormous smile exposed his white teeth. George laughed out loud and simply walked around him. A guide would have been an absolute necessity thirty years ago when people had to travel on wagons or in stagecoaches. But these were the days of industrialization, and America was the frontrunner of trains.

  “I think you’ve already guided enough coin out of my pocket.” George picked up speed again to signal that this conversation was over, but Egan was not so easily deterred.

  “The Wild West is a dangerous place.” Egan kept at it.

  “That’s why I won’t drag a skinny young lad like you along with me. Besides, the comforts of a train will drop me off right at Chama.” George threw a farewell wink at Egan before making his way around the corner, when he heard Egan burst out into loud laughter. George couldn’t help but stop and turn around.

  “Drop you off right at Chama?” Egan slapped his leg.

  “This ain’t the Pacific line from New York to San Fran. You don’t just hop on for eighty bucks first class and wake up in Chama eighty-four hours later.” Egan kept laughing at him, holding his belly as if this was the funniest remark of the month.

  George narrowed his eyes, carefully absorbing Egan’s words. That was exactly what George had planned. Hop on the Pacific Railroad from New York to Chama.

  “And why is that?”

  Egan took a quick break from the good laugh George had given him and curled his lips.

  “The Pacific will get you as far as Denver. That’s it. From there, your ride will be hell.”

  George crossed his arms. “Keep going.”

  Egan stepped closer.

  “Your enjoyment of the scenic American countryside will be over from there. The ride from Denver to Antonito is a big headache. Trains are often failing this time of year due to heavy snowfall.” George stayed silent. He had no idea that there was heavy snowfall this time of the year in that area. “Oh, but that’s just a headache. The real fun begins from Antonito, on the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad,” Egan said, all-knowing. He truly seemed to enjoy rubbing this into George’s face.

  “I'm assuming you have more to say?” George drew his brows together as an addition to his already narrowed eyes.

  “I do.” Egan smirked again. “The train line there is brand new, connecting nothing more than small mining towns full of gold and silver.” Egan said this as if this very statement answered everything once and for all. But George had no clue why that would be an issue.

  “So why is that a problem?” he pressed but couldn’t help the feeling that he wouldn’t like the answer to this question.

  “This is the age of Billy the Kid. Every hick with a gun now thinks he is an outlawed cowboy. All this silver and gold being transported on a train in the middle of nowhere with little to no protection…Those damn tracks get blown up like once a month now. But I’m sure you’ve thought of all of this, so good luck to you.” Egan turned around and started walking. “You’ll be just fine. I’m sure there will be plenty of trustworthy locals on the train that won’t try to take advantage of the foreign nobleman with pockets full of gold in a land of no laws,” he needled over his shoulder, disappearing around the corner.

  George stood there rooted to the ground, his mouth wide open, not a word coming out of it. This cunning boy had just managed to do something nobody had ever accomplished in George’s entire life. Never. Not once. He had managed to make him speechless. Unsure if he was to laugh about the boy’s bold yet sharp aim, swoon over his cunning wits, or about to cry over the newly obtained information of the treacherous trip ahead of him, he did the only logical thing. He run after him to hire him as a guide.

  Esther slowed down her footsteps, carefully listening to hear whether George was following her. The moment she’d heard about George heading out to Chama, she knew she had to tag along, no matter the cost. Things were not going well for her and the children. This was the most brutal winter in the history of this nation, and it had depleted her pockets of every penny she’d once owned. At this rate, she would be starved before turning twenty-one to be free to marry whoever crossed her path to save her fortune—which in itself was a whole separate issue. Then there were the kids and Helga.

  For weeks she had been giving them her rations, but for how much longer would that last? She was already behind on Helga’s wage and Beth’s rent and all it took was one more sick kid and a visit to the doctor and they were done. Over with. Back to living above a vent. Besides, Morris was getting closer in his efforts to finding her. The other day she saw a man handing out her picture at Murphy’s. Her heart stopped when Murphy had grabbed her by her arm, but then asked her if she had seen or heard of this Esther Silverton lady, which of course she denied.

  This couldn’t just be a coincidence that she'd run into a man who out of all the places in the country was heading to the same no-name town where Jones had disappeared months ago. He was the only chance to get her fortune back before she and the kids became another victim to this heartless winter that had already claimed so many lives. She had to find Jones or die trying.

  There was still no sign of George. Esther felt a painful heaviness around her heart. This was her last chance. She tilted her head back, gazing up to the sky. Dark-blue clouds were forming, and it looked like it was about to snow heavily again.

  “Please…” she begged the stars above her and closing her eyes. ”You are so many, please let just one shine down on me and the kids…”

  “So how do you know all of this?” she heard his curious voice coming from behind her.

  Her heart skipped a few beats, cheerfully dancing in her chest. She slowly turned around, trying hard to put her poker face back on. “Born and raised in the West,” she proudly announced with a Texan accent. It almost felt like she was herself again.

  George nodded his head.

  “How much?” he asked.

  Esther could have jumped up as high as the sky but of course didn’t.

  “Two-fifty now, two-fifty after you’ve arrived safe and sound in Chama.”

  George threw his head back in laugh
ter.

  “For that money, I could hire a cavalry.”

  “Good luck finding one in New York City,” Esther grinned and started walking again, hoping to play with lady luck, and for once, win.

  “Three hundred,” George shouted after her. Esther turned around.

  “Four-fifty, and that includes saving you from robbers twice today,” she countered in a firm voice, crossing her arms.

  “One of them was your brother.” George crossed his arms as well.

  “Saved nonetheless.” Esther stood her ground.

  “Three-fifty and that includes not sending your brother to jail… as well as my earlier donation to his pocket.” George offered his hand and grinned at her with absolutely the most incredible smile she had ever seen.

  Her cheeks flushed in heat, hidden away by the frosty weather and the dark night sky.

  “Three-fifty it is,” she said, shaking his hand as firmly as she could. George held her gaze for a moment longer as if it were their eyes and not their hands that had sealed the deal.

  “Splendid. We leave tomorrow,” he said, handing her a card.

  “So soon?” Esther panicked. That was too short notice. With that kind of payment, she would be able to relocate the kids and Helga to the better parts of town and even let them go to a real school, not some improvised lessons that Helga, God bless her heart, scrambled together every day. But she needed more time.

  “There is no time to lose. Is that a problem?” He raised a brow.

  She couldn’t risk this opportunity, had no choice but to make it happen.

  “Not at all,” she said looking at the card in her hand.

  “That’s the hotel I am staying at. I expect you around noon. The train leaves at two o'clock.”

  Esther nodded, still going over all the things she would have to do in between now and then. George scanned her once more, and this time he surveyed her head to toe. Was he measuring her perhaps? Though it made sense if he did, you can never be too careful in this part of town. Then he jerked his head away as if tearing himself out of silly thoughts.

  “I shall see you tomorrow,” were his last words before finally walking away.