According to Hoyle (22 page)

They tramped up the stairs, stopping at the third deck as Cage’s heart skipped another beat. Cage knew Gabriel and Flynn had been on this level. They turned down the right corridor. Cage could see two men crouching over a third who lay in the middle of the deck at the far end. Blood had pooled under his ruined head, and it was obvious that he would not be getting back up.

Stringer cursed under his breath and roughly jerked Cage to a halt. Cage’s heart was racing. That had been Gabriel’s door. He knew it; he knew Gabriel would fight back. With a mix of pride and sheer terror, he wondered what had happened to his other two traveling companions.

“What happened?” Stringer demanded. The two men who had been crouched over the dead bandit both stood and gave identical shrugs. “No one was with him?” Stringer asked angrily.

“We was hurrying. He was rousting ’em and we was herding. He said he could handle the last door hisself,” one of the men answered defensively.

Stringer shoved Cage ahead of him, obviously not willing to let him slip through the cracks, and they entered the cabin through its busted door and looked around. The cot had been tossed at the door, as had the sturdy little chair that accompanied the tiny writing desk in the corner. It looked as if they had first tried to block the door when the man named Ed tried to get in. The porthole was open, and a cold wind whipped into the cabin off the river through the window and open door. Cage stood out of the way and watched as Stringer took it all in.

When he began to talk, Cage snorted softly. Stringer had always been the type who needed to talk through his thoughts.

Cage didn’t have that problem.

“Whoever was in this room went and attacked him
after
he shot open the door,” Stringer murmured, talking to Cage and the other men as much as to himself. “Did he try to go through the window first?” he asked aloud as he pointed at the open window. “He might not’ve thought he’d fit, then decided he wanted to gamble with the buckshot instead.”

Stringer took several slow steps to the berth and looked down, putting his hand to the vague depression left in the thin mattress. Cage knew to the untrained eye there seemed to be nothing there. But to a man who could track, there may as well have been a body lying there still. Cage could clearly see the impression left by the man who had been resting in the crumpled bedcovers. And he knew Stringer could see it as well.

Stringer turned with a frown and looked at the window again, then back at the bunk as he judged the former occupant’s size and weight. “He woulda fit,” he finally murmured thoughtfully. He rested his hand on the gun at his hip, handle turned backward, border style, just like Cage wore his. Stringer continued as he worked it out. “He wouldn’t a fit with his iron. But I don’t see no irons laying around,” he added with a huff. He turned again and looked at the ruined cot, lying crumpled on the ground near Cage’s feet, and then slid his eyes to meet Cage’s.

Cage’s eyebrows rose as Stringer looked at him. If he expected help from Cage he’d better have another think coming.

“There were two men in this here cabin,” Stringer murmured. “I’m willing to bet one of ’em was restrained, same as in your’n. You know who this was, don’t you?”

Cage stared back at him silently for a long, tense moment before slowly shaking his head in answer.

“You’re lying to me, Cage,” Stringer practically purred to him as he stalked closer, “same as you always was.”

He pushed Cage back into the bulkhead and backhanded him. It took everything in Cage’s power not to fight back. If he fought back, he’d be killed. And for the first time in a long time, Cage had something he wanted to live for.

Chapter 11

G
ABRIEL
R
OSE
crouched at the top of the stairs, listening intently as Flynn knelt beside him. “I need my bag,” Rose murmured to him, his voice barely carrying above the wind and the rushing water of the Mississippi.

“What for?” Flynn demanded in a harsh whisper.

“Weapons, Marshal,” Rose answered wryly. “I would like to bring more than one shotgun to this particular fight.”

“Right,” Flynn muttered with a frown. They had Flynn’s two Colts and the stolen shotgun, plus Flynn’s knife, which was still tucked into his boot. But Flynn understood the desire to have more, especially considering the daunting task at hand. The thought of Rose being heavily armed, though, was not one that brought him much comfort. He knew that if they lived through the ordeal that was to come, Rose would turn on him in a heartbeat and try to escape. Flynn would have to be doubly vigilant if they further armed themselves.

“I like you, Marshal,” Rose murmured in a voice that Flynn thought might be meant to be reassuring. “I’d be sure to only maim you,” he promised in a whisper that turned into a boyish snicker.

Flynn glanced over at the man and glared at him.

“Joke,” Rose insisted with an innocent shrug.

“Shut up.”

A ruckus from below caused them both to flinch and scuttle backward, flattening themselves on the floor and peering through the ornate stairwell railing. Several men came stomping toward the stairs below them. Flynn watched them through the railings, confident that the darkness and the burgeoning fog would conceal them. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Rose beside him as they caught sight of Cage being dragged along by a large man with dark, curly hair spilling out from under his wide-brimmed black hat.

The man looked vaguely familiar, but Flynn didn’t know why.

“You’re going to tell me what you know,” the big man was growling to Cage as they approached the stairs, “or your marshal friend is going to do it for you.”

Cage stopped suddenly and jerked his arm away. The big man turned to face him and Cage made a series of angry hand movements that Flynn couldn’t even begin to decipher. The big man seemed to understand them, though, and he lashed out and hit Cage so hard that he slammed against the bulkhead of the ship. His knees gave out and he began to slide down the wall, nearly losing consciousness from the ferocity of the blow.

Rose made to rise and interfere, but Flynn reached out and restrained him.

“Think,” he hissed. He pointed down at the group and then put his finger to his lips to keep Rose quiet.

One of the other men in the little group had Rose’s bag over his shoulder. They had obviously been to their cabin. Flynn wondered if Cage had led them there, or if the man Rose killed set off the alarm when he didn’t return. Flynn didn’t think Cage was in league with these men, or even cooperating with them. They had to do something to help him, but Cage wasn’t the only one they needed to think about. He whispered to Rose, “You kill them, it still leaves others with Wash and on the alert. He’ll be dead before we can get to him.”

Rose’s jaw worked angrily and he glared at Flynn, but he finally nodded and returned his black eyes to the men below. He and Flynn lay there, perfectly still and silent, until the group had descended the stairs, dragging Cage along with them.

“We have to get to some iron,” Rose whispered as soon as they were gone.

“No,” Flynn responded calmly, even though his heart was hammering with fear for what would be done to Wash. “We got to get to the gold before they do.”

“What? Why?” Rose questioned incredulously. “Who gives a Boston dollar if they get the gold? Let them have it!”

“No,” Flynn gritted out. “If we do that, then you’ll go and save your man and absquatulate while the rest
—
”

“Ab
—
what now?” Rose interrupted in confusion.

“Run off! Disappear!” Flynn hissed in utter frustration.

“Well, if you mean run off then say run off!” Rose whispered in the same frustrated tone.

“You’ll save your man and run off, then!” Flynn shot back as he covered his head with his hands in aggravation.

“Are you more concerned about me escaping or about retrieving those men?” Rose questioned angrily.

“Both! I’m even more worried about
them
gettin’ away!”

“Are you telling me you want to
prevent
this robbery?” Rose asked incredulously. “Just the two of us?”

“That’s my job.”

“Well, hang your job,” Rose growled. “It isn’t
my
job! The only job
I’ve
got is making sure I don’t get dead, and your job and my job don’t seem to go well together!”

“I heard you were a smart man,” Flynn muttered. “Start proving the dime novels right and use your head. If we have the gold, then we can bargain with it ’til help gets here.”

“What help?” Rose asked pointedly with a gesture of his hand toward the river.

“When we miss our first scheduled stop, someone will figure it out,” Flynn asserted, even though he knew riverboats rarely had schedules to begin with.

“You plan to steal the gold out from under their noses, and then bargain with those men for the life of a man you claim to love?” Rose asked incredulously.

“I never claimed nothin’,” Flynn snarled vehemently. “And I ain’t thinking about love just now.”

“Then you aren’t human.”

Flynn glared at him with something close to hatred.

“Why is it so hard to say, Marshal?” Rose asked him earnestly. “Just say you care about him. You don’t even have to say you love him, just
—
”

Flynn lashed out and hit him. Rose’s head jerked to the side with the impact of Flynn’s sideways punch, and he closed his eyes without moving as Flynn glared at him some more. After a moment with his eyes closed, as he appeared to try and gain control over his temper, Rose sighed, long and low. He then opened his eyes and looked back at the stairwell, which was lit with flickering oil lamps. The light reflected in his eyes, giving him an otherwordly appearance that made Flynn uneasy.

“What will you be more ashamed of, in the end?” he asked without looking at Flynn. “Will it be harder to tell your maker you loved another man, or that you never let yourself feel it?”

The logic tugged at Flynn’s gut, and he shivered in the cool air.

Rose turned his head to look at him solemnly as they both lay flat at the top of the stairwell. “You’re not big enough to admit it,” Rose told him harshly. “You’re more scared of him than you are of those guns.”

Flynn’s jaw clenched and he pulled himself closer to Rose as the low river fog began to settle around the boat. “I fought with the Iron Brigade. I walked through the Cornfield at Antietam,” he snarled. “I saw the dawn at Gettysburg. I was scared, then, and not ashamed to admit it. But I ain’t scared of Wash!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Flynn’s nostrils flared angrily, but he was beginning to realize what Rose was doing. He was trying to force his emotions into making the decisions for him. He looked away from the Englishman’s dark, knowing eyes before he could lose his temper again and tried to regain control of himself.

“I don’t give a good Goddamn about that gold,” Rose told him in a low voice. “And I don’t care if those men get away scot free tonight. What I do care about is Cage and seeing that he lives through it. I got him onto this boat and I plan to get him off it. You and Washington… how does it feel to know you might lose him tonight?”

“Shut up,” Flynn snarled. “Just shut your damn mouth. I ain’t losing him tonight, not by a damn sight!”

“Good,” Rose responded urgently. “So let’s go get them.”

“We’re going to go find the damn gold,” Flynn muttered, “and we’re going to use it to pay those men to leave this boat and let these people alone.”

Rose pressed his lips tightly together in disapproval.

“You told me I could trust you,” Flynn murmured as he met the man’s eyes.

Rose stared at him blankly for a long moment. The fog was beginning to climb over the surfaces of the paddle steamer, coiling toward them. Rose’s eyes flickered rebelliously, but finally, he nodded grudgingly.

“All right, Marshal. We’ll do this your way. But if Cage is hurt in any way, I will kill you,” he promised seriously.

Flynn narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but he nodded in acceptance of the deal they were making. It was only fair, he supposed. Rose nodded in return. They got to their feet and began creeping down the stairs.

“Do you know how heavy that gold will be?” Rose asked in a low whisper as he led the way. “Where will we hide it?
How
will we hide it?”

“You just keep moving and let me do the thinking,” Flynn muttered.

“I hope they make note of that on my headstone.”

“Shut up.”

C
AGE
was on his knees again, hands tied in front of him. Bat Stringer’s hand gripped his hair by his loose ponytail and used it to yank his head back.

“Are you here to protect the gold?” Stringer demanded of Wash loudly as he held a knife to Cage’s throat from behind him.

“No,” Wash insisted angrily. “I got nothing to do with that gold, and neither does he!”

“You were traveling with someone else,” Stringer asserted in a low growl, “who are they and where did they go?”

“I don’t know where they are,” Wash answered honestly. Wash had never tried to deny that he knew Flynn and his prisoner. Cage wondered if the marshal had a deceitful bone in his body.