Riding With the Devil's Mistress (Lou Prophet Western #3) (3 page)

‘
So I
ask her where the dog sleeps, and she tells me, and I climb into
this old falling-down hog pen she’s got down by the stream that
runs behind her place, and what do you suppose I find, Mr.
Prophet?’ The sheriff’s blue eyes flashed with
amusement.

‘
Feathers?’

The sheriff leaned back in his
chair and roared, nearly spilling the coffee in the cup he squeezed
in his small, fat hands.
‘About five years’ worth!’

He roared again, snorting.
Regaining his senses, he said,
‘When I got back to the house, that dog
was gone, and I have a feelin’ he won’t be back. Not if he knows
what’s good for him!’

Wheezing with laughter, the
sheriff got up, refilled his coffee cup, topped off
Prophet
’s
and plopped back down in his chair. ‘Sorry about that, Mr. Prophet.
It gets kinda quiet around here—especially at night—and I just felt
like cuttin’ loose with a big windy. Where in the hell were we,
anyway, before all this chicken business grabbed hold of my
tongue?’

Prophet reminded him that they had been
discussing the cable he hoped the sheriff would send to Wyatt Earp
in Dodge City.

‘
Well,
goddamn!’ the sheriff exclaimed, rubbing his hand across his mouth.
‘You want me to send a cable to ole Wyatt Earp, eh?’

‘
Yes,
sir. Explaining how I captured the prisoners, brought them to you,
the nearest official peace officer, and turned them in for the
bounty.’

‘
Well,
I’ll be goddamned,’ the sheriff repeated, obviously overcome with
the idea that he would have anything—even a telegram—to do with the
venerable lawman of Dodge. ‘Wyatt Earp, eh?’

‘
That’s right, Sheriff.’

‘
Why
don’t you send the cable your ownself?’

‘
I
need a lawman to corroborate my story.’ Prophet smiled. ‘Otherwise
I reckon I could tell him I got his men when I really
didn’t.’

‘
How
much these boys have on ‘em, anyway?’

‘
Five
hundred apiece.’

The sheriff whistled and stared
at his scarred desktop, thinking.
‘Why don’t you just bring ‘em both back to
Dodge, show Earp himself their ugly faces?’

Prophet tipped his hat forward
to scratch the back of his head.
‘Well, it’s a little warmer down there
than it is up here, Sheriff....’

‘
Oh, I
see. I suppose they’d get a little ripe on you, eh?’ He
chuckled.

Prophet nodded.
‘I have a feeling
that by the time I got there, they wouldn’t be very
recognizable.’

‘
Yeah,
I hear the faces and eyeballs are the first to puff up,’ the
sheriff said speculatively. ‘I wouldn’t know.’ He leaned toward
Prophet as if to share a secret. ‘You know, I’ve never had to hunt
down and kill a badman as long as I’ve been sheriff of this little
town? And that’s five years this July.’

‘
Pretty quiet around here, eh?’

‘
Nice
and quiet,’ the sheriff said, packing his pipe. ‘Too quiet, you
might even say. Sometimes I don’t know why I’m even needed. Just to
make people feel safe, I guess.’

‘
And
to hunt down pullet-thievin’ Injuns,’ Prophet added with a
smile.

‘
There
you have it.’ The sheriff lit his pipe. ‘Well, if a cable’s what
you need, Mr. Prophet, I should be able to manage that much. As
long as those men are who you say they are, that is.’

‘
Just
describe them a little,’ Prophet said, rising from his chair and
donning his hat. ‘Wyatt knows what they look like. Besides, there’s
plenty of booty in their saddlebags that’ll pin handles on ‘em,
too.’

‘
All
right, Mr. Prophet,’ the sheriff said, puffing his pipe and
nodding. ‘Will do.’

Prophet shook the
man
’s hand
and asked where he could stable his horses. The sheriff told him
where Dawson’s Livery was located, and added, ‘You might as well
leave your expired hooligans over there, too. We have an
undertaker, but he turns in early, and I don’t see any reason to
wake him. I’ll call on him in the morning and have a look at those
boys myself. Then I’ll get Henry over at the telegraph office to
send your cable.’

‘
Much
obliged, Sheriff. I think I’ll wait around here for the money.
Nothing else to do. Uh, if you don’t mind, that is.’

The sheriff scrutinized Prophet
as he puffed his pipe.
‘You don’t look too bad. A little rough around the
edges, maybe. Maybe what you need is a week or two around decent,
God-fearin’ Norwegians. Bore your hide off, but smooth the kinks
out of your soul.’ A whimsical smile shone far back in his
eyes.

‘
That
might be just what the doctor ordered for me, Sheriff,’ Prophet
chuckled. ‘Say, I don’t believe you gave me your
handle.’

‘
Beckett. Arnie Beckett.’

‘
Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sheriff Beckett. Now, I
just have one more favor to ask. Where can a man get him some
supper and a stiff drink and then a good night’s rest?’

‘
Well,
the snake water you can get over at Herman Waterman’s a block west
and across the street, but you better hurry. He’s the only saloon
in town, and he closes at nine. City ordinance. We’re strict
Lutherans around here, you understand.’

Beckett gained another wry
expression and pulled at his mustache.
‘As for the rest, you’ll find Mrs.
Cordelia Ryan’s boarding house a half mile north of here. It’s the
biggest house out that way—a big, green, clapboard affair with a
white picket fence. Nice house. Even nicer lady, but strict as all
get out. The widow doubles as the school teacher, and she’ll paddle
your butt if you’re bad, so mind your p’s and q’s.’

‘
Oh,’
Prophet said, feeling a little disheartened. He liked the idea of
resting up in a nice, quiet town, but he wasn’t so sure about the
tight reins. He was known to carouse a little on his time off... to
lift his tail and stomp.

Oh, well. Like Beckett had
said, a week or two among good, God-fearin
’ folks might be just what he needed
to iron the kinks out of his soul.

After he
’d brought the outlaws’
saddlebags into the jail and set them along the wall by the
sheriff’s desk, he headed for the livery barn, where he rented a
stall for his own line-back dun, laid the outlaws out, and sold
their mounts for twenty dollars apiece.

Since it was getting late, he
decided to forgo the saloon, heading instead for the boarding
house. If the old biddy who ran the place didn
’t confiscate his liquor, he
could have a nip or two in his room, from the bottle of Kentucky
rye he always packed in his war bag, for emergencies....

CORDELIA
RYAN
’S
BOARDING house—all three stories of it—was lit up like a Dodge City
brothel on Saturday night. Piano music filtered into the yard as
Prophet pushed through the gate in the picket fence, mounted the
wide porch, and knocked on the door.

He had to knock again before the door
finally opened. A gorgeous young woman in a lacy purple dress stood
before him, looking curious. She appeared to be in her early
twenties, and long black hair parted in the middle framed her
exquisite oval face.

‘
Yes?’

Prophet
’s tongue was stuck to the roof of
his mouth as his eyes wandered over the scrumptious figure. He
hadn’t been with a woman since Dodge City, three weeks before, and
he certainly hadn’t expected to find one like this in Luther
Falls—with a shape like that, and eyes like black
diamonds.

‘
Uh ..
. pardon me for bothering you so late in the evening, Miss, but I
was wondering if I could speak to a Mrs. Cordelia Ryan?’

‘
What
can I do for you?’

Prophet shuddered like a dry
drunk on July
Fourth. ‘You’re ... you’re Mrs. Cordelia Ryan? The
widow?’

She smiled and gave her head a
little ironic inclination.
‘I’m the Widow Ryan, as they call me around here,
yes. What can I do for you, sir?’

His eyes raked the long,
well-built body one more time, his jaw hanging to the bib front of
his filthy cotton tunic.
‘Pardon me for saying so, ma’am, but you sure
don’t look like no widow I’ve ever seen.’

She gazed at him tolerantly, giving her
eyebrows a queenly arch.

‘
Uh
... sorry,’ he said, abashed, feeling self-conscious in his filthy
trail clothes, with the shotgun hanging from the lanyard down his
back, his saddlebags draped over his shoulder, and the Winchester
held at his side. ‘I’ve been on the trail for quite a few days.’ He
shifted his rifle to his left hand and offered her his right. ‘I’m
Lou Prophet, Miss ... uh, Mrs. Ryan. I’ll be staying in Luther
Falls for a few days, and I was wondering if I might be able to
rent a room here in your fine establishment.’

Her brown eyes dropped to his
hand, as if inspecting it for ringworm, then lifted her own—small,
delicate yet strong, and long-fingered—and gave
Prophet
’s
big paw a curt shake. She measured him for several seconds, sucking
her delectable bottom lip. Finally, her eyes returned to
his.

She said quietly,
‘What is your
occupation, Mr. Prophet?’

‘
Occupation, ma’am?’ He’d been afraid she’d ask
that.

She arched her brow once again. It was the
only thing about her that bespoke the fact that she was also a
schoolteacher.

‘
Well,
ma’am, I’m ... I’m a bounty hunter.’

‘
A
bounty hunter.’ It was a statement, not a question.

Prophet smiled wanly.

‘
Do
you hunt wolves, Mr. Prophet?’

‘
Uh
... no, ma’am. I don’t hunt wolves.’

She didn
’t say anything for a time. Her
eyes glistened. ‘And what brings a bounty hunter to Luther Falls,
Mr. Prophet?’

Prophet sighed. He had a
feeling he
’d
be bunking with Mean and Ugly tonight. ‘I, uh ... brought in a
couple of... uh, men ... to Sheriff Beckett.’

‘
I
see. Were these dangerous men, Mr. Prophet?’

‘
I’ll
say they were, ma’am.’

‘
And
you brought them to justice.’

Prophet sighed again, but this
time there was more hope in it.
‘Yes, ma’am, I certainly did,’ he said
proudly.

She appraised him again, her eyes looking
him up and down, running along the Winchester in his hand and
across the Peacemaker and wide-bladed bowie on his belt, making him
feel like an ape in a French boutique.

She sighed at length and lifted
her chin.
‘I
have a room on the third floor I guess you could take for a few
days. As long as you follow my rules, Mr. Prophet.’

Prophet removed his hat and
held it over his chest.
‘I’m a rule-follower from way back, ma’am.
Yessiree.’

‘
The
charge is two dollars per night, payable in advance, and there is
no drinking on the premises.’ She paused, wryly observing his
reaction. To his credit, though his heart was breaking, he
maintained a neutral expression.

Gravely, she continued.
‘There are no women
other than wives allowed in my rooms with the menfolk, just as
there are no men other than husbands allowed in the rooms with my
ladies. Breakfast is at seven o’clock sharp, supper at six. If
you’d like dinner, you must inform me by nine o’clock of the
previous evening. There is no smoking or eating in the rooms, and
no singing or playing guitar or other musical instruments after
ten
p.m.’

She paused, watching him.

‘
Sounds fair as cream to me, ma’am,’ he said, despite his
reluctance. If she hadn’t been so damn attractive, and he in such
need of a real bed, he would have turned around and headed back to
the livery barn. He sure did want that drink....

‘
Are
you sure you can abide my rules, Mr. Prophet?’ She seemed to be
reading his mind.

‘
Like
I said, ma’am,’ Prophet said, his eyes dropping against his will to
her bosom, ‘I’m a rule-follower from way back. Why, my momma used
to tell me—’

Drawing the door wide and
stepping aside, she said,
‘I’m sure she did, Mr. Prophet. Why don’t you come
in and sign the register. Then I’ll have Annabelle heat some water
for a bath.’

‘
Much
obliged, ma’am. I reckon I do smell about as bad as my horse, an’
he was born smellin’ like... well...’

Prophet let it go. Beautiful women always
made him nervous, gave him a real case of hoof-in-mouth disease, in
fact.