Untamed Journey (41 page)

Ruth shivered in terror, not certain if her
chances of survival were better with the truth or an attempt at
lying.

She swallowed repeatedly until she could get
the words past her closed throat. “No, no I’m not.”

Masterson nodded his thick neck. “That’s what
I figured. I’ve never met a female with any self-control outside of
a convent. Don’t worry about that, Ruth. I’ve got no experience
with virgins, anyway. I like a woman who knows what she’s doing.
I’ll overlook your less than clean state now, but if you ever look
at another man, I’ll kill you. Understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” Ruth replied.

“Good. Your dinner is here.”

The housekeeper shuffled into the room and
quickly placed a tray of steaming food on the table next to Ruth’s
bed. She didn’t glance at Ruth or acknowledge her in any way before
scrambling back down the stairs.

“I’ll lock up now and bid you good night. I
should be back in the morning,” Masterson offered with a pleasant
smile on his face.

I
t took Jackson and
his men the rest of the night and the better part of the morning to
reach Masterson’s place on horseback. They spent the next twenty
minutes hunkered down in the nearby woods, watching the house and
the comings and goings of the staff. Masterson had two armed men on
patrol, one watching the front of the house and a second stationed
out back.

When Samuel spotted Masterson riding up on
horseback, he motioned his cousin to follow and put his horse on a
slow intercept course. Jackson and Samuel rode from the east, where
an open clearing gave Masterson and his men a clear view of their
approach, but still placed Masterson in the line of fire if his men
were to start shooting.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Samuel hailed the
three men with a smile on his face. “I’m Samuel Wright of the Union
Pacific Railroad. I’m looking for Mr. Frank Masterson. Colonel Roe
said I might be able to find him here.” Samuel adjusted the fit of
his glasses, then removed his bowler in a deliberate show of good
manners.

Masterson plastered a smile on his face at
the mention of the railroad, but left his right hand on the butt of
his pistol as he addressed Jackson. “And who might you be?”

“Beauregard Jackson, of New Orleans,” Jackson
tipped his hat, careful to leave a clear view of his revolver,
which was holstered at his waist, hammer down.

“He’s with the Marshals,” one of Masterson’s
hired hands muttered, as he and a second man rode up from behind,
rifles cocked.

“I’m here on a personal matter, as I suspect
you’ve already guessed,” Jackson continued quietly. “Samuel here is
my cousin. We have a proposition for you.”

“Hear us out, Mr. Masterson,” Samuel asked,
deliberately putting a whine into his voice. “I have an idea that
could profit us all nicely. We won’t take up much of your
time.”

Masterson spoke to one of the guards over his
shoulder. “Check out the grounds. Make sure they rode in alone.
Wilson, you stay with us.”

Masterson motioned his uninvited guests to
precede him. “You can hitch your mounts to the front porch.”

Their horses covered the short distance to
the main house with a few quick strides. Once at the porch, the men
all dismounted and followed Masterson’s housekeeper into the front
parlor. She left without offering refreshments, at a curt nod from
her employer.

Masterson’s man closed the double doors
behind him, taking up a position outside the parlor doors.

“My wife speaks fondly of you, Marshal,”
Masterson began, the minute both oak-carved doors closed. “Too
fondly – tell me why I shouldn’t challenge you here and now?”

Jackson’s hand immediately settled on his
pistol, as he silently calculated the odds of killing both
Masterson and his man at the door.

Samuel quickly stepped between the two men.
“Power, gentlemen. Money and power.” Samuel faced Masterson and
handed him a map of several proposed spur lines, which he and
Jackson had altered in support of their plan. “Now, as lovely as
your wife may be, you are – if I’m not mistaken – newly acquainted.
No love lost, in other words. Society will understand when you
break a barely-legal arrangement with a stranger of no family, in
exchange for a proper wedding with a woman of means.”

“What nonsense are you spouting?” Masterson
demanded, pointing his Colt at the papers still held by Samuel.

“This map shows a proposed spur line directly
through land owned by either you or Ruth Jameson. If we can come to
terms, that land can all be yours, free and clear, to sell at a
considerable profit to my employer. In addition, if you’ll agree to
marry my sister, you’ll be doing my family a favor. You will be
given a role of importance at the Union Pacific that suits my
sister’s position in society. Please, gentlemen, take your seats
and allow me to explain.”

Samuel outlined his proposition, carefully
gauging Masterson’s reaction to each part of the plan. When
Samuel’s own chance to profit came to light, Masterson holstered
his gun and took a seat.

“I suppose you want the woman out of this?”
Masterson challenged, staring directly into Jackson’s black eyes
and unsmiling mouth.

“And thirty percent of her holdings,” Jackson
added.

“Ten percent, and you can have the harlot for
free,” Masterson countered, a satisfied grin spreading across his
freshly shaven face.

Jackson could not stop the tick over his left
eye, but kept his tongue in check. “Twenty percent, and I let you
live for disrespecting my future wife.”

“You’re in love with the girl,” Masterson
laughed outright at his rival’s predicament. “I’ll give you the
woman – and nothing else.”

“I’m in lust with the woman and will have my
twenty percent, or no deal. I’ll arrest you instead for extortion,
robbery, and attempted murder.”

“If you had a shred of proof, you’d have
arrested me already. And I would have died somewhere between here
and the trial judge. You could’ve married the widow and not
bothered with the rest.”

“Except my orders are no further delays,”
Samuel quickly interjected. “A dead body could cause months of
complications. The Union Pacific wants this spur route secured, and
Jackson owes me a favor. So do we have a deal, gentlemen?”

“I want to see Ruth first,” Jackson
demanded.

“Fine by me.” Masterson opened the parlor
doors and ordered his man to fetch Ruth. “She’s as pretty as the
first night I brought her home, don’t you worry,” Masterson jibed,
as he gave Jackson his back and lit himself a congratulatory
cigar.

Jackson curled his fist into his palm, until
his nails gouged blood.

Samuel took hold of Jackson’s gun hand,
whispering to his cousin, “Patience – wait for a reason, or I’ll be
the one breaking you out of prison.”

“So tell me about this sister of yours. Is
she pretty?” Masterson asked with little real interest, as he
silently counted his profits.

Before Samuel could fabricate physical
details of a sister he didn’t have, Ruth walked through the wide
double doors of the parlor.

She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight
of Jackson.

“Are you well?” Jackson prompted, alarmed at
her continued silence.

Ruth caught herself smiling in relief and
joy, before the added presence of Frank Masterson in the room
doused her hopes of a rescue. “What’s happening?” Ruth asked,
biting her suddenly dry lips.

“A bit of horse-trading, my dear,” Masterson
offered, as he tucked Ruth’s icy hand into the crook of his arm.
“You see gentlemen, safe and sound. Now I want some assurances that
I won’t find myself in prison the minute you two are naked and cozy
in the marriage bed. I want a pardon.”

“For what, exactly?” Jackson demanded.

“For every crime committed against the Union
Pacific in the past twenty years, as well as any complaints from
the former landowners along the new spur line. I can’t be held
responsible for every lazy farmer looking to blame me for bad
weather and poor soil.”

“We need names – of the others involved,”
Jackson insisted. “We’ll say you were duped into financing what you
thought was a legitimate effort to purchase the land.”

“I can give you names,” Masterson offered,
relieved he now had a way to make a clean break from his past
associations and take his new place in society.

“Will you be givin’ out my name, Frank?”

Ruth paled at the familiar sound of Jasper
Smith’s voice, and unconsciously started tugging on her arm and
sliding toward Jackson on the far side of the room.

Masterson laughed at his old friend’s
accusation, but held on tight to Ruth’s arm, in case his wits
failed to protect him from the revolver Smith had pointed at his
mid-section.

“Put that thing down, Jasper,” Masterson
ordered. “I’ve watched your back since we were kids, scraping for
food in back alleys. You think I’m going to sell you out now, after
all we’ve been through?”

“Don’t know,” Smith muttered, not lowering
his gun an inch. “I don’t rightly know, Frank. I been listening at
the door for a while now, and didn’t hear my name out of your lying
mouth when the pardons were being dished out.”

“Did you hear me give your name to the
Marshal here?” Masterson pointed his finger at Jackson, hoping to
divert Smith’s attention to a symbol of everything they both hated.
“Did you, now?”

“Not directly, I suppose,” Smith admitted.
“But you’re being awfully friendly with the Marshal and his proper
society friends. Making deals and marrying rich, I hear.”

Jackson halted his slow progress toward Ruth,
as Smith waved the gun in his direction.

“Are you accusing me of selling out to the
man who stole my wife?” Masterson shouted, yanking Ruth back to his
side. “What kind of pathetic sap do you think I am?”

“I think you’re a right-smart son-of-a-bitch,
is what I think. Getting a fancy job with the railroad, where you
can sit on your lazy ass all day, and watch it grow fat as you
count your rich wife’s money. It was me that did all the work,
risking my own neck while you sat home safe and cozy in your fancy
parlor.” Smith waved his pistol at the imported electric lights and
real glass windows that filled the room. “It was me that had this
ungrateful penny whore put a bullet in my side, while you got to
sample her.”

“She shot you?” Masterson turned to Ruth in
confusion. “Now why would a sweet thing like you point at a gun at
my hired man? Would one of you please explain that?”

Jackson signaled to his cousin to halt where
he was, as Samuel now had a clear line of fire to Masterson.
Jackson was barely six feet away from Ruth now, inching closer each
time Jasper Smith turned his full attention back to Masterson. The
Marshal palmed his hunting knife, carefully concealing it from
Smith’s view.

Jackson balanced on the balls of his feet,
waiting for an opening.

Ruth flinched as Frank Masterson’s fingers
bit into her upper arm, demanding a response.

“Tell me the truth,” he shook Ruth hard when
she remained silent. “What happened on that train?”

“You keep your mouth shut, girl,” Smith
barked his demand. “I’m givin’ orders now. This here husband of
yours is tossing you aside for a better wife. You’d do better
taking up with me.”

“Smith, you’d best learn your place,”
Masterson shouted, his face turning purple. “You’ve been taking my
orders all your life, and you’ll keep at it until I say
different.”

Smith took a step closer, narrowing his eyes
against nearly four decades of lying crushed under the booted heel
of Frank Masterson.

Ruth took one long look into Jasper Smith’s
eyes and panicked. Masterson’s greater height gave her the
advantage she needed as she moved to bite down with all her
strength into her husband’s meaty shoulder.

Jackson barreled into Ruth, knocking her flat
to the ground and taking the punch of Masterson’s fist as he swung
for Ruth’s clamping jaw.

Masterson’s bellow of rage turned on Smith,
standing three fateful steps away.

“Shoot her, you fool,” Masterson shouted,
spittle flying from his gaping mouth.

When Smith didn’t respond as ordered,
Masterson reached his bloodied arm over and slapped Smith hard on
the cheek. “I gave you an order.”

Smith’s hand shook only a little when he
pulled the trigger, killing his only friend.

The look of satisfaction in Smith’s eyes gave
Masterson his first and only taste of shock and horror, as he felt
the life drain out of the gaping hole in his stomach.

Jackson rolled to his feet, pushing Ruth
behind him as gunfire erupted.

When Jasper Smith turned his sights in their
direction, Jackson threw his knife at the man’s face, ruining his
aim. Jackson launched himself full force into Smith’s knees,
knocking him to the ground.

Smith lost his grip on the revolver as
Jackson’s weight threw him off balance and tumbled him to the
floor.

He quickly recovered, punching Jackson in the
kidney as his adrenaline rush gave him the strength to toss the
younger man’s weight to the side.

Jackson felt a rib crack as he landed
sideways. He saw Smith reaching for his gun and scrambled for
control of the weapon. Jackson dug two fingers into Smith’s elbow,
slackening his grip as the muscles contracted, nearly useless. Then
Jackson grabbed the pistol and aimed for Smith’s head, just as the
enraged man launched himself at the Marshal.

Jackson pulled the trigger just before
Smith’s furious weight landed on his broken ribs.

Ruth swallowed her scream as she saw Jackson
fall under Jasper Smith and heard gunfire all around. She stumbled
to the left as Samuel shot Masterson’s guard, who had come running
at the sound of the first shot.