Chapter 19

"A man tried to kill my wife and me back in Cheyenne." Seb leaned on Sheriff Gillem's desk, both hands fisted. "A man who knew my wife's name, which was not widely known and is a distinctive name. We bested the man who attacked us, and now he's in Boot Hill in Wyoming. The sheriff there was going to try to find out who he was. We are hopeful he's a wanted criminal, and lawmen can mark him off their list. But with his dying words, our attacker told us someone else would be sent. We will have no peace until we get to the bottom of who's after us. Yesterday, someone attacked us in Independence, another unknown man."

"Did you report that attack to the sheriff of Independence?"

"No."

Gillem ran a hand through his thinning hair with a disgusted look. "We can't arrest someone if we don't know he's been accused of a crime."

"That man came after us, and we ran, Sheriff. We got out of town." Seb took Kat's hand. "So that's your advice? That we go back to Independence with a man after us, who might get to us before we can get to the sheriff there? It's not that big a town. The man, who was almost certainly hired to catch or kill us, might easily run across us if we go back."

"I admit that's a danger." The sheriff tucked his thumbs through a pair of black suspenders over his brown broadcloth shirt.

"What do we do, Sheriff Gillem?" Seb flung one arm wide. "We've come to the law here in Kansas City because we wanted to get away from Independence."

Kat told her side of the story, at one point slapping a wanted poster on the table in front of the sheriff. Kansas City was spreading out, and they'd ridden to the first sheriff's office they could find.

Gillem eyed the poster from where he sat, tipped back in a wooden chair, relaxed beyond any respectable measure.

It's possible they should have ridden farther.

The sheriff looked like he wished they'd just move on. Then he saw the reward and sat up straight. "Ten thousand dollars? And you know where she is?"

Kat saw the dollar signs in the man's eyes.

"She's out west—far beyond your reach, Sheriff Gillem. And this wanted poster is a fraud."

The sheriff subsided in his chair. It appeared he was no longer interested. "You're saying the man falsified this wanted poster?"

"He did." Kat and Seb had debated what approach to take while they'd waited for the sunrise, then mailed Seb's papers off. "I know Elizabeth Rutledge well. She isn't a criminal and most certainly isn't wanted for any crime. We consulted with the Pinkertons regarding this. The man who printed these posters is her pa and wanted to get his hands on her because she's wealthy, and he wants her money. He believed if he moved well away from Chicago before he put up these posters, where no one knew her, he could lie about her being wanted, and the reward would help find and capture her."

"That's a crime." The sheriff tapped his finger on Beth's face on the poster. It was a fine quality wanted poster. Not the usual hand-drawn picture, if the poster even had a picture on it. This was a photograph that had been made into an etching with great skill. Anyone who saw this poster, then saw Beth, would recognize her. "You can't just lie about someone being wanted for a crime as a way to stir up a manhunt. Although if she's his daughter—"

"This woman, Elizabeth," Kat cut him off, "is now married and beyond her father's reach, especially since he admitted to the Pinkerton agent that the wanted poster was false."

"False? You're sure?" The sheriff raised both eyebrows.

"He said exactly that. Now we're afraid Rutledge is after me because he's heard I've returned from traveling west with Beth and I know where she is. Two attempts have been made on our lives already. We want the law involved to protect us from Thaddeus Rutledge."

While Kat's main fear was her uncle, Rutledge was also a danger. He was the one who'd created the wanted poster. And the wanted poster was an actual crime. Rutledge had lied to the law and to the Pinkertons when he falsified the poster to catch Beth and Ginny. Chasing after Thaddeus Rutledge was something they might convince a lawman to do, or at least the law might step in to protect Kat from him.

But what about the man who'd broken into Seb's house? They had no proof that man was after Kat, and Seb didn't have a known scofflaw pursuing him. But he'd been shot a year ago, long before either of them knew Rutledge existed.

"Can we find someone here to help us or to work with the sheriff in Independence? If you don't have a man to spare for that, can you think of someone who'd be willing to earn money riding along with us for extra protection?"

The sheriff nodded while he studied the poster again. "I know a man, more a hired gun than any kind of Pinkerton agent. But he rides for the brand. If you hire him, he'd be loyal. And he's tough. He'd be a good one to have in a fight."

"One man?" Kat rested her hand on her throat. Honestly, she clutched her throat more like. "I had a vision of a larger group. A cavalry division maybe."

"When the one man is Huey Jessup, that's quite a few." The sheriff ran his thumbs up and down his suspenders. "And I honestly don't know if you can trust the Pinkertons."

"Why not?" Seb exchanged an alarmed look with Kat.

"We've got a small agency in Kansas City, but if Rutledge hired as many Pinkertons as you say, they might be among them. They might refuse to take your word for his wrongdoing just because they've taken his money. At the very least they might hesitate to throw in on a fight against him."

"Where do we find this Huey Jessup?" Seb asked, sounding grim.

A groan from the room behind the sheriff broke in.

The sheriff looked over his shoulder at a closed door with the word Jail painted on it.

Kat followed his gaze to the door and had a dreadful premonition.

"That's him."

"He's one of your prisoners?" Kat's grip on her throat tightened.

"Not a prisoner exactly. He got in a fight last night, and I usually let him recover here in the jail. He doesn't like getting blood on his own furniture."

A deep voice as rough as coarse sandpaper joined their conversation. "You hirin' me out again, Sheriff?"

"I am for a fact, Huey." The sheriff talked to the door. "You had oughta get out of town for a while anyway. You've made the wrong people mad this time."

"That Sawyer bunch had it coming. Every time those cowhands get into town, they drink too much and run their mouths until someone's gotta shut 'em up with a fist. They think they're big men, and I like cutting 'em down to size."

"And you did a fine job of it. Neville Sawyer is still at the doctor's office, probably with broken ribs, and he's yet to wake up. And word is three of their cowhands are still in their rooms above the Eagle Talon Saloon, nursing their aching bellies and black eyes. Piketon Sawyer will come into town looking for his brother, and when he sees him, he'll be loaded for bear. But they can't stay here forever. You've shown 'em they can be beaten, and if you up and vanish, they'll have to head out with no chance to pay you back. Sounds like a fight you'll go down as winning, and they might think twice before coming into town to tear things up."

"Probably not, but I'll take the job regardless," Jessup said.

Kat wondered if that meant the decision to hire him was made without Kat or Seb's involvement, beyond paying him of course. This Huey Jessup might be a hard man to fire.

On the other hand, he didn't sound like he was a man to get pushed around easily. He might be a fine addition because it sounded like she and Seb needed to finish a war they hadn't started.

Sheriff Gillem plucked the keys off a nail in the wall, went back through the jail door, and with a creak of metal unlocked the door. He led his prisoner—or maybe his guest, hard to say—out of the jail cell.

And he brought Mr. Jessup into the front office.

Seb had a hired gun. Not a situation he'd ever expected to face.

"Sounds like you got your share of enemies." Huey Jessup was a man who looked as rough as his voice sounded. He had a week's worth of bristle on his face. He wore a faded red shirt and well-worn blue denim pants. He'd come out of the jail wearing two six-guns, which lent credence to the sheriff letting him sleep off a fistfight in the jail, though the jail door had been locked.

He wore a gray Stetson that had seen better days. Boots that had thongs tied around the toes, probably to keep the soles from flapping. He was long and lean and dark and had eyes as sharp and bright as the edge of a razor.

He didn't talk much, but every word was worth hearing. And now, after listening to the whole story, including Kat's uncle's name, which they hadn't told to Sheriff Gillem, Jessup reacted to the Wadsworth name.

"And you say you escaped from an insane asylum?" He studied Kat with those sharp eyes. They'd been riding toward Independence for an hour and were still going over Seb and Kat's story and trying to plan.

"I did in fact do just that, Mr. Jessup. A year and a half ago. My low-down uncle locked me away and has spent the last year in complete control of my half of his company. No, make that our company. My husband had owned half, and after he died, I inherited it. But Uncle Patrick didn't want to share or have the cost of buying my half."

"And you," Jessup said, looking hard at Seb, "let me see the bullet wound in your gut."

"It was in his side," Kat said, "not his gut. I worked alongside my father, who was a doctor. I've tended a lot of wounds. I checked Seb over and didn't believe his wound was mortal."

Seb let Kat talk. He untucked the front of his shirt and showed Jessup the scar.

"Bullet wound, all right. Got a couple of them myself. You're lucky to be alive, no matter what she says. Getting shot is serious business, even if the bullet didn't pierce your liver or lungs."

"I am lucky," Seb agreed as he tucked his shirt back in.

"Now"—Huey Jessup gave the trail ahead a sharp look as if he were reading every inch of it—"here's what we're gonna do..."