Christie And The Hellcat Part 11

"Thanks." She meant it.

"Well I don't," said Fred. "And I'll be watching you every step of the way."

After that, they rode on in silence, the only sound the dull thud of hooves, the nicker of horses, and the distant call of a warbler.

It was mid afternoon, the sun a furnace in a cloudless blue sky.

Considering his injury, Olmsted was bearing up well, but in his stiff collar, Fred looked uncomfortable. Zee pulled up her bandanna over her nose and mouth against the dust.

When the locomotive and express car came into view, a brown horse was tethered alongside it. Zee reached for her revolver, then relaxed when a familiar figure emerged from the deep shadows thrown by the car and strolled toward her.

"Hogan." She reined in her mount next to her boss and pulled down her bandanna.

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He smiled up at her, brown eyes twinkling. "Took you long enough to get here."

"You too, you old coot." She slid out of the saddle and tethered her mare alongside his gelding. "Did you follow their tracks?" She reached for her canteen, poured some water into her palm, and let her mare drink.

He nodded. "Picked 'em up just outside Benson. Been trailing them all day." He grimaced. "They'd already got the heck out of here by the time I arrived though." He indicated some fresh and very deep wheel ruts. "Had a wagon waiting here, by the looks of it." He pointed to the many scuffed hoofprints. "Ten or twelve men. We're outnumbered and outgunned."

Zee flashed him a c.o.c.ky grin. "Not outgunned."

He chuckled, then stopped as Fred and Olmsted rode up to join them. He tipped his hat. "Cole Hogan, Cochise County Sheriff. Glad you could join the search for the Cody Gang, gentlemen."

Fred gaped at him. "How do you know it's them?"

Hogan shrugged. "Recent sighting of them in these parts."

Zee helped Olmsted off his mount. He was obviously feeling well enough because he joked, "Now my rear end aches as much as my head."

"Mr. Olmsted here's the engineer," she told Hogan as she tethered the horse and gave it some water. "Mr. Younger is the son of the Contention Ore Mill owner whose silver they took." A thought struck her. "They did take it?"

Hogan nodded. "That, thirteen thousand dollars in government bonds, and ten thousand dollars in cash, according to the messenger's notebook."

Zee whistled. "Quite a haul!"

"Sheriff Hogan," said Fred. "I take it you're now in charge of this matter, so Deputy Brodie's services are no longer required?"

Hogan blinked at him then gave Zee a wry look. "I may be good, Mr. Younger, but even I can't take on a gang of a dozen armed men all by my lonesome." He turned to Zee, his expression suddenly somber. "They're killers."

She had noticed the express car's doors hanging off their hinges, their battered state indicative of crowbars and hammers. "The messenger?"

He nodded. "Pistol whipped him until he gave them the keys to the

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safes, then shot him through the head."

She sucked air between her teeth. "Sons-of-b.i.t.c.hes didn't need to do that."

"No," agreed Hogan.

Olmsted had gone pale. "Poor Joe. He had a wife and two boys."

He started toward the express car, but Hogan intercepted him.

"I wouldn't go in there," he said. "It ain't pretty and there's nothing you can do."

Zee urged Olmsted toward the locomotive instead. "Leave getting those who did this to Hogan and me," she told him. "Your job is to collect your pa.s.sengers and get the train to Tucson." She stopped and studied him. "How's the head?"

"Hurts like blazes," he admitted. "Guess I'm in better condition than Joe though."

"Yeah." She helped him up onto the locomotive's foot plate then hopped up there with him. An overpowering smell of grease and soot greeted her; it was even hotter in the cab than it had been outside.

Olmsted crossed to a steam gauge and tapped it. "Not enough pressure," he said. He opened the firebox hatch and frowned at the cooling coals. "Needs feeding." A scoop was leaning beside the coal pile, and he reached for it.

"Let me." Zee took it from him.

While she shoveled coal into the firebox, he sat on the pull-down seat and watched her, from time to time examining the gauge. It was hot and sticky work, and Zee's hands were soon covered in coal dust.

She gave herself a rueful look. "Should have brought the fireman.

He'd have been a d.a.m.ned sight more use than Younger is."

"He doesn't like you, does he?" said Olmsted.

"Understatement of the year."

The engineer checked the gauge again and made a satisfied noise.

"Nearly there." He gave the whistle an experimental toot.

Zee jumped. "Hey, don't waste steam."

"Strong woman like you shouldn't mind doing a bit more shoveling."

She mock-scowled at him. "Good thing you're leaving soon, Olmsted."

He grinned, and she wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of one hand then leaned on the scoop handle while he checked the gauge again.

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"That should do it," he said.

With relief, she stretched her overworked muscles and turned to go, then she stopped and held out her hand. "Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Olmsted."

"Likewise, Deputy." He shook her hand. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

Hogan, holding the reins of three horses, was waiting for her when she stepped off the plate. Fred was already mounted.

Her boss's lips twitched as he looked at Zee. "What happened to you?"

"Don't ask." She wiped her face and hands then retied the now sooty red bandanna round her neck.

"Are we going to stand here all day?" asked Fred.

Both Hogan and Zee ignored him. The mount Olmsted had ridden was surplus to requirements, so she looped its leading rein round her saddle horn. Putting her foot in the mare's stirrup, she mounted up.

A sudden whoosh of steam made everyone, including the horses, jump. Slowly at first, but gradually gaining speed, the locomotive began to reverse up the track, pushing the express car ahead of it.

Olmsted's face appeared at the foot plate window, and he waved at them.

Zee waved back and watched the train recede into the distance for a few minutes, then she sighed and turned her horse to the north.

"Let's go catch us some killers."

Chapter 14.

"Hey, girlie. You're new here, ain't you?" A leathery old gent in a tobacco juice stained vest lurched toward Christie, and she recoiled from his whiskey breath. "Fancy going for a little ride upstairs?"

Her cheeks went hot. "I'm afraid you are under a misapp"

"Leave her alone, Jack," said a little wh.o.r.e in red frilly petticoats.

"She ain't on the menu."

Christie gave her rescuer, whose name she recalled was Clubfoot Liz, a grateful look.

"No?" The hopeful client's face fell.

"No. She's Deputy Brodie's."

His eyes widened, and he began backing away. "I never laid a finger on her, Liz." His gaze switched to Christie. "You can vouch fer that, can't you, little lady?"

He backed into a card table and sent it flying. Liz chortled as the players cursed and set about retrieving their jumbled cards.

Christie, meanwhile, was pondering the wh.o.r.e's words.

"Deputy Brodie's?" She frowned, unsure whether to feel pleased or insulted.

Hazel eyes blinked at her. "That's what Angie told us. I'm Liz, by the way." Liz regarded her keenly. "Ain't you hers, then?"

Christie flushed. "I suppose I am. It's just . . . well . . . I'm not used to belonging to anyone except myself. My name's Christie.

Christie Hayes."

"I know. We've been talking about you . . . Watch out for Red Mary." Liz pointed to the statuesque redheaded woman now talking to old Jack. "She don't like you."

"Why should she dislike me?" asked Christie. "I don't even know her."

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"She wants Brodie all to herself, that's why." Liz laughed. "Ain't gonna happen though."

Red Mary nodded, took Jack's skinny arm, and set off upstairs to the bedrooms.

"Lot of us are crazy about the deputy," continued Liz. "Probably 'cause she treats us right." She turned back to Christie. "She treat you right, Miss Hayes?"

"Call me Christie, please." What did she mean by "right"?

Chances were a wh.o.r.e would have a very skewed view of right and wrong. "May I ask you, Liz," she began, seeking to satisfy her curiosity, "how you came to be a . . ." She paused, searching for a term that wouldn't offend.

"Jane about Town? Horizontal Worker? Fallen Woman? Cyprian?"

Liz laughed at Christie's expression. "You can't call us anything we ain't already heard, Christie. Wh.o.r.es we are and 'wh.o.r.e' you can call me. I ain't proud of it, but I ain't ashamed of it neither. This ain't back East. Out here, men gotta let off a little steam now and then.