The stagecoach left Denver at six on a warm May morning and stopped at a way station for the mid-day meal. The food was greasy and not what Quinn or her sisters were used to, but she managed to swallow a few bites and noticed they did, too.
The driver stuck his head in the door. “Time to pull out, folks.”
The driver stopped the sisters on the way to the coach. “Ladies, we picked up another passenger. He’s a big fellow and I think you’d be more comfortable if one of you sits on the seat with Miss Goodspell and Mr. Willard.”
“Since you’re the smallest, why don’t you sit there, Quinn?” Deborah suggested.
“I’d be happy to.”
It was now three o’clock in the afternoon and though the temperature wasn’t high, it was becoming warmer inside the crowded coach as it continually bounced and jerked over the rutted road. Marlene sat on a seat between Deborah and Beck, the long-legged cowboy who joined them at the way station. Quinn was sure everyone in the coach could tell the cowboy hadn’t had a bath in weeks. She felt sorry for her sister because the stench was almost overwhelming across the aisle.
On Quinn’s left sat Hugo Willard, a hefty gentleman who complained continually about the lack of civilization in Colorado. He’d told them before lunch he was on the way to Tornado because he had business at the bank.
Winnie Goodspell was on her right. Quinn wasn’t sure what to think about this portly lady who said she was going to Tornado to find her niece. When she and Marlene discussed sewing, she seemed pleasant and friendly. When she mentioned her niece, she seemed almost hostile.
Quinn shifted her position and tried to remember why she’d promised her father she’d come to this wild country with her sisters. Philadelphia might have been bad, but this was terrible. And her sisters weren’t letting her forget it. Though they didn’t say much, they looked at her frequently with accusing eyes. She knew they blamed her for not breaking her promise to their father.
She was beginning to agree with them. Several times she’d asked herself why they’d come even if their father had wanted them to. What were they going to do if they didn’t find Uncle Henry? Worse, what if Henry Stockton wouldn’t want them around? Or what if he was dead? What would they do then? The train tickets to Denver had taken more money than she expected. Then the stagecoach on to Tornado wasn’t cheap. Of what Papa had hidden for them, there wasn’t enough left to go back to Philadelphia. Neither was there enough to support them for more than a few weeks. The good Lord knew there was nothing for them to do to make money in this place full of its bramble bushes, cacti, ominous-looking distant mountains, and endless dust. What was her father thinking when he insisted they come here?
Quinn remembered clearly how surprised Deborah and Marlene had been when they came from his room the evening he told them he wanted them to go west when he died. Of course, like her, they said they’d honor his wishes, but they weren’t overjoyed about the idea. In fact they would’ve probably refused to come if Otis hadn’t walked into the house two hours after the funeral and demanded they vacate the place within two days or pay the high rent he’d asked. Or still worse, give into his other suggestion.
At first her sisters thought they might find another place in Philadelphia, but soon knew it impossible with no jobs and no prospects for one with the exception of Marlene’s dressmaking. They still might have tried to stay in town if Otis’s last suggestion hadn’t been that they could continue to live in his house if they agreed to entertain his friends, with the other girls he planned to move into the house. Though the Stocktons were somewhat naive, they weren’t stupid. They knew what he had in mind meant they become soiled doves. Outraged, they packed their meager belongings in a carpet bag each and one shared trunk and were out of the house the next morning.
Travel on the train had been rough, but nothing compared to this stagecoach ride. Quinn was surprised Deborah and Marlene hadn’t complained vocally more often. Several times she’d felt like complaining herself.
The cowboy moved and raised his arms over his head, pulling Quinn’s thoughts back to the present. She thought she’d have to cover her nose with her handkerchief as the rancid smell of his sweaty body reached her. She was sure Marlene was near passing out from the odor. She was about to speak when the man beside her said, “Man, have you ever heard of a bath tub?”
The cowboy narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying I stink?”
“I’ve smelled polecats that smell better than you do. It’s a wonder the little lady beside you hasn’t fainted.”
“You are pretty rank, young man,” Winnie said and crossed her arms over her ample breast.
“What about you, sweetheart?” The cowboy put his arm around Marlene’s shoulder. “Do you think I smell bad enough to cause you to faint?”
“It wouldn’t hurt you to take a bath,” Marlene muttered and pulled as far away from him as she could.
He laughed out loud. “How about taking one with me, sweetie?”
“Please, sir—”
“Damn. I like you,” he interrupted. “You’re the first gal to call me sir since…hell, since forever.”
Marlene tried again to move away, but the man’s grip pulled her closer to him. “Since you seem to be such a nice little lady, how about letting me sleep on your shoulder?”
“No.” Marlene turned a deep shade of red and moved against Deborah.
“Mister, please leave my sister alone,” Deborah demanded.
“Well, well. What have we here? A sis—”
A shot rang out and the stagecoach sped up.
Winnie let out a little shriek.
“Oh, hell, it’s a holdup.” Beck leaned to look out the window.
“Oh, no.” Hugo patted his chest. “I can’t afford to lose this money.”
“Keep your heads down everybody and you won’t be hit,” Beck said in a serious tone. “Maybe we can outrun them.”
Gunfire continued around the stagecoach and then there was a man’s cry as a body fell by the window.
“Oh, dear. I think I am going to faint.” Marlene put her hand to her throat.
“Don’t you dare, Marlene,” Quinn said. “We’ve got to keep our heads.”
“Don’t worry, pretty little lady. I’ll take care of you.” The cowboy grinned at Marlene.
“But we don’t have much money. Quinn, didn’t we have about—” Deborah started.
Quinn interrupted her. “You know we barely had enough money to get to Tornado. I only managed to save three dollars. That won’t do them much good.”
Deborah started to say something, but Quinn threw her a look and she kept quiet.
The stagecoach came to a stop as dust filtered through the windows. The door jerked open and a man with a red bandana across his face and a dirty brown hat pulled down over his eyes said in a deep, gravely voice, “Get out and put your hands up.”
Winnie scrambled out first.
Beck went next and turned to offer his hand to Marlene. A surprised look crossed his face when she took it. He also offered his hand to Quinn and Deborah. They both took it and Quinn couldn’t help noticing how tall he was. When her feet touched ground, she was still an inch below his shoulder. Hugo was the last one out.
“Throw down the money box,” an outlaw on a black horse yelled.
Quinn noted there were four masked men on horses and the one on the ground. Five robbers in all.
The stagecoach driver worked the box loose from its place on the coach and tossed it to the ground.
“Now climb down,” the man on the big black horse said.
The driver did as he was told.
“How about you passengers?” The bandit on the ground eyed them. “You got any money on you?”
Winnie pointed to Hugo. “He said he had money. These three women only have three dollars between them and I sure don’t have much.”
The outlaw poked his gun in the Hugo’s stomach. “Give me your money pouch.”
“No. I can’t do that. I need—”
The gun went off and Winnie fainted. The rest of the women screamed. Hugo fell backward and blood gushed from the wound in his belly.
“Shut up.” The outlaw waved the gun at the Stockton girls.
They quieted and held on to each other.
Beck moved beside Marlene, but said nothing. Quinn noted he was watching the outlaw closely.
The robber bent and pulled the money pouch from Hugo Willard’s brocade vest. He tossed it to the man on the black horse. He then took the gold watch from Hugo’s vest pocket, wiped the blood off on his pants and placed the watch in his shirt pocket. As he stood, he poked his gun in the Beck’s chest. “Give me your money.”
Without argument, the cowboy handed over a small pouch.
“That all you got?”
“That’s all.”
Winnie groaned and sat up. The outlaw walked up to her. “What about you, honey. How much money do you have?”
“I have a wedding ring I never got to use. Take it,” she cried.
The outlaw laughed. “Got no use for a wedding ring, ma’am. You keep it. Maybe you can use it yet.”
He turned to the Stocktons. “So you only have three dollars.”
“That’s all we have. Do you want it?” Quinn tried not to show how scared she was.
“No, sweetheart. You seemed to need it more than I do. You keep it.” He walked up close to her. “You’re a cutie with that pretty red hair and those blue-green eyes, but you’re a bit too little for my taste.” He winked at her and moved to Deborah. “Now you’re about the right size and you sure are a beauty. I’ve always been partial to auburn hair with only a touch of red.”
Deborah backed away from him and said nothing.
The outlaw laughed. “Don’t worry, honey. Maybe we’ll meet at another time. No matter how beautiful you are, this ain’t the right time to start a courtship.”
“That’s enough chatter, Slim. Get back on your horse,” the man on the black horse ordered.
“Sure, Boss.” The gunman whirled around and mounted.
“Take care of the horses, Zeb,” said the one called boss.
A chunky man with greasy gray hair spilling from under his hat dismounted, unhitched the six horses from the stagecoach and ran them off.
“Why are you doing that?” the driver asked. “I need those horses to get these people to town.”
The outlaw who shot Hugo looked down at the driver. “You’re not going to take these people anywhere.” He raised his gun and shot the driver.
“No,” Deborah screamed.
The boss turned in the saddle and looked at her. “Be quiet, pretty lady. I’m not above having him shoot a woman.”
Deborah grabbed her mouth and both Marlene and Quinn moved closer to her.
“Try to stay calm,” Beck whispered as he backed up close to the stage beside them.
“Zeb, you and Harve take the wheel off the coach in case the horses come back.”
Two men dismounted to remove one of the wheels. Soon the stagecoach was leaning on its side.
When they remounted their horses, the outlaw who did the shooting looked back at the passengers. “I don’t see why we should leave a man to help these pretty women, do you, Boss?”
“Don’t you think—”
Beck didn’t get to finish. The bullet hit him and he slammed against the stagecoach, then slumped to the ground face down.
Winnie fainted again.
The outlaws all laughed.
The one called Boss said, “After you get your fat friend back on her feet, looks like you ladies better start walking toward town. It’s only eight or ten miles.”
He was still laughing as he signaled his men and they rode away.