Chapter Thirty-four
“We picked up a fare-paying passenger for New Orleans,” Buttons Muldoon said. “And you’ll never guess who he is.”
“No, I don’t think I can,” Red Ryan said.
“Try.”
“I don’t know. President Arthur?”
“No. Try again.”
“Lillie Langtry.”
“Better than that. Are you ready for this?”
“I’m ready.”
“Sage Barnard.”
“The Cajun gambler we met in Galveston that time?”
“Yeah. The time he shot Flynn Mayfield in the Ruby Saloon.”
“What the hell is Barnard doing in Austin?” Red said. “He always stays east of the Brazos.”
“I asked him that very question,” Buttons said. “He said Texas is the best place to outrun a losing streak. Plenty of room, he said.”
“And did he?”
“Well, he paid his fare in advance. That ought to tell you something.”
“I hope he gets along with John Latimer and Mr. Chang,” Red said. “They’ll be spending five hundred miles of open prairie together.”
“I heard that when he’s in drink, Sage becomes a mite testy and ain’t above shooting folks,” Buttons said. “That’s what I heard one time, but I don’t know if it’s true or not.”
“I hope we don’t find out,” Red said. “There’s been more than enough killing on this trip already.”
“Truer words were never spoke,” Buttons said. “I’m looking forward to some quiet times.”
“And so am I,” Hannah Huckabee said. She joined Red and Buttons on the porch of the stage depot. “Are we ready to go?”
Buttons consulted his watch. “It’s eleven-thirty. After all that’s happened, the Patterson stage for New Orleans now leaves at noon.”
“Did you say your farewells to the Pinkerton, Hannah?” Red said.
“Yes, I did. Rufus says we may meet up again in New Orleans, but I don’t intend to linger, so that’s unlikely to happen,” Hannah said. She was again dressed in her tan safari clothes and pith helmet but wasn’t wearing her gun. “I’ve finally decided that my around-the-world balloon trip will start from London or Paris. Mr. Chang favors Paris because he enjoys French cuisine, but we’ll see.”
Rush Sanford walked onto the porch. “Sacked up some grub for you, Buttons,” he said. Then, scratching his beard. “Did you hear? The police shot the woman killer last night. A couple of officers caught him red-handed trying to climb through the window of a servant girl’s bedroom on Pecan Street. Good work by the police, huh?”
Buttons nodded. “Yeah, good work.”
“Excellent work,” Red said.
“I’m glad it’s over,” Hannah said. Then, turning to the elegant man who’d just joined her, “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Hannah Huckabee.”
Sage Barnard bowed over Hannah’s hand and gave his name. “I’m enchanted,” he said. “Are you destined for New Orleans?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Then the journey will seem much shorter in the company of such a beautiful traveling companion,” Barnard said.
Hannah smiled. “Mr. Barnard, you are very gracious.”
Barnard was the typical gambler/gunman of the frontier, a tall, handsome man with sky-blue eyes dressed in a black broadcloth frock coat and spotless white linen. His clothing was expensive, conservative, and beautifully tailored. His only concession to conspicuous jewelry was a gold watch chain and his silver gambler’s ring. He wore no belt gun but would have one out of sight and handy.
Hannah thought Barnard very attractive, but there was an air of danger, of an inclination to violence, about him that troubled her. She’d been around men like him before, the American mercenaries, most of them ex-Confederates, who found employment with Chinese warlords and could explode into terrible violence at any moment, powder kegs with fast-burning fuses that had only to be lit.
Sage Barnard would be right at home among them.
Red Ryan introduced John Latimer to Barnard and the two shook hands, a pair of young men sizing up each other and finding no reason for antagonism or disrespect. Mr. Chang never shook hands with anyone, but he bowed, and Barnard bowed in return.
Red Ryan, watching, thought, So far, so good. The last thing he and Buttons needed on this trip was friction between the passengers.
* * *
The death of the Servant Girl Annihilator had put Austin in a festive mood, and people in the crowded streets cheered as the Patterson stage made its dramatic exit from the town, Buttons Muldoon handling the ribbons and whip with his usual élan.
Hannah Huckabee took up her accustomed place on top of the stage, and Red Ryan sat with his shotgun between his knees. He and Buttons expected that this would be a quiet trip, especially since Rush Sanford told them that the stage stations along the route had avoided the recent Apache troubles and were functioning normally.
“We got five hundred miles of flat country ahead of us, Miss Huckabee,” Buttons said to Hannah. “So, maybe I can find time to teach you the ways of a horse team.”
“I’d like that, Mr. Muldoon,” Hannah said loud, talking above the rumble of the coach wheels and the jangle of horse harness.
Red grinned and said, “It’s plain sailing all the way to New Orleans.”
Unfortunately, events would prove him wrong.