Chapter 23
Lucky clenched his fists. He wanted to beat the hell out of Haig Colbert. The scoundrel deserved anything he got for causing Tempest and her family one moment of trouble. But he couldn’t go off half-cocked any more than she could, not with so much on the line.
Even as he fumed, he wove his way around trees and shrubs to get in a better position to monitor the men on the other side of the creek. Tempest stayed right behind him, hardly making a noise. He didn’t often trust somebody at his back, but she was earning that type of respect.
He finally found a place that suited their needs behind a huge downed tree trunk overgrown by thorny blackberry vines. He crouched down behind it and reached up to her. She sat beside him. They couldn’t see much from their position, but they could hear fine. He clasped her hand and settled on the ground, prepared to wait.
He didn’t hear much at first except mule stomping, harness jingling, and wagon creaking.
“Consternation! Rusty, don’t piss upstream. We’re drinking water down here.”
Lucky felt Tempest squeeze his hand. When he glanced at her, she nodded in the direction of the speaker.
Now he knew Haig’s voice. He focused on the man and reached out with his senses. He was surprised when he picked up the same sensation that he’d gotten from the three men as they’d left the Bend. Something about the connection, or the spiderweb, still felt familiar, but he couldn’t get a handle on it. He didn’t like the fact that they’d run across it again. He didn’t much believe in coincidence. The web was either unusually large or connected to him in some way. Maybe both. Either way, it couldn’t be good.
“Shut your piehole, Haig. I gotta mind to piss, I’m gonna do it.”
“You’re still riled ’cause you don’t like working for a boss.”
“I’m dad-blame mad! You got no cause shooting a man for not selling you his whiskey.”
“If I told you once, I told you a thousand times, Crawdaddy won’t allow independent whiskey dealers in Indian Territory. I had to make an example to keep folks in line.”
“And I say again, that was a decent man. And who the hell is Crawdaddy? What makes him think he can send gunslingers in here and steal folks’ whiskey if they don’t kowtow to him?”
A chill crawled up Lucky’s spine. Crawdaddy was supposed to be dead. How could he have survived the fire that had turned the building that had housed his cottonseed-oil business into a raging inferno? Deputy U.S. Marshals in Fort Smith, Arkansas, had combed through the debris and concluded that the body had burned so badly it couldn’t be found or recognized. He’d hoped that was the truth, but he’d suspected otherwise.
Now he knew Crawdaddy, or General Burl Crawford in polite society, was alive. Crawdaddy often said that he was a bottom feeder like his namesake because everything eventually fell to the river bottom where it was ripest and easiest to pluck. Crawdaddy was smart and ruthless, and he dealt in antiquities. That was one of the ways Lucky knew him. But he was also a Rattler, powerful, deadly, and dangerous. They stood on opposite sides of Indian artifacts. Crawdaddy supplied while Lucky preserved.
Now that he knew his old adversary was back in business, everything fell into place. No wonder the sensations had felt familiar. Crawdaddy must be casting a web over Indian Territory from illegal liquor to stolen horses to looted antiquities. He was trying to put a stranglehold on the most ornery, independent, dangerous outlaws anywhere. And if Crawdaddy got his hands on more power, he might just do it.
Haig was part of Crawdaddy’s gang, but was he a lowly, expendable foot soldier, or was he a valuable lieutenant? How much or how little did he know? And could he lead them to Crawdaddy?
Lucky had to figure out how best to play the flush he’d been dealt. For the moment, he was one up in Crawdaddy’s game and he wanted to keep it that way.
“If you don’t toe the line,” Haig said, “Crawdaddy is the general who can and will make sure you curse the day you were born.”
“Bet he’s all talk. Never heard of him.”
“Damn Yankees’ll give you an earful. They were blue-bellies when they ran into him, but they were red-bellies when he was done.”
“He’s that general? Everybody’s heard of him.”
“Gives you pause, don’t it?”
“He must be pretty long in the tooth by now, twenty-odd year.”
“He’s got plenty of teeth left to chew you up and spit you out.”
“Could be. But he’s not here.” Rusty loudly hawked and spit. “I say we take this wagonload to the widow up Denison City way. She’ll see it gets in the right hands. She’s got two little ones to raise on her own now and will need the money.”
“If you think that sad tale will touch my heart, you’re wrong. We’re taking this load to Burnt Boggy Saloon.”
“I sell in Texas, not Indian Territory.”
A pistol cock sounded loud in the night. “You drive this wagon, or I put a bullet in your head and I drive this wagon. Your choice.”
“Don’t get all riled up. I’m driving, but you’re selling.”
“Suits me. But that means you don’t get a cut.”
“Don’t make me no never-mind. I just wanna get home to Texas.”
“Pick your poison. I’ll take a Deputy U.S. Marshal over a Texas Ranger any day of the week.”
“That’s ’cause you ain’t met up with neither yet.”
“And I won’t. If you’d keep your trap shut and listen once in a while, you’d figure out that if you work with Crawdaddy, you’ve got protection.”
“If you was smart, you’d figure out a man’s best protection is his Colt and Winchester. If you wait for help, by the time it gets there you’re way past needing it.”
“Rusty, you got a small mind. I think big and I’m going places.”
“Go as far as you like, but Burnt Boggy is the end of the line for me.”
“Okay, if that’s the way you want it,” Haig said. “Let’s get some shut-eye.”
Lucky realized those two weren’t going anywhere till dawn. They were also vulnerable without a guard. He could get the drop on Haig. He didn’t figure Rusty would give him much trouble. He could even get them to the authorities on the Texas side of the Red River. But that would show his hand. If he waited, he stood a chance of learning more and stopping Crawdaddy.
He squeezed Tempest’s hand, hoping she didn’t decide now was the time to get her own back.
She leaned close to his ear. “You better tell me we’re going to Burnt Boggy Saloon.”