Death by Grit Read online

  “Take care of yourself,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  She beamed at him and made her way inside. As he made his way to the U.S. Marshal’s office, Jacob tried to shake of the feel of Bonnie next to him, the scent of her. He needed pure focus to catch his next outlaw, and she wouldn’t want him to be distracted.

  “Finally!” Santos said under his breath as Jacob entered. “We have a lead, but it could already be cold. Can you be ready to go within the hour?”

  “Of course. What do I need?”

  Santos handed him the bulletin with the criminal’s picture and details on it. He’d be looking for an Irishman, approximately in his forties and shorter than six foot. The bounty for murderer and thief Seamus Maloney was one thousand dollars, the largest Jacob had ever pursued. He studied the face he would be looking for: thin blond and gray hair, cropped close to his head, a wide sweeping blond and gray mustache and goatee, long thin nose that looked as though it had been broken at least once, and gray blue eyes, glaring at him.

  “Maloney is one of the Slippery Stone Gang. We think he’s on his own, either because Stone threw him out or because he left of his own accord. Who knows. Point is, he’ll be smart and he’ll be prepared and he must know there’s a bounty on his head already.”

  “Says here he murdered seven people? Can that be right?” It took a hard man to get away with that many deaths. Jacob had never come across such a man.

  Santos nodded. “He held up a stagecoach and killed everyone on board. Or tried to. One of the passengers played dead and got away, though I understand he’s still recovering from the gunshot and it isn’t certain he’ll make it. Which could bring the death toll to eight.”

  “Damn,” Jacob said under his breath. That was cold-blooded for anyone to do, let alone one man on his own. “Alright. What’s the lead?”

  “I just got a wire from Haven.”

  “West of here?”

  “That’s right. The sheriff has his hands full with some local land dispute and just a single deputy to back him up. It was the school teacher that sent the wire, if you can believe it. She thinks Maloney is holed up in town there under the name Moore.”

  “How sure is she?”

  “Hard to tell from the wire, but sure enough that I want you out there. Now, if possible.”

  “Alright. I’ll go. I’ll wire you news from Haven.”

  “You’re a good man, Jacob.” Santos shook his hand. “I don’t know what you’re bound to find in Haven, but be careful.”

  “I always am.”

  “Seems like you’ve got something good to come home to, leastways.”

  Jacob smiled. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  As he walked away from the marshal’s office, Jacob wondered if Mickey would be pleased to see him again. Returning the blanket and basket from his picnic, but then insisting on another lunch to be packed up even more quickly.

  Less than an hour later, Jacob was packed with his trusty horse Blaze on the road to Haven.

  Chapter Three

  Riding into the desert west of Tucson in the afternoon was without a doubt the worst time to be out under the sun. At least it was October, not the summer, Jacob reflected. But he needed to get to Haven before sunset, so he couldn’t wait for the cooler part of the day. The sooner he got there, the sooner the schoolteacher, sheriff and all the other citizens could be made safer. If Maloney could murder a full stagecoach full of people, being in the middle of a small town wasn’t any guarantee he would lay low.

  The road to Haven was familiar to Jacob; other bounty hunts had taken him in this direction. With Blaze comfortably following the road, Jacob could let his thoughts wander back to his morning with Bonnie, and his visit to Everlasting Hope Church.

  Such thoughts inevitably led to Jacob thinking about the previous time he had been in a place of worship, the Goose Creek Church in Charlottesville, Virginia. Goose Creek Church had been his home church all through his childhood and as he became a young man; his family’s estate had only been six miles away and he grew up attending services in that small clapboard building every Sunday with his parents and three brothers.

  Jacob had loved that church, and loved the community of neighbors that he was a part of for so much of his life. His first love, when he was eight years old, he met at that church. His first understanding of right and wrong, his first reflection on death. His wedding had been held at Goose Creek Church, as well as his wife and son’s funeral. The church was almost as much a part of him as his family’s plantation had been.

  But it had been a conflict in that very building that had led to Jacob fleeing the eastern United States and finding his way to Tucson, Arizona.

  His younger brother Jackson had started some project on the family plantation. Even now, Jacob couldn’t remember all the details, even though this had been the family disagreement that had driven him west. A new building or a subdivided field. Something not important in the long run, but which at the time had had a monumental effect on his life. Jacob’s other brothers, James and John, hadn’t put up a fight but just gone along with what Jackson had wanted. Jacob was on his own.

  Though Jacob was the oldest brother, their father Joseph had long ago turned over control of the plantation to Jackson. He had never been quite sure why his father had overlooked him like that. Jacob had been sure that any blunders of his youth had been long forgotten. But every time he tried to bring up the conversation with his father, he was ignored or shut down. Somehow Jackson had just seemed like the better choice and nothing Jacob did could change that.

  Jacob’s wife and son had been dead only a few years, and he had come back to the family estate ostensibly to help take care of their parents and lend help to his brothers while he tried to find his way again. But at every turn, Jackson had belittled and demeaned him. He had assumed Jacob had nothing else to do other than attend to his assignments, and that the oldest brother had given up his say over the estate.

  And Jacob had had enough.

  This particular Sunday morning, his last one there, as Jacob was escorting their mother to the family pew, Jackson had begun chattering at him again. Even though it was Sunday, and they were literally in church about to begin the service, he had launched into the list of things he needed Jacob to do the following week.

  Jacob kept his calm long enough to see his mother settled and then turned to face Jackson. The other man was much closer that Jacob had realized, and in his surprise and anger, Jacob hauled back and punched his brother square in the nose right in the center aisle of the Goose Creek Church.

  He bled all over the front of his suit, yelling out and delaying the church service for hours while things settled down.

  But Jacob was gone before that happened. A short trip home to gather his most treasured possessions, and then he was heading west. He had felt stuck. He had no other prospects in Virginia, no other property, and it seemed as though his family expected him to give up his claim to this property. He wouldn’t stay one more day under his younger brother’s thumb.

  Jacob could admit now that he left Virginia in a fit of temper. That may not have been the best circumstances under which to make a life-altering decision, but now that he was in Tucson he was pleased. This new life was where he was supposed to be.

  But that was all in the past now. Jacob could fantasize about saving up enough money, riding back to Virginia and thrusting a sack of money at Jackson to buy the family home right out from under him. But would he really do that? Would he want to leave the freedom of the western territories?

  He was beginning to realize that with any decision he made about his future he would need to start by considering what Bonnie might want as well. Not yet. It was far too soon for him to be asking her to marry him. But if things kept progressing, it would be a step in the future. The first thing he needed to do was gain her permission to court her in earnest.

  Thinking about future outings and conversations with Bonnie was enough to keep his mind busy for the fin
al miles of his trip.

  After another hour, the town of Haven appeared on the horizon in front of him, the flat desert stretching for miles in each direction. Saguaro cacti peppered the landscape and as Jacob drew nearer to the town, he noticed a few mesquite trees here and there. Haven was a tiny town, and had been founded only five or so years earlier. It was big enough to host a one room schoolhouse and jail, but not a hotel. It seemed a strange place for an outlaw to head, given that there were likely not many newcomers, but maybe Maloney had a bigger plan.

  Jacob rode into town slowly, the citizens of Haven nodding at him in greeting. Not a single person seemed the least bit concerned about the presence of a murderer in their town. He found the sheriff’s office dark and locked, and after asking a passing couple for directions, made his way to the schoolhouse.

  Chapter Four

  As Jacob rode through the small town, the Haven one-room schoolhouse was impossible to miss. Near the end of the main road in town, close to where the first houses had sprung up, the schoolhouse was the only building on the street that boasted any color whatsoever. Where the other buildings existed only in shades of brown and beige, the schoolhouse drew attention to itself with bright red shutters and front door.

  Jacob smiled to himself to think about what it must be like to be a child in this town.

  He dismounted and approached the building. The door stood ajar; as it was after school hours, all the students were gone for the day, but a woman stood with her back to the door as she cleaned off the chalkboard. She didn’t seem any older than Jacob, but boasted jet-black hair where his own was starting to gray.

  Jacob knocked lightly on the door. She looked up, a puzzled expression crossing her face.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, Miss … ?”

  “Mrs. Larson.”

  “Mrs. Larson. My name is Jacob Payne. The U.S. Marshal in Tucson received your telegram and sent me to see about your safety.”

  “My safety?”

  “The town’s, ma’am. So to speak. Can I ask you some questions?”

  She wiped the chalk off of her hands onto her apron. “Heavens, yes. Why don’t you come home with me and have dinner with my husband and me and we can talk it over?”

  “With all due respect, ma’am, if the wanted man in question is who you think it is, I think it’s best if I get the details as soon as possible.”

  “Oh, of course. You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m not used to this.”

  “That’s alright, ma’am. Is it okay with you if I sit down?” Jacob gestured to the last row of desks in the schoolhouse. It’d be a tight fit for him, but might make her feel more comfortable.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I should have offered. I’m just so flustered.”

  “Let’s start at the beginning. You saw a man you believe to be the murderer Seamus Maloney, correct.”

  “I did.”

  “And this man—I believe the telegram said he is using the name Moore—when did you first see him?”

  Mrs. Larson stood at the head of the schoolroom, wringing her hands, but speaking loudly and confidently as though she was teaching her class. “Only a few hours ago, this morning before school. The children and I were out in the yard when he rode by on a dark, almost black, horse. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but the look he gave me.” She clutched her hand to her bosom. “Mr. Payne, there is nothing more frightening than the way an uncouth man can look at a defenseless woman.”

  “I can imagine, Mrs. Larson. That must have been difficult. How did you know who it was?”

  “My husband is the deputy here, Mr. Payne. Haven may be a small town, but we get a certain level of knowledge about the law enforcement.”

  “Of course,” he said, discomfitted. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

  She inclined her head, acknowledging his apology. “So, of course, I have seen the man’s wanted poster. It was Seamus Maloney. I have no doubt. The same cold blue eyes, the same grey-blond mustache.”

  “And did you see where he went after he rode past?”

  “Oh, heavens, no.” She shook her head, flustered. “No. Certainly not.”

  Jacob was unclear why she seemed so offended by his question. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to imply … anything.”

  “I gathered the children and came right back inside. I wanted nothing further to do with him.”

  “But—” Jacob was confused, “—you sent a telegram, didn’t you?”

  She sighed. “Not exactly.”

  “Wait.” He put his hand up, and paused to gather his thoughts and figure out how to word his next question. “Can we start earlier then? Who sent the telegram to the marshal’s office?”

  “That was my husband. The deputy. I told you about him.”

  “So you saw Maloney, told your husband about it, and then he sent the telegram?”

  “Apparently.” She sighed. “He didn’t tell me he was going to, though. Your appearance here is quite the surprise to me.”

  Jacob’s mind was whirring. Why would a deputy do this?

  “You know, Mrs. Larson, could I possibly take you up on your offer to have dinner with you and your husband? I may have spoke too hastily earlier. I didn’t realize he had any part in this.”

  “Yes. Please. Yes. Let’s do that.” Mrs. Larson’s shoulders relaxed, and she seemed relieved. “I only have one more chore to take care of here and then we can walk back to my home.”

  With a couple quick instructions, Mrs. Larson had Jacob moving stacks of primers and between the two of them managed to finish and lock up the schoolhouse in no time. When they exited the building together, Mrs. Larson looked at the sky and sighed.

  “Truth be told, Mr. Payne, with the days getting shorter like this and the sun setting so early, I’m quite grateful to you for showing up here like you did. I usually don’t mind walking home alone—it’s not far. But today I’m just rattled.”

  “I understand completely.”

  She led the way down the path, through the gate and turned right onto the main road of Haven. Plenty of citizens still walked the streets, and every single one stopped Mrs. Larson to say hello and not-very-subtly inquire who the stranger was. More than one woman expressed relief that a man of his authority was in the town. Jacob was gratified, making no promises but doing his best to reassure each of them of his goals.

  The town livery happened to be nearly on their way, and Jacob was able to stable Blaze for the evening. With all the interruptions, it took them nearly thirty minutes to walk the half of a mile to the Larsons’ home. The sun had just about set on the flat desert horizon, and the lamps within the house were already lit when they entered.

  “Oh, Grover must already be home!” Jacob’s companion said cheerfully. “We’re lucky his official duties let him stay close to home so often.”

  She let them in, called hello to her husband and offered to take Jacob’s coat and hat. The bounty hunter found himself standing in the large, main room of a simple home. There were two wooden chairs positioned at a large wooden table near the front door, with a kitchen and doorway to another room near the back.

  A portly man with a thick brown beard came striding across the room to greet him, hand outstretched to shake.

  “Howdy, Mr. … ?”

  “Payne.” He shook Mr. Larson’s hand. “Jacob Payne. Sent here by the marshal in Tucson after he got your wife’s telegram.”

  “Oh, yes. Marvelous.”

  “Although, I understand from her that you are the one that actually sent it?”

  “That’s right, that’s right. Here, why don’t you have a seat? We still have a bit to wait while my wife makes supper.”

  Jacob looked to where Mrs. Larson had already donned an apron and begun to scrub vegetables clean in the kitchen. God bless women of the frontier who were called upon to do so much for their home and household. Jacob had a flash of memory of his sister-in-law, Jackson’s wife, who he had never seen w
ear an apron in her entire life. First the unpaid laborers of her childhood, and then the paid help after the war took care of all the things that women like Mrs. Larson handled themselves here in the Arizona Territory.

  Jacob took a seat at the kitchen table, wondering where Maloney was at that moment. How far away he was getting while the kind people of Haven stalled him with hospitality.

  “Mr. Larson, can we get down to it? Did you see Maloney at all?”

  “Me? Oh, no. No no no. No, I didn’t. I merely relayed what my wife told me.”

  “Have you heard any other reports of him in Haven? Any other citizens coming to you with stories or concerns?”

  “Well, now, let me think.”

  Larson leaned back in his chair, and hooked his thumbs into his belt, just below his round stomach. Jacob had a quick, uncharitable thought that a man as out of shape as Deputy Larson would likely not be the kind of man Jacob would want pursuing an outlaw with him, but put it quickly from his mind. He didn’t even know what his next step should be. Maybe Larson could be helpful.

  “Now that you ask, I do think there might have been hints of Maloney around town for a couple days.”

  “A couple days?” Jacob asked, shocked. “You say he’s been in Haven since his crime and no one has reported it or apprehended him? How is that possible?”

  “It’s as I say, Mr. Payne.” Larson frowned. “I think there might have been hints. I could be wrong, or maybe the hints were wrong or … ” He shrugged. “I’m no expert.”

  Jacob’s mouth fell open in surprised, though he closed it quickly. He weighed his next words, keeping in mind he was speaking to both his host and a man of the law who technically had more authority than he did.