Have Brides, Will Travel Read online

  Cecilia and Luella bought just apples and oranges, but Beth, Rose, and Jean gnawed on tough roast beef sandwiches.

  After a while, Rose said, “My, you really need strong teeth to eat these, don’t you?”

  “We need to get you some jerky,” Scratch said. “That’ll either make your teeth good and strong or bust ’em right out of your head.”

  Without looking up from the orange she was peeling, Cecilia said, “Neither of those sounds like a very appealing option, Mr. Morton.”

  “That’s one thing about the frontier. Sometimes you don’t have a whole lot of choice about what you eat. You take what’s there, or you do without.”

  “Sort of like husbands,” Jean said. “Once we realized we weren’t likely to find any good ones in Four Corners, we decided to try another approach.”

  “Like becoming mail-order brides,” Bo said. He had taken a folding knife from his pocket and was cutting an apple up into pieces.

  “Like contacting a matrimonial agency,” Cecilia corrected him. “Calling us mail-order brides sounds so . . . crass.”

  “Like we’re for sale,” Jean added. “It’s nothing like that. All the arrangements were completely proper and aboveboard.”

  Bo nodded and said, “I’m sure they were.”

  “It ain’t like fellas can order you from a Monkey Wards catalog,” Scratch put in.

  Beth looked at the remaining half of the sandwich in her hand and sighed. “Would you like what’s left of this, Mr. Morton?” she asked. “I think I’ve had all I want.”

  “Why, sure,” Scratch said, reaching for the slab of roast beef between two hunks of bread. “That’s another thing about the frontier. You never let food go to waste.”

  Bo heard the locomotive’s whistle blow, and a moment later, with a faint lurch of the floor underneath them, the train got under way again. Slowly, it began to pick up steam as it pulled away from the depot in Abilene. The next stop would be in Sweetwater.

  The conductor came around not long after that and asked, “Is everything all right so far, ladies?”

  “It’s been fine,” Cecilia assured him. “We look forward to the rest of the trip.”

  “A porter will be around to make up the compartments in just a little while.” The conductor pinched the stiff black bill of the cap he wore as he nodded to them; then he moved on.

  Bo finished the apple he was eating and opened a window to toss the core out into the gathering darkness that rushed by outside. He said, “I’m going to take a walk up and down the passenger cars before you ladies turn in, just to have a look around.”

  “You think Craddock might’ve slipped on board at the last minute?” Scratch asked.

  “I don’t think it’s likely, but I’d rather be sure.”

  Cecilia said, “Wait a minute. Are you talking about the man who barged into Mr. Keegan’s office this morning?”

  “That’s right,” Bo said.

  “Why would he be on the train?”

  Bo and Scratch exchanged glances. They hadn’t told Cecilia about how Craddock had gotten the loco notion of marrying her, as soon as he first laid eyes on her. They hadn’t wanted to worry her or any of the other young ladies.

  On the other hand, she probably had a right to know, especially if there was a chance Craddock might come after her. Scratch must have been thinking the same thing, because he nodded to indicate that Bo should go ahead and explain.

  “That fella is one of Cyrus’s clients,” Bo said. “He has a ranch southwest of Fort Worth and is a widower looking for a new wife. Cyrus arranged for him to correspond with a lady from back East, and she came to Fort Worth, expecting to marry Hugh Craddock. But he changed his mind.”

  “He decided not to marry her after she’d come all that way?” Beth said.

  Bo nodded and said, “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

  “That’s terrible!” Luella said.

  “Seems like a pretty sorry thing to us, too,” Scratch put in.

  Cecilia frowned slightly and asked, “Why did Mr. Craddock decide to go back on the agreement?”

  “Well . . . he says the lady isn’t quite as young as he believed she was.” Bo didn’t go into detail about the photograph of Miss Hampshire that Craddock had seen.

  “She’s older than him?” Cecilia asked sharply.

  “Not exactly. They’re about the same age, I think.”

  Cecilia sniffed in obvious disgust and shook her head. “What a dreadful man.”

  Jean said, “It’s all right for us to marry men who are considerably older than us, but this rancher is too good to marry a woman his own age?”

  “He’s a pretty sorry rascal,” Scratch drawled.

  Cecilia was still looking at Bo as she said, “None of that explains why you believe Craddock may be on this train with us.”

  Having come this far in the explanation, Bo figured he didn’t have any choice but to plunge ahead with it.

  “After he saw you there in Cyrus’s office, he asked about you. He wanted to know if all of you were . . .”

  “Mail-order brides,” Cecilia said, finishing for him, as a disapproving frown creased her forehead.

  “Well, yeah. And he was especially interested in you, Miss Spaulding.”

  That caused Cecilia’s finely arched eyebrows to go back up. She said, “He was interested in me? How exactly do you mean that, Mr. Creel?”

  “He told Cyrus that instead of the woman who came out here to meet him, he would marry you.”

  The blunt statement surprised the other young women and, judging by the smiles that they tried to hide, amused them, as well.

  “That would make you a replacement mail-order bride, Cecilia,” Jean said.

  Cecilia had gone back to frowning. She said to Bo, “You mean he wanted to . . . to court me?”

  “No. He seemed to figure the two of you would just go ahead and get hitched right away, because that’s the way he wanted it to be. He wasn’t interested in any sort of courtship.”

  “That’s outrageous!” Cecilia’s face wore a full-fledged glare now. “As if he wanted to . . . to return a piece of merchandise and exchange it for something else!”

  Bo nodded and said, “He did seem to regard it as more of a business transaction.”

  “Well, I hope Mr. Keegan set him straight, in no uncertain terms.”

  Scratch said, “All three of us did. We told the varmint you was already spoken for, Miss Cecilia.”

  “He was stubborn about it, though,” Bo said. “That’s why I searched the train real good before we left Fort Worth. I wanted to make sure Craddock hadn’t found out where we’re going and decided to come after us. After you, I should say.”

  Cecilia’s already pale face whitened a little more as she thought about Bo’s words.

  “You mean you believe he might try to . . . to kidnap me?” she asked in a soft, shocked voice.

  “I don’t think it’s very likely,” Bo told her. He tried to make his voice reassuring, but Cecilia still looked pretty worried—and angry, to boot. “From what I know of him, he’s not an outlaw or anything, just an honest rancher who’s too accustomed to getting his own way.”

  “Well, he’s not getting his way in this matter, I can tell you that,” Cecilia said.

  “No, ma’am, we never figured he would,” Scratch said.

  “So it’s really just for everybody’s peace of mind that I thought I’d take another look around,” Bo said. “It’s not likely, but Craddock could have sneaked on board right at the very last minute.”

  “What are you going to do if you find him?” Rose asked. She leaned forward eagerly. “Are you going to shoot him?”

  The question surprised Bo a little. He said, “No, I can’t just haul off and shoot him. It’s not against the law to ride a train. But if we know he’s around, we can keep an eye out for him and be ready if he does try anything.”

  Cecilia nodded and said, “Yes, I think that’s wise.” She opened the small handbag she carried and slip
ped her hand into it. “I’m not totally unprepared, though, in case of trouble.”

  She pulled out a pistol and held it up where Bo and Scratch could see it.

  CHAPTER 10

  The gun was a little Smith & Wesson pocket pistol, a seven-shot weapon in .22 caliber with a bird’s-head grip and, like all the small-caliber S&Ws, no trigger guard. Little more than a kid’s popgun, really, but under the right circumstances, it could be dangerous.

  Scratch sat up straighter and said, “Uh, ma’am, is that thing loaded?”

  “Of course it is,” Cecilia answered. “What good would it be if it wasn’t?”

  “Well,” Bo said, “given that it’s a twenty-two, unless you’re a really good shot, you could probably do more damage to a fella by throwing it at him instead of shooting him.”

  Clearly offended, she said, “Are you insulting my choice of firearm, Mr. Creel?”

  “He’s just sayin’ it likely won’t stop any hombre who’s bound and determined to do you harm,” Scratch explained. “Not unless you, say, shoot him in the eye.”

  “And you’d have to be pretty close to do that,” Bo added, “since at any range more than ten feet, that gun’s not going to be very accurate.”

  “Well, then, perhaps we should practice,” Cecilia said.

  “We?” Bo and Scratch responded in unison.

  The other four young women reached into their handbags and hauled out pistols identical to the one Cecilia held.

  “We went and bought these together,” Beth said.

  “We didn’t think it would be a good idea to venture into the Wild West without being able to defend ourselves if necessary,” Jean said.

  Scratch was on his feet now. He made gentle patting motions with both hands and said, “Ladies, put those hoglegs away. You don’t want to go to shootin’ here on the train. Innocent folks could get hurt.”

  Yeah, innocent folks like him and Scratch, Bo thought. He said, “It’s just not a good idea to start waving guns around if you don’t need to.”

  “You and Scratch carry guns,” Rose said.

  “And from what we’ve heard, you’re quite proficient with them,” Cecilia put in. “I remember hearing something about an inquest . . .”

  Bo sighed and nodded. “Scratch and I can handle our guns all right. We’re not fast-draw artists, like Smoke Jensen or Falcon MacCallister—”

  “The dime-novel heroes,” Rose said with a bright smile.

  “Yeah, but they’re real fellas, too, not just in books.”

  “Really?” Rose’s eyes widened.

  She must be a reader of those lurid yellowback tales, Bo thought.

  “Do you know them?” she asked.

  “Never crossed trails with either of ’em,” Scratch said. “But the point is, if you ain’t used to handlin’ guns, you got to be mighty careful with ’em. You ought to be careful even if you are used to ’em.”

  “We’re going to be on the trail between El Paso and Silverhill for several days, aren’t we?” Cecilia said.

  “We are,” Bo replied.

  “Then I still believe it would be an excellent idea for my friends and me to get in some target practice along the way. I assume we’ll be passing through some sparsely populated areas, where no one would be in any real danger if we did some shooting.”

  Bo thought about how empty a lot of southern New Mexico Territory was and said, “You’re right about that.”

  “It’s settled, then.” Cecilia slipped the pistol back in her bag. The others followed suit. She looked up at Bo and added, “You can go search the rest of the train now and make certain that man Craddock isn’t on board. And if he should happen to show up here while you’re gone, I daresay he’ll find us prepared to put up more of a defense than he expects. Isn’t that right, girls?”

  The others all nodded solemnly.

  Bo and Scratch looked at each other.

  Scratch said weakly, “Just go. I’ll keep an eye on things here.”

  “Yeah,” Bo said. Trying not to shake his head, he went to the rear of the car and stepped out onto the observation platform.

  Full night had fallen, and the air had a hint of coolness, which felt good as Bo paused. It would be even more refreshing if he didn’t have to smell the smoke from the engine, but a fella couldn’t have everything. He stood there for a moment, then stepped across to the front platform of the next car back and opened the door to its vestibule.

  For the next ten minutes, Bo walked through the rest of the passenger cars without seeing any sign of Hugh Craddock or any of the men who had been with Craddock the day before. There was still a slim chance that one of Craddock’s men was on board, one Bo hadn’t seen before, but Bo considered that so unlikely it wasn’t worth worrying about.

  Equally unlikely was the possibility that Craddock was back in one of the freight or stock or baggage cars. Hell, the man might be riding on top of one of the cars, but Bo didn’t think there was much chance of that!

  Only one other possibility remained, and when Bo found the conductor in the last passenger car, he asked the man, “You don’t happen to have a passenger riding back in the caboose, do you?”

  The conductor frowned in what appeared to be genuine surprise and said, “The company doesn’t allow that, mister.”

  “Yeah, but I know that sometimes there are special circumstances.”

  He was talking about a bribe.

  The conductor may have realized that. He drew himself up straighter and said, “There aren’t any circumstances special enough for the rules to be broken on this train. Not on my train.”

  “That’s good to know,” Bo said, nodding. “I didn’t figure there would be.”

  The blue-uniformed man looked suspiciously at him and asked sharply, “Is there going to be trouble that I don’t know about?”

  Satisfied that Hugh Craddock wasn’t aboard the train, Bo shook his head. “Nope. I think the rest of the trip to El Paso will go mighty smooth.”

  “It’ll go smooth all the way to California,” the conductor said. “I intend to see to it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bo pinched the brim of his hat and nodded. “Good night.”

  The conductor still regarded him with a narrow-eyed frown as he started back toward the front of the train.

  Bo had walked through two of the passenger cars and was about to step out onto the front platform of the second one when he almost bumped into someone entering from that platform. He caught himself and stopped just before he ran into the person, who also came to an abrupt halt.

  Then Bo reached up and took off his hat as he said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to be so clumsy.”

  “No harm done, sir,” the woman replied with a smile. “Although neither one of us was moving very fast, so even if we had collided, I doubt if there would have been any real damage.”

  “Likely not,” Bo agreed. He started to step aside. “Let me get out of your way . . .”

  “I’m in no hurry. I was just out on the platform, getting a breath of fresh air. Relatively fresh air, I should say.”

  “Yeah, it’s got some smoke and the occasional cinder in it. The cars can get stuffy, though.”

  The woman inclined her head toward the platform and asked, “Would you care to join me for a few minutes? I realize I’m being very forward by asking such a thing, but I assure you, I’m not a brazen woman.”

  “Uh, no, ma’am, that thought never crossed my mind,” Bo said.

  He was telling her the truth. He had been around a lot of soiled doves in his life. Not that he’d ever made a habit of patronizing them very often, but they were to be found in many of the saloons he and Scratch had wandered into over the years. Not only was this woman older than most of them, but she also lacked the subtle—and some not so subtle—signs of dissipation that most doves acquired.

  She was pretty enough that she would have been popular, though, with thick dark hair pinned up under her hat and a face that was lovely in the light spilling thro
ugh the railroad car’s open door. The years had left a few lines around her eyes and mouth, but as far as Bo was concerned, that just gave her character.

  “So, would you like to join me?” she asked again.

  “I suppose I could keep you company for a few minutes,” Bo said. “It would be my pleasure.”

  “Please, go ahead and put your hat back on,” she told him as she moved back out onto the platform.

  Bo settled the hat on his head as he followed her. He hesitated for a second before closing the door but then pulled it shut behind him.

  The woman was already standing at the railing on the side of the platform, with her hands resting on it. Bo moved alongside her. In this particular spot, the smell of smoke from the locomotive’s diamond-shaped stack wasn’t too bad.

  With the door closed, there wasn’t as much light on the platform, although some still came through the small window in the door. Bo could see her fairly well as she stood beside him, once his eyes had adjusted to it. A few strands of dark hair had escaped from the careful arrangement under the hat. The wind blew them around.

  From where they stood, they were gazing northward across the West Texas plains. Enough silvery glow from the moon and stars washed over the landscape that they were able to see the occasional clump of trees around an isolated ranch house. Bo spotted a few distant low patches of darkness, which he figured were mesas. The train was moving into that part of the country. Soon they would reach the Caprock, the eroded but still significant escarpment that ran for hundreds of miles across Texas and marked the eastern edge of the Staked Plains.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” the woman murmured.

  Bo said, “It’s probably a mite prettier like this, in the moonlight and starlight, than it is during the day. When the sun’s out, you can see how hot and dry and dusty it is.”

  She laughed and said, “You sound like you don’t care for it here.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Bo responded quickly. “I’m a Texan, born, bred, and forever, and Texas is still the best place on the face of the earth. But there’s no disputing that some parts of it are more hospitable than others. This country here”—he waved a hand at the landscape rolling past their eyes—“it was good for the buffalo and the Comanche a few years back, and it’s good for the cattlemen now. Some people say that if they can figure out how to get enough water to it, it’ll even be good farmland.”