Slocum and the High-Rails Heiress Page 16

  He smiled at the formerly veiled lady, which seemed to annoy her. Then he nodded to Miss Barr to continue.

  “In fact, he told me he had fathered another child, a daughter, out of wedlock.”

  “Rutted with my dear dead mother, that’s what the old rich bastard did!” The redhead’s sneer reappeared again as she finished untying the rope binding Big Red’s hands.

  He stood with a grunt and rubbed his bulging limbs. “She was my mama, too!”

  “Shut it, Bubba.”

  “Before my mother died,” continued the blond woman, “when I was still young, my father admitted his mistake to her, but it proved to be the final straw. He believed it was that news that killed her.”

  “Oh, how very touching. But get to the good stuff, sis, or I’ll tell the story myself.”

  Augusta ran the back of her hand under her eyes and continued. “When Papa died, sadly he left no provision for his illegitimate child in his last will and testament. I believe he felt badly about it, and that’s why he told me at the end. So that I might try to find this new half-sister of mine. I thought that perhaps we could somehow come to know one another, be there for each other. I’d never had any siblings, you see…”

  “Lucky you,” said the redheaded woman.

  Augusta continued as if she hadn’t heard her, but her voice had grown tight and an unaccustomed bitterness crept into it. “I tracked her down and told her what I’m telling you now.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” said Slocum, eager to keep the conversation rolling so that the crazy redhead might forget, for long enough anyway, that he had his pistol.

  “The problem, Slocum,” said the redhead, “is that I wasn’t raised with no silver spoon, nor servants, none of it. So I figure I deserve my fair share of the old man’s money. Like all of it.” Her laugh was both cruel and sincere.

  She really is buying what she’s selling, thought Slocum.

  “So,” said Augusta, “she demanded more than we could give. Father’s lawyers tried to settle with her, but—”

  “You call that paltry offering a settlement? For the loss of a father and a life without finery? Ha! It’s all or nothing for me, sister. All or nothing.”

  Augusta stared at the woman who claimed to be her sister. “How could you possibly think you deserve all of it? You seem to be overlooking one small detail.”

  “Oh, and what might that be, sis?”

  “Me! I am the legitimate, rightful heir of T. Augustus Barr’s entire estate.”

  “Oh, I didn’t forget about you. But with you out of the picture, just how many other heirs do you suppose there are? And I have the proof—letters from you, from your damned lawyers.” She smirked. “Actually, knowing the way the old dog you called ‘Daddy’ conducted himself, I’d say there could be a few dozen kicking around.” She laughed long and loud.

  Miss Barr gritted her teeth. Slocum saw her knuckles whiten as she clenched her fists. “You never would have known about it had I not made overtures of kindness to you. We offered you plenty, more than a fair share, but you got greedy. And then when the lawyers, not me, demanded proof, you disappeared.”

  “I always knew where I was. Just because you didn’t is no concern to me.”

  Augusta ignored her comment and spoke to Slocum. “That was all several months ago. Since then, people in my father’s company have begun disappearing. And then my own life has recently been threatened…several times.”

  She narrowed her eyes and Slocum saw her jaw muscles grow tight.

  “I chose to believe it was a coincidence, that no sister of mine could act this way. I chose to not believe it, despite what people were telling me. Now I see that I was wrong. I owe you an apology, too, Mr. Slocum. Your particular services came highly recommended, and you were hired by the attorney who represents my father’s estate—”

  “To protect you, right? Not really the gemstones?” Slocum said, looking at her.

  A startled look passed over her face. She looked from the redheaded sister to Slocum. “No, no, not at all! The contents of the chest represent a vast amount of my father’s estate. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ling?”

  The Chinaman bowed, but did not take his eyes from the redheaded woman.

  “What would a Chinaman know about it?” The vile woman returned Ling’s stare.

  “What do you hope to gain from killing everybody here, Miss…ah, I guess I didn’t catch your name.” Slocum tried to keep the conversation rolling, hoping that it might give him or Ling or Augusta the extra time they needed to do something. Hell, he thought, anything at all will do. He was going to the well, but coming up dry.

  “Arlene,” said Miss Barr. “Her name is Arlene McFadden. And this is her brother, Bubba.”

  “Shut your mouth, you filthy little rich girl.”

  “Isn’t that what you want to be?” said Augusta.

  Bubba laughed, still rubbing his wrists and arms where the ropes had chafed. “That’s what we both wanna be. ’Cept I’ll be a rich boy.”

  “Bubba?”

  “Huh, sis?”

  “Shut it. Now. Or you’ll end up like your brothers.”

  “They was your brothers, too! Sometimes I don’t think you cared much about us.”

  “You’re right.”

  Bubba thought about this a moment, then said, “About which part?”

  She sighed again. “If I have to tell you to keep quiet one more time, I’m liable to shoot you along with the rest of them.”

  Bubba stared at his sister as if she had spoken to him in a foreign tongue.

  Slocum shot a glance at Ling and saw that the man remained poised, like a copperhead just before it strikes. Well, at least that’s something in our favor. Ol’ Ling’ll throw the Triple Tiger at them. I’ll do my best to shuck the Colt and take them alive, if possible. But if not, he thought, eyeing Augusta Barr, I have no problem with turning the big boy, Bubba, into a leaker.

  Slocum figured he was fast enough that he could take out the two redheads, no sweat. But the one flaw in the plan was that the redheaded demon-woman also knew it, and kept that tiny two-shot buried in Miss Barr’s ribs.

  Slocum knew how quick Ling was, and he knew, from the sight of him—teeth ground tight, jaw muscles bunched, eyes focused and glinting, that all Ling needed was for Slocum to make one slight distraction, and the Chinaman would pounce. It might prove their undoing, but it was something he had to chance. All Slocum had to do was wait for the right moment. And if he could read the situation correctly, it was about to present itself. I just have to prod the big man a bit more.

  “Hey, Bubba, sounds like you’re the only one of your brothers left,” said Slocum. “I had the pleasure of killing off the rest of them. You wanna be next, big boy?”

  “That’s right! You’re the one who done that!” He stepped toward Slocum, his jaw thrust outward and a fiery look in his eyes.

  “Bubba!” His sister’s shout brought the big man up short. “If you’re going to do it, you damn well better do it right this time. You fail me again and you might as well throw yourself off the train with him.”

  “Okay, okay.” Bubba advanced on Slocum, his bloodshot eyes staring intently at him, his massive chest rising and falling faster and faster. He happened to look down as Slocum’s hand inched toward his cross-draw holster. “Hey,” said Bubba. “He’s still got his gun, Arlene!”

  “Well, dammit, take it from him!” The red-haired woman gritted her teeth and swung her pistol toward Slocum.

  The cowboy sidestepped and clawed at his Colt as he tossed the remnants of his coffee into the big man’s face. Tepid as it was, it had no effect on the brute.

  But all attention was now on Slocum, as he had hoped. And that was all the distraction Ling needed. The little Chinaman’s coiled-steel limbs sent him into action. He launched himself, feet first, across the eight feet separating him from the murderous woman as if he were a half-starved mountain cat after unwitting prey. She spun back, but only in time to see the bot
tom of his foot as it connected with her perfect cheek.

  Slocum saw her head whip to the side from the impact just as his own vision exploded into a burst of snow peppering a black night sky. The big man had clouted him with a swing of his meaty paw.

  Didn’t even have a chance to skin my smokewagon, thought Slocum as he staggered backward into the stove. Above the ringing in his ears, he heard the train’s incessant clanking rumble, and above that Augusta Barr’s shouts for them all to stop. That there had to be a way to settle this. What was that woman thinking?

  And then the lights went out. For the time it took to draw in a breath, Slocum thought he was losing consciousness, or worse. But then he heard shouts of surprise from the others in the car and he knew they’d entered the long tunnel Miss Barr had mentioned earlier. And shortly after that, there was that long trestle over that steep Devil’s Drop Gorge. Perfect place to get rid of this big buffoon, thought Slocum.

  For brief moments, the fighters froze from the confusion brought about by the sudden darkness, and the rumble and clang of the steel wheels churning forward on the steel rails, brought in close and echoing through the fancy rail car. And Slocum knew this was the perfect chance to turn the tables on Bubba and the she-devil.

  He wasn’t sure how long the tunnel was, but Augusta had described it as lasting longer than most passengers expect. Still, that only gave him precious few seconds to make his move. He dropped down to half height and darted for the kitchen doorway, which he knew lay but a few yards to his left. But that was when he felt the big arms grab his shirt, bunching it just under his throat. He swung and kicked, but Bubba’s arms were too long and Slocum’s pummeling fists found no purchase.

  Bubba drove him backward, pinning Slocum to the wall between the stove and a window. The big man’s other hand came up and mashed Slocum’s face as though it were soft clay. The cowboy grabbed for his Colt, but Bubba’s grip was too high up now, pinning his arms just enough that Slocum couldn’t reach any lower than shoulder height. He kept on kicking, hoping he’d land at least one good one to the giant’s sweet meats. But none of his kicks or punches seemed to have any effect, though several felt as thought they’d found purchase.

  Then his right foot clunked against something that wasn’t the big man’s leg. It was the brass rail surrounding the stove. He hooked his boot heel over the top of the rail, just like in a saloon, he thought, and managed to gain enough leverage that he was able to spin himself out of the man’s crushing grasp. Slocum used the split-second of freedom to slip out from between the big man and the wall. He reached out, dragged himself up by grabbing the back of the man’s shirt.

  Just then, the train emerged from the tunnel and sudden light drenched the rocketing car. Slocum ignored it and rammed harder against the confused giant’s shoulder, driving the big, shaggy head forward, straight into the window. The thick glass, divided as it was into top and bottom halves, puckered and exploded outward. Bubba’s neck and chin caught on jagged shards still stuck in the pane divider. The big man’s howls of rage quickly turned to gurgles as gouts of blood pulsed outward from his perforated neck.

  Behind him, Augusta screamed at the sight. Slocum heard Ling’s muffled grunts as he continued his assault on the she-devil, and he heard that woman’s growls and foul oaths as she defended herself surprisingly well against the little cook’s vicious thrusts. But Slocum didn’t dare take his eyes from Bubba, who, it appeared, wasn’t yet ready to give up the fight.

  24

  Ling’s initial kick had had the effect he’d been looking for—it dazed the woman enough so that he might move in close and dole out more of his furious kicks, punches, and chops with all the speed he could muster. But the woman refused to give up her grip on the pistol.

  She squeezed off a shot from one of the little gun’s two snub barrels, probably out of reflex, and the shot nearly did just what the foul false heiress intended: It sliced through Augusta’s upper sleeve, leaving scorched, smoking blue cotton and a gash welling red and oozing blood. She cried out, and clamped a hand over the seeping wound.

  The look on Ling’s face confirmed what Slocum had suspected—that the Chinese cook was more than a family servant. He was utterly devoted to the blond beauty. Ling’s eyes bulged in raw rage, his lips pulled back revealing perfect, stark white teeth that parted in a howl of pure anger. His attack tripled in power and ferocity as he drove forward at the redhead.

  As Slocum shook his head to clear the last of the starburst from Bubba’s first dizzying blow, he noted that the girl had already wadded up a corner of the tablecloth and held it to her arm. He was impressed that she hadn’t just collapsed to the floor in a fit of apoplexy like so many other women of finery might have done. There was more to her than he knew, something he’d suspected since their first meeting, and which she had confirmed a number of times since.

  As quickly as Slocum palmed his Colt, it spun from his grip. The big man had had enough sense about him to lift himself up and off the glass shards in the windowpane. He’d cuffed the pistol out of Slocum’s hand as Slocum struggled in his daze to right himself up and away from the searing heat of the woodstove.

  Slocum recovered enough to deliver a flurry of punches to the big man’s head. It’s like pounding a ham hanging in a smokehouse, thought Slocum as he landed what he hoped was a finishing blow to the big brute’s wide, meaty face. But he underestimated Bubba.

  A massive paw came swinging downward at him, although Slocum managed to block the blow with his forearm. He knew it would have broken his shoulder if he hadn’t, yet the strike left his arm numb. He reached around behind him for anything he might have to slow the brute—anything at all, and his fingers closed on the handle of the coffeepot. He snatched it up and swung it in a wide arc straight at Bubba’s great shaggy head.

  The clang that echoed from it reverberated throughout the room. Ling and the redhead stopped for a brief second and looked about them before resuming their respective fights. At first blush the man appeared unfazed by the blow. Then his eyes twitched independently of each other, and a hissing groan escaped his lips.

  Slocum kept up the attack, gritting his teeth and biting the inside of his lip in an effort to right his vision again. “Will you”—Wham!—“go down”—Wham!—“and stay down?” Wham! He swung the enameled kettle hard, back and forth, as though it were an extension of his hand. With each swing, the blue kettle looked less and less like a kettle. Each word Slocum growled through gritted teeth was punctuated with a slam to the giant’s head.

  He felt sure he was wearing him down, that the man’s knobbed head had to be mighty sore from the pummeling Ling had given him the day before. And as if to prove his point, the big man’s growling sneer slipped from his face. His eyes began to roll back, showing white, and he weaved on his feet.

  Slocum tried to sidestep in time. Bubba, with blood from his neck soaking the entire front of himself as if he wore a huge, red-black apron, pitched forward with a high-sounding wheeze and slammed to the floor, pinning Slocum’s legs under his hefty girth. The lean cowboy had seen what was about to happen and took the only defensive option open to him—he dropped with Bubba to the floor, otherwise the man’s weight would surely have snapped Slocum’s legs at the knees. As it was, he writhed under the bleeding, unconscious man’s bulk, struggling to free himself.

  The fight between Arlene McFadden and Ling raged nearby, and beyond, Augusta Barr stood to the side, alternately holding the blood-matted tablecloth to her wounded arm and swinging a squat silver candlestick at Arlene McFadden’s head. So far, she’d only managed to swipe air. Slocum saw she was being cautious, lest she thunk Ling on the head.

  She finally managed a solid body shot, right into the redheaded woman’s lower back. It was enough to allow Ling to dart in, his face set in a tight sneer as he redoubled his efforts. Slocum heard the flurry of snaps and shrieks as clear as he felt the jarring rhythm of the speeding train transmitting through the floor beneath him.

  He concen
trated on freeing his legs out from under the big man. The next thing he knew, Augusta plunked down beside him and scooted her backside closer to the big man’s body, then bent her legs and pushed against Bubba. It was a poor fit, as her long dress, what he considered was probably the height of fashion back East, was too tight for such a maneuver. She growled in frustration, let go the rag on her arm, and grasping the hem of her dress near her feet, tore at the seam until the threads began to give.

  “Don’t just sit there,” she snapped at him. “Lend a hand.”

  He grabbed one side of the seam, she the other, and the dress split neat as you please right up the length of her leg. As the parting blue floral patterned fabric neared her hip, he gave it a hard extra tug. Their eyes met and he smiled. She shook her head, and tried to hide her own smile. For a split second, Slocum found himself transfixed by the sight of her long, lean legs that led all the way up, exposed and stunning. As far as he could tell, this blond vixen wore very little in the way of undergarments under that fashionable frock.

  Now that is progress, he thought. As he worked to free his legs, he promised himself that if he got out of this mess in good shape, he might just keep an eye out for more of these East-raised women.

  Her help made just enough of a difference that Slocum was able, with teeth-clenching effort, to pull one of his legs free. He leaned back and pushed, thigh to thigh with her, with the boot jammed hard against Bubba’s girth. Between Slocum and the young woman, they managed to rock the great flopped brute enough for him to drag his other leg free.

  He paused for the length of a breath, then rolled to his knees and helped her to her feet. She’d managed to jam the blood-sopped rag to her arm again.

  “You stay over there. Grab Ling’s fry pan from the kitchen, and watch this big boy. I have a feeling he ain’t through yet. Okay?”

  She nodded. “What are you going to do?” she asked as she watched Ling and her half-sister dodge and weave. They’d made it down the length of the car and were near the bedroom doorway.