Heart Of The Lawman. Linda Castle
“Well, that’s another thing I can speak to old Moze about.” Flynn spoke and Jack worked his ears back and forth in response. That was the only kind of conversation they ever had: Flynn talked and Jack listened.
Flynn heard the distinct sound of a twig snapping. He swiveled in his saddle and drew his Colt at the same time. Nothing but lonesome prairie and cactus met his eye. He sat for a moment while his pulse ticked off the time. Then when he heard and saw nothing, he kicked Jack up and headed back to Hollenbeck Corners.
But he kept his gun drawn.
That evening went much like the one before it. Mrs. Young left after saying her usual dozen words, Flynn and Rachel spent a quiet evening and then she went to bed. At one o’clock in the morning she woke up crying for her mama. By three o’clock in the morning Flynn had decided that he would go see Moses as soon as Mrs. Young showed up at seven.
Flynn was riding down the hill when he came upon Clark’s Dairy wagon.
“Morning, Flynn.”
“Morning, Amos.”
“Did you hear the news?” Amos asked with a happy grin.
“Can’t say as I have.” Flynn rested his wrist on the saddle horn while Jack took a disagreeable nip at Amos’s old bay wagon horse.
“My cousin in Tombstone was getting ready to start delivering milk yesterday when his wagon fell through the street,” Amos said with a chuckle.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Flynn tried not to laugh along with Amos.
“No, don’t be. My cousin was still on his own land—when they got the wagon out they found a vein of silver. He’s gonna be a rich man.” Amos chuckled again.
Now Flynn laughed. “I guess I better start taking care where I walk, eh?”
He had heard tales that there was a honeycomb of tunnels beneath Tombstone and Hollenbeck Corners.
“Yeah, I’m hoping I’ll have the same kind of luck.” Amos Clark smiled and touched his finger to his white cap. Then he clicked his tongue and the bay started off at his plodding gait toward the mansion.
Flynn laughed one more time before he urged Jack on down the slope. Hollenbeck Corners was becoming civilized. It seemed like only yesterday that Geronimo was raiding; now they had door-to-door milk delivery and two daily newspapers and a fire pumper•but no sheriff. The mayor and citizens had decided that John Slaughter, marshal of Cochise county, was near enough. And besides, J.C. was the only man who had ever been murdered, and everybody knew who was guilty even before the trial.
Or so they said. Flynn had never been that sure. All through the proceedings and even after he had taken Marydyth to Yuma, something had nagged at him.
Times were changing in the territory. Every day it seemed that things became more modern and the world to the east had more of an effect. With news arriving on a regular basis, people in the territory were becoming more political and talk in the saloons was often about what was going on in Washington.
Flynn guided Jack down the main street and stopped at a tall, narrow building with an impressive wooden false front. Sunlight rippled across the fancy gilt lettering in the picture window of the law office. Moses was mighty proud of that window. He had paid a pretty penny to have it shipped by rail from back east and installed by a glazier from Tucson.
Flynn dismounted and loosely wrapped the reins around the hitching post. “Don’t go hightailing it back to the barn on me, or I’ll take Harold Benson up on his offer. And you’d make a piss-poor livery horse.” He softened the threat with an affectionate pat.
He stepped up to the boardwalk and made his way to Moze’s office. He heard the sound of two men’s voices from the inner office as soon as he opened the outer door and walked inside.
Flynn didn’t want to be listening to the conversation so he busied himself pouring a cup of coffee from the gray graniteware pot on the potbellied stove in the corner of the room. His back was to Pritikin’s private office, but the men’s voices suddenly grew too loud to ignore.
“I’m tellin’ you, Ted, I have no authority in this matter. You’ll have to deal directly with Flynn O’Bannion.”
Flynn turned. Now it wasn’t somebody else’s business, it was his. He took a step toward the partly open door. Through the crack Flynn could see Moses behind the desk; on the other side, all he could see was the toe of a boot with a fancy double-eagle design.
“Who needs to deal with me?” Flynn drawled as he entered the doorway.
Moses Pritikin’s head swung around. The lawyer’s sharp eyes were as clear and quick as a red-tailed hawk’s, set in a face tanned and cured by a half century of Arizona wind and sun. His hair, white as cow’s milk, was a shock against his swarthy, angular face.
“Speaking of the devil. Come in, Flynn, come in.” Moze’s overlarge hands always seemed to stick too far out of his shirtsleeves, and today was no exception as he gestured.
Flynn crossed the threshold and finally got a look at the man inside those double-eagle boots. Ted Kelts, J.C.’s former partner, was sitting in the red leather chair opposite Pritikin’s desk.
“Ted here is interested in buying the Lavender Lady Mine,” Moses said.
Pritikin’s office was on the skinny side of small from the get-go, and the massive desk he had squeezed into it left scant room for more than one client at a time. Flynn sidled into the room as best as he could and found a place against the wall.
“The Lavender Lady?” Flynn asked after he took a sip of the too-strong, bitter coffee.
Ted Kelts nodded. “I’ve been thinking it would be good to open the mine. A lot of men in town are out of work. Prices on copper are a bit better now.” Ted Kelts grimaced. “I’d kind of like to see what the old girl has left hiding under her skirts.”
“Funny you should ask about the Lady, Kelts. I was just out there yesterday looking it over,” Flynn said.
“You don’t say. How’d it look?”
Flynn shrugged. “I’m no miner. I don’t like being underground.”
“Well, I am a miner. Sell her to me,” Ted said with a smile.
Flynn studied his face for a long time. “I don’t think so.”
Ted’s dark eyes flashed in anger. “But why not?”
“I’m thinking of reopening it myself.” Flynn studied his face. “And Victoria really wanted me to keep all the Hollenbeck holdings in one piece.”
Ted nodded. “Yes, I understand, Mr. O’Bannion, but J.C. had decided to sell to me—before he was murdered by that woman. By all rights I should own the Lavender Lady.” Kelts fingered the gold chain on his watch fob. “Moses tells me that you have complete control now.”
Flynn pushed the Stetson hat back on his head with his index finger. The last thing he wanted to do was get into a chaffer with Ted Kelts over some hole in the ground.
“Victoria put me in charge of all the Hollenbeck family holdings,” Flynn said, but there was no pleasure in his admission.
Kelts smiled and leaned toward him. “Let’s discuss terms, O’Bannion. How much do you want for the Lavender Lady?” His navy brocade vest puckered at his middle, but Ted tugged the cloth down tight until it was smooth and wrinkle free. He was a tall, rangy man, strong as a bull, with hard muscles that had been honed by swinging an eighteen-pound sledge for years before he hit his first strike. “I’m sure Victoria intended to take care of this oversight before she had her last stroke. It would be a matter of you signing the papers, O’Bannion, righting a wrong, you might say.”
Flynn’s gaze followed the sharp crease along the fancy pin-striped trousers to the handmade Justin boot propped up on the knee of his opposite leg.