Page 32 of West Wind

They approached yet another settlement, but Wendell had almost lost hope that they might find Annabelle St. Clair. If that bounty hunter knew who she was she was as good as dead. “Dawson’s as dumb as a fence post, and he’s the smart brother!” He couldn’t stand the thought of being outdone by the Walsh brothers.

“‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’” Mordecai kept his eyes trained straight ahead. He’d ridden with the same stiff, righteous posture atop his sorrel since they’d left Denver, seemingly unaffected by the growing fruitlessness of the search.

Wendell scowled at his partner, an occurrence that was becoming all too common. “Shut up, Mordecai.”

The old man behind the counter in the general store wore spectacles so thick, Wendell almost turned and walked away. It would be a miracle if the old coot could tell what his own reflection looked like in the mirror, much less what he’d seen in the past few weeks.

Wendell leaned over the counter and snapped, “You know a fella by the name of Shelley? Bounty hunter.”

A smile crossed the old man’s face. “Sure I do. You two friends of his?” He seemed oblivious to Wendell’s impatience.

Mordecai stood behind Wendell, annoyingly patient as always. “Have you seen Shelley lately?” he asked, his voice somber.

“Couple of weeks ago. Or was it three?” The old man scratched a beardless chin. “Coulda been a week and a half or so.”

Wendell shook his head. Lot of help this old coot was. “Was he alone, mister?”

“Malloy. Harry Malloy.” The old man paused. “It’s funny that you should ask about that. Shelley always come through here alone, before, but he had a woman with him this last time.”

Wendell smiled. He wanted to shout Hallelujah. “What did she look like?” A wasted question, given Malloy’s near blindness, but maybe he’d noticed something.

“Pretty young girl,” Malloy said with a smile. “I figured she was a widow, on accounta she was wearing all black even though it was some hot when they passed through. Dark hair, I remember.” His grin widened. “Pretty young girl,” he repeated.

Wendell turned back to his partner. “It’s her. She was dressed all in black at the Silver Palace.”

“Did Shelley say where they were going?” Mordecai asked solemnly.

“I can’t remember that he did. Bought more supplies than usual, and bought the lady a pretty yellow sunbonnet. Course, he took a bottle of tequila, and…” Malloy stared over their heads, his eyes squinting. “Took a wanted poster right off the wall.”

Wendell cursed under his breath. “Whose poster was it?” He already knew…

“Well, my eyes ain’t so good no more,” Malloy admitted. “But Beans cursed up and down about Shelley taking that poster. Elsewise I never woulda missed it, much less known whose it was. It was that woman, Annabelle something or another.”

“St. Clair,” Mordecai said in a grave tone.

Malloy grinned. “That’s it! Annabelle St. Clair. Killed a man, what Beans said. Musta been an important fella to get a thousand dollars on her head.”

Wendell leaned over the counter. “Shelley didn’t say where they were headed?”

Malloy shook his head. “Nope. But they lit outa here headed toward the western trail.”

Wendell stormed out of the general store, Mordecai following.

“Hell, she’s probably already dead,” Wendell snapped, mounting his own blood bay.

“I don’t think so.” Mordecai’s voice was still and deep, disturbing in its emotionless calm. “At least not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Even though we must assume that Shelley knows who she is and is taking her to San Francisco to collect the reward her surviving victim has posted…” Mordecai’s gray eyes bored into his. “Think of what we know of this man. He’s a womanizer. He bought bottle of tequila and also bought his prisoner a bonnet.”

Wendell grinned. “So you figure he’s having fun with her while he goes to collect his reward.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Hell, Mordecai, every man I know but you would.”

Mordecai mounted his sorrel stiffly. The man didn’t take kindly to ribbing of any kind, but that didn’t stop Wendell.