Twilight of the Coyote Page 9

  Chapter 17

  TREY

  Fortunately, the valley was lit by a brilliant full moon, as Kate and I rode through the thick grass in the meadow near the ranch house. Something stirred off to one side and leaped from the grass and made a beeline for Kate and War Paint. I started to reach for my gun before I realized it was Galahad, the black Labrador retriever. He barked a greeting, and Kate praised him for being a good dog, although I could see nothing he had done to deserve the commendation. In fact, the friendly canine had spooked Nipper for a few moments. I like dogs, but I must confess, I was always more of a cat aficionado. A special orange tabby cat owned me when I was a boy, and I still mourn his death. If I ever plant my roots someplace, I’ll find a cat again, although I suppose some would see such a pet as not very useful or manly.

  “Is your grandmother going to be worried?” I asked Kate. I checked my Ingersoll pocket watch. “It’s half past seven.”

  “If you hadn’t noticed, I am an adult. Why should she worry?”

  I had noticed, and I could not stop noticing. But I was seeing her with less predatory eyes now. “I don’t think parents and grandparents ever stop worrying, and, in their eyes, you may never be a full-fledged adult.”

  In confirmation of my worldly wisdom, Kate’s Grandma Beth was waiting under the porch light when we rode in. I hadn’t thought about it before, but I assume the benefits of telephone and electrical service in ranch and farm country had come with tourist development in the Black Hills.

  “I’d better check with Grandma before I put the horses up,” Kate said, as we dismounted.

  As we walked toward the porch, Beth stepped off the porch and hurried toward us.

  “Trey, Mister Starling called about fifteen minutes ago. He wants you to call him.”

  “Okay, I’ll help Kate with the horses, and then I’ll give him a call.”

  “He said it was very urgent. You make your call. He said you have his special number at the lodge. I’ll help Kate. Go on in the house. The phone is on the parlor wall, just next to the kitchen doorway. Remember, it’s a party line, so you’ll have be careful what you say. Agent Starling knows this, too.”

  Everything was urgent with Starling, so I was not especially concerned. Not until I spoke with him, that is. After he explained the reason for his call, I told Starling I would leave for Rapid City immediately.

  I trotted out to the stable which was attached to an enormous hay barn. The horses had been unsaddled and put in their stalls, and the women were fetching water and graining the geldings when I walked through the wide door opening. “I have to leave for Rapid City. My partner’s been shot. At least three times. Starling thinks he’s dying.”

  Both women froze and looked at me with horror-stricken eyes. Kate spoke first. “He’s at the hospital?”

  “Yes. Can you tell me where it’s at?”

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll take you there. Let me drive. I know these roads blindfolded.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Get your butt in the car. I’ll run to the house and grab some more cookies, if Stretch hasn’t eaten them all.”

  “He hasn’t,” Beth said. “I’ve got some hot coffee on the stove. I’ll pour some in fruit jars for the two of you. I’ll come back and finish with the horses.”

  “Really, that’s not necessary.” My words were wasted. They had already brushed past me and headed for the house.

  I waited for no more than a few minutes by the Model T before Kate emerged from the house and hurried toward the car with a bulging cloth bag. She climbed in on the driver’s side, I worked the crank, and the Model T roared to life. As soon as I climbed in, she plopped the bag in my lap. I quickly grasped the drawstring and lifted it and lowered it to the floorboard between my feet because it was hot as blazes and threatened vital parts. She put the car in gear and hit the gas, and we tore out of the yard. It occurred to me that I had never been a passenger with a female driver before.

  Kate was good. And she was fast, racing along those mountain roads, with occasional hairpin curves, like the proverbial bat out of hell. She didn’t say a word, focusing her attention on the road, and I was not about to say anything to distract her. I had lost my appetite and decided I would drink my coffee cold if we made it to our destination. Finally, I just closed my eyes.

  Chapter 18

  TREY

  When we arrived at the hospital, after making a forty-five-minute drive in thirty, we were greeted at a night nurse’s desk inside the entryway, given a room number on the second floor and directed to a stairway. The nurse warned us that Gabe was unconscious and might be in surgery for a considerable time. When we arrived at a waiting area on the second floor we were met by a lean, towheaded deputy sheriff who could have passed for a sixteen-year old. He identified himself as Bing Compton. I showed him my credentials, and he confirmed that Gabe was in surgery and that it might be a long wait.

  The waiting room included a small, sagging leather couch and two stuffed matching arm chairs, one of which was occupied by a young, blonde woman who, at first glance, would have triggered more thorough inspection under different circumstances.

  The deputy spoke to the young woman. “Carrie, you can leave now if you want. This is Mr. Ramsey, he’s Mr. Riley’s partner, and he’ll stay now.” He looked at Kate. “I should know you.”

  “I’m Kate Connolly.”

  “Oh, yeah. You’re Liam Karlsson’s girl.”

  Kate flushed a bit, and replied, “You may have seen me with Liam last summer.”

  The deputy continued. “This here’s Carrie Swanson. She saw what happened and tried to warn Riley about the shooters. Riley killed one of them, but the other got away.”

  “That’s what the Secret Service officer told me.”

  “Carrie had somebody from the White Castle call the sheriff’s office and the ambulance from the hospital. She stayed with Riley and stanched the bleeding of a major vessel below the neck. His prospects don’t look too good, but he wouldn’t have made it here if not for Carrie being there.”

  “There wasn’t anybody else,” Carrie said. “And I came with the ambulance because I didn’t want him alone with strangers in case he died.”

  “You knew him?”

  “He was a customer at the White Castle. He seemed like such a kind, gentle man. I’d never have guessed he was a BI agent.”

  “He was in the restaurant before he was shot?”

  “Yes. And then those men came in. They were rude, and I could tell Mr. Riley was close to stopping them.”

  “So, you could identify the man who got away?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’d like to sit down and ask you some questions and have you tell me about what you saw. Is that all right?”

  “Yes, of course. If I can help in any way, I’m glad to.”

  I took a seat on the couch next to Carrie’s chair, and Kate sat down beside me. The deputy stood nearby, keeping an eye on the entrances. I decided he might be more experienced than his appearance indicated. I liked this guy.

  Carrie told me about what had happened earlier in the evening, down to Gabe’s two onion-smothered hamburgers and root beer, which was a bit much for my starving, queasy stomach. I hate onions. She said that the two men had moved from their chairs instantly, leaving their unfinished meals behind, as soon as Gabe went out the door of the restaurant. It had not occurred to her that they planned to shoot Gabe. She thought they were going to give him a beating or hassle him some way. She had pegged them as Negro-haters. She added there were some folks in Rapid City like that, many of whom had never met a Negro in their lives. She hastened to say that most people there had mixed with Indians regularly over the years and dealt with a few Negroes who worked for the railroad, and the large majority of folks had little interest in racial matters at all.

  I said, “The dead shooter was described as short and stocky. He’s not going anywhere, so he can be identified, hopefully. What did the other
man look like?”

  “Well, he was built about like Bing. About his height, too, I’d guess.”

  I called down the hall to Bing. “How tall are you, deputy?”

  “A tad over six feet.”

  “The similarity stops there,” she said. “He’s a darker-complexioned man . . . but not like an Indian or Negro. Black hair, neatly trimmed along the edges. The top of his head was covered with a hat. They were dressed like cattle tramps, but I think this man was more of a dandy. He had smooth hands and clean, trimmed fingernails, not the calloused hands of a cow puncher. His face was smudged with dirt, but underneath was a clean-shaven face and pencil-thin moustache. Given some time, I could sketch his face.”

  “You’re an artist?”

  She shrugged and gave a sad smile. “Wanna-be artist. I’ve been told I can draw a passable likeness of a person. I do some water colors. I’d like to learn oils. Couldn’t afford to go off to art school, but I’m saving up.”

  “That’s why you noticed all the details, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I suppose, but I play a private game when strangers come in. I try to guess what their lives are like. What kind of work do they do? Where do they come from? Do they lead miserable lives? I make up stories about them in my head. I observe things about them, and the most interesting ones, I go home and sketch on my pad. I have hundreds of drawings.”

  “So, can I ask you to go home and sketch this man?”

  “Of course.”

  “Ma’am. I can’t thank you enough for what you did for Gabe Riley. He’s not just my partner. He’s my good friend, and he is worthy of the help you gave.”

  “I just hope he makes it. He will be in my prayers.”

  “He will need help wherever he can get it.” The deputy had edged back our way, and I turned to him. “Bing, can you arrange to have someone take this young lady home?”

  “I have a relief officer coming in a few minutes, so I can take her home myself.”

  “I’d like to see a twenty-four-hour watch on Carrie and her house. The other shooter knows she can identify him. It’s not likely he would try anything, but we don’t want her to be in danger just for being a good Samaritan.”

  “I’ll get hold of the sheriff and volunteer for first watch.” He nodded toward Carrie. “Where do you live Carrie?”

  “I live with my folks. Pa has a pig farm on eighty acres east of town.”

  A short time later, Bing escorted Carrie out of the hospital. I promised to keep her updated on Gabe’s condition, and she said she would have a sketch by noon tomorrow. Bing was obviously taken with the young woman and welcomed the opportunity to look after her. I had no concern that he would do anything improper. There were some bad people out here right now, but I had sure been running in to some darn solid folks in this corner of the country. I turned to Kate, who still shared the couch with me, and sat within a few inches because of the sagging cushion that put us in sort of a trough. I was not inclined to fight gravity this night, and she did not seem to be resisting the incline that pushed us closer.

  “Trey,” Kate said. “I’ve been thinking. The man Carrie described. His description, other than his clothing, could fit one of the men who came after the president. You don’t suppose—?”

  “It would be quite a coincidence, but it’s not impossible. That would mean our two cases are one. Interesting possibility. Did you get a good look at the man’s face?”

  “Well, there was some distance between us, but I always thought I would recognize him if I saw him.”

  “You’ve got to look at the sketch when Carrie finishes it.” I changed the subject and reached for the sack of cookies and coffee jars I had set on the floor by the couch. “I’m starving. How about some cookies and cold coffee?”

  “No, thanks. Go ahead. I’m sleepy.”

  She leaned her head against my shoulder and fell dead asleep before I bit into the first cookie. There was something more intimate about her leaning against me like that than I’d ever experienced with a woman. I guess it was the idea she felt comfortable with me and trusted me. It drew me to her in a curious way and made me determined to never hurt her. This Ethan James Ramsey III was a stranger, and I wondered for a moment what was happening.

  Chapter 19

  KATE

  When she awoke, she found herself with legs folded up in a fetal position on the couch and her head resting in Trey’s lap. His arm was draped over her shoulder, and she could hear soft snoring closer to a cat’s purr above her. She looked up and saw Trey, his head drooping with chin on chest. She thought he looked like an innocent boy, even with the morning stubble that cast a shadow on his face and failed to mar that handsome face. He would be pleasant to wake up next to mornings, she thought, before chiding herself for being such a hopeless slut.

  It was a bit of a struggle, but she raised herself up and swung her legs off the couch without waking Trey. She saw that the deputy was awake, sitting in a straight-back wooden chair, thirty feet down the hallway, not far from the entryway to the second floor. Then, from the other direction, she heard a commotion caused by rattling doors and squeaking wheels and the flurry of footsteps. This alerted Trey and his eyes fluttered open, and he lifted his head, looking at her with confusion, as if he did not recall where they were.

  Momentarily, an orderly and a nurse came around the corner pushing a gurney with a sheet-shrouded patient on it. A dark face, contrasting to the white sheets assured Kate that Gabe survived. She and Trey stood while the orderly maneuvered the gurney into Gabe’s room. They started to follow but were intercepted by a stocky, gray-haired man in a surgical gown who had trailed the procession.

  He turned toward Trey and Kate and, with a reassuring smile, extended his hand, gently clasping Kate’s first and then shaking Trey’s. “You must be the patient’s friends,” he said. “I’m Dave Harrington, Mr. Riley’s surgeon.”

  Trey said, “I’m Trey Ramsey, Gabe’s BI partner. This is my friend, Kate Connolly.”

  “Owen and Coleen’s daughter. My God, you’re the spitting-image of your mother. You were my third baby. You turned out fine despite my inexperience.”

  Kate remembered now that her father had said she had been delivered by a Dr. Harrington, who specialized in surgery and obstetrical work and women’s problems, whatever that meant. “Yes, I remember your name. Dad has mentioned it.”

  Dr. Harrington turned businesslike. “Well, you don’t want my chit-chat. You want to know about your friend. First, his status is in limbo at this stage. We’ll know more by tonight. If he’s going to make it, I would expect him to regain consciousness by tomorrow sometime. The longer he’s in a coma, the worse his chances of survival. Of course, he then must survive any infection that may set in. We still have no drug that accomplishes miracles when that happens. It will be a week before we can make a prognosis with any confidence.”

  “Where was he hit?” Trey asked.

  “Three places. He’s got a shattered knee. I patched it. My guess is it will end up stiff, but, if he lives, there are surgeons in the big cities who may be able to help. He had a wound that passed through the flesh between his neck and shoulder and nicked an artery. If it hadn’t been for the intervention of a young woman, he would have died from that before he got here.”

  “So, it’s the third wound you’re most concerned about?”

  “Yes. Lung-shot. The bullet tore things up seriously. I entered beneath his right shoulder blade and recovered the slug. There was a lot of internal bleeding, and, besides infection, there is risk of pneumonia. I think I’ve done all anyone can do about this wound, though. From this point, we just treat symptoms.”

  “So, it’s just wait and see?”

  “Yes. But it’s a miracle he made it this far. Let’s hope he’s a miracle man. I have seen such people often—those who defy odds.”

  “I’m betting Gabe’s one of those,” Trey said.

  “Now, Trey and Kate, I must take another look at my patient before I call it a n
ight. Leave word at the front desk how you can be contacted. No news will be good news. If you don’t hear from us, check back late in the afternoon. I make rounds about five o’clock.”

  After the physician entered Gabe’s room, Trey turned to Kate. “Breakfast?”

  “Do you like hotcakes and sausage?”

  “My favorite, as long as we can get some good coffee with it.”

  “If you like mud, The Griddle, has great coffee. But the hotcakes offset any deficiencies in the coffee.”

  “I’m sold. Let’s go.”

  With the sun barely peeking over the eastern horizon, the usual breakfast crowd had not taken over yet, and Kate and Trey had privacy at a small table in the back of the dining room. They had both ordered the hotcakes and sausage, and after drenching her pancakes in hot maple syrup, Kate had torn into her breakfast like a ravenous bear. The coffee had not improved since her last visit. It occurred to her they had not spoken a word since the waitress delivered their plates, and she suddenly realized she had nearly cleared her plate. Trey, on the other hand, was plodding through his breakfast. Oh well, she wasn’t going to abandon a soggy crumb. She would finish and dawdle with her coffee.

  She looked up and saw that Trey’s dark eyes were fixed on her. He had a small, amused smile on his lips. “What?” she said.

  “You have been up most of the night. You’re still wearing what you started off with on horseback yesterday morning. Yet, you don’t smell bad from here, and you look darn good. Very impressive.” He raised his hands in defense. “Please, don’t be offended. I’m not coming on to you.”

  She didn’t mind the remark. It was about as close to romance as the guy had come. And it wasn’t much. “You’ve worn adversity well yourself.” She thought that was noncommittal enough, especially since slut that she was, she likely would have let him lure her to bed with only token resistance. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be one of those men who was fixated on bedding every woman he came across.