Shooting For Justice, G. Tilman [best historical fiction books of all time .txt] 📗

the Union Navy from participating in the battle for Richmond, he might be called a dissident himself,” Kane said with a grin.

“I will get Sarah to research him and will go down as soon as possible. Thank you, Michael.”

By this time, they were approaching the six-person dining table and seated the two ladies, as was proper custom.

May’s dinner was not exotic. It was simple comfort food cooked well and was enjoyed by all. Her cherry pie and coffee capped off the meal.

It would have been usual custom for the men to adjourn to a parlor and drink and smoke cigars. These were two singularly different couples. All four went to the parlor and no cigars were smoked.

They continued the dinner’s chat over coffee.

“Rita, what is it like being a famous actress?” Sarah asked.

“Not as exciting as being one of the few lady detectives in the whole world, I bet!”

“I guess it is exciting. My first detective job taught me a lot. My job with Wells Fargo and my new partner taught me more. It taught me how cold it is to camp in a blizzard without a shelter, and how scary it is to be shot at.”

“Have you ever had to shoot anyone?” Rita asked.

“Yes, a number of times. Each in self-defense.”

“How does it feel? Do you have regrets? Guilt?”

“No. I did not ask someone to try to kill me. I just defended myself. It was their choice every time. Train or stage robbers, kidnappers, attackers. All their choice.”

Kane knew the listing of situations in which Sarah had killed suggested a minimum of four or five kills. Probably more. He wondered about Pope. The newspapers said twenty kills. Yet, he just said he killed over half the number at age ten. Kane suspected he was faster, but his record was perhaps half the detective’s.

Pope watched quietly. Sarah was a good hostess. A good wife, no marriage ceremony notwithstanding.

Rita circled back around to Sarah’s first question and talked about playing just off Broadway. She also talked about a different hotel every night, having to look her very best every moment, meals missed, gropes eluded.

“Michael rescued me. He came to the door in Richmond, and I fell in love with him at first sight,” Rita said. Both Pope and Sarah knew to not press Kane’s background or business. Though his contacts were at the highest levels, his world was shadowy to say the least.

Kane looked at his gold Waltham Premier pocket watch.

“Heavens! It is after eleven. We have enjoyed ourselves so much, we missed the passage of time.”

“Michael, did you ever check into the Willard? I thought I saw luggage in the rear of your buggy,” Pope asked.

“No, we didn’t check in yet.”

“We have a spare bedroom already set up. Please spend the night here. The horses are already put away. I will run down and get your bags,” Pope said.

Kane looked at his wife who smiled and gave a little nod.

“Thank you, John and Sarah, it has been a long ride and a great evening. We’d be pleased to stay and probably be asleep within minute after our heads hit the pillow,” Kane said. They all went to bed early. Sarah took a pitcher of well water and a couple of glasses with her, knowing the salty Smithfield ham biscuit appetizers would keep them thirsty all night. Pope had introduced her to the salty ham after his visit to Topping Castle.

Around two in the morning, Pope was awakened by the horses sounding agitated in the stable out back. He pulled on trousers, and barefooted and shirtless, eased out the bedroom door, his single action Colt in hand. He and Kane almost bumped each other in the hall. Pope glanced at the seven-and-a-half-inch barreled Colt Kane carried. Even in the dark, he could tell it was special.

Pope led the way, carefully taking a quick peek around each corner in the house. At the rear door, he silently unlocked the door. Overseeing the renovation of space in Cheyenne to be a new, large Wells Fargo office, he had become something of a lock expert. He had made sure this one was well-oiled for occasions such as this.

The two men, matching in height and build and a decade apart padded silently towards the garage.

They saw two men trying to bridle the horses to lead them away. Pope brought the stag butt of his Colt down on the closest man’s head. As he dropped, the rapid four clicks of Kane’s gun spelled out C-O-L-T.

“Deputy US marshal. You are under arrest for horse stealing,” Pope said.

Pope had number two drag number one away from the stable. Kane checked his horses and pronounced them alright.

Both men turned as the rear door opened. Two striking women stood there in thin nightgowns, transparent backlit by the moon.

One was a detective, the other a former actress of some repute.

The detective was holding a sawed-off shotgun. Her handling of it demonstrated a high degree of familiarity.

“Honey, if you want to shoot him, I’ll step way away to avoid getting doused with body parts,” Pope said, attempting to sound serious. The only one who did not detect the humor in his voice was the man in front of ten-gauge barrels as big as sewer pipes.

“No, darling. Why don’t you question them? I will decide on shooting them once we see how they cooperate.”

The first man had finally regained sufficient consciousness to hear the scary woman’s last sentence.

“Who do you work for?” Pope asked.

“Nobody,” the second man said, looking at his soiled boots.

“Why were you spying on us?” Kane asked.

“We was trying to steal these horses,” the first man said.

“Who sent you here to steal them?” Pope snarled in a gravelly tone which always excited Sarah.

“We seen the horses when you came up. Nobody sent us.”

“Sarah, we are going to have a pow-wow. Would you two ladies watch these rustlers? If they try to get away, please kill them as cleanly as possible,” Pope said.

He and Kane walked off. The latter covered his