William Johnstone - Dead Before Sundown

Palmer grinned. “Ah, so Mirabeau’s here, too. Splendid.”

So that was the big man’s name. It didn’t mean anything to Palmer.

He nodded his thanks to the clerk and headed for the stairs. No one tried to stop him as he climbed to the second floor, but as he passed several men on their way down, he heard them talking about a shot that had gone off upstairs a while earlier. No one seemed to know what it was about.

That was odd, Palmer thought, but probably none of his business.

Since he’d been lucky enough to find out what he needed to know, he went to the door of Room Five. He would brace Mirabeau first, since the man was the most likely to either have the gold or know where it was. He would deal with the Marats later, if he needed to.

The hallway was deserted at the moment. Palmer slipped his gun out of the holster under his coat and used his other hand to knock on the door.

“Mr. Mirabeau?” he called. “Telegram for you, sir?”

At first he thought there was no response. Then he frowned and leaned closer to the panel. Sure enough, he heard some muffled sounds coming from the other side of it, followed by a bumping noise.

Palmer’s instincts told him something was wrong in there, and finding out what it was might prove valuable to him. He tried the knob. Locked.

Well, there were other ways in.

He drew back a little, raised his foot, and drove his heel against the door beside the knob. With a splintering crash, it burst open.

Palmer went in fast, in a low crouch with his gun swinging from side to side. No lamps burned in the room, but enough light spilled in from the hall for him to see a couple of figures lying on the bed. They were tied hand and foot, as well as gagged. Despite the gags, Palmer could see enough of their faces to recognize them.

“Why, Joseph and Charlotte Marat,” he said. “Fancy meeting you folks again.”

Chapter 32

The crowds started streaming into the rodeo grandstands before noon the next day, even though the competition itself wasn’t scheduled to start until two o’clock that afternoon.

By that time, Frank, Salty, and Reb were on hand, circulating through the crowd. So were Sergeant McKendrick and some of his men. It wasn’t uncommon to see North West Mounted Police constables around Calgary, since the town had grown up around and taken its name from Fort Calgary, the Mountie post that had been the first permanent structure in the area.

Frank and the others had arrived in town the previous evening, and as Reb had predicted, all it had taken to confirm his identity were a couple of wires from the Mountie post to Ottawa. Canadian government officials had ordered McKendrick’s superiors to give Reb any help he requested, and they had passed that order on to McKendrick. The ruddy-faced sergeant didn’t particularly like it, Frank knew, but McKendrick was nothing if not a man who did his duty.

The rodeo seemed the most likely spot for the Métis to strike, and Frank was convinced that Palmer had followed them here to Calgary in an attempt to recover the gold.

“We’ll be there when folks start coming in tomorrow,” he had suggested to Reb and McKendrick when they made their plans. “If we can spot Palmer, maybe he’ll lead us to the Métis.”

“What about Meg?” Reb had asked.

“Either she’ll be with Palmer, or he’ll know where she is. That’s why we need to take him alive. I’d appreciate it if you could pass that along to your men, Sergeant.”

McKendrick had nodded. “Of course, Mr. Morgan. But I make no guarantees. The most important thing is stopping whatever atrocity those people have planned.”

Frank couldn’t argue with that. Hundreds of lives might be at stake. But Meg meant a lot to him, so he planned to do everything in his power to keep Palmer alive until the varmint led them to her.

So far Frank hadn’t seen anybody he recognized. Neither had Salty or Reb.

“There’s too dang many people here,” Salty said. “It’s like tryin’ to pick one ant outta a dang anthill.”

“Just keep watching,” Frank said.

He wasn’t the sort of hombre to get discouraged, but he had to admit that the odds of spotting Palmer and trailing him to the Métis and those Gatling guns were small. Frank had bucked plenty of long odds in the past, though, and was still here to tell about it.

Folks had come from all over to attend this rodeo and exposition. Horses were tied everywhere there was a place to loop their reins, and scores of buggies, buckboards, and even some covered wagons were parked near the arena. The sound of happy, excited voices filled the air on this beautiful summer day.

Frank just hoped that screams of pain and terror wouldn’t replace those happy voices before the day was over.

“We should tell the Mounties,” Joseph said, although the idea of turning to the constables for help was repulsive to him. This wasn’t the first time he had made the suggestion.

“No,” Charlotte said. “We have to give Anton a chance to see that he’s wrong.”

“He’s not going to—”

Joseph stopped. Arguing with his sister was a waste of time. Even after everything Mirabeau had done, she couldn’t bring herself to betray him.

From behind them, Palmer said, “You two stop wrangling and take me to him. I don’t care what he does, I just want the gold.”

Joseph glanced over his shoulder. Palmer’s hand was under his coat, and Joseph knew that hand gripped the butt of a gun. He and Charlotte had gone from being in the clutches of one madman to another. But where Mirabeau was obsessed with avenging the Métis who had lost their lives in the past rebellions, Palmer’s only thought was of the gold.

“He won’t have all of it,” Joseph said. “I told you that. Some of it went to purchase the wagons.”

“Then I’ll take what he has,” Palmer said. “Keep moving.”

The three of them made their way through the thickening crowds. Palmer had held them prisoner since finding them in the hotel room the night before. He had freed Charlotte long enough to bind up Joseph’s broken wrist, but that was all the medical attention he had received. The wrist still hurt like blazes, and his hand had gone numb.

After that, Palmer had bound and gagged Charlotte again so that he could get some sleep. They had stayed like that until a short time earlier, when he had finally untied Charlotte and had her untie Joseph in turn. Then he had marched them at gunpoint down here to the rodeo arena in Victoria Park.

Joseph hadn’t told Palmer exactly where to find Mirabeau. If he had done that, then Palmer wouldn’t have needed to keep them alive anymore. Joseph was confident Palmer would have slit their throats and left them at the hotel.

Palmer was a fool. Mirabeau wasn’t going to turn over the gold to Palmer. He wouldn’t care that Palmer was holding the two of them hostage. But maybe Palmer’s intrusion would disrupt Mirabeau’s bloodthirsty plans. That was the only hope Joseph clung to.

Joseph saw the canvas-covered prairie schooner up ahead. He turned to Palmer and nodded toward the wagon.

“There,” he said.

A greedy smile creased Palmer’s face. “All right,” he said. “Go ahead. And if Mirabeau wants the two of you alive, he’d damn well better do what I say.”

That was where Palmer had made his fatal mistake, Joseph thought.

Anton Mirabeau didn’t care about life. His only concern was death.

* * *

Frank climbed to the top of the grandstand, leaving Salty and Reb to keep searching lower down. The broad brim of his Stetson shaded his eyes as he looked from one end of the arena to the other. He still didn’t see Palmer anywhere, but another thought had cropped up in his mind.

The Métis couldn’t just attach those Gatling guns to their carriages, roll the rapid-firers into place, and start shooting. People would see the guns and panic long before the first shot went off. They would have to hide the Gatlings somehow in order to get them close enough for the massacre they had planned.