They had trailed Joseph and Charlotte Marat into Calgary from the place outside of town where the rest of the group had camped. Palmer didn’t know the big, bearded man with the Marats, but he seemed to be in charge. Palmer intended to grab the three of them and use them to force the others to turn over the gold.
He couldn’t do that if he had to watch Meg like a hawk all the time, though. He prodded her into motion now, herding her at gunpoint through the alleys of this busy neighborhood near Victoria Park.
He’d heard about a place where he might be able to leave Meg and have her guarded. He knew approximately where the house was located, and when they got there he recognized it from the description he’d heard back in Skagway. It was a big house near the railroad tracks, surrounded by aspens.
The woman who answered the door had the pinched, suspicious face of madams all over the frontier. She regarded the two people standing on her porch and said, “Men don’t usually bring girls with them, mister.”
“Your name Alice Beale?” Palmer demanded.
“What if it is?”
“Owen Lundy sent me.”
“Owen …” The madam’s face softened instantly. “Where is he?”
“He’ll be along in a day or two,” Palmer lied. “For now, he told me that if I ever needed any help in Calgary, you were the woman to see.”
Alice Beale lowered her voice. “What do you want, mister?”
He let her see the gun he had pressed to Meg’s side. “You think you could keep up with this little hellcat for me for a day or two?”
A greedy smile curved the woman’s mouth as she took in Meg’s blond, wholesome good looks. “Want me to put her to work, do you?”
“No,” Palmer said quickly. “Just lock her in a room and keep her there. Make sure she stays quiet and doesn’t cause any trouble.”
The madam didn’t ask any questions. She just said, “I reckon I could do that.” Then her eyes narrowed again. “But it’ll cost you.”
“I expect to pay. That won’t be a problem.”
“Better not be.” Alice Beale nodded. “Although if you were to skip out on me, I could get what you owe out of this one. Pretty quick, too.”
“It won’t come to that,” Palmer said. He gave Meg a shove toward the door. “Get in there.”
Suddenly she tried to break away and run. Palmer grabbed her and threw her down on the porch. The madam turned her head to call over her shoulder, “Titus!”
A massive man with a bald, bullet-shaped head loomed up behind her. “Yeah, Miss Alice?” he rumbled.
“Take this girl upstairs,” she ordered. “Lock her in Desdemona’s old room.”
“You want me to quiet her down first?”
“No, not unless you have to.” As the huge man picked up Meg, Alice Beale leaned closer to her and went on, “You don’t want Titus to have to quiet you down, missie. I promise you, you don’t.”
Meg sagged in Titus’s grip. Palmer smiled. He knew despair when he saw it. Meg wouldn’t give any more trouble, and she would be here waiting for him when he got back. He’d be a lot richer than he was now, too.
“I appreciate this,” he told the madam as Titus and Meg disappeared inside the house. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
She snorted. “Damn right you will.”
Palmer left the house and headed back toward the Drover’s Rest. When he got there, he brushed his clothes off before he went in. As he crossed the lobby, he looked around, but he didn’t see any familiar faces.
“Howdy,” he said to the clerk at the desk. “Couple of friends of mine are supposed to be staying here. Joseph Marat and his sister Charlotte. Have they checked in yet?”
The clerk obviously didn’t find anything unusual about the question. He nodded and said, “Yes, sir. They’re in Rooms Fourteen and Fifteen upstairs. Their friend Mr. Mirabeau is in Room Five.”
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
