“That’s right! The marshal was ambushed right about here on the street. A young deputy that was with him got plugged.”
“Oh, my gosh!” Sophie said. “Did Marshal Long’s prisoner escape?”
“You mean Ford Oakley?”
“Yes,” Molly said.
“He did for a fact!”
Sophie and Molly were desolate. “What,” Molly was finally able to say, “happened to the big federal marshal?”
“He got wounded, but not too bad. Nelly fixed him up and then he just disappeared.”
Sophie’s eyebrows raised. “Disappeared?”
“I think he got scared that Oakley’s friends were going to finish him off so he ran away.”
“In the medicine wagon?”
The young man shrugged his shoulders. “I guess. I dunno. Never thought much about it, to be honest.”
Molly took a deep breath. “If the marshal didn’t take the wagon, who did? We’ve searched everywhere in this town and haven’t found it yet.”
The young man grinned hopefully. “Well, if I had to guess,” he said, “I expect that Pete sold it.”
“Who,” Sophie asked, “is Pete?”
“He’s the town blacksmith, but he also owns the livery. You could ask him.” The kid turned and pointed down the street. “See that big barn?”
“Sure.”
“That’s his livery and blacksmith shop. Pete is almost always hangin’ around there someplace.”
“thanks,” Sophie said. “Thank you very much.”
The kid grinned. “I could walk down and introduce you to old Pete. He can be a crabby sonofabitch if you catch him in a bad mood.”
“We’ll be fine,” Molly said. “Thanks anyway.”
The kid nodded. “You staying long in Lone Pine?”
“Not one minute longer than necessary,” Sophie told him as she twisted around in her saddle and saw that no less than fifty miners were leering at her and Molly.
They rode quickly to the blacksmith’s shop, and found Pete hard at work shaping a mule’s shoe at his anvil. He didn’t even look up until both women had dismounted and moved close, but when he saw them, he dropped his hammer and the shoe and grinned like crazy.
“Are you Pete?” Molly asked, batting her eyelids.
“Yes, ma’am!” Pete wiped sweat from his face with the back of his arm, leaving a muddy smear across his forehead, and then he honored them with a slight bow. “How can I service you … ladies?”
Sophie had to laugh. This liveryman was dirty and sweaty, but at least he knew how to address the ladies. “We are looking for a friend,” she began.
Pete’s smile slipped a little. “A friend?”
“That’s right,” Molly said. “His name is Marshal Custis Long and he is driving a medicine wagon.”
Pete slammed the hammer down hard on the mule shoe. “Medicine wagon?”
Sophie’s opinion of the man was also slipping. “Are you a parrot?”
“Oh, no, ma’am!” Pete exclaimed, hammering a little more. “It’s just that I never heard of a marshal driving a medicine wagon. I mean, they usually-“
“Cut the bullshit!” Sophie snapped. “This whole damn town saw the big shootout yesterday. We know that Custis was wounded and that his prisoner, Ford Oakley, escaped. All we want to know now is … where did Marshal Custis Long go!”
Pete stepped away from his anvil and mopped his forehead again. “Why are you asking me?”
“Because,” Molly said, “you had the medicine wagon but now it’s gone.”
“Maybe I sold it to someone and they drove it away.”
“And maybe you’re lying,” Molly snapped. “The question is, why?”
Pete untied his leather apron and ran his fingers through his thin gray hair. He looked both women up and down and then he smiled. “Privileged information, ladies.”
“Privileged my ass!” Sophie hissed.
“That’s what it’s going to cost you both,” Pete said with a wink.
“No,” Sophie said, stomping her foot down hard. “Mister, you just name a price-“
“I just did,” Pete said, reaching into his pockets to get the makings for a cigarette.
“Ten dollars,” Molly offered.
