Still, given all that, it begged the question of why the girl had moved with her father to Lawson. If she was planning on fleeing, she could have just as easily done so from Ingalls. So maybe Doolin had some other scheme in mind. Or maybe he hadn’t disbanded the Wild Bunch, after all. The possibilities were endless, and it made second-guessing Doolin an exercise in futility. The one certainty in the whole affair was the girl, and her baby, Doolin’s son. She had to be located.
The waitress brought the check. Tilghman counted out money and gave her a generous tip. Local customers were usually far less generous, and by her smile, he saw that she was impressed. He thought she might be helpful.
“I’m just passing through,” he said. “Where would a man mail a letter in Lawson?”
“Granby’s—” She paused, correcting herself. “No, it’s Ellsworth’s store now. He just moved to town this week.”
“Guess that makes him the new postmaster, too.”
“Sure does,” she said. “He even bought Ed Granby’s house. Took over everything.”
“Granby left town, did he?”
“Sold out lock, stock, and barrel. I heard he moved to Oklahoma City.”
“That a fact?” Tilghman stood as though losing interest. “Well, I gotta be on my way. You serve a mighty fine breakfast.”
“Come back and see us next time you’re through.”
“I’ll do it.”
Outside, Tilghman paused, inspecting the street. Half a block to the north, he saw a freshly painted sign over Ellsworth’s store. He turned downstreet, entering a hardware store, and engaged the owner in conversation. By pretending he was passing through looking for Ed Granby, he got much the same story. But in the process, with a few offhand questions, he managed to learn the location of the Ellsworth house. He emerged from the store with a place to start.
The house was situated two streets to the west, on the south edge of town. Tilghman rode past, searching for a place where he could keep watch on the house and not be observed. He saw an older woman standing in the doorway holding a baby, as a girl in her early twenties walked to a wagon at the side of the house. Neither of them was looking his way, and he gigged his horse into a trot. Like John Ellsworth, they both knew him on sight.
The older woman was Ellsworth’s wife. The girl, her daughter, was Edith Doolin. Last year, following the gun battle in Ingalls, Tilghman had met them both while questioning the family. He hadn’t forgotten them, and given the circumstances, he doubted that they would have forgotten him. At the end of the block, he rounded the corner and slowed to a walk. Looking back, he saw the girl hike her skirts and climb into the wagon. She reined the horse into the street.
Tilghman watched as she turned in the opposite direction. After the older woman entered the house, he followed at a discreet distance. The girl drove to the business district, and he thought she was headed for her father’s store. But she surprised him by turning right on Main Street, away from downtown. She drove south on the wagon road out of Lawson.
Tilghman trailed her by a half mile. Some distance south of town, he began to get a prickly sensation on the back of his neck. No more than a hunch, he nonetheless believed he knew her destination. He thought she was headed for Ingalls.
* * *
A noonday sun seared the land. Tilghman dismounted in the stand of woods north of town. A mile or so back, certain of her direction, he’d left the road and cut overland. He waited now for her to roll into Ingalls.
From his saddlebags, Tilghman pulled out a small telescope. He would have preferred to be closer, but his face was too well known by the townspeople. Whatever the purpose of her trip, he would have to watch from a safe distance. Any hint that she’d been followed would spoil the game.
Edith Doolin brought her wagon to a halt in front of the hotel. As she carefully stepped over the side, a woman hurried from the hotel and rushed across the boardwalk. She threw her arms around the girl, laughing with happiness, and hugged her tightly. Then, talking with great animation, they moved into the hotel entrance.
In the woods, the telescope extended, Tilghman watched them disappear through the door. There was no doubt in his mind that the woman was Mary Pierce, wife of the hotel owner. Why the girl had driven fifteen miles to see her, or to what purpose, was still a mystery. All the more so since the girl had moved from Ingalls to Lawson only three days ago. To return so soon had about it a sense of urgency. He settled down to wait.
Shortly after the noon hour a wagon rolled through town and stopped outside the store previously owned by John Ellsworth. The driver hopped down, gathering the daily mail delivery of a postal bag and several packages, and entered the store. Within minutes, he returned to the wagon with the postal bag and a single package. As he drove out of town, Mary Pierce emerged from the hotel, waving to him as he went past. She hurried toward the store.
A few minutes later she stepped outside and rushed across the street. Through the telescope, Tilghman saw that she was holding a letter in her hand. He noted as well that her expression was curiously merry, and that the letter appeared to be unopened. She scurried along the boardwalk, skirts flying, and ran into the hotel. Somewhat puzzled, uncertain what it meant, Tilghman lowered the spyglass.
Not quite ten minutes later the Pierce woman and
