“Wouldn’t do for us to be seen together. This place got a back door?”
“Yes,” she said. “On the alley.”
“Good.” Doolin moved across the room. “I’ll sneak in here every night to see how you’re doing. Meantime, I’ll stay at a camp I’ve got outside town.”
Her shoulders squared. “I promise you it won’t be long. I just won’t let anything stop us from going to California.”
“You get well, that’s the important thing. Don’t worry about nothing else.”
“What about yourself? Your foot’s worse, isn’t it?”
“Comes and goes,” Doolin told her. “Got a touch of rheumatism just now.”
“You should see the doctor,” she said. “We have to stay here anyway, so why not? He might be able to help.”
“Damn thing hurts something fierce. Maybe that’s not a bad idea.”
“I’ll tell him I met a poor soul on the street with a lame foot. He’ll probably treat you for free.”
Doolin laughed. “He’d believe that story. I stink like a garbage wagon.”
She touched his arm. “You smell sweet as candy to me. I’ve missed you so much.”
“Been a long time.” Doolin got a funny look in his eyes. “Guess you’re not up to any monkey business, are you?”
“Heaven knows, I wish I was. I can’t keep my hands off you.”
“Tell that sawbones to get you well quick.”
“I will,” she promised. “Until then, we’ll just suffer together.”
Doolin enfolded her into his arms. His gaze went past her to the baby, and a strange look came across his face. The full impact of it hit him abruptly, that he had a son, even more reason to live. He hugged her tighter, swore an oath to himself.
Come hell or high water, they would make it to California.
CHAPTER 32
The ride to Lawson required two days. Along the way, Tilghman had considered and discarded any number of ideas. None of them were workable, and he’d finally decided that he had no option in the matter. Nor did he have anything to lose by coming out in the open. The direct approach was the only approach.
Tilghman sighted Lawson at dusk. Given the circumstances, he had no great confidence that John Ellsworth would divulge anything. The storekeeper was, after all, the father of Edith Doolin, and grandfather to her son. Yet he remembered the anonymous letter betraying Doolin’s whereabouts to the U.S. marshal. That was many months ago, and the situation had now changed, but it was worth a try. He had nowhere else to turn.
Upon reflection, Tilghman decided to speak with the storekeeper in private. He thought Ellsworth would be even more reluctant to talk in front of his wife. Often as not, the women of a family were more protective than the men, and less fearful of the law. Not quite a week ago, when he’d first located the house, he had seen the Ellsworth woman holding her grandchild. Some instinct told him that she would be as hostile as a grizzly sow defending her young. He decided to stay away from the house.
The town’s main street was closing for the night. Tilghman dismounted outside the store and left his horse at the hitch rack. He came through the door just as Ellsworth started to trim the wick of a lamp suspended over the front counter. The storekeeper turned, on the verge of telling a late customer that he was closed. Then, unable to hide the reaction, he recognized Tilghman. His eyes narrowed in a guarded look.
“Evening,” Tilghman said, closing the door. “I’d like to talk with you.”
Ellsworth’s mouth set in a line. “What do you want?”
“I followed your daughter when she left here. Lost her outside of Pawhuska.”
“Why would you follow Edith?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Tilghman said evenly. “By now, she’s met up with Doolin. I figure they’re somewhere in Kansas.”
Ellsworth’s face went ashen. “That’s got nothing to do with me.”
“You don’t sleep good at night, do you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, your daughter’s married to a wanted man. Your grandson’s got a killer for a father. I’d say you’re worried sick.”
“You’re wrong.” Ellsworth averted his gaze. “Nothing I can do about it.”
Tilghman gave him a piercing look. “You could tell me where they are. It’s only a matter of time till Doolin gets himself killed.” He paused, letting the storekeeper think about it. “You want your daughter there when the shooting starts?”
“I—” Ellsworth suddenly appeared stricken. “I wish to God she’d listened to reason. But she’s headstrong, takes after her mother. I don’t know where they are, and that’s the truth.”
There was a moment of silence. Tilghman examined him, slowly accepted that his words were genuine. “Too bad,” he said at last. “Any idea where Doolin’s headed?”
“Edith might have told her mother. But her or her mother don’t tell me anything. They know I don’t approve.”
“Wherever they go, your daughter’s bound to write home. When she does, will you let me know where they are?”
Ellsworth stared out the window into the deepening twilight. Finally, with a resigned expression, he nodded. “When she writes, I’ll get word to you. She’ll never have a decent life with Bill Doolin.”
“No life at all,” Tilghman assured him. “Doolin’s living on borrowed time.”
They shook hands on it. But as Tilghman walked from the store, he was struck by a wayward thought. One that had to do with an exchange of letters, and old friends. A particular friend came immediately to mind.
He decided to have a talk with another postmaster.
* * *
Early the next morning Tilghman rode into Ingalls. He reined to a halt outside the general store and dismounted. Whether or not he was seen was of no particular concern. His dealings there would be of a confidential nature.
The store had just opened for business. A heavyset man, bald with sagging jowls, stood behind the counter. There were as yet no customers, and he looked around with an alert eagerness as Tilghman came through the door. He smiled pleasantly.
“Good morning.”
“Mornin’,” Tilghman said. “You the new owner?”
“I am,” he replied, staring at Tilghman’s badge. “Joshua Burnham’s
