Page 48 of Follow the Lonesome Trail
Leaving the sleeping driver in the relative safety of the pine-strewn shelter, Jimmy jogged up the road in the direction the stagecoach had disappeared. The coach wasn’t around the first bend. Or the next one either. By the time he’d gone half a mile, Jimmy had to slow to a walk.
“Dagnabbit, Frank,” he muttered under his breath. He took off his hat and mopped his forehead with his kerchief. He reached absentmindedly for his canteen. It was at his lips before he caught a whiff of the strong brew inside. Jimmy yanked the drugged canteen away from his mouth and spat twice on the ground, just in case anything had gotten in his mouth. He silently berated his own foolishness. A careless mistake like that would leave him knocked out cold, as helpless as the stage driver. Frank would never let him live it down.
At last, the welcome sight of the stagecoach came into view on the road ahead, framed like a painting against the mountain backdrop. Frank stood atop it, hands on his hips, staring down the road with a concerned frown carved into his face. He visibly slumped with relief as he caught sight of Jimmy.
“Took you long enough!” Frank called. “I was startin’ to think he got the better of you.”
“Why’d you drive it so far, ya ninny?” Jimmy hollered back, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
“You said get about a minute away.” Frank shrugged. “I jist counted up to sixty afore I stopped the horses.”
“A minute of walking, Frank. Not galloping.”
“Well how’s I s’posed to know you’d be slower than a three-legged turtle?” Frank swung himself down from the stage and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest as Jimmy neared. “Did you take care of the driver?”
“Where you think I’ve been this whole time?” Jimmy huffed. “Did you find the ruby?”
Frank snorted. “You think I’d start going through all this junk till you were here to help?”
Typical Frank. Never one to shoulder more work than he considered fair.
“Come on then.” Jimmy headed for the stagecoach. The horses stomped restlessly, but otherwise everything was still and quiet. Thick curtains blanketed the windows. “We gotta find it before our pal back there sleeps off his liquor and hikes down to the Silverstone sheriff’s office.”
Frank was right behind him. “You got any idea what it looks like?”
“Our note just says the Hampton Ruby is on this coach. No further detail than that.” Jimmy shrugged. “Reckon it looks like any other ruby.” He didn’t think it was worth admitting to Frank that he’d never seen a ruby before. But he figured it was red and shiny; how hard could it be to find?
“Guess it’s gotta be an awful big jewel if it’s got its own name,” Frank ventured. “What do you suppose it’s worth?”
Jimmy shot a stern glare over his shoulder at Frank.
“To you, ’bout a hundred dollars, and not a penny more. You know we ain’t got a chance of makin’ off with it. We don’t double-cross our clients. That’s how you get yourself turned over to the law in a hurry.”
“Jist wonderin’, is all.” Frank shuffled his feet. “How do we find this thing, anyway?”
“I guess look for a box or trunk with the name Hampton on it. It would have to be packaged to send it on the mail stage. It’s not like the ruby is just gonna be sittin’ on the bench.” With a rusty click, the stage door popped open. Jimmy mounted the creaky step. “Got your knife on you? We might need to break a lock if it’sin a strongbox…” As he ducked into the dim, stuffy carriage, his words trailed off into stunned silence.
The stagecoach was not empty.
Even under the inevitable layer of dust from coach travel, she was the prettiest thing Jimmy had ever laid eyes on. She looked like a porcelain doll who’d stepped out of a fancy shop window—pink apple cheeks, walnut ringlets, and eyes like river stones, glossy and bright. She wore a traveling dress of dove gray wool, lined all up the front with shiny black buttons. A bonnet perched on her lap, trailing velvet ribbons. Her plump lips formed a perfect “O” of surprise as she stared at him. Jimmy stared back.
“Criminy!” he finally managed to gasp.
“Heavens to Betsy!” the young woman exclaimed, her voice heavy with a Southern drawl.
For half a minute, they simply looked at each other in shock. Jimmy realized far too late that neither he nor Frank had their bandanas pulled up to mask their faces. They’d thought they were safely beyond the eyes of witnesses.
Finally, the lady spoke up. “Is this a holdup?”
“Um,” said Jimmy, but he didn’t get much more than that out before she cut him off.
“Oh, but of course it is; what else could it be?” She sprang from the bench seat, setting her curls to bobbing. “Let me guess, you boys want me to put my hands up and step out of the coach, right?”
Without waiting for a response, she did exactly that. The intoxicating smell of rosewater wafted over Jimmy as she squeezed past him on the steps. Her pointy-toed boots hit the ground in front of Frank, who stared, open-mouthed, without even trying to hide it.
“You just been sittin’ in there this whole time?” Frank sputtered. “I mighta driven more gentle-like if I’d known there was a lady aboard!”
Jimmy frowned. Frank had a point, though it wasn’t the one he thought he was making.
