Page 53 of Follow the Lonesome Trail
“Ruby Hampton,” Jimmy said slowly. His voice felt like it was fighting through a mouthful of cotton. “Before we part ways, tell me just one thing. Who wrote this here letter of mine?”
But as he turned to face her, Jimmy found that while he’d been putting the pieces together, those soft hands had wasted no time pulling a loaded revolver from another one of those dad-blasted pockets.
“Oh, honey,” Ruby’s sugar-sweet voice carried a note surprisingly akin to pity as she sighted him down the barrel of the gun. “I think you know.”
“So it was all a setup?” Frank asked for the hundredth time. Jimmy would’ve given anything to knock him back out, but Frank had managed to shake off the drug remarkably fast. Now they sat, tied back-to-back at the base of a tree, as the sheriff of Silverstone cleaned up the loose ends of their capture in the quickly fading twilight. The little grassy hollow swarmed with members of the sheriff’s posse, all feeling mighty proud of themselves for winning the day.
“Yes, Frank,” Jimmy admitted through gritted teeth. “We got conned. We were beaten the minute we took the job.”
“But Ruby—”
“Ruby was the doggone mastermind!” Jimmy leaned his head against Frank’s and yanked up a wad of grass with his bound hands—the only outlet he had for his frustration. “She was stringin’ us along from the get-go. Baiting us with a job too good to refuse, making sure we wouldn’t hurt anyone, letting us think we pulled it off, all the while keeping us stalled and delayed so her accomplice had time to lead the sheriff straight to us, at the very spot she picked out herself! She had us in the palm of her pretty little hand the whole time.”
“She had an accomplice?” Frank wondered aloud. The slight slur of his speech revealed he was still fighting through the muddled aftereffects of the laudanum.
“She did, and you’ll never guess who—”
“Which one of y’all is Obed Birmingham?” the sheriff called out, cutting off Jimmy’s words.
“Right here, sir!”
“Guess you can see for yourself,” Jimmy muttered bitterly as Ruby’s man stepped forward. Slender frame, boyish features, and a head of strawberry curls. Birmingham, it turned out, was none other than their very own stagecoach driver, still sporting the bandage from Frank’s spot-on slingshot hit.
The sheriff handed Birmingham a small packet.
“This here’s the bounty for the capture of James Butler and Francis McCoy,” he said. “Five hundred dollars. These two rascals have been hittin’ towns and stages all over this stretch of territory for the past three years. The people of Silverstone are mighty thankful to you for your brave service, Mr. Birmingham.”
“Five hundred dollars?” Frank yelped, loud enough to draw the sheriff’s attention. “Shoot, if I’d known you were worth that, Jim, I’d have turned you in long ago.”
“Not sure that would’ve worked out for you, Frank,” Jimmy said.
“Pipe down, you lot,” the sheriff barked, fixing them with a hot look. “As I was saying, Mr. Birmingham, we need more folk like you keepin’ the peace out West. If you ever get an inclination to be a lawman, I’d deputize you in a heartbeat.”
“Well, sir,” Birmingham said with a shy smile. “If you mean that, could I start tomorrow?”
The sheriff laughed. “You could start right now if you’re that keen!”
But Birmingham shook his head and glanced over at Ruby, who sat primly on a stump as the posse’s doctor bandaged her turned ankle. “Tomorrow’s just fine, sheriff. I’m actually gettin’ hitched tonight.”
“I can respect a man who knows his priorities.” The sheriff chuckled. “You take all the time you need, son. The job will be waitin’ for you when you’re ready.”
They shook hands, then Birmingham moved to join Ruby. She slipped her hand into his the moment he stepped close enough, as if she’d simply been waiting for him to be nearby. Jimmy felt bile rise in his throat. It was bad enough that he’d been captured, but having to watch the couple who’d ruined his life be so dad-blasted happy together was salt in the wound. He closed his eyes, wishing he’d open them to find this had all been a bad dream.
Instead, when he looked up again, he saw the last person in the world he wanted to talk to standing not three feet away.
“Obed, allow me to introduce Jimmy and Frank,” Ruby said, once again putting on airs as if this was some sort of formal dinner party, not an outlaw-infested patch of wilderness.
“We met briefly,” Birmingham nodded at Jimmy with a slight smirk. “I have the headache to prove it.”
Jimmy tried to ignore them, but Frank mumbled a sloppy “how’d’y’do,” which was apparently all the invitation Birmingham needed to keep talking.
“My bride tells me you boys were downright gentlemanly toward her,” he said. “She expected to have to pull the gun a lot earlier in the operation, but you folks didn’t give her any reason to be afraid. For that, I’ll be forever grateful.”
“Aw, shucks,” Frank slurred. “Weren’t no trouble.”
“Shut up, will you Frank?” Jimmy groaned. “You’re embarrassing me.”
Birmingham knelt next to Frank and ran a finger over the ropes that bound his hands. He let out a low whistle. “Bit tighter than how you boys left me, isn’t it? Can’t be comfortable. Has the doc looked you over? No? No provisions yet either, I reckon. I’ll see what I can do.” Birmingham stood. “Listen, I don’t knowhow long they’ll keep you in Silverstone, but I’m a deputy now. As long as you’re in my town, I’ll make sure you’re treated fair.”
