too. For a start, he’d survived the fight in the freight car and the jump from it without serious injury.
The miles he’d walked had fatigued him, but hadn’t completely exhausted him like the long marches he’d made through the French countryside, fully armed, cold, hungry, and hoping an enemy bullet didn’t have his name on it.
His landlady, Arleta May, was scary, but he had a roof. The mattress was bad, but still better than wet ground or the floor of the boxcar.
He had a headstrong horse to train, and if he did that successfully, word would get around, and more work could come from it until he’d earned enough to get him the last few hundred miles to home.
All things considered, he had it pretty good.
He polished off the shortbread and licked the crumbs from his fingers before reaching up for the string attached to the bare-bulb light fixture mounted to the wall above the headboard.
When he closed his eyes, an image of Laurel Plummer came to mind. He fell asleep thinking about her in profile, the wind toying with her hair and holding her shapeless dress tight against her front.
Eight
Sheriff William Amos was awakened by the shrill ringing of his telephone. He squinted the clock into focus and cursed under his breath. Nobody called at three o’clock in the morning to impart good news.
As he threw back the sheet and got up, his wife murmured sleepily. He patted her on the rump, then went to the downstairs hall, where the telephone sat on a small table. He picked it up by the stand and lifted the earpiece from the fork, saying into the mouthpiece, “Bill Amos.”
One of his younger, greener deputies identified himself. “Hated to wake you, sir.”
“I hated you did, too. What’s happened?”
He hoped for nothing more major than rowdy boys being caught painting naughty words on a public building. But he mentally ran through the list of better likelihoods: A still had caught a cedar break on fire. Rival moonshiners had gotten into a skirmish with fists, firearms, or both. Lawmen in a neighboring county, tired of chasing a notable bootlegger, were officially dumping him into Bill’s jurisdiction.
Even before Prohibition had become federal law several months back, evangelicals had for generations voted in local laws that had kept many Texas counties dry. Thus the illegal making and selling of corn liquor was the second oldest profession in the state.
All the Volstead Act had accomplished so far was to turn the trade into an even more profitable enterprise. Demand was at an all-time high. Production was up. Competition was stiff. And the moonshiners in Bill Amos’s county were among the most industrious in Texas.
“We’ve got a situation, sir,” the deputy said.
“Something y’all can’t handle?”
“Thought so when we started out. But things has gone downhill fast.”
Bill heaved a sigh. “Somebody must’ve wound up dead.”
“Well, truth is, we don’t know yet.”
“What’s that mean? He’s either breathing or he isn’t. Is he a Johnson?”
“No, sir. It’s Mrs. Driscoll.”
With a start, Bill angled his head back and looked at the phone as though the deputy had started speaking in tongues. “Dr. Driscoll’s wife? Mila Driscoll?”
“Yes, sir. She’s gone missing.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Bill entered the sheriff’s office, where Dr. Gabriel Driscoll was carrying on like a crazy person. Usually of an austere nature, the physician was clearly unhinged. His hair was standing on end, as though he’d been trying to tear it out. He was pacing in circles and aggressively warding off anyone who attempted to restrain or calm him down.
When he saw Bill, he lunged toward him. “Sheriff, do something! You’ve got to find her.”
Bill hung his hat on a wall rack. “Get us some coffee,” he said, addressing one of his deputies who looked relieved to be charged with something besides the physician.
“I don’t want any coffee!” Gabe made an arrow of his right arm, pointing to the door through which Bill had just entered. “Get out there and find my wife!”
“Gabe, I can’t help you if you don’t help me. First off, you’ve gotta get hold of yourself.” He pulled up a chair. “Sit down and tell me what’s happened.”
“I’ve told them.” The doctor indicated the several deputies watching him with a mix of pity and wariness, much like they would regard a wounded wild animal that hadn’t yet died.
“I need to hear everything for myself,” Bill said. “So take a breath and brief me on the situation.”
“He came and took her,” he shouted. “In brief, that’s the