into the morning before the ferry could be operated—long, difficult hours of waiting for Nesbitt to reveal himself.
I started back to the house, the wind’s might behind me now and forcing me into a lope. Before I got there, however, a pair of shapes materialized, suddenly and astonishingly, on the levee road above. Horse and rider, coming as fast as could be managed through the downpour. I stopped and rubbed wet out of my eyes, blinking. It was no trick of night vision. When the rider reached the muddy embankment lane, he swung in and slid his mount down and across the yard.
He drew rein when he spied me, veered over to where I stood, and dismounted. He wore a heavy poncho and a scarf-tied hat that rendered his face all but invisible. All I could tell about him was that he was big and that his voice was rough-toned, thickened by liquor and an emotion I took to be anger.
“My Lord, what are you doing out on such a night?”
He ignored the question. “Who’re you?” he demanded.
“T.J. Murdock, ferrymaster here.”
“My name’s Kraft. Afternoon stage comes this way, bound for Stockton. You ferry it across before the storm broke?”
“No, it arrived too late for safe passage.”
He made a hard, grunting sound. “Passengers still here, then?”
“Yes. Until morning likely.”
“Rachel Kraft one of them? Woman, twenty-eight, roan-color hair braided and rolled, pretty face?”
“Yes.”
“And a man with short, curly hair and a thick mustache?”
“He’s here, too, yes. Is Rachel Kraft related to you?”
“Damn right she is…my wife. Where are they?”
“Inside with the others. Mister Kraft, why…?”
He wheeled the horse, spurred it hard toward the house. I hurried after him through the muddy puddles. He jumped down, left the animal where it stood with no thought to its care, and literally ripped at the door latch. I was only a few paces behind him when he bulled his way inside the common room.
The guests were all still at table, lingering over coffee and dried apple pie, Shock picking on his banjo. Rachel Kraft’s reaction to sight of her husband was to let loose a keening wail. Joe Hoover stood up fast, nearly upsetting his chair on the near side of the table. Everyone else froze. I shut the door against the rain and wind as Luke Kraft swept his hat back off his head. When I stepped around him, I had a clear look at his face and what I saw stood me dead still. It was blotched dark red from drink, cold, and the clear mix of fury and hate that brewed inside him.
Rachel Kraft’s expression was one of bloodless terror. “Oh, my God…Luke!”
“Didn’t think I’d find you this fast, did you? You and that son of a bitch you run off with.”
Hoover said: “Leave her be, Kraft.”
“Like hell I will. You ain’t getting away with what you done. She’s coming back with me, her and the money both. Right now, storm or no storm.”
“You can have the money and welcome, but not Rachel.”
“Shut up, Hoover. No damn’ thieving wife stealer’s gonna stand in my way.”
“Listen to me…”
Kraft swept the tail of his poncho back, snaked a hand underneath. It came out filled with a long-barreled Colt sidearm. Rachel Kraft cried out again. Nesbitt stood up, doing it slowly, with his hands in plain sight. None of the rest of us moved an inch.
“There’s no call for that, Mister Kraft,” I said, with as much calm as I could muster. “There are women in here.”
“Only woman I’m interested in is my wife. Rachel, get on over here.”
“No, Luke, please…”
“I said get over here. Now!”
“She’s not going back with you,” Hoover said.
“You gonna stop me from taking her? Go ahead and try. I’d just as lief put a bullet in you.”
“She’s had all the beatings she can stand. I’ve seen the marks you put on her.”
“Yeah, and I know what the two of you was doing when you seen ’em. Rachel! Do what you been told!”
She obeyed this time. Her legs were unsteady as she rose to her feet and started toward him.
Hoover stepped in front her, pushed her behind him, and held her there with one arm. His jaw was set hard. He’d struck me as mild-mannered, but there was plenty of sand and iron in him. The thought crossed my mind that he was more in love with Rachel Kraft than her husband ever could be.
“You can’t have her, Kraft.”
“I’m taking what’s mine, all of it.”
She said through her fright: “Luke, Joe