“All right. So you woke and noticed Penelope was gone.”
“Yes, but Willow’s fine. Couldn’t tell that anything was ever ailing her.”
“Good to know. Did you wake Rooster? Mr. Pye?”
He nodded hard. “My brother, too. Rooster said I was to get you. He’s saddling up now.”
“And Mr. Pye?”
“Well, about that, Miss Laurel, Josey Pye’s plum disappeared. Suspicion is that he took Penelope. Horse thief like that, he’s surely gonna hang.”
Laurel’s cheeks puffed as she blew out a long breath and considered her options. They couldn’t completely abandon the station to look for Mr. Pye. She didn’t say so, but she wasn’t entirely unhappy that he was gone, only irritated that he had made off with Penelope, one of the sturdiest and most reliable mares.
“Go and tell Rooster that I’m coming with him. You and Dillon will stay here in case we’re late returning for the morning stage. Mrs. Lancaster knows what to do. You do your regular work and follow her instructions. We’ll let the sheriff know that Mr. Pye and Penelope are missing and let the law determine if it’s theft or something we haven’t thought of.”
“Theft,” said Hank. “It’s theft.”
Laurel didn’t argue the point. She couldn’t. The boy was probably right. It bothered her that she’d not suspected that Mr. Pye was planning to leave. He’d given them no indication and now she’d have to find another stage tender, which was aggravating in its own right.
Laurel shooed Hank away, closed the door, and began dressing, pulling on the clothes she had worn the previous day after she shook them out. She fashioned a loose braid, secured it with a leather tie, and took her hat and coat when she reached the front door. She was shrugging into the coat as Rooster came out of the barn leading his mount and hers.
“Any ideas?” she asked, stroking her mare’s neck before she swung into the saddle.
Rooster shook his head. “Not a one.” He grunted softly as he seated himself in the saddle. There was no hiding the effort it took to set his hips right.
Laurel pretended she didn’t notice Rooster’s discomfort. He wouldn’t thank her for calling attention to it. If she asked him if he needed help, he’d deny it. “Did you suspect he was planning to leave?”
“Nope. The boys didn’t either. Seemed like he was content enough. Not content, you understand, just content enough.”
She nodded. “Makes sense that he could follow the Cabin Creek Trail, or at least not wander too far away from it. Trouble is, southeast to Denver or northwest toward Stonechurch?”
“I vote Denver.”
“Glad we’re of a similar mind.” Laurel saw that Rooster had placed her rifle in the leather scabbard. He was carrying, too, and he was a good shot, at least as good as she was. That eased her mind some. “Town first. To let the sheriff know what’s happened.” She snapped Abby’s reins and pressed her heels into the mare’s flanks. “Let’s go.”
Sheriff Rayleigh Carter was sleeping in one of his cells at the back of the jail. He roused himself enough to sit up and take notice of his visitors. The other cell was occupied by Magnus Clutterbuck, a frequent guest of the sheriff’s, who never stirred once while Laurel and Rooster were telling their tale. They didn’t expect the sheriff to get a posse together in the middle of the night, but he did tell them he’d have men out at first light. He understood whythey didn’t want to wait but cautioned them about going out at night. “You don’t even know how long ago he left.”
That was true, but Laurel would not be deterred, and Rooster would not let her go unaccompanied. They left the jail and headed southeast on the Cabin Creek Trail, hoping for a piece of luck that would put Josiah Pye in their sights.
***
When the two men turned to stare at him, Call stood his ground, not even raising his hands in a gesture of innocence. Their stares were more accusing than questioning and that bothered him some but not enough to start protesting. He simply stared back, mostly in Brady’s direction. It might take the driver some time to realize Call couldn’t have had anything to do with the missing payroll, but Call was confident the man would come around.
Brady slumped back in his chair, shaking his head. “It’s not him,” he told Ramsey Stonechurch. “Wish it was on account of that being easy since we got him right here, but he had no opportunity.”
Stonechurch gestured to a chair at the table. “I don’t like a man standing over me. Come over here and sit.”
Call took a seat across from Stonechurch and at a right angle to Brady. He folded his hands and set them on the table. Stonechurch might not realize he had a gun belt under his duster, but Brady did. There was nothing to be gained by setting Stonechurch on tenterhooks when he needed to think clearly about what had gone wrong.
Satisfied when Call was down, Stonechurch eyed the stagecoach driver. “What about you, Brady? I don’t think you did it, but I’d be the worst kind of fool not to ask.”
Brady didn’t flinch from Stonechurch’s hard dark gaze. “I reckon you’re going to have to decide if you can take me at my word. I got no idea what happened to your money. I checked the box myself when I relieved Holloway. I didn’t count it, but it was real bills. The coins were real. No paper. No rocks and pebbles. Secured your boxunder the stage box and sat on it all the way to Morrison Station. Got up then to stretch, have a bite of Mrs. Lancaster’s fine cooking, deliver the mail, and relieve myself. Wasn’t away from the box above an hour, and I went back to the stage once to get the mailbag. You’ve been to Laurel Beth’s place. The dining room is at the front of the house. I sat at the table where I could see the stage. Kept an eye on it, more or less. No one climbed up there while I was watching.”
Stonechurch looked across the table at Call. “You see anything?”
“I had my back to the window. Didn’t see a thing.”
“You were last off the stage,” said Brady. “I was already in the house by the time you got out.”
