Prologue
CHEYENNE, WYOMINGTERRITORY—JULY4, 1874
“Emma Johnson, you must surely grieve your ma and pa.” The man who gripped Emma by the ear had started his rant at the park and continued as he practically dragged her several blocks. Once they stood in front of the jail, he seemed to have reached the end of his tirade.
“You’re hurting me, Mr. Gibbons!” Emma let out a howl of protest just as a uniformed police officer stepped from the building.
He eyed them with grave concern. “What’s going on?”
“She stole liquor from me,” Mr. Gibbons offered up, pushing Emma toward the man. “I want her dealt with.”
“Hank, she’s just a kid.”
“Edward Vogel, are you going to do your job or not?”
Emma watched as Mr. Vogel seemed to think about the question. She let out another wail and tried to break away from the older man. He had a firm grip on her ear, however, and she had no choice but to settle down. It already felt like he was about to rip her ear right off her head and take a handful of hair with it.
Mr. Vogel reached out and took hold of Emma’s arm. “I’ve got her now, Hank. Just let her go.”
“You’d better have a firm grip. She’s a wildcat.”
“I’ve got her.” He tightened his hold on Emma’s upper arm. “Now, Emma, tell me what’s going on. Did you steal from Mr. Gibbons?”
Emma knew better than to lie. “I didn’t want to. It wasn’t for me.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, Emma. Did you steal liquor from Mr. Gibbons?”
“It was whiskey,” Mr. Gibbons said. “Two of my best bottles.”
Mr. Vogel looked at her with the hint of a smile. He seemed to understand that she didn’t really want to be bad, but her friends—well, really her brother’s friends—had dared her to do it, and Emma was always up for a challenge.
“Did you steal them, Emma?”
She lowered her head and glanced up. She’d found this look quite effective. Giving what she hoped was her saddest, most regretful expression, she nodded.
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t want them for myself.”
Mr. Gibbons made a huffing sound. She wasn’t sure what he meant by it. Could be his way of disapproving, or he may have just swallowed a fly. There sure were a lot of flies this Fourth of July.
“Well, let’s go inside. Hank, you’ll have to sign a formal complaint. Emma, I’m going to have to lock you up.”
“In a cell?” All at once she was profoundly sorry for what she’d done. “I won’t do it again. I swear!”
“I don’t want her arrested, Deputy. I just want her folks to control her. If she’d gotten away with it, I’d be out ten dollars.”
Mr. Vogel continued to hold her fast but tipped back hishat with his free hand. “That’s some mighty expensive whiskey, Hank.”
“It was, at that. Fine Scottish whiskey. Old too. The longer it ages, the more expensive it is. Maybe just hold her and send for her parents. They need to know what she’s capable of.” The man turned to go. “I don’t mean to stir up a hornet’s nest, but young’uns like that need to be taken in hand.”
“Old coot,” Emma muttered under her breath.
“What was that?” the deputy asked.
She gave a sigh and gazed upward at the man once more. “Nothing. I’m just upset.”
“I’ll bet you are.” He chuckled, only serving to further Emma’s frustration.
To make matters worse, Connor Caffrey, her brother’s best friend, happened to walk by just then. Emma silently wished the earth would swallow her whole.
