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Pickett’s brows went up in what looked to be amusement, and the heavy mustache over his mouth twitched. “Worse? You would’ve been dead if I hadn’t been here. Can’t get much worse than that.”
Pickett was maybe in his early thirties, a decade or more older than North. His tightly curling dark-brown hair was clipped close to his head beneath his hat, and he carried himself with the confidence and self-possession of a man who knew what he was about. North had heard someone comment that Pickett’s mother had been Choctaw. It hadn’t been a compliment, but now North wondered if maybe they were right. Pickett’s dark russet skin looked like it was permanently being warmed by the sun.
Then he decided it didn’t matter. “Seems like I owe you my life, then,” he told Pickett. “You didn’t have to put yourself at risk like that.”
“Yeah, well… I wasn’t in any real danger. From the way you were walking when I saw you leading the mare in from the fields, I figured no one had warned you that she spooks easy around people she don’t know.” Pickett patted the horse’s nose affectionately. “Steady as anything for Jimmy when he’s riding her, but anyone else? She acts like she’s still barely green broke.”
“Well, you have my thanks,” North told Pickett as he held out his hand. “I’m Jeric—” He stumbled a bit, tripping on his own tongue to keep himself from saying his actual name instead of the one Cordelia had given to the show’s manager.
Pickett’s brows went up again, until they were completely hidden by the brim of his hat. “Don’t you know your own name?”
“Sorry. Must still be a little spooked myself,” North said, trying to play off the slip with humor. “I’m Jerry. Jerry Robertson.”
“One of the new ones,” Pickett said with a tone that seemed more resigned than anything else. “You from here in Denver, then?”
“No, sir,” North told him.
“No?” Pickett looked surprised.
“Originally, I’m from back east. Near around Chicago. But I’ve been traveling out around these parts for a while, looking for work here and there,” he said.
“Well, watch yourself around this pretty girl,” Pickett told him. “Last thing you want is to get your head kicked in.”
The whole exchange lasted a couple of minutes, and before North could even consider what to do with the opportunity, Pickett was on his way. North turned back to the Appaloosa, more than a little shaken. The man on the other side of the fence was gone, but North realized suddenly where he’d seen the man before. It had been in St. Louis. The man had been wearing the uniform of the Jefferson Guard at the hotel the night the Antistasi had rescued the Thief.
If he was right, it meant that the Society was here, and if that was the case, there was a good chance that they’d been followed all the way from St. Louis.
It was hell to wait until his shift was over, but leaving sooner would only draw attention. As soon as North was done in the barn, though, he walked right past the mess tent toward the exit to the grounds. He hadn’t gotten far when he ran into Cordelia.
“Where are you headed?” she asked, her dark brows bunching like caterpillars as she frowned. He could see the suspicion in her eyes and in the tightness around her mouth.
“We have a problem,” he told her, explaining what he’d seen and who he thought the ruddy-faced man was. “It was probably the explosions Maggie set off. They would have been a dead giveaway to anyone familiar with her work in St. Louis.” And in Texas.
Cordelia’s frown deepened. “What about Pickett?”
“Pickett can wait. I told you—I need to talk to Maggie,” North said, moving to go around the sharpshooter. He’d already waited too long. “I need to warn her.”
Cordelia stepped in front of him. “You need to get the dagger from Pickett.”
“You don’t understand,” North said. “The Jefferson Guard are the Society’s own private police force. If they’re here, it means they know we’re here too.”
“Then it’s even more important that we get the dagger before they find you,” Cordelia said.
“But Maggie—”
“Is safe right now,” Cordelia told him. “I was headed into town anyway. I’ll take care of warning the others.” She pulled something from her pocket—one of the white tablets Maggie had given her—and placed it in his hand. All North could do was stare at it. Pickett had saved his life. Could he really do what he’d promised?
“Go on,” Cordelia said, shooing North on when he didn’t move immediately. “If you’re right about what you saw, the sooner you find the dagger and get out of town, the better.”
FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES
1904—Denver
She’s gone.
It was all Maggie could seem to think as she stared in shock at the place where Esta had been sitting a few minutes before. If Maggie hadn’t seen it for herself, she never would have believed it. Esta had flickered, looking oddly like a moving picture Maggie had seen once at a traveling dime museum. Then Esta’s whole body had gone nearly transparent. Maggie had been able to see straight through the silhouette of her, to the room beyond. One second Esta had been there, whole and real, and the next she was gone.
No… No, no, no… First the necklace and now the Thief??
