Tilghman spoke in his easy-going manner of picnics when the weather was fine, of cockfights in a specially designed pit and, more animatedly, of his track for quarter-horse races. He regaled them with tales of a few of the more exciting contests.When he spoke of his trips to Kentucky for stock because the men there kept better records of blood lines, Abigail asked, "Is that why Mr. Osgood had to journey all the way to Arabia? That is to say, couldn't a person find a fast horse here in Kansas City?"
"Why surely, ma'am," Tilghman replied. "The Dade's have one of the most fleet-footed stallions ever bred to a mare. They're probably going to be my biggest competitor."
"Mr. Osgood, may he rest in peace, said that the Arabian was to have been your Foundation Sire," Maude said.
Tilghman nodded. "He was a mighty fine man, Osgood. There's not many men a body could trust like I trusted him. I'm mighty sorry to lose him."
"And will you join Jake's posse?" Abigail asked.
"Oh, no, ma'am," Tilghman said with disdain. "After a few days in the cold, those men will get fed up and head back home. Osgood was a stranger in these parts and they will soon lose interest. I'll pursue the killers on my own, using the same method that worked in capturing Bill Doolin."
"And what method was that?" Abigail asked eagerly, delighted that the subject of detection had come about so naturally.
With two such charming and attentive ladies for an audience, Tilghman could scarcely resist embellishing the tale somewhat as he recounted how he had trekked across the countryside garnering information until, by a clever ruse, he'd tricked a friend of Doolin's wife into telling him where he could be found.
The porters were serving the excellent coffee at the end of the meal by the time he said, "So when I got off the train in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, I was disguised as a preacher."
"How clever of you," Abigail said as he sipped his coffee, disguising her growing impatience with his monologue, which had precluded any questions. "Dr. Conan Doyle sometimes portrays Sherlock Holmes using a disguise."
"With all due respect to the doctor and his pulp fiction," Tilghman said huffily, "the disguise was my own idea."
Having hung on his every word, Maude was eager for more. "Have you always ridden alone?" she asked. "Have you ever ridden with Wyatt Earp or Doc Holliday?"
"Not regular, ma'am," Tilghman's good humor returned. "It's been twenty years since I rode with Earp to catch the killer of Dora Hand. Earp and Holliday were a bit flashy for my taste. I'd rather keep my gun holstered. Now Heck Thomas and Chris Madsen are men of a different stripe. We've ridden many a mile together." He paused to take another sip of coffee.
"Are you going to look for your Arabian?" Abigail asked before he launched into another rambling, uninterruptible story.
"When I find Osgood's killers, our horses will probably be nearby, seeing as they are all part of the same gang."
"If I may say so, Marshal Tilghman, I am not so certain as you, sir," Abigail responded cautiously. While she might have become the least bit weary of his boorish story telling wherein she had learned little that was new about the art of detection, she still respected him as a lawman. Further, she was loath to breach the dictates of good manners by becoming quarrelsome with a guest, especially one of the male sex, who tended to dislike contradiction from females, a trait she found difficult to understand, but nonetheless respected. "I think that it is more than likely that the robbers who took the gold intentionally abandoned the two men who tried to rob Miss Cunningham."
"With all due respect, ma'am, I do not agree." Tilghman's grin and conspiratorial wink at Maude was intended to soften his words, but the gesture merely served to infuriate Abigail.
"Then why didn't they leave their horses behind?" Abigail blurted out the question before she could stop herself.
"Now, you're much too pretty to trouble yourself with such matters, Miss Danforth." Reaching across the table, he patted her hand. "You were unconscious for some considerable time, making it impossible for you to recall exactly what was going on. For all you know, our horses were simply more convenient. Am I not right?"
Even though the memory of Osgood could still make her feel queasy, Abigail blushed with fury that Tilghman would take advantage of her one moment of weakness to dismiss all of her opinions out of hand. Rather than precipitate what could develop into an unseemly quarrel by defending her opinion, she retrieved her fan from her lap. Swallowing her ire with a smile, fanning her burning cheeks, she decided to withhold what she considered clues of the stolen candy and stubborn name.
As taken in by Abigail's flawless manners as was Tilghman, Maude said, "Pray, do prevail upon Mr. Tilghman to allow us join him, Miss Danforth." Abigail was having difficulty enough controlling her temper to be surprised by Maude's request. Her tone was dangerously close to sarcasm as she spoke. "Anyone who can capture a Bill Doolin all by himself does not need the assistance of two helpless females, Miss Cunningham." Turning to Tilghman she asked sweetly, "And just how long did it take you, good sir?"
"Four years to capture the whole gang."
Maude gasped, impressed with his tenacity.
Stunned that it had taken him such an immoderate length of time, Abigail could but stare at him, her fan stilled, her open-mouthed expression fortunately mistaken by Tilghman for one of awe.
"I knew you'd understand about my not needing any help, Miss Danforth." Feeling expansive in the light of such open admiration he added, "It's a big country out there. Dangerous for a tenderfoot. You'd take a lot of looking after so's you wouldn't get lost, or hurt. And you'd get no pampering like you ladies are used to."
Not trusting herself to speak without losing her temper, Abigail busied herself with drinking her coffee and allowed Maude to carry the burden of conversation.
When, at last, Maude stood, Tilghman was on his feet in an instant to stand by her at the writing desk while she penned the address of the Palace Hotel in San Francisco so that he could have Crosspatches delivered in the event that he was able to recover the horse.
Standing between the two overstuffed chairs by the window, Abigail forced herself to graciously perform the amenities of departure while Kinkade retrieved Tilghman's hat. Maude accompanied the lawman to the platform.
Paying not the slightest attention to the porters as they cleared the table, Abigail remained standing, staring out of the window. She cared not a fig whether the Marshal's insults had been intentional or not, they still rankled. But she had to admit that he'd been right about one thing. The country beyond her gaze was a trackless wilderness about which she knew nothing. Crosspatches could be anywhere. Bound by her promise to Maude to proceed to San Francisco with all due speed, she'd have to leave him behind. Her eyes filled with tears. Whether they were from grief at the loss of her horse, anger at being so summarily excluded from the efforts to find him, or frustration at being trapped by her own word, she could not have said.