Killing Time

by Paul Lederer

  ‘I’m hoping,’ Jeff said. He patted the neck of his weary dun. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t do this old boy any good running him out here. Your horse,’ he said, looking at Fog, ‘looks like he’s not bothered much by it.’

  ‘He’s desert-born and bred, and he doesn’t extend himself any more than he has to at any time.’

  The two men trailed their horses through the twilight toward Coyote Springs. Nearing it, they could see that they were in luck. The cattails stood straight and green; even the dry willows showed signs of new leafing at their tips, and a last ray of sunlight glinted off the pond which was shallow, but certainly held enough water for their horses, enough to refill empty canteens.

  With the horses picketed near by they rolled out their beds. Tom placed his own bedroll a little away from Jeff’s, still not knowing the man at all. Jeff was carrying no food of any kind, so Tom shared a tin of salt biscuits he had purchased before leaving Rincon.

  ‘I thank you,’ Jeff said, chewing slowly, drinking much water afterward. ‘My stomach thanks you. If I hadn’t run into you, I don’t know if I could have made it.’

  ‘Where is it you’re riding?’ Tom Dyce asked, studying the first few stars that had twinkled on to scatter their light across the face of the pond. Something animal moved in the reeds, then splashed into the water. He glanced that way but saw nothing.

  ‘I’m heading up to the Thibido country, hoping to find some work. I hear it’s nice up that way.’

  ‘It’s not for everybody,’ Tom told him. ‘It’s pretty wild country, but at least it’s cooler than it is out here on the flats. What kind of work are you looking for, Jeff?’

  ‘Whatever I can land. I’m tired of town living. If I can’t find anything, I might have to ride on to Flagstaff, though. I can’t go on much longer without money.’

  ‘There’s a couple of small towns up along the Thibido,’ Tom told him. ‘Or they call them that.’

  ‘Small?’

  ‘That’s not the word for them – a trading post, a general store and they call themselves a city.’

  A cloud of gnats had begun to rise from some hiding place across the pond. Tom drew his scarf up over his mouth and nose to avoid breathing them in. Jeff seemed untroubled by the swarming insects.

  ‘I’d rather work out of town,’ Jeff said with a yawn. ‘I know that I’m just a little old – borderline for riding herd, branding, and all – but I wouldn’t mind some ranch yard-work, if I could find it. I met a man who told me that a couple of small ranches up this way were growing fast. This man told me that he had just ridden down from such a proposition. Seems he didn’t get along with the foreman.’

  ‘That happens,’ Tom Dyce said. ‘Men sometimes just don’t mesh, for no particular reason.’

  ‘Oh, there was a reason,’ Jeff Stottlemeyer told Tom. ‘He found that the foreman was busy nights using a hot cinch-iron to change the brands on calves.’

  ‘It’s been known to happen,’ Tom admitted. ‘But not usually by the foreman the owner has put into a position of trust.’

  ‘No, I know that,’ Jeff said, stretching out in his bed. ‘The dirty thing about the whole scheme is that the owner of the ranch is a woman. Can you beat that! Doesn’t seem right to rob a woman who’s taken a man in and given him the responsibility of watching over her affairs.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ Tom agreed. He was thinking of many things at once. He laid his head back and asked quietly. ‘Do you happen to know the name of the woman?’

  ‘Not for sure. It kinda slipped my mind, but I think the man I met told me it was … Ryan, Pine … something like that. I only remember that she had a real pretty first name – those being a specialty of mine,’ Jeff answered with an unseen smile. ‘Aurora, that was it! That’s a pretty name, now, isn’t it?’

  Yes, it was. Not as pretty as Aurora Tyne herself was, however. If she no longer had feelings for Tom, he wished to know. If someone was cheating her, stealing her inheritance, she was going to find Tom around her whether she liked it or not.

  THREE

  The dawn light purpled the flanks of the hills as they approached them. Here and there the glint of sun-gold limned the peaks brilliantly. The canyons were dark with cool shadow. Jeff anxiously studied the hills which rose to some 4,000 feet.

  ‘I hope my poor pony can make the climb,’ he said, removing his straw hat to wipe his brow.

  ‘The trail is nowhere as steep as it looks,’ Tom told him confidently. ‘It sort of zigzags this way and that toward that saddleback to the west. From then on, it’s easy riding. We’ll be over the ridge before noon. Then we’ll call a halt to it at Flapjack – assuming the wind hasn’t blown it away.’

  ‘Flapjack?’ Jeff said in puzzlement.

  ‘One of those little settlements I mentioned. It’s not much, but they’ll have grub for us and hay for the horses.’

  ‘That’s all we need for the time being,’ Jeff replied. He shrugged sadly, ‘Although I can’t afford either at the moment.’

  ‘I can let you have a few dollars,’ Tom offered.

  ‘I’d appreciate it. You know I’ll pay you back as soon as I find myself a situation.…’ Jeff rambled on, but Tom was uneasy hearing his effusive gratitude. He was no longer listening, but only watching the trail and the uplands as they rode higher, following the wandering path.

  Here and there they now began to see pine trees and cedars scattered across the rugged flanks of the hills, and as they crested the saddleback they were met by a cool breeze which chilled their sweat-soaked bodies. They paused to look out across the land and to let the horses blow. Farther along, miles farther, true mountain peaks lifted their heads toward the long sky. They wound their way down to the broad pale-green flats below and, true to Tom’s prediction, came upon Flapjack shortly after noon.

  ‘That’s it, is it?’ Jeff Stottlemeyer asked as they halted again on a low ridge overlooking the valley where Flapjack rested like a wounded creature sagging against the earth. Low, virtually without paint and doomed, it was still a cheering sight, as any such outpost is to a man long on the empty land.

  ‘It is, and believe it or not, it’s grown since I saw it last,’ Tom said, for he could count nine buildings huddled together along Thibido Creek which was the only justification for Flapjack’s existence. Available water played a large part in settlers deciding where they might stop, decide to stay. The first pioneers had their choice of remaining here or trekking more endless miles across the sere desert. Rightly or wrongly they had decided that this was as far as they wished to go – perhaps as far as they could make it.

  ‘What’s that one large building, painted yellow?’ Jeff asked as they neared the town.

  Tom laughed. ‘Take your best guess – that’s the saloon, of course.’ The saloons were the first structures built in a frontier town, and likely to be the only ones that prospered.

  ‘I don’t have any interest in drinking or gambling,’ Jeff said, ‘even if I could afford to do so. But, I’ll tell you, Tom, a piece of meat would sure set me up right now.’

  ‘We’ll find us some steak and potatoes,’ Tom agreed. ‘There’s two ranches near by, and so beef is not a problem.’

  ‘The Tyne ranch, the one that woman runs?’ Jeff said, looking a question at Tom.

  ‘And Art Royal’s Circle R. Art’s a tough cookie, but he’s a good enough man. Maybe he can set you up with something in the way of a job.’

  ‘I can only hope that one of the ranches will take me on,’ Jeff said, huffing through his heavy black mustache. ‘I can’t tell you how bad I need work.’

  Tom didn’t answer. For reasons he didn’t fully understand he had been trying to steer Jeff toward the Circle R, keeping him away from Aurora’s Rafter T ranch. He was thinking that he would have enough on his mind without Jeff tagging along, especially if there was any truth to the rumor that Aurora had hired a thieving foreman. He had helped Jeff out, but he wanted no further responsibility for him.

  They found Angel L
opez’s stable open and swung down to walk their horses inside. Angel, a short, thick-shouldered man, came out of the back, wiping his hands on a towel. He furrowed his brow, studying Tom.

  ‘I know you, don’t I?’

  ‘Tom Dyce, Angel. I’ve been gone for about a year now.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Angel’s face lit up with a smile and the two men shook hands. ‘Tom! And that stupid horse of yours, what’s his name?’

  ‘Fog. Don’t call him stupid, though, Angel.’

  ‘What, he’s going to hear me and feel insulted?’

  Tom said nothing else. He was unsure why he had come to Fog’s defense anyway. It’s just that they had traveled many a trail together. If Fog was indeed stupid, perhaps Tom himself was no smarter. He had never figured out a way to charm Aurora Tyne, after all. Thinking about her again, as he did daily, caused his stomach to tighten. How would he react when he actually saw her again, face to face? Like a babbling idiot, he supposed.

  ‘We’ll leave the horses to you, Angel,’ Tom said. ‘Now, partner,’ he said to Jeff, ‘let’s find us some food.’

  ‘You know Carrie’s Kitchen?’ Angel suggested. ‘Those apple trees that Art Royal planted have started to bear fruit, and Carrie can serve up a good apple pie these days.’

  ‘Thanks, Angel. I know the place. That’s where we’re going,’ Tom said as Angel began stripping the two weary horses of their gear. The stableman only lifted a hand to send them on their way. He was more comfortable with horses than humans, as were many men in his trade.

  They walked the street toward the restaurant. Most of the buildings opened directly onto the street; only the saloon seemed prosperous enough to have constructed a porch with an awning which shaded the two wooden benches resting before its bright yellow façade. They could hear men laughing inside the saloon as they passed and someone plucking a badly tuned banjo.

  ‘They start early here, don’t they?’ Jeff said.

  ‘Most of them don’t have anything to do but drink. There’s no work to speak of. A lot of men are out of work.’

  ‘Well, they got money for whiskey, don’t they?’

  ‘If you’re a drinker, that comes first,’ Tom said. In passing the saloon they noticed a tall man with a long, fine-pointed mustache wearing an odd combination of buckskin trousers, blue silk shirt and light-blue jacket. His eyes were cool and dangerous-looking. They followed Jeff and Tom Dyce along the street.

  ‘Don’t ever get into a card game with that fellow,’ Tom said.

  ‘No!’ Jeff agreed with a laugh. For both men had seen the way the stranger wore his gun. There was a holster stitched to his calf-high boot. It seemed an awkward place to wear a Colt – if you were standing up. But if he were sitting across the table from you, he could have that weapon drawn and fired from where it rode long before a man could come to his feet and go for his belt gun.

  ‘Seen that trick before, have you?’ Tom asked.

  ‘The gambler’s rig? A time or two. Enough so that I know I don’t want to sit in on a card game opposite anyone who wears a gun that way. It’s designed strictly for killing.’

  Tom nodded. They had come to the entrance to Carrie’s Kitchen, which was of adobe with narrow slit windows in the front and a plain wooden door to enter by. The restaurant was nothing special to look at, but upon entering they were met with the steamy smells of steaks frying and the almost exotic scent of fresh apple pie. The subtler smells of potatoes boiling and of cabbage were almost as agreeable.

  ‘I’m ready to go from one end of her menu to the other,’ Jeff said, removing his straw hat.

  ‘I don’t think Carrie’s got a menu,’ Tom replied. ‘You get whatever she has cooking and plenty of it.’

  ‘That suits me fine,’ Jeff said agreeably. They found a table not far from the kitchen door and seated themselves. After a while, Carrie – a dumpy sort of asymmetrical woman, with gray-streaked dark hair – came to greet them, her pad poised in her work-roughened hand. Pencil lifted, she stopped and stared at Tom curiously.

  ‘Well, Tom Dyce! You’re back. How in the world is Aurora doing?’

  ‘I was about to ask you the same thing,’ Tom answered.

  ‘You haven’t been out to the ranch yet?’

  ‘Not yet. I don’t know what kind of welcome I’ll receive.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you be welcome?’ Carrie asked.

  ‘No real reason, it’s just that things kind of came to a dead end out there for me.’

  An impatient, bald man took the table next to them and demanded service. Carrie apologized with her expression and went to see to him.

  ‘You didn’t tell me that you knew this Aurora Tyne,’ Jeff said. His hat was in his lap, his hands toying with the silverware on the table.

  ‘It didn’t seem important.’

  ‘It’s just that maybe I said too much about the goings-on up there.’

  ‘It’s of no consequence, Jeff. I’m glad you told me what you did.’

  Carrie was back, ready for their orders. ‘Some of everything, I suppose,’ Tom said, finding that easiest.

  ‘Right, will you be wanting coffee first?’

  ‘If you don’t mind.’

  ‘I’ll see to that – there she is,’ Carrie said, lifting a hand in the direction of a small woman with a mop of red hair, stained apron, bright-blue eyes. The girl held a one-gallon coffee pot, using a towel for a hot pad. ‘That’s Laura. My niece. She came out to Flapjack for a try at the business, but she doesn’t like it much.’

  ‘Not many can stick Flapjack,’ Tom said as the girl made her way toward their table. ‘People are mostly trying to get out of here. They’re even too ashamed to say where they’re from. They’ll usually just answer with “the Flagstaff area” if you ask them. Who wants to admit to being a Flap-jackian?’

  Carrie smiled. ‘I know, there’s not much to brag about, is there? Still, though the refugees outnumber them, we see new faces around here every day. A part of that is the way Aurora Tyne’s ranch is booming. I guess she’ll be bringing in a record herd this year.’

  ‘I heard they were losing cattle,’ Tom said without mentioning Jeff’s rumor of rustling.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Carrie said. ‘I’m stuck here in town. I just know what folks tell me, and they tell me the ranch is prospering, since she brought in that new foreman, Ray Fox … oh, I’m sorry, Tom, I didn’t mean that anyone was saying anything against the way you managed the ranch for Aurora.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Tom said. ‘As long as she’s doing well.’

  The bald man at the next table had begun impatiently tapping his fork against his empty plate.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Jefferson,’ Carrie said to him. ‘I’ll take care of you right away.’

  ‘Some of us have work to do, you know,’ Jefferson said grumpily.

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry,’ Carrie said with a wink at Tom. Then she bustled away toward the kitchen as her young red-headed niece, Laura, arrived with the coffee pot, turned the cups over and filled them.

  ‘Carrie tells me you’re tired of Flapjack already,’ Tom tried. He had been observing the expression on the young woman’s face. It altered quickly from cheery to cloudy, depending, it seemed, on how she was spoken to. He supposed Laura was what they called mercurial: not a desirable trait for a waitress whose job was always to present a happy face to the public.

  ‘I was tired of Flapjack from the day I set foot in it,’ Laura said, and now her face was only wistful.

  ‘So, you’re leaving?’

  ‘I’m leaving. Saturday. The Overland Stage Company has deigned to provide Flapjack with service – one day a week. They say the traffic doesn’t justify more than that, which is a surprise to me – you’d think the people from this town would be stampeding out of here.’

  ‘Different people have different expectations,’ Tom said and Laura offered him a bright smile.

  ‘Yes. That’s why I’m leaving,’ she said, and then, answering a summoning call from the opposi
te corner, she rushed away.

  ‘Pretty little thing,’ Jeff commented as Laura walked away, ‘though she seems a little emotional.’

  ‘Just disappointed with her lot in life,’ Tom guessed. ‘When we’re younger we expect everything to turn out the way we imagine it will; it seldom does. How about you, Jeff? What did you imagine yourself doing when you were her age?’

  ‘Distinguishing myself in a couple of wars and owning a railroad,’ Jeff said with a grin. ‘Now I haven’t two nickels to rub together.’

  Carrie had returned from the kitchen, performing an acrobatic act with three platters, one of which she gave the impatient bald man. The other two she placed in front of Tom and Jeff. ‘You want any more, you just let me know,’ Carrie said.

  ‘If I want anymore after this,’ Tom said, ‘have me examined as a medical curiosity!’ Their platters were heaped with boiled potatoes, buttered cabbage and thick steaks. And they had their apple pie to deal with later.

  The two men got to it, not wasting any more time on conversation. From time to time the harassed-appearing Laura would pass their table and Tom could always spare the time to glance at her. He felt sorry for the girl and faintly attracted to her. But Laura carried her shield high. Anyway, all thoughts of another woman would be obliterated the moment he saw Aurora Tyne again. He fell into a brief reverie concerning her tall, slim figure, the dark, shining hair, her constant smile.…

  ‘Don’t forget to eat,’ Jeff Stottlemeyer said, bringing Tom out of his waking dream. What Jeff thought of Tom’s inattention was unimportant. Tom finished the rest of his meal with a sort of resignation, not eagerness. Jeff was already working on his second slab of thick apple pie spiced with cinnamon before Tom placed his fork and knife aside.

  ‘Better try some of this pie,’ Jeff advised. ‘It’s superior!’ Jeff dabbed at his curtain-sized black mustache with his napkin and went on eating as Tom rose to find the register. He was suddenly eager to get on out to the Tyne ranch. His uncertainty could no longer be coddled. He needed to ride to the place, find Aurora and discover just how much had changed, and where he stood in the new arrangement.