by Julie Weston
He ignored her, as did Charlie Azgo, who climbed into his own auto, started it up, and was pulling out when Gwynn half-stumbled down the stairs to chase him. “Charlie. I’m comin’ with ya,” he called. The sheriff ignored the old man, if he had heard him, and the procession pulled out onto the dirt road. Dust flew.
“God damn them,” Lulu said. “Gwynn, get back to the porch.” If she couldn’t order the revenuers around, she could the sheep man. “You can’t go anywhere. You’re half-drunk and exhausted besides. I’ll get you somethin’ to eat and somethin’ more to ‘wet your whistle.’ Now sit down.” She headed in the door but stopped. “I got an envelope for the sheriff. Came from Twin Falls. Maybe you can deliver it to him.”
While she cut a piece of ham and spread two slices of sourdough bread with butter and mustard, she pondered. Would Nell Burns kill a man? Yes, she supposed so, but only with good reason, was Lulu’s opinion. Trouble was, reasons didn’t always mean anything. She hadn’t seen a big black automobile go by, but she’d been busier than a cow on skates the last day or two. Besides, more and more automobiles took the road past her lodge and up over the pass every day. It was high summer season. Not everyone stopped.
“So Nellie killed a man, or so this Hank-guy said,” Lulu prompted when she returned and placed the sandwich in Gwynn’s hands. “Eat this.” Then, “How’d she do it?”
“Shot him is what Hank said. In the head. I saw the bullet hole. Clean as a whistle. Charlie checked him over some before we left the saloon. We drove all the way up that blasted Fourth of July Creek track, hiked up that mountain, and Charlie Azgo didn’t say a goddammed word the whole time. I never did see what my Lily saw in him. Tough bird is all I can say.” He heaved a giant sigh and wiped his mouth with his hand, then drank again from the glass. This time Lulu had cut the liquor with water.
“We got to the camp just as they were breakin’ it, headin’ down themselves. Takin’ the women to the saloon and the roadhouse. Some of the men was goin’ huntin’. Charlie arrested Nell on the spot. You’d a thought she was a common criminal. Gave them dudes somethin’ to see and talk about. I saw that tart. She kept her distance.”
“What about Nell? What did she say?”
“She got her arm slashed, she says, by Wolfman Pitts. She said she shot him in self-defense. And she was bleedin’ bad. I sewed it up when we got back to the road—had gear in my truck. We’d left it off on a side track when we headed down to Stanley earlier. Brave heart, she has. Hardly let a sound out.”
Lulu felt proud of Nellie, as if they were somehow related. Shooting a man took guts and Lulu had no doubt he’d given her reason. But even more, she’d been brave when she didn’t have to be, when Gwynn sewed her up. “Where was the sheriff by now? Standing by with handcuffs?”
“Nope. He took off. Told me to get Nellie to Alphonso’s camp and leave her there, then meet him here. What about her arrest, I asks. He don’t say a thing. Man went up in my estimation. He might make a good lawman after all.”
After a few minutes of silence, Gwynn’s head dropped onto his chest and Lulu realized he was sleeping. She prodded him awake and helped him to her apartment upstairs where he laid down on her bed and instantly was asleep again. His face softened in sleep, but he was getting too old to run around the way he’d been doing. What about his sheepherder who was killed, she wondered. Gwynn was one of the few ranchers who treated his workers like people, and she was sure the death of Domingo weighed on him. Now another man was dead, although, like the making of moonshine, who cared?
CHAPTER 16
The old rifle from the drawer stood against the end of the bed shelf where Nellie had placed it when she was searching for her camera. She began to climb off of the bed to see who was approaching outside, but when she heard voices, decided to wait and see what developed. In the meantime, she grabbed the gun and pulled it under the covers with her. The barrel was the same temperature as the air, warm. This was probably the same rifle—the Winchester—that killed Domingo, she thought, if Pearl told the truth.
“Camp’s empty.” The voice was familiar to Nellie, but she couldn’t put a name to it yet. It wasn’t Dick Goodlight, the one person she feared now that Wolfman Pitts was dead, but maybe he was the other rider.
A mumbled reply. The horses shifted and one of them moved closer to the wagon.
“ ’Cause the door’s open and the sheep ain’t here. Check inside if you don’t believe me.”
Nellie flattened herself as hard as she could, pulling a blanket over her head, hoping the bed just looked rumpled and unmade in the dim light. Through the blankets she could tell the inside of the wagon darkened as the light was blocked, briefly. She held her breath and hoped Moonshine would not choose to make an appearance then. The smell of sheep and man almost suffocated her in the heat, and the combination of dust and odor made her want to sneeze.
“Let’s get outta here. The maggot’s on his own allotment.” A horse shifted again and the voice diminished, then grew louder, as if the rider had turned away and then back. “I don’t want to leave the cattle for long. This storm’ll spook ’em.”
Ned Tanner, that’s who was talking. The shadow at the door disappeared and Nellie peeked out from under the blankets, preparatory to getting up and disclosing her presence.
“. . . told to destroy the camp, scatter the damned sheep to kingdom come . . .”
And that was Hank Fischer, whom she thought was an outfitter, not a cowboy. He was the one who identified her as a murderer to the sheriff.
“Since when did you always follow orders?” Ned guffawed, a disbelieving kind of noise. “We roughed him up before and he didn’t leave, just moved to hell and gone from the road. Now that damned lawman thinks one of us killed the first one. We can say we didn’t find the camp. I ain’t goin’ to jail for no one. Not even—”
“Hsst. Someone’s comin’.”
Nellie listened as hard as the two men outside. Sheep moved like sighs through long grass and sage, but the bell of the lead sheep could be heard for long distances if the wind were blowing just right. Unfortunately, the faint ding ding ding flowed right down into camp, followed shortly by the murmured bleating of a band of sheep on the move.
Moonshine must have heard the sounds too because he began barking from a distance behind the wagon and trotted out to a spot where Nellie could see him. Why he hadn’t come out before, she didn’t know, but she was both relieved and worried to have him appear. His presence would give away hers, and yet he was some protection for her and for Alphonso. So was the rifle.
“. . . damned dog. That damned picture-taker is around someplace.”
As quickly as she could with one half-useless arm, Nellie donned her boots, then stood in the doorway, the Winchester held low in her hands. She had no idea if it would shoot if she pulled the trigger or even if there was a bullet in it.
“I’m right here,” she said. “Hello, Ned. Aren’t you a little out of your territory? I’d think your cattle might need you shortly.” She motioned with the rifle to the thick pewter clouds towering over them. “Here, Moonshine.” He barked and trotted to the bottom of the steps, not crouched exactly, but wary.
Ned smiled, as if glad to see her. “Nell Burns. You do get around. What happened to you? You look like you been through the wringer, not that you ain’t pretty as always.” He winked at her. “Last time I saw you, you was headin’ for bed at the roadhouse.” He leaned forward on his horse, as if the two of them were alone in the world. “Them pictures turn out? I been lookin’ forward to seein’ if I look like a real Wild West cowboy.”
His charm worked, and she smiled back. His mismatched eyes intrigued her once again. Ding, ding, ding. The sheep were moving closer. “I hope you’re not planning to do what you said you didn’t do before.” She moved the Winchester closer to a horizontal level. “Rough up Alphonso, I mean.” She faced the other man. “You, either. I didn’t know you felt so strongly about me, Hank.” He had the grace to duck his head. “Yo
u both better leave. I don’t know a lot about guns, but I figure I could hit your horses if nothing else.”
“My horse?” Ned’s voice was as shocked as his face.
“Told you she was a bitch. And she sure as hell knows some-thin’ about guns. She shot a man up at the campout.”
Shock turned to disbelief, and Ned snorted. “You been drink-in’?” He turned his horse toward the downhill side of camp.
“I took him down. Wolfman Pitts.” Hank might have been bragging. Then a puzzle entered his expression. “Hey, I thought the sheriff was comin’ back up to arrest you, picture-taker.”
“Guess he forgot to do that,” she said. Everyone in camp had seen her arrest, so she had to think that Hank and Ned hadn’t run into the tourists or Luke and the other outfitters on their way down to Stanley.
The man’s lip curled. “I heard you was his friend. Don’t cozy up to this one, Tanner. She’s taken.”
“Just stopped to say ‘howdy’ to our friend, the maggot-herder.” Ned tipped his cowboy hat. “Always nice to see a lady.”
It was Nellie’s turn to feel ashamed. If her face hadn’t tanned so dark, he might have seen her blush. “Ned,” she called as his horse began to walk away, “who killed Domingo?” She wanted to know if Pearl really did do it.
He reined in, and Nellie watched his face and Hank’s. “Damned, uh, darned if I know. You know, Hank?”
The other man shrugged and continued on his way. Nellie didn’t see guilty knowledge in either of them, but then Ned had lied to her before. He winked again, turned, and the two men on horses moved casually down the hill. When they were out of earshot and almost out of sight, Ned reined in to talk with Hank, behind him. Nell thought they were arguing, but couldn’t be certain. Hank did most of the talking, as near as she could tell, and Ned listened, but before long, glanced toward the camp and walked his horse away, disappearing behind a ridge. Hank sat on his horse for a moment or two and then followed.
Not five minutes later, Alphonso rode into camp at a slow walk. The sheep’s bleating indicated their presence a short distance up the hill from camp, beginning to bed down near the creek. The sheepherder waved to Nellie. After he dismounted and grained and watered his horse, he came up to Nellie, who by then was sitting on a step, the rifle across her lap. She didn’t trust the cowmen. He pointed to the Winchester.
“Two cowboys came in here. They were going to trash the camp again, maybe hurt you if you returned.” She lifted the gun an inch or two. “This stopped them. I’m not certain they’re gone for good.”
He took the rifle from her and broke it open to show her it was empty. He laughed out loud, a cheerful grating sound, one that made Nellie smile along with him, and chuckling softly, he climbed back into the wagon, opened the supply drawer, and came out with a handful of bullets. He showed her how to load the gun, gave her another handful to put in her pants pocket.
“How do I shoot it?”
Alphonso’s laugh was even louder. He pushed the lever down and up, lifted the Winchester to his shoulder, aimed it away from the sheep, showed how he would press the trigger with the index finger of his right hand, then shrugged. Easy, he might have said.
“I want to see if the cowboys really left. Can I take the gun with me?” Nellie held out her good arm and Alphonso placed it in her hand. “And the horse?”
The sheepherder pointed to her bandaged arm and shook his head.
“It’s much better, Alphonso, thanks to you. I think I can ride all right. Probably they headed back to their cattle. That storm looks wicked. I’d just like to make sure. I’ll be back in . . . half an hour, say.” She wasn’t sure how she would ride and hold the rifle but Alphonso took it from her again and placed it in a leather sheath attached to the saddle, then helped her mount.
“Vaya con . . . careful.” Alphonso’s face looked stern and dark.
I will, Nellie assured herself. This was foolish perhaps, but the cowboys had acted strangely as they moved away from camp. They wouldn’t dare treat her the way they had treated both Domingo and Alphonso, so it made sense for her to check them out. She called for Moonshine, who followed her as she moved down the hill and then up a ridge. At the top, she stopped. Behind her, Alphonso had gone into the sheep camp and the whole area looked deserted, the same quiet scene that Ned and Hank had seen. Facing north, she saw no one, just a long slope filled with trees and shrubs, and in the few bare patches, sagebrush and flashes of Indian paintbrush, telling her the altitude was still high, along with white and yellow yarrow. Black clouds threatened to loosen all hell, and as she kneed the horse to go down, she felt dime-size drops of water begin to splash her face.
The air around her seemed to sizzle and she urged the horse down off the ridge as fast as possible. Permitting herself to be the highest point in the surrounding wild country was like begging to be hit by lightning. As she neared the first line of Alpine fir on what was probably a game path, a jagged brilliant spear cut the world in half, dazzling the sky. Within seconds, a tremendous crack of thunder assaulted her as if an explosive wind pushed against her. She felt the frailness of her being and cowered low in the saddle, still moving forward. She hoped trees offered some protection from the elements.
The horse was unused to Nellie and balked, then pranced sideways against the branches of a tree. Moonshine crawled on the ground, looking for cover. Another flash illuminated the forest, outlining each needle of each branch of each tree. Gunmetal-gray thunderheads towered over her, diminishing her as if she were an insect clinging to a pebble. The now simultaneous crash of air against air reverberated in the whole earth and drew a shriek from Nellie, a shy from the horse, and she tumbled off.
A clump of grass softened Nellie’s landing and she scrambled to her knees, holding her arm, which was throbbing again. “Stupid!” she shouted at herself. The horse stood nearby and she approached it, wanting the rolled oilcloth tied onto the saddle, if nothing else. The raindrops spattered harder, catching in the branches, but also hitting her bare head. Just as she reached the horse, another flash of lightning turned the darkening afternoon into a bright tableau: horse rearing, dog cowering, man creeping. . . . Again, the thunder roared and the horse reared up and twisted around to trot away. Nellie fell backward, half-blind from the flash, half-stunned from the sound.
“For god’s sake, Nell Burns. What are you doing out in this storm?” It was Ned, leading his horse through the forest. He helped her up, then pulled his oilcloth jacket off and placed it around her head and shoulders. Rain pelted down. Lightning flashed again, but this time, only half the sky was illuminated and the thunder rumbled from a distance, still loud, but not ear-splitting. He moved her and his horse deeper into the trees, sheltering them from what became a downpour.
“What are you doing here?” she managed to ask. “I thought you were going back to your cattle.” She was thankful for the coat and pulled it around her, thinking briefly that she should share it, but making no move to do so.
“I was, but Hank had other things in mind.” He turned toward the direction he had come from and sniffed the air, but stayed beside Nell. “The rain came just in time.” He placed an arm around Nell’s shoulder and said, “Let’s get you back to camp.”
Nell shrugged the arm away. “What do you mean? Where’s Hank?”
“He better be hightailing it to the cattle, or his butt will really be in a wringer. Not that I give a good god-damn for them fleabitten, stupid . . .” His face flushed red. What looked like a bruise on one cheek darkened as they stood propped against the trunk of a Douglas fir whose branches had fallen off from age or disease. The spreading upper branches acted like an umbrella, tattered but still providing cover. “Don’t sound much like a cowboy now, do I?” He grinned. “Come on. Rain’s letting up. I’ll take you back. Looks like you got yourself a hurt arm and a sore butt besides. Want to ride my horse?”
“No, I think I’d just as soon walk. And I can manage alone.” She looked around for Moonie and called him. At
last, he slunk out from behind a large root-ball of a wind-blown tree. “You’re the brave one. Poor Moonshine.” She squatted and wrapped her arms around him. He was wetter than she was. She still felt shaky from the electrical storm and the possibility she could have been struck by lightning. The presence of Ned Tanner confused her and she wasn’t sure if she could trust him. The dog seemed to accept him, so she stood up again. “You’ll get all wet if you insist on leaving your coat around me.”
“I’m used to it,” he said, bitterness edging his voice. He stalked up the game path, the horse’s bridle in his hand, looking awkward and bow-legged in his cowboy boots. He wasn’t much taller than she, and off a horse, hardly imposing. If he had ever seemed dangerous, he didn’t then. Nell noticed a gun tucked into his belt in back. She followed him on the side away from the horse, stepping as near as she could to study the revolver. This one was a different make from the one she’d picked up near Wolfman Pitts, and different from Pearl’s gun, if she was remembering correctly in the first place. Most cow and sheepmen carried rifles to shoot coyotes and snakes and the occasional bear that threatened their charges, but few carried revolvers. Why did this cowboy?
The storm had moved north, and it was true, the rain lessened. Sun rays shone between the lingering clouds, lighting up the now wet sagebrush and bringing out the fresh smell of sage. Although the ground was wet, half an inch down, dust showed in the cowboy’s footsteps. Nellie fell behind, then hurried to catch up again. “What did you mean that Hank had other things in mind?” she called to Ned. He continued to side-step through the brush; they were out of the trees now and picking their way to the ridge.
“He wanted to burn you out.” He didn’t stop to talk, just spoke to the air in front of him. When Nellie didn’t say anything, he continued. “Not you, specifically. The sheep. Thought if he lit a fire in the trees back there, it would whip up the ridge and over and down. Never mind the whole mountain might be torched. Stupid, goddamned . . .” His legs strode in longer steps. Then he did stop and turned to face her. “There’s some mighty mean men in this world, Nell. I hope you don’t get caught up with ’em.
