Trouble at the Redstone (Leisure Western)

by John D. Nesbitt

  Inside the Continental Hotel, he saw the usual features of a hotel of its kind. Against the right wall, three empty chairs faced a stone fireplace that had a bare mantel. To the left of the fireplace, a dusty buffalo head stared straight ahead, while on the right, a set of deer antlers hung above an old muzzle-loading rifle. Straight ahead as Will walked from the door, the reception desk stood bare and simple with only the little brass dome of a bell. On the wall behind the desk, a pendulum clock in a case about two feet tall hung on the wall. The clock read a few minutes past four.

  A man with a broad face and a high, shiny forehead came through a doorway next to the clock. “Yes, sir?”

  “I’m here to see Mrs. Irma Welles, if she’s in.”

  The man’s eyebrows went up ever so slightly as he took a passing glance. “This way, please. Follow me.”

  To Will’s surprise, the man went out past the end of the counter and led the way up a stairway. At the top of the stairs he turned right, walked with quiet steps on a carpet that occupied the center of the hallway, and paused at Room 42. He knocked on the thin panel, and a few seconds later the knob turned and the latch clicked. The door opened inward, and there stood the smiling Mrs. Welles, very much as before.

  “Oh, you were able to come,” she said in a breezy voice. “How very good.” With a nod at the hotel man she said, “Thank you.”

  As the man turned and made his quiet departure, Mrs. Welles said, “Please come in.”

  Will stepped inside and took off his hat, and as she turned to close the door, he took a quick survey of the room. Close to the door, along the right wall, sat a couch with a wooden frame and stuffed cushions. In front of it a low table squatted on an oval rug. Against the back wall stood a dark cabinet about chest high. To its left he saw a lighter-toned wooden chair. Beyond that, the left side of this ample room had the usual furnishings of a dresser, a washstand with basin and pitcher, an iron-framed bed, and a freestanding wardrobe with its doors closed. He did not let his eyes linger for very long on that side of the room, although there were no personal items in sight.

  He stood with his hat in hand as she clicked the key in the lock and turned to face him.

  “I hope you don’t mind meeting here,” she said. “I thought it would be better to keep out of the public view.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Shall I take your hat?”

  “Sure.” He handed it to her, and she hung it on a rack he had not noticed before, between the wardrobe and the door. As she did, he formed a renewed impression of her.

  She was wearing the same outfit as on the last occasion, a light blue dress and a dark blue jacket. He imagined she didn’t have a vast selection, and this must be the way she dressed for business. It also showed her figure to advantage, as she had a firm bosom and had not begun to pooch out at the waist.

  She turned and smiled, showing her clean, even teeth. “Shall we sit down?”

  “Fine.” He turned to the chair that sat against the wall, lifted it, and set it near the corner of the low table so that it faced the sofa but not directly.

  She sat on the sofa with her right arm on the wooden rest. “I’m glad you were able to come today,” she said.

  “It worked out all right. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, but I didn’t get your note until I came in from a ride I had gone on.”

  “It’s perfectly fine.” Her face softened as she smiled again.

  “You didn’t have much trouble finding out where to write me, I guess.”

  “It wasn’t very difficult. Everyone seems to know everything in this town.”

  “Except where Mr. Vee is.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “Oh, have you asked around for him?”

  “Not much. Just with a couple of men whose confidence I think I can trust.”

  She let out a small sigh. “That’s good.” Then her face brightened. “Before we go any further, I want to give you this.”

  As she reached into her jacket pocket, he raised his head in expectation, hoping she would bring out a photograph. Instead, she produced a small purse with a beaded clasp, which she opened. She drew out a packet folded in plain brown paper.

  “Here,” she said, handing it to him.

  He took it, felt its weight, and unfolded the paper. He counted five ten-dollar gold pieces. “I don’t think I’ve earned this yet,” he said.

  Her face had a firm expression as she said, “I want you to take it now.”

  “Not wishing to argue, but our agreement was for fifty to begin with, fifty after a month or when the job was finished, and then something else if the job called for more. And it’s been barely ten days.”

  “I know. But I thought I would give you this while I had it.”

  He wavered as he held the open packet in his palm.

  “Please take it. Fold it up, put it away, don’t look at it until the month’s up, but please take it while I have it.”

  Will measured a deep breath, met the sincere look of her bluish gray eyes, and said, “All right. But I don’t think I deserve it yet, and it should be enough for anything I have left to do.”

  “Don’t think any more about it,” she said. “Think about the work instead. Even if you haven’t found out very much, I’m sure you have something to tell me.” She sat poised, as if she were ready to take in information.

  “Well, as you know, I got hired on at the Redstone.”

  “Was that the first thing you did?”

  “Actually, no. I had to get my horse out of hock, get cleaned up, and travel here. On my way I met a man named Dunn who runs a way station, and he told me there might be a job at the Redstone. Then I stopped here in town, at a place down the street called the Lucky Diamond, and I got into a fight with a fellow who wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  “Do you fight much?” She had an expression of light amusement on her face.

  “More than I like, especially when it turns out that this little fightin’ rooster works at the Redstone, too.”

  “And just for my information, what’s his name?”

  “He goes by Max Aden. He’s one of those smaller men that’s always out to prove themselves. I understand he’s from Missouri, but from the way he talks and dresses, it sounds like he’s worked in Texas.”

  She smiled without opening her mouth. “Certainly not Mr. Vee, as you called him, in disguise.”

  “I came to that conclusion.”

  “What else is there?”

  “Well, even before I got to the Redstone, I found out there might be a job because one of the riders had gotten killed. And not by accident.”

  “Really?” She brought her eyes up to his, and he had the impression she had been looking either at his hands or at his six-gun.

  “Yes, and that seems to be something else that nobody knows anything about.”

  “Sort of a mystery?”

  “It would be more of one if anyone seemed willing to talk about it or inclined to solve it.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “For the most part, they act as if nothing happened. Meanwhile, work goes on as normal, but I can tell things aren’t right. So I figure, if I can find out what’s going on there, it’ll help me find the missing man. It’s a hunch I have.”

  “It might be a good one.” She shifted in her seat and then straightened up again with her forearm on the wooden rest. “Anything else?”

  “I think so.” Lowering his voice, he said, “The boss of the Redstone, an older man named Frank Donovan, seems to be buyin’ up, or tryin’ to buy up, various pieces of land in the area. This is where I thought the other fellow might come in. You said he’d done land-office work and that sort of a thing.”

  “He has.”

  “My thought is that Donovan might have him set up somewhere to take care of some of that work. Of course, he might be off in an entirely different place doin’ somethin’ else, and here I am lookin’ under all the wrong rocks.”

  She gave a small shake of her head. “I think y
ou’re doing fine and should keep on doing the same thing for a while.”

  Will nodded. “Sounds all right with me.” His hands moved, and he realized he wanted to roll a cigarette.

  She must have caught something, for she said, “Mr. Dryden, can I offer you something to drink?”

  “Well, um, I hadn’t thought of it—”

  She smiled. “But you wouldn’t turn it down?”

  He tipped his head. “No, I think it would be all right.”

  He watched as she rose from the couch, walked to the dark cabinet, leaned to open it, and brought out a full bottle of whiskey. She set it on top of the cabinet and took out two glasses.

  “I believe I’ll have a little myself,” she said, “so you don’t have to drink alone.”

  “Good enough.”

  She spoke over her shoulder. “By the way, I’ve got this room for a week, so if you need to get in touch with me, I’ll be here. After that I plan to go back to Cheyenne to tend to things, and I’ll be back in about two weeks from today. I’ll get in touch with you again then.”

  He observed her shape as she had her back to him. “That sounds fine,” he said.

  She turned with two short, wide glasses, each one half-full. She handed one to him, set the other on the low table, and took her seat again on the couch. As he thanked her for the drink, her right hand went up to her light brown hair and brushed it back.

  “You’re welcome,” she said. Then, after a pause, “Tell me more about the Redstone. Who knows what might be important.”

  Will took a sip of the whiskey, and the taste spread through his mouth. “Well, to begin with, there’s the owner. I already mentioned him. Name of Donovan. He’s about sixty, soft in the body and a little too smiling. Then comes his foreman, Earl Ingram, who’s close to forty and straight as an arrow. After that we’ve got the four of us riders. I mentioned Max Aden. Then there’s Brad Way, an easygoin’ young fellow, and Jim Calvert, who’s about Ingram’s age and has been punchin’ cows since he first learned to shave. He’s the one I’ve got some confidence in.”

  “I thought you said there were two.” She looked at him across the top of her glass as she prepared to take a sip.

  “Oh, there are. The other one’s Dunn, the fella with the way station.”

  “I see.” The tip of her tongue was visible as she lowered her glass. “And that’s the whole crew?”

  “Well, there’s the cook and her helper. White woman name of Blanche and an Indian girl.” Again he was conscious of not saying much about Pearl. He looked down at his glass and took another sip of the sweetish whiskey. “Like I said, I think there’s something that’s not on the square there, and since the person I’m looking for might be a little—”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Well, in our last conversation you allowed me to think he was capable of doing things, shall I say, crooked.”

  She took another drink as well. “I allowed that, indeed.”

  “And you said he often goes armed.”

  “He does.”

  “So I figure, if there are a couple of things that don’t look straight, he could easily be caught up in one of ’em.”

  She held her eyes level at him again. “Or both.”

  He flicked his eyebrows. “That depends on how crooked he is.”

  She hesitated, took another drink, and said, “Mr. Dryden, Al Vetch is as crooked as a dog’s leg. Don’t put anything past him.”

  He drew back. “I guess I won’t.” He took yet another sip and said, “I wonder how a nice woman like you would end up with someone like that. But of course that’s your business.”

  “I’ll tell you.” Her voice had a quaver to it, as if the whiskey were taking effect, though Will thought it might come from anger. “He’s a crooked son of a bitch, excuse my language, and I fell for it. He just wanted one thing.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s what his type wants.”

  Will shrugged.

  “Money. What little I had, he wanted to squeeze me dry of every last penny.”

  Will sat wide-eyed.

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Well, no, I guess not. I knew that some men put money ahead of everything else. I just don’t think of that first when I think of what a man wants.”

  Her face had a hazy expression on it as she asked, “What do you want, Mr. Dryden?”

  “Well, first off, I guess I just want to do what I set out to do, or how things have shaped up, and that’s find the truth and find out what the connections are.”

  Her gaze relaxed. “Well, I think you’re on the right trail.”

  “Like you said before, just keep doin’ what I’ve been doin’. By the way, would it be all right if I smoke?”

  “Sure. There’s an ashtray in the cabinet.”

  As he went about rolling his cigarette, she got up, took a couple of steps to the cabinet, came back, and set a tin tray on the table.

  “Thanks.” He lit his cigarette, shook out the match, and dropped it in the tray. “Let me ask you a question if you don’t mind, Mrs. Welles.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What do you think this fella’s up to?”

  “Like I told you the other day, I think he’s trying to raise some money so he can go somewhere else.”

  “Do you have an idea where?”

  She paused and ran the tip of her tongue along the lower edge of her upper lip. “No, but I think I know with whom.”

  He held his cigarette in suspense. “Oh, really? Who would that be?”

  Her eyes went steely cold. “The one he was with before. The tart who works in the kitchen.”

  His pulse jumped. “Not the Indian girl?”

  “No, no. The white woman. The slatternly one.”

  “Blanche?”

  “That’s her. I thought she was off waiting somewhere, but if she’s in the picture here, then I imagine he’s not too far off. I’d guess she got him some work with good Mr. Donovan. His kind of work.”

  Will let out a low whistle. “Then what do you want me to do?”

  Her hand seemed to move in a careless motion as she raised her glass to her lips. After a sip she took the glass away and said, “Just keep doing what you’re doing, like we said. As soon as we can find them together, with witnesses, I’ve got what I need to keep him from ever coming back.”

  “Good enough.” Will blinked, saw that he was close to the bottom of his glass, and finished it off. Then he raised his cigarette and took a long, leisurely drag.

  “You look like you could use another drink.”

  He smiled at her through the haze of cigarette smoke. “I wouldn’t turn it down.”

  “Good.” She finished her own drink, stood up and held still for a second, and took the two glasses to the cabinet. A minute later, she stood with her hip not far from his shoulder as she handed him his drink.

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” She sat down again, shifted in her seat, and brushed at her hair. “What else?”

  “Well, I don’t know what else. I think I’ve got an idea of what might be up and what I’ve got to do.”

  “And what’s that?” Her voice seemed to be drifting.

  “Find Al Vetch,” he said, feeling that he was repeating the obvious.

  “Oh, I’m sick of him. Sick of everything about him. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “That would be all right. What about yourself?”

  She waved her hand. “I don’t want to talk about me. I feel like the biggest fool in the world. The girl who fell for it after everyone warned her.”

  “I don’t know what else.”

  “Let’s talk about you. Mr. Will Dryden.”

  He tasted his drink. It was whiskey, just like the last one. “We can do that,” he said. “What would you like to know?”

  She straightened up in her seat. “Why don’t you come over here and sit down, so we don’t have to shout at each other?”

  “I could do tha
t.” He took another long drag on his cigarette, looked at the ash, and decided he’d gotten enough out of that one. He leaned forward and crushed the butt in the tin tray, then picked up his drink, walked around the table, and sat on the couch about a foot away from the woman. His motions seemed deliberate and slow to him, almost detached, and he had a faint memory of not having eaten anything since breakfast. He had drunk the beer in the meanwhile, and now this whiskey. But he was sitting next to a woman. He could get something to eat a little later.

  “Well, Mr. Will Dryden,” came the woman’s voice. “What do you think?”

  “What do I think of what?”

  “Of this.”

  “Of what? Sittin’ on a couch and havin’ a drink?”

  She peered at him. “Well, that. What else?”

  He opened his eyes and let them relax. “Havin’ a drink with a woman?”

  “That’s right.” She held up her drink, he touched his to it, and they drank.

  She ran the back of her fingers down the upper arm of his shirt. “Well, what about it?”

  “About sittin’ here havin’ a drink with a woman? Why, it’s all right.”

  “Just all right?”

  “Well, no, it’s better than that. It’s a pleasure.” He was pleased with himself for finding the words.

  “You like it?”

  “Sure. I like a drink. I like women.”

  She put her hand in his. “I thought you did. I thought you liked women.”

  He remembered the hand from before, not rough from work but not a soft lady’s hand either. “Well, I do.”

  Her eyes were soft and her lips were moist as she turned to look full at him. “Do you like me?”

  “Of course I do.”

  The dim afternoon swam around him as he lost himself in the kisses, the caresses, the pressing of their two bodies as they sprawled against the couch. Then her voice in his ear, “Big, strong Mr. Will Dry-den,” as he carried her to the bed.

  He awoke in the dark. The woman was sleeping beside him. He could hear her breathing with her mouth open. Tangled memories came to him, a mélange of soft sound, turbulent motion, deep desire not held back. He imagined she had been wanting something like this for a long time; he knew he had.

  She lay with her back to him. He knew he had to leave, but he wasn’t going to just slip away. That was for other kinds of occasions. He laid his hand on her hip, and she stirred.