Bitterroot Valley
Page 7
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Stewart.”
“What about him?”
“His breakfast looks better than mine.”
“I warned you,” she said. “Just have more bacon. Here, take mine.”
“Okay.”
“You’re really gonna take it?”
“You offered it.”
“Here,” she said, “take one piece, leave me the other one.”
She turned in her seat, looked around the room.
“See any other passengers?” Clint asked.
“No,” she said. “I thought maybe the preacher and his wife would be on their way back.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t seem very happy,” Evie said, “did she?”
“No. But the preacher seemed very determined.”
“I thought she would win.”
“We should have bet on it.”
“So it’ll only be the three on the stage,” Clint said. “Think we’ll be able to keep him quiet?”
She laughed.
“I’ll bet we can keep him awake, though,” she said.
“Think he’ll get upset if we start to have sex?” Clint asked.
She laughed again.
“You’re bad, Clint.”
“We better get across the street,” he said, pushing his plate away. “We want to get good seats.”
“You’re not gonna eat that piece of bacon, after all?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “You can have it back.”
She grabbed it and ate it as they went out the door.
“Is it because I touched it?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, “I had my tongue all over you last night, but I won’t eat your bacon because you touched it.”
TWENTY-SIX
They got into the stagecoach first. Granville Stewart entered later. He sat across from Clint and Evie, while trying not to look at them.
The stage started moving and they were on their way back to Judith Gap.
After about half an hour Clint said, “Aw, come on, Stewart.”
“I beg your pardon?” Stewart asked.
“You’ve got to talk to us sometime during this trip,” Clint said.
“Why?”
“Because it’s incredibly rude not to,” Evie said.
Stewart looked at Evie. The look went on long enough for her to start squirming.
“I don’t talk to reporters,” he said finally.
“I don’t either,” Clint said, “but for this trip she’s just a passenger, not a reporter.”
“She’s a woman,” Stewart said.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” she asked.
“Women are good for only one thing,” the rancher said.
“And what’s that?”
He grinned.
“Well, I’m not rude enough to come out and tell you,” he said, leering at her, “but I’m sure you can figure it out.”
Evie stared at him, then said, “You know what? Forget it. Don’t talk to us.”
She folded her arms and looked away.
Stewart found it funny.
“Whores,” he said.
“What?” she said.
“Women. They’re good as whores, and maybe waitresses and saloon girls, but that’s about it.”
“You sonofa—”
“That’s enough, Stewart,” Clint said.
“Why? You wanted me to talk.”
“Well, not anymore. If you were trying to make us want you to shut up, you succeeded.”
Granville Stewart looked out the window and said, “I always do.”
The exchange convinced Clint that Stewart was a lot smarter than he’d first thought.
They managed to make the rest of the trip without talking. Clint and Evie took turns dozing off. Each time Clint woke up, he saw Stewart staring out the window. Apparently, he didn’t sleep.
They pulled into Judith Gap, and Stewart was the first one off the stage, opening the door even before the vehicle stopped.
“What a pig,” Evie said.
“Even more than you first thought?”
“Oh yeah.”
Clint got out of the stage and then helped Evie down. He caught her bag when the driver dropped it down.
“Here you go,” Clint said.
“Thanks, Clint. I’ve got to go and see my editor. I’ll see you later?”
“Yup, later.”
He watched her walk away, then caught his saddlebags and rifle as the driver handed them down. Then he walked over to the sheriff’s office.
“You’re back,” Piven said from his desk.
“Didn’t you think I’d be back?” He put his saddlebags and rifle down on the man’s desk. “Any coffee?”
“Help yourself.”
“You want some?”
“Sure.”
Clint poured two mugs full and carried them back to the desk. He pulled a chair over and sat down.
“So? What’d you find out?”
“Well,” Clint said, “the cattlemen in this area are inept, except for Fredericks and Quarterman, and they’re too old to do anything.”
“And Stewart?”
“I’ll get to him. I liked Sheriff Lewis, by the way. Nice guy.”
“He’s an old grouch.”
“Yeah, I know, that’s what I like about him.”
“Do you meet the police chief?”
“Yes, I don’t like him at all. He’s going to make a mess of that police department.”
“And what about Granville Stewart?”
“Well, a friend of mine thinks he’s a pig.”
“A friend of yours? Who?”
“Evie Loomis.”
“Ah, Miss Loomis. So you and her are friends now, huh?”
“Kind of.”
“And did you meet Stewart?”
“I did. And she’s right,” Clint said. “He is a pig. A smart pig.”
“Smart?”
“He’s got all those cattlemen wrapped around his finger,” Clint said. “They’re afraid of him, and they’re afraid to do without him.”
“So what’ll they do?”
“Nothing,” Clint said. “They tried to hire me, though.”
“What?”
“The two old men,” Clint said. “They thought I was looking for work. Like the old days.”
“What’d you tell them?”
“To hire somebody else.”
“You think they will?”
“Maybe.”
“And Stewart?”
“He’s going to do something smart.”
“You were that impressed with him, huh?”
“Not as a man,” Clint said. “He’s rude, and he’s got a low opinion of women. But I think he’s a smart businessman.”
“Well, when he gets back to his ranch, he’s gonna be a mad businessman.”
“Why? What happened?”
“While he was away, the rustlers hit.”
“His place?”
“That’s just it,” Piven said. “They hit the three spreads around him.”
“So? You think he’s going to feel slighted?” Clint asked.
“Not slighted,” Piven said. “He’s gonna feet targeted.”
“Targeted?”
“Yeah, he’s gonna feel like the rustlers have painted a great big target around his place, with his house as the bull’s-eye.”
“You think he’s going to feel that they’re taunting him?”
“Yup.”
“I’d like to see the look on his face when he gets home, then,” Clint said. “I’d like to see him get mad.”
“Why?”
Clint sipped his coffee and said, “He made the ride back very uncomfortable.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Stringer Jack watched Dutch Louie ride back into camp. By the time Louie had dismounted and walked over to the fire, Jack had finished one bowl of stew and was helping himself to another. Louie filled a bowl f
or himself, sat down, and started eating.
“He’s back,” Louie said.
“When?”
“Just now. Well, I mean a little while ago. I left town as soon as the stage pulled in.”
“Anybody with him?”
“Just the reporter lady, and another man.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I never saw him before.”
“And you didn’t bother finding out who he was?”
“Well . . . you didn’t tell me—”
“Never mind,” Jack said. “Call California Ed over.”
“Sure, boss.”
Jack continued to eat until Louis came over with California Ed.
“What’s up, boss?”
“A man got off the stage today with Granville Stewart. I wanna know who he is, and where he came from.”
“Okay, boss.”
“And do it quietly.”
“Okay.”
“Take somebody with you,” Jack said, “but don’t cause any trouble.”
“Okay.”
As Ed turned to leave, Jack said, “Wait.”
“What?”
“Take Brocky with you. There was man on the stage when Brocky and the others tried to take it. Tell Brocky I wanna know if it’s the same man.”
“Okay, boss,” Ed said. “I’ll tell him.”
Stringer Jack spooned more stew into his bowl.
Clint went back to his hotel and arranged for a bath. Piven wanted him to ride out to the Musselshell with him the next day, just for a look around. Today he was going to get a haircut, and a bath, and go and check on Eclipse to make sure he was okay.
He wondered if Piven was right about Stewart. Was the rancher going to get mad because the rustlers didn’t hit him? It seemed an odd thought, but then Stewart seemed to be an odd man.
He was curious about what the man’s next move would be.
Evie stopped off home first to get cleaned up and change, and then went to the office of the newspaper, The Judith Page.
“You’re back,” her editor, Lonny Beckham, said. “It’s about time. You know nothin’ gets done around here without you.”
Beckham was in his seventies, but had more energy than two men half his age. They had more of a fatherdaughter relationship than a business one.
“Did you get anythin’?” he asked. “Somethin’ on the cattlemen?”
“The cattlemen are a bunch of idiots,” she said. “I’ve got something better.”
“What’s better than rustlers and cattlemen?” he asked.
“The Gunsmith.”
“What?”
“Clint Adams came to town a couple of days ago, then took the stage with me to Helena.”
“What for? What’s he here for? Somebody hire him?”
“No, not hired,” she said. “He’s friends with Sheriff Piven.”
“Is Piven gonna deputize him?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Whataya mean, you don’t think so? Didn’t you interview him?”
“He wouldn’t be interviewed,” she said, “yet.”
“But you are gonna get an interview, right?”
“Lonny,” she said, “I’m gonna get an interview if it kills me.”
That night Clint answered his door with his gun in his hand again.
“It’s just me,” Evie said. She spread her hands. “I’ve had a bath.”
“So have I.”
“And a haircut,” she said. “You look . . . cute. And you smell clean.”
“So do you.”
He pulled her into the room and kissed her.
TWENTY-EIGHT
California Ed and Brocky Gallagher didn’t find out anything around town, not by just listening. They decided to go to the hotel and check the registration book quietly.
“I can’t do that, sir,” the clerk said when they asked to see it.
“Why not?”
“We have to protect our guests—”
Ed took out two bits, while Brocky took out his gun.
“Your choice.”
The clerk took the two bits and pushed the book over to them.
“Read it,” Ed said.
“I can’t read, Ed,” Brocky said.
Ed took the book and ran his finger down the names. When he came to the name Clint Adams, he stopped.
“Clint Adams,” he said.
“The Gunsmith?” Brocky Gallagher said. “No wonder he was so good with a gun.”
“Let’s go.”
They went outside the hotel, and across the street.
“We goin’ back to camp?” Brocky asked.
“Nah, not yet,” Ed said.
“Why not?”
“Jack’s always sayin’ he wants his boys to think for themselves,” Ed said. “We’re gonna wait for Clint Adams to come out. You’re gonna make sure he’s the one who was on the stage.”
“And what if he sees me?”
“He won’t. Just relax.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Just watch the door.”
Evie pressed her hands down on Clint’s chest and rode his hard cock up and down slowly.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked.
“I’m trying . . . to make it . . . last,” she said.
“Why?” he asked, grabbing her hips. “We’ll just do it again.”
“Clint—”
He flipped her over onto her back, popping out of her as he did so. He got between her legs and pushed himself in again all the way, making her catch her breath. She wrapped her legs around him and he began to fuck her faster and faster.
“Oh, yes,” she said, “yes, yes, yes . . . that’s it . . . ooh, God, yes . . .”
Clint grunted and exploded inside her with a low roar. . .
They did it again.
This time he spooned up against her, sliding his cock up between her soft thighs and inside her. Then he wrapped his arms around her so he could hold a breast with one hand, rubbing the nipple, and place the other hand between her legs. She gasped as he started to move in her, and manipulate her with his fingers.
“Jesus,” she said, breathlessly, “now who’s trying to kill who? Where did you learn this?”
“From a French woman,” he said in her ear.
She laughed.
“Those poor French women,” she said. “They get blamed for everything.”
“On the contrary,” he said, thrusting harder, “they get all the credit.”
TWENTY-NINE
Granville Stewart received the news from his foreman when he arrived at home. He stood in his office and listened in stoic silence to the news.
“Sorry, boss,” James Doubt said. “Maybe I shoulda waited until you got settled.”
“No, Jim,” Stewart said. “That’s okay. How many head did they get?”
“Altogether? Maybe a couple of hundred. I don’t get it. They coulda got more.”
“They were just sending me a message,” Stewart said.
“A message?”
“We’re next,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”
“But . . . we’ll be ready.”
“You’re damn right we will be,” Stewart said.
“What happened in Helena?”
“Just what I thought would happen,” Stewart said. “The bunch of idiots, they’re runnin’ around like chickens with their heads cut off. I laughed at them and left.”
“What are they gonna do?”
“They’ll probably try to hire the Gunsmith.”
“The Gunsmith! How would they ever get ahold of him?” the foreman scoffed.
“He’s in town,” Stewart said. “Was in Helena, too. Now he’s back here again.”
“What’s he doin’ around here?” Doubt asked.
“I heard he’s friends with Sheriff Piven,” Stewart said. “Maybe he’s going to help him track the rustlers.”
“Nat could use some help,” Doubt said, “but Clint won’t wear a badge.”
/> Stewart frowned.
“Clint? You know him?’
“Yeah,” Doubt said, “met him back when I was wearin’ a badge in the Dakotas.”
“How long ago was that?”
“I don’t know. Gotta be fifteen years.”
“Would he remember you?”
“Sure he would.”
“Okay,” Stewart said. “Tomorrow you go into town and accidentally bump into him.”
“What for?”
“Find out what’s on his mind,” Stewart said. “Somebody in Helena must have offered him a lot of money. I want to know if he took it, or he’s just hanging around like you said, to help Piven.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“Because me and him didn’t get along, that’s why. I want you to do it.”
“Okay, boss,” Doubt said.
“Put Tucker in charge of the boys while you’re away.”
“Tucker, huh?” Doubt asked. “You wouldn’t be groomin’ him for my job, would ya?”
“Your job’s your job as long as you want it, Jim,” Stewart said.
“I appreciate that, boss.”
“Okay, Jim. You can go.”
“Thanks, boss.”
After his foreman left, Granville Stewart sat down behind his desk. He did some paperwork before deciding he ought to wash up and get changed from his stage ride.
He smiled as he left the office, remembering the look on the newspaperwoman’s face when he told her all women were whores. He moved through the house, took the stairs, and by the time he walked into his bedroom, he was laughing out loud.
Jim Doubt had worn a badge for about twelve years. He was right in the middle of that time when he ran into Clint Adams. Adams had come to town—Decatur, South Dakota, it was—looking for a man. He and Doubt ended up working together, tracking him down. Doubt had expected Adams to kill the man when they found him, but he didn’t. He brought him in alive.
He went out to the bunkhouse to tell Tucker about taking over the next day.
“What are you up to?” Tucker asked.
“Just goin’ to town,” Doubt said. “To see an old friend.”
“Be back tomorrow night?”
“Sure, I’ll be back.”
He went to his own room, in the same building but separate from the others. He’d been working for Granville Stewart for five years. He knew a lot of people didn’t like the man, but he did.