For thirty minutes she sat there, then Amos came in, his eyes bleary from sleep. He was in pain, Hope saw, but he would never mention it. “You’re up early,” he observed.
Hope said, “Sit down. I’ll fix breakfast.” Getting up from the table, she began making breakfast while he sat there, listening to him as he spoke occasionally. When the meal was ready, she sat down but was unable to eat, for the dream had disturbed her.
Finally, she said, “Pa, I had a strange kind of dream—” She related it, then asked, “Do you think dreams mean anything?”
Amos shrugged his thin shoulders. “Not usually—but sometimes I think God uses them. Like when He wanted to tell Mary and Joseph what the child that was coming meant.”
“Oh, this wasn’t anything like that!”
“No, I guess not.” Amos thought for a while, then said, “In one way, I guess it’s natural you’d think of Dan, since he’s been so much a part of our lives. And as for dreaming that he’s in trouble—why, that’s generally true. He’s had his share of it, losing his partner and his herd.”
Hope hesitated, then reached into her shirt pocket. Drawing out the piece of paper that Winslow had dropped, she passed it to her father. “I guess this is why I’m worried. A man gave it to Dan at the cabin raising. He didn’t show it to me, but it fell out of his pocket, and I found it after he left.” She bit her lower lip nervously, then added, “He didn’t come home—hasn’t come home yet, Pa.”
Amos slowly handed her the note back, his eyes troubled. “That’s strange—but he could have gone to his own place. He does that sometimes.”
“I guess he probably did.” Hope gave a slight laugh, then said, “I’m getting to be a regular worrywart!” She rose and began clearing the table and said no more about Winslow.
At nine o’clock, Gus Miller rode into the yard, but did not dismount. When Hope and Amos went out to greet him, he nodded, “Howdy, Parson—Hope,” he said. “You know that new family that moved in north of me?”
“The Amboys?” Amos asked. “Sure, Gus.”
“Well, they had a fire last night. They all got out, but lost everything.”
“What a shame!” Hope cried at once. “Where will they live?”
“There’s a cabin about three miles down from their place—not much, but it’ll keep the rain out until we can do something better. But like I said, they lost everything. I’m riding around to see if we can’t get them some food and clothes—and maybe some bedding.”
“I’ll take some food and blankets,” Hope said at once.
“Fine! I’ll stop at the Coxes and the Shultzes.”
As soon as Miller rode away, Hope began to gather some food. “I’d better go along,” Amos said.
“No, Pa, you stay here,” Hope said, knowing he was unfit for the trip. “You help Ozzie and take care of Zane. But it may be too late for me to drive back. I may stay over and come back tomorrow.”
An hour later, she left in the wagon, with food and blankets packed in the bed. It was a long way, but when tragedy came to anyone, there was no question as to what to do. They were dependent on one another, and Hope knew that others would be coming to the aid of the distressed family. It was a good feeling to know that they had ties, and that none of them were alone.
She drove along the base of the plain, the hills rising to her left, and by two o’clock had made good enough time that she knew she could make the Amboy place well before dark. But when she passed through the timberline into a country broken from time to time by draws and canyons, she saw dust rising in front of her and recognized that a horseman was coming toward her.
She watched him carefully, pulling the rifle up beside her on the seat, and as he drew near, she saw that it was Ash Caudill. When he called out, she pulled the team to a halt, and he rode up within a few feet of her. His clothing was stained with dust, and fatigue had etched lines in his smooth face. “Seen anybody back that way, Mrs. Malloy?” he asked, and there was a tense quality to his voice that made her suspicious.
“No. Who are you looking for?”
“Oh, just thought you might have seen some of my hands. We’ve been combing these draws for strays.” He studied her from under the cover of his hat brim, his eyes driving at her with a force that was unsettling. “You’re a long way from your place,” he commented. “Going to be dark soon.”
“Yes. But I’ll be at the Amboy place before then.” She had a sudden uneasy feeling but had no intention of letting Caudill know it. Calmly, she explained, “Their house burned down yesterday. I’m taking them some food and blankets.”
Her words seemed to satisfy him, for he touched his hat and said, “Don’t get caught out in these draws after dark. Not safe.” Then he pulled his horse’s head around and rode off abruptly.
Hope slapped the reins and called out, “Hup, Babe—Butcher!” and the horses obediently began to move ahead. The encounter with Caudill disturbed Hope, and as she moved along the road, which was now following the edge of a shallow canyon, she considered what his agitated state might mean.
She had no trust in the man, and almost at once she thought: He came from the direction of the Old Indian Camp. And that thought brought back the memory of the dream that had awakened her. She knew the enmity that lay between Caudill and Winslow and slowly a plan began to take shape. It was born out of a vague uneasiness, for she was still unhappy that Dan had not returned. Now to see Ash Caudill riding out of that same location where Dan had been told to rendezvous with an unknown man—it seemed wrong, somehow, and her alarm grew steadily. Soon, she nodded, saying out loud, “I’ll have to have a look at that place.”
She turned the team to the right and slapped them with the reins, bringing them to a fast trot. Two hours later, the sun was far down in the sky, sending shadows creeping over the bluffs that bordered the river where she turned the wagon northward. As she drew near, she thought she heard someone and stopped the team to listen. At first she heard nothing, but then from up ahead, she heard the sound of a voice, faint and dim but growing stronger. Finally the sound of horses approaching came to her. She quickly pulled hard on the reins, bringing the team around and directing them off the road into the timber. She leaped off the seat, tied the team, then picked up the rifle and moved back to the road. She stopped behind a large tree, and soon two riders came into sight. They were, she saw, looking down at the road, and more than once one of them would leave the road and go to ride along the banks of the stream, while the other would search the timber. One of these came within thirty feet of the spot where Hope stood rigidly behind the tree, but then he moved back to the road.
“Nothin’ here—” one of them said, his voice barely audible to Hope. “We’ll ride on to where the road turns, then make a sweep on the other side of the creek—”
Hope waited until the two disappeared, then went back to the wagon. She stood there, uncertain and confused, for it would soon be dark, and she had no idea what was happening. Finally she spoke aloud, “They’re hunting for him—and he’s got to be somewhere around here.”
She got into the wagon, turned the team around, and decided that the two she had seen were the only riders she might encounter. When she got to the site where the old ruins of an Indian lodge lay, she stopped the team and dismounted. Pulling the rifle from the seat, she walked toward the lodge. It was only a skeleton of wooden poles now, and she gave it scarcely a glance. Fifty feet beyond the ruins, the stream gurgled over smooth stones that made up its bed. She paused at the brink, looking both directions, then turned to her left. When she had gone fifty feet, she lifted her voice and called, “Dan—are you here?”
Hearing no answer, she walked almost a quarter of a mile, calling as she went. If there were other men, they would hear her and come, but she knew of nothing else to do.
Finally she turned and retraced her steps, then moved downstream. She called his name often, sometimes pausing to listen, but she only heard the sibilant murmur of the water. When she had gone for some dista
nce, she stopped, and a feeling of helplessness came over her. I could walk this stream for hours—and he may be ten miles from here.
She stood there, wondering if she should return, for by now the dusky shadows in the trees were blotting out the last dim rays of the sun. She had no idea when the men might return, and in desperation she prayed, “Oh, God—help me find him!”
For a few seconds she stood there, once almost turning to go back to the team, but she decided to look down the stream once more, seeing in the dim light a bend ahead. I’ll go as far as that bend—and then I’ll have to go back.
She stumbled along the edge of the stream, for the underbrush had grown thicker, and called Dan’s name as she moved toward the bend. When she reached the curve of the bank, she saw a huge old tree that had fallen across the stream. By the time she reached it, her face was scratched by briars that she had not seen in the waning light. She stepped off into a boggy hole, soaking her feet, and finally stopped, the dark bulk of the tree barring her way.
“Dan!” she called out, desperation in her voice. “Dan—can you hear me?”
Again she waited, hearing only the whisper of the water. The wind was beginning to rise, making a keening noise as it moved across the reeds that lined the banks.
“Dan!” she cried, as loudly as she could. “Please—answer me!”
Her voice made a slight echo over the water, and she stood absolutely still, listening so hard she gritted her teeth with the effort.
And then—she heard it!
Only a faint sound, or cry, but she knew it was a voice, and she cried out, “Dan—where are you?”
“Over here—”
The voice came from her left. Whirling, she stumbled through the shallow water, almost falling. When she had gone a few feet, she paused and looked around, straining her eyes in the darkness. “Where are you?”
“Over here—by the log—”
This time the voice was close enough for her to pinpoint, and she moved toward it, feeling her way along the log. She struggled through a thick clump of reeds clustered by the log—and then as she peered downward, she saw Dan lying almost hidden by the bulk of the fallen cedar.
“Dan!” she cried, falling down beside him. There was only enough light to see his face, and as she knelt next to him, pulling his head up and cradling it in her arms, Hope saw that his worn features looked exactly as they had looked in her dream!
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HONOR IN THE DUST
When Ash Caudill had encountered Hope south of the Old Indian Camp, he had just left the Littletons and their crew with a warning: “Don’t leave until you’re sure of Winslow. That’s your end of the bargain.”
“Where you headed, Ash?” Charlie Littleton had asked.
Ash had answered, “I’m going to get my crew and put the run on these sodbusters. Without Winslow to hold them together, they’ll run like rabbits!”
Caudill had ridden directly to Arrow after leaving Hope, arriving at the ranch just as darkness was beginning to close in. His horse was exhausted, and he threw the reins to Shorty Ellis, saying, “Shorty, tell the boys to get to bed early. We’ll be pulling out in the morning.”
“What’s up, Ash?”
Caudill shook his head, saying only, “We’ll leave at sunup—and don’t forget to bring your guns.”
He left Shorty staring after him, going directly to his room—a separate section of the bunkhouse—where he washed and changed clothes. Leaving his room, Ash crossed the yard and stepped up on the porch of the main house, where Lionel, Silas Head’s body servant, was standing. “Where’s Mr. Head, Lionel?” he asked.
“Him and Miss Head, they eatin’ supper, Mister Ash.”
Caudill nodded, walked into the house and down the wide hall that led to the dining room. He entered and found Head and Diane seated at the heavy oak table.
“Come in, Ash,” Head said. Nodding to the black maid, he added, “Miranda, bring an extra plate and some silverware.” He motioned to a chair, “Sit down—sit down.”
Diane examined him, noting the lines of fatigue on his face. “You’ve been gone two days, Ash.”
“Had some chores to do,” Caudill said. He took the plate that the maid brought, helped himself to the beef and potatoes, then said, “I’ll be taking the crew out tomorrow.”
Head stared at him, a question in his eyes. “What’s going on? You stay gone for two days, ride in and tell me you’re leaving with the crew. I’d like a little more information.”
Ash had been cutting the roast beef, but now he looked up, and both Head and Diane saw a smile on his lips. The foreman had not smiled since before the fight in the Palace, but now he seemed to be different. His slate-gray eyes were bright, though he was obviously tired. He was a closed man, keeping his own counsel, and since what he did was always good for Arrow, Head let him have his own way in most things. Lately, however, he had been short with Caudill because of his anger over Winslow. No man could make a laughingstock of Silas Head and get away with it.
“It’s time to move some people,” Caudill said. “There’s been four or five new families move onto our graze in the last few weeks. They can’t stay, and some of the others who’ve been crowding us will have to leave.”
Diane asked, “Why the rush?” There was a directness in the glance she put on Caudill, as if she were weighing the qualities that lay beneath the surface of the foreman’s smooth exterior. She was, in some respects, like her father, having his intense drive and unwillingness to fail at anything. She asked with curiosity, “You’ve been doing nothing since that scene in the Palace. What’s changed your mind?”
Caudill’s cheeks reddened at the reference to the fight, but he said at once, “I don’t mind losing a battle now and then, Diane—not as long as I win the war.” His eyes narrowed, and he shrugged his muscular shoulders. “I know what you’ve both been thinking since that fracas. That I couldn’t handle the job.”
Silas nodded his massive head in agreement. “In that, you’re right. It takes a strong man to handle Arrow’s crew, and you lost something when Winslow put you down. And it’s not just Diane and me who’ve been wondering,” he added. “The whole valley’s been waiting for you to take him on.”
“They don’t have to wait anymore.”
Caudill’s blunt statement caught both Silas and his daughter by surprise. “What does that mean?” Head demanded.
Caudill’s eyes gleamed, and he said, “Don’t worry about Winslow. He won’t give us any more trouble.”
“Did you face him down?” Head asked at once.
There was a slight hesitation in Caudill’s answer, which both Head and Diane noted. “He’s out of it—take my word on it.”
“It would have been better if you’d let the valley see you face him, Ash,” Diane said thoughtfully.
“I’m not interested in any of those fool shoot-outs you read about in the dime novels,” Caudill shook his head. “Some men spend a lot of time practicing their draw. They get good at it, and I expect that Winslow has practiced until he’s a fraction of a second quicker getting a gun out of his holster than most men. Why should I risk everything on a thing like that?”
“Maybe because in this country men get measured by things like that,” Head said thoughtfully. He was not entirely pleased with his foreman but could not put his feelings into words, though he tried. “I spent my life building up this ranch, and I did some things I’m not proud of.” He paused, his thoughts going back, and a heaviness came to his features. “But one thing I never did was to dodge a man I had trouble with. I met him straight on, no dodging around!”
Caudill felt Head’s disapproval but refused to argue, saying only, “Times have changed, I think. This isn’t just one man against another. It’s a question of whether this will be open cattle range or broke up into little farms surrounded by wire fences.”
Head could not escape the logic of Caudill’s words, but he left the table soon afterward, saying, “Come and talk after
you get the job done.”
When he was gone, Caudill stared down at the food, but found that he had lost his appetite. Shoving his chair back, he said suddenly, “Let’s go out on the porch.”
Diane rose and walked beside him. An eight-foot porch wrapped around three sides of the house, bordered by a low bannister. Caudill and Diane stopped, and he turned to face her. It was almost completely dark now, and he leaned forward to see her more clearly in the light that shone through the parlor window. The sound of men’s voices carried from the bunkhouse, and one of the hands was playing a guitar.
“Do you agree with your father?”
“Do you mean about facing Winslow?”
“Yes. He thinks I’m afraid.”
Diane’s face was smooth, but there was doubt in her eyes. “Oh, Ash, I don’t know!” she said, agitation in her voice. “You’ve faced men before. I’ve never questioned your courage.”
“But now you do, I think.” Caudill stood there, his lips drawn tightly together, his shoulders suddenly tense. “If I’d known you felt this way, I’d have done it,” he admitted suddenly. Then he slapped his fist into his palm, adding in an angry voice, “Winslow’s a tough one, but so am I, Diane. And I’m not afraid of him. It would be close, matching draws with Dan, but I was never afraid of getting killed.”
“What stopped you, then?” Diane asked.
“You did.” Ash put his hands on her shoulders, gripping them hard. His words shocked her, he saw, and he added, “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Diane. You don’t know how much! I’ve stayed here because of you, and I’ve thought of nothing but marrying you for years! Now if I faced Winslow and lost—I’d lose you forever. That’s what made me draw back, and I was wrong!”
“It’s not just for my sake you’ve stayed on,” Diane said. “You want Arrow.”
Caudill stared at her, then said, “You’re tied to Arrow, Diane, just like your father. I’ve always known you’d never leave here. But if you think that, just agree to marry me. I’ll ride away from Arrow with you, and we’ll start someplace else.” He paused, then smiled as she blinked at his offer. “You see? You can’t do it, can you?”
House of Winslow 14 The Valiant Gunman Page 27
