I was surprised by the offer, but accepted. ‘I would. I probably already know most of it. You can’t imagine how many nights we lay in our bunks, me and Ben, and he talked about his dreams. And about you, Nina.’
That seemed to improve her mood a little, to let her know how much she had meant to Ben. We wandered about the small homestead with the lazy yellow hound ambling after us, me taking in the layout, Nina seemingly lost in memories. Bobby had finished dressing the rabbits and he watched us with sullen eyes.
‘There’s a second well there, behind the barn,’ Nina told me, ‘but it needs cleaning out. If you look up ahead, you can see the fold in the hills. Ben was going to build a spreader dam up there to keep water flowing to the flats so we could expand the hayfield.’ She stopped, her arms folded beneath her breasts and looked skyward and then back toward the house. ‘We wanted to bring some sawn lumber out from Billings, maybe as soon as next spring if we had a good calving year, and start constructing a real house.
‘Have you ever been in a soddy when it rains, Ryan?’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘Mud dripping from the roof. You can’t keep a thing clean. It’s just impossible.’
‘I know.’
She sighed, wiped a strand of her honey-colored hair from her eyes and shrugged. ‘Well, we all have our disappointments, don’t we?’
‘We do.’
‘Life is just a series of problems solving.’
‘So it seems,’ I agreed. Her cheeks were a little flushed with the coolness and her green eyes looked brighter. I thought she would solve this too, get along with her life even if it wasn’t what she had been planning for.
‘I guess we can’t live on expectations,’ she said. She had been looking beyond me. Now her eyes met mine directly. ‘I do thank you for bringing us that money.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ I found myself holding her gaze longer, feeling an elusive emotion begin to grow somewhere at the bottom of my spine. I shook off the mood, whatever it was.
‘Will you be staying in the area?’ Nina asked.
‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘I’m on my way to Oregon.’
‘With winter setting in!’
‘Well – when the weather allows it. I’ll probably start making my way south some. I’ll probably find some place to hole up until spring.’
‘I see,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Why couldn’t you just “hole up” in Billings, Ryan?’
I couldn’t tell her that, of course. I answered evasively, ‘I just need to keep moving, Nina.’
‘Just a saddle tramp, huh?’ she asked with a pursed smile.
‘I guess, yes.’ I smiled but the words had touched me wrong. Was that all I really was or would ever be? I wondered. I had been headed for Oregon for two years now. Was it just a goal I had placed in my mind because I had no other goal, no real goal?
‘Would you like to look at the cattle?’ Nina asked. ‘Maybe you could give me an idea what I should ask for them. Ben always took care of the selling, you know. I don’t know what they’re worth. Not much, I suppose,’ she said with a small, appealing frown.
‘I’d like to, but I don’t have the time, really,’ I said. I looked to the skies. ‘It’ll be getting dark before long, and if it snows I want to be under shelter somewhere.’
‘Of course,’ she said, and we started walking slowly back toward the house. The yellow dog veered this way and that snuffling his way along the ground, looking for scents to interest him. ‘Ryan,’ Nina said, pausing near the barren elm tree. Her words were hesitant as she said, ‘You could spend the night here, you know. In the barn, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘I mean – that would give you time to rest your horse a little and you could start early in the morning. To – well, wherever it is that you’re going.’
I mulled that over. It wasn’t a bad idea, although there were obvious complications. ‘What would Bobby think about that?’ I had to ask.
‘It doesn’t matter much what Bobby thinks, Ryan,’ she said, her voice a little heated. ‘This is my home and he’s still a kid.’
‘Not in his own mind.’
‘He’s just fourteen. He’s not running my life.’
I considered the offer from all sides. Finally I agreed. The black could use a night’s rest and so could I. I’d take her up on the offer and stay well out of her way – and Bobby’s.
‘Thank you. I accept.’
‘There’s not much hay in the rick,’ Nina said, ‘and we need what we have,’ she added apologetically. ‘But there’s plenty to be had if you’re handy with a scythe.’ She nodded toward the field beyond the barn where some poor hay lingered uncut.
‘That sounds fair to me,’ I agreed cheerfully. ‘I’ll cut what I can this afternoon and stack it in the barn.’
‘Fine. Don’t give the cows any. That’s Bobby’s job. Although,’ she said pensively, ‘I doubt he remembered it this morning.’
‘All right. I’ll just lead my horse over and get him settled in, then I’ll see what kind of farmer I’d make.’
She laughed almost breathlessly. ‘Ryan, I really wanted you to accept the invitation. I haven’t had a soul to talk to for a long time except Bobby, and he’s just a kid and our conversation just turns to bickering anyway. Now I’ll let you get to work. I’m going to go back to the house and see about starting rabbit stew for dinner.’
She walked away then, and to me it seemed she was more erect, her carriage more graceful. I had a smile on my face for a long minute before I even noticed I was wearing it. I shook my head and put my thoughts elsewhere as I went to fetch my horse.
The rest of the afternoon I spent mowing hay. There was a fair stand of alfalfa, but it had withered and been invaded by wild oats and buffalo grass. No matter, it was good enough fodder for the horses and I cut and stacked steadily, my warming body perspiring under my clothes even though the wind was cool. The sky to the north held clear until just before sundown when Nina appeared on the steps of the house and waved her arm, summoning me to supper.
I washed at the well the best I could and went into the house which was now warm and scented with spices and boiling meat and potatoes. Bobby sat brooding in the corner. At least he had hung his shotgun up on its wall pegs.
Nina looked fine, her cheeks touched with roses painted there by the woodfire.
‘Better sit down,’ she said to me. ‘It’s just about ready. Bobby?’
‘I ain’t hungry.’
‘You have to eat.’
‘I said I ain’t hungry,’ the boy said, and he lurched from his chair to cross to his shotgun. I kept an eye on him, but he didn’t even give me a backward glance as he stalked angrily from the house, leaving the door open to the cool of the night. Nina stared out at the evening darkness, her hands on her hips, then closed the door and returned to the pot on the stove, ladling out two bowls of rabbit stew for us.
‘I’m sorry to be making trouble,’ I said, as she smoothed her skirt under her and sat down facing me.
‘He’ll get over it. I told him you were riding out tomorrow.’ I thought there was a touch of regret in her voice, and I had a few of my own even though I knew the situation was impossible.
‘Are you still going to move into town?’ I asked, as I carefully tasted the hot, spicy stew.
‘There’s no choice. The two of us can’t handle the farm, I know that.’
‘Maybe it will work out for the best.’
‘Maybe.’ She smiled but there was lingering doubt in those deep-green eyes. ‘You’ll be continuing on to Oregon, I suppose.’
‘That’s always been my plan,’ I replied. We ate in uneasy silence. I was attracted to Nina and she knew it. But there could not be anything between us, not with her problems – and my own. ‘Is there any place I could write you?’ she asked, holding her spoon just at her lips.
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know where I’ll be.’
‘No? Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Ryan,’ she said.
‘It
has,’ I agreed. Hesitantly I said, ‘Maybe I could write to you sometime. If you don’t mind.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Fine. I’m not much at writing, but maybe you can give me the name of that shop you’ll be working at, then well …’
‘I could do that. How’s the stew?’
After that we exchanged only a few words. What was there to say? I would never see her again. I had done my duty and now I was riding on again. Going somewhere. Just somewhere, not knowing what it was I wanted. Or maybe I did, but I could never have it, and so that was the same thing.
After supper Nina dug up an extra blanket for me and I made my way to the barn with the aid of a kerosene lantern which I hung on a nail on the wall while I made up my bed on a pile of straw. Then, turning out the lantern, I rolled up in my blankets and lay awake for a long while, hands behind my head, staring at a single star that I could see glowing brightly beyond the world in a gap between the barn doors.
Morning came slowly. I rose stiff and foggy-headed. Rolling my blankets I went to my horse, rubbed him down and forked some fresh hay into his feed bin.
Then, not yet fully awake I crossed to the barn doors and opened them. I blinked into the morning sunlight and then froze. There were three riders coming in, approaching from the west. I sensed trouble, but there wasn’t time to saddle up and run. I wasn’t about to start a fight near Nina’s house, so there wasn’t a thing to do but stand and watch as they approached the ranch.
The one in front I recognized instantly from the horse he rode. It was Bobby Comfrey. I saw sunlight glitter off the star the second rider wore on his coat. I didn’t know him, but he looked like trouble. When I could make out the third man’s face I knew it was trouble. Of the worst kind.
It was Marshal Coombs from New Madrid, and he was riding grim, a Winchester across his saddle bow, face set darkly. I didn’t move. There was no point in it.
When they entered the yard I could see triumph on Bobby’s young face, determination in the expressions of the two lawmen. I stepped out into the yard. I had unbuckled Ben Comfrey’s gun and let the belt drop to the ground. I didn’t raise my hands, however, and they seemed to take offense at that.
‘Don’t give us any trouble, Ryan!’ Coombs commanded me.
‘I don’t intend to,’ I said honestly. Bobby had swung down from his horse and ran into the house without hitching his pony.
‘This is Sheriff Gallagher of Billings,’ Coombs told me. I only nodded. I didn’t think shaking hands was appropriate. Bobby had rushed excitedly back out on to the porch and Nina appeared, a shawl across her shoulders, her golden hair still unpinned.
‘I told you he was a killer, Sis! I told you what he was. I knew it.’
‘What is this?’ Nina asked coolly. Her voice was uninflected, but I could see terror in her eyes.
‘This is a wanted man, ma’am,’ Gallagher told her. He was small, round and clean shaven. His manner was smug. ‘Armed robbery and murder are the charges.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Nina said, but Gallagher unfolded a Wanted poster with my description on it and handed it down to Bobby who ran to take it eagerly, returning to show it to his sister. Nina scanned the poster and then lowered it mechanically, studying me with obvious sadness. Without another word, she turned and went back into the house, closing the door silently behind her.
‘There’s a reward, Sis!’ Bobby yelled at the closing door. ‘Five hundred dollars! And it’s ours, isn’t it, Sheriff?’ The sheriff nodded solemnly, keeping his dark eyes on mine. There was no answer from the house. The morning was silent for a minute with the only sound the wind stirring the high thin branches of the barren elm. Marshal Coombs swung down and walked to me, holding his Colt revolver cocked and ready, his eyes as gloomy and purposeful as ever.
‘Let’s get your horse, Ryan. We’re going to take a little ride.’
In the barn, Coombs had me back to the far corner of the building while he checked my saddle-bags for any hidden gun I might have had. Then he jacked all the cartridges from my Winchester and jammed it into its scabbard. He nodded to me to saddle up the black which I did under the watchful eyes of both lawmen.
‘Would it do any good to explain everything?’ I asked.
‘It might if I was a judge,’ Coombs said almost sorrowfully. ‘Tell me – did you have to shoot Jarvis down?’
‘I had to.’
‘I thought so. I knew they were lying to me. When I followed along out to Art Lennox’s place I found the three of them. Art’s arm was fractured. Veronica was giving him hell for not shooting you. Henry Jarvis was dead, of course. He still had his six-gun in his hand.’
‘They wanted to gun me down.’
‘Jarvis is no loss to the world. It’s a good thing you didn’t shoot the woman. They damn sure would have hanged you for that,’ Coombs said, as I finished cinching my saddle and slipped the bit into the black horse’s mouth.
‘You almost seem to believe me, Marshal,’ I said, as I swung aboard.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he replied. ‘There’s a few other dead men behind you, Ryan. Alton McCallister won’t let go of those charges, and he won’t forget you robbing him on his own train. No, I’m pretty sure there’s a reason for a lot of what you did. It doesn’t matter. They’ll probably hang you anyway.’
That seemed like a reasonable assessment of my situation. I had no one to vouch for me. My only witness to the shoot-out at Yellow Tongue had been Ben Comfrey, and he would bear witness no more. In fact I was suspected of killing him as well. As we rode slowly from the yard of the rundown little farm, the two lawmen flanked me at a careful distance so that I could not grab for either of them which would have been a desperate and suicidal move on my part. I turned my head back and saw Bobby Comfrey standing on the porch, arms crossed, watching us as we departed. His arms were folded; there was a satisfied smile on his face. I saw no sign of Nina. Was she crying now, cursing, indifferent, having expected nothing more from the unforgiving universe than one more disappointment?
We rode on across the snowy land toward Billings.
The two lawmen had a conversation about what they were going to do with me. Did the county sheriff have custody, or the town marshal of New Madrid? I had been captured in the county, of course, but the warrants were out of New Madrid. Marshal Coombs reminded Gallagher that it was Alton McCallister who wanted me back in New Madrid for the trial, and that seemed to settle the question. McCallister’s railroad was the word of law in these distant settlements. His was the power of influence and the promise of future prosperity. Without the railroad, as both men knew, their communities, bypassed or snubbed by the Colorado Northern, could suffer the fate of hundreds of other now withering hamlets on the plains.
We reached Billings in early afternoon and I was temporarily placed in a cell occupied by a sleeping drunk with a battered and bruised face. I stretched out on a wooden bunk hung from the stone walls on two iron chains while the sheriff and Marshal Coombs completed their paperwork.
Coombs approached me as the high barred window in the cell was growing dark and told me that he was waiting for morning to return me to New Madrid.
‘I don’t favor riding out into the night with you. It’s cold and I’m hungry. I’m going to the restaurant and then take a room at the hotel.’ He appeared almost lugubrious. His pouched eyes reflected sadness, but it was only the weariness of life they showed and not pity for me. ‘I’ll see that you’re fed.’
‘My horse…?’
‘He’ll be attended to,’ Coombs promised. Then Gallagher handed me a thin blanket through the bars of the cell and, after waiting around for a lean, expressionless deputy to come and watch the jail, the two officers of the law tramped out into the rapidly falling dusk to dine.
I lay back wrapped tightly in my blanket, staring at the gray stone ceiling. I thought of escape, of course – I had read a few of those dime novels where the hero forms a cunning plan of escape, or some friend tosses him a gun through
the jailhouse window – but I had less cunning than those heroes of fiction. And I had not a friend in the world. I closed my eyes and slept. At seven or so the deputy awakened me and I ate from a tin tray – grits and ham. Then I went back to sleep immediately and dreamed of Oregon.
And, off and on, of Nina.
NINE
Come dawn I was shaken from my cot and taken out into the office. The morning was chill and it was dark inside the jailhouse despite the low burning lanterns. Marshal Coombs looked as weary and sad as he had the day before. It seemed he was just another man slogging through his last days at a job with limited rewards. The marshal and Gallagher seated me on a wooden chair and fitted me with a pair of manacles.
‘Sorry, Ryan,’ Coombs said, ‘but New Madrid’s a long way and I’ll be alone with you. You have shown a tendency for violence.’
I didn’t answer. They snapped the locks shut on the cuffs – at least I was allowed to wear them in front, since riding a horse otherwise was impossible. Still the cold steel chafed almost immediately and I realized fully that there was no way to slip them. This was it. My next stop would be the jail in New Madrid. Then, soon after, I would mount a scaffold with Alton McCallister watching me with cool disdain. He would feel nothing but smug satisfaction as they placed a hangman’s rope around my throat and adjusted the knot to the side so that it would crack my neck cleanly. He was not the sort of man to feel guilt, no matter that every bit of this was caused by his own unrelenting greed and need for power.
‘Let’s go,’ Coombs said, and I got to my feet. They placed my hat on my head and we marched out into the orange-gray of early dawn. The streets were deserted, the rime thick underfoot. At the stable our horses were saddled and ready. I swung awkwardly into the saddle, resting my hand on the pommel. Coombs mounted his own stocky bay and nodded to the stable hand who handed me the reins to my black, and then together we rode out on to the cold street where here and there we saw shopkeepers starting to open up for another workday.
The Drifter's Revenge Page 9
