The man looked him over, judging John MacKinder to be at least six and a half feet tall and built like a buffalo. He also looked like he enjoyed a good fight, and the man was not about to be on the receiving end of one of MacKinder’s big fists. “Just curious, that’s all. In these parts men are always suspicious of strangers. You have to learn to accept that, Irishman.”
John stood up, scooting back his chair and towering over the man. “I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do, mister. I came to this table being friendly enough.”
“Don’t get all lathered up, mister,” one of the others told him. “You gonna play cards or not?”
John finished a glass of whiskey. “I would rather put my money on a good round of arm wrestling, if anybody here wants to challenge me.” He said the words loudly, and the room quieted. A big, barrel-chested, bearded man in a checkered flannel shirt rose.
“I’ll take you on, Irishman.”
The room immediately broke into a frenzy of betting. Tables were moved away and one sturdy one set up for the contest. John was in his glory. It had been a long time since he had been the center of attention this way, and a long time since he had had the chance to prove he still had his old strength. The fight with Josh Rivers had taken a lot out of him, but Josh Rivers was dead now. No one needed to know that at one time a man had beat him at this, and had laid him out flat on his back another time. From now on it was John MacKinder, number one.
The smoke-filled room was a din of voices and shouting once the match started. The prostitute watched with building passion for the big Irishman, as he quickly defeated the first man and continued challenging others, raking in money on every match. John was overjoyed to discover how well his arm had healed. By the time it started to ache, he had defeated eight strong men and was being slapped on the back and praised. He explained he had to quit because of the once-broken arm, while around him men exclaimed at how he had managed to beat his opponents in spite of it. He accepted free drinks and basked in being the center of attention.
This was the life he had missed. It had been this way nearly every night in the pubs of Ireland and the taverns of New York. He wished Mac were here to see this. He pulled the prostitute close and kissed her savagely, imagining she was Marybeth. Men laughed and cheered, and John decided not to worry any more about his parents tonight. Tonight he would catch up on other things. Tomorrow he would try again to find Mac and Ella—and Marybeth.
John rolled away from the prostitute, whose name he could not remember at the moment. His head ached from too much whiskey, and he wondered why he had awakened at all, until he realized someone was knocking on the door.
“John? John MacKinder. You in there? It’s me, Bill Stone.”
John just lay still for a moment, letting the words sink in. Bill Stone. Bill! He sat up, holding his head. “Bill? Come on in.” He turned to look at the woman with whom he had shared bed and body through the night. She lay face down, the blankets fallen to her waist so that her bare back showed. John made a face at the sight of her plump back. In the light of morning she was not so much to look at, but she had served her purpose. Making a man feel like a man was all women were good for anyway, even ones like Marybeth. But a man didn’t need whiskey to want Marybeth.
The door opened, and John looked up to see Bill Stone come inside. The man glanced at the prostitute. “Don’t mind her,” John told him. “She hasn’t got a brain in her head anyway.”
“John!” Bill walked over to him, putting out his hand and John shook it, managing a grin despite his aching head. “I couldn’t believe it last night when some men came into the tavern where I was and said some big Irishman had arm wrestled several men. When they said they thought the name was MacKinder—” The man pulled up a chair and John remained seated on the edge of the bed, keeping a sheet over his nakedness. “They said you’d gone upstairs with some whore, so I figured I would find you here. My God, John, we all thought you were dead!”
John rubbed at his eyes. “It’s damn good to see somebody I know again, Bill. How about Mac and Ella? Where have they settled? Are they in good health?”
Bill sobered, removing his hat. “I’m damn sorry, John. Your folks…they drowned at a river crossing.”
John raised his head, looking at the man in wide-eyed disbelief.
“The rafts carrying their wagon and oxen broke loose and—well, it was only seconds before they were gone.”
John just stared at him a moment, then put his head in his hands again. “My God,” he muttered. “Both of them?” He threw back his head, breathing deeply, and the woman behind him turned and groaned, touching his back.
“Get out of here,” he told her.
“What?”
“Go on,” John repeated, fighting tears. “Get out of here.” She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Look, Irishman, this is my room.”
“Get out!” He shouted the words, turning and giving her a shove with a powerful arm. The woman screeched as she went flying out of bed and to the floor.
“You big bastard,” she whined, grabbing a robe. She stood up and pulled it over herself. “I’ll get the boss up here. You can’t throw me out of my own room!”
John, eyes blazing, rose to his full height, storming toward her. Her eyes widened and she ran out of the room. John slammed the door and turned to Bill, too angry to care about his nakedness. “I should have been with them!”
“John, your being there wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“I should have been with them,” he repeated. “Maybe my being there would have made a difference! Maybe I could have helped in some way.” He slammed a big fist against the wall. “This is her fault,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Every bad thing that has happened to us from the very beginning has been her fault!” He walked over and picked up his longjohns to pull them on.
“Who are you talking about,” Bill asked.
John buttoned his underwear. “Marybeth MacKinder, that’s who,” he hissed. He looked at Bill. “I suppose she arrived nice and healthy!”
“I haven’t seen her, John. I went on south after we got here. Without your folks, I just didn’t have the heart to get into farming. But I came back here and got a job at the lumber mill. Oh, I’ve asked around a time or two—heard Marybeth had twin babies not long ago; Josh Rivers’ offspring. I don’t know what she’ll do with three kids and no husband. Josh got shot in an Indian raid. They left him at Fort Hall to recuperate.”
John looked at the man in surprise. “Rivers didn’t die?”
Bill frowned, curious at the way John asked the question, as though he already knew about Josh. He kept his suspicion to himself for the moment, never sure of John MacKinder’s temper. “Nobody knows. Cap was going to go back this spring and see what happened to him. There’s a good chance that if he lived, he can’t walk. It was a real bad wound. He suffered mighty bad.”
John only grinned. “He did, did he?” He turned around. “Good. That makes up for my own suffering—being turned out into the wilderness like that, losing my parents.” He faced Bill again, holding up a fist. “They all thought I would die. But nothing gets the best of a MacKinder!”
Bill shook his head. “I sure am surprised. The reason we thought you were for sure dead was because Rivers was shot with a repeating rifle. Devon said no Crow Indians would have such a new weapon; figured you’d been murdered by them and they stole the rifle from you.”
A strange look passed through John’s eyes. He looked Bill over as though the man was suddenly an enemy, then turned away. “They must have stolen one off someone else. No Indians bothered me. I found shelter with an old mountain man; gave him the rifle this spring in payment for putting me up.” He turned back to face the man. “I bought another one off some Mormons—a better horse, too.” He grinned. “Look at this beard. I did pretty good, huh? They all thought I would die, but I survived!”
Bill smiled nervously. There was something different about the man. He seemed wilder, even more bo
astful, if that was possible; no longer just a big, brash, bragging man. There was more than anger in his eyes. They held a murderous threat, an almost evil gleam.
“Now the person responsible for all that has happened to me and my parents is going to pay,” John went on. “My father swore little Danny would grow up a MacKinder, and by God he will! I’ll just bet Marybeth celebrated when Mac and Ella drowned in that river! And I’ll bet she’s praying I died, too! But it’s Joshua Rivers who died, and John MacKinder who lived; and now that woman is going to learn once and for all where she belongs!”
Bill frowned. “John, she’s got two more babies now. And nobody knows if Josh is dead for sure.”
“I know! I know because in the end the one who is right wins out! And I am the one in the right! I don’t give a damn about those two bastard Rivers babies. They aren’t even legal, just like that excuse of a marriage was not legal! All I care about is Marybeth MacKinder and my nephew. They belong to me—both of them. If I didn’t claim them and make us a family, I would be bringing shame to my poor father’s memory! It is what he wanted, and by God that is what will be!”
“John, you’re in a civilized town. You can’t just go and take what you want, especially if she’s unwilling.”
“Can’t I? I can do whatever I want. She owes me, Bill! She owes me! She has caused me nothing but pain. She doesn’t know! She doesn’t know what I did for her—what I did to be able to marry her!”
“What are you talking about?”
John blinked, as though suddenly realizing he was saying too much. He turned away. “The fact remains…if I had been with my mother and father, maybe they would still be alive. My having to leave the wagon train was her fault. She treated all of us badly—all of us, her only family, Danny’s only kin. No woman should get away with that! I have practically sold my soul to the devil for that woman, and I’ll not have her nursing some other man’s brats and pining away for a lesser man than me! When we were with the wagon train, there was not much I could do. But now—now I am free to do what I want, and she is a woman alone, with no Josh Rivers or Cap or anyone else to get in the way! I came here for one reason, Bill—to find my parents and to take Marybeth to live with us. Now they’re dead, and I owe it to their memory to do what is right and keep Danny in a MacKinder household.” He began dressing. “Where is Marybeth now?”
Bill swallowed, not sure he should tell the man. He had liked the MacKinders as drinking companions, and he had taken considerable pleasure in the MacKinder antics back in New York, enjoying the nightly challenges of strength and drinking capacities. He had considered the situation with Marybeth none of his business, and had turned the other way many times when he knew she was being abused. After all, she was a MacKinder, too, and how she was treated by her own family was not his affair. Besides, Bill didn’t like her independent ways any more than John and Mac had. But he had seen her suffering after Josh was hurt, and she had genuinely grieved over Mac and Ella, although John would probably never believe that. Recently she had given birth to twins, not even knowing if her husband was dead or alive. She surely was not even fully recovered from the birth. Bill was not eager to be a party to sending John MacKinder to threaten and harass the poor woman.
“I’m not sure,” he answered aloud.
“Aren’t you now?” John buttoned his shirt. “I will remind you how determined I am, Bill Stone. And when I am determined, I can get mean.”
Bill frowned and rose. “Are you threatening me?”
John grinned. “I am. You know where she lives and you are not telling me.”
Bill’s eyes darkened. “I will remind you I was your father’s best friend, and a good friend to you, too.”
“All the more reason to tell me where Marybeth lives.” John stepped closer, and Bill’s concern for his own person far outweighed any concern he might have for Marybeth MacKinder. He sighed, putting his hat back on his head.
“I would have thought you would take some time to mourn your own parents’ deaths—that the first thing you would want to do is let me take you to their graves. This thing with Marybeth has completely taken over your ability to reason, John MacKinder. You’re a sick man!” He walked toward the door. “I think she lives in a cabin on the north end of town—shares it with the Svenssons. That’s all I know.”
He opened the door, anxious to get away from the man. “I came here because for your father’s sake I was glad you were alive, and because I considered you a friend and felt I should be the one to break the news to you about Mac and Ella. But I can’t consider a man a friend when he threatens me. You’re wrong to do this, John, dead wrong!” He quickly left, just as afraid of John MacKinder as most other people were. He thought about going to warn Marybeth John was in town, but he decided he did not want the risk of having MacKinder angry with him. The man had become dangerous, and Bill wanted nothing more to do with him.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Josh lit a thin cigar and puffed on it quietly for a moment. He and Orville Dunne had just made it through the last ridge of mountains, held up for three days by a spring blizzard. They were well on their way into the eastern Oregon flatlands now, but had stopped to make camp early because Josh couldn’t seem to quite make it to nightfall without wearying. It frustrated him that he couldn’t put in a full day’s ride, and Orville could see the anger in his eyes.
“It will all come back, Josh,” the man told him. “I was hurt bad once by an explosion in a gold mine in ’50. Some dimwit set the powder wrong—like to blowed out my insides. Takes a long time to really get over something like that. It’s been two years and this past winter up there at Fort Hall is the first time I started feeling like I was up to my old strength.”
Josh sighed. “I wouldn’t mind so much if I wasn’t in such a hurry to get to Marybeth. Every minute counts.”
“Well, better to be rested and healthy when you get there than all wore out. You want to save your strength for when you find your woman, right? After all these months apart, you’ll need it.”
Josh smiled, his blood rushing warm at the thought of holding Marybeth’s soft body against his own again. “Yeah, I reckon I will.”
Orville stirred a pan of beans as Josh stood up and puffed on the cigar again, studying the spectacular scenery, wondering what Marybeth had thought of all this. Most likely she would have wished they could see it together.
From their campsight on a rise, they could see the trail for a good mile ahead, and Josh spotted someone coming. “Hey, Orv, look out there. Looks like a man leading a pack horse.”
Orville stood up and studied the trail. He was a lean man who needed a shave and who wore a bearskin coat so worn that half the fur was gone, another of the men who had gone to find gold and never realized his dream. A drifter now, he probably loved the West and couldn’t bring himself to go back home. Josh could understand how this land could capture a man’s heart as strongly as could a woman. Now he felt captured by both.
“Yup. He’s coming this way,” Orville said. “I wouldn’t mind some extra company myself. If he’s from Portland, maybe he’d know something about your woman, or at least what’s happening there. It’s just one man—can’t be much of a threat.”
“Fine with me. Give him a signal.”
Orville picked up his rifle and shot it off twice into the air. He waved it then and gave a call, cupping a hand to his mouth. “Hey, stranger! Come join us!” He watched as the man stopped, then headed in their direction. “He’s pulling out his rifle,” Orville told Josh. “Get yours ready. I reckon he’s just being careful like any other man. There’s all kinds of no-goods in these hills.”
Josh went to his horse and took out his own rifle. Both men watched as the stranger came closer. Suddenly Josh lowered his gun. “By God, I think it’s Cap!”
“Cap?”
“Harley Webster, the man who guided our wagon train and took the bullet out of me. You remember him, don’t you? He’s the one who left me off at the fort and got Fran
k to take care of me.”
“Oh, Frank’s friend…yeah, I remember him.”
“I’ll be damned. He said he’d come back to get me in the spring.” Josh laughed and set aside his rifle, walking out to greet the man. “Hey, Cap, it’s me—Josh!”
Cap halted his horse, slowly lowering his own rifle. His eyes widened as he watched in total astonishment. Joshua Rivers was walking toward him, looking thinner but healthy. “Josh? Goddamn if you ain’t the best sight!” Cap dismounted and walked up to him, and they embraced, laughing. “Hey boy, look at you,” Cap said, stepping back and quickly wiping at his eyes. “Marybeth’s gonna be the happiest woman ever walked the earth when she sees this. How’d you do it, Josh? How do you feel? How long did it take you to walk?”
“Hold up, there! First tell me about Marybeth.” He wiped at his suspiciously damp eyes. “Is she all right?”
“Well, when I left, she had just give birth to twins—a boy and a girl.”
Josh sobered, love and concern moving into his eyes. “Twins!” He ran a hand through his hair. “Twins?”
Cap laughed. “Yes, sir. Named them Joe and Emma—said you’d like that.”
Josh smiled through his tears. “Those were my parents’ names. Twins,” he repeated. “I’ll be damned.”
“I reckon you are, son,” Cap teased. “You got three kids under your belt already, and you ain’t even set up house yet. You’d better go easy or you won’t be able to build a house big enough to hold all the young ’uns.”
Both men laughed lightly and embraced once more. “Come on up to our campfire, Cap,” Josh said. “I’m traveling with a man who spent the winter at the fort—Orville Dunne. You probably don’t remember him. You didn’t have much time to meet the others when you were there. By the way, that Frank is a hell of a man. It’s him that got me through a lot of this, encouraged me to walk.”
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