And pa could shoot. I'd seen him shoot, and h e was good, better than many a man who carried a reputation as a gunfighter.
When I came down off the mountain, it was to a strange town. There was a church there, because I see n its steeple from afar, and there was a double row o f storefronts and a scattering of houses.
There were three two-story buildings, a store, th e bank, and one with a sign that said Hotel.
There was a plump, white-haired woman dustin g when I came in. She went behind the counter an d looked at me with a wary eye. I had on pa's black hat , which fitted, my blanket poncho, and those run-dow n boots. I hadn't shaved in several days and must hav e looked like the wrath of God.
"Room will be two bits," she said, "two bits eac h night, payable in advance. Four bits if you want a bath."
I grinned at her, and her face lit up. She smile d back, friendly-like. "I'll want a room for two nights a t least," I said, "and definitely a bath. I been riding som e rough country."
"You look it," she said cheerfully.
So I dug down and come up with a dollar, which I g ave her. "Hungry?" she asked.
"I could eat a wolf," I said.
'We're fresh out of wolves," she said, "but we go t us a cougar."
"All right," I said, "I never et cougar but I'm up t o it." I thought she was funnin' me, but she wasn't. No t a-tall.
"My pappy was a mountain man," she said, "and h e had the pick of the finest meat in the West, just for th e shooting. He always rated cougar meat the best ther e was. After that come beaver tail and buffalo tongue."
"Bring on your cougar," I said. "Just be sure he's declawed and defanged, 'cause I'm a mite tuckered."
"Bath first?"
I just looked at her. "All right, all right, you can ea t first." She indicated a door. "Right through that door , and don't go to makin' sheep's eyes at the waitress.
She's my niece and she's seen a sheep."
Chapter IV
A man should always bathe before he eats. I didn't , and that choice got me into more trouble than yo u could shake a stick at.
I mean had I gone upstairs and had a hot bath, tha t man wouldn't have been in the restaurant when I wen t in there. He'd have been off down the country, gon e clean out of there, and I'd never have met up with him.
Sure, I was hungry, but it wasn't the first time an d I could have waited. They'd already shot their couga r and he wasn't going anyplace. I mean the meat woul d have been there, and that pretty waitress would hav e been there, too. Only difference would have been i n that man.
I'd just left trouble behind, and I walked righ t through that door into twicet as much. It wasn't onl y that the man was there, it was what I said and wha t he saw.
I went through the door and he set there with hi s back to me. There was nobody else in the room bu t that girl, who was just coming through the door wit h a coffeepot in her hand. Had I seen her first, it migh t have changed everything, too, because she was righ t pert and pretty, but what I saw was that man's back , a man in a black frock coat, and before I could thin k I said, "Pa?"
He looked so much like pa that it just come out o f me, without me thinking, but it turned that man shar p around, and sure enough, he had a cast of featur e much like pa's only he was younger by ten years, an d there was something else about him. Pa had a touc h of gentleness in his face, where this man had none.
His features were cold, handsome, clean-cut, but yo u needed only to look at him once to know there was n o mercy in him, none at all.
"Pa?" he said. "I'm not your pa." And then hi s eyes dropped to my gun.
The blanket-coat was off and slung over my arm , and he could see that gun with its pearl handle and it s red birds. I seen his face change. The expression, I mean.
His scalp kind of drawed back, and when he looke d up at me it was like a wolf ready to jump a rabbit.
"What made you think I was your pa?"
I laughed, kind of embarrassed. "I didn't, really.
Only when I come through the door, your back looke d like-I mean, he's got him a coat like that. I'm sorry, I j ust made a mistake."
I started across the room toward another table, bu t he spoke and his tone was quiet. "No need to eat alone , boy. Sit here with me."
If that wolf I mentioned could have talked, h e would have said something just like that, but what wa s I to do? If I could have thought faster, I might hav e excused myself. Instead I turned around, pulled bac k a chair, and sat down, and if there'd ever been a chanc e to avoid trouble, I missed it right then.
The girl brought me a cup and a plate with gru b on it. There was meat, cougar meat from what the y said, and there was some rice and beans. It looke d good to me, and I set to, all the while wondering abou t that man at the table with me.
"Travel far?" he asked.
"Come down the mountain," I said. "Been ridin' h erd on some cows up yonder."
"Looks like you quit at the right time." He sippe d his coffee. "This pa of yours . . . with the coat lik e mine? He herdin' cattle, too?"
"Not right now. Ain't seen him in a while."
He kind of prodded at me with questions, but I w asn't telling him anything. Least of all where I'd come from. By this time Judge Blazer may have ha d the word out to pick me up.
As we sat there eating and sort of talking along, I b egan to get real bothered. This man had a gesture o r two just like pa and a way of lifting an eyebrow lik e him when he was skeptical of something. Many a tim e I'd known kinfolk to have the same mannerisms an d gestures--whether they inherited them or picked the m up from seeing them used, I don't know and it began to come over me that this man did not only loo k like pa but that he might even be related to him.
What I wanted to know was who he was and wher e he hailed from, and in western country you never jus t up and asked a man his business or where he com e from. You just waited until he told you, if he was of a mind to. Yet I could try.
"How's things back east?" I asked.
"Times are hard," he said. He studied me coolly , and I felt the thin edge of fear, and it angered me. I t old myself I was foolish, that I was afraid of nothing.
Besides, why should I fear him? Or anybody? Ye t something about him haunted me, and it may have bee n his resemblance to pa.
"You and your father," he asked, "have you bee n here long?"
"We move around," I replied. "A man takes wor k where he can find it."
"Your pa now? He was from back east?"
I chuckled. "Ain't ever'body? Nobody come fro m this country but Indians, and from what they tell m e they came from somewhere else, too."
He threw me a hard glance. He didn't like me an y better than I liked him, and as we talked back an d forth he would come out with a question or, more often , just some leading comment. He was fishing for information, and I wasn't giving him any. Truth to tell, I k new mighty little about pa. I'd never guessed ho w little until he was gone, and with him the chance o f learning more.
Now, maybe I'm only seventeen, but most of m y years been spent working around over the mountain s or desert and plains country, and I'd learned a thing o r two. This man carried a six-shooter, that was plain t o see, but he carried a sleeve gun, too, one of the m gambler's hideout guns, derringer type that fires tw o shots. Mighty good for close action across a card table.
I noticed it because of the way he favored his righ t wrist when he put it down on the table and the way h e held his arm. Only a mite different, but to somebod y who knows it was plain enough.
"Staying in town?" he asked, finally.
"For a while. I been up in the hills so long I'm growin' grass in my ears. I want to just set and look a t the street for a while."
He didn't like that, and I had an idea I don't really know why that he wanted me away from there.
"Too bad," he said, casually, "I thought we migh t ride down the country together."
"Ain't good weather for travelin'," I said. "It's to o durned cold to suit me."
I was itching to get away from him, but I had an ide a he might just pick up and follow me. Yet I was curious , too, and wanted to know more about him. If he wa s some kin of pa's, I might learn something about p a from him, or about pa's family.
Yet every instinct I had told me this man was dangerous, and more than that, he was evil. He had th e look about his eyes and mouth of a man who was short--t empered and cruel. And I trust my instincts.
His manners were those of a gentleman, but fin e manners do not make a fine man, and I was alert fo r any clue as to what he planned, where he was from , or where he planned to go. He was no miner tha t much I could see nor was he a cowhand. A gambler?
Well . . . maybe.
The girl with the freckles was watching me, and sh e seemed bothered by something. After a bit I finished m y coffee and pushed back my chair.
"I'm almighty tired," I said. "Good night."
I arose abruptly and, without so much as a glanc e back, I left the room. I had moved quickly, hoping t o catch him kind of off balance, and that was just wha t I done. It hadn't seemed like I was fixing to move, bu t looked like I was going to set for a spell, which wa s how I'd wanted it to look. I wasted no time in the lobb y but went right upstairs to my room. Once inside, I shu t the door and put a chair under the knob so's it couldn't be opened.
It was in my mind to open the window, get out, an d leave, taking out of there just as fast as I could travel , but it was a miserable night and I was bone-tired.
The thought that come to me was almost as good.
He didn't know what horse I'd been riding, becaus e he'd been in town for some time before I arrived an d had no reason to be curious about me until I walke d into that eating room and spoke to him.
I'd been cold before and could be again, so I opene d my window wide and then got into bed.
The wind blew through that window, icy cold, and I d one some shivering. Must have been an hour late r somebody tried the door, turning the knob real slo w and careful. The door didn't give because I had tha t chair under the knob, and after a minute or two th e knob was released and all was quiet. About that tim e he seemed to get the message of that cold wind comin' f rom under the door, because of a sudden I heard a kind of an exclamation and then quickly retreating footsteps. After a minute I heard the sound of a horse ridden rapidly down the street. Cheerfully, I closed th e window and got back into bed.
There were two ways I could have gone if Pd lef t town by the trail, and he'd have to check them bot h out. Meanwhile I'd get some sleep.
Lying there in bed, I studied about it. This man , whoever he was, had tried my door leastwise, I coul d think of nobody else who might try it. He had seeme d suspicious of me, and he resembled pa. Now, what di d all that amount to?
Exactly nothing, except that man had apparentl y ridden out of town trying to overtake me, thinking I'd flown the coop.
Why?
Pa was dead, murdered by somebody. Somebod y who was either Judge Blazer or one of his friends, o r who was somebody else. If it was somebody else, h e hadn't murdered pa to rob him, because Blazer did that , or tried to.
Suppose Blazer hadn't murdered pa, but just foun d him murdered and took advantage of the chance? Tha t sounded more like Blazer.
Then that implied somebody else had done it, somebody who didn't even know pa had all that money, an d from his looks and the state of his clothes, figured h e hadn't anything worth taking.
If that was the case, it had to be somebody who ha d known pa before, somebody from out of his past.
"That's storybook stuff," I said aloud. "You got n o reason to think anything of the kind."
Why would anybody from pa's past want him dead?
Pa hadn't been east in years (if that was where he com e from), and so far as I knew, he'd had no letters fro m yonder.
All of which left me nowhere but asleep. When I o pened my eyes with daybreak, the thought was still i n my mind but had gotten nowhere.
After washing up a mite and brushing my clothes a s much as I could, I combed my hair slick and wen t down to the lobby. All was quiet and there was nobody around, so I stepped over to the desk and turne d that register around and looked at it.
There was my name, and above it the only one wh o had checked in during the last three days was th e name Felix Yant. It was a name that meant nothin g to me, and I had an idea it was a name the man ha d assumed. Yet what was his purpose?
The restaurant was empty, but there was a rustle o f sound from the kitchen and an occasional rattle o f dishes. I pulled back a chair, rather noisily, and sa t down. I wanted to eat and get out.
The girl with the freckles looked in and then cam e quickly over. "You're early. Not much is ready, but w e can make you some flapjacks."
"Fine. How about some eggs?"
"I'll see." She hesitated. "Did you know that ma n who sat with you?"
"Never saw him before." I looked up at her. "Do you know him?"
"No, but he told my aunt he was looking for minin g properties. He rides out a good deal."
"In this weather? Seems a bad time to look for a mine, when the ground's covered with snow and yo u can't even see how it lays or what the formations are."
"We thought so, too."
She brought coffee and, after a little while, a stac k of hotcakes and maple syrup. "We've got some eggs.
My aunt says you can have them." She hesitated again.
"She likes you."
"Well, that's a help. Maybe I should stick around."
"There isn't much work." She lingered. "This i s mostly mining around here, and some lumbering. Ove r the mountain and to the south there's cattle. Are you a cowboy?"
"I'm whatever I need to be to get a job," I said, "bu t I've put by a little."
She looked at me thoughtfully, for it was a rare ma n in those days who thought of tomorrow while punchin g cows. I didn't feel it necessary to explain that it wasn't my saving that had provided the money. Still, come t o think of it, it had been my capital. Thinking of tha t made me feel better, and for the first time it seeme d maybe I was entitled to that money.
"I'm Teresa," she said. "Sometimes they call m e Terry."
"My name's McRaven. Kearney McRaven. An d sometimes they call me just anything they can thin k of." I grinned at her. "I ain't seen such a pretty girl i n a long time."
She flushed up a mite but she liked it, too. I wa s no hand at making talk with womenfolks, but pa, he'd always had a friendly way about him. "Say somethin g nice to them," he told me once, "and particularl y waitresses and such people. You've got to remembe r they put in a long, hard day, and many people grumbl e a lot. It does no harm to speak a friendly word."
Well, I was willing. Fact is, I could have been mor e than friendly with that there Teresa if I knowed ho w to go about it.
"He ever talk much?"
She knew who I meant, all right. "No . . . scarcel y at all. But he watches. Nothing that happens aroun d him happens without his seeing it." And just at tha t minute he came in.
"Good morning," he said cheerfully enough. "Yo u rise early."
"On a cow ranch you're up before the sun," I said.
"I was never no hand to lie abed, anyway."
Felix Yant was what his name was? Should tha t mean anything to me? I hadn't heard the name before , so far as I could recall, and my recall was pretty good , yet the man worried me. I felt he knew more abou t me than he had any use for, and I didn't like it. Gav e me a feeling of being watched.
He seemed friendly enough, and began to talk o f the mountains, the trees, then got to comparing thes e mountains with those back east. I listened mighty sharp , wanting to pick up a clue.
He had hands like a gambler. They were slender an d white, beautiful hands, actually. I suspect he was wha t is called a gentleman, but I had a feeling if he was, i t was more by birth than by instinct. Yet he was an interesting talker, and once started he could hold a bod y spellbound.
"This is all very
well," he said, waving a hand at th e surroundings, "but one needs to travel. You need perspective, some basis for comparison."
Seemed to me he was talking as much for Teres a as for me, and there's nothing like a smooth-talkin g man to have a way with womenfolks. This here littl e one-horse town seemed mighty empty when he bega n talking of San Francisco, New York, London, Paris , and suchlike. Seemed to me he'd been everywhere an d seen everything and remembered most of it. Teres a was looking at him all starry-eyed, and that didn't se t well with me. I began to feel sore. I wished I had a story to match him, but when all you've done is pla y nursemaid to a few cows, it doesn't leave you much t o spend on conversation.
"Me an' pa traveled some," I said defensively. "We covered most of the West, time to time. I been t o Dodge, and down there in El Paso . . . that's righ t acrosst the river from Mexico!"
"So it is." Yant was amused and showed it. The n he slipped it in so casually I almost spoke up. He said , "Your father ever talk of taking you home? To hi s home, I mean?"
That was one thing pa never mentioned, but I felt n o need to say so. "Time to time," I lied. But I wondere d why he had never mentioned it. Why had he not talke d of home? Told me of his family, the place where h e was born? The memories of his childhood?
And then suddenly something did come back. I'd been very young then, a mere child, and there'd been a woman in the room. I remember she was slender an d dark-haired with large, lovely black eyes . . . or almos t black. I do not know where she came from, how sh e came to be there, or where "there" was, except tha t she was wearing a cloak and she had come in out o f the night.
Did I remember anything? Or was it all my imagination? "I've only a few minutes. I'm afraid . . . deathl y afraid! He's coming back, Charles, and you know ho w he is! I'm afraid! If he ever finds out that I've eve n talked to you, he'd kill me. I mean it. Literally."
"You mustn't be here. Leave . . . get away whil e you can. I only wish I-"
"There's nothing you can do, Charles. There's nothing anybody can do! And if you come back, that woul d be the end of everything. They believe you did it , Charles. They all believe it . . . except grandfather. I d on't believe he does."
the Proving Trail (1979) Page 4
