Savage Country

by William W. Johnstone

  Frank shook hands with her. “Glad to meet you, Mrs. McShane.”

  “I heard about the unfortunate incident in front of the hotel,” Allison said. “Would you care to comment on it?”

  Frank shook his head. “No, I don’t believe I would. It’s over, and I’d like to leave it that way.”

  “Then perhaps you’d consent to a more wide-ranging interview. I’d like to inform the readers of the Ledger that a famous man is in our midst.”

  Frank hesitated. He had been interviewed by journalists many times, but seldom by one as pretty as this Allison McShane. Never, come to think of it. But he didn’t care for publicity. Newspaper stories and dime novels had already done enough to inflate his reputation almost beyond believability.

  “I appreciate it, but I don’t reckon that would be a good idea.”

  “I disagree,” she said crisply. “I think the readers would be very interested.”

  Frank shook his head. “Sorry, no.”

  “Well, I tried,” Allison said. Something about her made Frank think that she wasn’t giving up so easily, though. She would bide her time and try again. But now she just looked around the Big Nugget and said, “So this is what a saloon looks like.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Wade said. “You’ve never been in one before?”

  She smiled reprovingly at him. “Do I look like the sort of woman who would frequent saloons?”

  “No, ma’am, you don’t. I meant no offense.”

  “None taken.” Allison lowered her voice a little. “Why are so many people staring at me?”

  It was true. Quite a few of the miners and townsmen in the saloon were looking at her. Frank said, “I reckon it’s because they’re not used to seeing a lady of your quality in here, Mrs. McShane. I’m not sure Mr. McShane would be happy about it either.”

  “There is no Mr. McShane. I’m a widow.”

  “Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

  “No apology necessary. You couldn’t have known.” She paused and then asked Frank, “Are you certain you won’t reconsider about that interview?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Ah, well, that’s journalism’s loss, I suppose.” She smiled at the three of them. “Good day, Mr. Morgan. Mr. Browning. And Mr. . . . ?”

  “Jonas Wade, ma’am.” The saloon keeper stepped forward eagerly. “Let me see you out.”

  “Thank you. You’re a gentleman despite your profession.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Frank chuckled as he and Conrad sat down again while Wade escorted Mrs. McShane out of the saloon. “Jonas needs to put his eyes back in his head,” Frank commented. “Can’t really blame him for being impressed, though. Mrs. McShane is a mighty pretty woman.”

  “And a persistent one,” Conrad said. “She’ll ask you for that interview again.”

  “I figured as much. I might give one to her if we can get this business with the railroad cleared up first.”

  “I’ll talk to Tarleton,” Conrad said again.

  “And I’ll go tend to Stormy and see about leaving Dog at the livery stable too.”

  Wade came back to the table as Frank and Conrad got up. “I’d seen Mrs. McShane around town,” he said, “but I’m glad I got the chance to meet her.”

  Frank smiled. “She’s quite a lady.”

  “Yeah.” Wade rubbed his jaw. “Too good for a ne’er-dowell like me,” he said musingly.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Looks to me like you’re putting down roots. You’re going to be a successful businessman.”

  “Yeah—in the saloon business.”

  Frank clapped a hand on Wade’s shoulder. “No point in giving up before you even get started. Why don’t you just wait and see what happens?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I might do that. Wonder if Mrs. McShane would like to go to supper some night.”

  Frank and Conrad left him mulling that over and went on about their own errands.

  * * *

  The owner of the local livery stable was impressed with Stormy, and was happy to let Dog stay there too while Frank was in town. “I’ll take good care of those critters of yours, Mr. Morgan,” he promised.

  “I don’t think of them as my critters so much as I do my friends,” Frank said.

  “Well, either way they’ll be just fine here.”

  Frank shook hands with the man and left. Night had fallen, and while some of the buildings in Ophir had grown dark, most still showed lights in their windows. The street and the boardwalks were still busy too.

  Frank headed for the hotel, intending to get some supper in the dining room. As he came into the lobby, though, he saw Conrad coming toward him. The younger man’s face lit up in a grin as he saw Frank.

  “I did it,” he said. “I talked to Tarleton.”

  “That was fast. How did you work it?”

  “I approached him as a businessman and told him that we could still help each other make money, despite the fact that I’m no longer going to marry his daughter. I talked to him about freight rates once the spur line reaches Ophir.”

  Frank nodded. “Pretty smart. It sounds reasonable enough, and it gave you an excuse to mention the change in the route, I reckon.”

  “Exactly.” Conrad looked pleased with himself, and as far as Frank was concerned, he had a reason to be.

  “First thing in the morning I’ll ride back out to the construction camp,” Frank said. “Sam Brant needs to be told what’s going on. Then we just have to wait and see what happens.”

  A worried frown suddenly creased Conrad’s forehead. “What if Tarleton doesn’t do anything right away? It’ll still take time to finish that trestle, so he may not think he needs to take action yet.”

  “Before I left the camp, I talked to Brant about getting started on the tracks on this side of the gorge, while the trestle work was still going on. If Tarleton’s men see that and report it to him, he may decide to go ahead and have that cut blown up now.”

  “You sound more convinced than ever that Tarleton’s behind everything,” Conrad commented.

  “It makes sense,” Frank said. “The simplest answer is always the one that’s most likely to be true.”

  “Well, I hope you’re right. I’m ready to see an end to this trouble.”

  “So am I,” Frank said.

  * * *

  He left early the next morning, riding south toward the construction camp. Stormy was glad for the chance to really stretch his legs, and they made good time, arriving at the camp in the middle of the afternoon. On the way in, Frank saw that Sam Brant had adopted his suggestion and had men carry rails and cross-ties across the river and start laying them on the roadbed to the north of the gorge. It was slow work, though, and only a hundred yards or so of track had been laid. If Nathan Buckhalter began surveying a route that curved from the present one and went through the cut in the ridge, it would certainly look like the railroad was about to swing in that direction too. All it would take would be to stake out the route and perhaps start grading another roadbed. The effort had to look convincing, but that was all.

  Sam Brant was halfway up on the trestle as Frank rode by. The damaged sections had been cleared away, and work was well under way to replace them. Brant spotted Frank and waved at him. The construction boss began climbing down the spidery framework.

  Frank reined in and waited for Brant. When the superintendent reached the bottom of the trestle, he dropped off a support beam and said, “Welcome back, Frank! The boys had just about given up on you, but I figured you were still around somewhere.”

  “I’ve been a far piece, all right,” Frank agreed. “Around in the mountains and all the way to Ophir and back. Has there been any trouble while I was gone?”

  Brant shook his head. “Not a bit. You must’ve scared those bastards off.”

  “It would be nice to think so, but I know that’s not the case.” Frank inclined his head toward the railroad cars. “Let’s go where we can talk in private. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

 
; That put a worried frown on Brant’s rugged face. He stalked up the path to the top of the gorge. Frank swung down from the saddle and walked with him, leading Stormy.

  Once they were inside the superintendent’s car, Frank explained everything that had happened since he rode out a few days earlier. Brant’s expression grew more worried the longer Frank talked.

  “I know that fella Scheer,” Brant said when Frank was finished. “I know of him, I suppose I should say. Never actually met him. I don’t think you should trust anything that somebody who works for the SW and P tells you.”

  “He didn’t have any reason to lie about anything. And there was certainly nothing fake about what that bunch of hired killers was doing to him.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that,” Brant said grudgingly.

  “What about Tarleton? Have you ever heard any rumors connecting him to the rival railroad?”

  “No, I can’t say as I have. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, though. I work out in the field, not in the offices. Always have.”

  Frank nodded. “Can you get Nathan Buckhalter to cooperate and make it look like you’re changing the route?”

  “Sure, Nathan’ll do whatever I tell him to. He was right about the route in the first place, though. That cut’s just too dangerous. The fact that Scheer thinks the tracks should go through there is typical of the way the SW and P cuts corners to save a little money.”

  “Don’t worry, you won’t have to really lay tracks through there. I think Tarleton will act before it ever gets to that point.”

  “You’re right. Some more of that stolen dynamite in the right place, and that whole wall of rock would come down and close off the cut for good.”

  Brant called in Nathan Buckhalter and explained everything to him. The surveyor nodded in understanding. “I’ll make it look good,” he told Frank. “Give me a day or two and I’ll have plenty of stakes driven.”

  “I hope that’ll be enough,” Frank said. His head lifted as he heard a whistle. “What’s that?”

  Brant grinned. “Supply train comin’ in from Lordsburg, with a whole new shipment of dynamite to replace the stuff those sons o’ bitches stole and blew up. We’ve been waiting on the stuff. Now we can pick up the pace a little.”

  Frank nodded, remembering what Brant had said about having more explosives sent up from Lordsburg.

  “First thing in the morning, we’ll move it well away from the camp and cache it,” Brant went on. “And this time it’ll be well guarded around the clock.”

  “Good idea,” Frank told him.

  Brant went out to greet the engineer of the supply train. Frank followed him. The train consisted of a couple of flatcars piled high with more rails and ties, and an enclosed freight car. That would be where the shipment of dynamite was. Since there was no way for the locomotive to turn around, the cars were run onto a temporary siding and then unhooked so that the locomotive and tender could travel back to Lordsburg in reverse the next day. There would be a roundhouse in Ophir where locomotives could turn around when the spur line was complete.

  An hour later, dusk was settling down and the work had just about come to a halt for the day. Frank knew from his conversation with Brant that men were still standing guard all night. He stood on the platform at the front of the car and looked out at the gathering shadows, hoping that Walt Scheer was all right. He didn’t particularly like the man, but he felt some responsibility for his well-being.

  He wondered as well how things were going with Conrad and Rebel. Rebel would be good for Conrad, Frank thought, and the boy finally seemed to realize that. The two of them still had some kinks to iron out in their relationship, but Frank was willing to bet they could do it.

  And one of these days, if all went well, he would be a grandfather. That was enough to put a smile on a man’s face.

  If nobody killed him first . . .

  Chapter 33

  Since the gunfight in front of the Holloway House had been a rather harrowing experience, Conrad figured that Rebel might need a little time to get over it. He didn’t approach her until late the following afternoon, when he went to her room in the hotel and knocked on the door. When she opened it, he thought he saw pleasure in her eyes for a second, but then it was replaced by a look of wariness.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “I think we need to clear the air between us,” Conrad declared.

  A man’s voice came from inside the room. “Clear the air about what?”

  Conrad looked past Rebel and saw her brothers. Tom sat in an armchair while Bob perched on the edge of the bed. “Oh,” he said. “Your brothers are here.”

  “Where else would they be?” Rebel asked.

  “I assumed they had rooms in one of the other hotels or boardinghouses in town.”

  “As a matter of fact, we do,” Bob said. “But we came over to talk to Rebel about what we’re goin’ to do next.”

  “That’s right,” Tom put in. “We ain’t got a ranch to go back to no more, so we got to figure out where we want to go.”

  “Or if we want to stay here,” Bob went on. “We’re good hands, and there are several growing ranches hereabouts. With all the miners that need feedin’, there’s a good beef market.”

  Conrad nodded. “That’s true.” He looked at Rebel. “But what would you do?”

  “I can make a hand too,” she said with a touch of defiance in her voice. “Bound to be some rancher who’ll hire me.”

  “Maybe you could stay here in town,” Tom said with a sly smile. “I reckon Mr. Browning here would like that.”

  “Yeah, since he wants to court you and all,” Bob put in.

  Rebel blushed and whirled on him. “You hush that up! Nobody’s said anything about courtin’!”

  “Well, he’d better,” Tom said, inclining his head toward Conrad, “or else we’re liable to get a mite suspicious of his intentions. And seein’ as how we’re your brothers, we might just have to give him a whippin’ if he don’t mean to do right by you.”

  Conrad felt his face warming. He put a hand on Rebel’s arm and asked, “Is there someplace we could go and talk privately?”

  “I sure hope so,” she said fervently. “Let’s get away from these two. They’ve gone plumb loco.”

  “It’s almost supper time,” Conrad said as Rebel stepped out into the hall and pulled the door closed behind her. She was wearing a dress again, and he thought she looked lovely. “There’s a restaurant in the next block. Why don’t we try it instead of the hotel dining room for a change?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Rebel agreed.

  As they left the hotel and started down the boardwalk, Conrad took a chance and linked his arm with hers. She didn’t pull away, and he took that as an encouraging sign.

  “You know, you could stay here in Ophir,” he said. “I’m sure you could get a job.”

  “Doin’ what? Being a maid or a cook in the hotel? Clerkin’ in some store?” She shook her head. “That’s not the sort of thing I want to spend my life doin’.”

  “Actually, I was thinking that perhaps you could work for me,” Conrad said. “Once the railroad goes through, I’ll be spending a lot of time here, and I’ll need a capable assistant.”

  Rebel laughed. “Work for you? I don’t think so.”

  Conrad wasn’t sure if he should feel offended by her reaction or not. “You wouldn’t even consider it?”

  “That just wouldn’t work out, Conrad. Trust me on that.”

  “All right,” he said grudgingly. “But I’m sure we can come up with something.”

  “I’ll think on it,” she promised.

  Before they reached the restaurant, Conrad heard his name called. He and Rebel stopped and turned. Allison McShane was coming up behind them on the boardwalk. “Good evening, Mr. Browning,” she said. She gave Rebel a friendly smile and a nod. “Miss Callahan.”

  “What can we do for you, Mrs. McShane?” Conrad asked. Night had fallen, and he was eage
r to sit down to supper with Rebel.

  “I’ve been looking for Mr. Morgan,” Allison said. “I’d still like to persuade him to let me conduct an interview with him. But I can’t seem to find him anywhere in town.”

  “He rode out early this morning,” Conrad explained.

  “On business?”

  Conrad hesitated. He didn’t want to go into detail about what Frank was doing or where he had gone. But for all her gentility, Allison McShane was like a bulldog once she got her jaws locked on something.

  As it turned out, Conrad didn’t have to come up with an answer. Three dark shapes moved out of an alley mouth behind her, and a voice said, “Hold it, Browning! Don’t move!”

  Conrad’s hand dropped toward the butt of the Colt Lightning on his hip. He didn’t know if these men intended to rob him or kidnap him, but since Rebel and Mrs. McShane were with him, he had to protect them. It was an instinctive reaction.

  He didn’t get a chance to draw the gun. With a rush of footsteps from the other direction, two men jumped him. A six-gun rose and fell, thudding against Conrad’s skull. Brilliant lights exploded inside his brain like Fourth of July rockets, followed by a sweeping tide of blackness.

  But just before he sank into that stygian abyss, Conrad heard something that chilled him to the core of his being. One of the men who had attacked him ordered in a harsh whisper, “Grab the women too! We’ll take them with us!”

  Then Conrad knew nothing more.

  * * *

  Frank was restless that night as he slept in Brant’s railroad car. Some instinct had him on edge, and even though he couldn’t explain it, he knew better than to ignore it. When he came awake, far into the night, he sat up in the bunk he was using and looked around in the darkness. Snoring came from several of the other bunks.

  Then he heard again what must have woken him. Through the open window beside him came the sound of growling. Dog was supposed to be sleeping outside the car, but something was bothering the big cur.

  Frank trusted Dog’s instincts and senses as much as he trusted his own. He swung his legs off the bunk, pushed his feet down into his boots, and stood up. Quickly, he buckled on his gunbelt. Thinking that he ought to wake Sam Brant in case there really was some threat to the camp, he stepped across the aisle and reached down to give the superintendent’s shoulder a shake.