“No, ma’am,” he said, “I reckon I ain’t. Not quite.”
She was small, dark-haired and very much alive. She was motionless, but somehow gave the impression of untrammeled vitality. She was a woman from the topmost soft wave of her hair to the tip of her small neat foot. A real lady. Yet the fact that she was a lady couldn’t hide the gamine that looked at Jody out of bold eyes. Never in his life before had he felt so much a man. Which was a laugh under the circumstances.
She stood by a pretty sorrel mare that was equipped with a side-saddle. The girl herself was dressed in a gray riding habit with touches of bright scarlet here and there — an outfit he couldn’t describe in a century of time. A small version of a cowman’s hat was tilted slightly over one eye. It gave a provocative look to the large, very clear gray eyes. These were enhanced by brows as black as the wing of a raven.
Us Storms was always suckers for a lady, Jody told himself philosophically. His Storm eyes didn’t miss the delicious swell of her breast, the waist that demanded a man’s arm around it, the firm hips that counter-balanced it and the rounded thigh that could not be hidden under the cloth of her riding skirt. The sight of her was a challenge to his manhood, a tonic that could cure the weakness of his body.
She smiled. That drew attention to a mouth that demanded it. Slightly large for the fine bones of her face, not too large for Jody who liked women with generous lips.
The man spoke. He used Spanish, maybe thinking that Jody could not understand him. But Jody had known too many Mexicans down on the brasada not to know the language.
“Ride ahead, señorita. I will bring this one on my horse. Please do not speak with him. Your father, the patron, would not like it.”
Jody said in the same language: “The patron shows good sense to guard so beautiful a daughter with such care.”
The Mexican looked a little mad. The girl burst out laughing.
“Obviously a Texan,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m Honoria Rolf. Who’re you?”
That knocked Jody back a mental pace or two. Rolf? Did this mean his chase after Wilder had actually taken him to his destination? Wilder had claimed that he knew Rolf. Did that mean that Wilder was here?
The girl’s large eyes didn’t miss a trick. She watched the expressions that flitted across Jody’s face.
“I’m Jody Storm, ma’am. Proud to know you.”
“You’ve been injured, sir,” she said. “I and Patricio will take you home. May I ask how it happened?”
“Sure can, ma’am,” said Jody. “Jumped by a bunch of Utes … three-four days …back. I joined up with some gold-hunters. Two was killed. The other one an’ me — we ran.”
“What happened to the other one?”
“Sounds kinda silly, ma’am. Like I was stupid or something but he upped while I was asleep and he lit out with my guns an’ my horses. I trailed him on foot a coupla days.”
“But you were wounded.”
Jody looked at the Mexican. The man was looking at him with a new light in his eyes. He understood. Jody would not let up till he found the man. Patricio would have been the same under the circumstances. He nodded with grim approval. A man paid another man for a deed like that. Only a life could compensate.
“He took everythin’ I had. Even my money.”
“What a despicable creature.”
The Mexican grunted with disgust. He dismounted and signed for Jody to climb into the saddle. Jody didn’t miss the fact that Patricio had no wish for Jody to ride behind him where a gun-butt might offer him temptation. Jody thanked him and climbed into the saddle. Patricio helped Honoria Rolf onto her little mare, then vaulted agilely up behind Jody. They set off east.
They rode in silence, but Jody knew that the girl’s eyes were on him, speculating. He tried to guess at her thoughts, but he could not. He had fooled around women a bit, but he didn’t know a damn thing about them. He had never had one look at him like this one. He always thought it the male prerogative to measure women and he found this minute inspection disconcerting. When he turned to meet her eyes, she smiled. Jody grinned back. The girl didn’t take her eyes from him and it was he who turned his eyes away first.
Jody found himself excited by her. It was laughable really. Here he was with no more life in him than a wet rag, half-starved and yet he found enough life in him to have a strong inclination to behave in a most ungentlemanly fashion with this girl who was obviously gently reared and was for the moment the sole property of one of the most important men in the country. He scented trouble here. But he didn’t give a burro’s honk in hell.
He took another look at her, caught her face momentarily in profile and thought: But God if I don’t have her, nobody else will. The emotion was as simple as that, and it came over him just like that, in a second. The realization shook him to his sox. Pa was right. He had never said so in so many words, but he thought Jody a reckless, feckless fool who took no regard of the consequences of his actions and thoughts. Here he was robbed blind, hardly strong enough to sit a horse and already he had made up his mind to possess possibly one of the most inaccessible women in the West.
Jody laughed to himself. He was a Storm all right. He always aimed at the impossible.
Who said it was impossible? He demanded of himself. He was a Storm, wasn’t he? So he had to goddam-well make it possible. His fevered mind raced. He’d find Wilder and spill his guts for him. He’d somehow get his hands on Pa’s bull. He’d have this girl.
After that, probably exhausted by so much weighty ambition, he must have fallen into a doze.
He woke with a start to find Patricio’s strong hands holding him in his seat and there slightly below him, cradled in the sweep of the valley, he saw the house.
It didn’t need a second glance to see that this was something different from the rough Storm houses on Three Creeks. There was money here and a great deal of it. Although they were still at a good distance from it, it was evident that Rolf had built to stay and had spared no expense to attain a comfort that was not usually evident in the wilds of Colorado. There was both style and taste shown here.
The style was a compromise between that of the country and the southern mansion. A curious mixture, but one which succeeded. It possessed two storeys, the roof overhung and provided a covering for the upper gallery. And here there too was a compromise. The upper part of the house was airy and provided with fine wide windows, while the lower half was designed as a fortress, with smaller windows that probably could be shuttered against attack. The number of rooms must have been countless. It was a wilderness palace.
Away to the right was evidently the quarters of the hired hands, almost hidden from the house by a motte of trees. The lowly ones of the earth were kept out of sight as much as possible from the gaze of the masters. But just the same, the hands had been amply provided for. There was a long low building which looked like a bunkhouse. To one side of it were doubt smaller houses with what looked like small truck-gardens around them. It looked like a small village. Jody didn’t doubt that the married men inhabited them. Which meant that this was based on much the same idea as the Mexican hacienda. Rolf ruled here. He was the patron.
Beyond these buildings were several corrals and what looked like a barn. Beyond them, a wide creek. Jody saw people moving about. Horses. And there on a far hillside a gray carpet slowly crept over the green and he knew that Rolf ran sheep too. He looked around him and saw that on the lush grass through which they were now riding there grazed cattle marked with a Box R brand. They were longhorns, yet they weren’t. They were some of the finest and meatiest stock Jody had ever set eyes on. His cattleman’s interest was aroused at once. He knew that there had been some crossing with Here-fords here. They made the Storm cows look scrawny apologies for cattle even after they had been for so long on the rich grass of Three Creeks. Jody now saw why Pa wanted the bull. He was impressed. Rolf might be the meanest sonovabitch in the country, but he certainly knew his
business.
They rode slowly down the gentle slope that led them to the house. As they drew nearer the house, Jody saw that, although many trees must have been felled for space, a number had been left to provide a pleasant shade for the yard. Near the house itself, flowers grew in well-watered beds and provided a splash of color that stimulated the eye.
They no sooner drew rein in front of the lower gallery than a small Mexican boy appeared, grinning widely, and held Honoria’s horse. Patricio slipped to the ground and was there to help his master’s daughter down. She thanked him with a smile, spoke to the Mexican boy and patted him on his head.
A woman appeared on the gallery. Again, a Mexican. Thirtyish, handsome. She had proud eyes and a haughty mouth. She held herself like all queen.
Honoria turned to her with a laugh. “Look what we found, Manuela,” she said.
Manuela raised one eyebrow and stared at Jody. She didn’t say anything.
Honoria gave orders for Jody to be shown a room. He thanked Patricio for the ride and went, weak as a half-drowned pup, up onto the gallery. Honoria said she would follow and look at Jody’s wound.
Manuela said: “There is no need. I shall attend to it.” She tossed her head a little and led the way into the house. Jody grinned at Honoria and followed.
The Mexican woman entered the house and Jody followed her into the cool. The richness of it struck him at once. The floor under his feet was of polished wood, a luxury which he had not experienced for a long time. The first room was a mixture of hall and parlor — a vast covered space to Jody, with a long table of some twenty feet lost in it; leather-covered chairs, animal-skin rugs and rugs of Navaho weave scattered everywhere. Choice specimens of Navaho work hung from the walls which were also festooned with weapons of every variety and age. Rolf was apparently a collector. Amidst all this were one or two oil-paintings in gilt frames, some priceless-looking vases and here and there a bowl of bright flowers.
Still gawking at all this, Jody found himself at the foot of a wide flight of stairs. Manuela led the way up these and Jody now turned his attention to the woman, and he didn’t doubt that if Honoria hadn’t been around his amorous intentions would have been centered on her. She may have been several years older than Jody and of an age which usually lay outside his interest, but such was her appearance and proportions that, in spite of the cold aloofness of her manner, a man worthy of the name could not look at her without wondering at her full potential. She was tall for a Mexican and her body was superb. Her long neck rose like a column of dark marble. The small head perched on it was classical, its perfect contours set off by the black severity of her straight hair.
He watched the way of her body as she led him down a long corridor. She opened a door to the left and beckoned him inside. He entered a small bedroom, pleasantly furnished.
He tried the bed. Its softness could vie with a heavenly cloud.
Manuela said: “If you undress and get into bed, I will bring water and medicine and dress your wound.”
“Thanks,” he said.
She turned and went briskly from the room.
My my, he thought, undress. Have a strange woman tend me in my birthday suit. Jody Storm, you’re sure comin’ up in the world.
He locked the door and stripped naked. There was water, soap and a fine clean towel there. He washed himself from head to foot and, feeling a new man almost, slipped between the snowy white sheets of the bed, after unlocking the door.
Once again tiredness hit him. He thought briefly about the man he had to find and kill. He thought about Rolf whom he hadn’t met, about the bull he had to buy and the money he didn’t have to pay for it. Then he thought about Honoria Rolf. He’d certainly lined a few chores up for himself, Hey, ho.
He slept, drifting away deliciously.
Chapter Seven
He awoke just as deliciously.
There was a cool feminine hand on his forehead. He opened his eyes and looked into those of Manuela. Hers were dark and calm.
“You are a little fevered,” she said in Spanish.
Using the same language, Jody told her: “How could a man be anything but fevered when a woman like you lays a hand on him?”
If the compliment made any impression on her, she gave no sign. It was dismissed by her ignoring it.
She started to take the bandage from his shoulder. The rag was grimed with dirt, sweat and blood now. If she felt distaste, she concealed it.
“You have been hurt on the arm also,” she said. “How did that happen?”
“Knife,” he said.
“And this one?”
“Arrow.”
She pursed her fine lips.
“Men,” she said, “are like little boys. They like to kill and maim.”
He smiled.
“There are other things a man likes doing,” he said.
“I know,” she said coldly. “I am a woman. The target of their ambitions.”
She was very close to him and he liked it. She smelled of warm hay and spice. In combination with her, it was a heady concoction.
She had the shoulder wound uncovered. She made a small sound with her tongue and said: “It is bad.”
“You married, Manuela?” he asked.
“I am not married,” she said, “and my name is Señorita Salazar. I am not a servant.”
Jody realized that he should feel about an inch high. But he didn’t. Being so close to this woman was a rich experience. It was like being pleasantly drunk. You didn’t care just so long as she was near you.
She probed the flesh surrounding the wound gently with her fingertips.
“I reckon you don’t like me, ma’am,” Jody said.
She reached for warm water and started to wash the wound.
“I assure you, my young friend,” she said, “that I have no feeling whatsoever concerning you except that you are wounded and I will do my best to make you well again. I think that is enough for you to be satisfied with.”
She leaned across him to more closely inspect the wound. He felt the warmth of her breast against his bare arm through the thin cloth of her dress. He lowered his eyes and saw the soft pale-brown curve of her breast through the neck of her garment. His fever rose a little. Her face was near his. If he moved his head an inch he could have kissed her. With Jody, the wish was father to the action. He pressed his mouth softly against her cheek. She pulled back her head without haste and looked into his eyes. Her mouth was very near his.
“You are a very ambitious and foolish young man,” she said.
“A woman as beautiful as you would make a fool out of any man.”
“So it would seem.”
She dried the wound with soft clean rag and then anointed it with what must have been a spirit, for it burned like fire.
“There is infection,” she said. “You must take great care. While you stay here, I shall dress the wound each day.”
“Best news I’ve had in days,” he told her.
She rubbed some strange-smelling ointment into the wound and bound it up. Then she attended to the knife slash in his arm. This proved to be clean and roughly starting to heal. But he would bear a scar to remind him of this fight with the Ute to the end of his days. She dressed this and then sat back on the side of the bed and surveyed him. Her manner hadn’t changed, her gaze was still cold, but he felt a subtle change in her attitude toward him.
“Honoria has told me what happened to you,” she said. “This man who left you afoot in the mountains — you followed him?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And I suppose you have promised yourself that you will kill him.”
“What else?”
“Don Carlos will give a fresh horse to take you home. Forget this killing.”
“I reckon I can’t do that.”
“Only grief will come of it.”
“The grief will be all his.”
“You are too young for this. You kill in cold blood and there will be no going back. You will
do the same again and again for less and less reason.”
“Manuela,” he said, “you stick to being a beautiful woman who mends childish men who fight. I’ll stick to being a childish man who fights.”
She rose and walked to the door.
“Manuela,” he said. She stopped and turned. “Thanks.”
“It is nothing,” she told him and was about to leave the room when there came the sound of footsteps on the landing. She drew back from the door and allowed a man to enter.
Jody didn’t have to be told that this was Charles Rolf. He was surprised. He didn’t know why, but he had expected somebody like Ed Brack, the thorn in the side of the Storms down on Three Creeks. A short-legged, beefy bull of a man, smashing or trying to smash every vestige of opposition from his path. This man was tall and thin, ascetic, with grave eyes and an unsmiling mouth. A humorless man. Such men, Jody knew, could be annoying and dangerous. He didn’t see how a man like this could have a daughter like Honoria. Nature played strange tricks.
Rolf walked past Manela Salazar without offering a glance and stood looking down at Jody. He was dressed in a sober gray suit and a string tie showed against the dead-white of his shirt. The only concession he made to the west was his boots, which were Mexican and hand-tooled. The spurs were also Mexican and were of silver.
“Good day to you, Mr. Storm,” he said.
“Mr. Rolf? Happy to know you, sir.” No hand was offered. Rolf looked as if he would wash a hand that touched another.
“I heard of your misfortune,” Rolf said. “Rest assured that all will be done for you here that can be.”
A man couldn’t say fairer than that, but he could have said it in warmer tones.
“That’s mighty nice of you, sir,” Jody said, “an’ I’m real grateful.”
“The man who did this thing to you,” Rolf said, “must be found and punished.”
“I’ll get around to that,” Jody said, “soon’s I’m outa this here bed. That’ll be tomorrow.”
Rolf turned his head and looked at Manuela, who slowly shook her head. Rolf nodded gravely.
“You are in good hands,” he said. He went to turn away, but there came the sound of footsteps again on the landing. Honoria entered. She looked flushed and beautiful. Jody couldn’t help but look at Manuela to see how she compared. She still looked as good as ever.
One Man, One Gun Page 9
