Well, I stepped into the leather and waved to her. “Tell Mrs. Hollyrood I’m ridin’ into Parrott City to see if I can find that buyer you’re askin’ about.”
A half-mile up the trail I saw a camp alongside Cherry Creek. It was a man with two horses. He was wearin’ a suit and had his pants tucked down into his boot tops, and a narrow-brimmed hat. It was the Pink. I walked my horse down to where he had his fire.
“You’re on private property,” I said, “but as long as you don’t let that fire get away we won’t complain.”
“You planning to stay around? If I were you I’d give it some thought. Those Burrows boys are some upset. Sooner or later they’ll be coming after you.”
“Well, I ain’t huntin’ trouble, but if they come after me they’ll find it. I don’t run very well, an’ neither does my horse.”
“I see you’re riding the Death Horse.”
“Death to somebody else, not me.” I stepped down from the saddle and sat down across the fire from him. “Did you find that blonde you were huntin’?”
“Would I be here if I had?”
“What d’you want her for?”
“Murder.”
That shut me up. I just didn’t have anything to say. Only he wasn’t through.
“It may not have been the first time, and unless we find her it won’t be the last.”
“How old a woman?”
“Thirty, maybe thirty-five. We aren’t sure, as she’s covered her tracks well, but my guess is closer to thirty-five.”
Right away I felt better. “The women on the ranch,” I said, “wouldn’t fit. The youngest one is about twenty, and the older woman, Mrs. Hollyrood, is better than fifty. I’d say about sixty. She used to be an actress.”
“Mrs. Hollyrood? Never heard of her. What was her first name?”
“I never heard that. It ain’t likely I would. I’m just workin’ for them a mite, and I guess I’ve only seen her three or four times. Ate some meals with her, that’s about it.”
The Pink stirred the fire. “My name’s Bell, Reed Bell. I’ve been with the agency since during the War.”
“I’m called Passin’ Through because that’s what I’m doin’. Least, that’s what Mrs. Hollyrood calls me, and I’ve decided I like it.”
Bell studied me. “I don’t remember you from any of the bulletins we get on wanted men.”
“Likely not, I reckon I’m one of the most unwanted men you’re apt to find.
“You say the woman you’re huntin’ is wanted for murder?”
“Uh-huh. She told this gent she was going to fix him a really nice supper, and she did it, too. Only the next morning he was dead.”
Chapter Ten
The place he’d chosen to camp was a little hollow alongside the creek. There was a sort of a draw that ran back up the mountain to a saddle below the highest peak. It was a right pretty place.
“Nice place they’ve got there,” Bell commented. “I’ll be sorry to leave.”
“You ridin’ on?”
“Got to find that woman.” He looked over at me. “You shape up like a man who rides for the brand. Well, in my line of work I do the same thing. I’ve a job to do. I’ve got to find that woman before she murders somebody else.”
“You mean this is a pattern?”
“Not that we can prove, except in one case, but there appears to be more cases. Up to now she’s been reasonably successful. She made a slip back down the line and we got the first solid evidence.” He glanced over at me again. “She murdered the man she’d been working with. He was a handwriting specialist, a forger, and a good one. I guess he was greedy and wanted too much, or maybe there was a younger woman. At least, so we heard.”
He finished his coffee and dumped out the pot on the fire, watched it sizzle for a moment, then kicked dirt over it. He’d built a circle of rocks around where he’d had his fire, which confined it some. There was no way it could cause trouble.
“I’m going to miss this place,” I said. “It grows on a man.”
Bell was saddling up. He paused, looking around at me. “You got any money?”
“A little.”
“Was I you,” he replied, “I’d be careful where I ate my meals.”
Well, I turned the roan and rode away. Bein’ a detective just naturally makes a man skeptical. Most of the time he’d be dealin’ with the worst kind of folks, so he’d naturally have his doubts about anybody. If you deal with crooks all the time, pretty soon you begin to believe everybody is a crook. There were plenty of them around, but a lot of honest folks, too.
There was a kind of trail, made by deer, most likely, and it led up the mountains back of that hollow where Bell had camped. I walked the roan up the trail, weaving in and out through the scrub oak. Some of the trees had grown to fair size, but most of them were small with much undergrowth, a good place for wildlife.
Deer tracks were there aplenty, and once I glimpsed a lion track where he’d been stalking a deer. The trail widened into what was almost a lane through the aspen. It was still, no sound but the aspens moving with the slightest breeze. I drew up, listening.
A fawn came out of the aspens and walked with dainty hoofs across the land, turning its head to look at me an’ the roan, but we stood quiet and it walked on, without alarm.
We walked on, heading east and away from the ranch. The trees thinned ahead of us and I could look along the trail to Animas City and beyond. The trail was empty. Frowning a little, I wondered about that. There was no way Reed Bell could have ridden out of sight along that trail, not even if he was running his horses. So where had he gone?
Suddenly uneasy, I turned my horse and scrambled up a bank and into a dense stand of aspen, weaving our way through the trees and around deadfalls into deeper cover. There I pulled up and waited, listening.
A moment, and I heard a faint stirring. A rider was coming, more than one rider. I saw a faint shadow of movement through the trees. I put a hand on the roan’s neck. “Ssh!” I whispered.
They came along quietly, following my tracks. In a moment they would see where my horse had gone up the bank and into the trees.
Glancing around, I saw a narrow way where we might go. When I looked back they had pulled up and were listening. One of them offered a clear shot. I shucked my pistol.
“Looking for something?” I spoke in a low tone but loud enough for them to hear in that silence.
The nearest man jumped like he’d stepped on a cactus and whipped around, gun in hand. He saw me just as I fired.
He was no more than fifty feet away, but he must have jerked back as he saw me because my bullet cut the top of his gun-filled hand, creased his chest, and went into his upper arm.
The roan started into the trees, weaving its way out of the aspens and in a dead run along the mountainside, jumping brush, ducking under tree limbs, and heading far away from there.
Behind me somebody yelled, “Get him, dammit!”
“Get him yourself!” The voice was angry. “He got me!”
Wheeling around a thick stand of scrub oak, I grabbed my rifle and hit the dirt running. The roan pulled up to a stand as I went into the trees. Cattle had been bedding down here, so the brush was gone and the lower twigs broken off the trees. I went through fast to cover the way I had come. But when the rider appeared he was lower down, about where I had gone into the aspens.
I didn’t want to kill a good horse so I shot high, aiming for his shoulders. The shot hit him as I saw him jerk in the saddle and then he was off, running.
For a few minutes I sat easy, listening and waiting. I wasn’t wishful of killing folks, and here lately the laws had been tightenin’ up. This was the 1880s and folks didn’t look kindly on killings. I had no wish to tangle with the law in a country where I was a stranger. The sore spots on my neck were just healed and were still tender.
Finally I came out of the woods after scouting my horse, then when I saw it was safe I came out, mounted up, and started back to the ranch, c
utting across country. Twice I startled deer.
It was a time to be careful. I walked the roan, keeping under cover when possible, checking my back trail and around the country. The only part that worried me was the ridge. If somebody got up there I’d be a wide-open target, so I scanned the ridge, time to time. When I came down to the ranch it was from behind the big barn. Dismounting, I shifted my riggin’ to the buckskin and turned the roan into the corral. Keeping my rifle, I walked back to the granary, glancing toward the house. Nobody was in sight, so I opened the granary door and pushed it wider with the muzzle of my rifle. I am not what you’d call a trusting man and had no idea who might have been here since I left.
Everything seemed just as I’d left it. What gear I had I put together, although it wasn’t much. Then I sat down on the bed to think.
That will I’d found worried me. Mrs. Hollyrood had gone to the law with Phillips’ will and they had accepted it. No doubt it was later than this one, although from the date it could not have been much later.
Why would a man who left everything to his “beloved niece” completely disown her in another will? And where was that niece? Had Phillips ever spoken of her to Mrs. Hollyrood?
Now I was no lawyer, and knew too little of such things, but I had a hunch that the will I had was important and should be submitted to the court. But why? Phillips had written another will, had given everything to Mrs. Hollyrood, and that was all there was to it. Nobody seemed to have made any protest but Lew Paine and for him I had no sympathy. If he felt she was wrongfully in possession he should have gone to the law. This country was changing. The old rough stuff didn’t go anymore.
It disappointed me that Mrs. Hollyrood was thinking of selling the place. It was too good a ranch, and one with a lot of free land around for grazing. Most of the time she wouldn’t need more than one hand, so it would be cheap to operate.
Those men who attacked me today, one at least had been one of Lew Paine’s men. I’d shot to put them out of action, so was hoping I’d killed nobody. That last man, however, about him I wasn’t sure. One thing was a cinch. They’d be careful next time. If there was a next time. I was going to light a shuck.
Nobody around here knew me, and anybody I had trouble with would have friends. Mrs. Hollyrood was pulling out and I’d no reason to stay on, so every bit of common sense I had warned me to ride out and ride fast.
Lew Paine and his boys or the Burrows outfit might want my hide stretched, but I had nothing against them. All I wanted was to be alone in the mountains, hunting a little, prospecting a mite, and just generally enjoying the country. Somewhere in my breeding there must have been a bighorn sheep because I surely did like the high-up country with the clouds for company.
First, I wanted a bill of sale on the blue roan. I’d buy the horse if they wouldn’t give it to me like they’d said, and then I’d ride over to Parrott City and get myself some grub. After restin’ up a mite I’d leave out of here at night and go back to pick up my horses and gear. That ride would take me all of three or four days but I’d travel by night, and ride into town in the night, too. I wanted no trouble.
There was a lamp lighted in the house now. Suddenly I wasn’t anxious to go in, but I dearly wanted the roan and was afraid somebody would shoot it if I didn’t ride out of here with it.
So I combed my hair, washed my hands, and went across the road to the house and rapped on the door, then stepped in like I’d been doing.
Matty was at the stove. “Sit down,” she said, “I’ll have it on in a minute.”
“Mrs. Hollyrood around? I thought we might close the deal on that roan. Nobody seems to want the horse and she said I could have it.”
“She will be out soon.” Matty didn’t look around at me. “She’s had a lot to think about.”
“If she sells out, I’d not like to have that horse go with the outfit. Lew Paine was fixin’ to kill it.”
“You’ll have to admit the horse has a bad reputation,” Matty said, “but I’d hate to see it killed.”
“That Pinkerton is still around. He was camped about a half-mile Up the road.”
Matty had no comment and in a moment she was putting food before me, then she brought her own plate and sat down across from me. She glanced toward the inner door, then said quietly, “I thought you’d be leaving.”
“Yes, ma’am. I wanted a bill of sale for the roan.” Did she want me to go? Why had she advised it? I looked at her again. I had never seen a woman so beautiful, with such a calm, still face. Only her eyes seemed to move or show expression, and now, I wonder I hadn’t seen it before, she looked haunted.
“What is that Pinkerton man’s name? Have you heard?”
“Told me hisself. He’s Reed Bell.”
The name seemed to mean nothing to her. “I wonder why he stays around? Is he so sure the person he wants is around here?”
I shrugged. “Maybe he likes the country. He’s got himself a right nice camp, only he should watch himself. There’s bears on the mountain above him. Tracks all over the place.”
She was right behind me before I realized. I smelled her before I heard her, she moved that quiet. But that perfume she wore, it was a wonderful smell.
“Did you finish with your counting of cattle?” she asked, sitting down at the head of the table between us.
“Just about. I figure there’s about seven hundred head on the place and that agrees with Phillips’ tally. There’s prob’ly a few drifted over in Spring Gulch or out east or west of here. Even when the grazin’ is good there’s always a few will wander off.”
“Have you found a buyer for me?”
“Haven’t had a chance. Today I had a run-in with some of Lew Paine’s boys. You must have heard the shooting.”
“I did.” She glanced at me. “You seem to have
“They ran into trouble,” I agreed. Changing the subject, I said, “I was wonderin’ about the blue roan?”
“The Death Horse?” She looked at me. “I think you should have it.” She looked over at Matty. “Will you give me the paper? And the pen and inkwell.”
She took a piece of paper and wrote out a bill of sale for me. “There! The roan horse is yours, and you’ve earned it.” She turned her eyes to me. “You are leaving?”
“Well, I’ve my gear and two horses up the country a piece. I thought I’d go get them, then stop back here for a day or two before I light out.” I wasn’t at all sure that once away I’d ever come back, but had an idea it was better to let her think that. Besides, I might just come back. I surely do hate to leave things half-done, and there were things here needed doin’.
“My idea was to leave here at night so’s Lew Paine an’ them wouldn’t know I was gone.”
“That is very thoughtful of you, but Mr. Paine does not worry me. In fact, I have been thinking of having a talk with him. Maybe if we talked he would see the error of his ways.”
She changed the subject then and began to talk of the theater and of plays she’d been in like East Lynne and Lady of Lyons. It was mighty pleasant, sitting there in the soft light of the coal-oil lamps, with the smell of fresh coffee in the room, hearing her tell stories of that life so far from this.
“We had our troubles, too,” she added. “Once when we were playing a small town on the Mississippi several men tried to break up the show. One of our men stopped it, but there was some shooting.”
“Three of them? He must’ve been good.”
“Parmalee Sackett? He was very skillful with a gun. Pd heard that he’d shot a riverboat gambler before he joined the company.” She paused. “He really wasn’t an actor but he did very well and could have made a career of it.”
“What happened to him?” I was curious.
“Something happened out west. He left us very suddenly, in fact. I believe some relative of his was in trouble, but that was many years ago.”
Goin’ to plays an’ such was something I’d never done much of, although here and there
, in Tombstone or Deadwood, they had theaters puttin’ on plays. I seen a play once in Denver, too. I mentioned that.
“Denver?” Her voice was a little higher. “I never had the opportunity to play there.”
“Wasn’t that where Mr. Phillips died?”
“Yes, yes, it was. My company had gone back east, however.”
Folding the bill of sale, I put it in my shirt pocket. “I’d better get some rest.”
“You sure you don’t want to buy the ranch, Mr. Passin’?”
“Me? I ain’t got that much. I’d have to strike another rich pocket before I could afford a ranch.”
“Every little bit helps, though, Mr. Passin’. That’s what I always say, every little bit helps. Now don’t you forget” - she arose and gathered her robe about her - “when you come back by I want to fix you a nice supper, something really nice. You’ve been very kind.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Outside in the night I mopped my forehead and wondered why I was sweating. It was cool out here and it had not been that warm inside.
I was riding west, all right, and I’d pick up my horses and come back through here. Maybe I’d stop over, but somehow I had a hunch that nice supper she planned to fix for me, somehow I didn’t feel I’d ever get to eat that meal.
Maybe it was just a hunch, and maybe something more.
Chapter Eleven
The way prices were these days I might have bought the ranch, but probably not. Lots of land was free for the taking. A man could homestead a place, and if he settled on a water hole he’d control the range all around. Grass was no good without water.
Right now I had more money than ever in my life before. I had twelve hundred and forty-six dollars. That was what I’d taken from that pocket I discovered, and besides that I had twenty-eight dollars of walking-around money. That is, I had that twenty-eight dollars when I found the pocket for spending along the way. The twelve hundred and forty-six was my stake, and right now I was going to head for the high-up hills, find myself a little camp, and contemplate.
Passin' Through (1985) Page 8
