by A. J. Arnold
“They must be stayin’ in town. They come in here for a meal about the same time every day. I can always tell if they’re about to have a fight. If the old coot’s hung over, they get along fine. But if he’s already started hittin’ the bottle for the day, they rake each other over the coals.”
“How about when he’s sober?” Buck asked without thinking.
“Come to think of it, I never seen him sober. Always at least part drunk or hung over, that one.”
“Uh-huh,” Buck grunted, and left before the man could look up at him again.
Out on the street, he took a deep breath as he walked along. He mentally reviewed what few details he’d learned about Sarah. She’d said something to Ainsworth about meeting him at the rooming house. And she worked at—what was it? Anderson. No, Henderson—Mrs. Henderson’s millinery, that sounded right. And if he’d read things right, she’d be there working so as to get her pay, no matter what her pa had told her.
As Buck sauntered, whistling, he latched onto a plan. He’d find the store, try to get Sarah to wait on him, and buy a present to send home to Ma. He also decided he’d need to find a place to buy himself some new clothes, but first he wanted to make sure he had a chance to see Sarah again. Two more hours and she’d be gone with her father. He’d never get another opportunity to meet her.
The store he finally entered was full of merchandise, but dimly lit. Buck couldn’t see anybody, but when he stopped to look through a pile of shirts, he heard voices in the back. As he went in that direction, a woman came out of the rear room. Her head was turned away from him as she talked to someone behind the partition.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll come next week to see if it’s in yet.”
When she noticed Buck, she started. “Oh, I didn’t hear you come in. I mean, I thought the ladies’ clerk and I were alone. The girl in back said Mr. and Mrs. Henderson have gone out to eat, so if you want something, you’ll have to see her.”
That he was in the right place registered, but not as much as Buck’s surprise at seeing another pretty girl. Only this time, he vowed, he wouldn’t let himself stand there like a speechless scarecrow.
“Sorry if I startled you, Miss,” he smiled. “But I assure you I’m harmless, especially to such an attractive lady.”
He quickly removed his hat and thought that this was some town, where he could meet two young women the same day. But this one here was sure different from Sarah. Her hair was just the color of the honey Ma used to set on the table. She wasn’t anywhere near as tall as Sarah, either, but she filled out her dress a sight better.
The woman’s astonished look changed to a wide grin of amusement at Buck’s brashness.
“It’s not Miss, it’s Mrs.—Mrs. Henry Blough.”
“I’m sorry,” he blurted, so obviously distressed that she laughed out loud.
“It’s not the end of the world, you know. There are other girls.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Buck answered, hot with embarrassment.
“I didn’t mean it that way. What I meant was—well, you see, I don’t get to talk much with ladies. I been out on the trail three months, and—well, I guess I’m not much at saying what I aim to.”
Mrs. Blough stared at him with direct and forthright brown eyes.
“And what was it you were trying to say?”
My God, Buck groaned inwardly. What was wrong with him? He’d talked with lots of married women before. Trouble was, this one looked too young.
Wanting to sound worldly, he rattled on, revealing more than he intended.
“Well, Ma’ am, I just wanted to talk to you without freezing up. I did that this afternoon: I met a girl in the restaurant that I wanted to talk to. I heard her voice and I looked her right in the eye, but I couldn’t hardly get a single word out. That’s why I came in here, matter-of-fact. Thought maybe I’d find her. And then, of course, I got to get some new clothes so I’ll look better.”
A mischievous twinkle brightened Mrs. Blough’s earthy eyes. “I’m sure that won’t hurt. But west of the Mississippi, we’re used to men in worn clothing. If she’s been around this territory any length of time, I doubt your clothes will make much difference.”
“I also need a job,” he ventured, “and so I’ll need more to wear if I go to some outlying ranch.”
Buck gulped and took a deep breath. He wondered why in hell he couldn’t stop jabbering. Couldn’t much open his mouth to Sarah, and couldn’t seem to shut it to this Blough lady.
She smiled again. “Why don’t you just go up to that partition and say you’d like to buy something? I’m sure you’ll get service in a hurry.”
The woman moved to leave, and Buck watched her rhythmic, springy steps go the length of the board floor. She was older than Sarah, he observed, and maybe even a little older than he was. Oh, well. She seemed nice enough, and fairly happy for a married person.
Mrs. Blough paused at the front door, turning to study Buck.
“Young man. If you’re serious about a job, and don’t mind hard work, you might ride out and talk to my husband. We have a ranch southwest of here, and I know he needs help. Just ask for the Standing Arrow. My husband’s name is Henry Blough, and I’m Nancy.”
She wheeled, rustling her full skirt, and was gone.
Buck shook his head. Was this woman a little more daring, just a mite more familiar than a wedded lady had ought to be? No, he decided as he moved to find the store clerk. No, she was just one of those friendly people in this old world. And Lord knew he’d run across precious few of those in his time.
Buck lifted his head, and found himself stunned once more by the same pair of luminous green eyes as before.
“Did you want to buy something?” that voice from the restaurant sang. And again it had that strange effect on his heart.
“I, uh, why, yes, Miss. I need a complete outfit to work on a ranch.”
“Oh, dear,” Sarah said in agitation.
A slender white hand fluttered up to rest against her throat. “I usually just work in the ladies’ part of the store. I never took care of the front section before. The Hendersons should come back shortly. Do you think you could wait for the gentleman to help you?”
“I don’t mind waiting.” Buck smiled warmly. “Especially if you’ll wait with me.”
Sarah darted a nervous glance at him.
“I—I don’t know what to say. They’ve never left me alone before. To tell you the truth, I think I’m scared.”
Buck stared at her, too surprised for a slick comment.
“Of me?” he demanded. “Ain’t a reason on this earth to be afraid of me, Sarah.”
“How do you know my name?”
In her fright, Sarah’s voice lost all its mellowness. Something close to terror shot glimmers of light through her eyes.
“Easy, easy now,” Buck soothed. “Don’t you remember? We almost collided in the restaurant. I got your package for you.”
Sarah gaped at him tensely for a minute, and then returned his smile. Her sharp features nearly cracked with relief.
“Oh, yes, of course. How silly of me! I’m sorry. I suppose you overheard my pa call me by name?”
“Well, yeah, I did,” Buck had to admit, feeling a red tide start to flow up the back of his neck and over his ears.
“And you heard me mention Mrs. Henderson’s, so you followed me here.”
“Now, doggone it, no, I didn’t!” He glared at her, but she was glaring right back.
“Darn it, Sarah, I didn’t actually come after you a-purpose. What it was—well, I mean—what I done—oh, hang it all! I needed some stuff, because I’m thinking to get a job at a ranch around here. I wanted to put on a decent outfit and then see if I could find you because—well, I liked the sound of your voice and I wanted to get to know you. And I heard your pa’s plans to leave in the morning, so I only had this one chance.”
Sarah’s crisp tones went low and strong.
“You’re wrong about Pa. He’ll get drunk
and sleep ’til noon, and the wagon train will be long gone. He’ll be angry, but I can handle him. It won’t take much to convince him I couldn’t wake him up.”
She eyed Buck strangely, and pursed her lips in determination.
“Now, then, just what clothing did you want?”
But he wasn’t ready to talk business.
“Hold on a minute,” he urged. “Sarah, supposing I can find a job with a ranch. That Mrs. Blough said her husband needs help...and it sounded pretty definite to me...well, could I come and see you?”
She gulped. “I...I don’t know. Mrs. Blough is very nice, and it would probably be a good job. But let’s wait and see if you do get work close to town.”
The front door opened. Sarah Ainsworth smiled almost thankfully at the couple who came in.
“Why, here are Mr. and Mrs. Henderson now! I’m sure you’ll get the best of help in finding what you need. Mr. Henderson, this gentleman wants to buy some clothes.”
Beaming, the older man moved to serve his customer. Buck kept his eyes on the pretty clerk as she backed toward the ladies’ section.
“Name’s Buck,” he informed her loudly as she reached the wooden partition. “And I’ll be back to continue our discussion, Sarah.”
Her face flamed red clear up to the roots of her hair. She turned and fled into the dark room at the back of the store.
Chapter Seven
Buck rose with the sun, full of hope and resolve. He’d slept well enough to rest him some, but little enough to set him on edge and get his juices flowing over the prospects of a job at the Blough ranch. After a thorough session of yawning and stretching, he got the mouse-brown mare that he’d traded for the part Arab on his first day at Glenn Saltwell’s camp outside San Antonio.
Throwing the saddle on, he started around the enclosure. As he moved along, leading the small grulla, Buck nearly stumbled over a still form that huddled on the ground.
Must be a drunk, he thought with disgust. Well, at least that was one weakness he dido’t have. Or maybe the man was dead—he’d better have a look. As he stepped around the motionless figure, he saw a leg thrust forward.
Damn it! Buck swore in silent dismay. It was Russ, his former riding partner from Glenn’s outfit. Buck had ridden with him enough times to recognize the cracked, run-over boots. He bent to turn the inert heap face-up, and Russ groaned. The reeking smell of cheap whiskey floated up.
He leaned down and shook his old saddlemate roughly.
“Russ, Russ. Come on, man. What are you doing here? Get up.”
“Huh?”
The bigger man moved painfully, trying to straighten his cramped muscles and sit up.
“Ohhhh. Ahhhh. Oh, God, I wished I was dead.”
He went limp like a wet saloon rag, slumping back to the hard earth. “Let me be, goddamn it. Can’t you see I’m sick?”
Buck was tempted to just walk away. After all, he didn’t owe Russ anything. Damned fool to get himself in such a state. But then he glanced at the cowpoke’s greenish, awful-looking face, and decided to give it one more try.
“Come on, Russ. Get up. I’ll buy.”
The drunk’s face turned a little. One bloodshot eye opened as he tried to get the voice into focus with its speaker.
“Who are you, boy? Do I know you?”
As if he’d found some new source of energy, Russ lurched to his feet. He wove a crazy pattern as he reached out to cling to the corral fence behind him.
“Why, I’ll be. That you, Buck?”
“Yeah, it’s me. What in tarnation happened to you? I thought you’d be over in Colorado by now, still headed west.”
“It’s a long story. Did I hear you say, you’d buy?”
“Yes, you did. But I never said what I’d buy,” Buck answered in a wry tone.
“Come on, let me help you. It’s not too far up the street. We’re going to get some solid breakfast into you at the restaurant.”
As Buck got Russ’s left arm over his shoulder and his own right arm around the fellow, Russ began to protest.
“I don’ wanna eat. Wan’ another drink. Don’ know what-samatter with the liquor in this town, though. Stuff tastes funny. Grows fuzz on my tongue.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Buck muttered as they zigzagged in the right direction.
Hell of a thing! He’d wanted no part of anything related to Saltwell, yet here he was with old Russ. Wobbling around and looking just as drunk as him.
At last they reeled through the front door of the same eatery where Buck had met Sarah. The sudden thought of her made him feel better and worse all at the same time. He deliberately dumped the trail hand onto a backless counter stool. If Russ was forced to sit up, maybe he’d sober up, too.
“Two coffees,” he told the morning manager, who hadn’t been there the day before. He’d never seen this one.
“I’ll have a regular full breakfast, and my...uh...friend, here, will have whatever you prescribe for a hangover.”
The balding proprietor stared over his horn-rimmed glasses, first at Russ and then at Buck. The silence grew so loud that the rhythmic tick of a clock filled the room. After a good, long minute the slightly built gentleman put a pair of fragrant, steaming tin mugs in front of them. He left a metal pitcher containing more coffee near Buck’s elbow.
Without a word, he reached under the counter and produced a black quart bottle, pouring a generous shot into Russ’s hot brew. Leveling one last sharp glance which seemed to blend pity with outrage at the drunk, he replaced the bottle and went into the kitchen.
Buck sipped at his strong, dark drink while watching his companion out of the comer of his eye. Russ wrapped both hands around his mug, then bending his head low, he tasted the liquid without lifting the mug from the counter. His embarrassed partner pretended not to notice as the cowboy repeated his actions several times.
At length Russ raised the mug to his lips and slurped noisily. He cleared his throat and growled three or four times.
“That helps. I just might decide to live, after all.”
He wiped his mouth on a dirty sleeve while Buck took hold of the coffee pitcher and poured him a second.
“Goddamn, Buck,” he muttered. “I’d’a swore you didn’t like me. Why for’d’you save my life?”
Buck shrugged. “Would’ve done the same for ’most anybody.”
That is, anybody other than Glenn Saltwell, he added to himself—or that murdering bastard, Red Pierce. He shifted closer to Russ.
“You still got any of the money you were paid day before yesterday?”
The drunk on his right gazed up at him. Buck was reminded of his Uncle Ed and the times he’d had to dry him out. When Russ spoke, his voice was still a little thick, and somehow sour, as if he could hardly stand the lingering aftertaste.
“No, kid, I don’t think I got any money left. Fact is, I know I don’t. I lost it all playin’ poker.”
He heaved his shoulders and sighed with a melodramatic whiskey sadness.
“What the hell, I might as well admit it. I’ll never make it. It just ain’t in me to be clean or decent.”
Buck watched Russ. This man had showed real strength and stamina on the trail, but none of that was apparent now. He looked beaten, pathetic.
Buck heard himself saying, “I’ve got a line on a job out of town here aways. You want to ride along and see if the rancher can use two?”
The moist, blurry eyes fastened on him again. “You know, you’re the first hombre ever tried to help me. I don’t rightly know how to answer you.”
He was spared that as the breakfast came and Buck attacked it without wasting any more words. After three mugs of coffee, food looked good to Russ, and he called for a plate of the same.
As he was finishing, a man in his middle years came in and thundered, “Breakfast!” at the manager.
Buck took note of his Stetson hat, hand-tooled boots, and a pearl-handled gun resting in a black leather holster. Judging the newcomer to be a prosperous ranch
er, he faced up to him.
“Beg pardon, but could you tell me the whereabouts of the Standing Arrow ranch? I’m told a Henry Blough might be looking for a hand.”
The rancher rumbled, “I’ve known Henry for several years. As to whether he’s looking for help or not, that I don’t know. But I’ll tell you this: the only directions I give a stranger are those that lead him out of this part of the country.”
Buck’s eyes glittered with cold fire as he looked into a face that had been rough-chiseled with lines and planes of determination.
But his voice sounded mild as he said, “They call me Buck. Now you know my name, which is more than I know about you.”
The big man took his time looking Buck over. “Take it you’re new to this part of Kansas?” he finally said.
Not about to admit he came up the trail from Texas, Buck replied, “That’s right. But I’m honest, and I do know how to handle cattle. And I also need a job.”
The rancher’s breakfast came. As he turned his attention toward his food, he merely breathed a weighty, “Hmm,” at Buck.
Rebuffed, Buck glanced over at the silent Russ, who was just finishing the last of his coffee. Buck guessed as he counted out money for two meals that the rancher didn’t trust anybody. He reckoned he’d have to try and find some other source of information. He and his old saddlemate got up to leave.
As Buck reached the door, the well-dressed man muttered, without looking up or turning his head, “My name’s Daniel Thompson. I own the Double P out west of here. If you still want to get to the Blough place, take the west trail to the second fork, then go south. If you leave right away, you ought to get there by midafternoon.”
Buck’s angular face nearly split from the grin that knifed across it. “Thanks, Mr. Thompson. I really do appreciate it. Thanks very much.”
This time the older man did look up, a strange smile of his own playing along his square features.
“Just tell Old Man Blough that Wide Loop sent you.”
“Wide Loop?” Russ demanded, as soon as they were on the street and out of earshot.
“Why would a feller call himself by a handle like that?”
