Wayward Wind, page 31
“Rider comin’ in, Sylvia. You women stay in the house.”
“Someone’s coming? I’ll do no such thing, Arnie Henderson,” Sylvia sputtered from the doorway.
“Stay in there or I’ll spank yore butt—when I’m able.”
“Well, I never! You’re getting mighty bossy.” She could hear him chuckling while she was taking the rifle from the pegs over the fireplace. She crossed the room to stand just inside the door. “Who is he?”
“I dunno.”
Bonnie watched Sylvia with large frightened eyes. She lived in constant dread that Brice would find her. She peeked out the door and relief slumped her shoulders when she saw a man with slim waist and hips sitting tall in the saddle. He wore a dark, peaked hat and a tan leather vest over his shirt. It wasn’t Brice or Hollis or Billy Tyrrell.
Arnie watched the man approach. Watched him lean from the saddle to open the gate, pass through, and close it with a shove from his booted foot. He rode up to the hitching rail, but didn’t dismount.
“Howdy,” he said to the silent Arnie. “Is this the Parnell ranch?”
“It is.”
“I’m looking for a young fellow by the name of Griffin. I was told in town that he came in with Cooper Parnell.”
“Who might you be?”
“My name is Kain—”
“Kain?” Bonnie slipped out the door. “Are ya the one who’s alookin’ after Griff’s horses?”
“I’m the one.”
“Griff told me ’bout him. He’s a friend of Griff’s, Mr. Henderson.”
“Wal, then, climb down ’n come on in,” Arnie invited.
“Thank you.”
Sylvia stood the rifle beside the door and came out onto the porch. She eyed the stranger while he hitched his horse to the rail. He was Cooper’s age or a little older. His boots were of the best leather and not run-down at the heels, his clothes clean and he rode a good horse. He also wore two tied-down, silver-handled revolvers. He came to the porch and removed his hat.
“Ma’am.”
“I’m Mrs. Parnell, Cooper’s mother. This is Arnie Henderson, and this is—” She turned, but Bonnie wasn’t there. She could see the hem of her dress just inside the door where she had fled. The girl was so shy Sylvia’s heart went out to her. “Oh, I guess Bonnie is seeing to something on the stove. Step up on the porch and have a seat, Mr. Kain. Would you care for a nice cold glass of buttermilk? Bonnie and I just finished churning.”
“Thank you, ma’am. It would be a treat.” His dark face broke into a smile. His eyes were amber, his lashes brown, his cheeks clean shaven and he had extremely white teeth.
When Sylvia returned with the buttermilk they were talking about Arnie’s leg and Arnie was saying the worst part of the whole thing was having the darn thing itch and not being able to reach in to scratch it.
“’Course, sometimes when night comers I can sweet talk Sylvia into takin’ off the wraps ’n scratch it for me.”
The man’s eyes took in the flush on Sylvia’s face, and saw her reach behind her and pinch Arnie’s arm. He drank the milk and returned the glass.
“That was mightly fine. Thank you. As I said, I’m looking for Griff. It seems the young lady knows him?”
“Yes. We’ve all become quite fond of him. Excuse me, Mr. Kain, I’m putting the noon meal on the table. I’ll set a place for you.”
“Don’t bother, ma’am—”
“It’s no bother at all. A friend of Griffin’s is more than welcome.”
“I’d sure be pleased to know where that Griff has been all these weeks. If he’s been here eating home cooking while I’ve been eating beans over a campfire, there’s going to be a reckoning.” Sylvia recognized that there was no threat in his words, but rather a fondness for Griffin.
“I’ll leave the tellin’ to Arnie. Cooper always says I make a mountain out of a molehill, anyway.”
“That’s the truth,” Arnie said, and grabbed her skirt when she passed. “Sylvia gets her mouth agoin’ ’n she’s liable to tell ya it’s rainin’ when the sun’s shinin’.”
“Arnie! You make me so mad!” Sylvia hissed and yanked her skirt from his grasp and flounced into the house.
“I ain’t e’er had such fun as I get teasin’ that woman. She be pure pleasure, ’n that’s certain.” Arnie emitted a chuckle that went on and on. Finally he stopped and leaned forward. “Did ya have trouble findin’ the place?”
“No. The land man pointed it out on a map.”
Sylvia heard the low murmur of the men’s voices and was thankful to leave it to Arnie to judge what to tell the stranger and what not to tell him. He wasn’t at all the type of man she thought would be a sidekick to Griffin. He wasn’t down on his luck, according to his clothes and his horse. He was older, educated. If she were to judge him, she’d say that he was no ordinary man, just as she had known Logan Horn was not an ordinary man when she first met him. There was a confident air about him that said he was not to be fooled with but that he’d be a good man to have on your side.
Bonnie was so nervous she wanted to melt inside herself. This was the friend Griffin had talked about; the one who had helped him steal his horses back from Clayhill. Griffin thought a lot of him. Bonnie suddenly saw herself as Kain saw her and was afraid that she’d not measure up and somehow he would change Griffin’s mind about marrying her.
Kain helped Arnie to the table. After they were seated Arnie said the blessing and the food was passed. Bonnie kept her head bowed and the end of her arm among the folds of her dress. Sylvia kept a conversation going and Bonnie stole shy glances at Kain. He had washed at the washbench and combed his hair. It lay in dark waves straight back from a part on the side. He was mighty handsome, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Griff, she thought. His fingers were long and slender, his nails cut close and clean. It was fascinating to watch him handle his knife and fork. They worked together, but not one time did she see him put his knife in his mouth.
When they finished the meal, Kain helped Arnie get back to his chair on the porch. He didn’t ask why he was sitting there with a rifle within easy reach, and Arnie didn’t tell him how he came to have a broken leg and a face full of scabs and bruises.
It was evident to Sylvia that the two men had sized each other up and liked what they saw. She smiled fondly down at Arnie. He was a good man and he had certainly added zest to her life. She would make a home for him over on the Morning Sun, and Cooper could raise his family here. Sometimes things did work out as they should, she thought, and placed her hand on Arnie’s shoulder.
“You’re welcome to stay the night, Mr. Kain,” Sylvia said when Kain mentioned that he should be getting on back to town.
“Thank you, ma’am, but I’ll be going. I have an envelope in my saddlebag for Griffin. It’s the money for his horses. Tell him that I got a good price from the army and that they even came and got the entire herd. I’ll be in town for a few days, then I’ll be moving on.”
“I wish you were staying,” Sylvia said, and shook her head sorrowfully.
“I plan to set Adam Clayhill straight about Griffin and the place on the Blue before I go, ma’am.” There was no overt change in Sylvia’s expression, only a faint grimace of her full lips. Kain’s admiration grew for this woman who had endured so much with a head held high.
“Can you do that? He’s a hard, vicious man who will do anything to get what he wants. Anything at all.”
“I know that. Not much happens in the territory that isn’t talked about in a saloon.”
He continued to look straight at her, but Sylvia knew he was talking about Arnie’s leg and the fact that Adam Clayhill had set his thugs on him. She realized, too, that Kain knew Adam wanted the son who despised him to come to Clayhill Ranch. Sylvia drew in a deep hurtful breath. Her shame was known throughout the territory.
Sylvia stood beside Arnie and watched Kain ride away. Bonnie had refused to come to the porch, but now she stood in the doorway watching him too.
“Did you tell Kain that Adam’s men would have hung Griffin if not for Cooper?”
“No. I tole him Cooper ’n Griff had gone to bury the ole man. If Griff wants him to know, he’ll tell him.”
“I think he knew anyway. I think he knows all about us, Arnie. I wonder who he is.”
“I take him for a man what uses his eyes ’n ears ’n what’s atween. ’N he don’t let no moss grow on him anywheres, that’s shore. I’d say he’d be a good one to tie to in case a trouble.”
“I wish he’d stay,” Sylvia said again.
Late the following evening, Cooper and Griffin rode in. Their horses were tired and the men almost worn out from a hard two-day ride without sleep. Sylvia met Cooper at the gate.
“Is Lorna here, Ma?”
“No, son.”
“Has she been here?”
“No.”
“Fix some supper, will you? I’ll be ridin’ out in the morning.” Cooper wheeled his horse and headed for the bam. Sylvia could have cried when she saw the look of disappointment on his face.
Chapter
Twenty-One
Lorna headed straight for the Johnson place. If anyone knew where Hollis had gone it was his cousin Luke. She rode into the yard, saw Luke’s slatternly mother indifferently draping wet clothes on the bushes beside the washtubs, and reined over to her.
“Howdy, Mrs. Betts.”
“Ain’t ya sinkin’ mighty low acallin’ on us poor hill trash?”
Lorna felt her insides quiver hotly. Pearly Betts, at thirty-five, looked twice her age. Her sallow skin sagged and hung in pouches along her jawline and her hair, stringy and dirty, clung to her sweat slick face. She looked like what she was, a bitter, worn down woman. Lorna felt a faint pity for her, but knew it was a wasted emotion.
“I’m looking for Luke.”
“What fer? Ya ain’t never give my Luke the time a day.” A smug smile of satisfaction came over her face. “I did hear ya had a fire over at yore place. I sure hope it didn’t hurt that fancy house of yores none.”
“You’ll be happy to know, Mrs. Betts, that it burned to the ground.”
“Oh? My, my. Ain’t that a shame. Are ya awantin’ Luke to help ya build it up agin? Well, he ain’t agoin’ to. ’N I ain’t atellin’ ya where he is, neither.”
Lorna wondered why she had ever felt a spurt of pity for this woman. She turned her horse and rode in a leisurely jog until she dipped from sight on the trail, then let Gray Wolf run for half a mile.
The idea of going to Brice’s cabin played on her mind. She knew he wouldn’t be there; even Brice wouldn’t stay on the mountain after what he’d done. There was a chance that Luke and his father might have gone there to salvage what they could from what Brice left behind. While she was trying to decide what to do she heard the sound of horse coming fast. She pulled off the trail and waited. It was Luke.
“Miss Lorna—I saw you talkin’ to Ma.”
“I was looking for you. She wouldn’t tell me where you were.”
“I didn’t reckon she would. I’m plumb sorry… ’bout ever’thin’.”
“Where did they go, Luke?” she asked softly.
“Pa’d kill me if I told—”
“He’ll never know.”
“He said it ain’t no business of ours ’n I’d better not be ashootin’ off my bazzoo. But it warn’t right to burn up a place like they done.”
“They killed my pa, too, Luke.”
“Frank? Lordy! They didn’t say nothin’ ’bout that.”
“Hollis shot him. Twice.”
“I’m plumb sorry—”
“Where did they go? Who was with them besides Billy?”
“Billy didn’t want to do it, Miss Lorna.”
“But he did. Who was the other man?”
“Dunno. Hollis said they’d met him in town ’n he was askin’ ’bout a woman named Lorna who lived down this way. He said you’d done some caterwaulin’ ’n you’d stuck him with your knife.”
“Did he have red hair?”
“I dunno, Miss Lorna. I never did see him. Hollis said he was some high muckity-muck’s right-hand man ’n that he was plumb tickled to run on to men like him ’n Brice. He had work for ’em. Good payin’ work.”
Lorna’s mind absorbed this information. The fourth man had to be Dunbar, the one who had come to the cabin on the Blue and tried to hang Griffin. He’d be just the type to take up with the likes of Brice and Hollis.
“Did they go to Junction City?”
“I cain’t say, Miss Lorna—”
“You take care of yourself, Luke. If you ever want to get out of this hog wallow, go to the Parnell ranch up on the Thompson. You’re a good man with horses. Cooper Parnell might give you a job.”
“Ya think he would?”
“You never know till you ask. Thank you, Luke. You’re about the only decent thing left in these mountains. You and Moose and Woody.” She reined over and held out her hand.
“Bye, Miss Lorna. Ya… watch yerself. Hear?”
Lorna rode east and north, coming down off Light’s Mountain on the eastern side. Cooper had told her Junction City was straight north of the place where they had turned to go to Light’s Mountain when they had left the cabin on the Blue. She followed the canyon, riding cautiously. Her rifle was reassuring in her hand, and she held it ready. She was now in a vast and empty land, and she rode into uncertainty with no one beside her. Gray Wolf alone was confident. He was on a trail and he held to it.
At sundown she paused to water her horse, to fill the canteen and to prepare some food for herself. At this place she rested, and for an hour she slept. More comfortable on the trail at night, she mounted up and went forward with extreme caution, pausing often to listen. At any time she might come upon someone who had rolled up in his blankets for the night or another night rider like herself.
The walls of the canyon closed in and darkness enfolded her; the wild cliffs rose up, rough, old, and silent. A river roared through its confining cliffs beside the trail, and its bellowing echoed against the canyon walls. It was a relief to look up at the narrow band of sky, with its stars.
Lorna lost all sense of time. Somewhere ahead, in Junction City, were Brice and Hollis and the man named Dunbar whom she had knifed on the Blue. Her granny had always told her that birds of a feather flocked together. She never really understood the full meaning of that until now. Her granny had also said that nothing brought men closer together than to be united against someone. It appeared that her enemies had joined forces.
Hours passed. Suddenly Gray Wolf lunged upward, scrambling hard on the lip of a cliff. The cool night breeze hit her face and she knew she was out of the canyon and on the flatland.
When dawn was breaking, she left the trail and rode into the dense woods. She was exhausted from the long hours in the saddle, and Gray Wolf was tired, too. There was no sound but that of the walking horse and the twittering of birds. Within her there was a vast emptiness, for every moment of the long ride she had been acutely aware of what lay ahead. She had been to a town only two other times in her entire life. Just walking her horse into town was going to take all the courage she had. She’d need a clear head and to have that she had to rest and think.
She woke after a few hours of sound sleep. The air was cold, and she threw off the blanket reluctantly, rolled it, and tied it behind her saddle. She filled her hands with water from her canteen and splashed her face and dried it on the end of her shirt. After combing and rebraiding her hair, she saddled Gray Wolf and turned him toward town.
The first thing she was going to do was to buy herself a hat. She felt the weight of the gold coins in the pocket of her coat and blessed her granny for saving them. Use them when times were hard, she had said. Times had never been harder than now, right this minute, as the long street lined with buildings loomed ahead.
Junction City was a town of pot holed, muddy streets, frame buildings and a few rawly new brick buildings, spread out along one main street, with two streets branching off on either side. Houses, set like small boxes, lined these streets. At the far end of town, looming gauntly above the houses, was the church with steeple and cross unfinished.
To Lorna it looked like a metropolis. She reined in on the edge of town to look. For a moment she sat deliberately taking in the smells and sounds, which were wholly different from what she had known, and watching the activity in the street. Her father had said that Denver was many times bigger than Junction City. She couldn’t imagine it, or how people could live in such a crowded place. Smoke drifted upward from at least fifty chimneys, dogs roamed the streets, horses stamped at pesky fall flies, and merchants stood in open doors or visited with customers on the board porches.
Lorna saw a mercantile sign above a store at the end of the first block, and feeling more frightened and unsure of herself than she ever had in her life, she headed for it. A dog ran out from beneath a porch and nipped at Gray Wolf’s heels. The nervous gray lashed out with his hoofs and sent it rolling in the dust. The cur picked itself up and slunk back under the porch. Lorna scarcely noticed the interrupted gait.
There were a few horses on the street and a few people on the boardwalks fronting the stores, but no one paid any attention to the small figure on the horse, and for that Lorna was thankful. She stopped at the store, sat for a minute, then slid from the saddle. She dropped the reins on the ground in front of the horse, looped her bullwhip over her shoulder and took her rifle from the scabbard.
“Don’t let any of this fuss get you excited, Gray Wolf. I’ll be back in a minute. I have to start somewhere,” she said and rubbed his nose with her fingertips. “This place is good as any.”
Lorna stepped up on the porch and went through the open door of the mercantile. She paused and looked around. As soon as her eyes accustomed themselves to the dim light, she saw an astonishing array of goods. Here was everything from dress goods to harnesses to crackers and dried apples. Rope, chains, buckets and a variety of tools hung from the rafters. The aisles were choked with kegs, boxes, tubs, pickaxes and bags of flour, salt and sugar. Lorna sniffed the air and smelled a mixture of leather and spices, new wood and coal oil.
