Wayward Wind, page 32
“Howdy, young feller. I didn’t hear you come in.” The booming voice came from somewhere among the coats, jackets, pants and blankets that were stacked against one wall. Lorna watched the man come toward her. He wore a white shirt and had a striped apron tied about his middle. Beneath an almost bald head, his face was round and pleasant. “’Scuse me, ma’am. Lookin’ against the light, I thought—”
“I need a hat,” she said, almost defensively. She shifted her rifle to her other hand and reached into her pocket for the bag of coins.
“Right over here. I’ve got ever’ kind a hat a young lady’s need.”
Lorna followed him to the hat counter. Sitting on blocks of wood was a selection of bonnets; straw hats decked with ribbons; velvet hats with peacock feathers; and satin hats in every color of the rainbow. She wanted to cry. It was all so confusing. All she could do was shake her head.
Mr. McCloud had been in business for five years, and he was certain that in all that time he had never seen a more beautiful face than the one before him. It was a white, perfectly formed face surrounded with shiny dark hair that she had tried to slick back to conceal beneath the collar of her coat. Almond-shaped eyes beneath straight dark brows were of a color he’d seldom seen. The lower red lip that was slightly trembling had a cleft, giving her mouth a three-cornered shape. There was almost a pleading quality to the violet-blue eyes that looked back at him.
“I think I know what you need, young lady. Come this way.” He led her to the men’s wide-brimmed, peak-crowned hats. “I don’t know as I blame you a bit for wanting to hide, if you can, the fact you’re a pretty young woman. This town is full of toughs and if you’re planning on staying long, it’s best you keep a sharp eye out.”
McCloud talked as Lorna looked over the stack of hats. Finally she placed the rifle on the counter, lifted a dark hat from the pile and put it on her head. It came down over her ears.
“Too big,” McCloud said. “I’ll find your size.” He shuffled through the hats and came out with one. “Try this. There’s a mirror back over here.”
Lorna went to the big mirror. She didn’t recognize herself at first. The mirror she’d had at home showed only one small part of her face at a time. She grimaced at what she saw. She wished she was bigger, heavier, and her face wasn’t so white or her lips so red. Oh, well, she couldn’t do anything about that. Her hair went into the crown of the hat easily, and she tilted the brim low over her eyes. Back at the counter she picked up her rifle and tossed down the bag of coins.
“Take what you need,” she said and turned her back to look at the bullwhips that hung from a peg.
McCloud was dumbfounded. “I don’t want to do that, ma’am,” he said gently. “Let me tell you a few things, miss. You must keep your money in your pocket and only bring out what you need or someone will snatch it and be gone.”
“I guess you’re right,” she said gravely and opened the bag. “How much for the hat?”
“Three-bits.” He took the coin she gave him. “I’ll get your change. I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“I’ve not been here before. I’m from Light’s Mountain.”
“Light’s Mountain? Is that a town?”
“No, it’s a mountain,” she said, turning away and blinking rapidly. Her eyes were clear when she looked at him again. “Mister—”
“McCloud.” McCloud held out his hand.
“Lorna Douglas.” Lorna shifted the rifle and put hers in it. “I’m obliged for the advice. I guess you can tell that I’ve not been to town much. I’m looking for three men. Do you know Brice Fulton or Hollis Johnson, or a man named Dunbar?”
McCloud watched Lorna carefully. There was an aura of sadness about the girl and now a deadly intensity while she waited for him to answer.
“I never heard of the first two. There’s a man named Dunbar that works for Clayhill Ranch.”
“Does he have red hair?”
“I believe so. Is he a friend of yours?”
“No. Can I ask you something else? Do you know if he’s in town?”
“He was last night, miss. But he probably went on back to the ranch this morning. Adam Clayhill don’t give his men much time off.”
“Is there a lawman in town?”
“No, ma’am. The marshal from Denver comes up once in a while. There’s talk about incorporating the town and hiring a sheriff. Most folk want law and order, but some are fightin’ against it.”
Lorna nodded thoughtfully. “How do you get something to eat here?”
“There’s a eatery right up the street. It’s run by a woman named Mable. Just walk in and sit down and she’ll dish up what she’s cookin’.”
“Is that all you have to do?”
“When you finish, give her one of those coins like you did me, and wait for the change.”
“Thank you. There’s one more thing. Do you know Cooper Parnell?”
“Sure do. There’s not a finer man around than Cooper. He was in here the other day and said he was going partners with a young feller down on the Blue. Do you know Cooper?”
“That old Clayhill will run them out of there,” she said heatedly, ignoring his question.
Lorna went to the front of the store and McCloud followed. He felt uneasy about her. “Are you staying the night in town?”
“I don’t know, yet.”
“If there’s anything I can do for you, come on back in.”
“You’ve done plenty, thanks.”
“That Dunbar’s a rough man, miss, he hangs out with the town toughs. Are you sure you want to find him?”
“I’m sure.”
“Well, in that case,” McCloud said with a deep sigh, “take off that hat and ride down the street with all that pretty hair flyin’ loose, and in a hour every man in town will be on the street to get a look at you. Word will spread about the new woman in town and Dunbar’ll find you.”
“That’s a good idea. Thank you, Mr. McCloud.”
“You can tie your horse out behind, if you like. Give him a scoop of grain.”
“I’ll pay—”
“Stop in before you leave town and we’ll settle.”
McCloud watched Lorna lead the horse between the buildings. It was as fine an animal as he’d seen in a long time and his curiosity about the girl grew. She was a lovely, well-mannered young woman, but oh, so unworldly. What could she want with a man like Red Dunbar? He wished he had a way of getting word to Cooper Parnell before Dunbar came back to town.
He stood in the doorway of the store and watched her come back from between the buildings. She carried her rifle in her hand and had the bullwhip looped over her shoulder. Instead of going down the boardwalk to the restaurant, she went down the middle of the street. At first glance she appeared to be a slim lad, but on second glance anyone could tell she was a woman, and McCloud had no doubt as to what the reaction to a woman in britches would be. He scratched his head. He couldn’t think of a time when he’d seen a woman come to town in britches since a freighter and his woman came through several years ago. He watched to make sure Lorna was going in the right direction, then went back into the store.
It was no easier walking into the restaurant than it had been to enter the store. There was one long table down the center of the room and several round tables at the back. One diner, a man in a dusty flannel shirt, sat at the long table with his back to the door and another man, in a tan leather vest, sat at one of the round tables. Lorna hesitated. Was she really hungry enough to go in?
“Come on in, youngun.” The woman’s voice came from the back and a round face looked through a hole cut in the wall. “Find ya a seat. It’s a beef ’n dumplin’s today.”
Lorna despised having to walk between the tables to get to the back where she could sit facing the door, but she did it as quickly as possible. She perched on the edge of the chair, with the rifle across her knees.
“Take off yore hat!” The voice boomed from the back. “Ain’t ya got no manners? No man eats at my table under a hat.”
Lorna’s face turned a fiery red. Both men turned to look at her and she wanted to crawl under the table. Her eyes fastened on the woman coming through the doorway. She was very fat, her dark hair was parted in the middle and pulled to a tight bun on the back of her head. She was fanning her flushed face with the tail of the apron wrapped about her waist. Lorna snatched the hat from her head and her hair tumbled around her face and the braid fell forward onto her chest. She gripped the hat in one hand and the rifle in the other, and wished she hadn’t been so foolish as to come in.
“God love ya, dearie!” The woman stopped and stared. “I thought ya was one of them trail busters that’s been eatin’ at the end of a wagon fer so long they ain’t got no manners a’tall. Here ye be, a pretty little gal. Hungry, air ya?”
“Yes, ma’am. I can pay.”
“I got the fixin’s all ready. It’s a mite early fer the noonin’. So ya can eat ’n be gone afore the crowd pops in.”
“I’m agoin’, Mable. Ya want to take my money now?” The cowhand at the big table got to his feet as he spoke.
“Ain’t ya got time fer more pie, John?”
“It’s mighty good pie, but I’d better be lightin’ a shuck for the ranch.”
“Wal, now, if ya hurry, ya might have time to stop by Bessie’s on the way.” The fat woman laughed uproariously.
“If ya wasn’t so busy cookin’ up larrupin’ grub, I’d not have to go to Bessie’s.” The cowhand dropped some coins on the table and pinched Mable’s cheek.
“Go on with ya, John Nelson. Stop the tomfoolery or I’ll tell Logan to kick yore butt off Morning Sun.” Mable slapped at his hand, picked up the coins and put them in her pocket.
“If’n he did, it’d give me more time with you, darlin’.”
Mable reached for the broom and the laughing cowhand raced for the door. She was chuckling when she brought out the granite coffee pot and refilled the other diner’s cup.
“You wantin’ anything else, mister?”
“No, thank you. I’ve had plenty.”
“Ya sure do look like somebody I know, but I can’t place the when or the where of it.”
“I was in here yesterday.”
“Lordy mercy! I knowed that. I mean—”
The man laughed and Lorna’s eyes were drawn to him. He was clean shaven and his hair was combed neatly. Although he was seated she knew he was tall. He reminded her of Cooper and she turned her eyes away. She didn’t want to be reminded of Cooper. She didn’t want to be distracted from what she had to do. Besides, she told herself sternly, this man’s hair was dark and Cooper’s was light. His voice wasn’t soft like Cooper’s and his eyes weren’t blue like Cooper’s, and—
“DeBolt,” he was saying. “Kain DeBolt.”
“Name don’t mean nothin’,” Mable said. “I must be gettin’ old. Time was I could name ya ever’ handsome man fer twenty square miles.” Mable laughed and her belly bounced in rhythm. “I’ll be gettin’ your dinner now, honey,” she called to Lorna and went back to the kitchen.
The man finished his coffee and was placing his money on the table when Mable returned with a plate of food and pan of bread.
“Bye. Come on back, now,” Mable called.
“Thank you, I will.”
“Ya want coffee?” She put a plate of beef and noodles in front of Lorna. Lorna nodded and began to eat. Mable returned with the coffee pot and two cups. “Do ya mind if I set with ya a spell? The rush’ll start ’n I’ll not get a chance to get off my feet. Lordy, they do hurt ’n I’ve got a pile of dishes to do.”
“I’ll do them for you.” An idea had hit Lorna. Everybody had to eat.
“Bless ya, honey. Ya lookin’ for work?”
“No. I’m looking for some men who burned down my house and killed my pa.”
“Well, landsakes!” Mable panted and wiped her eyes on her apron as if better to see Lorna. “What’ll ya do with ’em when ya find ’em?”
“I’m going to kill one of them. I’ve not decided about the other three.” She spoke in a calm unruffled voice and took another bite of food.
“Child! Do ya know what yore sayin’?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. And I’m not a child. I’m almost twenty years old.”
“Where’re ya from, ch—miss—”
“Douglas. Lorna Douglas. I’m from Light’s Mountain.”
“Is that up near Cheyenne?”
“No, ma’am. It’s south.” Lorna lifted the fork again and chewed the food slowly. She decided suddenly she wasn’t as hungry as she thought she was. She placed the fork beside her plate and looked the woman in the eye. “Miss Mable, I’ll wash all your dishes if you’ll help me. I need to get myself fixed up in a dress and my hair all prettied up on top of my head like pictures I’ve seen. I need to get a parasol and shoes with heels and something to make me smell good. How can I do that?” she asked so innocently that Mable’s mouth fell open.
“Well… I don’t know if there’s a store-made dress in town. I guess yores got burned up in the fire.” She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth sorrowfully. “Poor little mite.”
“I didn’t have any dresses. I never wear them. But Mr. McCloud at the mercantile said if I let my hair down and walked down the street, word would get out about a new woman in town and the men would come to look at me. I thought if I had on a pretty dress, they’d come faster. I don’t want to stay here very long. I want to do what I’ve got to do and get back. I need to find a place to winter.”
“Yo’re thinkin’ the men yo’re lookin’ for will come to ya?”
“It’s what Mr. McCloud said.”
Mable made a mental note to tell McCloud to keep his big mouth shut and his advice to himself. Aloud she said, “Do ya know anybody around here?”
“Ah… no.”
Mable fanned her face with her apron and gave Lorna’s hand a reassuring pat. Her single-mindedness was unshakable, she decided. With or without her help she’d do what she’d set out to do. The only way she could help her was to delay it a little if she could.
“I’ll tell you what. Have you heard of The House?”
“No, ma’am.”
“A friend of mine, Bessie Wilhite, lives out there. She’s got some girls ’n one a ’em, Minnie Wilson, is ’bout yore size. Go ’n tell Bessie what ya need. I’ll write a letter for ya to take to ’er so she’ll know ya ain’t job huntin’.” Mable laughed and Lorna wondered why.
“I can pay—”
“Honey…” Mable gazed at the beautiful young face and the violet-blue eyes. There were men here who would die for this innocent young woman, and others who would kill to get her. “This is a mean town. Every drifter, outlaw, deserter, and just plain no-gooder wanders in and out of here. Why don’t ya just give this up ’n go back home?”
“I can’t, Miss Mable.” Tears flooded Lorna’s violet eyes and beaded her thick dark lashes. “I just buried my pa. I can’t let ’em go.”
“All right, honey.” Mable squeezed her hand. “Ya tell Bessie what yo’re up to. Bessie’s been in more ’n a few tight spots. She’ll know what t’do.”
“I’ll wash the dishes before I go.”
“You don’t need to—”
“I want to. You’ve been kind.”
“I ain’t got the heart to say no. But ya ain’t payin’ fer yore meal.”
Lorna washed dishes all through the noon meal, glancing through the opening in the wall every time she heard the screen door slam, hoping to see one of the men she was searching for. The men came in, removed their hats, sat down at a table and helped themselves from the large bowls of beef and noodles and platters of cornbread. They laughed and talked, but there was no loud swearing and no spitting on the floor. Mable carried a large coffee pot from table to table, joking with the customers and filling coffee cups.
Lorna looked at each face, but none of the men were Brice, Hollis, Billy, or the red-headed Dunbar. By the time the last man left the dining room, Lorna was doing the last of the dishes. She dried her hands on the roller towel, put on her coat and carefully tucked her hair up under her hat.
“Here’s the letter.” Mable slipped a folded paper in her coat pocket. “If ya change yore mind ya can winter with me ’n work fer yore keep.”
“Thank you. It’s good to know I’ve a place to come back to.”
“Ya bet your bottom dollar ya have, honey,” Mable boomed. “Ya know where yo’re agoin’, now?”
“Straight north along the creek. White house with flower boxes in the windows.”
“That’s it. I told Bessie in the letter to keep ya the night. I ain’t awantin’ you hurt, child.”
Lorna picked up her rifle and her whip. “I’ll be all right.”
But she wasn’t so sure when she crossed the porch and stepped into the dusty street. There were people and movement everywhere. The town was alive with horses and wagons; some covered, some loaded with freight. A handsome buggy sped past her, driven by a black man in a black coat and square, high-topped hat. She barely had time to get out of the way. She could hear music and loud laughter. The dust was offensive to her eyes and nose and the noise to her ears.
Halfway down the block a teamster was having trouble with a balky mule. He was shouting curses and trying to back the mule into a three harness hitch positioned beside two other mules. The animal was frightened and the louder the man cursed and yanked on the bit the more the animal resisted. Finally the man began to beat the mule with a flat board. The mule squealed and tried to sidle away. The animal was scared and suffering. It was more than Lorna could stand. She broke into a run.
“Stop that!” she shouted and hung onto the man’s arm.
The big, burly teamster shoved her away with a sweep of his arm and brought the board down against the side of the mule’s head. Lorna regained her balance and before he could strike the animal again, the tip of the bullwhip caught the teamster between the shoulder blades. She put just enough strength behind the blow to sting him and get his attention.
“What the hell!” he spun around. “What the hell are you doin’?”
