The Warhunter 3, page 9
“That’s the best roast rabbit I’ve ever tasted,” Bryce exclaimed, “and the worst coffee.”
“It’s the pot,” protested Hunter.
“That’s what you always say,” Ella objected.
“I always say it because it’s always true.”
“Then how come it doesn’t taste like that when I make it?” she asked.
“When you make it?” Hunter stated in mock surprise. “That’s coffee you’ve been making?”
“Anyway,” said Bryce, “the dinner was great.”
“Thanks for washing the dishes,” Ella replied.
The reporter glanced at Hunter but made no comment. “It’s late,” continued the reporter, “and I want to go over one of my articles before sending it out in the morning. Good night.”
“Good night, Eric,” said Ella.
“Try and stay out of fights,” said Hunter.
Bryce limped away with the aid of his new hickory cane and Ella watched him go.
“How long will he have that limp?” she asked Hunter. “He’ll be all right in a week or so. That fight tonight didn’t do him any good.”
“It didn’t do you much good either,” she said ruefully. “Or did it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” she said pointedly. “How come the big change? How come you’re suddenly so friendly with Eric?”
“What kind of question is that?” laughed Hunter. “If it wasn’t for him, I’d be a six-foot pile of broken bones right now.”
“He saved your life before and it didn’t make any difference. Why does it matter now?”
“You should know better than that, Ella. When he saved my life during the Ute attack, whether he knew it or not, he was doing what he had to do. He was the only other man on horseback besides myself. Whoever could have helped me had the responsibility to do so—not just to save my life, but to help protect the wagon train. What was so galling then was that he made a big deal out of saving my life. That sort of thing goes against the grain with me.
“But when he helped me in that fight tonight, that was a different story. He didn’t have to do that. It wasn’t any of his affair. He could’ve let those three hooligans beat my brains in and stood there and applauded. It wouldn’t have been very nice, but I’d have no right to complain. Besides, this time he didn’t demand to be thanked. He’s a more likable guy when he isn’t an arrogant son of a bitch.”
“I see,” said Ella. “Another sampling from your code of conduct?”
“Something like that,” conceded Hunter.
“And now you two are friends?”
“Not exactly, but we understand each other.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said vaguely, “that we’ve agreed to try and keep out of each other’s way while we both go after what each of us wants.”
“Should I ask you to explain that statement?”
“No.”
Hunter didn’t have to sleep under the wagon that night. Unfortunately, the aches and pains from his fight with the Taggerts left him unable to do much of anything with his hard-won opportunity. If frustrating, at least it was a change for the better. And for the first time since Fort Bridger, Hunter had a good night’s sleep.
But nobody was sleeping over at the Dust Storm Saloon. The three Taggert brothers were deadening the pain of their cuts and bruises by drowning themselves in whiskey. It worked, but not quite well enough. The one pain that would not quit was the torturous affliction of public humiliation.
Right in the middle of the street, the three Taggert brothers had been pounded into the ground by just two men. And one of those men walked with a limp! It was too damned much to take, and something had to be done about it.
“We could bushwhack ’em in the mornin’,” said Wally.
“Yeah,” Cal Taggert agreed. “Let’s blow ’em away.” Zack Taggert took a long pull on his whiskey bottle and was about to agree when Cousin Hal came downstairs from the second floor.
“Heard you boys took a drubbin’,” Murdock said easily to his three cousins.
“We’ll get even!” Wally insisted.
“No you won’t,” Murdock said firmly. “Not now. There’s a wagon train comin’ through in two or three days and I hear it’ll likely be the last one of the season. If you boys are mixed up in a killin’, the California-bound train may not take us.”
“We can’t sit back and do nothin’, Hal!” cried Wally Taggert. “We’re the laughin’ stock of Soda Springs!”
“Let ’em laugh,” Murdock said flatly.
“But Hal,” Zack protested, “we—”
“Shut up, Zack!” barked Murdock. “Shut up, all ’a ya! I said we lay low and stay outta trouble. If ya want it any different, better say so now ... ”
None of them spoke.
Hal Murdock lifted the corner of his mouth in what passed for a smile.
Chapter Fifteen
BRYCE WAS UP all night writing an account of Hunter’s fist fight with the Taggerts. Most of what he wrote was true—but not all of it.
The reporter had Hunter coming to the aid of his beautiful and mysterious female companion. Fighting against superior odds, he won. All true. What was missing, however, was Bryce’s own involvement in the story.
In the reporter’s version, Hunter alone whipped all three Taggerts, It was the same in his earlier story about the Ute attack on the wagon train: Hunter driving off the Utes singlehandedly.
Bryce had two reasons for writing the stories this way. One reason was that whether he wrote the truth or not, it would appear self-serving for him to be writing himself into the thick of War Hunter’s adventures. His second reason for keeping himself out of the articles was that they weren’t supposed to be about him. It was his job to write about War Hunter, and that was what he was doing, even if he had to change the facts.
He finished the story a few hours before dawn, flopped heavily onto his bed, and went to sleep. He would have slept till midafternoon if not for the noontime commotion in the street.
Gunfire, galloping horses, and wild yells brought Bryce stumbling out of bed to his hotel-room window.
His eyes were filled with a sight that literally took his breath away. There was something awesome and inspiring in the tableau spread out before him. From Soda Springs out to the east, as far as the eye could see, rolled a seemingly endless line of covered wagons, their white canvas tops glistening in the bright sunshine.
These were the people, come from all parts of the east, from all walks of life, who had met in St. Joe and traveled across the Great Plains together. These were the people who risked everything, including their lives, to make a new beginning. Bryce knew all this, had known of it as a fact of American life, but not till he saw such a massive display of humanity on the move did he truly appreciate, in his heart and soul, the depth and dimension of the pioneering spirit.
The front of the wagon train was only now entering the outskirts of town. It would take the better part of two hours before the last wagon reached Soda Springs. Eric Bryce, at his second-floor window, spent much of that time just staring at the long, canvas-covered line of humanity that stretched out to the horizon.
Hunter walked up to the edge of town to get a closer look at the incoming wagon train. There was a fair chance he might know the wagon master or one of the scouts. As the wagons slowly snaked their way into Soda Springs, he quietly sat on a barrel near the livery stable and watched the passing parade.
During the first hour of his vigil, Hunter saw no one he knew. The procession of gaunt, exhausted travelers that passed before him told Hunter that this wagon train had not had an easy passage across the plains.
A scout rode by, but Hunter didn’t know him. Another scout came up a little later, but Hunter didn’t know him either. After a while he decided to ask one of the folks in a passing wagon for the name of the wagon master. It was Glennon O’Shea, and he was also unknown to him.
There didn’t seem to be much point anymore in watching the incoming wagons. Hunter turned to walk back to his own camp, but a woman’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Warfield!” she cried. “Warfield ... wait!”
Hunter swung around to see who was calling him.
A woman hurriedly climbed down off a moving wagon, leaving a well-dressed but unhappy man behind her on the wagon seat. It wasn’t until she reached the ground and began running toward him that Hunter finally recognized her.
A wave of old memories washed over Hunter, and he smiled. With a few long-legged steps, he was next to her. They clasped their hands together and looked at one another across a gulf of a thousand miles and, it seemed, a thousand years.
“Nadine Brown ... ” said Hunter softly, with feeling. “I never thought I’d ever see you again.”
“It’s Nadine Brown Ballantine,” she said, squeezing his hands affectionately.
“So, you married Ballantine, did you?”
She nodded her head. A sad smile crossed her face. “I had to choose between the two of you. It was a very hard choice, Warfield.”
“And I’m sure you chose wisely,” he replied easily. “Was that John up on the wagon?”
“No,” she whispered. “John died last November.”
“I’m sorry,” said Hunter.
“Yes, well, John’s older brother, Charles, is accompanying me on this journey to California. He’s been very kind to me.”
“How has your trip been so far?”
“To be perfectly honest, Warfield, it’s been just dreadful. It wasn’t until we nearly reached South Pass that the bickering and fighting among the members of the train was put to a stop.”
“What was the problem?” questioned Hunter.
“Oh, poor leadership, I suppose. But when Mr. O’Shea was elected wagon master, everything finally settled down. I must admit, though, I’m worried about the rest of my journey to California.”
“Why is that?”
“Because most of this wagon train is continuing on up to Oregon. And Mr. O’Shea is going with them. Those few of us breaking off and heading for California will surely miss him.
“But enough about that,” she suddenly exclaimed. “You look wonderful, Warfield. So healthy and ruddy. But it looks as if you’ve been in a fight. Have you?” She didn’t wait for his response. “You were always getting in fights,” she laughed. “I suppose, through all these years, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”
“I suppose I haven’t,” he agreed.
“What about me?” she asked. “Do you think I’ve changed?”
“Yes I do,” he answered forthrightly.
Nadine was momentarily stopped. It was an answer she did not expect.
“You’re even more beautiful now than you were back in St. Louis,” Hunter added.
A smile of pleasure crossed her face. “Oh ... do you really think so?”
“Certainly,” said Hunter. “You were always a pretty young thing,” he continued, “but some might say a little bit too skinny. As a full-grown woman, Nadine, you’re a treat to the eye.”
“Why, Warfield, that’s very sweet of you to say.”
Hunter shook his head while letting go of her hands. “It was good to see you, Nadine. And, again, I’m sorry about John.”
“Thank you, but Warfield, what about you? What have you been doing all these years?”
He smiled. “Just moving around, seeing the country,” he answered vaguely.
“Oh,” she mumbled, thinking she had embarrassed Hunter, forcing him to admit to a lack of material success. “I’m sure you’ve been doing wonderful things,” she offered in an all too patronizing tone of voice.
The smile never left his lips. He was sure she was not aware that the Warfield Hunter she knew almost ten years ago in St. Louis was now the man known across the frontier as War Hunter. Perhaps she had never even heard the name. If she didn’t know the name, thought Hunter, it was just as well.
“I’d better be going,” he said, trying to break away from her. “And you’d better be catching up to your wagon. There’ll be a lot of work to do tonight.”
“Oh, Charles will take care of everything,” she said flippantly. “You know, I’d like you to meet Charles,” she went on. “I think it would be fun. Could you come by our camp for coffee sometime tonight?”
“I don’t know,” he answered hesitantly. “I’ve got a lot to do myself. I’m going to California, too, and—”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” she interrupted. “What good luck. Now you must come and visit me tonight and meet Charles. I insist!”
“Well, I’ll try.”
“Please!”
“Yes, all right. I’ll try to come by for at least a few minutes.”
“We’re supposed to camp just east of the springs,” she offered by way of directions.
“Don’t worry, I’ll find you,” he said.
“See you tonight.”
Chapter Sixteen
“THE DAMNEDEST THING happened this afternoon,” said Hunter as he and Ella had their supper that night.
“What was that?” asked Ella absently.
“I met a woman that I knew back in St. Louis ten years ago. She’s traveling with the wagon train that just came in.”
Ella looked up from her plate.
Hunter was shaking his head in disbelief, talking as much to himself as to her. “Ten years ago ... It’s hard to believe. There was a time when I thought she was the most wonderful woman in the world.”
“Oh?”
This time Hunter looked up. He even blushed, a most uncommon reaction for him. Never—but never—should a man speak of an old flame in front of the woman he loves. It’s more than bad taste, it’s an invitation to disaster.
“What I mean,” fumbled Hunter, “is that I was young, and a little foolish, and I almost got tangled up with—”
“The most wonderful woman in the world?”
“Now come on, give me a break,” he complained. “It was ten years ago.”
“All right,” she chuckled. “But I’m not going to let you off without hearing more about this woman.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How about her name?”
“Nadine Brown Ballantine.”
“Pretty name,” suggested Ella.
“Yes, it is. But it used to be just plain Nadine Brown.”
“Then she’s married,” Ella stated a little too smugly.
“Well, she was. Her husband died last year.”
That bit of news left Ella slightly unsettled.
“Is she traveling alone?” Ella asked.
“Why do you ask? Do you think we ought to invite her to join us?” Hunter kidded.
“Very funny,” said Ella, suppressing a grin. “Now answer my question. Is she traveling alone?”
“No, her brother-in-law is with her.”
“I see,” said Ella.
“Anything else you’d like to know?”
“Yes,” she replied with a mischievous smile. “What happened between you and Nadine ten years ago?”
“Nothing, really,” he answered evasively, not wanting to play along.
“Come on, Warfield. It can’t be that bad. Tell me.”
“This was ten years ago,” he reminded her.
“I know. Spit it out already, will you?”
“I was going to marry her,” he stated uneasily. “But at the last minute she changed her mind and decided instead to marry John Ballantine.”
Ella was silent for a moment, taking in the full impact of Hunter’s words. On the one hand, she understood how painful that rejection must have been. On the other hand, she felt a certain threat in this woman’s sudden appearance. If Hunter had loved her once, why shouldn’t he fall in love with her again?
“I’m sorry,” Ella said softly. “You must have been terribly hurt.”
Hunter thought back to the misty autumn night when he and Nadine took that long walk along the bank of the Mississippi. Weeks before, he had promised to give up his wandering ways and settle down in St. Louis. She had to know that, by doing so, he had offered her his very soul. And she took his soul.
Vividly he recalled the plans they made. But even more vividly he remembered her words that cold, damp night as they walked along the river. She had taken his arm and said, “Warfield, I fear I must tell you that I’ve fallen in love with another man.”
The other man, Hunter soon learned, was quite wealthy, with power and influence well beyond what might be expected from a man in his early twenties. Hunter, in contrast, had little money and even less power or influence. All Hunter had was twenty-two years of a hard and brutal life that had already taken him around the world three times. Nadine’s mind, however, was made up. Instead of marrying Hunter, she became John Ballantine’s beautiful bride.
Ella gazed at Hunter with compassion as he sat quietly staring into the fire, recalling the bygone years. A long time had passed since Ella had spoken.
Hunter blinked a few times, looked away from the fire and up at the clear night sky. “Yes,” he finally admitted. “I was hurt. Really hurt. But I was young, and like I said before, foolish—”
“There’s nothing foolish about a broken heart,” Ella hastily offered.
“No, I suppose not, but I had no business losing my heart to her. She wasn’t right for me.”
“You didn’t think so then,” said Ella.
“Like I said, that was ten years ago.”
“Yes, I know, but—”
Eric Bryce suddenly interrupted them as he entered their campfire’s circle of light.
“Hope you don’t mind my dropping in,” he said merrily, speaking mostly to Ella.
“Ah ... no.” She hesitated, but then quickly recovered and said: “I was just about to make another pot of coffee. Sit down, won’t you?”
“How’s the leg?” Hunter asked.
“Much better today, thanks. I think I’ll get rid of the cane in another couple of days.”
