“Reckon it’ll hold for three days, Durant?”

  Blake inspected the repairs Lennon had done and shrugged. “Maybe we’d better take the pole along in case.”

  “Mean to,” Lennon told him. “But I don’t reckon we have to really, what with desert in front of us and hardly any wear likely to worry the wire. If we go easy, I reckon we’ll be in Haven before it breaks down again.”

  Blake turned away from the wagon’s side and studied the young woman again. To him she looked completely self-contained. Her features were delicate yet her mouth was set determinedly, as if a long time ago she’d forecast her own future and meant to realize the forecast in full. How far she would go to reach her ambitions he had no way of knowing, yet he remembered other women in his past who had showed such early friendliness only to be exposed as possessing emotions that if loosed could bring devastation. But he decided that it was none of his business who she was, or what she wanted from life. Fate had cast them together for a time and he was mildly annoyed at himself for passing an opinion on her when she had in no way invited his interest.

  Over coffee, which they drank while seated in a circle away from the fire in the wagon’s shade, he learned that her name was Katherine and that she was the only daughter of a preacher who had tried, unsuccessfully, to bring religion to the badlands in the southern pocket of the State. He had tried so hard and with such zeal and fervor that somebody had shot him in the back. That had been a year ago, and Katherine Wheeler still found difficulty in speaking about the tragic incident. But she had not let the business break her spirit, and had worked and saved until she had a stake to set herself up in business in Haven. She hoped to start a dress shop and to do some teaching on the side.

  Charles Cassidy was less inclined to talk about himself, leaving it to Lennon to explain that Cassidy had been working in a Memphis store at the time the advertisement had appeared in the local newspaper. That night he had discovered Abe Lennon laboriously poring over the article and had read it in detail to the old-timer. From there, it had been a simple and natural business for Lennon to invite him along for the trip, with a promise of a job in his freighting venture. But since setting out from Memphis and meeting up with Katherine Wheeler on the trail, Cassidy had proved to be, much to Lennon’s disappointment, nothing more than an inexperienced dude, and worse, a slow learner at the business of travelling across hard country.

  But it was Lennon who interested Blake Durant most. The tight-lipped old man had told nothing about himself. Blake, when he left the camp to refill the canteens preparatory to breaking camp in the morning, had the impression that Lennon was worried about his back trail. Blake decided that the old man’s worries had nothing to do with Cord Orville or the taking of a pole from his property.

  With the cooling wind of evening coming on, Blake put all thoughts of the three from his mind. The desert had to be crossed. It would be no easier nor any harder in the company of an old man, a dude and a young woman. So he decided that he might as well tack along with them and let the future look after itself.

  Returning with the canteens hooked over the pommel of his saddle, Blake heard a shot. He reined in, listening. A second shot broke the evening’s peace. Hitting Sundown into a run, he came up the slope and crossed the rocky rim of it to find Abe Lennon staggering with blood streaming down his face. A big man, who was following him up and swinging a gun butt at the old man’s head, had his back to Durant and didn’t see him. Cassidy was running for the buckboard, and Katherine Wheeler, already up on the wagon’s front seat, was searching about for what Blake decided could only be a gun.

  He worked Sundown down the other side of the slope and, drawing his gun, fired a warning shot. A second man appeared from the cover of two horses he was attempting to hitch up. There was a gun in his hand and he went down on one knee and punched off shots. The bullets went wide of Blake but were close enough to send Sundown into a swerving run away from the camp. Durant wheeled Sundown back and fired twice at the hellion who by then had smashed Lennon to the ground with a second blow.

  The man turned, his scarred face mean in the raw sunlight. He worked the gun about in his palm, and then, his face distorted with sneering contempt for Blake Durant, he fired off three shots. One of them tore at the shoulder of Blake’s hide coat but he didn’t shift in the saddle. His gun levelled, bucked, and Katherine Wheeler let out a scream when she saw the hellion hurled back, half of his face blown away. When the man went down, howling in anguish and clawing at the ground, she dropped the rifle she had found under the seat and sat completely still, shocked to her very roots.

  Blake Durant heard the clatter of the rifle on the wagon’s flooring and ignored the girl. The second hellion, seeing his companion go down, had already swung into the saddle of one of the horses and was turning it, trying to make his getaway past the other rearing, snorting horse. Blake halted Sundown, took careful aim, and fired off his remaining two shots. Both missed as the rider veered to the left and then to the right before charging up the slope and disappearing over its rim.

  Blake, undecided whether to give chase or not, had come close to the unmoving Lennon. The sight of the old man’s bloodied head decided the issue for him. He dropped to the ground and went to the old man. He was unconscious. Taking him in his arms, he turned and made his way back to the wagon. Katherine Wheeler, still white-faced and shocked, didn’t stir, and Cassidy, his unused gun at his side, stared fearfully at the approaching Blake Durant.

  Blake looked from one to the other and swallowed a curse. Then, without a word to either, he lowered Lennon into the shade of the buckboard, and fetching a canteen poured cold water over the old man’s face. Lennon remained unconscious, then the woman said:

  “Leave that to me, Mr. Durant. The other one might come back.”

  “I don’t think so,” Blake said.

  “He might,” Katherine said. “They were brothers.”

  “You knew them?”

  “Yes,” she said. Then, biting her lip, she looked up and her face went scarlet. Blake moved away, still tense from the attack and wanting to sort out his thoughts. He pulled the other canteens from Sundown’s saddle and piled them under the wagon seat. Then he stood against the wagon and watched the young woman try to revive Abe Lennon. He completely ignored Charles Cassidy, who was crouched on the ground digging at the hard ground with the barrel of his unused gun, careful to keep his face averted.

  Chapter Two – Lennon’s Way

  BLAKE DURANT BURIED the man he had shot as night settled in on the prairie camp. Coming back to the wagon and buckboard, he found Charles Cassidy squatting outside the fire’s glow while Miss Wheeler busied herself getting supper. Although worried about the condition of the old-timer, Abe Lennon, Blake assumed from the composure of the young woman that his condition had not worsened. He stopped just short of the fire and regarded her gravely, remembering the panic which had taken over her when he had cut down the hellion. Cassidy, frowning up at Durant, seemed about to make some comment but thought better of it. Rising, he went into the darkness. Only when the sound of his footsteps died did Durant ask the young woman:

  “How is he?”

  “Sleeping better now. He lost a lot of blood and he’s an old man. But he’s certainly stubborn. I think he’ll be all right in a few days.”

  Blake accepted this without comment. When she handed him a mug of coffee he thanked her and withdrew from the heat of the fire. Kicking a deadfall log over, he settled on it and sipped at his coffee thoughtfully, all the while looking into the distance. There were a great many questions on his mind, but he decided that the woman would do her answering when it suited her and not before. So he was not surprised when she brought supper to him, leaving Cassidy’s plate beside the fire, before she spoke again:

  “Mr. Durant?”

  “Yeah?”

  “During that terrible fight, I let you down, I’m sorry.”

  “Killing is a man’s business,” he told her.

  “I accept that.” She paused. “But does killing have to be anybody’s business?”

  Blake held her gaze, seeing the deep worry in her dark eyes. “Would you rather that those two got past Lennon and to you, Miss Wheeler?”

  Katherine Wheeler blushed. “No, I don’t suppose so. But surely you could have stopped them without doing what you did. I mean, there must have been some other way.”

  “The only way to stop a hellion trying to kill you, ma’am, is to get him first. I don’t know where you’ve been all your life, or how isolated your father kept you during his years of rearing you, but take it from me, I did what I had to do. There was no other way.”

  Katherine worked the beans about her plate with a fork. She was silent for a long time before she swung her head and saw Cassidy lurking off in the darkness. As if to relieve some tension taking hold of her, she called angrily, “Charles, have your dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry,” was his answer.

  “We have a long way to go and we are now short-handed, Charles. So please don’t make things more difficult for me than they are now. Please eat.”

  Blake watched the youth’s figure loom up in the dark. He knew how the boy felt, having to live with the knowledge that, under pressure, he had shown cowardice. But he had no thought of consoling or criticizing the boy. Boys grew up and became men, and the kind of man each became was determined by personal experience. Perhaps Cassidy, now that his first baptism of fire was past, might pull himself together. When Cassidy took his meal and moved away, Katherine Wheeler spoke again.

  “You’ve killed before, Mr. Durant, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Blake answered calmly and went on eating the beans and bacon. He wasn’t hungry but he ate anyway. He didn’t know what tomorrow and the days after would bring, and as a consequence he stored up strength and energy just in case. He could feel her stare probing at him, but he still waited, strangely comfortable in her presence, feeling that there was more to her than met the eye.

  “How often have you killed?” she asked.

  “When I’ve had to,” he replied.

  “By choice?” The question came in a voice sharpened by doubt.

  A smile came to Blake’s lips. The wind was cool and it was a quiet night. Contrary to what she thought, he didn’t think the dead man’s brother would return that night. Later he might, when he found the courage to try to revenge his brother’s slaying. But first he would lick his wounds and keep running. He’d do his thinking later. By then Blake Durant hoped to have this outfit a fair way into the desert and moving towards Haven.

  “Few people kill by choice, Miss Wheeler,” Blake told her a moment later. “Perhaps there are some who count their notches, but I’ve rarely come across them. Certainly I’ve never met any who’d ride into a camp, see new acquaintances in big trouble, do their fighting for them and then take pride in the blood spilled. That’s enough answer before we get down to what is really worrying you and what you seem to be avoiding.”

  Katherine Wheeler’s head jerked up and she stared at him, fork poised before her mouth. There was a deep frown rutting her brow and lines of worry spoiled the smooth beauty of her cheeks.

  “You think I’m avoiding something, Mr. Durant? What makes you think that?”

  “You’ve given no explanation about how you know those two hellions. Yet you mentioned they were brothers. I reckon it’s about time that you let me in on who they really are, and what makes you so certain that the other one will return.”

  Katherine lowered her gaze and again toyed with the beans on her plate. After a moment she put the plate down and flicked her head, sending her hair sweeping back to reveal her delicate neck. In the fire’s glow, Blake saw a definite resolution take shape and hold within her features. Her eyes looked at him now in a calculating way.

  She said, speaking quietly, “I knew them in Memphis. The one you killed was the older brother, Ty Miller. The other is Josh. At first, when they rode by and saw me struggling with provisions I had bought for my trip into this country, they assisted me home. Naturally I invited them into the house and made coffee for them. They seemed so friendly, despite their rough appearance. They told me they’d ridden a long way and were cattlemen looking for steers to buy. At no time during that first visit did they do anything to make me think they were anything but what they claimed.”

  Blake finished his beans and chewed on a piece of bacon rind. He said no word to encourage her to go on but his gaze remained fixed on her, and he waited patiently.

  “But, on a second visit, Ty made advances to me. I told him what my plans were, and that they could never include him. I became a little troubled when he refused to leave the house, but the deputy, who had been a great help to me with advice on what provisions to take along, arrived and Ty went off. I didn’t see him for a few days, but one night he visited me late and forced his way into the house. His brother, I discovered later, was already at the back door as Ty came in the front. I was terrified and screamed, and some neighbors came running and made them leave. I didn’t see them again and had all but forgotten them until they arrived here this evening.”

  “They followed you?” Blake asked.

  Katherine shook her head. “Why would they? I honestly gave them no encouragement.”

  Blake allowed himself a thin smile. “Ma’am, men like those two don’t need any encouragement. They see something they want and they just naturally go after it. You made the mistake, without knowing it, I guess, of being friendly in the first place. It’s a lesson you should remember.”

  “But surely a person isn’t expected to go about being unfriendly to everybody. My father told me often that friendship is the basis of true living. Love thy neighbor and he’ll love you. Are you saying he was wrong?”

  Blake shrugged. “I’ve seen good men who turned the other cheek. They got hit twice.” He rose and stretched his long-limbed body. The glow from the fire sent his shadow across to where Cassidy sat brooding. Blake allowed his glance to go to the youth and saw his gaze lower under his look. He returned his attention to the young woman’s uplifted face. “But the real point is, they followed you and I was forced to kill one of them. During the ruckus, old Lennon got hurt bad. So he’ll be a worry during the desert crossing. What you’ve got to get into your head, Miss Wheeler, is that Josh Miller has a dead brother and whether a desire for you was the reason for their trailing you or not, he’s got a better reason now for coming on. When he comes, you’d better not drop your rifle again or you might find yourself in Boothill along with Ty Miller.”

  Blake began to walk away from the fire. He was not tired, and his conscience was clear on the issue of the killing.

  But something raked about in his mind, disturbing him. Mainly, he decided for himself, it was the simple fact that Lennon was injured, that Cassidy was worthless in a ruckus, and that Katherine Wheeler was against the shedding of blood. It added up to a situation that Durant considered he could well do without, but one to which he was firmly shackled.

  He had taken only half a dozen steps, however, when she called to him again. Turning, he found her on her feet, smoothing down the front of her dress. Her stare held his own look steadily and he saw a streak of stubbornness in it. She said:

  “It doesn’t matter what opinion you have of me now, Mr. Durant. You may think me an inexperienced fool with regard to my association with menfolk. Perhaps you are right. But that surely cannot alter the fact that we have a desert to cross and we need assistance. Will you still be here with us in the morning?”

  Blake thought for a moment before answering. He had no intention of deserting Lennon or her, or even Cassidy. But he felt it would do no harm to keep her unsure of herself.

  “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

  “And you’ll come all the way to Haven?”

  “I reckon so.”

  “Why, Mr. Durant? Is it because you feel obligated?”

  Blake shook his head. “Ma’am, I don’t ponder much on obligations. I do what I think I should do. Goodnight.”

  But Katherine, moving across to him, would not be silenced. “Do you want payment? If you do, I must tell you that I have little enough money as it is, and Mr. Lennon has stretched his resources to the limit. As for Charles, he’s a hired hand with no investment in this undertaking.”

  “Haven strikes me as being as good a place to head for as any I can think of,” Blake said. “Does that answer your question?”

  “I think it does, Mr. Durant. Thank you and goodnight. What time will we be starting out in the morning?”

  “We’ll be an hour on the trail at sunup, ma’am,” Blake said calmly and went off into the darkness. He settled down close to Sundown in a hollow of the slope. There was not a sound in the night and although he stretched out and felt his limbs go slack he didn’t feel like sleeping. So he was alert and on his guard when he heard a footfall just below him some ten minutes later. Blake’s gun was already in his hand when Charles Cassidy called up to him:

  “Mr. Durant?”

  “Come up, Cassidy.”

  The youth’s lean frame loomed up a moment later. He squatted down and Blake noticed that he threw a careful glance back in the direction of the fire before he said, “About today, Mr. Durant. I’m not used to that kind of thing.”

  “Nobody ever gets used to it,” Blake told him.

  “Struck me you’re used to it, Mr. Durant. Hell, you just came riding in, looking like you didn’t care whether you were killed or not. You could have been, and you don’t strike me as a fool who wouldn’t have realized that.”

  “What’s actually on your mind, Cassidy?” Blake said. Charles Cassidy was silent for a long moment before he answered, his voice lower than it had been. “I just want to tell you, Mr. Durant, when the other one comes back, I won’t let you down again. You’ll see that I’m not a coward.”

  “I hope I do see that,” Blake told him, and when Cassidy rose and seemed about to speak again, he said, “Best turn in. Be a hard day tomorrow.”

 

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