Second Helping
Page 5
Chapter 5
Straightening over his own meal, Brad Seward’s eyes brightened, a comment from another hand snaring his memory. Shoving a half-empty plate aside, he grabbed his hat, smashing it on his head as he burst from the bunkhouse at a near run to Lambertson’s house, entering without a knock.
Finding the boss at his desk, Seward sat, almost quivering, launching an explanation in answer to Tresh’s inquiring look.
“Got it, Mr. Lambertson.” he bubbled through a wide grin. “Took so long cuz’ I was but a kid but that coyote’s name is Essex Dorner from Fulton County, Ohio, like me. Ran out of there years ago after gunning down one man and trying to kill a judge. Wanted for murder there and after. Word has it he’s a hired killer, a man-hunter wanted in a couple more states and three territories.”
Lambertson leaned back, smiling. Lighting a cigar, he bobbed his head, exhaling blue smoke at the ceiling. Seward sat as Tresh thought, suppressing a desire to whoop at the Lambertson’s expression. Finally, the rancher looked at him.
“Come morning, Brad, you ride into town. Talk to everyone, especially that fool sheriff, telling all widow Loftin is shacking up with a known killer, a wanted man. Be sure all store owners hear it but find reason to talk with everyone you see, got that?”
Seward hopped to his feet. “Got that, boss. Won’t be an ear not hearing ‘fore I leave.”
Lambertson nodded as his hand turned to leave, stopping him with a word. “Seen Ned come in yet?” frowning when Seward shook his head. “When you see him, tell him I’m waiting to hear what he seen at the woman’s place today.”
After waving Brad out, Tresh spun his chair to look out the window facing Loftin’s place. He’d arrived in Wyoming with enough cash thanks to wartime gains to buy sufficient land for a decent spread, adding to it what he could claim in his own name or those of men he hired. That the Army began looking close at his operation during the conflict encouraged his move but it was all planned before that piece of trouble started. In time, they’d forget him along with the arrest warrant he’d heard was issued while he was busy building an impeccable reputation here.
The West offered opportunity for those strong enough to take advantage, particularly if lacking any moral center and leaned toward ruthless in their dealings. Later, once settlers began arriving in big numbers, things would settle down but he meant to be well established by then. Frowning, he glared at Loftin’s place. At least he would if she’d show some sense and leave. He’d made a mistake choosing this range, he knew now but didn’t until the landslide dammed his river. Loftin picked better, land further up the water line with both arms of the stream on his property but Tresh Lambertson didn’t need worry so much about that. Once she was out of his way and after a couple days clearing the rock fall, he’d control both ends of the river then spend a few dollars in Cheyenne to claim and buy all.
He drummed his fingers on the chair arm. Knowing the Army had been looking for him, he held off filing claims or buying land for several years already but felt confident their attention was elsewhere what with hostiles acting up across the Dakotas down through Texas. He was ready and had been since Loftin and the old man were removed to stake out a future of riches for little work done.
The fact was, if not for this Dorner fellow, he’d be riding now to file his papers. Whether she’d chosen to pack and go or not, Tresh expected an end yesterday. He cocked his head, waving smoke from around his head, studying long shadows forming on the country as the sun lowered. Jaw set, he pictured Dorner, rifle in hand hidden in shadows. Interfering with Tresh Lambertson, he smirked, had caused men to die before and there was nothing to say it shouldn’t happen again.
A knock interrupted his thoughts. Irritated, he shifted and saw Curly Bennett standing in his hall.
“Boss” the hand stammered, “Ned’s horse trotted in empty a few minutes ago.”
Lambertson’s eye’s narrowed. “Go up and find him.” he ordered, “Take Frank with you.”
Bennett nodded, turning away when Tresh spoke again. “Want you riding rifle ready, Curly. Any you see up there are fair game.”
Curly gave the man a wolfish glance before hustling out, slamming the door loudly behind him.
Tresh stared after the man with a mix of uncertainty and anger. Ned was far from the best hand he’d known, not the most reliable in any sense, but a riderless horse meant he was hurt or dead. A cold hand clutched his gut wondering if Ned had been spotted, knowing if Dorner had done the spotting, hurt wasn’t on the list of possibles.