“See what I mean?” Cleve said to Travor. “I figure it’s time we got over to the livery, saddled our horses, and rode outta town.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Hartog awakened at daylight and moved out from under the shelter of the overhang where he and the Mexican had stayed the night before, when it seemed likely to rain before morning. He squatted in the bushes, his britches around his ankles. Between the pain in his back and his loose bowels, he had spent a miserable night. This was his fourth trip out from under the overhang. After he finished he went back to his bedroll and eased himself down.
The thought of riding five miles in a pouring rain didn’t appeal to him at all.
“Señor, will we not go to Stoney Creek this mornin’?”
“Not in this rain, ya dumb-ass,” Hartog growled.
“Yi, yi, yi—” Mendosa sighed.
“What’s that mean?” Hartog demanded.
“Nothin’, señor. Nothin’.”
“Ain’t no hurry. She ain’t goin’ no place. We’ll go tomorrow, if it clears up.”
Hartog stretched out on his back. That sonofabitchin’ McCall had damn near ruined his back, but he’d pay. I’ll screw that black-haired bitch into the ground then go after him. There are plenty of places along the trail to get a clear shot.
Meanwhile, Hartog didn’t dare let Mendosa know how weak he was. The Mexican would cut his own mother’s throat for a dollar, and he knew Hartog was carrying the money Havelshell had paid him for killing Murphy.
It was the longest, most miserable day of Colleen’s life. Her mind was never far from Travor and what she imagined to be happening in Sweetwater.
Damn!
She hadn’t wanted to care about that two-bit flirt. And more than likely that’s what he was. But he’d crept into her heart, and nothing short of a miracle was going to get him out of it.
Is this the first of a million times I’ll be waiting to see if he comes home full of holes—if he comes home at all?
After Colleen had washed two tubs of clothes, the rain was pelting down so hard that she had to quit or get soaking wet taking the clothes to the pond to rinse them. She was sitting in the shed looking out when Jenny came running down the path from the school and went into the bunkhouse … to Trell. Lucky Jenny!
Colleen had been reconsidering the advisability of marrying Travor McCall. She was wildly happy when she was with him and wildly miserable when away from him. Travor was vastly different from Trell, who had not felt a need to see what was over the mountain and around the bend.
Travor had wandered over the West like a drifting tumbleweed. How many women had he known? How many had he loved and left behind when he pulled foot? Would he get itchy feet and leave her with a houseful of little ones?
A south wind came up about noon and pushed the rain clouds to the north. The result was a misty, gloomy day. Colleen ventured out of the shed and knocked on the door of the bunkhouse before she opened it. Jenny was wrapped in a blanket and in Trell’s arms.
“Come in, Colleen,” Trell said. “Jenny’s had a shock. She’ll need some dry clothes.”
“What happened?” Colleen came to the edge of the bed.
Trell looked down into Jenny’s face. She nodded, and Trell gave Colleen a sketchy account of Havelshell’s attack on Jenny and his attempt to carry her off. When he came to the part about Whit killing Havelshell as he was beating her, Colleen put her hand over her mouth.
“Oh, Jenny—”
“Havelshell would have killed her. He wouldn’t have let her live to tell that he had tried to carry her off.” Trell’s voice was harsh. He was clearly frustrated at his inability to protect her.
“Whit killed him! Good for Whit!” Colleen gathered up Jenny’s wet clothing.
“He’s just a boy, but he didn’t hesitate a minute,” Jenny said. “I heard this … savage cry, then he was on the agent’s back. I still can’t believe it happened.”
Trell told Colleen that Whit and Head-Gone-Bad were taking the body deep into the reservation with the hope that no one would know what had happened to Havelshell.
“We’ve got to protect Whit,” Jenny added when Trell had finished.
“Old bastard got what was comin’ to him,” Colleen said heatedly. “Pays him back, too, for havin’ my pa killed. Ya don’t want the girls knowin’ about this?”
“Not Beatrice. But knowing Cass, she’s doubtless already wondering why I haven’t come to the house.”
“You won’t be able to hide it from her.” Trell reluctantly loosened his arms so Jenny could move away.
“If you’ll bring me some dry clothes, I’ll explain to Granny and Cass what happened.”
“I’ll bring Beatrice out here. She’s been wanting to come see Trell. I think she’s sweet on him.” Colleen raised her brows.
“She’s not the only one,” Jenny said, and brazenly placed a kiss on Trell’s smooth cheek.
In the afternoon Ike returned with a string of catfish and went down to the pond to clean them. Jenny and Cassandra went to the Indian camp to lead the children to the schoolhouse.
Colleen finished the wash and hung it on the bushes to dry. Her heart was so filled with dread that she could hardly eat the noon meal. Trell was worried too but tried to comfort her by saying that the man Travor was looking for might not even be in Sweetwater.
To keep herself busy, Colleen cut kindling at the woodpile. Her eyes strayed often across the meadow to where the trail to town disappeared into the woods.
“If this sick feelin’ is love, I’m not sure I want any of it,” she muttered and brought the hatchet down to chop a sliver from a chunk of wood.
Ike returned from the pond, took the cleaned fish to the kitchen, then went to the bunkhouse to visit with Trell.
When Colleen glanced again at the edge of the woods, three riders had emerged. She stared. They came closer. When she recognized Mud Pie, she felt an incredible spurt of joy. Paying scant attention to the men riding with him, she only saw Travor. She sank the hatchet in the stump, wiped her hands on the legs of her overalls, and batted the tears of relief from her eyes.
As the men neared she could hear Travor talking to one of the men. He slapped his thigh with his hand as his laughter, his joking, teasing, beautiful laughter rang out. Colleen stood where she was by the woodpile.
He didn’t have a care in the world. He’d been having a high old time while I’ve waited here as wrung out as a wet dish rag!
Sudden and unreasonable anger knifed through her. She looked for someplace to go, but they were already coming into the yard. I’ll not let that slack-jawed, flitter-headed, tally-whacker see me run or see me cry! She stood, her feet planted on the ground, her arms folded over her chest, her face set in lines of resentment.
“Colleen!”
Travor had his charming, devilish smile on his face when he swung from the saddle. With his eyes still on her, he looped the reins over the rails. She was intensely aware of him from the top of her head to the tip of her tingling toes.
“That’s my girl,” he announced to the men who were dismounting. Then, “Trell’s in the bunkhouse. Go on in.” He went toward the woodpile where Colleen waited. “Sweetheart—” He stopped speaking when he saw the mutinous look on her face.
“Don’t you sweetheart me, ya … egg-suckin’, slick-talking, mule’s ass!”
Her resolve not to cry crumbled. Tears filled her eyes and flowed down her cheeks. She was so angry at him, so angry at herself, that she sprang at him, the heels of her hands hit his shoulders and shoved. Travor caught her wrists.
“Stay away from me or … I’ll strangle ya.”
“Why’er ya mad? What the hell did I do?”
“I ain’t marryin’ ya. I ain’t waitin’ around half my life not knowin’ if yo’re dead or alive. Get yore hands off me or I’ll … I’ll—”
“Stop actin’ up or I’ll shake ya till yore teeth rattle.” Travor’s voice was rough. His hands moved from her wrists to her u
pper arms. “And you are goin’ to marry me just as soon as I can get ya to a preacher. Then I’ll teach ya to behave.”
“Ha! Ya got about as much chance of that as ya got pissin’ from here to Sweetwater!”
“Hush up that talk!” Travor gave her a couple of shakes. “I’ll not have my wife usin’ them words.”
“Then get ya a namby-pamby wife. I’ll talk any way I want to.”
“What’s the matter with ya?” Travor’s brows were drawn together in a puzzled frown. “Don’t ya want to know if I found Crocker? Don’t ya want to know why I brought the marshal back with me?”
“Ya brought a … marshal? Mercy! What’ve ya done? We don’t need no marshal here … now!”
Seeing the anguish on her face, Travor’s frown deepened.
“What do you mean … now?”
“Oh, ya’ve just … got to go and put yore foot in it, don’t ya?”
“Trell sent for the marshal to come because Havelshell was trying to run Jenny off and because he was stealing from the Indians. It’s over now. Havelshell’s dead.”
“I know … that!”
“You know? How did you find out? Who’s been here?”
“I’ll not tell you nothin’.”
“Colleen, I have the feelin’ yo’re goin’ to make my life hell.” He gazed into her rebellious face and shook his head. “But I can’t live it without ya.” Travor jerked her close and wrapped his arms around her. “I looked forward to bein’ with ya every minute since I left ya. More than anythin’ I wanted to hold you in my arms and see love shinin’ in your eyes for me … only for me. Yore pigheadedness ain’t goin’ to keep me from gettin’ my hello kiss.”
His mouth, firm yet gentle, fastened on her trembling lips, stealing her breath away. The kiss was filled with sweetness … at first. When her lips remained firm, unyielding, he deepened the kiss until they softened. He lifted his head to look at her.
“Colleen, my sweet—”
Their breaths mingled for an instant before he covered her mouth again with his. He kissed her lingeringly, hungrily, but gently, as though she were infinitely fragile and precious. He held her tightly against him, drinking in her sweetness until his senses reeled.
She tried to wiggle out of his arms. “Somebody’ll see us.
“Let ’em look, love.” There was deep huskiness in his voice. “Wasn’t ya just a little glad … to see me?” He watched her face with dark and anxious eyes.
“Ya know I was. I was dyin’ … inside.”
“Crocker’s dead. It wasn’t even close. I told ya he’d be surprised and I’d have the drop on him.”
“It’s … over?”
“Yes, sweetheart. I’m not sayin’ I’ll not have to do somethin’ like that again.”
“Did ya … see Hartog?”
“He’s not been back to Sweetwater.”
“I was … so worried.” Colleen leaned her forehead against his shoulder for an instant then looked up at him. “I’m sorry I hit ya. It made me mad to see ya actin’ like ya’d been on a picnic.”
“Ya still love me?” he asked anxiously.
“If ya ain’t knowin’ that, yo’re crazy as a coot.” She reached up and kissed him on the chin.
He laughed happily. “I’m the luckiest man alive. Come, meet Cleve and Dillon. I want them to see my girl.”
“No. Go on.” She gave him a gentle push. “A lot has happened since ya left. Trell will tell ya about it. I’ll go get Jenny, then clean up and help Granny with supper.”
Three tall men got to their feet when Jenny appeared in the doorway of the bunkhouse. Her heart had almost stopped when Colleen told her Travor had returned with a marshal. The image of Whit jumping on the back of the man who was going to kill her popped into her mind and she vowed to do whatever it took to protect him.
Her eyes went first to Trell who was sitting on the side of the bed. Then to his brother.
“Travor!” She went quickly to him and placed her hand on his arm. “We were so worried about you.”
“It’s mighty comfortin’ to be worried about by two pretty ladies.”
Travor threw his arm across her shoulders in a casual, intimate way that endeared him to females young and old. Looking at his handsome brother, Trell was reminded of his own scarred face. He had brooded some about it but now a new thought struck him. For the first time in his life he would not be mistaken for his brother. He had an identity of his own.
“Get your hands off my woman, brother.” Trell held out his hand to Jenny and she went to him. “Honey, I want you to meet Marshal Cleve Stark and Dillon Tallman.”
“How do you do, gentlemen?” She extended her hand. “Welcome to Stoney Creek.”
Trell held her hand tightly and gave it a little squeeze because he knew what he was going to say would be a shock.
“The marshal tells me that Havelshell’s house burned down last night. They believe that he died in the fire.”
Jenny’s eyes widened. She looked searchingly into his eyes for a long moment. Her face was a mask of uncertainty. Finally she spoke in raspy whisper.
“Oh … Trell, how can they think that—”
“Sit down.” He tugged on her hand and she sat down beside him. “They found a couple things in the ashes that make Cleve think he died in the fire.”
“Have you—?”
“No.”
“I couldn’t bear it if something happened to—”
“We can let it ride if you want.”
“What should we do?”
“You must decide.”
“We’d be taking a chance.”
“Not as much as you think, sweetheart.”
It was deathly quiet in the room. The three men watched the two seated on the bed and listened to their whispered conversation. Something serious was being discussed by the two who seemed to be thinking with one mind.
“I thought we’d decided—” Jenny said and leaned her forehead against his upper arm.
“Things are changed now. Cleve is a reasonable man.”
“Shouldn’t I ask Whit first?”
“He’s proud and will deny nothing.”
“I know. I wanted to say I did it,” Jenny whispered, then looked up at the marshal, her eyes swimming in tears.
“Mr. Havelshell didn’t die in the fire. He died here, this morning. He had me on the ground, tied up, and was attempting to carry me off. A young Indian boy killed him.” Now that the words were out she wished that she could take them back.
“Well, now—” Cleve sat down in a chair. Travor and Dillon squatted on their heels. Holding tightly to Trell’s hand, Jenny batted the tears from her eyes, lifted her chin and began to talk.
“When I reached the school, it had just started to rain—”
She spoke quietly, blaming herself for being so gullible as to allow the agent to entice her into the woods where he said that he would give her papers proving the Reverend Longfellow was stealing from the Indians. She told of his asking her to go away with him and how, at her refusal, he had thrown her to the ground, tied her up, and begun to beat her.
“I was beginning to black out when Whit ran out of the woods and jumped on his back. Mr. Havelshell would have killed me. He would have killed Whit if he could. Whit is just a boy. A proud, intelligent Indian boy. He risked his life to save mine.” Jenny’s eyes were free of tears now; and when she looked at the marshal, they were bright with resolve. “I will use every dollar I have. I will call on every person of influence I know. I will go the Supreme Court if necessary to keep that boy from being punished for what he did.”
“Well now,” Cleve said again. He looked out the door and rubbed his chin. “There’s no need a that. But the boy bein’ a Indian—”
“—His father was Mr. Walt Whitaker who owned this ranch. Mr. Havelshell would not let him off the reservation even to come here to the home where he was born. I have reported that to the Indian Bureau in Washington.”
“Some folks would think tha
t reason enough to kill the agent.”
“Some folks have such a low opinion of themselves they have to have someone to step on in order to elevate themselves,” Jenny said heatedly, and waited for the marshal to say what he intended to do.
“Without a body, there’s not much use in draggin’ this out in the open. I’m thinkin’ the boy knows where to put it so it won’t be found.”
“Ike—?” Jenny turned to speak to the old man squatting with his back to the wall.
Ike snorted. “It’d be like lookin’ for a flea on a buffalo.”
“Well, now—” Cleve said for the third time. “Folks think Havelshell burned up in the fire. I’ve not seen anything to make me think different.”
It was quiet for half a minute, then Jenny let out a little cry.
“Thank you. Oh, thank you!”
“Don’t need to be thankin’ me, ma’am. At times ya have to call ’em as ya see ’em. I can’t see draggin’ the boy before a judge.”
“It’s called frontier justice, honey,” Trell said. “Folks out here in the West use what we call horse sense in handling things. Cleve is going to look over the papers in Havelshell’s satchel—and see how Longfellow fits into all this.”
Hopping on one foot and with the help of Travor and Dillon, Trell came to the supper table. Jenny met him at the door with smiles of welcome. She had planned to change into something soft and pretty but decided not to when she saw that Colleen had put on the rather shabby, faded dress she had worn the day they went to town.
Travor’s face lit up like a full moon when he saw her. Her suntanned face reddened when he continued to look at her.
“Did ya ever see a prettier gal, Dillon?”
“Can’t say as I have. Ma’am, ya got this fish caught hook, line and sinker.” Dillon’s boyish good looks and his cheerful disposition had not been lost on Cassandra. She watched him with interest.
Thanks to Walt Whitaker who had purchased the large table long ago, they were all able to sit down at once. Granny fried the catfish and even bragged about Ike by saying that he could fish even if he wasn’t good for anything else.
In the general conversation, Marshal Stark said he planned to ride over to the Agency headquarters the next morning. Now that the agent was gone, he was the only government official in the area. He would have to find someone to take charge until the Indian Bureau sent another agent.
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