Twisted Trails

by Orlando Rigoni

  The miner rolled free of the chair and crouched to his thick legs, roaring and weaving like a wounded bear. Instinctively, Paul moved back against the wall, expecting the attack. The attack never came. A woman's voice, a firm, throaty voice, said from the bottorn of the stairs:

  "Morgan, pick up your money and go home!"

  The miner, consumed with fury at the man who had cheated him of money and the man who had cheated him of revenge, closed his big-knuckled hands, hands used to swinging a sixteen-pound double-jack all day, upon the back of the broken chair. With one motion he swung the wreck high and brought it crashing down upon Finch's back. Then his fury died and he looked about him with bloodshot eyes.

  "Take up your money, Morgan, and get," the woman said in a quieter voice.

  Paul saw her then, draped in a dress of white. Not a jewel marred the simplicity of her costume, or the taffy-colored hair swept upward in a pompadour. The woman wore her years secretly, as though she had been cast from a mold complete and endowed. Even without the skillfully applied make-up, her skin would have been soft and without flaw. And yet all the overripe loveliness was but a showcase for the nerveless, determined, commanding presence underneath.

  "I'm sorry, Addie," the miner grumbled.

  "Come back when you can behave, Morgan," Addie said.

  "I didn't know you harbored cheats, Addie; my mistake."

  "I give every man one chance," Addie said. "Mr. Finch has had his."

  Alonzo Finch had straightened in his chair and shoved his hat forward to the usual jaunty angle. The moisture had seeped back into his wide, flat-planed face, and his smile thawed to one of ironical humor.

  Oddly enough, the cards were still in order upon the green-topped table. A stud hand, with one card face down. Before Finch lay a ten, jack, queen and king of hearts. Before Morgan's place lay a pair of treys, a four, a king—and he had turned up another king. Finch hadn't yet turned up his card. He did so now with a negligent flip of his long-boned hand. It was a six!

  "It's your money, Morgan," Finch said casually; "pick it up."

  Paul found himself admiring Alonzo's adroitness. By a move of his hand and a few words, he had put them in the position of owing him an apology.

  Somewhat sheepishly, Morgan picked up the money and went out. Before the door closed, Paul found his eyes clashing with Finch's gray eyes.

  "What are you doing here, Paul?" Finch asked.

  Paul was conscious of Addie watching them.

  "Do you have to ask that, Alonzo?" Paul countered.

  "This is a big country, Paul. A man of your talents should do well here, but there's one funny thing about all this space. If a man wants trouble, he can find it without half trying. Be smart and ride on."

  Paul read the threat in Finch's words. Shaking his head slowly, he said, "This is as far as I go. You left a trail as crooked as your own crooked heart. Now you're going back to Oklahoma with me to face the music."

  Finch said in the same unhurried voice, "You better be careful, Paul. If you keep makin' them long speeches in this high altitude, you'll run out of wind. Suppose I don't want to go, you going to tie me up and pack me on your back?"

  "I'll find a way to get you back," Paul replied.

  "I won't be much good to you dead."

  "That I know. Why do you think I horned into your fight?"

  "I forgot to thank you for that, Paul," Finch acknowledged. "You got a warrant for me? This is Utah territory."

  "Before I get through, you'll be glad to go back, Alonzo."

  "Paul," Alonzo said, rising and walking toward the stairs, "you're going to spring a hole in your head with all those big ideas. Remember what I told you about the altitude?"

  At the foot of the stairs, Alonzo turned toward Addie. "When do you expect Lieth back, ma'am?"

  "A week, maybe," Addie answered, her eyes on Paul.

  "Thank you," Finch said with elaborate politeness, and walked away into the darkness. Then Paul heard Addie's warm, throaty voice. She was moving toward the bar with a gliding motion, as though she were mounted on wheels.

  "Come over here, stranger," she said. "I'll buy you a drink."

  Paul went to the bar, and the barkeep heaved his fat body erect and waddled toward them. The other card player had disappeared during the excitement.

  "Whiskey," Paul said, his eyes meeting Addie's. "The name's Paul Scott."

  "I saw you handle that miner, and I liked what I saw," Addie said as they raised their glasses. She sipped hers and set it down.

  "Thank you," said Paul.

  "What was your trouble with Alonzo Finch?"

  "It has nothing to do with this country or you, ma'am."

  "Call me Addie; everybody does. I didn't mean to stick my long nose into your business," Addie said, giving him a quick smile.

  "Your nose isn't long," he replied. "When did Finch get here?"

  "He's been here a month. I haven't got him figured out yet, and I'm pretty good at figuring. He already seems to have some kind of hold on Lieth Severs, my partner."

  "That's how he works. Where is your partner? Are you running this place alone?"

  "I am right now. Lieth's gone to Salt Lake on some land business. They've been resurveying some of this country since the railroad and mines came. I need a man here. I thought I had one in Lieth." Her voice dropped, and a shadow of sadness crossed her eyes.

  "You are in love with him?"

  "How can one love something that's not whole?" she asked softly. "I need a man who can handle himself to help me take care of things here. It's quiet at this time of day, but later, when the men knock off work, they'll swarm in here. They're a mixed bunch. I think you're the man for the job."

  "I'm sorry, ma'am…"

  "Call me Addie," she prompted again.

  "I'm right sorry, Addie, but I can't work for you. I'm going to be here just long enough to get Alonzo Finch out of camp. What good could I do you in that length of time?"

  "Have you figured a way to get him out?"

  "I will."

  "There's only one way I see, and it will take time. You'd have to keep it quiet, though, so that he could not escape you. Send a message with the stage tomorrow to send over the telegraph from Salt Lake to Oklahoma. Have the sheriff there send a warrant to the U.S. marshal at Provo. He can come over, arrest Finch legally, and maybe deputize you to take him back."

  There it was—the legal way, the right way.

  "But that will take weeks," Paul objected.

  "Two weeks maybe—three. How long have you been on Finch's trail?"

  "Couple of months."

  "Then why begrudge the time? While you're here, you can earn your keep. I'll guarantee you won't be bored," Addie promised.

  Paul could feel the woman reining him hard, and he fought the bit stubbornly. In one afternoon he had confronted two women and had had two offers of jobs.

  "I've already got a job," he surprised himself by saying.

  "Miner? Laborer?"

  "Uriah Young. He needs a man to haul hay."

  "Oh, I saw you riding into camp with old Sodek. Have you met Norah?"

  The inflection in the throaty voice irritated Paul.

  "What has Norah got to do with it?"

  "Don't jump down my throat, Paul. I didn't say she had anything to do with it. It just seems strange you should take a job with Uriah without a special reason. You're not a farmhand."

  Paul was vaguely aware that they were quarreling, and it puzzled him.

  "What do you think I am, Addie? A roustabout? A swamper? A gunnie to whip your customers into line?"

  Addie laughed softly. "She's a beautiful girl, Paul. A good girl, but still a little wet behind the ears."

  Outside, the first of the evening's customers was fogging dust toward the Lone Chance. Addie walked to the stairs without looking back, and Paul watched her go. At the foot of the stairs she turned.

  "If you change your mind, Paul, let me know."

  Without answering, he pushed
through the door, and the miners, lathered with sweat and stained red from the blood of the earth, made way for him on the porch.

  He mounted his horse and headed for the ranch.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning Norah, still abed, heard the loaded hayrack rattle and bounce across the rocky creek bottom on its way to the stockade. Cherry, an Indian girl who helped with the housework, always cooked early breakfast for the men. She had been taught the simple tasks of frying hogmeat, eggs and potatoes. Being Mormons, the Youngs drank no coffee. But there was plenty of milk, and for the more hardy, Brigham tea, brewed from a local bush. The more complicated cooking was done by Helen, Uriah's wife.

  What had Paul done at Addie's? He had been there a long time, and something that had happened there had brought him back to the ranch to work for Uriah. Had he found Alonzo Finch? If he had, there would be little reason for him remaining there. No, it must have been something to do with Addie. He was staying so that he could see Addie again. The thought made her uncomfortable. If it was Addie who was keeping him there, why didn't he stay at the Lone Chance?

  Norah arose and dressed leisurely before she raised the blind. The sun rushed into the room, spreading a golden rug upon the carpet. Norah surveyed herself in her mirror and frowned at the brown and gold picture she made. Why should she not go up to Addie's and ask her about Paul?

  But she wouldn't go to Addie's dressed in boots and buckskin and flannel. She would show Addie she could be a lady, too. Pulling the blind down again, she took off her riding clothes and put on a starched gingham dress, white and blue, with a small red bow at the throat. She pulled on black stockings and forced her feet into small pointed-toe shoes that always pinched before an hour had passed. Unraveling her thick braids, she combed out her hair and drew it up in a roll on the top of her head.

  She turned as the door opened and saw the shocked expression on her mother's face.

  "What are you doing in those clothes at this time of day?" Helen asked sharply.

  Norah pleaded, "Let's not quarrel again, Mother."

  "Quarrel, indeed! Is it quarreling to ask what you're up to? You should have had your breakfast long ago. It's after nine o'clock."

  "I'll get my own breakfast."

  "But those clothes. If you're doing it for the new man Uriah put to work, it will do you no good. He's been gone for some time with a load of hay for the post. Besides, what have I told you about mixing with the help?"

  "Don't worry; I'm not going to make a fool of myself."

  "Then why the starch and ribbons at this hour?"

  "I'm going up to Addie's."

  "Up to Addie's? Are you out of your mind?" Helen gasped.

  "I've been there before."

  "Do you know what you're saying? How many times have you been there? Why haven't I heard of it?"

  "It was over a year ago, Mother, the time she had the singer from Salt Lake. She let me sit in the dining room and listen. It was wonderful."

  "Indeed! If you put some paint on your lips and some powder on your face, perhaps she'll give you a job!"

  "I have no paint or powder. I wish I had."

  "Do you want to disgrace us all, Norah? If you want to flirt with Mr. Scott, do it here at home where he can't take advantage of you," Helen said.

  "Mother, don't be so naïve. I'm grown up…"

  "This is what comes of being born and reared in this wild, uncouth land. You don't know the value of things, the worth of people. How could you?"

  "Look, Mother, I spent three years finishing my schooling in Salt Lake. Of course that's not New York, or even Denver, but there are civilized people there."

  "You should have found a husband, then," Helen said.

  "I didn't go there to find a husband. Is that how you met Uriah?"

  "Your father was different. When he came to St. Louis with a shipment of furs, he was a wild, romantic figure. I guess I lost my head," Helen said reminiscently.

  "Do you regret it?"

  "I don't regret loving Uriah, but I do regret having had to give up so much. I thought some day I could take you back where people are civilized…"

  "But I like my life here!" Norah interposed. "This is my home."

  "And don't let Mr. Scott get a hold on you," Helen said. "Soon he'll be gone, and you'll suffer. I know. Look, there's Major Hornaby. He'll be transferred east soon. You could do worse."

  "We've discussed Major Hornaby before, Mother. Now I must go."

  "You're not changing your clothes, then? How will you get to the Lone Chance? Will you walk in those shoes?"

  "I'll have Egg harness up the buggy," she said, using the nickname of a hand named Eglund.

  "So we're going to be a lady, are we?" her mother jibed. "Well, remember what I told you." She went out, closing the door not too gently.

  Once on the road, Norah felt conspicuous and a little less sure of herself.

  But by the time she reached the Lone Chance, she had regained her composure. The sun, beating against the red front of the big building, cast a rosy reflection in the dust. She was about to alight from the carriage to tie her horse at the long rail when a man descended with a firm yet jaunty step from the shadows of the veranda. Norah paused in the act of alighting to stare at him.

  She was unaware of having seen the man before, yet he bore a resemblance to someone she knew. For the moment she was unable to say who, because she was too absorbed in the man himself. His boots gleamed in the sun, and his creased trousers were pulled down over them. He wore no coat, but his broad shoulders were covered with a flannel shirt that flaunted a yellow string tie. She could almost smell the pomade that shone on the dark hair framing a wide, flat-planed face.

  The voice that spoke to her was soft and courteous.

  "May I have the pleasure of offering you my services, Miss Young?"

  The sound of her name on the stranger's lips surprised her. Dubiously, she replied, "I can do for myself."

  "No harm intended, Miss Young. Here; let me help you down."

  His hand was soft, but impersonal, and Norah attempted to be gracious.

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Here, let me tie your horse for you."

  "Thank you," she repeated, then tried to keep from running to the entrance of the dining room.

  When she entered the dining room, with its smell of scrubbed floors and food being cooked for the noonday meal, she was still perturbed by the incident outside. The startled look on the face of the girl setting out clean dishes upon the long tables annoyed her.

  "Will you tell Addie I'd like to speak with her, Jen?" she said, keeping her voice steady.

  "Why—why, certainly, ma'am—I mean, Norah— say, what's this all about?" Jen looked puzzled. "You gettin' married?"

  "No, Jen. Tell Addie I want to talk with her."

  Jen disappeared, shaking her head from side to side. Norah remained standing, feeling out of place. She heard Addie say something in the barroom through the open door. The next minute Addie appeared.

  "You want to speak to me?" she asked, her eyes curious under their dark lashes.

  "I wanted to talk to you. Of course I know you're not to blame, but you could be helpful if you wanted to," Norah said evasively.

  "What are you talking about, Norah?" Addie asked suspiciously.

  "I'm talking about Egg."

  "Yes? What about Eglund?"

  "He doesn't take care of his job. He comes up here to drink and play cards when he should be working," Norah said quickly.

  "And you dressed in your best bib and tucker to come and tell me about it?"

  "You're dressed up, aren't you?" Norah defended herself.

  "It's my business to be dressed up. I wouldn't look quite so appealing as you in buckskin and flannel. Now tell me what this is all about?"

  "My father, he thinks Egg's working…"

  "All right, Norah, you've made your excuse for coming. Let's sit down. Now tell me just why you came? Did you expect to find Paul here?"

>   Norah felt a flush warm her face, and it angered her. "All right, Addie," she said, her chin up. "I came to find out what happened here yesterday."

  "Don't be evasive, Norah," Addie said. "That other time you were here, I told you to go home and grow up. Well, don't overdo it."

  Norah had her gloves off, and now she creased them upon the end of the table.

  "When Paul came in to dinner last night, he met Egg. I could tell that he had seen Egg before, and this is the only place he could have seen him. Now tell me what happened," Norah pleaded.

  "There was a fight over a card game," Addie admitted, and went on to tell in detail just what had happened, emphasizing Paul's part in the argument, but not mentioning any other names.

  Norah's eyes were alight. She felt an inner glow of satisfaction.

  "He's brave, isn't he?"

  "He's brave and quick. Good qualities in a man."

  "Maybe he's a lawman in disguise, looking for someone," Norah suggested.

  Addie shook her head. "I don't think so. I offered him a job, and he wouldn't take it."

  "So you did try to hold him," Norah charged.

  Addie, impatient, said, "I only offered him a job. If he's going to hang around here, he might as well earn his keep."

  "And how would he earn his keep, Addie—by being nice to you?" Norah was sorry for the remark as soon as she said it.

  "Norah, stop talking like that; it doesn't become you," Addie said almost in a motherly tone. "I'm sure Paul is a man to pick his own woman. He won't be picking her around here, because he won't be here long enough."

  "How do you know? Did he tell you?"

  "Yes, he did. He came looking for a man. It's a grudge fight, a feud, a vendetta. Do you know what that is, Norah? It's something to stay away from, because it curdles people, makes them hard and dangerous. Don't lose your head over Paul, Norah. Soon he'll be gone."

  "But until he finds his man—"

  "He has found him."

  "You mean Alonzo Finch is here?"

  There was no need for Addie to reply. A voice from the barroom did it for her.

  "Did somebody call my name?" Finch said, smiling at the two women, his flat-crowned hat in his hands.

  Norah looked up and for a moment sat immobile. There stood the man with the fancy clothes, the shiny hair, the inquisitive penetrating eyes whom she had met outside. This was the man Paul was after. Rising hastily, she turned to the door and almost ran from the room.