Savage Country

by William W. Johnstone

  “She doesn’t mean anything,” Conrad said hastily. “She’s merely speaking facetiously. Making a joke, if you will.” He managed to put a weak smile on his face, but he didn’t know if it would fool anyone.

  Pamela wasn’t fooled. She said, “Are the two of you . . . traveling together?” Again, her tone of voice made the innocuous words sound much worse than they really were.

  “We rode up together from Lordsburg,” Conrad was forced to admit. He knew from experience that it was difficult for him to lie to Pamela. She saw right through him.

  “That’s right, lady,” Rebel put in. “We spent a lot of days—and nights—together on the trail, didn’t we, Conrad?”

  “We weren’t alone—” he began to explain. Suddenly, anger at being trapped between them like this flared up inside him. He said, “Perhaps we should start over with some proper introductions.”

  Pamela sniffed. “I don’t need to be introduced to—”

  “Miss Callahan, this is Miss Tarleton,” Conrad went on stubbornly, determined to defuse this situation. “Miss Tarleton, this is Miss Callahan.” He turned back to Rebel. “Miss Tarleton is one of the Philadelphia Tarletons, and the daughter of Mr. Clark Tarleton, the noted financier and industrialist.” Switching his attention back to Pamela, he continued. “Miss Callahan is from Texas and is the former owner of a cattle ranch there. She had business dealings with an acquaintance of mine, Mr. Frank Morgan, and accompanied Mr. Morgan and myself here to New Mexico Territory. Everything was completely proper and aboveboard, Pamela, I assure you.”

  “She came along with you and this fellow Morgan unchaperoned?”

  “Well, yes. You have to understand, darling, the West is a somewhat less formal place than what you’re used to.”

  “I should say so! Where I come from, proper young women do not travel unattended with gentlemen who are not related to them.”

  Rebel said, “Then maybe you better get it through your head that you ain’t back where you came from anymore.”

  “Trust me, Miss Callahan,” Pamela said coldly. “I am well aware of that.”

  Rebel sat on her horse and glared. Pamela turned her head away and ignored the other girl. But at least they didn’t look like they were ready to start swinging punches at each other, and Conrad was grateful for that. Not that Pamela would have ever thrown a punch, he amended mentally. She was much too genteel for that. Rebel, on the other hand . . .

  “Is your father here?” Conrad asked Pamela, hoping that a change of subject would be in order.

  “Yes, he’s inside this store, talking to the merchant,” she replied, gesturing vaguely toward the front door of the building. Conrad glanced up at the sign over the door. It read KANDINSKY’S GENERAL MERCANTILE.

  Pamela went on. “He’s making some sort of arrangement with the man to supply provisions for the workers at the mine.”

  Conrad nodded. “I see.”

  She tugged on his arm, urging him toward the door. “Come inside with me, dear. I’m sure Father will be glad to see you. He’s always been fond of you.”

  Conrad hesitated and glanced at Rebel. She said scathingly, “Go ahead. Don’t mind me. I’ll just take your horse and go on down to the livery stable with him.”

  “Thank you, Rebel,” he said, ignoring the little frown that Pamela gave him when he used the other girl’s name. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “De nada,” Rebel said as she took hold of El Diablo’s reins and turned her chestnut away from the boardwalk. Leading the black horse, she rode on down the street toward a livery barn with its big double doors open so that light spilled out into the street.

  Conrad couldn’t help but notice how stiff her back was. He knew he had offended her, and he was sorry about that. He probably should have told her that he was engaged to be married, but he truly hadn’t known that Pamela would be here in Ophir. He had known that she might be, in fact probably would be, but it had been easier not to say anything about that to Rebel, and before that, not to say anything to Frank....

  “Come along,” Pamela said again.

  “Of course, dear.” Conrad allowed her to lead him into the store.

  Clark Tarleton stood at the counter at the rear of the emporium, talking to the proprietor. He was around fifty, a tall, broad-shouldered, beefy man who despite his expensive clothes and well-barbered appearance still bore traces of the steel-mill laborer he had been in his youth, before he had raised himself by hard work and sheer willpower from that position to become one of the leading industrialists in the East. He had added mining to his business interests several years earlier, and now owned several mines in this southwestern corner of New Mexico Territory. Conrad supposed that technically Tarleton was one of Browning Mines and Manufacturing’s rivals, but that wouldn’t be the case for much longer. Once he and Pamela were wed, like the merger of two royal families in Europe by marriage, everything would be all in the family.

  And as the head of that family, Conrad would one day be mentioned in the same breath as Vanderbilt, Carnegie, Gould, Rockefeller, and all the rest. It was a dream of his, a dream that someday soon he would grasp. All he had to do was bring that spur line in successfully, expand his power in the railroad business as he also built up the mining operation, and marry the beautiful daughter of one of the richest men in the country. That was all.

  “Father,” Pamela said, “look who’s here.”

  Tarleton swung around, and a smile creased his rugged face when he saw Conrad. “Browning!” he said as he stepped toward them and extended his hand. “Good to see you again, young man. How are you?”

  Conrad grasped his future father-in-law’s hand firmly. “I’m just fine, sir. It’s good to see you too. How are things in Philadelphia?”

  Tarleton chuckled. “I wouldn’t know. I’m never there long enough to find out. Always traveling, you know. My interests are so widespread they keep me busy all the time.”

  “I can certainly imagine.”

  “Luckily, I have Pamela to keep me company,” Tarleton said as he put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders for a moment. “But not for much longer, if you succeed in stealing her away from me.”

  “I suppose she’ll be traveling with me then.”

  “For a while maybe,” Tarleton said, “but then you’ll have her at home, no doubt, giving birth to all the Browning heirs.”

  Pretending to be scandalized, Pamela said, “Father! How you do go on!”

  Conrad just smiled, too uncomfortable with the subject to get into any discussion of heirs and how they came about.

  Pamela gave him a veiled look and went on. “Anyway, I’m not sure whether Conrad still intends to marry me or not. He’s taken up with a frontier woman, a wild creature who rides astride and carries a rifle.”

  Tarleton frowned. “What’s that?”

  “It’s nothing, I assure you, sir,” Conrad said quickly. “While I was traveling up here to Ophir with an associate, we escorted a lady who was also heading in this direction.” That was a considerable distortion of the facts, but Conrad didn’t care. He just wished Pamela and her father would drop the entire subject of Rebel. “The situation was totally innocent.”

  His brain picked that precise moment to remind him of the way Rebel had kissed him and the wanton images that had filled his head when she talked about taking off all her clothes and jumping into that pond. He felt his face warming at those memories and coughed uncomfortably into his hand.

  “Well, I suppose we can’t blame you for trying to be a gentleman,” Tarleton said. He added to Pamela, “Isn’t that right, darling?”

  “I suppose,” she agreed, but she didn’t sound like she was convinced.

  “How’s your mining operation going, sir?” Conrad asked in an attempt to steer the conversation into safer waters.

  “Quite well. Lucky for us, there’s plenty of gold and silver to go around, eh, or you and I might be at each other’s throats. Figuratively speaking, of course.”

  “Of c
ourse.” Conrad was glad that wasn’t the case. Having Clark Tarleton as a friendly rival and potential partner was one thing; having a man like him as an enemy was something totally different.

  “What about that railroad of yours?” Tarleton asked. “Is everything on schedule there? The sooner we have reliable rail service in and out of this place, the sooner we’ll all be that much richer, eh?”

  “It’s coming along just fine,” Conrad lied. “The line should be completed soon.”

  “Really?” Tarleton slipped a cigar from his vest pocket and began to peel the wrapper from it. “I’ve heard rumors that there have been problems with the construction. Indian trouble, among other things.”

  “Well . . . it’s true that there seems to be a band of renegade Apaches loose in the mountains, and while their presence has made the workers a bit nervous, construction is continuing on a steady pace.”

  “What about the accidents I’ve heard talked about?”

  “Any project as large as the building of a railroad will have problems—”

  Tarleton bit off the end of the cigar. “I’ve been told that it’s deliberate sabotage.”

  “The situation is being taken care of even as we speak,” Conrad told him, anxious for Tarleton not to see him as weak. “That business associate I spoke of is out at the construction camp right now, getting to the bottom of the problems and putting an end to them.”

  Tarleton narrowed his eyes and asked, “Who might that be?”

  Conrad had hoped to avoid bringing Frank’s name into the discussion, but he didn’t have much choice. “Frank Morgan,” he said. He didn’t know if Tarleton would recognize the name or not.

  “The infamous gunman?” Tarleton’s eyebrows arched. “I saw a traveling stage play about him once. Terribly violent. They say he’s killed hundreds of men. Good Lord, son, how do you know a man like Frank Morgan?”

  Conrad thought quickly, trying to come up with an answer that would avoid the full truth. “We met several years ago. He . . . was an old friend of my late mother’s.”

  “I see,” Tarleton said. He didn’t, not really, though, and Conrad was glad of that. “Well, Conrad, I hope this doesn’t backfire on you. I know you’re anxious to solve the problems plaguing your railroad, but having a man like Frank Morgan working for you may present you with even more problems.”

  “I have every confidence in him, sir. He’s never let me down.”

  And with a shock, Conrad realized that was true. Both times he had been kidnapped, Frank had rescued him. Of course, he might not have ever been in danger to start with if it hadn’t been for the grudge those outlaws held against Frank.

  “I hope you’re right,” Tarleton said, and then he took Pamela’s arm. “We’re on our way back to the hotel. Would you like to join us for a late supper?”

  Conrad looked down at his clothes, which were covered with trail dust. “I’m hardly presentable. . . .”

  “That’s not a problem. We’ll give you time to clean up. You can meet us in the hotel dining room in, say, an hour?”

  Conrad felt himself nodding. “That’s fine. Thank you, sir.”

  “Not at all. I’m looking forward to spending more time with you, and I know Pamela is too.”

  “Of course I am,” she murmured. She leaned forward to kiss Conrad discreetly on the cheek. “We’ll see you later, darling.”

  They strolled out of the store, leaving Conrad there. He was rather dizzy and upset from the whole encounter. He had known that Pamela and her father were likely to be here in Ophir, but he had been hoping that he wouldn’t run into them right away. He liked to plan out such things in advance. That hadn’t happened tonight, and he had been forced to improvise. But he hadn’t done too badly, he told himself. The whole thing with Rebel was embarrassing, of course, but Pamela seemed to be willing to forget about it.

  The problem, he suddenly realized, was that he didn’t know if he could forget about Rebel....

  “So, young man,” the proprietor of the store said from behind him, “did you want something?”

  “Yes,” Conrad said. “But I’m not sure what.”

  Chapter 19

  Rebel was seething inside as she rode down to the livery stable. She was mad at Conrad, of course, but she was also angry with herself. She should have known better than to let herself become interested in some damn Eastern dude who acted most of the time like he had a corncob shoved up his butt.

  If he hadn’t been such a handsome man . . . and if he hadn’t jumped on her to shield her with his own body like he had during that fight with the Apaches . . . she probably never would have done more than casually despise him. The fact that he was rich didn’t mean anything to her. The fact that he was intelligent, and that he obviously had at least some measure of courage, those things were more important. After traveling for a day or two with Conrad Browning and Frank Morgan, she had realized quite honestly that her cousin Ed and her brothers were in the wrong in this vendetta they had against Morgan. He was a good man, and he never would have killed her other cousins if they hadn’t forced him into it. The best thing for the Callahan boys to do would be to forget about Frank Morgan.

  But they wouldn’t. Rebel knew that in her heart. It was only a matter of time before they showed up and tried to kill Frank again.

  The thought that Conrad might be hurt or killed when that happened made a pang of fear go through Rebel, despite her current irritation with him. He could be damned annoying, but she had come to care for him anyway.

  And that was what made her the most upset.

  She wasn’t worried about Pamela Tarleton. Rebel was confident that if she wanted to, she could take Conrad away from some pale, skinny little simp from Philadelphia. The question was whether she really wanted Conrad or just had a crush on him.

  Damn a problem you couldn’t shoot or whip into submission anyway, she thought as she dismounted and led the horses into the stable.

  Making arrangements with the elderly proprietor to care for them didn’t take long. Then she asked, “What’s the best hotel in town?”

  “That’d be the Holloway House, miss,” the old-timer told her. He pointed to an impressive two-story structure on the other side of the street in the next block. “Right over yonder. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks.” Rebel left the saddles at the stable but took her saddlebags and rifle with her, along with Conrad’s Winchester. If the Holloway House was the best hotel in Ophir, she was confident that he would be staying there as well. Nothing but the best for the great Conrad Browning. She would find out his room number and give him the Winchester. Dumb greenhorn would forget his head if it wasn’t screwed on.

  As she approached the hotel, she saw Pamela Tarleton going into the place with an older man who had to be the father she and Conrad had mentioned. Clark Tarleton, that was his name, Rebel recalled. He was an impressive-looking gent, for an Easterner. Unlike most of them, he appeared to have done at least a little honest work at some time in his life.

  Rebel hung back, giving the Tarletons time to get inside the hotel and go up to their rooms or into the dining room or wherever they were going. All she knew was that she didn’t want to run into Pamela again—especially not while she was holding a gun. The temptation might be too great to plant a few shots around that hussy’s feet and make her dance.

  When Rebel went into the hotel lobby a few minutes later, she didn’t see any sign of Pamela or Tarleton. She walked up to the desk, noticing the way the clerk’s eyes widened at the sight of the two rifles she was carrying.

  “I’d like a room,” she said.

  “Ah . . . yes, ma’am. Just for yourself?”

  “I ain’t got a husband, and I ain’t expecting any gentlemen callers,” she snapped. “So, yeah, just for me.”

  “Of course.” The clerk turned the registration book around. “If you’ll just sign in . . .”

  Rebel looked around for someplace to put the Winchesters, and wound up laying them on the desk. She
scratched her name in the book and put “Fort Davis, Texas” in the place for her home address, since that was the closest settlement to the ranch she and her brothers had owned. As it was now, she didn’t really have a home. She didn’t know where she would go or what she would wind up doing. All she was sure of was that she intended to stick close to Conrad until she was sure her brothers and cousin no longer represented a threat to him. She had decided to come with him because she knew that Frank Morgan could take care of himself. Conrad likely couldn’t.

  “The rate is one dollar a night,” the clerk said as Rebel shoved the book back over to him.

  “You got a mighty high opinion of your rooms, don’t you?”

  “I don’t set the prices, ma’am,” the clerk said with a shrug. “Ophir is a boomtown, after all. Everything costs more here.”

  “I reckon if you charge that much, the hotel ought to provide a hot bath too,” she said, suddenly wanting to get some of the trail dust off and change into clean clothes.

  The clerk smiled. “Actually, we do have a bathhouse just out back, and I believe there’s a fresh tub of hot water that’s been recently drawn. There should be an attendant back there to help you.”

  “Much obliged.” Rebel picked up the key the clerk put on the counter. “Reckon I’ll clean up first, then go upstairs.”

  “As you wish, ma’am.”

  “I wish you’d quit calling me ma’am. Never did like the sound of it.”

  Without any more conversation, she picked up the rifles and headed down a hallway toward the rear door of the hotel, looking for that bathhouse.

  She found the windowless building just outside the hotel’s back door. There were two zinc-plated tubs with a canvas partition between them. Canvas curtains could be pulled across in front of each tub to give the bathers some privacy. A heavy set Mexican woman perched on a stool just inside the bathhouse door greeted Rebel with a smile.

  “The señorita wishes to bathe?”

  “Darned right I do,” Rebel said.