When Dingell had returned from a fast round trip to Montclair, he waved his assay report under the noses of customers in Shanagan’s. Shanagan provided a round of drinks for the house on the strength of the report. Dingell, who seldom came to town, made up for it that evening. He was thirty, with wiry red hair, a much lighter shade of red than Farrell’s. Freckles peppered his fair skin.
After two quick drinks he got Shanagan’s ear. “Now that I know the mine will prosper, one of the first things I’ll be doin’ is to be askin’ for the hand of Miss Melody.”
“Miss Melody?” Shanagan said with a lift of brows. “She’s a married woman.”
Dingell’s freckles stood out like coffee grounds flung onto a white tablecloth. “I didn’t know,” he mumbled. He remembered her fondly when she first came out to visit her Uncle Josh. But since Josh had died he had been so tied up with his mine he hadn’t seen her. Shanagan leaned over his bar and spoke quietly.
“Her husband’s not much, though. He hangs around here.”
“That’s sad news you’re a tellin’ me, mister.”
“But they haven’t lived together for a spell. Don’t reckon they ever will again. At least that’s the story.”
Dingell brightened. “Well, now, that’s different.” He had never even introduced himself to the girl, only admired her from afar. He had intended to keep it that way until news of his mine would eventually be positive. “I know that divorce ain’t a word people like to hear, but it sure comes in handy at times.”
The Bluegate school was holding a dance to raise money for a new room. Tickets were two dollars, three dollars less than for the Roman carnival at the warehouse, which no one mentioned. Men with a bent for carpentry were asked to volunteer. Lumber would be donated by affluent citizens. Money from the sale of tickets would be used for desks and books and odds and ends.
When Melody heard about it, she said they should go. Lassiter was dubious until he got to thinking about the Black Arrow Mine. It was a good bet that Dingell would be there. A chance to talk business with him.
On the evening of the dance, the schoolyard was crowded with rigs of all descriptions. The schoolhouse windows danced with lamplight and the strains of music could be heard.
Lassiter, wearing his black suit, and Melody, in pale green, arrived with some of the Northguard crew. They had the first dance. Melody was light on her feet and seemed to enjoy herself. Lassiter kept his eyes open for Dingell and finally saw him after a dance was concluded. He came threading his way through the crowd to where Lassiter stood with Melody. Flushing, so that his freckles seemed more prominent than usual, Dingell introduced himself, then boldly asked Melody for a dance. She turned to Lassiter, who said, “By all means. Glad to meet you at last, Dingell,” he added enthusiastically. “I’ve seen you on the street but we’ve never had a drink. You’ve been keeping pretty close to your mine, I understand. And speaking of the mine, I’d like to have a talk . . .”
But Dingell was paying no attention. He had eyes only for Melody, who danced away in his arms. They made an attractive couple, Lassiter decided. Dingell was probably five foot ten, with stocky build, but no fat. His checkered suit fit him well. He seemed to be a good dancer. Melody’s head was back and she was laughing at something Dingell had said. A good sign, Lassiter thought.
Lassiter stood looking at the crowd of dancers who were enjoying a waltz played by piano, fiddle, and cornet. He saw Edgerton, the banker, dancing with his plump wife. And Loland of the Mercantile with a bony woman. Bishop of the saddle shop danced with Miss Ames, one of the schoolteachers.
He was aware of a ripple of excitement at the far corner of the room where Kane Farrell had just entered. With him was a stunning brunette—Roma. Hardly a man in the big room could keep his eyes off her ripe figure in green, the dress a darker shade than the one Melody wore. He saw her eyes dart about as if searching for someone. Finally they settled on him. He gave her a nod, which she ignored, turned her back on him and hugged Farrell’s arm as if to show where her affections lay. The little fool, Lassiter thought. Sight of the arrogant Farrell started all the old hatreds churning.
Although guns were supposed to be checked at the cloakroom door, Lassiter would bet a double eagle against a centavo that Farrell wore a gun under the coat of his splendidly tailored light tan suit. Lassiter wore his as well, having vowed not to be unarmed when within stinging distance of that human scorpion.
During the evening, Lassiter danced with many of the ladies, twice more with Melody, but mostly she was appropriated by Brad Dingell.
There were occasional outbursts as men lost their tempers over such subjects as the outcome of the war, how to handle the threat of rustlers or the crooked politicians in Washington.
If fist fights erupted, they were broken up by Bo Dancur and his deputy. Two men were marched off to jail by the deputy; Dancur seemed to be having too good a time with the ladies to bother with the technical side of county business. He silenced one obstreperous male with a pistol barrel across the temple.
Whenever Farrell, with Roma in his arms, danced past Lassiter, his green eyes glowed wickedly and the familiar superior smile was on his lips. If Roma condescended to look at him at all, it was to glare. Lassiter was sorry about that. Her enmity, he assumed, stemmed from the fact he had refused to bring her with him to Bluegate.
When Melody was claimed by Brad Dingell for another dance, Lassiter found Bo Dancur at his elbow. “You know why Farrell hasn’t squashed you under his heel?” the sheriff asked slyly.
“Haven’t given it one damned thought,” Lassiter lied. He saw ladies of marriageable age sizing up the two of them; both eligible bachelors, Dancur, the sheriff, Lassiter of Northguard Freight Company, an exciting man of mystery. Those who considered Lassiter’s reputation to be unsavory, fully expected him to one day finish off Mrs. Vanderson’s husband so he could have the lady and the freight line all to himself.
Those who knew Lassiter better would say that one day he’d be gone and Bluegate would never hear of him again unless he just happened to drift through sometime in the future.
“Farrell’s let you alone ’cause some folks around here look on you as kind of a hero, for the way you stood up for yourself against Blackshear an’Marsh.”
“That so?”
“Otherwise, Farrell would’ve had you in a box long before this.” Dancur gave a faint laugh and walked away.
A full moon showed its yellow disk behind the trees at the far edge of the schoolyard.
Lassiter was determined to have a talk with Dingell about giving Northguard a contract for hauling Black Arrow silver ore to the stamp mill being built at Montclair. So far, the miner had been so engrossed with Melody, he hadn’t had a chance.
As this was going through his mind he saw Farrell, at a far corner of the room in earnest conversation with Vanderson. He saw Farrell place a hand on Vanderson’s shoulder and whisper something. Vanderson licked his lips. It seemed to Lassiter that Farrell was asking Vanderson to do something distasteful. Or dangerous.
Suddenly he felt reckless. If there’s anything planned, let’s get it over with, he thought.
Lassiter made a great show of going outside to smoke a cigar, standing longer than necessary at the side door, then leisurely going down a short flight of steps to the schoolyard. On the rear of the dancehall there were few windows and only faint lamplight spilled out. Many tall bushes grew next to the building. He heard a soft sound at his back, as he began to stroll. Suddenly he ducked into a shadowy blob of shrubbery.
Vanderson came into view, peering ahead into the darkness. He gave a grunt of surprise as Lassiter stepped out into full view. Faint lamplight shone on the barrel of the gun he held in his right hand.
“Stalking your prey?” Lassiter said softly, and tore the weapon from Vanderson’s fingers. But in so doing, the weapon was discharged. The gunshot sent echoes booming across the schoolyard. Inside the music died with a discordant squeal.
Vanderson tried to run
, but Lassiter grabbed him.
“You’re breaking my arm,” Vanderson yelled, as Lassiter twisted his arm up behind his back.
People came pouring from the schoolhouse even before echoes of the gunshot were dying. Melody seemed in a state of shock as she saw Lassiter in the light of a lantern Dancur had snatched up.
“What the hell’s goin’ on, Lassiter?” the sheriff demanded.
The lantern glow fell over Vanderson’s stricken face, as Lassiter held out the revolver for Dancur to see. “A new one,” Lassiter pointed out. “Even got his initials on the grips. The other one I took away from him when he tried to shoot me in the back the other day.”
In the stunned silence, Vanderson sobbed, “Every time I turn around, you’re at my throat. You stole my wife. Now you’re trying to kill me . . .”
“Hold it,” Lassiter warned. Men were streaming up, faces excited; nothing like a good fight to liven up a school dance. “It’s Vanderson’s gun out. Not mine.”
“You tried to kill me with my own gun.”
Lassiter’s hard laugh cut through the buzz of voices. Women, throwing on shawls because of the crisp evening air, were crowding out.
“If you got a dollar for every lie you tell,” Lassiter said roughly, “you’d be sitting on a hill of gold.” What he said next, brought a gasp from the onlookers. Lassiter tightened his grip. “How much is Farrell paying you to bring me down?”
Vanderson’s lips fluttered, but Dancur rescued him from having to reply. “There’s no cause for you to go accusin’ Farrell just because . . .”
“Did I hear my name mentioned?” Farrell sang out jauntily. The crowd parted so he could get through, Roma clinging to his arm. “What’s the trouble, Sheriff?”
Dancur looked ill-at-ease, a big man squirming in his black suit, the kind of attire known locally either for “marryin’, dancin’, or buryin’.” “Lassiter claims Vanderson was after him . . .”
“Lies!”Vanderson cried, tears streaming down his face.
Dancur leaned down to smell Vanderson’s breath. “You’re drunk, that’s the main trouble. Go inside an’ have one of the ladies pour you a bucket of black coffee.” He gave him a shove and Vanderson staggered toward the steps.
What sent a cold rage through Lassiter was Farrell’s laughter; the mockery in his green eyes shining in the lantern light. Lassiter handed Vanderson’s gun to Dancur.
Lassiter stood tall, thumbs hooked in the wide leather belt with the silver buckle. “Maybe we should settle everything, Farrell!” His voice rang into the star-filled sky. “Get it over with!”
Farrell, a few feet away, stood perfectly still. It seemed no one drew a breath.
A pale Melody put a hand to her mouth and cried, “Lassiter, no! Don’t do it!”
But the two men continued to glare at each other.
Roma suddenly leaned into the cone of lanternlight to point at Lassiter’s right hand. She had to make two tries to get her voice straightened out. “It’s too soon after the fight, Lassiter. You wouldn’t stand a chance with Farrell.” Managing a trace of scorn in the last of it. “Your poor right hand is swollen.”
Farrell looked at her, then back at Lassiter. “A habit of yours, ducking behind a skirt.” Turning on his heel, he took Roma’s arm and walked her toward the steps.
When Lassiter started to follow, Dancur grabbed him. “I want you to leave this dance. I order you to leave!” “Wait a minute . . .”
“Folks has come here tonight to have a good time. Not to see somebody get bloodied up. . . .”
“Let’s go, Lassiter,” Melody said urgently. She stood alone, Dingell no longer at her side. He had gone back inside at her urging.
Melody hurried into the schoolhouse to get her coat.
Dancur drew a deep breath. “Had you faced up to Farrell tonight, you’d be layin’ there dead.”
Lassiter swallowed at the possibility, but he said, “Maybe not.”
“Don’t like to see you hang around an’ pester Mrs. Vanderson. She belongs with her husband, no matter what kind of fella he might be. Ain’t no woman in Bluegate ever got a dee-vorce an’ we don’t want to start. Her an’ her husband’ll git back together, long as there ain’t no temptations. It’s you I’m talkin’about, Lassiter.”
“One thing she doesn’t deserve is to have to live out her days with Vance Vanderson.”
“I tell you this, Lassiter. Any twelve men in this county would vote a hangrope for anybody that would kill a man just to git to his wife.”
“Who’s been filling your head with this kind of mule shidd? Farrell?”
Dancur reddened in the lanternlight. “Not Farrell or anybody else. Just statin’ facts. Now if you’ll oblige by leavin’ the dance so that there won’t be no more trouble . . .”
But Lassiter had walked away. Tension was beginning to drain as he went to get the wagon. Tonight he had tempted fate by boldly walking outside when he sensed Vanderson might be gunning for him. A stupid move on his part. He’d let anger and frustration sway his better judgement.
Those of the Northguard crew who had come with them, rode behind the buckboard Lassiter was driving so Melody wouldn’t have to eat dust. A perfect night for an ambush, Lassiter was thinking. He drove with rifle within reach, but nothing happened.
When they got home, Melody said she was too wound up to sleep. She wanted to talk. Lassiter sat with her at the big table in the office and sipped the fresh coffee she had quickly made.
“That trouble between you and Vance tonight,” she said, putting down her cup. “I wish he’d go away. And stay away.”
“Seems he won’t.”
“He’s such a fool. I’ve told him I want nothing more to do with him.”
“Farrel’s got him under his heel.”
“For what reason?” Then her gray eyes widened. “Or is it true, the ugly rumor I overheard tonight.”
“Don’t listen to rumors, ugly or otherwise . . .”
“A rumor that he has been promised a large sum of money to . . . to eliminate someone. Could that someone possibly be you?” She ended in a gasp.
“I told you, don’t listen to things like that. It’s just talk. Nothing else.” She had enough on her mind already without adding worry for him to the burden.
“You take it all so lightly. You’re even smiling.” She leaned across the table to study him in the lamplight. A piece of kindling popped in the stove where she had heated the coffee.
“I just don’t want you to get yourself upset. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a spell, you know.”
To change the subject, he asked about her girlhood. Her eyes suddenly had a distant look. “My mother denied me few things after my father died. She spoiled me terribly. But since she’s been gone, I’ve adjusted. More or less.”
“Tell me about yourself. You speak well, so you’ve had some education.”
“Not much. But I had access to many books when I was growing up. What I read soaked into me, I guess.”
They talked on. It was long past midnight. A faint breeze whistled through a crack in the wall. He finally got the subject swung back to Northguard. Mainly to the Black Arrow Mine above Bluegate.
“I planned to have a talk with Dingell tonight about us getting a freight contract. But that damned sheriff . . .” Lassiter’s lips tightened. “Oh, never mind.”
“I suppose it had something to do with your trouble with Vance.”
“A little,” Lassiter admitted, but didn’t go into detail. He stood up. “I’ve got to get to bed. I’ve got to get up early to take a load up to High Pass.
“But tomorrow is Sunday. You can stay in bed. She reached over and clasped his hands in hers. “Don’t leave me tonight,” she whispered hoarsely.
“I’ll be within shouting distance if you need me.”
“I want you closer than that. I want you . . . with me.”
He debated. Her Uncle Herm was probably on his way. And that meant that Lassiter, drifter, seeker of ne
w horizons, would be out of her life. So why not? he asked himself.
“I won’t leave you tonight,” he whispered.
“I swear my legs are made of India Rubber,” she said with a shaky laugh. “You’ll have to carry me into the bedroom.”
He did, kicking the door shut behind him, lowering her gently to the bed.
“So much more comfort than that night under the wagon up on the mountain,” she said with a catch in her voice. “But I loved every minute of it.”
“So did I.” He went out and got the lamp and brought it into the bedroom. This time he locked the door, sat down and pulled off his boots.
“Take off my shoes for me, will you, Lassiter?” She lay spraddle-legged on the bed, her golden head turned on the pillow.
He did as she asked, then she whispered, “Now my stockings, my petticoat . . .”
His fingers flew to do her bidding, warm against her flesh. But he needed no further directions and in a space of seconds she lay gleaming upon the bed.
Chapter Twenty-five
At breakfast Monday morning he told her they should leave for Dingell’s Black Arrow Mine. “If we move fast, we might grab a contract to haul his ore to Montclair. . . .”
“But isn’t it closer to Bitterroot? They’re building a smelter and stamp mill and I’ve heard they’re going to accept outside business.”
“Closer, but steeper. I’ve been figuring the costs. We can freight Dingell’s ore for nearly half of what it would cost him to make the haul into the mountains.”
He offered more details that he had worked out over the weekend. Then he suggested she don her prettiest dress for the visit to Dingell’s mine.
“You just want to show me off,” she said with a dimpled smile.
A Grave for Lassiter Page 18