“Do you get many like them?” Cleve asked the liveryman.
“Lately I do.”
“Meader was in the eatery this morning with a man called Mike Bruza. Know him?”
“He’s a mean ’un. Got about as much sense as a loco steer. Just right, though, fer what he’s used fer.”
“We didn’t aim to cause you trouble,” Dillon said. “But I wasn’t giving up this horse. He’s a beaut.” He rubbed the buckskin’s nose and the horse nuzzled his shoulder.
“Feller gets used to trouble these days.”
“Did you know the old man who was killed last night?” Cleve asked. “We heard talk about it this morning.”
“Ever’body knew Cletus Fuller. He was a old-timer ’round here. Give ya the shirt off his back if ya asked for it.”
“It was a mean way to kill a man in order to rob him.”
“Bullfoot! Cletus didn’t have nothin’ to be robbed of.”
“Someone must have had it in for him.”
“Mister, there be two sides in this here town. A man’s either for the big muckety-muck or ag’in’ ’im. Me, I be doin’ my dangest to straddle the fence.”
“Good idea.”
“You plannin’ on stayin’ long?” the liveryman asked hopefully.
“Long enough to buy some land. Who do we see?”
“Harrumpt! Ain’t but one man to see. Forsythe.”
“Is he the only land man? How about the banker?”
“Banker don’t go to the outhouse without askin’ Forsythe. There ain’t a lot of sellin’ goin’ on, ’cepts to Forsythe. He’s buyin’ up ever’thin’ in sight.”
“Must have a lot of ready cash.”
“Don’t need a lot at what he’s payin’.”
“Where can we find him?”
“He’s got a land office up over the bank. What I hear is he does most of his business at home.”
“Where is that?”
“A street over. Big house with two brick chimneys. Fanciest house in town. Ya can’t miss it.”
“You got a couple of stalls we can rent?”
“Ya bet. Bring ’em on in.”
After leaving the livery, Cleve and Dillon walked back up to the main street, crossed over and headed for “the fanciest house in town.”
* * *
In the fanciest house, Kyle Forsythe stood before Marshal Lyster and Mike Bruza, who were seated in two wooden chairs next to the wall of his study. Forsythe was at his best when he was on his feet looking down at his underlings. His anger was directed at Mike.
“Goddammit! I told you to leave the Gates girl and her brother alone. As soon as Del’s back is turned, you’re over there. What the hell did you do to her?”
“I asked for coffee. She threw the pot at me.”
Kyle’s lips curled. “I suppose that was all there was to it.”
“All that mattered.” Mike grimaced when his burned back touched the back of the chair.
“I doubt if Del will think it was all that mattered.” Kyle sat down in the swivel chair by the rolltop desk, leaned back and laced his fingers over his abdomen. “You know what happened to Cliff Miller.”
“That killer shot him in the back.”
“You’re wrong. He got it right between the eyes where you’ll get it if you bother Bonnie Gates. Del’s got a hard-on for that woman.”
“Goddammit! It was her fault. I’ll be walking spraddled for a month. If I hadn’t moved back when I did, the bitch would’a ruint me.”
“What a pity. You’d have to give up screwing that skinny whore down at Flo’s.”
“The closer the bone the better the meat, I always say. A man takes his pleasure where he can get it.”
“Don’t expect me to interfere when Del comes looking for you.”
“I can handle ’im.”
“Like you handled old Fuller?” Kyle’s hands went to the arms of the chair and he sneered at Mike.
“I didn’t do that.”
“Who did?”
“Greg Meader. I told him to find out what the old man knew about where that Anderson woman went. He got hisself carried away and went too far.”
Kyle looked at Mike without speaking for so long that the man began to fidget. Finally he spoke to Lyster.
“What about the two gunmen at the café?”
“They won’t give no trouble. I told ’em to get outta town.”
“Who were they?”
“Texans riding through, I think.”
“I don’t pay you to think.”
Lyster’s jaws turned red under the rebuke.
“They’re gone. I saw them ride out.”
Kyle lifted the lid of his cigar box, let it fall and shouted: “Ruth!”
“Yes.” The woman’s voice came from outside the door.
“My cigar box is empty.”
“I’ll get another one.”
A minute later, Ruth DeVary came into the room, keeping her back turned to the men in the chairs, she set a box of cigars on Kyle’s desk. He looked up at her and smiled.
Ruth left the room quickly, her eyes down, her head turned to the side. Both she and Kyle failed to see Mike’s elbow nudge Lyster.
“All right.” Forsythe left the word hanging and lit a cigar. “What do we have?”
Mike answered. “Fourteen men waiting over near Cedar Bend. With me, Greg Meader and Lyster, seventeen.”
“If I ride out to the Larkspur who’ll keep peace here?” Lyster blustered.
Forsythe ignored him. “We’ll wait till Del gets back. He’s worth ten of your so-called gunmen.”
Mike’s face reddened and he ground his teeth. “If he don’t have his mind on pussy,” he muttered.
The loud clap of the brass door knocker sounded. Forsythe gave Mike a disgusted look and shouted:
“Ruth, see who it is.” Then, “You two get out of here. And stay away from the Gates woman and her brother. I don’t want any trouble with Del. It seems I’m going to have to depend on him to get things done.”
* * *
Dillon’s mind was too occupied to notice and appreciate the deer heads etched in the thick beveled glass of the double door. He was searching his memory for information about the man he was about to meet.
“The bastard!” Dillon muttered.
Cleve looked at him sharply. “Want to back out? This isn’t something you have to do.”
“Hell, no! I want to see the son of a bitch.”
“Don’t forget the job we have to do.”
“I’ll give nothing away . . . yet.”
The door opened. A neatly dressed woman stood there. Both men were startled to see that she had a dark bruise on her cheekbone and the corner of her eye was swollen shut. However, she smiled and greeted them politely.
“Good morning.”
“Mornin’, ma’am.” As Cleve spoke, they took off their hats. “We’d like to see Mr. Forsythe about buying some land.”
“Won’t you step in. He’s busy at the moment, but you can wait here in the foyer and I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Ruth opened the door and stepped back to allow them to enter. Cleve and Dillon shared a questioning look. After closing the door she walked down the hallway that divided the lower floor of the house and stopped at an open doorway. She hesitated, evidently waiting for her presence to be acknowledged.
“Someone to see you about buying some land, Colonel.”
“Send them in. These gentlemen are leaving.”
The woman beckoned. Dillon and Cleve walked down the hall and were about to step into the room but the doorway was blocked by Marshal Lyster. Mike Bruza stood behind him.
“Hello, again,” Dillon said pleasantly. Then to Mike, “How are your burns? That hot coffee didn’t get to your little old peanut, did it?”
“None a yore goddamn business!”
“Well, then, how about your back?” Dillon raised his brows.
“Listen to me, you smart-mouthed—”
“I th
ought I told you fellers to get outta town.” Lyster interrupted with a rasp of authority in his voice, his eyes darting to Forsythe, who was still seated in the swivel chair.
“Ya advised us,” Cleve said calmly. “Is it against the law not to take yore advice?”
“We don’t put up with slick gunmen in this town.”
“We understand that, marshal,” Dillon replied, with his hands at his waist. He teetered back on his heels and grinned down at the shorter man. “That’s why we ran Greg Meader out of town for you. Did you know that his face is on a wanted poster?”
“Not on any poster I’ve got.”
“Too bad. There’s a two-hundred-dollar reward—dead or alive.”
“Then why didn’t you kill him?”
“You’d a liked that. When the reward came in a couple months from now you’d a had yourself a high old time on money I earned.”
“I’ll be keepin’ my eye on both you fellers,” Lyster said threateningly, and moved to go out the door. “One wrong move, and I’ll lock you up.”
“You’d better get ya a better jail than what you got.”
“It’d hold you.”
Cleve knew Dillon continued to bait the marshal because he was nervous about facing Forsythe.
“I’d not mind a bit being locked up with Miss Gates. You goin’ to put us both in that little old cracker box?”
“What about Miss Gates?” This came from the colonel, rising from his chair. “You threatening to jail Miss Gates?”
“Naw. He’s . . . just shootin’ off his mouth, Colonel.”
“Get out . . . both of you. I’ll see to you later if Del don’t beat me to it.”
Cleve’s eyes honed in on Forsythe. He saw only a faint resemblance between this man and the Yankee captain who had been in charge of the troops assigned to guard Judge Van Winkle some eighteen years ago when his train joined the freight-wagon train crossing Indian Territory. Forsythe was heavier now; his hair was thinner on top and gray at the temples, as were his mustache and short beard. Cleve doubted if the man remembered him. At that time Forsythe had considered himself far above the freighters and had paid them scant attention.
Cleve glanced at Dillon. He was looking at everything in the room, except Forsythe.
“Name’s Stark.” Cleve held out his hand. “The young feller here is my sidekick. He and Bruza didn’t hit it off too well this mornin’.”
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Stark. You, too, young man. Have a seat.”
Dillon was staring out the window and never offered his hand. He remained standing while Cleve took the chair vacated by Lyster.
“The marshal told me about the set-to at the café. Bruza gets to feeling his oats at times.”
“Where we come from ladies are treated with respect.”
“And where is that?”
“We came up from Kansas.”
Kyle glanced at Dillon standing beside the window and frowned.
“I invited you to sit down.”
“I choose to stand.” Dillon bit out the words, turned and stared at Kyle with hard blue eyes.
“Then suit yourself.”
“I usually do.”
Kyle looked at him for a moment with a look that had intimidated men much older than this one. It didn’t work. Dillon stared back. Kyle shrugged and turned to Cleve.
“My housekeeper said you wanted to buy land. What do you have in mind?”
“What’s available?”
“It’s a big country out there.”
“Do you have a map?”
Kyle went to the far wall and loosened the strings that held a rolled-up canvas. When let down it showed a large map of central Montana Territory. Cleve moved closer to study the map, but Dillon backed away from the colonel. Anger and resentment ate at him. Here in this room was the man he had despised from the moment he had learned about him. He ached to slam his fist into that arrogant face. Cleve’s voice came from across the room, and Dillon tried to focus on the reason he and Cleve had come here.
“Point out the sections not already taken.”
“Any of this area. The bank will finance, but with a sizable amount of money down.”
“Where is the land set aside for the Sioux?”
“There’s not many Sioux in the area. They’ve moved out since the Little Big Horn battle in ’76.”
“How about the section called Larkspur?”
“It’s no longer available.”
“That’s a big section. Looks like it was owned by two parties.” Cleve put his head close to the map and squinted to read the small print.
“Fellow named Anderson had most of it.”
“Who owns the part that extends up into the mountains? ’Pears to me this land is boxed in by Anderson’s.”
“Fellow named Lenning owns this chunk. He’ll be giving it up when the new owners take over the Larkspur.”
“Who are they?” Cleve asked casually.
“A group of investors here and in Bozeman.”
“I may go see if they’re interested in selling. I’m fronting for a Kansas City banker who’s sending up a herd of longhorns.”
“Good grazing land over around Miles City. Land is opening up north of Helena, too.”
“He wants an area here along the Yellowstone. Are you sure the Larkspur isn’t to be had?”
“Not a chance. New owners will be taking possession in the next few days.”
“How about Lenning? Will he sell?”
“That land would be no good for what you want. You’d have to cross the Larkspur to get to it. Besides, Larkspur controls the water.”
Cleve turned away from the map to see his young friend’s eyes riveted on Forsythe and decided they had better leave before Dillon exploded. Not that it mattered much now, but it would be helpful if they could keep up the pretense a little longer.
“Well, that’s that. Thanks for your time.” Cleve prodded Dillon ahead of him out the door and down the hallway, aware that Forsythe was close behind them.
“Sorry I couldn’t help you.” The colonel opened the door and stood aside.
Dillon paused, turned, and looked at Forsythe with an expression of searing contempt.
“I just bet you are.”
“What did you say your name was?” Kyle asked, puzzled by the dislike evident on the young man’s face.
“Didn’t say.”
“Why not? You ashamed of it?” Kyle’s temper began to simmer.
“Proud of it. Just didn’t think it any of your goddamn business.”
“Then get out of my house and don’t come back.”
“Oh, I’ll be back, Colonel! You can bet your sorry life on it.”
Dillon followed Cleve out the door. He had no more than cleared it when Forsythe slammed it so hard the doorframe shook.
“Goddamn, rotten, sonofabitchin’ piece of horse-dung,” Dillon muttered.
“Cool down, son. He ain’t worth gettin’ all het up over.”
“I wanted to knock that smirky, superior look off his face. I wanted to break his . . . rotten neck.”
“If things work out right, we’ll get him where it really hurts. Let’s nose around and see what we can find out.”
* * *
“Impudent young pup!” Forsythe snarled. “If I had him under my command for a month or two, he’d learn some manners. He’d learn to treat his superiors with respect. Ruth!”
“I’m here, Kyle.” Ruth came halfway down the open stairway and stood beside the railing.
“What are you doin’ up there? Hiding?”
“I’m not exactly proud of my face, Colonel.”
“Then take care that you don’t provoke me again. What did they say when they came in?”
“Who?”
“Stupid bitch! The two men who just left.”
Ruth’s face flamed. Pride kept her from cowering.
“They said they wanted to see you about some land.”
“Is that all?”
“That’s al
l.”
“Go get Lee.”
“You want me to go out on the street? People are sure to ask what happened to my face.”
He looked at her for a full minute. She refused to look away.
“Get that idiot that hangs out back in the carriage house. Tell him to be damn quick. Another thing, Ruth. I’ve seen you sneaking him plates of food out the back door. He’s been eating as good as I have. It’s going to stop.”
“I wasn’t sneaking. You don’t pay him, Kyle. He works for his board.”
“Then throw him a bone once in a while.”
Kyle Forsythe flopped down in the swivel chair. He had an uneasy feeling about Stark and the insolent young pup. Their story didn’t ring true. If a Kansas City banker was interested in bringing a herd of longhorns up here, he would have heard about it.
They were hired guns. But who had hired them?
Chapter Fifteen
On his way back from the bunkhouse where he had shaved and put on a clean shirt for the burial, Buck paused to look at the black scarf tied to a nail beside the door. It was but another reminder of the differences between him and the lady who lived in his house. It would never have occurred to him to put the symbol of death on the door. But Kristin had thought it proper and had put it there out of respect for her uncle.
Even though he had cared deeply for Moss and was grieving for him, Buck would have simply wrapped him in a blanket and buried him. It was Kristin who had insisted that he be washed and dressed in black britches and a freshly ironed white shirt. She had combed his hair and placed his hands on his chest.
During the night Gilly had put together a burial box out of old wagon plank. The box had been lined with a blanket before Moss was placed in it. The coffin was now in the wagon Gilly was bringing around to the back of the house.
“Kristin, we’re ready to go.”
Dressed in her black skirt, her white blouse covered with a black wool shawl, Kristin came out into the sunlight clutching a Bible. Her face was pale and her eyes, dark-ringed from the sleepless night, were clouded with fatigue. She had wrapped her shiny braids into a crown and pinned them atop her head. She was so pretty, even in her sorrow, that Buck’s eyes were continually drawn back to her.
Larkspur Page 18