A Wanted Man

by Susan Kay Law

  “Oh, that’s Mr. Kirkwood. Artemus. He’s my…well, I guess you could call him my new apprentice. Maybe my assistant? Which do you think sounds better? It’s so nice to have someone to wash brushes and stretch canvases, you know.”

  “You can come,” Red decided. “But he’s gotta stay.”

  “I could never leave him behind!” she cried. “It just wouldn’t do. Daddy would never let me go with all of you unescorted. It would be unseemly.”

  “Huh.” He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Seems to me you already been running around with him unescorted.”

  “Oh, that’s different.” She tittered. Tittered. Dear God, what had he released in her? “Don’t be ridiculous. Artemus is no threat. At least not to me.”

  Red frowned at Sam, who grinned at him so hard his cheeks hurt. He’d rather have pulled out a gun and started shooting.

  Instead, he dropped one shoulder, leaned in Red’s direction…and winked.

  Red darn near strangled on his tongue. He scrambled back, nearly dropping his gun in the process.

  “Collis!” Red bellowed at the youngest of the hands, a chubby, baby-faced boy all of twenty or so, dressed in solid black like he thought it would make him look tough. “Open the gate.”

  “But—”

  “I said open the gate.”

  He scrambled to obey, though he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

  “Jonce, Collis, make sure they get to the main house,” Red ordered.

  Faces glum, they fetched two horses from the four ground-tethered twenty yards down the fence.

  “Come on, then,” Jonce said unhappily. He trotted perhaps ten yards before he looked back to see if they were coming. “Need help?” he said, lip curling in disdain.

  “Oh, no,” Laura said serenely, as though she could afford to be pleasant now that she’d gotten her way. “We got this far, didn’t we? And truly, Artemus only fell off twice. He’s really getting so much better. I’m so proud of him.”

  Collis gave Sam a disgusted look as he swung his bay around to bring up the rear. Sam tapped his heels against Harry’s side, too hard, for which he mentally begged the horse’s pardon, and lurched forward, clinging to the reins as if they were the only things holding him in the saddle.

  The gate clanged shut behind him.

  No going back now. His focus narrowed, the steady, intense awareness that came over him when he entered into a difficult situation, the preternatural alertness that kept him alive more than once.

  If only he could have done this without Laura’s help.

  But then she turned in her seat and shot him a triumphant smile. The woman was having a wonderful time, clearly thoroughly pleased with her accomplishment. The instant he got her alone, he thought, he would thank her properly, and occupied himself quite nicely for a few moments planning the best way to do that. Until he had to shift uncomfortably in the saddle and remembered he most certainly could not thank her like that.

  They were traveling south, the sun sinking beneath the high ground to their right, Jonce in the lead and Collis at Laura’s side. The land they traveled rose and fell gently, but all around them it surged higher and higher, folding into mountains. They weren’t high enough to hold snow at their summits, not this late in the season, blunt-topped instead of the brutal peaks they’d rolled past in the Wyoming Territories.

  Sam tried to locate and memorize landmarks along the way. There weren’t many—a line shack that listed against a narrow ledge, a cluster of sumac, a sharp, dry gulch. He supposed it was possible that Griff had simply gotten lost somewhere out here; there was a confusing sameness to the landscape, a dun monotony. But that seemed a lousy end for a man who’d survived the brutality of Andersonville. It should have taken a lot to kill Griff, more than just wandering around disoriented until his stamina gave out.

  Besides, if it were that simple, why would they have tried so hard to keep Sam from looking around? Unless there was something else to hide. That was always a possibility. It would be a mistake to get so focused on Griff that he overlooked other explanations.

  Laura kept up a steady chatter, bless her. A random spill of comments and complaints, tales of the East that the men could have absolutely no interest in, a torrent of words that had their eyes glazing over. But now and then she’d throw in a question, offhanded, careless queries that would never have aroused a moment’s suspicion, the kind of things Sam would have asked if he could have done so without drawing attention.

  And they answered, because she was such an obviously harmless bit of fluff, and they’d rather satisfy her curiosity than have her yammering at them about her last trip to Paris, which she’d told them about in such numbing detail that for a second even he believed she’d really been there.

  “So,” she said, just another question in a spill of words, “where’s the mine?”

  That’s my girl, Sam thought. Laura obviously had an untapped talent for deceit.

  “Oh, it’s thatta way.” Collis pointed southeast. “If you’re quiet, an’ there ain’t much wind kicking up, sometimes you can hear the rumble of the stamp mill from the main house.”

  “A stamp mill?”

  “It crushes the ore.”

  “Can I go see it?” She touched the glimmer of gold that encircled her neck. “I like silver. And gold, and diamonds, and…everything that sparkles, really.”

  “I—” He caught a warning glare from Jonce. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Crocker about that, miss.”

  “Good.” She clapped her hands as if it were already settled. “And where does the train go?”

  “It parallels the road for a couple of miles, about a half a mile that way.” He pointed east. “Then, of course, it curves south, toward the mine—”

  “Collis!”

  Collis cleared his throat. “I’m sure Mr. Crocker would prefer to tell you all about it himself.”

  “Well, he’s not here now, is he? And I do so hate to wait for answers.” She smiled prettily, and Collis grinned back, a boy lost to the charms of an accomplished flirt. “Do all you hands live together?”

  “Sure. We’ve got a coupla bunkhouses right near the main house. But you’ll be seeing that soon enough.”

  “And all the mine workers?”

  “Oh, no, they stay out by the mines. We don’t want them around—”

  “Collis!” Jonce yanked on his reins, hauling his mount around. “You go on and lead for a while. I’ll bring up the rear. Wouldn’t want anyone falling behind.”

  That, despite Laura’s best efforts, put paid to the conversation for the next twenty minutes, for Jonce was apparently not so easily led as Collis.

  Smoke curled above a hill, the first sign that they were at last approaching the compound.

  “I’m going ahead to tell ’em we’re coming,” Jonce kicked his horse into a furious gallop, rounding the hill in a cloud of dust as if he couldn’t wait to get away from them. Or, Sam thought, they needed warning of an outsider’s approach.

  The compound nestled snugly into a small valley. A dozen buildings, maybe more. Sam located the bunkhouse, a cookhouse, the stables, all in excellent repair. The main house was a long, rambling, one-story affair, built of logs with a porch that ran the full length. It was the house of a man who wanted what he wanted and didn’t much care what he had to pay to get it.

  The horses in the corral were very fine. Someone had planted trees, spiky evergreens that clustered at the corners of the house but hadn’t grown roof high as of yet. The yard was scraped clean, and he could see dozens of workers: a gardener in the vegetable plot behind the house; two washerwomen bending over a steaming kettle at the far side of what had to be the cookhouse; hands working with the horses, mending a fence that already seemed in good repair, whitewashing a tiny frame structure that was probably a well house.

  Sam had been on many a working ranch. It always showed. In houses that desperately needed a whitewashing because that had to wait for a less busy time, and there was never a less busy t
ime. A torn-up yard because a horse had gotten loose. Broken lumber piled beside the stables because wood was too valuable to throw away but nobody had found a use for it yet. A rusting plow in an overgrown patch of garden, or a drunken cowboy slumped in the shade. Something.

  The Silver Spur was perfect, with the same eerie, unreal feel that the town held, times ten. A stage set of a ranch, where the people were props, not residents. A half dozen peacocks strutted through the yard, their jewel-toned feathers the brightest spots of color in the dusty brown complex.

  “Miss Hamilton!” A man awaited them on the porch, smiling genially around a thin cigar. But he didn’t come out to greet his guests, Sam noted, just waited on his porch for their approach like a king accepting the pilgrimage of his subjects.

  So that’s Haw Crocker, he thought. Not too tall, shoulders as wide as his house, a big mound of a belly that looked solid for all it was round as a hot-air balloon. His hat was broad, his shirt blinding white—too white for a man who worked the land. Obviously Haw Crocker had stopped dirtying those beefy hands a long time ago.

  He waved to one of the young men flanking the broad stairway, who seemed to have no other function but to stand around and wait until Crocker thought up something for them to do. “Help Miss Hamilton down, would ya?”

  Sam leaned toward Jonce, who’d jumped down and handed his reins to another boy who materialized from behind the house. “Aren’t you going to help me down?”

  Jonce scowled. “Swing your leg over and drop. I’m sure you’ll manage.” He jogged toward the porch.

  He had to be more careful about tweaking the man like that, Sam decided. Or he was going to start laughing, and that wouldn’t do.

  Sam dismounted. Another boy appeared, to whom he tossed his reins. He’d much rather have seen to the horse himself than trust it to one of Crocker’s minions, but Artemus Kirkwood wouldn’t bother with such things.

  He made it to the porch just as Laura ascended. Crocker condescended to take one step forward, and her pretty gloved hands were swallowed up in his.

  “Miss Hamilton,” he said, his voice deep, gravelly from too many cigars and too many years in the harsh climate. “I am delighted that you are here. I have not seen your father in ten years, of course—the distance is large, and we are both busy men—but I still consider him one of my dearest friends. And, of course, we’ve had several immensely profitable ventures together.” He chuckled.

  Laura adroitly slipped her hands from his. Her smile was proper, social, giving no hint that she was anything other than a friendly young woman. “It’s very kind of you to have us. The trip was becoming quite tiring.”

  “I did not expect you for a few days. I had instructed the engineer to attach your cars. Surely it must be difficult for you to travel with so few of your things.”

  “Honestly, if I’d had to spend another night in that teeny little car, I was going to go mad. I’m sure I’ll be much more comfortable here. And I’m confident that the Silver Spur will be able to provide adequately for my needs.”

  “I’m sure we will.”

  “Well, of course you will! And your birds are so darling.”

  “They eat the snakes.” He turned to Sam, acknowledging his presence for the first time. “And who is this?”

  “Artemus Kirkwood,” she said, waving him closer. “My apprentice.”

  Crocker raised a thick eyebrow. “Your father allows you to travel alone with him?”

  “Oh, well, what he doesn’t know…” She trailed off, beaming at him. “No, don’t give me that look. You have daughters, I believe?”

  Crocker nodded. “Three of them. All safely married off. And one son that works with me here.”

  “There, you see? I’m sure it’s a reflex reaction on your part, protecting young women from the attentions of men. I appreciate your including me in your concern. But don’t you worry. Artemus has no interest in me beyond the painting.”

  She tugged on the loopy pink ribbon that secured her hat. “But the trip has been quite taxing.” Her shoulders drooped tiredly, her mouth curving down. “Much more exhausting than I’d expected. I’m very thankful for the hospitality.”

  Haw turned toward the door. “Lupe! Please show Miss Hamilton to her quarters.”

  A lovely dark-haired woman in rich blue appeared.

  “This way.”

  “Thank you.” Laura drifted across the porch to the door, then stopped, as if she’d just remembered. “What about Artemus?”

  “Oh.” Sam met Crocker’s frown with a vacant smile. “We’ll find…someplace to put him.”

  “You can put him with the hands,” Laura suggested. “He’d enjoy the experience, I’m sure.”

  Behind him, Jonce and Collis shook their heads so hard they nearly snapped off. Sam had to bite down hard to keep from laughing.

  Smiling, Laura drifted by.

  Crocker had no idea what she was capable of, Sam thought.

  But then, neither had he.

  Chapter 14

  Haw Crocker really knew how to set a table.

  The dining room, a long, soaring rectangle of a room with stripped wood beams at least a foot in diameter, held a table that sat twenty-four with ease. Three young men in dark gray suits served and whisked dishes away with the kind of efficiency that only came from long practice and a drill sergeant of a butler. Platters of sautéed trout in almonds were quickly joined by a huge roast loin of beef, expertly carved and served with browned potatoes.

  There were only seven at dinner, which seemed a terrible waste to Laura. Besides Laura, Sam, and Crocker, his son joined them. Ben was an entirely forgettable young man of about Laura’s age who deferred to his father on everything and spoke only when spoken to, and sometimes not even then. Also in attendance were Crocker’s ranch manager, Carl Fitch, and his wife Adeline, who had their own small house a hundred yards from the main; and a giant of a man introduced only as Clem, who’d mumbled “hello” and had not spoken again the entire dinner.

  “This is lovely,” Laura said, spooning up a delicious apple dumpling, “but you did not have to make such a fuss for us. We have been on the road for so long that anything would have been a great luxury.”

  “Oh, no,” Crocker said. Candlelight gleamed on the smooth dome of his head. His face was deeply lined, as though at one time he’d spent a long time in the sun, but his scalp shone pink, as if it had been a while since he’d had to do so. “I simply enjoy a proper dinner at the end of a long day. Now that you’re here, we’ll begin plans for a special celebration. Saturday, perhaps.”

  She glanced at Sam, who’d been seated across the table from her, limiting their opportunities for communication. He smiled blandly at her.

  “I’m not certain we’ll be here that long,” Laura said.

  “What do you mean, you won’t be here that long?” Crocker dragged his spoon across his plate, scraping up the last bit of cream. “Of course you’re going to be here. I’d never want your Daddy to think that I didn’t take good care o’ you.” He punched Sam, just to his right, on his arm to emphasize his point. Sam winced. “Her daddy and I made a lot of money together, son.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Sam said precisely.

  “Saw you poking around outside before dinner while Miss Hamilton was resting. Don’t you like your room?”

  “Oh, no, my room is quite acceptable.” Crocker frowned, as if he’d expected something a bit more flattering than acceptable. “I’m just…restless sometimes. And curious. And, of course, it is part of my responsibilities to select possible vistas for Miss Hamilton’s projects.”

  “New fellas—” Haw kept smiling, but his gaze had sharpened. “City fellas, shouldn’t be wandering around out here alone. Let me know next time you decide to explore, and I’ll assign somebody to show you around.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I insist,” Haw Crocker said, in a voice that was accustomed to being followed without question.

  “All right, the
n.” Sam nodded. He could no doubt shake his “escort” easily enough if he had to. And perhaps he could pry a bit of information out of the man first.

  “Tell me,” Laura began, “my father is forever complaining about the difficulties in finding and retaining qualified workers. You are quite a good distance from the population centers, and I’m sure the work in the mines and the ranch is quite strenuous. Do you have similar problems?”

  Crocker set his knife carefully across the edge of his plate, a blue-and-white pattern that must have been imported from China. He folded his hands together. He had big palms, fingers thick as sausages, hands that looked like they could bring down a steer or dig a mine.

  “No,” he said precisely. “Not to question your daddy’s way of doing business—God knows he’s done well enough for himself—but it’s different out here, and I pay well for good work. We got no problem getting and keeping all the help we need.” Then he chuckled, leaning back in his high-backed armchair. “Ain’t that right, Carl?”

  “Couldn’t ask for a better boss,” Carl said smoothly.

  “Really?” Laura leaned forward intently, resting her forearms on the edge of the table, the snowy white cloth nearly the shade of the delicately feminine wrist exposed beneath a wide band of frothy lace. “Because my father mentioned something about the unions, that they’ve been causing terrible trouble in the mines, so much so that he considered terminating his investment—” She giggled. “Oops. I guess I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

  Bless her, Sam thought. Throwing out questions, prodding, poking, seeing if she can shake out something. Not to mention encouraging Haw Crocker to view her as an empty-headed, innocuous fribble of a girl. By the next afternoon, he figured, she’d be stumbling into the mines, sketch pad in hand, her eyes wide and innocent if anybody objected to her presence, and nobody would be surprised.

  Before this was over he was going to have to hogtie her to keep her out of trouble. He could see it coming already. And, if, while she was all neatly trussed, he was suddenly overcome by his baser urges, well, that wouldn’t be entirely his fault, would it?