by Rusty Davis
“You were a gunslinger?”
He made a face. “I didn’t ride for people stomping other people. I didn’t kill people for money, or the way some gunslingers do only to show they can. But when the ranches were fighting, they wanted a gun. When the cattle drives came around, people wanted a man with a gun for protection. I don’t know that I thought about anything but killing and guns from the war to that day in Kansas. Maybe I thought coming back would change that. It didn’t.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Nice words, Miss Reb, but a man is what a man does. I did stupid things and wrong things and they came back to almost kill you. When I heal, maybe it would be better if I rode on. Don’t think Double J is going to cause you hurt and it looks like Lazy F isn’t going to be your enemy any more. Not sure who Uriah may have told where I am. Don’t want more trouble following me to your door. Way things were before Uriah came around, I got the feeling maybe I overstayed my welcome already.”
“Stay.”
“Why?”
“I want you to.” Her hand reached out on the table to briefly touch his. “I got real mad when I thought you betrayed me with Oliver. I think he fooled you, and I think he’s no good. But I think you wanted my aunt to be happy. I know I probably said things I shouldn’t but when a girl gets mad, a girl says stuff. Aunt Jess knows enough to wait until I cool off before coming in range. You stood up to Jones for us. I don’t know about men, Carrick. I don’t know where any of this goes, Carrick—Double J, Oliver, any of it. I don’t trust many folks. I trust you.”
“Never done anything to hurt you, Reb, and I don’t want to leave, but I’m not sure if stayin’ helps you or works against you. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Reb. It matters. I almost got you killed, girl, and I can’t let that happen again.”
“Cowpoke, I don’t know whether you’re much use moping around eating more food than the cows, but since I saved your life I own it, and that means you can’t leave me all on my own with big ranches to fight, defenseless woman that I am.” She hid the smile a minute, but no longer. He reached out his hand. She took it. “Partners.” Their handshake said this was a business deal. Their eyes didn’t. In the end, she cleared her throat and got up to break the stillness. She came back with a piece of paper.
“Texan had this on him, Carrick.” She handed a piece of paper in a bold, florid writing style he had seen once before.
“Francis Oliver’s writing,” Carrick remarked. Carrick shook his head. He had been the one to tell Oliver about Texas. No. That was only a couple of days ago. No time for a letter to reach the fort. He looked again. It was Oliver’s hand. Did Oliver write it when Carrick first showed? Had to be. If so, who told him about Carrick’s arrival and who he really was? Maybe it was only bad luck Uriah was passing through the fort when the letter arrived. Hard to see a plot, but it was hard not to suspect one, either. Question now was: What to do about it? Was Oliver trying to ease Carrick out of the way? The man had an uncanny instinct for self-preservation. Did he see Carrick as a threat? Was it plain bad luck? Carrick was wondering, but there was no proof.
Noises alerted them to the arrival of Aunt Jess and Francis Oliver, accompanied by Lazy F riders. “Stay here,” hissed Reb.
Carrick heard sounds of a brief conversation. Oliver’s voice did, as Reb mentioned, carry a whining, wheedling tone. Carrick had not heard it before. The man was always working to make someone do something they didn’t really want to do. As the talk continued, Carrick wondered if Oliver was there to see if Uriah had killed him. Maybe not. Everyone sounded happy as he heard a chorus of good-byes. Jess had a happy look on her face as she entered; one Carrick had not seen before. After an initial shocked exclamation at Carrick’s condition, Jessie was silent as Reb and Carrick took turns telling the story—including Oliver’s role. If it meant anything to Jess, it did not show in her demeanor.
“Mr. Carrick, if I recall your entrance to Lincoln Springs, it would give any man pause,” she said. “I’m sure Francis was trying to protect himself. You and I can ask him the next time we see him, and I’m sure it will turn out that this was nothing more than Francis fearing for his future and some very bad luck.”
Carrick was not so sure, but Jess was too happy to argue.
“Mr. Carrick? One more thing. While I was at Lazy F, I met a blacksmith named Carl Taylor. He had his own revelation for me. Would you care to guess it?”
“Carl must be about ninety-nine years old by now. How was he?”
“Sharp as a tack.”
“What’s this about?” asked Reb, returning with Jessie’s tea.
“Some dispute, Reb, about who my parents were. Heard talk I was Josh’s son by another woman. The way I heard, he had a child before his marriage. Some place down in Texas, where Josh lived long before he came north. Folks I called my parents weren’t, so the story goes. If that was true, I’d have been the oldest, and would have been in line to inherit. The folks I thought of as mine never said anything. I thought it was range gossip. I couldn’t ask them. They raised me. Thought of them as my parents. I know Samuel and Joshua had some fallings out in the last couple of years, but I didn’t know what it was about. Uncle Josh never admitted it, but when I volunteered to join the army, he said some things about it making life easier for the family as well as for me if maybe the East was where I wanted to stay. They’re all dead now. Dirty family laundry all it is now.”
“Not really,” said Jessie primly. “When Josh was dying, I took care of him. He talked about his son. He talked about you, too, but I assumed it was one of the boys who had died. I never told him they went before him. He was dying and didn’t need that burden, too. There is a box, a small metal box, he said to give his boy when his boy came home. There was no one to give it to. I put it in the barn and left it. There were too many things to do to survive to care back then. It’s yours if you want it.”
“Maybe later, Jessie. Maybe after we figure out Francis Oliver, meanin’ no offense, and if we end up all in one piece when this is over.”
Jessie was defensive. “Francis agreed to accompany Reb and me to Lincoln Springs next week when Judge Wilson rides through to have the paper about the land signed and witnessed. I know he is a very contrary-appearing man, Mr. Carrick, but I think in this he is sincere. Even if he did write a letter, at the time there was not very much good feeling on this range.”
Carrick hoped so. But he was starting to feel that sincerity and Francis Oliver did not walk the same trail.
CHAPTER TEN
Carrick did very little but heal for the next few days. There had been an ornate funeral for Jackson Jones at the Double J, with an undertaker and a preacher up from Cheyenne for the day. Jones was buried on a hillside overlooking the valley. Jessie and Reb went along with about everyone else in Buffalo Horn Valley; Carrick did not. Double J was quiet in its mourning, too quiet for Carrick’s liking.
Reb and Jessie were busy with ranch work, and planning for a rare trip to town to sign the papers. They might, they said, look at goods while they were there. Reb had the money she took off of Uriah tucked away. By rights it might have belonged to whoever the man left behind in Texas, but she was not respecting any proper customs for any man who came to kill Carrick. She didn’t like Aunt Jess’s upcoming marriage, and she would never think of Francis Oliver as family, but, if marrying the man made Aunt Jess happy, she would do her best to accept it while hoping her aunt would change her mind.
Carrick, who was moving a little slowly but otherwise had healed, was staying behind. Between the pain from his wounds and the nightmares that walked the floor of the Carrick family home, sleep often eluded him. It was so this night as well. At the edge of awareness, he heard a boot break a twig. The gun was in his hand. He struggled up to his feet. He had oiled the hinges of the Lewis front door. It swung silently. Carrick moved outside. There! A horse was by the barn. A man’s form moved.
“Stop.” The shape stopped. “Hands high and walk over here.�
� The shape was still. Probably deciding his best chance. Carrick cocked the .45. “Hands high or I shoot.”
The figure’s hands were dark against the lighter darkness of the starlit sky. He muttered something and moved toward Carrick, who lit a match and moved it near the man’s face.
“Colt?” The match died. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Shh,” whispered Ramsay. “Inside. Real quiet. I don’t think I was followed but you can’t trust anybody.”
The inside of the house was dim, shadowy light from the unshuttered windows fading to deeper blackness broken only by the glow of the fireplace’s embers. Ramsay looked out the window. After a minute, he stepped back.
“It’s a man’s life to be sure he’s not followed,” he whispered.
“Colt, what are you up to?”
“Remember I told you I get paid to do things for people; things maybe they don’t want to do themselves?”
“I remember. That’s why you’re kind of out on the edge there. You in trouble?”
“You are.” Jessie made a noise in her sleep. They were both quiet. “I know somethin’ you won’t guess I know.”
“Where there’s a gold mine?”
Ramsay’s teeth were white a second in the darkness. “Old man Rengert kept us lookin’ for it that all one summer, didn’t he? Remember how we got him back? I thought I was gonna die laughin’.”
“I do that, Colt. But you didn’t come here to talk about that.”
“No, but I came to warn you and your friends, if they’re your friends. I hear things. The girl here you’re sweet on?”
“Reb? Who told you I’m . . .”
“Whole range knows it, Carrick. She don’t point a gun at you, she must be sweet on you. Point is, she’s heading to Lincoln Springs tomorrow. She and her aunt. Am I right?”
“How do you know?”
“Man offered me a job. Paid well. Bushwhack a couple of women riding to Lincoln Springs along the creek road. Them two.”
“Why?”
“Man didn’t say. Man offered five hundred dollars, Carrick. Me and Eileen could be in the land of milk and honey with five hundred dollars. Problem is, I can’t do it. Heard through Bad Weather the way it is. You and the Lewis woman. Know you been shot. Can’t do it to your woman. Don’t know if I could do it to any woman. I had to tell the man I wouldn’t take his job. First time I ever turned him down no matter what he asked me to do. Man didn’t take it kindly. Said things that got me nervous. Said he would do the job himself if he couldn’t find somebody else. Don’t know if he did.”
“First, Bad Weather ought to keep his mouth shut about things he doesn’t know anything about. Reb’s not my woman. I don’t know. I am working here until I know where I’m going. The ladies have both been kind; that’s all.”
“Have it your way,” commented Ramsay.
“But that don’t matter. Who offered you the money?”
“I don’t know I can tell you, Carrick. It would be worth my life. Make sure them women don’t go anywhere tomorrow.”
Carrick reached out and grabbed Ramsay by the front of his shirt. “Colt, you got to tell me. Even if they don’t ride tomorrow, sooner or later they’re going to be alone. You came this far. You know you want to tell me. If this is Double J, I’ll find a way to protect you. Reb’s Aunt Jess is marryin’ Francis Oliver. Maybe he can get Lazy F to help you out.”
“Carrick, you fool, it’s Oliver who wants the women ambushed!”
Carrick first doubted Ramsay could be telling the truth. Then a wave of humiliation came over him. Reb had been right all along. He should have listened to her. Then a cold rage filled him, mixed with the realization that Oliver was a deadly enemy who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
“Why? Why, Colt?”
“He didn’t say, full out. He had plans for the land. When they worked out I could be a boss working for some mine somewhere. There was some connection to the railroad. It didn’t all make sense. I wanted to do it. Eileen would love to leave this life behind. But I can’t ambush them women, Carrick.”
“Colt, I don’t understand. You been drinkin’ too much? How does getting rid of them give him the land?”
“He has a paper. Paper’s supposed to be found with them saying they signed their land over to him. He told me that it was legal so that no one—not even you—could lay claim to the land once he had that paper and they were out of the way. Carrick, you got to do something and you got to keep this a secret. Oliver is meaner than the worst snake. He’s got ambition, and nothing is going to stop him. The man’s driven like I’ve never seen him before. He’ll do anything!”
Reb was clearly vexed with Carrick as she and Jessie saddled their horses and prepared to leave. He understood her feelings. They had had fragments of conversation all morning where he would stop and walk away. Every time he tried to figure out how to tell them women what Colt told him, it sounded like the word of a man who was a half step from a thief making wild claims about someone Jess Lewis wanted to marry. If he told them the entire plot and they ignored him and told Oliver, Ramsay could get hurt. If Colt was right, the women could get hurt. He thought about just telling Reb, but then she’d be on fire to do something that might get her hurt. He saddled Beast on the pretext that he and the horse needed exercise after his long rest. He dawdled a while so that whoever was waiting on the trail would have to wait. Impatient bushwhackers might ruin their own plans.
“Are you ready, Carrick?” Reb snapped. He thought of Colt’s words. His woman? She was hers, and hers alone.
“Got your rifle? Got a spare handgun if you need it?”
“Got my head on, too,” she snapped. “Think I never rode off my land before you got here, Carrick? Either get going or stay behind!”
He rode slowly. It hurt more than he thought. The rocking and pitching that were part of riding had been such a part of life he never felt it. Until now. Even Jessie seemed irritated by his pace, but unlike her niece she kept whatever irritation she had to herself.
Carrick knew of three places along the trail by the creek that were likely ambush places. Other places were either too open or near ranches or too close to Lincoln Springs. Two were near the ranch. The third was about two-thirds of the way. The first two were empty. Carrick was feeling the pain in his side and his gut. Then he smelled a faint trace of tobacco along with the scent of pine. He had worked out his plan along the way. The trail curved here. Since Reb led the way, he tagged a little farther behind Jessie than he had earlier until there was a sizeable gap. The women were accustomed to him falling back and didn’t slow down for him. Anyone watching the women come around the curl in the trail would assume they were alone. He was guessing that they would talk first, lull the women into a false sense of security so that Reb’s legendary hair-trigger temper would not be aroused. With Reb’s reputation with guns, a hired bushwhacker might try to shoot first, but he was gambling it was Oliver waiting for the women. Oliver never did a straight-up thing in his life. He would try to fool the women one last time. At least Carrick hoped so.
Carrick lifted the .45 from his holster and spun the cylinder. Ready. Voices!
He slapped Beast on the rump. The horse galloped around the corner. Francis Oliver’s face reflected a series of emotions—none pleasant. Shock and anger were the ones that registered the most. Four grim-faced men were behind him. Jessie’s half-smile seemed frozen on her face as she watched Oliver’s metamorphosis. Reb, born ready for a scrap, had her rifle from its scabbard the minute Carrick’s entrance turned a happy greeting between Oliver and her Aunt Jess into a suspicious confrontation. Carrick stopped next to Jessie Lewis, a fact Oliver clearly resented from the look on his face. Jessie’s face was about the shade of a thundercloud.
“Carrick.”
“Oliver.”
“Problem, son?”
“You tell me.”
“I’m riding back to the ranch. Saw the ladies. Thought I would stop to say hello. Not a law against tha
t, is there?”
“No law against shooting a man like you, either.” He pulled his gun and pointed it at Oliver. “Man who writes letters. Man who lets other folks do his dirty work. Man who makes plans to waylay women.”
Jessie’s face now turned red. She whipped around, glaring fiercely at Carrick to put him in his place.
“Don’t.” Reb’s rifle was aimed at one rider behind Oliver whose hand had been inching toward his gun. The hand stopped. Oliver’s face grew redder.
“I demand to know what is going on!” Jessie exclaimed. “Carrick, have you lost your mind? Reb, put the gun down. I was at the Lazy F for several days and if anyone wished me harm they could have done it then!”
“Everyone knew you were there, Jess. If something happened, Oliver would have been responsible. But what happens if a bunch of Oliver’s riders say the boss was on the ranch when you were bushwhacked on your ride here today?”
Carrick turned away from Jessie and pushed his horse between her and Oliver.
“Want to tell her, Oliver? Want to tell her you figured a woman who could fight back against the whole range would be defenseless when you asked her to marry you? Want to tell her you’re no better than Jackson Jones, only a lot sneakier?”
“Carrick, I heard you were shot. Your wound is ailing you,” Oliver replied.
“Cover me,” he told Reb. He nudged closer to Oliver, but kept his voice loud enough for the women to hear. “You ride well armed, Oliver.”
“A man can’t be too careful.”
“Carrying anything interesting? Let me see.” Carrick reached out a hand. Oliver backed away. Carrick cocked back the hammer of his gun.
“Last warning, cowboys,” Reb called as her rifle fired over the heads of the restive Lazy F riders, who were held in check by two armed antagonists. “Carrick, I don’t know your play but it better be good.”
Carrick stared Oliver in the eyes; the man stared back with the grim determination of a desperate man who had been outplayed at his own game. Carrick reached toward Oliver’s jacket.