Now it was done. Riley Burnett, U.S. Marshal, was officially retired. As of two days ago, he was just Riley Burnett, saloon owner…and father.
He shook big head and rubbed the back of his neck. Father. Hell, what did he think he was doing? He was no kind of man to be raising a kid. When he’d received that telegram saying his folks had died, he should have cabled right back, telling Rimshot’s one and only lawyer to find his daughter a good home. For the kid’s own sake.
But that hadn’t been a real option, then or now. Riley saddled his own broncs, settled his own problems, and he would take care of the child who was his responsibility.
God help her.
As he rode around an outcropping of rock, he pulled back on the reins. The animal stopped instantly and Riley leaned forward, folding his hands atop the saddle horn.
“Well, now, where’d he come from?” he asked himself as he squinted into the dying sun.
A small wagon lay drunkenly to one side, its rear wheel obviously broken. The owner of the cart stood helplessly beside it, shaking his head and glancing from the spare wheel lying on the ground beside him, to the broken hub, as if expecting it to leap up onto the axle by itself. The little fella had a helluva problem. There was no way one man could replace a broken wheel all alone. Riley glanced again at the sun, lowering on the cloudless horizon, and knew he’d be making camp here tonight.
“Well, shit,” Riley muttered and started his horse down the slope. The short man turned at his approach and Riley called out, “Need some help, mister?”
“Yes, thank you.”
A heavy accent from somewhere other than Texas colored the man’s voice. But that was nothing new in these parts. There were always lots of foreigners out west, looking to build new lives.
Riley gave a last, careful glance around before dismounting. After all, it didn’t pay to take chances. This fella could be just the bait in a neatly laid trap. Then he looked into the little fella’s eyes. Clear, shining gray eyes stared back at him and, in those eyes, Riley read all manner of things, not a one of ‘em bad.
“What d’ya say we unload that wagon of yours, to lighten it up some, and then we’ll get that new wheel on, all right?”
“Of course,” the man responded and hurried to the back of the little cart. Between the two of them, they emptied the thing in minutes, stacking the man’s possessions on the ground. He smiled to himself. Bolts of fabric lay beside hammers and saws. Knives, ropes and baling wire leaned against a stack of hair ribbons and long johns. A tinker, he thought. A traveling man who carried his shop with him wherever he went. A man a lot like himself, drawn to the open spaces and the freedom to do as he liked.
Well, he corrected himself mentally, the tinker was a lot like the old Riley Burnett. Shaking off the sharp pang of regret ricocheting through his insides, he walked to the listing side of the wagon. “Now,” he said, “when I lift up, you yank that bad wheel off. Then I’ll set ‘er back down, we’ll grease up the axle and do it again. Should have that fresh wheel back on in a few minutes.”
The man smiled at him and Riley noted how those gray eyes looked almost silver in the twilight. Odd, how they seemed to capture the little bit of light available. Oh, now he was getting fanciful when all that was needed were a few muscles. Riley bent his broad back to the side of the tiny wagon. He’d always been a big man, able to move most anything once he put his mind to it. The cart was no different. In no time at all, the task was finished. Kneeling on the hard-packed earth, Riley tightened the bolts on the wheel hub, gave it a last slap of satisfaction, and stood up. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he grinned at the man watching him as if he were some kind of miracle worker.
“You’re all set, mister.” He tossed a quick look at the now-lavender” sky overhead before returning his gaze to the man in front of him. “You can head on out if you want, but I’m fixin’ to camp right up by those rocks yonder. You’re welcome to share my fire.”
“Thank you, but I must be going on,” he said in that singsongy voice of his.
Riley never had been much for needing the company of others, in fact, had preferred to be on his own. So why was he feeling a bit disappointed that this little fella was going to leave so soon? “You need help gatherin’ up your things?” he asked, shooting the tinker another quick look.
“No, I can manage. You have done enough, I think.”
“It was nothin’, mister,” Riley told him.
“But it was,” he said softly.
Riley shook his head. “Out here, folks tend to help one another when needed.”
“I must thank you,” the tinker went on as if Riley hadn’t spoken.
“You already have. Don’t you worry about it.” With that, he walked to his horse’s side and stepped up into the saddle.
“I offer you a gift,” the man said quickly.
“Ain’t necessary.”
“But it is,” the man said so solemnly, Riley turned to look at him. Those gray eyes of his now shimmered with a strange silvery light and seemed to sparkle unnaturally.
Even the air around them suddenly seemed heavier, thicker. If he hadn’t known the sky above was a clear, deepening blue, Riley would have sworn a storm was rushing in.
“My gift will come when you least expect it,” the man told him seriously.
Riley shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. “I told you, mister.”
“But with this gift comes the risk of pain and even, perhaps,” he added in low, ringing tones, “a price. A terrible price.”
“That’s some gift, mister,” Riley said with a low whistle. “If it’s all the same to you, you keep it for yourself.”
A deep-throated chuckle rose up and fell around him like autumn leaves. “Oh my, no,” the tinker said finally. “I’m afraid this gift is not for me.”
“Don’t sound like I want it, either, partner.”
A long silence followed, heavy with the stillness of the air just before a cyclone sets down. The small hairs on the back of Riley’s neck stood straight up. The other man’s form was becoming more indistinct in the vanishing light. It was almost as if he weren’t there at all anymore.
Foolishness. Of course he was there. Couldn’t hardly talk if he wasn’t there, now could he? But what was all that about pain and a price? Sounded more like a curse than a gift to Riley. Besides, he’d had all he could take here lately of surprise gifts.
“Look, mister, I don’t need—”
“But you do, my friend.” The voice sounded far away, yet at the same time, it was as if it echoed inside Riley’s mind. “You need this gift more than you know.”
Hell, no wonder the man’s eyes had sparkled so strangely. He’s loco. Slipping off into the night just to spook a man? Gifts that came with pain and a price? No, thanks. But, he told himself, there was no sense arguing with a man so clearly deranged.
“Whatever you say, mister.”
“Hear me, my friend,” the man said in a whisper of sound.
The horse beneath him shied and Riley couldn’t blame the beast. He suddenly wanted to be well away from there himself. Instead, he was caught by the voice that seemed to hold, him in place and by the memory of the light in those silver eyes.
“Watch for this gift. Watch carefully.”
“Yeah, sure I will.” Ride out, Riley, he told himself. Spur your horse and ride out.
“And pay the price, my friend. Pay it gladly.”
Damn it, this was just too blamed strange.
“If I don’t?”
The voice came again. This time, it was so soft, indistinct, Riley had to strain to hear.
“If you don’t,” the little man warned, “the gift will be gone and no amount of regret will bring it back.”
Just as he’d thought earlier. Sounded more like a curse than a gift.
A whisper raced through him. “One man’s c
urse is another man’s gift, my friend.”
He sat perfectly still for another minute or two, stunned by the fact that the tinker had somehow read his mind, and hoping the voice would speak again. Explain all of this nonsense.
But there was nothing more. No sound. No voice.
Nothing. Finally, Riley gathered up the reins, wheeled his horse around, and rode off. The hell with camping here, he told himself. He’d make another few miles before stopping to sleep. He wouldn’t be able to rest easy until he had some distance between him and the little man who had apparently vanished into the desert night.
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