Penny Logan came from her sitting room to join me. Glancing back, I saw the old suitcase was no longer in sight. As I sat down I glimpsed it, standing at the end of the counter where she kept her thread, needles, and such. This was a canny woman.
My suitcase was close by. “Had to come back for more coffee and conversation.”
She poured the coffee, then went around the end of the counter. I heard my suitcase open and then snap shut. Penny came around and sat down.
“What about you?” she asked. “Mightn’t you be in danger?”
“It’s a way of life in this country. I grew up with it.”
“You know Portis?”
“Who really knows him? We’ve done some favors for each other.”
“He’s concerned. He genuinely likes you, I believe.”
She was a very attractive woman, and younger than I had believed. “Do you know him?”
She smiled. “He needs me. I send him his cactus candy. Portis loves it and I get it from a friend in Tucson. Cactus candy and pecans and Portis is a happy man.”
“I know. I send him a bushel of them, time to time.” I paused. “I used to punch cows down Texas way. Lots of pecans along the creeks in some parts of the state.”
When I emptied my cup I stood up. The street was empty except for the buckboard in front of Larkin’s and a covered wagon standing near the station. My right hand slipped the thong from the hammer of my six-shooter.
“Penny,” I asked. “Whose wagon is that?”
She glanced around. “I don’t know. It wasn’t there a minute ago.” She frowned. “I never saw it before.”
Four good strong mules were hitched to the wagon but no driver was on the seat and nobody was near it.
My route led right in front of it and if I walked that way and if the wagon should move forward just as I passed, there would be a time when I was behind the wagon, between it and the station, and completely out of sight.
“You know, Penny, I’m getting skittish as an old maid at a bachelors’ picnic. Imagining boogers behind every bush. How long does the train stop?”
“No longer than it takes to unload and load.”
We heard the warning whistle, and then, although there was no driver in sight, I saw the lines move slightly as if someone had gathered them up.
The usual route to the station would be from the corner of Larkin’s across the street to the depot. Taking up the suitcase, noticeably heavier now, I said, “Thanks, Penny. Take care of yourself.”
Stepping outside, I started across the street, then suddenly switched directions and went behind the wagon, into the shallow ditch and up the other side. The train came puffing up to the platform as I reached it.
The conductor stepped down and dropped the step. Nobody was getting out so I stepped aboard and went back to the coach where I could sit in a corner.
What they wanted might be me, but it might also be the suitcase if they had figured it out. Or maybe they did want me. Removing my hat, I dropped it into my lap over my drawn six-shooter.
The train whistled and I saw two men rushing for the train just as it pulled away. They could not have reached it in time. The whole action from the time I passed behind their wagon until the train started moving could have taken no more than three minutes, perhaps less. There had been a moment when they lost sight of me and that had given me an edge.
John Topp was seated on the bench against the station when the train pulled in. My gun was back in its holster and the suitcase in my left hand as I stepped down from the train. His head was turned away and I had no idea whether he saw me or not. Crossing to the hotel, I went to my room and put the suitcase down.
The answer to some of my questions might be in that suitcase, but I doubted it. Nevertheless, it was a possibility and I could not afford to pass it up.
Glancing at the rooftop across the street, I saw there was no way to see into the room from there, beyond a mere corner where the washstand was. Putting the chair under the knob, I opened the suitcase and took out the smaller one.
It was bound with two leather belts, buckled tight, and it was locked. For a moment I just stood and looked at it.
Portis believed the Magoffins had been murdered, and they had owned this suitcase. Purposely, they had not claimed this baggage, holding the baggage-check and leaving the luggage in what they believed was a safe place.
Had Pier Van Schendel gone through it? The case did not appear to have been opened. The other case, the one the Pinkertons examined, probably held nothing of interest or they would have found it.
Removing my coat, I hung it on the bedpost at the head of the bed, and taking out my six-shooter, I placed it on the bed close at hand.
Portis believed the Magoffins had been murdered, so there must be more to this than just a man looking for an heir. It might well be a matter of life and death for me, but half my life had been lived that way. What worried me, wherever she was, was that girl. She might have no warning at all.
Unbuckling the straps, I broke the lock on the suitcase. Opening it, I found on one side, neatly folded, a man’s suit. It was excellent broadcloth and seemed almost new. Three shirts, underwear and socks, a couple of spare collars, suspenders, some odds and ends. Tucked under the suit a packet of letters, a notebook, and an envelope containing photographs.
Under the lining, which had been carefully re-tacked, I found a painting almost as large as the suitcase itself. It was a desert scene of rolling hills at wildflower time. The foreground was a sea of blue, in the background, far off, a patch of bright orange.
The painting was quite good, in remarkable detail, and I stared at it, puzzled and haunted by something vaguely familiar.
Just at that moment, there was a tap on the door.
CHAPTER 7
ONE QUICK STEP, gun in hand, and I was at the door. A moment I hesitated, listening. These walls were thin and no protection from a bullet.
“Yes?” I said, speaking softly.
“I must see you! Now!” It was Molly Fletcher. But how much, after all, did I know about Molly? I glanced quickly at the open suitcase. There was no time to bunch it all together.
With my left hand I removed the chair from under the knob, then opened the door. “All right, come in.”
She stepped in, hesitating, and with a quick glance over her shoulder. Young ladies who wanted to keep a reputation did not go to hotel rooms with men or where men were.
“Mr. Talon? I—”
“Call me Milo.”
“Milo, there was a man in the restaurant, an old man. He frightens me.”
Baggott? I described him.
“No, this was a stranger. I have never seen him before. Well … I don’t believe I have. He … he keeps staring at me.”
“You’re a very pretty girl.”
“It wasn’t like that. I know how men look at me when they think I’m pretty, and I know how they look when … when … well, when they are thinking other things. This was not that way. Then he began asking questions.”
“Questions?”
“Oh, it sounded like the usual things. He said he was surprised to see such a pretty girl in a town like this. I didn’t say anything, and then he asked me how long I had been here. I told him ‘Not long’ and stayed away from his table until I had to serve his meal. He kept asking questions, and I was frightened. He … he seemed to want to know about me, who I knew, how long I had been here, how I got the job.
“Finally I told him I was busy, that there was much to do in the kitchen and then—I shouldn’t have, but he frightened me and I—”
“You did what?”
“I told him if he had any questions to ask he should ask you.”
“Me?”
“Well, I was scared. You’ll see what I mean when you see him. He’s a big old man, quite fat … well, maybe bulky is the word. I’m not sure all of it is fat.”
“What did he say to that?”
“That’s why I’m here. I ran out the back door a
nd hurried right over here because when I mentioned your name I thought he was going to swear. I mean, it was his expression, the way he sat up so sharply.
“Until then it had all been so casual, so offhand. Suddenly he seemed angry. He said ‘What’s he got to do with this?’
“I didn’t know what he meant and I told him so. I said, ‘What do you mean by this? He’s simply a friend, that’s all, and I am busy. I haven’t the time to answer personal questions, and Mr. Talon would be glad to help you if there is any way he can.’ ”
“Good girl,” I said. “How did he react to that?”
“He was quite angry. Impatient, too. He twitched around in his chair like people sometimes do when they are irritated. Then he said, ‘I was simply talking to you. I have nothing to say to Milo Talon.’ I had not mentioned your first name, but he knew it.”
“Thanks, Molly. You’d better get back to the restaurant. I’ll be down in a little while.”
Her eyes went past me to the open suitcase and the things spread on the bed. I thought for a moment she was going to faint and then she said, “Oh, my God!” There was something so frightened in the way she said it that it was almost prayerful.
She turned and started for the door and I caught her arm. “Molly, don’t be afraid. You don’t have to be afraid.”
She stared at me, then pulled her arm away. She opened the door and I said, “Molly, why don’t you tell me all about it?”
She went out and closed the door behind her, and I turned back to the bed to see what she had seen.
For a moment I just stood there, looking. The open suitcase, the packet of letters, the painting—
What was it that caused her to exclaim? What had she recognized? The painting? The area pictured in the painting? The suitcase? The suit?
Bundling it all together, I hastily stuffed it back in the suitcase, strapped it up, and shoved it under the bed. Certainly no place to hide anything but I wanted to see that man. I needed to see him.
Who was he? How did he fit into the pattern and how did he happen to know my name? Why should my name have upset him?
When I reached the restaurant, he was gone.
Dropping into a chair, I ordered something to eat and after a bit German Schafer came out. “I seen him.” His tone was grim. “I don’t know what the tarnation is goin’ on, but when he comes around—”
“Who?”
“Hovey. That Pride Hovey was in here. He et here. Right over yonder.”
“Did he see you, German?”
“No, he never. Don’t know’s he’d know me anyhow. That there was a long time ago but we should have hung him then.”
“Nobody was sure if he was the fifth man. You can’t hang a man without evidence.”
“He’s done enough since to hang him a dozen times over. I never knew a man deserved hangin’ so much.”
“The way I hear it there was never any evidence. What I want to know is what he’s doing here?”
“He smells money. You know and I know that Hovey never turned a hand that didn’t promise money.”
“What was the straight of that fifth man story, German? I’ve heard it a half dozen times but from nobody as close as you.”
“I was there. At least I was there when that Apache talked. That payroll wagon went out with a driver and three guards to it. They were carrying sixty thousand in gold coins.
“An eastbound wagon found them. The driver and the guards were dead, the wagon burned, and the gold gone. They buried the dead men and came into town with the story. Couple of weeks later, we caught ourselves an Apache.
“Sure, he knew all about the fight, only they had, this here Injun claimed, been driven off. Those five men put up a heavy fire and there were too few Injuns so he claimed they just give up and rode off. Now you know and I know that no Injun is going to get hisself killed for nothing.
“Five men, he claimed. Four soldiers and the big man they were chasing when they found the wagon. That Apache, he claimed they killed nobody but they lost one themselves and had two wounded. That Apache, he claimed he knew the man they chased, but that night the Apache killed himself or was killed by somebody who then threw the gun into the cell with him.”
“I remember the talk.”
“There was a-plenty of it. Hovey had come in, wounded in the arm, with a story of bein’ chased by Apaches.
“Trouble was, when those teamsters came back through town and was asked about it, they said those soldiers must have been killed after being taken because three of them were shot in the back.
“You know what was said. Some figured Hovey had done it but when the mob was goin’ to hang him, that lawyer … Dickman? Yeah, that was his name. He showed up and talked ’em out of it. There were some said Hovey got to Dickman first and put him up to it. Anyway, Dickman left right after, went to the coast, and set hisself up in fine fashion, with whose money I dunno.”
“I remember the talk. Some said that Hovey rode up to them hunting help and after the Indians were driven off, he opened fire on the soldiers and killed three of them while they were lyin’ on the ground watchin’ for Injuns, then swapped shots with the last man and got himself wounded.”
“When he come back a few years later most of the old crowd were gone. The Army had moved their men out and others had gone off to the mines, so he stuck around, mixin’ in a lot of shady stuff.”
“What happened to the money?”
“Good question. Some folks believe he only brought a part of it back and most of that went to Dickman. Nobody ever did see any new gold coins about and there’s some as believe Hovey buried most of that gold out in the hills and has never been back for it.”
“Isn’t likely.”
“It is, though. The Apaches ride that country all the time. Nobody but a durned fool would go down there for any reason at all. That gold, the most of it, might still be there.”
We sat quiet for a little while, each busy with his own thoughts. Pride Hovey had a hand in a lot of shady doings, folks suspected, but they’d never caught him at anything.
He bought and sold cattle, made a few deals for mining claims, occasionally bought stock or whatever from Mexicans who came up from below the border. The word was that he dealt in cattle stolen down Sonora way.
Over the past six or seven years his enemies had a way of disappearing, just dropping from sight, unexpected like, and he got the reputation of being a bad man with whom to have trouble.
Now he was here, asking questions of Molly Fletcher, and furious to know that I was involved.
Why it should matter, I could not guess. Here and there I’d had a few difficulties, but so far as I could recall I’d never stepped on his toes.
Pride Hovey was not the kind of trouble I wanted. To find a lost girl was one thing, but too many fingers were trying to get into the pot, and I didn’t like it. I’d taken Jefferson Henry’s money so I’d best find his girl and get out … fast.
The sun had set when I returned to the street. A lone buckboard drawn by a team of paint horses was trotting out of town, going west. Two cowboys were sitting on the bench in front of the Red Dog Saloon, drinking beer. It was supper time in town and most of the townspeople were either already eating or washing up for it.
It was a time of night when a man feels the lonesomes all wistful inside. It was time I went home. Ma was getting no younger and it was a big ranch she had. I thought with longing of the great old mansion my father had built, probably the largest house in that part of the country at the time, but he was building for the woman he loved and he was a builder. He had worked with timber all his life and it was like him that he built the best for her.
Only the clerk was in the lobby but I crossed to the desk and turned the register around to read the names. “Expecting somebody?” he asked.
“Curious,” I said. “Just wondering who’s in town.”
“It’s a slack time,” he said, “half the rooms are empty.”
Hovey’s name was not on the regis
ter. My own name was the last on the list.
Where was he then? Did he have a friend in town?
When I was in the room with the chair propped under the knob, I got the suitcase from under the bed and opened it.
Placing the letters, notebook, and painting to one side, I checked the pockets of the suit. On closer examination it proved more worn than I’d at first believed, but I found nothing.
Despite that, the suit disturbed me. I checked to see if anything was concealed in the lining, turned the lapels back, but found nothing.
In the distance there was a roll of thunder. Rain coming and the country could use it, but that meant any tracks left on the prairie would be washed out. Another chance probably gone.
Still, I’d take a ride tomorrow if the rain had stopped. Another talk with Pablo might pay off. There was a brief spatter of rain against the windows, then a rushing downpour. Footsteps passed in the hall and I waited, listening, until they had gone on by.
What was I so spooky about? Was it because I’d seen the Arkansawyer? Or Hovey? Returning the suit, shirts, and other clothing to the suitcase, I closed it and put it aside. Then, with pillows propped against my back, I sat on the bed and began checking the letters.
All seemed to be addressed to Stacy Henry. Most of them seemed to be the kind of life, death, and burial letters such as women write to each other. Someone was having a baby, and they were planning a shower. Another girl was getting married, and somebody’s father had died, such a nice man.
And then …
As to the other matter, I would sign nothing. Control is imperative. You must think of Nancy. It is her future as well as yours. From all you say, Newton has changed, become more like his father, although I always felt they disliked each other. Remember, dear, if the worst comes there’s that boy your mother befriended. He had no education, but he was loyal and he thought of her as somebody very special, and of you the same way. You will remember his name, although I have forgotten it. He had a place in the mountains. I remember your mother speaking of it, and she spoke also of a store named Harkin’s or something of the kind where he bought supplies.
Milo Talon Page 6