by Jack Ballas
He urged his horse toward the cabin, only to see Emily Lou and Kelly open the door and walk out, both holding rifles.
Kelly smiled. “You gotta git used to givin’ a yell a little sooner, Lingo. Close as you got, we mighta shot you.”
Em shook her head. “Knew it was you a pretty good way up the trail, but didn’t think you’d be bringin’ anyone with you. We made sure there wasn’t someone holdin’ a gun on you.”
She turned toward the door. “C’mon in. We were about to put victuals on the table.” She cast a look at Slagle. “We get inside an’ hang these rifles on the wall, maybe Lingo’ll introduce us.”
Over supper, Lingo and Sam told the two girls and Wes all that had happened since he left the cabin, while the girls made the two men aware of how things had gone for them.
After eating, and sitting around the table drinking coffee, Emily studied Lingo’s face. “Knew you had a fight. A man can’t get those face bruises from shaving. Does Mayben or Gates know that you know they helped take me off that stage?”
“Nope. The fight wasn’t about anything like that. And far as I know, they don’t know Sam an’ I are workin’ on this together.” He frowned. “Em, we aren’t any closer to findin’ your pa than when I left here. We’ve both watched his mine. Haven’t seen ’im around there.” He shrugged. “The only solid thing we’ve got is that Mayben and Gates are part of it. We don’t know whether your pa took a trip somewhere, whether he’s come to harm in some way. Don’t know why your brother hasn’t gotten here yet—or if he has, maybe he’s met with harm, too.” He shook his head. “We just don’t have a thing to get our teeth into.”
Emily frowned and stared straight ahead. “I think if I go back with you, I might see something, or hear something that might help.” She stood, went to the stove, and picked up the coffeepot. After filling each of their cups, she again sat. “If I go back with you, they might try to take me outta town again. You men could watch and trail them then.”
Barnes stared at her a long moment. “Em, have you forgotten the things they said they had in mind to do to you?” Her face flushed a bright red. Lingo shook his head. “There’s no way I’m gonna allow you to put yourself in that position again.”
She pinned him with a look that would penetrate a granite bluff. Then she surprised him with using language much like what he would expect from Kelly. “Gonna tell you somethin’, Lingo Barnes. That’s my pa out there somewhere, who may be hurtin’, may be mistreated, may need me. What you will allow is not exactly the way I figure to act.”
Blood rushed to Lingo’s face. Embarrassed, he stared into his cup a moment, then looked at her. “Em, reckon I get a mite bossy at times. The way I shoulda said it is: I heard the terrible things they said. I saw the way you reacted to their words, I know what kind o’ men had you, and even as spunky as you are, you couldn’t defend yourself. I’m much more experienced at fighting men of that stripe than most men, not to mention women.”
Emily stared at him a long moment. “Why’re you doing this, Lingo Barnes? You don’t know my father. You don’t owe me anything. The fact is, you hardly know me.”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am, don’t reckon I owe you anythin’. No, ma’am, don’t know your father, an’ no ma’am, I don’t know you near as well as I figure on knowin’ you someday.”
Then never taking his eyes off hers, he took a swallow of coffee, clamped his teeth together until his jaws knotted, then nodded. “Gonna tell you somethin’ you wouldn’t know, comin’ from the East. Out here, we take care o’ our women. Don’t nobody mess with ’em or we get right upset; an’ when we get upset we raise more hell than you’d believe a man can raise.” He wagged his head from side to side, slowly. “You can do what you feel like you gotta, but what it’ll do is maybe get me, Sam, or Wes killed. Don’t b’lieve that’s anythin’ you want—despite not knowin’ me very well.”
Emily blushed, lowered her eyelids to hide her eyes a moment, then looked at him straight on. “Oh, Lingo, I’m sorry. Of course we know each other, of course I’ll listen to you, and heed everything you said; the thing that’s most true is, I don’t want you, Wes, or Sam getting hurt on account of some dumb thing I did. Fact is, I don’t want you getting hurt for any reason.” Somehow, that last sentence brought another blush to her face and caused her to lower her lids again.
Her words flooded his chest with warmth, his throat muscles swelled until he found it hard to swallow, but he tried anyway. He hoped that in a heated discussion like this it would cause a person to say things that in a more guarded moment they would never say.
“Tell you what, if Sam an’ I get to the point where we figure we’re not getting anywhere, I’ll come back up here and take you to Durango with me; force ’em to make a move. Whoever is at the bottom of this is gonna pay; an’ those two who took you? Well I don’t figure to kill ’em. I want the law to take care of ’em all—at the end of a shiny new rope. I want to see their faces turn purple, see ’em twist an’ turn at the end of that rope, see ’em kick ’til their last breath was the one they took ’fore their necks got stretched. But, I’m not gonna do anything to ’em for now with the hope they’ll lead us to whoever’s givin’ ’em orders.”
Sam, now apparently fully recovered from his bout with John Barleycorn the night before, glanced around the table. “Know what? Lingo promised me a drink when we got here, so now if everybody agrees on how we gonna take care o’ this here problem, reckon I’m gonna hold ’im to that promise.”
Lingo stood, went to his saddlebags, and pulled both bottles from deep in one pocket. Straight-faced, he looked at Slagle. “Soon’s you drink this, reckon I’m gonna have to shoot you. I never go back on what I promise a friend.”
Sam’s face reddened. “Aw hell, Lingo, I wuz feelin’ sorta like death would put me outta my misery back then. Let’s drink to the new friends we done made.”
After their coffee and drink, the men readied the dishes for washing, despite Emily’s and Kelly’s protesting that the chore was women’s work. Then, Lingo took Emily’s arm, said he had something to talk to her about, and asked her to go for a walk. She studied the solemn look on his face a moment, then nodded. “Let me get my coat.”
He held her coat while she slipped her arms into it, then walked out ahead of him. “This must be something you don’t want to discuss before your friends.”
He nodded. “Well, one of the subjects is right private, an’ the other might embarrass Wes and Kelly.”
Now out about a hundred yards from the cabin, she turned to face him. “All right, first tell me the private thing.” For some reason her breathing came in shallow gasps. He wondered why.
He looked at her straight on. “Em, I don’t want to scare you, but you’re gonna have to be ready to accept that whatever has caused your pa to disappear, or wherever he is may not be good. Like I said before, he mighta just taken a trip. Maybe he didn’t get your letter before he left.”
He shrugged and held his hands out from his side. “Reckon I want you to face up to whatever. I’ve seen you in some pretty bad situations an’ you took them better’n I figure most would. That’s why I’m tellin’ you this now.”
Eyes wide, and showing fear she obviously tried to hide, she stared at him. “You’re telling me this because you have reason to believe he’s met harm?”
“No, little one. I told you before: I don’t know a thing. I only want you to be ready for anything.”
She nodded. “I have already told myself these things, Lingo.” She took a deep, tremulous breath. “I think I’m as ready as one can get. Now, tell me the other thing you brought me out here for.”
He grinned, kicked a clod of dirt around, then shook his head. “You gonna think I’m a meddlin’, mother hen sort o’ man, but I like to be ready for anything.” He took a deep breath. “You notice while I was gone that maybe Wes an’ Kelly finally figured out they’re both grown, an’ have grown-up wants, feelin’s, desires?”
Em chuckle
d deep in her throat. “Wondered if you would notice that.” She nodded. “Yes, Mr. Mother Hen, they’ve come to that conclusion.” She placed her hand on his forearm. “But, I have to tell you, you did a mighty good job raising them both. Nothing’s happened.” She stammered, obviously embarrassed. “Well, you—you know what I mean—don’t you?”
“Yes, Em. I know what you mean. Have either of them said anything ’bout gettin’ married?”
Em shook her head. “All I know is, Kelly’s waitin’, an’ there is no doubt she’s gonna say yes after Wes has a chance to talk to you.” She laughed outright then. “Lingo, despite you not being blood kin to them, they both feel they need your approval.”
“You reckon Sam, Wes, and I could build another cabin closeby without them knowin’ it was for them?
Emily shook her head. “Don’t do it, Lingo. It’d make them feel that you were pushing them into something. Wait’ll they talk to you.”
He nodded, took her elbow, and steered her farther from the cabin. “Mind takin’ a walk with me now we got business out o’ the way?”
“If you hadn’t asked, I think I might have brazenly done so.” She breathed a great breath of the sweet, pine-scented air. “Suddenly I feel that all is gonna work itself out to a happy ending.”
She had placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. They walked like that for several minutes when she asked, “Lingo, why did you come home? Was there a reason? Did you want us to do anything?”
He smiled into the dark knowing she couldn’t see his face. “No, little one, I didn’t have a special reason other than wanting y’all to meet Sam.” Abruptly, a knot formed in his throat, and trying to talk around it his voice came out deeper than usual. “An’ to tell you the truth, I didn’t think of it as comin’ home.” He pushed his hat to the back of his head. “Reckon I thought of it as comin’ to see you. That seemed important to me.”
Her hand tightened on his arm. Neither said anything, and after another several yards they turned and retraced their steps toward the cabin. “Reckon Sam an’ I’ll head back to Silverton tomorrow. Somethin’ might happen to let us know where your pa and brother are.”
“Please be careful. And I repeat what I said earlier, I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Without words, he tightened his elbow to his side, her hand holding to it. Somehow, to Lingo’s thinking, they’d said a whole lot without uttering a word. He wanted to think so anyway.
The next morning before daylight, Emily, Kelly, and Wes stood outside the cabin and waved until darkness swallowed the two riders. Kelly looked at Wes. “Reckon we gonna pack your gear, an’ ride with you to the pass. You gonna stay out there like you been doin, ain’t ya?”
Wes nodded, still looking toward where the night had swallowed his friend. “Kelly, reckon Lingo said it all when he said as how a Western man takes care o’ all women, but somehow I figger Em’s more’n all women to ’im. Yep, I ain’t lettin’ nothin’ happen to either one o’ you.” Somewhere in the middle of his sentence, Emily turned and hurried into the cabin, leaving only Kelly standing next to him. Wes smiled toward the door she had hurried through.
“Wes Higgins,” Kelly slapped his arm—gently. “You done made that poor little thing ’barrassed when you said them words.”
While Kelly and Emily packed what Wes needed to settle in at the pass, Lingo and Sam rode toward Silverton. “What you gonna do if we meet Mayben an’ Gates when we get to Silverton?”
“If I see ’em first, reckon I’ll ride a wide circle ’round ’em. Don’t wantta have to shoot neither one. They gonna slip one o’ these days, an’ we gonna know who they work for.” The sun now pushing its light in between the mountain peaks showed the desolation the fire had left; blackened earth, and sad black spikes reaching toward the heavens, all that only a few days ago had been beautiful forest.
Lingo tamped tobacco into his pipe, lighted it, and looked squint-eyed between his horse’s ears. “Sure would like to know where that Easterner Randall Bartow fits into the picture. One thing for sure, he doesn’t fit into the West. He just flat isn’t our kind o’ people.” He took a deep drag on his pipe, blew the smoke out in a cloud, and looked at Slagle. “Was Miles Colter sorta like Bartow, or did he fit in with this country, these people, this kind o’ livin’?”
Sam shook his head. “Don’t know Bartow at all, but gonna tell you, Colter would fit in with any bunch. He wuz a real gentleman, but could git down in the muck an’ grime with the best o’ us.” He nodded. “I done told ya, I liked ’im.”
Barnes flicked a thumb toward Silverton. “We better split now. Think I’ll stop in the saloon, have a drink an’ keep my ears peeled for anything I might hear.”
Sam nodded. “I’ll have supper ready when you git to the cabin.” He grinned. “Ain’t gonna be near as good as those two young women done fixed us yestiddy.”
“I get so’s I can’t stand it, I’ll cook a few meals.”
“Ain’t no damned way, Lingo. I done et what you cowboys call trail food; ever’thing fried in deep grease, same thing all the time: bacon, beans, fried hardtack.” Sam shook his head.
Barnes chuckled. “All right, I’ll see you in a couple o’ hours. I’ll chop some stove wood then; don’t reckon the wood I chop’ll mess up the food.” He reined his horse toward town, while Sam continued down the hill toward his cabin.
A couple of hundred yards from the edge of town, a rifle shot sounded, then the whine of a bullet passed his ear, and Lingo left the saddle dragging his rifle from its scabbard. He hit the dirt, and rolled toward the bole of a large pine.
8
BARNES CAME UP hard against the tree, stetched out behind it, and peered around the trunk. Another shot chipped bark off just above his head. He jerked his head back. Who the hell would be shooting at him? He didn’t think Gates and Mayben would be back so soon, and he could think of no one else who’d take a shot at him. Besides, who would know he would be on this particular trail at this time?
He eased his rifle around the tree and blindly pointed it toward the area from which the shots had come. He fired and pulled back behind the trunk. Immediatly, another shot followed his own. This time bark chips flew into his eyes. He dropped his rifle and wiped, forcing tears to flow. Now, still half-blinded, the tears washed some of the small chips away and he could see large objects up close.
He’d made up his mind to stay where he was, keep his head down, and wait the man out. His resolve was needless. The sounds of a horse ridden away at a dead run broke the silence.
In case the horse had bolted and left the dry gulcher behind, Lingo lay perfectly still, but at the same time hoped the horse had a rider. He had been pinned down, no chance to get away, and no chance to take a bearing on where the shooter hid. He stayed where he was for a good thirty minutes, and gradually his nerves relaxed. Finally, he edged his head around the bole of the tree.
He swept the area with a searching look, decided he was alone, and stood. His horse had moved off only a hundred or so yards. He’d stand there until Barnes came for him.
Lingo walked to the jumble of rocks and brush from where he estimated the shots came and studied the ground.
Brush, already beginning to stand back up from being pressed against the earth, told him the man had not been there long or the growth would have remained flat for a much longer time. But again he wondered how anyone would know he rode the trail he had followed. A glance toward town showed that anyone on the single street could see the area in which he’d gone to ground. He turned his glance up the mountainside. The winding path on which he’d ridden wound in and out of trees, angled down almost in front of Miles Colter’s mine, and on down the hill. Some of the spots bereft of trees stretched as much as a quarter of a mile. He nodded. His attacker had decided on the spur of the moment to try to get rid of him, and had plenty of time to get from town to the spot from which he’d selected to set up the ambush.
He turned his attention back to the ground upon which the dry gulc
her had lain. Something shiny caught his eye. He picked it up. A rifle casing. There had been three shots. In only a few seconds he found the other two casings. He rolled them around on the palm of his hand. They were standard .44-caliber shell casings. They didn’t tell him anything.
He frowned. Someone, and maybe it was Mayben or Gates, wanted him dead. Maybe they’d come back to Silverton. He’d have to look the town over more carefully than he’d at first intended.
The creases in his forehead deepened. Shorty and Bull were always together, yet he’d been attacked by a lone gunman. That conclusion was the result of hearing only one horse ride away. He shrugged. Maybe on seeing him from town, and not having time to get his partner, one of them decided to try to take him out single-handedly. He walked to his horse, toed the stirrup, and rode toward the cluster of buildings down on the flat. He resisted wiping at his eyes, which only made them feel more scratchy.
Wanting a cup of coffee and something to eat, he decided against giving in to his wants. He reined in at the general store, and went to sit on the smooth bench polished by many pairs of jeans. If Mayben and Gates were in town, he thought to see them, and he could avoid being seen by standing and slipping into the store.
In the two hours he sat there, he figured he saw everyone who had come to town on this crisp autumn day. Finally, the sun slipped behind the Uncompahgre Peak. Darkness forced the long shadows to blend and fade with the coming of night. Lingo stood, walked to his horse, and rode a wide circle around the stores. Then he straightened his course toward the gulch where Sam had his cabin.
Sam met him at the door. “Where the hell you been, boy? I wuz gittin’ some worried ’bout ya.”
Lamplight bathed them both standing in the doorway. Lingo pushed Sam back into the room. He grinned. “Reckon I been some worried ’bout me, too. Been dodgin’ bullets.”
Sam stepped back and swept him with a searching look. “Don’t look like they done you no harm.”