‘I’ve still got no place to go. I suppose I never have had.’
They entered the town limits and K. John felt that it was time to ask, ‘Have we any sort of plan, or are we just riding blindly?’
‘I’ve a plan, though I don’t know how good it is,’ Flower told him. ‘I’ll give you a few dollars. You put the horses up and buy yourself a meal somewhere. Later, you can come over to the Double O and drink a few beers while you look around.’
‘What are you going to be doing?’
‘I’ll have a short meal—I’m going to eat crow. I’m going to Clyde Willit and tell him I’ve been having second thoughts; I’ve been out on the desert and could see that it was no good my leaving. I’ll tell him I want my room back and to work for Double O again, and if he wants to put me in the hands of another man—a good man—I won’t fight him over it.’
‘I see,’ K. John said, not liking the plan but having no other to offer. ‘What if Justine recognizes one of us?’
‘She won’t be down in the saloon tonight,’ Flower said, confidently. ‘A new girl is always given time alone in a room of her own where she’s pampered and served. It settles their doubts.’
‘All right,’ K. John said, unhappily. They were halted now in front of the stable. Someone shouted inside the Double O across the street and was answered raucously.
‘Fun time!’ Flower grimaced, slipping from the paint pony’s back. When K. John joined her she handed him a few carefully folded dollar bills. ‘Get something to eat. I know you’re hungry.’
He said, ‘Aren’t you afraid I’ll get drunk and ride off?’
Her dark-green eyes very serious, she looked at him and replied, ‘No, K. John. I no longer think you’re that kind of man.’
With that, Flower bolted across the dusty street, dodging a tired-looking buckskin horse carrying an even more tired-looking cowboy. K. John watched her go and then turned, leading the horses into the stable.
Glancing around, he saw a little fringed buggy. He did not know if this was Justine’s or not, but he recognized the man standing near it, his boot propped on a spoke of the wheel. It was one of his visitors from the night before—the squat, bulky man K. John had taken for their leader.
The man looked his way, but gave no sign that he recognized K. John and stayed fixed where he was, smoking a stubby cigar. From the back room approached the stable-hand K. John had met previously, wiping his hands on a red rag.
‘I see you found your way to the Oxhead,’ the man said, perhaps a little too loudly. Had the bulky man heard? He did not turn his head towards them.
‘Yes, I did. How did you know that?’
‘Pretty simple,’ the grinning stableman answered, stroking the neck of the red roan. ‘This here’s Emerson Masters’ own horse. The paint pony belongs to Miss Justine.’ He hesitated. ‘I thought maybe you came along with her—but she drove in early this morning with her buggy.’
‘I know,’ K. John said, without looking in that direction. ‘My friend and I were supposed to meet her here.’
‘Your friend? Oh, you mean Flower?’ The man’s face brightened. ‘I couldn’t think of her name yesterday, but it came to me this morning. Pretty girl! Works at the Double O, don’t she?’
‘She does,’ K. John admitted. He unsaddled the roan while the stable hand stripped the gear from the pony. Now and then K. John glanced toward the back of the stable where the bulky man still stood as if waiting for someone.
When they were finished, it was with some relief that K. John left the building, striding toward the restaurant up the street. He saw the man’s shadow before he fell in stride with him.
‘I don’t know what you’re up to, cowboy,’ a menacing voice at his elbow said, ‘but you’d have been better off staying on that horse’s back and riding on. This town is going to mean nothing but trouble to you.’
Then the man was gone. K. John turned to see the bulky man’s back as he ambled across the street toward the Double O.
‘Well, I’ve been warned,’ he muttered to himself under his breath, and then continued on his way.
Breakfast at the small home-kitchen-type restaurant K. John visited was substantial, but he really couldn’t remember much about his meal. He was too concerned about Flower. Too much could go wrong with this so-called plan of hers.
Would Clyde Willit simply welcome her back into the fold, or would there be some sort of punishment for leaving him in the first place? Even if Flower could see Justine Masters, what good would it do? Justine seemed intent on leaving her father’s ranch and striking out in the world on her own. They couldn’t just tie her up and take her home. That would do no good in any case. Justine would just leave again at the first opportunity.
Then K. John wondered when Emerson Masters was due back to watch his own daughter. They didn’t even know that much.
One thing that was certain was that Masters would hardly reward Flower and K. John for a job well done if Justine remained in the hands of Clyde Willit.
What K. John was to do now—according to Flower’s plan—was to go to the Double O and hang around, watching. For what, he did not know. But at least he would be nearer to Flower if anything were to happen to her. Of course, if the man who had advised him to leave Crossroads were to find him in the Double O, it would probably lead to trouble—assuming the bulky man worked for Willit (which was almost a certainty).
With a sober expression and lowering expectations, K. John crossed the street toward the Double O Saloon. Passing the entrance to an alleyway, a calloused hand reached out, grabbed hold of K. John’s arm and spun him out of the view of any enquiring passer-by, forcing his back to thud against the wall of the building there. A hand slipped K. John’s Colt revolver from its holster. Holding the weapon expertly, his attacker backed away two steps and panted out his words.
‘Where’s my daughter?’
‘Your … what?’ K. John was momentarily confused. His attacker was not Emerson Masters, but a much smaller man wearing a thin red flannel shirt and sun-faded jeans. The man’s eyes were wide with emotion, his mouth turned down in a sharp frown. His features were shielded by the shadow of his flop hat, tugged low.
‘I saw you with her. Now, dammit, tell me where she is!’
‘Flower?’ K. John asked, still uncertain. The man boomed back at him.
‘Certainly, Flower, you knucklehead! Who else would I be talking about? Do you mean you’ve snatched other girls as well?’
‘No, I haven’t. I haven’t snatched any girls. And I certainly didn’t snatch Flower. Mr ... ?’
‘Tremaine. Took a girl and you didn’t so much as know her name?’
‘She never told me, Mr. Tremaine. It didn’t seem important at the time.’
‘I guess it wouldn’t be to someone like you,’ Tremaine said, grimly. Glittering eyes studied K. John with disapproval. ‘Now, suppose you tell me what you did with my daughter?’
‘She went to the Double O.’ K. John jerked his head in the direction of the saloon. Before he could add more, Tremaine erupted. The hand holding the pistol—K. John’s own Colt—trembled slightly, but did not move from the man’s belly.
‘You took her back to Willit, knowing what he is?! He must pay you well. Or are you just some sort of bounty hunter specializing in female runaways?’
Tremaine’s blood hadn’t cooled any. His rage continued to build.
‘You don’t understand at all,’ K. John said, trying to keep his voice calm. ‘Flower only went back to the Double O because it was a part of the plan we have.’
‘You have a plan?’ Tremaine said, wagging his head. ‘What was your part in it supposed to be?’
‘Drinking beer in the saloon. That was where I was going,’ K. John said, realizing how ridiculous that must sound to Tremaine. ‘Look, it’s a kind of complicated story, but it’s not long. Can’t we sit down somewhere, without waving guns, and I’ll tell you about it. Then you can tell me why you’re here.’
‘Me, why I�
�m here to rescue Flower from that flesh-peddler, Clyde Willit—the very man you just delivered her back to.’ After a long pause, Tremaine finally lowered the gun and handed it back to its owner. He agreed to follow K. John to the restaurant he had just left.
Chapter Five
At a quiet corner table where they sat over cups of coffee delivered lethargically by a tired waitress, Warren Tremaine first listened to K. John’s rather remarkable tale and then he told his own story.
Tremaine’s expression had softened as K. John had spoken of the events leading Flower and himself to the Oxhead and back again. Now the farmer’s face seemed to have sagged a bit and he looked exactly like what he was: a tired old man weary from fighting the elements as he searched for a better way of life for himself and his family.
‘I knew the proposition was a bad one from the first. But what was I to do?’ Tremaine asked, dismally. ‘I couldn’t even feed myself on the farm without water to grow things. I don’t know if Flower told you her mother had died out there, working day after day, trying to survive on what we didn’t have.’ K. John nodded.
‘I couldn’t let the same thing happen to Flower!’ Tremaine said, powerfully, clenching his hands into fists. He went on more quietly. ‘When I heard that Clyde Willit would take girls like Flower in, provide them with food and shelter so long as they worked for him—and at times I’d see Flower scraping the kitchen to look for one thing to eat—well, it only made sense.
‘Flower would be taken care of and I would have three months to have a well dug and bring the land back to life. I made the decision. Flower was going to have to be the provider for a while. To my shame I took her to Willit and made the deal. Three months of her labor for a loan of three thousand dollars. There was no other way,’ he said, with heavy shame.
‘She told me you just got drunk and rode away after making the deal,’ K. John said.
‘I did,’ Tremaine nodded, sadly. His gaze managed to be steely and ashamed at the same time. ‘I couldn’t face the girl again. A grief was building up inside me; a grief I tried to soften with whiskey. I could apologize, explain no more to her. I had done what I had to do.’
‘How did things work out for you?’ K. John asked, still wondering that the farmer had bartered his daughter for a mere loan.
‘Fine. The well came in real fine. We raised a big crop of beans and onions. I managed to sell almost all of it to the army.’
‘But you didn’t tell Flower. She says you never once came to visit her.’
‘I couldn’t bear another parting,’ Tremaine explained. ‘I couldn’t come back to see her until I had enough money to buy her out of bondage. Profit don’t come quick on a farm. It took months to get the water flowing, and more before our first crop came in ... ’
His eyes flickered to K. John’s. ‘I’m here now, with three thousand dollars.’
‘Where’d you put the money?’
‘In the bank, of course. As soon as I arrived. Why do you care?’ Tremaine demanded.
‘I was just hoping that you weren’t walking around with it because someone will know you rode in with that much money.’
‘I had it—I had it all in my hand when I went to see Willit.’ Tremaine finished his coffee. ‘He told me I was too late,’ he said to K. John, bowing his head. ‘I was almost two weeks late. I told him that he was a businessman, he knew these delays happened. The army was slow in paying me. He said that was just too bad.
‘I told him I was damned sure taking my daughter, and got a little rough in saying it. He called a couple of his bully boys into the office and told them to throw me out. Once they had me by the arms, he told me that I had defaulted on my loan and damned well knew it.
‘Then he said he didn’t know where Flower was anyway—she had run off with some wayward cowboy.’
‘Which did nothing to cool your temper.’
‘It did not,’ Tremaine agreed firmly.
While Tremaine had been talking, K. John had been thinking. Clyde Willit was too clever by half. The saloon-owner only wanted everything. He now had Flower back, presumably ready for auction. If Tremaine had not been smart enough to put his money in the Crossroads bank, he would have undoubtedly been relieved of it in some back-alley heist. Even worse, Willit was crooked enough to make a play for Warren Tremaine’s land since technically the farmer had defaulted on the loan and, by the farmer’s account, that land had grown to a profitable section that could now be sold to someone else.
Simultaneously, Willit had somehow persuaded Justine Masters to join his fold. What sort of a game was he planning to play on Emerson Masters? Nothing straightforward, that was for certain.
‘We’ve got to do something about that man,’ K. John said. ‘He’s planning to ruin you, Flower, and Emerson Masters and his daughter. He’s probably got something in mind that will allow him to take control of the Oxhead as well.’
‘I don’t know a thing about that,’ Tremaine said. ‘I don’t really care. I just want to get Flower back.’
‘I don’t know if she’d go with you right now,’ K. John said, and at that Tremaine’s face took on a dark look.
‘What do you mean?’ he demanded as K. John finished his own cup of coffee and started to rise.
‘I mean, the two of us, Flower and me—we were hired to work for the Oxhead, to watch over it for Emerson Masters. Flower seems even more intent on doing so than I am. That’s the reason she followed Justine back to the Double O, as I told you.’
Tremaine’s face could not decide whether to be furious or concerned. He asked K. John, ‘What should we do now?’
‘I think,’ K. John Landis said, carefully, ‘that you should find a place to lie down for a while and get some sleep. You’re obviously exhausted.’
‘Maybe so,’ Tremaine said. ‘I rode all night to get here—a lot of good it did me.
‘And you? What are you going to do, Mr. Landis?’
‘I’m going to stick with the plan,’ K. John told him.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning I’m going over to the Double O, drink a few beers, look around and maybe see what I can see.’
The idea was hardly appealing, but that was a part of the hastily contrived plan. He could hardly leave Flower alone. The girl, he thought as he walked toward the Double O, could be a little contrary. She was also moody. But once she had made up her mind to do something, she did it. Flower had gone back to the Double O to rescue a girl who didn’t want to be rescued because she had made an agreement with Emerson Masters.
Had Flower learned yet that her father had come looking for her, been rebuffed by Willit? Maybe … maybe not. It would depend on which way Willit thought he could bend the truth to his advantage, but K. John was guessing she wouldn’t be told of Warren Tremaine’s visit.
The day was again hot and dusty as K. John mounted the plank walk in front of the Double O Saloon, then hesitated. The man who had threatened him that morning had warned him out of town. He was certainly a Willit man, and almost certainly the man who had clubbed him down on the Oxhead. He would not be welcomed warmly to the Double O. But what else was he to do? He had committed himself to this course of action, and he owed it to Flower to remain near enough to render aid if she were threatened.
K. John waited until he saw a group of three cowboys from some local ranch approach the green door of the saloon, happily gibing with each other. He joined their group as they entered the Double O. The cowboys headed toward the bar together and K. John tagged along with them as they arranged themselves along its length. They ordered beer and K. John did the same when the bartender glanced his way.
The cowboys discussed range conditions, their boss, whom they all seemed to like, and the likelihood of rain; then they looked over the dancehall girls, none of whom was Flower, and sipped their beer. K. John found himself envying their genial banter, the life they seemed to lead. He settled in to drink his own beer, which was not as good as the long-anticipated drink he had imagined for days now.
He did not see Clyde Willit. He had not yet encountered the man, did not know what he looked like, but the saloon-owner would have undoubtedly stood out from this crowd of trail-dusty, work- and weather-hardened men.
‘Want to get rid of our money quicker, Ernie?’ one of the cowhands at the bar asked another long-jawed rider.
Not understanding at first, K. John looked in the same direction as the young cowboy. Two employees in white shirts were removing the green canvas covering from the roulette table and men were starting to gather around the gaming table, searching their pockets for more money to give to Clyde Willit.
‘Not me,’ the man named Ernie said, shaking his head. ‘I know a man who lost his best cutting horse at that table.’
‘But,’ another cowhand—older, chubbier—chipped in, ‘I know a man who won himself a bride at it.’
K. John glanced at the man. He was not joking, and K. John could see how that improbable occurrence might have eventuated.
‘I’m just talking about nickels,’ the younger man said.
‘Play for nickels, you only win nickels,’ Ernie advised.
‘And that’s all I’d lose,’ the kid answered. ‘I ride the boss’s horses and don’t need me a bride. I’ve got Rosie.’
‘I’ll go for nickels and dimes,’ the older hand said. ‘If we get lucky we maybe can drink for free all day. If we don’t, well, then we’ll just go home.’
‘Just watch for that gambling bug. It’s got a hard bite,’ Ernie said, returning to lean on the bar counter as the other two swaggered off to see how much money they could lose.
K. John heard this all only peripherally. He needed to find Flower if only to make sure she was safe. He knew she had a room upstairs and he eyed the stairway leading that way. At the foot of the staircase sat a wide-shouldered man with a cup of coffee and a belt gun. Willit’s posted guard, no doubt. K. John reflected that even if he were to get past the man, he did not know which room was Flower’s. His arrival on the second floor could cause someone to raise a real ruckus.
Crossroads (A Piccadilly Publishing Western Book 8) Page 4