Passin' Through (1985)

by L'amour, Louis

  Going past Janet’s room, I slipped a note under the door:

  Make them come to you.

  Then I went down to breakfast, and the place was almost full of folks, most of them men. They were eating quick breakfasts and some were picking up lunch pails they’d left to be filled for the day.

  There was a place empty at the end of the table near the kitchen and I sat there. Most of the men eating had guns in sight except for several who had on their diggin’ clothes and were headed for a mine somewhere. There were several mines about employing men and a couple of dozen prospect holes men were working on their own.

  Taking my time, I let the crowd thin out. The cook came over to fill my cup again and stood, dryin’ his hands on his apron. “You stickin’ around?”

  My eyes reached him from under my brows. “Passin’ through,” I said, “sometimes it takes a while.”

  “I hear talk. I hear Paine and his boys been huntin’ you.”

  “They found me a couple of times. If they’re smart they’ll ride off into the hills and round up some strays.”

  “Nobody ever said they were smart.”

  “A couple more days an’ I’ll drift.”

  He sat down across from me and filled a cup. “That Pinkerton feller? He was talkin’ to me, figured me friendly to you.”

  “I hope you are.”

  “He said you should fight shy of those women, yonder.”

  I drank my coffee.

  “He said you had troubles enough without them. He said I should tell you that Pan Beacham wasn’t the right name, that Pan had him a brother somewheres about.”

  “All right. I had an idea it was something like that.” I looked over at him. “You tell him that if Pan was on his list he can scratch the name.”

  He looked at me again, shaking his head. “You’re a hard man, Passin’, a hard man.”

  Well, I let that pass. Maybe I was, an’ maybe I wasn’t, only I like to be let alone and I’ve a bad feelin’ about folks shooting at me. I don’t take to it. Never did.

  “A brother, you say?”

  “That’s right. Pan was a man who had a strong family feelin’, they say. He an’ his brother, do anything for one another.”

  “It’s a good way to be.” I paused, looking into my cup. “I never had a brother. No sister, either, come to that, nor much of any kinfolk.” I looked over at him. “Never had anything but a few good horses.”

  “You still ridin’ that blue roan?”

  “That’s a horse. That’s the best of them. Him an’ me, we got bad names without huntin’ for ‘em. I never wanted anything but the quiet of the high-up hills.” I looked at him again. “Never had anything, either. Not a pot nor a window to throw it out of.”

  “You never had you a woman?”

  “Not one to keep.” I moved irritably. “Womenfolks don’t see much in me.

  Sometimes they look twice, then they look for somebody else. I’m a hard man, and I guess it shows.”

  He went back to his kitchen and I set by with what was left of my meal. This feller was a good cook and that trail crew he rode with must have been contented men. Me, I just sat there havin’ no place to go and nobody wantin’ me anywhere. I set there thinkin’ of how a man can’t always stay in the high-up hills and when the snows fall he’s got to get out of the mountains before he gets snowed in. Life was about to get me snowed in. Suddenly I was tired of sleeping in a room with a bunch of other men, having no more home than the cot I slept in.

  About that time Janet Le Caudy came in and with her was that Charles Pelham Clinton. They sat down well away from me although he shot me a quick, hard look, and I remembered he wore a sleeve gun up his right sleeve.

  Janet kept her eyes well away from me, but in that small area there was no way I couldn’t hear them talk.

  “No reason why we can’t settle it today.” He took out a gold watch from his vest pocket and looked at it. “As a matter of fact, I will have to be leaving soon, so if I am to help you it must be today.”

  “All right.”

  “I am sure Mrs. Hollyrood is a reasonable woman. If you are a half-owner as you say, I am sure she will recognize your rights. In any event, I believe she wishes to leave. The ranch isn’t quite what she expected from hearing Mr. Phillips speak of it. She had a somewhat exaggerated idea of what it might be like. I believe you could buy her out or reach some agreement.”

  The cook came out looking wise and refilled my cup. He also brought me a slab of pie.

  “You might as well bring your things. From all I hear there will be room enough at the ranch, and there’s no use to stay on here. I know,” he added, “the conditions here are hardly suitable for a lady.”

  “I am all right. It is a nice clean room.” Her voice was subdued.

  “You have, I suppose” - he paused a little and tried to speak lower - “papers here to support your claim? She will be i wanting to see anything you have.”

  “Of course.” She hesitated, and made a move as if to glance my way, but did not.

  Like she had said, it was none of my business, and by mixing into it, all I’d managed was to get shot at. For a peaceful man who only wants to live in the high-up hills I was findin’ all sorts of trouble. Nevertheless, I didn’t like it.

  She should get herself a lawyer and she shouldn’t trust strangers, including me. But I wasn’t tryin’ to get her out to a ranch where she’d be far from anywhere.

  There was some kind of a tie-up between Clinton and Mrs. Hollyrood or Matty, but I didn’t know what. They were new to this country, although Clinton acted like he’d been around.

  A young woman like that, there were plenty of folks around whom she could appeal to who would be glad to help, just good honest folk who would advise her and stand by.

  Clinton glanced around at me, and I knew my being there was bothering him, irritating him, I should say. My eyes were on my coffee cup, apparently paying them no mind. He pushed back and got up.

  “In about thirty minutes, then? You will be ready? Bring all your things.”

  “All right.”

  Was I mistaken or did she sound a mite reluctant? If she was having second thoughts she’d best have them quick.

  He stood as if expecting her to rise, but she didn’t. She looked up at him and said, “I’m going to have another cup of coffee, Mr. Clinton.”

  “Call me Pell.” He hesitated, obviously wanting her out of here, but there was nothing more he could say. “All right. I’ll get the team.”

  When he had gone, nobody spoke for a few minutes, just sitting there drinking our coffee. I wanted no more of it, but it was an excuse to stay on. She glanced my way a couple of times, then she said, almost defiantly, “I’m going out to the ranch.”

  “I heard.”

  “I just must get this settled at once. I can’t afford to stay on here like this.”

  “Why does he want you to bring your gear? To a business meeting?”

  “He knows I can’t afford to stay on here so he thought I should stay at the ranch.”

  “With a couple of people you don’t know? Who won’t be too happy to find they don’t own the whole ranch? Ma’am, like you said, this is none of my affair. I’m buttin’ in where I’m not wanted an’ you already read me off. I just wonder why they want you out there when it could be settled here, in front of witnesses?”

  “It wasn’t their idea. Mr. Clinton suggested it.”

  “After spending all yesterday afternoon with them? Ma’am, I think -”

  “You don’t know that! You weren’t there! Anyway, what difference could it make to you? You’ve no right to say those things! He’s been very helpful!”

  Other folks came in and our talk stopped there. After a minute she put down a quarter to pay for her meal and walked out without so much as a glance my way.

  I swore, and a couple of the men who had just come in glanced my way. Then I got up and walked outside. Crossing to the corral, I saddled the roan and tied him there.
I’d scarcely finished when Clinton came down the street.

  The roan was standing there so I began fussing with the saddle, apparently paying him no mind. He brought out the team, harnessed them, and hooked them up to the buggy. Then he got in and without a glance my way drove back up the short street.

  Stepping into the saddle, I walked the roan up to the general store and went in. I bought myself a sack of Arbuckle’s coffee and some cartridges. The man who waited on me looked at me, noticing the back of my head. “Looks like you’ve been wounded.”

  “Scratch,” I said. I was looking out the window at the buggy. Clinton had come out and put his valise in the back, and after a minute or two, Janet came out. She looked up an’ down the street like she was looking for somebody or maybe for a way out.

  Clinton took off his hat and approached her, and she smiled and accepted his hand to get into the buggy. I paid for the goods I’d bought and never so much as looked at my change.

  “She’s a pretty girl,” the clerk commented.

  “That she is, and she’s in damn bad company.”

  “My uncle, he’s the owner here, agrees with you. He knew Clinton in Denver.”

  “Yeah?”

  4’He killed a man there over a card game, and was pretty well known around Laramie Street. My uncle recognized him when he first rode into town. Says he’s a bad actor. Very quick with a gun, and mean.”

  “Thanks. I’ll remember.”

  “You’re Mr. Passin’, aren’t you? Passin’ Through?”

  “That’s what they call me.”

  “A man named Reed Bell was in a few days ago. He said he’d missed you around but to warn you. He said to tell you you were a poor judge of age.”

  “He did, did he? Thanks.” Starting for the door, I turned back. “If he comes in, you tell him I’m riding out to the ranch. That it looks like there’s going to be a settlement.”

  “I haven’t seen him this week. He may have left the country.”

  “Not if he’s a better judge of age than I am. You just tell him.”

  When I walked outside they were just driving away. Alongside his broad shoulders she looked almighty small and lonesome. I put my packets into my saddlebags and climbed aboard. I had a bad feeling about all this, a mighty bad feeling.

  To tell you the truth, I was scared. Janet Le Caudy was walking right into a kind of trouble she might never get out of, without any real appreciation of what she was facing. Most people have no understanding or expectation of violence. They read of it in newspapers or books but it doesn’t touch them. They’ve no realization of how vicious and murderous some people can be, or what they are prepared to do for money. And it did not have to be a lot of money.

  On a cattle outfit where I worked, a man was killed in an argument over a rawhide quirt that wasn’t worth three dollars, and I’d seen another man killed in a saloon in Ogallala because when he turned to spit he missed the cuspidor and hit a man’s polished boot.

  The thought hit me so sudden I pulled up on my horse and the roan stopped in its tracks. Ogallala, and I’d come in there with a cattle drive where I was trail boss, with twenty-five hundred head of Texas longhorns and sixteen riders to handle them.

  The town was wide open and kicking up its heels, with maybe twenty thousand head of cattle grazing on the grass outside of town and all their riders ready to get paid off so they could come in a-shootin’. And some had already been paid. I was nineteen if I recalled correctly, and not many of those riders were more than five years older or younger. They were chock-full of vinegar and they would have money to spend.

  Ogallala’s legitimate businessmen were there aplenty, but the drifting gamblers, the women from the Line and their fancy men, the con men an’ crossroaders, they were all there, nostrils dilated with the smell of money.

  The cowboys were young, they’d been fighting stampedes, hailstorms, dust storms, and occasional Indians all the way from Texas. Every man jack of them had eaten a few pounds of dust and had ridden across a small corner of hell. They were ready for some fun, anything to break the monotony of what they were doing. The only saving grace to all that hard work was that they could do it a-horseback. And I was one of them, only a boss, which made it difficult. I was responsible for the cattle and for them.

  So I remembered that shooting. It had not been one of my boys but a rider from one of the Ab Blocker herds, or so I thought. He was seventeen and a good lad, riding, I’d heard, his second drive over the trail. And now he was dead because he’d spit on somebody’s boot.

  Two of my boys had come into the saloon with me and I just said, “Back off, boys, just back off now. This isn’t our fight.”

  They backed off, but I had an idea what would happen when the boys who rode with him heard of it. They’d come a-foggin’ it.

  Somebody spoke up and said, “That man you killed is only one of a very tough outfit. They’ve two herds outside of town and twenty-nine Texas cowhands. You don’t want to be here when they come huntin’ you. I’d suggest Rapid City or Dead wood or Bismarck.”

  “I can’t -”

  The man speaking was the saloonkeeper, and he lifted a sawed-off shotgun from behind the bar. “Those women of yours will get along without you, but I’m not goin’ to have my saloon shot up because of some cold-blooded -”

  The killer turned and looked at him. “When this is over I’ll come back lookin’ for you.”

  “Anytime” - the saloonkeeper rolled his cigar in his teeth - “but you’d better see me first.”

  The killer turned and went out of the saloon and a few minutes later he was riding out of town. We could hear the horse, and the saloonkeeper put his shotgun back under the bar.

  I remembered the scene, remembered it well, and now I had more reason to remember because that killer who had ridden out of town was a man I now remembered.

  His name was Charles Pelham Clinton.

  Chapter Eighteen

  So now I had no choice. Like it or not I had to ride over to the ranch and be sure that Janet got out of there alive.

  Before this I had believed I knew the kind of man he was, now I was sure. But what was his connection with Matty and Mrs. Hollyrood? Or was there a connection? Why was he getting involved at all? And why had Matty warned me away? Why had she advised me not to eat a meal or have a drink with them? Especially when I already had eaten many meals, and well-cooked ones, too. It didn’t seem to make any kind of sense.

  This time I rode due west from town, not wanting to retrace any trail I’d previously ridden, riding down the draw back of the house. The draw I’d ridden before, but not the first part of the trail.

  Before reaching the draw I rode at a spanking good trot, anxious to reach the place about the same time they arrived in the buggy. I was tying my horse to a cedar when the buggy pulled up outside. It needed only minutes to get down to the house, and as there was a window open I could hear what was said.

  “Mrs. Hollyrood? This is Janet Le Caudy. I believe she has a claim on this ranch.”

  “Do sit down, my dear. Do we have to talk business right away? Matty, have you made coffee? Then let me.” I could hear her cross the room, heard her fussing with dishes as she talked.

  “There is so much confusion about this, when there need not be,” Mrs. Hollyrood was saying. “We presented our papers and there was no objection. The judge recognized our claim was valid.”

  “I am afraid, Mrs. Hollyrood, that whatever judge you met with did not have all the facts. You see, my uncle did not own the ranch outright. Half of it is in my name.”

  She turned, I could see her plainly now. That she was shocked was obvious. “Mr.

  Phillips did not own it? How could that be?”

  “Simply that half of the ranch has always been mine, and of course he understood that. The ownership had never been in question, and I cannot imagine him writing a will that would leave property he did not own.”

  There was silence in the room. Then Clinton said, “Now you see
the situation, Dory. It was a nice try but you did not have all the facts.”

  At Clinton’s use of her first name I saw Janet give him a quick, startled glance. “Dory”? I had not heard the first name myself, but it spoke of some familiarity between them. Matty was standing back, watching.

  “It’s no problem, dear. I am sure Miss Le Caudy and I can reach an agreement. After all, a pretty young girl shouldn’t have to worry about all this property. And running a ranch? With cattle? She wouldn’t think of it.”

  “On the contrary,” Janet spoke quietly, “I have always wished to live on a ranch, and I like working with cattle. Besides” - she was very cool, and now must realize something of the situation - “I have hoped to get Mr. Passin’ to manage the place for me.”

  “You know Passin’?” Mrs. Hollyrood glanced at Clinton. “You did not tell me that, Pell.”

  “They’ve talked, that’s all.”

  “Oh, we talked quite a lot!” Janet was using her head now. “He didn’t want me to come out here, and I am beginning to believe he was right.” She stood up. “Mr. Clinton? If you will be so good as to drive me back to town?”

  “Please, Miss Le Caudy. Or shall I just call you Janet? Do sit down. Whatever difficulties we have can be arranged. There’s nothing to worry about, nothing at all. A good hot cup of coffee will make us all feel better. Just you sit down, now. Matty? Is there any of that cake left? Please get it down. I know Janet would like something with her coffee.”

  If Janet was frightened she offered no evidence of it. By now she knew there was some understanding between Clinton and Dory Hollyrood. She would also be remembering that Clinton had her leave the hotel with all her belongings. Nobody now knew where she was but Passin’.

  “Put out enough cake for one more.”

  Janet was calm. “Mr. Passin’ will be coming out, I am sure.”

  “Pell?” Dory Hollyrood’s tone was sharp. “You said Pan would handle that. You promised.”

  “And so he will, you can be sure.”