He seemed to know something about cloth, for he touched a bolt of light blue material and commented, “This would bring out the blue of your eyes, Miss Rogers—and that dark green over there,” he said to Lillian, “why it’s made for you!”
Buck watched as the three talked and laughed, and he didn’t like it. Ives was an easy man with the ladies, he saw, but he had seen the ruthless streak in the man at the trial of Lyons and Stinson. Nor did he like the way Lillian looked up at Ives, smiling with obvious admiration.
Eventually both girls decided on material, and Ann said, “Miss Denton, the dressmaker, will come by to get as much of this as she needs, probably this afternoon.”
“I suppose you ladies will wear the new dresses at the social next Tuesday?” Ives asked.
“Oh, we’ll have to see,” Ann said coyly.
“Both of you must save me as many dances as you can spare,” Ives insisted. “There’ll probably be a line of young fellows, but I’m asking well in advance.”
They turned to leave, and when they were outside, Ann whispered hoarsely, “My father would kill me if he knew I’d been talking to George Ives!”
“I know,” Lillian replied. “But isn’t he the best-looking thing you ever saw?”
“He’s a ladies’ man,” Ann agreed. “Though I’m sure he won’t have the nerve to ask us for a dance at the social.”
“I’ll bet he will, Ann! He looks as if he’d do anything! What would you do if he did ask you for a dance?”
“Why, I—I’d do it if you would!” The two hurried off to the dressmaker, excited by the encounter.
Inside the store, Ives came back to the counter and chose a razor. “This one looks good. By the way, do you know those young ladies, Buck?”
Buck had no choice. “Well, the one called Lillian, I do.”
“Who is she?”
“Her last name is Mize. That’ll be fourteen dollars for these things.”
“Mize,” Ives said slowly. “Somebody told me there was a man by that name who was shot to death a few months ago?”
“That was her father.”
“She stays with her mother, I suppose,” he asked casually as he counted out the money for the purchase.
Buck took the cash and said reluctantly, “No, sir. Her mother left some time before the murder.”
Ives sensed the boy’s reluctance, and pursued no more. “See you later, Buck,” he said as he left the store. He went back to his room, then later as he talked to Ned Ray at the Silver Moon, he mentioned the incident.
“Why, that’s the kid who stays with Winslow up in the hills, George,” Ray nodded. “The Mize girl and her little sister and brother too, I hear.”
“She’s a cute kid, Ray.”
“That’s what got her old man killed.”
Ives gave him a shrewd glance. “How’s that?”
“Why, the girl was chasing around with the fellows, and Mize gave one of them a beating. Ad Cantrell.”
“Sure, I know Ad.”
Ray lowered his voice. “Never been any proof about who shot Mize, but it had to be Ad. He carries a gun all the time, and he was plenty sore.”
Ives took another drink, then asked, “How come Winslow took all that crew in, Ned?”
“It was that lady preacher, I hear.” He repeated the common talk about Winslow, and Ives listened.
“Well, the old man’s not around to take care of his little girl anymore, is he, Ned?” He got to his feet and added with a laugh, “And I hear that Winslow wouldn’t have the guts to say anything.”
“You thinking of that girl? She’s pretty young.”
“Sure, Ned. I’ll be her teacher. Wouldn’t want some of these wild young fellows leading her astray.” Ives’ lips creased in a feline smile as he moved away, thinking of the freshness of the girl called Lillian. The other one had a father and maybe brothers who could cause trouble, but Lillian was prettier anyway—and no one was likely to come gunning for the man who took her.
****
Zack missed Buck. The boy had entrenched himself into Zack’s life much deeper than he realized, and as one week ran into two, he found himself spending more time with Crenna. Though the Southerner was no reader, he was a wily checker player, and the two men carried on a continual warfare as they matched wits over the board. Bron was amused but Jeanne was puzzled by the seriousness of the rivalry. “How can two grown men get so serious over a simple game?” she asked.
Bron herself played with them, but was no match for either. She often watched, and was surprised to see that the style was the man—the way each played revealed something about his personality.
Zack, she noted, relied more on strategy. He planned far ahead, giving up several men in order to lay a trap that would allow him to sweep the board. It surprised her at first, for she had not perceived him as one who would play like that. The more she watched, the more complicated he seemed. Perhaps he had learned not to be impulsive, but to be astute, holding himself back from the game, letting Crenna plunge recklessly ahead, while he waited for a wiser move. As she watched this pattern unfold in one hard-fought game, she thought, That’s really what he’s like. He’s not going to be reckless anymore. He’d like to be—but he’s afraid to. He won’t risk himself again. That’s his way of keeping from losing.
Crenna was a violent player, slamming the board when he jumped, and taking bold chances that sometimes won the game, but just as often led him into disaster. He liked quick games, fought hard and openly—win or lose, and get on with it! It was like the man, Bron thought—straightforward and direct.
Apart from checkers, Crenna seemed to have a growing interest in Jeanne, and Bron wondered what would come of it. Crenna’s eyes followed the Indian woman almost furtively, for he was not a bold man with her. Bron watched Jeanne to see if the attraction was mutual, but could not tell, for she kept herself apart from the rest of them.
By now Crenna was able to get about, though he moved carefully. One night after supper he said, “I’ve got to get back to my claim. Nolan can’t do all the work.”
“You’ll spring those ribs again, John,” Zack warned. “Wait another week.”
“Zack is right,” Jeanne nodded. “You’re not ready yet.”
“I feel like a bum, sitting around here all day doing nothing—getting waited on.”
“Better enjoy it,” Zack grinned. “How about another checker game?”
“Let me help with the dishes; then I’ll whip you again.”
“Again? You haven’t won a game in three days!” Zack laughed. Turning to Bron he offered, “I’ll milk your Penelope for you.”
“No you won’t. You make her nervous,” Bron replied. “But,” she added, picking up the bucket, “you can come and get another lesson.”
He followed her out to the open shed, and watched her milk. “That cow hates me,” he remarked. “Every time I put a hand on her, she tries to kick my brains out.”
“It’s too rough with her, you are,” Bron nodded.
He leaned back against the supporting pole, listening to the rhythmic beat of the milk as it drummed into the pail. “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he remarked. “Guess I am too rough.”
She smiled. “You’re rough with Sam and Hawk. With Paul and Alice—but they love it.” She referred to his habit of tossing the children high in the air until they squealed.
“I guess I’m better with kids than with grown-ups.”
She looked at him questioningly, but he didn’t appear to refer to anything in particular. He had stayed away from town, going only if necessary. She wondered if he was brooding over the affair with Yeager.
He didn’t elaborate on his remark, but said, “I was surprised when you let Lillian stay another week with the Rogers girl.”
“It wasn’t what I wanted. But she begged so hard I just couldn’t say no.”
“Have to come home sometime.”
“Next week. I told her that.”
“Buck seen much of her?”
“He said no.” She hesitated, adding, “He’s worried about her. Says that Ives came into the store and had quite a time flirting with Lillian and Ann.”
Startled, Zack asked, “Was that all? I mean, she’s not been seeing Ives, has she?”
“Buck didn’t know. She was having supper once with a man called Harry, he said.”
“Lillian’s a lonely girl, Bron. Hungry for attention.”
“Why, that’s right!”
“You didn’t think I knew that, Bron?”
She finished the milking, stood up, and slapped Penelope on the flank. “I thought you were too busy with your own problems to notice.”
“I’ll take the milk,” he offered and took the bucket. “What about Lillian? She’ll fight against coming back here.”
“We’ll have to take her to town more. See that she goes to functions nice young people attend.” Then she laughed and he lifted an eyebrow. “I was thinking, Zacharias, we sound like an old married couple trying to handle the lives of our children.”
The idea amused him, and he jerked his head toward the cabin. “Have you noticed John mooning over Jeanne?”
“Do I have eyes? Sure, he’s headed for a bad bump.”
“Maybe they’ll make a match of it.”
“No. She’ll not have him.”
“Is that your mystic Welsh blood speaking? Has she told you something?”
She stood there in the dim twilight, and almost told him that Jeanne was watching him in the same manner Crenna was doing with Jeanne. But she said only, “No, I just think that way.”
Suddenly he asked what had been on his mind for a long time. “What about you, Bron?”
“Me?”
“You’ve seen Crenna staring at Jeanne. I guess you haven’t missed the looks Parris has been giving you.”
She flushed, caught off guard. “Why—I don’t know that he does.”
“The first bit of feminine wiles I’ve heard out of you,” he laughed. “If you don’t want to talk to me about it, it’s all right. Can’t think of a better husband for you.”
They continued on to the cabin. Why didn’t I tell him that Parris wants to marry me? she wondered with a streak of irritation.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A BITTER HARVEST
“Lillian!” Ann exclaimed. “You look beautiful!”
They were in Ann’s room, and Lillian had just tried on her new dress. It was a light green with a water-marked design, broken by dull gold insertions and lacework. Her figure had been emphasized by the tightness of the dress. Her waist was pinched in, and the curves above and below were accentuated by the cut of the fashion.
Mesmerized by her reflection in the full-length mirror, she whispered, “Ann, it’s so beautiful!”
Ann was a rare girl, for she had contributed to Lillian’s meager funds, enabling her to have the dress made. Now she smiled. “No point in my going to the social—or any other girls, for that matter. The men will be so busy looking at you, they’ll never have time for us.”
“It’s the first new dress I ever had, Ann,” she said, then threw her arms around her friend, murmuring, “You’ve been so good to me!”
“Well,” she laughed, “let me try on this old rag Mrs. Denton made me. We’ve only got an hour.”
Ann’s dress proved to be quite lovely, and Lillian lied gallantly, insisting that of the two Ann’s was much prettier. “You won’t go to heaven telling lies like that,” Ann said with a smile as they drove down the street in her father’s carriage. The Rogers family would be along later, and it added a bit of spice to the outing by going alone.
“Does your mother know you use rouge?” Lillian asked. She touched her cheek lightly, for it was the first time she’d ever used cosmetics.
“Sure,” Ann said, then sobered. “I guess Harry will be here tonight. I saw him walk you home a couple days ago.”
Lillian blinked in surprise, for she was unaware that Ann had seen young Barstow. “Oh, I just ran into him on the way home from the store with those things for your mother.”
“I noticed it took you over an hour and a half to run that errand.” Seeing the hurt look in Lillian’s face, Ann put her arm around her. “I wasn’t spying on you, Lillian, but if my mother or father had seen you, they’d have told Miss Morgan—and you’d have been back on the farm in a hurry!”
“We weren’t doing anything wrong!”
“I didn’t say you were, but I think if that preacher lady ever knew of it, she’d say it was wrong enough—just to walk with him. Harry’s got a bad reputation.”
Ann’s words burst Lillian’s bubble of joy, and she set her lips angrily. “I’ll be glad when I can do what I like!” she spewed.
Ann laughed, “Nobody does that.”
“I will—as soon as I get away from here.”
“Why, Lillian, that’s silly. You’ll either marry and do what your husband wants—at least some of the time—or you’ll work and do what your employer wants.”
Lillian was in no mood to listen to common sense. The last few days had been close to heaven for her. “I’ll be sixteen soon. Lots of girls are on their own when they’re sixteen.”
Ann did not argue, for she saw the stubbornness on Lillian’s pretty face. She tried another tact. “You remember what George Ives said the day we saw him at the store?”
“He’s going to ask us to dance with him.”
“That’s what he said, but don’t be a fool, Lillian.”
Lillian stared at her. “It wouldn’t hurt to dance with him. He couldn’t do anything on the dance floor.”
Ann sighed. “Honey, you have to understand, if I danced with him, my daddy would give me a taste of the strap. He spoils me rotten, but there are some boundaries—and George Ives and men like him are off limits.”
The carriage drew up to the large tent erected for the celebration. As they got out of the carriage, Ann instructed the driver, “Wilson, Daddy said we could stay until 10:30, so please pick us up then.”
The girls walked toward the tent with excitement and exhilaration, handing their tickets to the attendant.
“Oh, look at all the decorations!” Ann cried.
It was a dazzling sight. Red, white, and blue streamers hung from the ceiling with numerous lanterns interspersed throughout the tent, spreading a golden light over the crowd milling around on the sawdust floor. On a platform at one end a band was hammering out music.
Almost at once, Ann and Lillian were surrounded by a group of young men, all insisting on the first dance. Ann calmly selected Nathan Potter, a lawyer, and they moved out across a large section of planked floor built for the occasion.
Lillian knew none of the men but chose one at random. Though she had danced little, she had a natural grace and was able to match his steps. He spoke rapidly, but the dance was soon over as another man cut in. Soon she lost track of all her partners.
The dance was open to anyone with a ticket, so it was no surprise to see Lyons and Stinson in the crowd, which Dutch Beidler pointed out as he and James Miller and Colonel Simpson watched from in front of the refreshment stands. But it made Beidler stew with anger. “I wasted my labor digging their graves. Grates on me the way they rub shoulders with honest men.”
Simpson nodded. “Yes, and there’s Ives and Yeager. They’ve all gotten bolder since they got by with killing Dillingham.”
James Miller, a quiet and respected man, spoke up. “It’s getting worse. The stage was held up twice last week, and three miners have been killed in holdups this month.” The others listened intently. “Ives just laughs at us—and Gallagher is as crooked as a snake.”
The three discussed ways to clean out the gangs. “It’ll have to get even worse before it gets better. The miners will have to forget to cry for the likes of Lyons and Stinson,” Miller said.
“We may have to organize a vigilante group—like they did in San Francisco,” Simpson decided.
“No, Simpson,” Beidler said. “It’ll take a m
an the miners will follow. Right now they’re like a herd of sheep and—”
“Who’s that girl Ives is talking to?” Simpson interrupted. “I’ve never seen her.”
Miller looked across the tent and said, “That’s the Mize girl—the one Zack’s been keeping up in the hills.”
“He’d better keep her away from Ives,” Beidler grunted. “He’s not fit to be around a decent woman!” He gave Miller a curious look. “You reckon he knows about this?” Then he shrugged, “Don’t matter. If he won’t stand up to Red Yeager, he sure won’t buck Ives!”
Ives had come up behind Lillian as she was taking a break at the refreshment table. “Well,” he said, “I’m here to claim that dance you promised.”
Lillian wheeled. “I never promised you a dance!”
“Guess that’s right, though you can’t fault a man for trying, can you?” He looked very dashing as he stood there, quite aware they were being watched. Ever since he had seen Lillian, he’d planned this, but the sight of her took him off guard. He remembered her as an immature girl, shy and withdrawn, but what he saw was a beautiful woman. She was still afraid of him, he perceived, and played on that.
“I knew you’d be afraid to dance with me,” he said easily. “But I thought I’d ask anyway. I never saw anything as pretty as you in that dress.”
“I—I’m not afraid of you.”
“That’s good,” he said. “I know people say I’m a pretty hard character, but I’ve never hurt a woman in my life.” The music started up again, and he put on his charm. “I don’t like to beg for anything, Lillian—but please dance with me.”
Lillian was thrilled that the famous Ives would make such a request, but she was still hesitant.
“What can happen on a dance floor?” he urged. “Just one dance, and then I can tell the fellows I danced with the prettiest girl at the social.”
He seemed so harmless, and Lillian wavered. She thought of what Bron would say, but Ive’s suddenly reached out his arms and without thought she stepped closer and then found herself dancing. It was a waltz, and he did it very well. His hand was warm on her back, and as she looked up into his face she saw the approval on his face. “I knew that material was right for you,” he nodded. “Never saw a finer dress, not even in New York or Frisco.”
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