“I think I will,” Joanna replied.
The afternoon was pleasant, sunny with only a slight breeze, and just cool enough to warrant her coat. Seeing her struggling to carry her saddle out of the barn, John jumped down from the rafters of the new addition to give her a hand. While she stood at the gate, he caught her horse and saddled it. When she thanked him, he said, “I’d go with you if I didn’t have to work on the house.”
“Maybe next time,” she said, smiling. On most days, she would have welcomed the company, but today she was too deeply into her private thoughts to want distraction. She reached over and playfully flipped his hat over his eyes as she rode by him.
Although there was no destination in her mind, she knew where she would eventually end up. She let the little mare have her head, and the horse followed the track along the river from memory of other rides. As usual, they arrived at the same spot as before. Joanna could feel a slight increase in her heartbeat as she approached the little island of willows close to the river’s bank. Moments later, her heart almost stopped when she was startled to discover a horse grazing among the willows. Fearful, she started to turn the mare at once, but she hesitated when the horse lifted its head to neigh at the mare. It was a buckskin. It looked like Clint’s Rowdy, but she knew it could not be. Knowing she should turn her horse back toward home, she could not help but wonder about the horse. And then he appeared, walking from the cover of the trees. “Clint . . .” she gasped, unable to say more, not sure she could trust her eyes.
“I was hopin’ you’d ride out this way,” he said, and waited for her to cross over the shallow water to the island. “I remember you sayin’ this was gonna be your special place.”
He caught her as she slid from the saddle. “But how . . . What are you doing here?” she stammered, still finding it impossible that he was actually holding her in his arms. Her face beaming now, she asked excitedly, “Did they let you go?”
“I’m ’fraid not,” he replied apologetically. Seeing the puzzlement in her eyes, he hastened to explain.
After he had told her the entire story of his betrayal in the courtroom, she could only sigh in bewilderment, “Oh, Clint . . . what will you do?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “They’ll be comin’ after me again. That much is pretty certain, and if it’s Clayton that’s comin’, he’ll be showin’ up here for sure. So I guess I’ll be headin’ for the hills somewhere.” He placed his hands on her shoulders so he could look into her eyes. “But I had to come here first to tell you what happened.”
“Why didn’t you come to the house?” she asked.
“I didn’t wanna get your pa and your uncle mixed up in my troubles. That’s why I’ve been waitin’ for you out here. I’ve got no business involvin’ you in the mess I’ve made of my life, but I need supplies and ammunition. I don’t have anything but my horse and saddle, and the little bit that was left in my saddlebags. So I need to get some of the stuff I left here. I’ve been camped here for two days, hopin’ you’d show up. I don’t wanna just ride in and upset your folks, but I reckon I don’t have any choice. Who knows how much time I’ve got before a lawman from somewhere shows up? But I had to see you again before I leave.”
She moved closer, holding him tightly, her head pressed against his shoulder. “Dammit!” she cursed. “I just found you, and now I have to lose you before we’ve even had a chance. Where will you go?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “But maybe if I can keep myself clear of the law, maybe after a while they’ll give up, and I can come back for you.”
“I’ll go with you,” she said, without taking a lot of time to consider the consequences.
“No,” he said. “I can’t do that. I won’t do it. We’d be on the run all the time, never knowin’ when Clayton or some other lawman would show up. It would be mighty rough livin’ out in the wild country.” He pressed her close to his chest. “I don’t wanna think about you out in the mountains alone somewhere after some sheriff or marshal puts a bullet in me.” She started to protest, but he quickly silenced her with a finger on her lips. “I’ve got to know you’re safe here with your father. It’s the only way I’ll have peace of mind.”
“Stay with me here tonight,” she pleaded. “I love you.” It was the first time she had told him that. A tear welled in her eye as she realized that her one chance for happiness was rapidly dying. “I love you,” she repeated, this time in despair as she opened her soul to him.
The words shattered him. He wanted to cry out in protest to the gods that played such vile tricks on miserable mortals. This one woman who held his heart was to be denied him, and he knew that it had to be. “Know this,” he said emphatically. “I love you, too, Joanna, and if there’s any way to make it happen, I’ll find us a place that’s safe, and I’ll come back for you.”
She knew he was right, she could not go with him, but she would have gone with him had he asked her to. They spent the rest of the afternoon on their special island. She gave herself in tearful passion, knowing that it was uncertain when, or even if, she would ever see him again. When finally it was time to go, he helped her on her horse and rode with her until they reached the corner of her uncle’s property. He pulled up short of the path to the house. “I don’t know how your folks will take it now that I’m a convict on the run again,” he said.
“Clint, they know you’re a good man, especially my father. He would never turn you away. Besides, you’re not asking for anything that doesn’t already belong to you. And if you’re worried about me, don’t. I don’t care what they think.” She nudged her horse and led the way.
When she entered the house, Bertha was already in the midst of making supper. “I was beginning to worry about you,” Bertha remarked. “I was about to send John to look for you.”
“I’m sorry,” Joanna replied softly. “I guess I just lost track of time.”
Usually observant, Bertha was startled when she glanced beyond her niece to discover Clint coming in the door behind her. Standing wide-eyed in astonishment and left speechless for once in her life, she looked to Joanna for an explanation.
“Clint’s just come for some of his things,” Joanna started. “He’s not going to stay.” Then while her aunt gaped at her and then at Clint, then back at her again, Joanna explained Clint’s unexpected appearance. Before she finished, the men came in from the lower field, equally astonished to find Clint there—overjoyed in young John’s case—and the story was repeated, this time by Clint.
As Clint had feared, the situation created some concern for Frederick Steiner. He wasn’t quite sure what his Christian position should be in the case of a fugitive from the law. Before, when the deputy marshal had come to the house, and Clint had agreed to return to serve his sentence, Frederick was satisfied that things were in proper order. Now he stood a little uncertain. He would not deny Clint hospitality, but he was not comfortable with it. This was not the case with his brother, Karl. Joanna’s father had seen Clint in action when he and his daughter were in grave danger. He had discovered Clint’s character in the responsibility he assumed to guarantee Joanna’s safety. There was no hesitation on his part; he would help Clint on either side of the law. John’s position was already known, but he was too young for his advice to be given serious consideration.
Bertha listened patiently during the second explanation to the men. She watched Joanna’s face when Clint told them about the trial in Cheyenne and his decision to escape. Her heart went out to her niece, for her major concern was for Joanna, and she could see no happy ending to a life on the run with a fugitive. As much as she genuinely liked Clint, she felt she must speak against any ideas Joanna might have in mind. “Clint,” she finally interrupted, “I understand completely why you did what you did, but if you care for Joanna, you must know you can’t take her with you.”
“I know that, ma’am,” Clint replied. “I wouldn’t ask her to.”
“I knew you had a good head on your shoulders,” Bert
ha said.
“Well, why don’t you women get some supper on the table?” Karl interjected. “The man’s probably half starved.”
“I could use somethin’ to eat,” he admitted, “if it’s not too much to ask.”
“Of course you can have something to eat,” Bertha said. “I’m not going to send you off hungry.”
“I’m obliged,” Clint drawled with a shy little smile in Joanna’s direction. “Then I’ll be goin’ as soon as I get my horse loaded.”
“You might as well stay until morning,” Frederick said. “It’s kinda late to get started tonight.”
Joanna gave her uncle a grateful smile, then followed Clint out to the corral while he made his selection of the horses he had left in John’s care. His choice was one of the Indian ponies, a pinto, to use for his packhorse. Figuring he would be depending upon his rifle for most of his food, he loaded all the spare ammunition he had. He unrolled a spare shirt and took the money he had left there for safe-keeping, and put it in his packs, along with his cooking utensils and his coffeepot. Then he set the packs beside the stall to be loaded upon the pinto in the morning. Joanna helped with the packs and then walked him back to the house, holding his arm in both of hers.
It was an unusually quiet supper. No one seemed inclined to offer the usual lighthearted conversation so typical at Bertha’s table. It was as if they expected the law to knock on the door at any second. It was a relief for Clint when it was finished and he said his good-byes. Joanna walked to the door of the barn with him and kissed him good night. “Be careful,” she said as he left her.
Unable to sleep for most of the night, Joanna finally gave up a little before dawn and went to the window. As she stood staring out into the dark barnyard, she saw a shadowy figure on a horse emerge from the barn, leading his packhorse. Her first impulse was to run to the door to say good-bye, but she hesitated, knowing that it would be easier for both of them if she didn’t.
Chapter 14
Maggie Pitts took a long look at herself in the mirror, then touched her cheek with another dab of rouge. It was getting harder and harder to hide the years that had eroded the youthful appearance she had once thought would never fade. She stepped back to examine the full-length image, turning to study one profile, then turning to judge the other. She squinted critically at the beginnings of a wattle beneath her chin and reached up to pull the loose skin back with her fingers. Nothing I can do about that, she thought, unless I wear dresses cut low enough to distract male eyeballs. Sighing helplessly, resigned to the facts of nature, she finished dressing, took one last look in the mirror at the completed package, and went into the kitchen.
Times had been hard these last months, and now that winter was approaching, they would be harder still, although, typically, she usually picked up more short-term boarders in the winter, usually lonely men who lived most of their lives in temporary camps, caves, or rough cabins. A week at Maggie’s big two-story house, eating in a dining room, and if financially able, enjoying the extra benefits offered by the madam, was their reward for surviving the rest of the year in the wilderness. If the customer was not able to afford the delights of the owner of the house, there were always the offerings of Maggie’s cook and housekeeper. Half Irish, half Blackfoot, Corrina was compensated with free room and board, and earned her casual money by servicing occasional drifters.
It had been an equitable arrangement, but Maggie was keen enough to see the handwriting on the wall. She was staring life’s advancing years in the face, and her sights were always set on finding her financial salvation. The big house that her late husband had built for her—at the time the finest structure in Big Timber, and still the largest—was now in a state of sad despair and in need of repair. And Maggie’s chief assets were her feminine charms and friendly disposition, both of which were losing value every year.
For these reasons, Maggie was particular about her appearance on this early-fall day. Her two new boarders, though rough in appearance, seemed to be flush with money, judging by the size of the rolls they displayed when they paid a week in advance for not one, but two rooms. This might not be the opportunity she hoped for, but it certainly warranted looking into. And not that it mattered, but the big one wasn’t that hard to look at. A bath and shave might be enough to make him presentable. The skinny one looked a little too much like a weasel to suit her, but when it came down to her needs, she would make either one do. She had been a prostitute when Frank married her. She was the same now, although she liked to think of herself as a property owner and entrepreneur.
She paused inside the kitchen door to judge the progress of supper. “Corrina, are you about ready to put it on the table?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the cook replied. “You can go ahead and ring the bell if you want to. I’m fixin’ to carry it in now.”
Maggie took a tiny dinner bell from the cupboard, and walking to the hallway, rang it several times. She then stood at the foot of the stairs and waited until she heard doors opening and boots in the upstairs hallway before returning the bell to its place in the cupboard.
Standing now at the corner of the long dining room table, Maggie greeted her guests as they filed in. “Mr. Smith, Mr. Johnson,” she said cheerfully as Ballenger and Yancey pulled chairs away from the table and seated themselves. Not waiting for an invitation to start, both men dived right into the vittles, spooning out platefuls of everything on the table. Corrina, just setting a platter stacked with biscuits on the table, jumped back startled when Yancey used his fork to spear one of the biscuits before the platter was seated.
“Look out, there, missy,” Ballenger chortled, “you’ll lose a finger or two.” He looked at Maggie and grinned. “Ol’ Pete’s been livin’ in the woods too long. We ain’t et in such fine trappin’s as these for a long spell.” Yancey merely grunted, more intent upon his plate.
Maggie answered his comments with a smile as she sat down at the head of the table. Watching the only two guests in the house attack Corrina’s steak and gravy, she began to doubt the potential for her long-term salvation. On the other hand, she thought while watching Ballenger chewing on a slab of steak held before him on his fork, if he’s rich, he could meet with an early demise, just as her late husband. Inwardly she shuddered when she thought, It might be a really rough honeymoon. Displaying a smile for him, she thought, Oh well, you do what must be done.
“How long will you be staying with us, Mr. Smith?” Maggie asked.
Yancey glanced up from his plate long enough to say, “We don’t know—depends on things.”
Maggie seemed confused. “I thought you were Mr. Johnson,” she said.
“Oh . . . well, I am,” Yancey replied, caught in the mistake. “Mr. Smith, there, was busy eatin’ and I taught him not to talk with his mouth full.” Both men roared with laughter at the joke.
Maggie’s hopes for future planning drained quickly away as the supper progressed. The rough exteriors should have been warning enough that the two were no more than outlaws, and most likely came by their wealth dishonestly. Now she wished she had not gone to the trouble to put on her best dress to impress these two swine. However, she could still show a profit on the two before they decided to leave town.
His appetite sated, Clell pushed back a little from the table while he sipped another cup of coffee. “That little saloon we passed on the way in here, can a man get into a little card game there?”
“I expect so,” Maggie replied. “There’s men gambling there most every night.”
“And maybe get a little somethin’ else?” Ballenger continued, his grin indication enough of what he referred to.
She favored him with a knowing smile. “That depends on how much you can afford. You might be able to get somethin’ extra somewhere else if the price is right.”
“Like here?” Ballenger asked, enjoying the repartee.
“For the right price,” Maggie replied.
“How much would that be?”
“Fifty dollars.”
“Fifty dollars!” he exclaimed, then looked at Yancey. “Fifty dollars she says.” Back at Maggie, he said, “I ain’t ever heard of no whore chargin’ that much. You must think a helluva lot of yourself.”
“I ain’t a whore, so it’ll cost you more,” she responded, looking him straight in the eye. “And I ain’t never had a complaint.”
“Is that so?” Clell replied. “Hell, as much as we paid for the rooms, that oughta be included.”
“Well, it ain’t,” Maggie retorted. “If you wanna spend time with a lady, you’ll have to pay for it. Otherwise, you can go see one of those hogs that hang around the saloon.”
Ballenger chuckled gleefully, fully entertained by the madam’s attitude. “Well, darlin’,” he said, “I’ve got the money to buy ten like you. I’ll just try you out tonight to see if you’re worth fifty dollars.” He glanced over at Yancey, who was still stuffing his mouth with biscuits. “How ’bout it, Mr. Johnson, you interested in a go-round with this prairie flower?”
Before Yancey could answer, Maggie interjected, “I don’t do doubles. Mr. Johnson can talk to Corrina if he wants to.” Yancey shrugged indifferently and continued eating.
Her remark caused Ballenger to chuckle again. “All right, Your Highness, we’ve got a deal.”
“After you take a bath we’ll have a deal,” Maggie replied. “There’s a tub in the washhouse. Corrina can heat some water for you.”
“Wait a minute,” Clell protested. “Ain’t nothin’ been said about no bath.”
“That’s my rule,” she insisted. “Don’t come to me smellin’ like the stable.” She felt it necessary to have some measure of control over the obviously rowdy scoundrel; otherwise, she might be the victim of a bruising rough and tumble. If he totally balked at the bath stipulation, she would probably do it, anyway, because she needed the extra fifty badly. She was greatly relieved, however, when he laughingly agreed to terms.
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