Sweetwater Page 8

  “Did you know T.C. Kilkenny and Colin Tallman?”

  “You couldn’t live long in Timbertown and not know them.”

  “T.C. and Colin have a big ranch north of here. T.C. helped build the town for Rowe Lumber.”

  They talked on in low voices. Trell was comfortable with the girl; and as he sized her up, he was more convinced than ever that Jenny Gray would like her. They were a lot alike. Both had an overdose of spunk.

  A half hour later, just as the flames of the burning cabin were beginning to die down, they heard the sound of horses’ hooves, then three riders came across the grassland to stop just inside the circle of light.

  “Mother-a-Christ! That little twister-tail done burnt the shack. Reckon she knowed we wanted it?”

  “Told ya she was a corker, Hartog. Bet she’s wilder than a turpentined cat.”

  “I know how to take the starch outta her.”

  “That’s the one,” Colleen whispered and raised the barrel of her rifle at the same time.

  Before Trell could stop her she had fired off a shot. The bullet grazed the horse the man was on. The frightened animal reared throwing the man off-balance. Nonetheless, he pulled his gun and fired off several rapid shots in their direction. Colleen continued to shoot and miss the moving targets. Trell fired and hit a man who had moved his horse toward them.

  “I’m hit! Goddammit! I’m hit!” The wounded man spurred his horse out of the light of the fire. The other two followed.

  Colleen shot at the fleeing men and heard one of them cry out when her bullet found its mark.

  “I hit one,” she said, reloading rapidly.

  “With two of them hurt, they’ll not be back tonight.”

  “I better go see about Granny. She’ll have heard the shots and be worried.”

  “Take me to her. I’ve got something to talk over with the both of you.”

  Chapter Six

  With Colleen behind him, Trell guided the horse down the dark trail to where she had left the wagon and mules. It was well concealed, but would be easily tracked in the daytime. Mrs. Murphy was not with the wagon.

  “She’s on a ledge above the creek. I was ’fraid to leave her with the wagon, case they tracked it.” Colleen slid from the rump of the horse. “I’ll get her.”

  Trell built a small fire behind a boulder well back from the wagon. He was squatting beside it when Colleen and Mrs. Murphy came down from the ledge.

  “Evenin’, Mr. McCall.”

  “Evening, ma’am.”

  “I’ll get a bench for ya to sit on, Granny. And a blanket. Yo’re shiverin’.”

  When Colleen returned with the small seat, she brought the blanket and a cloth bag. From it she took a blackened coffeepot.

  “A spot of coffee would go down good.”

  Trell watched as Colleen filled the pot at the creek and set it on a rock she kicked into the fire. Obviously she had done so many times before. After the coffee boiled, she took the first cup to her grandmother, making sure a rag was wrapped about the tin cup so that the elderly woman wouldn’t burn her hands. He decided that he liked Colleen Murphy and believed that Jenny Gray would like her, too.

  “Did ya see the teacher over at Whitaker’s?” Colleen sat on the ground beside her grandmother.

  “Got there in time to help her put out a grass fire.”

  “Thought I smelled smoke on you when you rode up.”

  “You got a keen nose.”

  “Yeah. I can smell a skunk a mile away.”

  Trell drained his cup. “The teacher is having a pretty rough time.”

  “That’s too bad,” Colleen said sarcastically. “So are we.”

  “She’s got her two little sisters with her,” Trell continued. “Havelshell is trying to run her off. He’s using different tactics than those he used on you. He’s got to make her back out of her contract with the Indian Bureau back in Washington.”

  “What’s that got to do with us?”

  “I’m about to tell you. She wants you to come, stay there and help her out. The woman doesn’t know how to control the cookstove, as she put it. I ate a meal there that would choke a horse—burnt beans and biscuits hard as bullets. They’re city people and know nothing about living in this county, much less alone on a homestead.”

  “Why is the agent trying to run her off?”

  “It’s got to do with Walt Whitaker’s will. If a teacher comes, stays a certain length of time and teaches a certain number of Indian children, she or he, can have the ranch. If not, the agent can then auction off the land. You can guess who will buy it … cheap.”

  “The agent’s took himself a lot of say-so, if ya was to ask me,” Colleen put her tin cup back in the cloth bag.

  “Whitaker was smart enough to make his arrangements with the Indian Bureau back East. Havelshell is just in charge on this end.”

  “What is it yo’re wantin’ me and Granny to do?”

  “Go meet with the teacher. It could be that you’d have a place to live and she’d have someone to help her out.”

  “What about the agent?”

  “Miss Gray said it’s not his business who stays with her at the ranch. If the two of you team up, you just might put a kink in his plans to get it.”

  “What’a ya think, Granny?”

  “We’d have a roof over our heads, child. The way Mr. McCall puts it, we’d not be takin’ a handout. We’d be workin’ for our keep.”

  “She needs you more than you need her,” Trell said after a small silence.

  “She’s got a roof over her head. It’s more than we’ve got.”

  “She won’t have it long if she’s left there by herself. There’s not a stick of stove wood on the place.”

  “Any fool can go out and get firewood.”

  “Not if you’ve never done it.”

  “I’m not sure I’d cotton to a uppity city woman. We just might get into a hair-pullin’.”

  “I doubt that. She’s got book learning. But she’s not high-toned. Well, I’ve said my piece. If you want to go there, I’ll take you. If you want to go to my place for a day or so until you can decide what to do, I’ll take you there.”

  “Colleen, we could give it a try.”

  “Ya think we ort to, Granny?”

  “It won’t hurt to go see how the wind blows. Leastways it’d be better’n worryin’ them killers would foller after us ’cause we know which one killed yore pa.”

  “Maybe they’ll foller us there. Maybe we’ll be bringin’ our trouble down on the teacher.”

  “I don’t think so,” Trell said. “Havelshell will keep his men away from the school. He’s got to make her leave on her own. He’ll not harm her. If he did, the Bureau would have Federal marshals here quicker than he could spit. He wouldn’t like that.”

  “All right. Me and Granny will go and give it a try. I ain’t promisin’ to stay.”

  “Good enough.” Trell went to his horse who was cropping grass beside the creek. “I’ll bed down where I’ll know if anyone comes this way. I’ll take you to Whitaker’s in the morning.”

  “Ya got a blanket?” Colleen asked.

  “Always carry one behind my saddle. Never know when I’ll get caught away from home.”

  Three men rode into Sweetwater, turned down a side street and stopped behind one of the buildings. The town was closed down except for the two saloons. Light spilled out of the doorways as well as the sound of drunken laughter and clinking glasses.

  “I ain’t knowin’ if I can climb them stairs.”

  “Ya better or ya’ll sit there till ya bleed to death.” Hartog slowly slipped from the saddle. He held himself stiffly and started up the steps to the doctor’s office. “Get Havelshell,” he said to the third man, who was helping the other rider dismount.

  Ignoring the order, the man continued to help his friend until they were at the top landing where the doctor, after first lighting a lamp, had opened the door.

  “Get to doctorin’.” Hartog was a
ngry and hurting. “A sonofabitch shot me in the back.”

  The doctor helped him remove his sleeveless vest and then his shirt.

  “Bullet was almost spent. You can thank that cowhide vest you’re wearing for slowing it down. It’s there under the skin.”

  “Get it out, damn you. I got thin’s to do.”

  “Looks to me like your friend is in worse shape than you,” the doctor said calmly.

  “Let him wait. I was here first.” Hartog glared at the rider, who lingered after easing the wounded man down in a chair. “Thought I told ya to get Havelshell.”

  The man looked at the doctor, then back at Hartog.

  “The doc’ll fix ya up and we can go over there. Don’t think the agent will want to come.”

  “Goddamn it, Armstrong. I don’t care what he wants. When I tell ya to do somethin’, do it.”

  The man shrugged. “I’ll tell him what ya said.”

  Several minutes after Armstrong knocked, Alvin Havelshell finally came to the door. When he saw who it was, he stepped out onto the porch.

  “What is it?” he asked impatiently.

  Armstrong gave him Hartog’s message, and Havelshell responded with a string of obscenities.

  “Damn brainless sonofabitch! He’s not giving the orders. Does he think I want the whole town to know what happened out at Murphy’s?”

  “Hartog ain’t hurt much. He’s mad and swears he’ll go back and get the one who shot him. Eastman got it pretty bad.”

  “Why did you ride out there again tonight? I told Hartog to give them a couple of days to pack and get out.”

  “He had his mind on the gal. She’s somethin’. She flew at him when he shot her pa and pert near pulled him off his horse. He had to shove her off with his foot. He said nothin’ got him up like a fightin’ woman.”

  “I warned him about being mean with women. Folks here won’t stand for it.”

  “This’n got him stirred up. She’s somethin’, all right. Got plenty a guts. She buried her pa, moved the old lady out, and set fire to the place. We saw it a long way off. When we got there, two of ’em started shootin’. If one of ’em was the old woman, she sure can do some fancy shootin’.”

  “It wasn’t the old woman. Linus rode in and said Trell McCall from across the river was at Whitaker’s helping the teacher put out a grass fire. When he left he was heading toward the nester’s place.”

  “I don’t reckon that bird knows which way the wind blows here.”

  “Somebody’s going to have to wise him up.”

  “I’ll tell ya somethin’, Mr. Havelshell. When it comes to followin’ orders accordin’ to law, I’m your man. Hell! I’ll even shave the law a mite, if need be. But when it comes to shootin’ down an unarmed man, in front of his ma and his kid, I got no stomach fer it.”

  “You’re saying that’s what Hartog did?”

  “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. I keep my skin wrapped around my bones that way.” Armstrong was a washed-out, mustached, frame-shrunk man whose rheumy eyes appeared to seek but never quite meet the pair staring back at him. “I’m thinkin’ it’s time I pulled foot outta this country, Mr. Havelshell.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay, Armstrong. I need a man with a head on his shoulders to keep an eye on Hartog.”

  “I only seen McCall a time or two, but he ain’t goin’ to push easy.”

  “He keeps to himself. I don’t know much about him. Haven’t needed to until now.”

  Havelshell stood on spread legs, his thumbs hooked in his belt, and rocked back and forth on his heels. Someone was waiting for him upstairs, but he knew he’d have to deal with Hartog before he could get back to her.

  McCall was another matter. It could be that the reason he was at Whitaker’s was that he had smelled smoke and come onto the fire. Anyone with any brains at all would have helped put it out. That fire could have spread and taken everything in its path for miles and miles. Linus said that Hartog and the others just sat there and watched. The damn fools!

  It was smart to keep Linus out at the reservation store. He was a good snoop. He had also reported that Whitaker’s bastard and another Shoshoni had taken out the dam Havelshell had had thrown up to divert water from the ranch buildings. He would take care of the Indian kid and he would also set Miss Gray straight about giving orders for something to be done on reservation land.

  “I’ll get my coat, Armstrong,” Havelshell said after his long thoughtful silence. “I’ll wait for Hartog behind Doc’s. I don’t want him coming here.”

  Havelshell went back into the house and up the stairs to the bedroom. He bent over the woman on the bed, kissed her and fondled her naked breast for a long moment.

  “I’ll be gone for a while. Go to sleep so you’ll be all rested when I get back.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Not long.”

  “I hope not, Alvie. Our nights together are short as it is.”

  “I know. Someday—” He left the promise hanging.

  “Hurry back.”

  “With you waiting for me, how could I not hurry back.” He kissed her again and left her. The minute she was out of his sight, his thoughts turned to the problems at hand.

  Damn that trigger-happy Hartog. Damn that rancher, McCall, for sticking his bill in. Hartog could be taken care of; he’d just hire another killer to kill him. McCall was another story. If he insisted on dealing in, he would have to have an accident. It wouldn’t do to kill him openly or to burn him out. Folks would start pushing for a Federal marshal to come in.

  Havelshell left the house. Just the thought of something going wrong with his scheme made cold prickles dig into his belly.

  Armstrong waited with Havelshell until Hartog came down the stairs from the surgery. A thickset man, the gunman was almost as deep from chest to spine as from shoulder to shoulder. He was not fat, and was considered tough in a fight. He was also a man who liked to play on the winning side. Yet when he felt slighted about almost anything, he would kill a man as quickly as he would step on an ant and give it as little thought.

  “That bitch not only shot me, she burnt the place down! She ain’t gettin’ away with it.”

  “I’ve told you that we don’t want trouble here that would bring in the Federal marshals. If you bother that woman and folks get wind of it, there will be hell to pay.”

  “Ya think I’m a fool? Folks won’t get wind of it. I’ll beat her ass and screw’er in the ground. When I get through with’er, she’ll hightail it out of the country.”

  “Leave the woman alone,” Havelshell said firmly.

  “Ya tellin’ me what to do?” Hartog shoved his face close to the agent, and Havelshell took a step back.

  “I’m paying you. I have the right to tell you what to do.”

  “Not ’bout her, you don’t.”

  “She didn’t shoot you.”

  “How you know that?”

  “Linus saw McCall, the rancher from across the river, headed that way about sundown. Armstrong said two were shooting. It’s not likely one of them was the old woman.”

  “I’ll kill the sonofabitch! I’ll kill ’im for shootin’ me and I’ll kill ’im for messin’ with that woman.”

  “Make it look like an accident. If you gun him down, there’ll be talk. I’ve put out the word that you went to notify Murphy to get off the land and he opened fire. Isn’t that what happened?”

  “It’s what I said. Is somebody callin’ me a liar?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. Stay away from the reservation for a week or two and let things quiet down.”

  “Yore sour-mouthed old woman’ll be glad of it. Ain’t no wonder to me ya keep her out there.”

  “My private life is no concern of yours.”

  “Yeah? Might be if I decided I’d like a go at that woman what runs the hotel.”

  Havelshell knew that Hartog was shrewd, cunning. But how had he found out about Melva?

  “Stay away from her and keep your
mouth shut about my business. Hear?” There was a limit to the agent’s patience, and it showed in the angry tone of his voice.

  “Don’t be gettin’ in a sweat. I ain’t sayin’ anythin’ … yet.” Hartog laughed and walked away.

  Havelshell watched him go up the walk toward the saloons. The man was dangerous. He wished to hell he’d never set eyes on him.

  In the ranch house north of Cheyenne the name McCall was also being raised. Silas Ashley drew deeply on the Havana cigar and questioned the man who stood across from him in his study.

  “You say you found him?”

  “Sure did. I’d know that bastard anywhere. Never talked to him, but I saw him plenty of times that last month. Cocky as ever. Struttin’ ’round like he owned the world.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Over west. Near a town called Sweetwater. I asked the feller in the stage station if it was McCall, just to be sure. He said it was and he either had a horse ranch or was workin’ on one ’cross river and ’bout five miles up.”

  “He got a woman over there?”

  “Not that I heard of.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “If he did, he’d not connect me with this place. It’s been a while.”

  “How did you happen to run onto him?”

  “Told folks I was a horse buyer and learned a feller named McCall had horses over on the Sweetwater.”

  “It took you long enough,” Ashley growled and drew deep on the cigar.

  “It’s a big country,” the man said irritably; but when he saw the hard look in the rancher’s eyes, he finished lamely, “Lots a places a cowboy can hide.”

  “If I thought she’d get over the—”

  “Papa, did I hear you say … they’d found …?” The whiny voice trailed away.

  Ashley rose quickly to his feet and went to the girl in the doorway. Hope lighted her small pinched features and enormous light blue eyes. Thin yellow curls covered her head and hung over her shoulders. She was wrapped in a fancy robe trimmed with pink feathers.

  “Baby! What’er you doin’ up this time of night?” The big rancher towered over her protectively.

  “I saw him ride in, Papa. I had to know.” She leaned her head against his chest. “You said he’d bring him back. He didn’t come, did he? What if he won’t come? What if he don’t want me?” She caught her breath as if the thought was unbearable.