Coroner Creek (8 page)

The tawny flats lay on all sides of him, deceptively level in the overhead sun that cast no shadow. Yordy looked at the range now with the eye of a man who has, in the past, worried about its condition. It had been a dry summer, and this grass would barely keep fat on a range cow through the winter. Yordy thought of the bunch of two-year-olds that Della was going to have to buy feed for this winter, and the thought pleased him now, whereas this morning it had been worrying him. Why did he care? Henhouse's hard luck was his good luck, he thought now.

An hour later he came to the bridge over Coroner Creek, and put his horse down for a drink, watching the clear water brawling over the rocky bottom. He went on and was presently near the juncture of the Coroner Canyon road that ran string-straight from Triumph to the Blackbows and over the pass. Approaching it, he saw a rider coming from the mountains, and he raised his hand and felt his jaw; it was swollen, but not much. A sudden surge of bravado came to him. To hell with what anyone thought. He'd taken a licking from Danning while trying to save Della Harms from a criminally foolish move. Yordy had already begun to taste the pleasures of martyrdom.

As he drew closer to the crossroads, he saw that the rider was Mrs. Miles. A nice instinct for comfortable survival told Yordy that if he could make his story pitiful enough, he might, through Mrs. Miles' intercession, be taken on at Rainbow. Beyond that, however, was the woman herself, pretty, friendly, but an object of sly gossip and curiosity among the riffraff Yordy liked. And a drinker, according to this gossip.

Yordy reached the crossroads first and reined up, and when Abbie Miles approached, he touched his hat respectfully and said, “Nice day, Mrs. Miles,” and put his horse beside hers.

“Beautiful,” Abbie agreed pleasantly. “Almost too nice, Frank. Is your range burning out like everyone else's?” Abbie rode her big chestnut sidesaddle. She wore a suit of some dark green material with divided skirt, and a tricorn hat that did not begin to pen her rich, raven hair. There was something almost shy about her greeting, and Yordy, remembering. Danning's disclosure, and wise in the ways of many excesses, almost smiled. Remorse was making her humble, more pleasant than usual, even.

He kept his face grave, however, and shook his head slowly. “I haven't any interest in Box H range any more, Mrs. Miles. I'd say it was burning out, though.”

Abbie looked closely at him, her blue eyes at once full of concern. “You mean you've left, Frank.”

“I was thrown off,” Yordy said calmly, with just the right tinge of sadness in his tone. He glanced over at Mrs. Miles and saw that his news was having the desired effect, for she was troubled.

“That would take a pretty good man, Frank.”

“He is a pretty good man. Or at least the Harms women think so, because that's why they hired him.”

“Who is he?” Abbie asked curiously.

“Chris Danning, a drifter,” Frank said, watching Abbie. But the name seemed not to register, and Yordy thought with an amused malice,
She don't even know who brought her home
.

“And what's he doing there?”

“Gettin” ready to tie into Rainbow,” Frank said bluntly. “I guess it's no news to you, Mrs. Miles, that there's bad blood between Rainbow and Box H.”

“No,” Abbie said softly, not looking at him.

“I done my best to keep the peace,” Yordy said gravely. “For my pains, I get pitched out by a stranger. Not even given time enough to get my clothes.”

Abbie didn't say anything, and Frank sighed. “Well, there's other jobs. I'm not a young man any more, but I reckon I can find a place where my experience will mean something.”

“I expect you can,” Abbie said, and beyond that she was silent. Yordy glanced at her. She was looking out over the flats, and he wasn't at all sure she was listening. Even if she had heard him, she wasn't interested enough to help, and a wave of self-pity engulfed Yordy then that he nursed in silence until they were in sight of town.

His scheming, though, was tireless and thorough, and presently he spoke again, this time more directly. “I figure Younger could use some things I know, Mrs. Miles. That is, if he's serious about what he's doin' to Henhouse.”

Abbie looked at him now, and there was a faint dislike in her eyes. “Things you'd be willing to sell, Frank?”

Yordy ignored that. “Henhouse can be licked, Danning or no Danning, and I know how.” He looked fully at her. “You think he'd be interested?”

“Ask him, why don't you?”

They were in Triumph's main street now and when they'd passed the feed stable, Abbie pulled in at the hotel.

Frank reined up and touched his hat, and said in a low voice, “I'll be at Joe Briggs' for three-four days. You tell Younger that, will you?”

Abbie said, “Danning must be a big man, Frank, if he drives you to talk to my husband out at Briggs'.”

Yordy's anger was immediate. His florid face darkened a little and he looked down at Abbie who did not trouble to hide her contempt now.

“You ought to know, Mrs. Miles,” he said pointedly. “Good day to you.”

Abbie watched him ride off, a faint puzzlement in her face. The old dread crept back then as she turned to halter her horse to the tie rail. Why ought she to know anything about Danning? The answer came, even as she asked herself the question. It had something to do with yesterday, with those hours that were dropped completely out of her life and which she could never account for. She couldn't pretend she remembered: Mrs. Flynn told her Ray Flanders had carried her in last night.

Abbie squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, ducked under the tie rail and stepped into the lobby of the hotel. It was deserted, but Abbie knew the routine of the place.

She went on through the dining room into the kitchen. On the way, she took off her hat and laid it on one of the dining-room tables and was rolling up her sleeves as she shouldered open the kitchen door.

Kate was working in the pantry at the big table under the open window that looked out onto the street. She was kneading bread in a great dishpan, the bread pans spread out on the table. Her sleeves were rolled and hen arms floured to the elbows.

“Hello, handsome,” Abbie greeted her, and went over to an apron hanging on a hook on the wall. “What's it tonight? Pie and cake, but what color of each?”

Kate smiled slowly. “Abbie, you're just like a ranch dog. Every time the door's open, you sneak in and head for the stove.”

“I never get a chance at home,” Abbie said calmly. “It's Mrs. Flynn's kitchen, not mine. If I can't work here, I'll forget how.”

Abbie moved about the kitchen, talking cheerfully. She knew where everything was, since she was doing just this when Younger Miles had found her. She got the canned fruit, the pans and all the paraphernalia organized on the big table beside Kate, and then set to work. There was an utter contentment on her face as she busied herself now, but she was wondering, behind her chatter, how she was going to ask the questions she must have answered.

Presently she observed to Kate that she had ridden in with Yordy, and gave Yordy's account of what had happened at Box H.

Kate stopped kneading the bread a moment and listened, and there was an almost rapt expression in her small face as Abbie talked on.

“So he's started,” Kate said quietly, when Abbie was finished. “Poor Della.”

“When I told Yordy that Danning must be a pretty big man, Yordy said ‘You ought to know, Mrs. Miles.'” She looked over at Kate. “Why should I, Kate?” She paused and said doggedly, “Yesterday?”

Kate nodded. “He took you home—part way home, that is. Ernie Coombs and some of your crew met him. They almost had a fight, since Ernie thought he was the one who'd got you drunk.”

Abbie murmured sardonically, “What touching loyalty,” and went back to her work. So did Kate, and presently, Abbie said, “Well, finish it, Katie.”

“Not any more,” Kate said quietly. “I've talked enough. There's a man around here, though, that I'd like to kill,” she added grimly.

Abbie looked startled. “Who?”

“The man who's getting you that liquor.”

The two women looked warily at each other and Abbie shrugged. “Let's not talk about it, Katie.”

“Let's do!” Kate said hotly. “Your friends can cover up for you only so long, Abbie, and then something happens like this morning!”

“Something like what?”

There was real distress in Kate's face now, but she went on stubbornly, looking Abbie full in the face. “I guess Ernie and Younger wanted to make sure Danning didn't talk about you, so they gave him his choice of working for Rainbow or leaving the country. So Danning stood right in front of Melaven's this morning and announced to the whole town that he'd taken you home drunk last night, and what was Younger going to do about it? That's all that happened!”

The color drained out of Abbie's face as Kate finished, and she looked down at her hands. After a long moment she said, “Your Danning is a gentleman, isn't he?”

“My Abbie is a lady, too, isn't she?” Kate countered hotly. As soon as she'd said it, she was sorry. Tears started down Abbie's cheeks, and Kate folded her to her and held her and said miserably, “I'm sorry, darling. I'm a fool and a mean person, I guess.”

Abbie sobbed brokenly, hiding her face in Kate's shoulder. “I—don't mind, really, Katie. Only—I'm so damned unhappy.”

“I know you are.”

“He doesn't
care
if I drink!” Abbie said with a soft wildness. “He doesn't care enough to wonder why, even.”

“Move back here.”

Abbie shivered. “He wouldn't let me. That's why he married me, to decorate the house and wear these clothes and ride those fine horses. That's what respectable people do, he says. Hasn't anyone ever told him respectable people love their wives, too?”

Kate said in a low, discouraged voice. “He's going to hurt you even more, Abbie. You've got to expect that.”

“He couldn't,” Abbie said miserably. She moved away from Kate now and wiped her eyes. “I guess he could too,” she amended. “If he hurt Dad, that would be the end. I—I'd kill him.”

“Be quiet, Abbie,” Kate said miserably. She wiped the flour from her hands and then brushed off the flour dust that had come off on Abbie's dress, and as she did so she asked quietly, “What are you going to do when it gets worse? Drink more? Where does it end?”

Abbie looked steadily at her. “What does it matter where it ends, Kate? It hurts him—a little. I wish it hurt him more. It hurts Dad, but that's his price for being kept. It hurts me and I don't care. Then what does it matter?”

“What about us, the ones who do love you?”

Abbie shook her head. “You've got to take me the way I am, Kate.”

Abbie didn't reply further. She had no defense, and she wasn't going to try for one any longer. She turned stubbornly back to her work, and Kate, when she saw there was no use, turned back to hers. The two of them worked in silence, listening to the small street noises of late afternoon and the soft rush of the hot and waiting stove behind them.

Kate said, presently, “There's your father,” and when Abbie looked out the window she saw O'Hea and MacElvey crossing over from the feed stable to Miles' store. They parted there, O'Hea plodding tiredly, head on chest, up the boardwalk to the corner. At Melaven's he turned in. Abbie watched him silently, a deep pity stirring within her.

A moment later Perry MacElvey came out of the store and turned toward the corner too. He walked with a kind of alert and indolent grace, looking about him. His roving glance caught the open window in the hotel, and Kate waved to him. He touched his hat respectfully, and turned the corner.

Miles was boredly reading a paper at O'Hea's desk when he heard the footsteps in the corridor. He put down his paper and listened. A single set of footsteps, which meant it wasn't O'Hea and MacElvey. He shook out his paper again, but when the door opened he turned his head to look over his shoulder. It was MacElvey. Alone. Younger put down his paper, saying, “Where's Danning?”

“At the Box H,” MacElvey said. While Younger, puzzled, watched him, MacElvey skidded one of the barrel chairs into the center of the room and leisurely seated himself.

A swift impatience at MacElvey came to Younger, and he demanded, “What happened out there? Where's O'Hea?”

“Danning laughed at us,” MacElvey said. “He just wouldn't come. O'Hea's getting a drink he needs pretty badly.”

Younger could not entirely keep the anger from his voice as he said, “Start from the beginning!”

MacElvey told him the whole story, sparing none of the details. Younger interrupted him only once, when Mac told of Danning daring O'Hea to take him.

“What did O'Hea do?”

“Told me to put a gun on him.”

“And what did you do?”

“I didn't move a damned muscle,” MacElvey answered evenly.

Younger came out of his chair and said in savage disgust, “Ah, hell, Mac!”

MacElvey said nothing, and there was no apology in his eyes. A wild temper was in Younger as he stood there watching him, and then MacElvey saw it fade. MacElvey said, “Do you know him, Younger?”

A hard, speculative caution came into Younger's dark eyes now. “Could I forget him if I did? Why?”

“He said you know how to make it rough. He sounded like he knew.”

Younger only grunted, watching Mac. He stood utterly still a few seconds, as if thinking back, reaching, wondering, and then he said in a soft, wicked voice, “He just guessed. And he guessed right.”

The slow tramp of footsteps sounded in the hall, and Younger raised his glance to the door. O'Hea came in then, nodding to them, and hung up his Stetson.

“Get your drink?” Younger asked mildly.