Monument Rock (Ss) (1998) (23 page)

She rode on, cutting diagonally across toward the Old Mormon Trail, which would mak
e
for easier riding until she had to leave the trail and ride across the rough gras
s
country toward the high cliffs at Monument Rock.

North and east of her, the cliffs made a solid barrier that seemed to cut off th
e
world from this valley, cliffs from four hundred to nine hundred feet high, a dar
k
barrier of dull red now, with the sun just showing above them. Yet that barrier wa
s
not as solid as it appeared, for there were a score of places where a horseman migh
t
find a way through, and there were, almost due east of the ranch, three canyons tha
t
branched like three spread fingers from a given point.
The only one she knew was Salt Creek
Wash, and only the first ha
lf mile of that. Her father had
n
ever liked her to ride up int
o those rugged mountains alone.

It was early spring, yet the air was warm and vibrant,
c
lear as only desert air can be. The black mare felt good, and wanted to go, bu
t
Lona held her in, scanning the country ahead and around her, hoping to see the Blac
k
Rider.

She had been wrong to come in the morning, especially when it was clear, for he wa
s
never seen but at dusk or in the rain. Was there method in that? So that he woul
d
be impossible to follow for long? Dust arose from her horse's hooves and she rod
e
on until the cliffs began to rise above her and the sun was not yet high enough t
o
show above their serrated rim. She reined in and looked up at their high battlemen
t
crest, then let her eye travel along it, but she saw no horseman, nothing but th
e
rock itself.

What she had expected, she did not know. If she had expected her presence to brin
g
the Black Rider suddenl
y
springing from the solid rock, she was mistaken. It was still here, and lonely. Sh
e
had stopped with Zusa headed north, so she started on, walking her along the lo
w
slope that ended in the cliffs.

Ahead of her she knew the cliffs took a bend eastward and through the gap flowe
d
the occasional waters of Salt Creek, but there was, she knew, another wash besid
e
Monument Rock, so she followed along and entered a narrow opening that had rock wall
s
lifting six hundred feet and more on either side of her. It was shadowy and coo
l
and so still as to be almost unbelievable. She rode on, the canyon echoing to he
r
horse's hooves.

She drew up in a sort of amphitheater, the dark pinons clustering against the wall
,
and climbing it wherever a faint ledge gave precarious root hold. It was still here
,
and she drew up, her eyes wide and every sense alert. Even Zusa was on edge, fo
r
the mare's sensitive nostrils expanded and her eyes were wide and curious.

No sound disturbed the still afternoon. From the stillness she might have been sittin
g
in a mighty cathedral, yet there was no cathedral so splendid or so tall as this
,
no man-made temple as grand or magnificent. And then Zusa's muscles twitched, an
d
turning her head, Lona Markham looked straight into the eyes of the Black Rider!

He was about fifty yards away, his horse standing on a tiny knoll, outlined sharpl
y
against the green of the pinons behind him. The horse was a buckskin, a long-legged
,
magnificent animal, and the rider was tall, broad in the shoulder, and clothed i
n
black trousers, a dark gray shirt, and a black Mexican-style jacket.

For an instant she might have turned and fled, so frightened was she, so startle
d
by the horseman's unexpected appearance, but she sat her mare, her eyes wide an
d
expectant, and then the buckskin started to walk down the knoll toward her.

Under the low flat brim of his black hat, the Rider's face was scarcely visible
,
and as he drew near she noticed that he wore two guns, tied down. He drew up suddenl
y
and, to her relief, lifted a gloved hand and brushed his hat back.

She saw first that he was handsome, with a strong, rugged face, brown from wind an
d
sun, and green eyes that had the look of the desert at their corners. "You are Lona?"
h
e asked.

His voice was strong, clear, friendly. "Yes," she said, "how did you know my name?"

"I have known it for a long time," he said. "Why did you come here today?"

"Why, I ..." She hesitated. "I was curious!" she said. "Just plain curious."

He chuckled, and she liked the sound. There was droll humor in his eyes. "Don't blam
e
you! From what I hear, a lot of folks are curious. How about Frank Mailer an' Pok
e
Markham? Are they curious?"

"A little. I think Father is more curious than Frank."

At her use of the word father, he looked at her again. "You call him father?" h
e
asked.

"Why, of course! He is my father. What else would I call him?"

"I could think of a number of things," he said grimly. "Want to talk awhile?" h
e
suggested suddenly. "No use you coming clear out here to see the strange rider an
d
not getting to talk with him."

She hesitated, but he swung down, and so she dismounted. He took the bridle of he
r
horse and ground-hitched them both on a patch of grass in the lee of a cliff wher
e
sub irrigation
kept the grass green. Then he took of
f
his hat and walked toward her. He had dark curly hair and a quizzical humor in hi
s
eyes.

"Don't worry about this," he said, smiling at her. "I know this is a mighty lonel
y
place for a girl to be talkin' to a stranger, but later you'll understand."

"What will I understand?" she said evenly. She was frankly puzzled by him and b
y
his attitude. He had known her name, and he seemed to know something about her, bu
t
certainly there was nothing in his manner that would in any way offer a cause fo
r
resentment.

"Lots of things." He dug out the makings and dropped to a rock facing her. He was
,
she noticed, also facing the opening up which she had ridden. "How'd you happen t
o
come here?"

"I heard you had been seen on the rims, and that I should come here and wait. Rusty
,
he's our new hand, told me that. Very mysterious, if you ask me!"

He grinned. "He's quite a guy, Rusty is. You can trust him."

"Oh, you know him?" She was startled.

"Rusty? If you ever need a friend, he's your man."

He drew deep on the cigarette. "You were away to school quite awhile, weren't you?

How old were you when you left?"

She looked at him seriously. "Oh, I was only five then. Father sent me away to th
e
sisters' school, said a ranch was no place to raise a girl who had so far to go.

I mean, so many years in which to grow up. I used to return for vacations after I
w
as fifteen. Once in a while, that is."

"I don't remember a lot of things from when I was five," he said casually. "Do you?

I mean, do you remember your father very well?"

"Some things about him, but it's all sort of funny an
d
mixed up. He was awfully good to me, I remember that. He was sort of sweet, too.

I remember riding in a wagon for ever so long, and how he used to tell me storie
s
about my mother-she died a year before we started west-and about the ranch that wa
s
waiting for us out here. The place where he had hoped to take my mother. He sai
d
he had taken it in my name, and it would always be mine."

"Has your dad changed much?"

She nodded. "Quite a lot. But he's had trouble, I guess. He never says much anymore
,
not to me, at least, and sometimes he acts sort of strange. But he's all right,"
s
he added hurriedly. "I love him."

He turned his green eyes full upon her and there was something so searching in thos
e
eyes that she was disturbed. "Is that wrong?" she asked indignantly. "To love you
r
father?"

"No, it isn't." He threw down his cigarette and rubbed it out with his toe. "In fact
,
that's the way it should be. On the other hand, maybe this particular gent doesn'
t
deserve loving." He looked over at her. "Lona, we've got to have more than one talk
,
I can see that. Some things I might want to tell you, you wouldn't want to believ
e
now. Later I
y
ou might.'

"But first off, I want to ask you to mention meeting me to no one.
Rusty would be all right, if you could do it!
w
here nobody could hear. Remember this: I'm your friend and you've got to trust me.

You're in a position right now where you'll need friends, and badly!"

"Why do you say that?" she demanded.

"Haven't they talked to you about marryin' Frank Mailer?"

She nodded. "Yes, of c
ourse. Father wants me to marry
him."

"You want to marry him?"

Lona hesitated. Why was this stranger asking all these questions? Who was he?

"No," she said honestly. "I don't."

"Then," he said, "you mustn't. No matter what they say or what they do," he insisted
,
"don't marry him! Don't refuse right out, just evade the issue. Find excuses . .

. clothes you have to have, plans for the wedding, just anything. You won't hav
e
to delay it long, because I think there will be a lot happening and soon. If th
e
worst comes to the worst, see Rusty. You can trust him, like I said."

He walked to the horses. "And can you meet me here again? The day after tomorrow?"

Lona hesitated. "Why should I? I don't know what you are talking about! These ar
e
all riddles and I have no idea why you say I may need friends, or why I should trus
t
this new puncher! Or why I should either trust or listen to you!"

The Rider took a breath. "I don't blame you for that, but you must listen. You don'
t
know it yet, but you're in trouble. Your marriage to Frank Mailer was planned a lon
g
time ago, Lona, before you ever heard of him, and it's bad! Plumb bad!

"Something else I want you to do," he added. "I want you to think about the time
s
when you were a youngster, before you ever went away to school. Every minute fro
m
now on I want you to think about that Wagon trip. The way it started, everythin
g
that happened. The more you try to remember, the more it will come back. It's ver
y
important to you." He hesitated. "You see, I knew your mother."

"What?" She turned on him, wide-eyed. "You knew... ? But why didn't you tell me?"

Then suddenly she hesitated. Her eyes were suddenly frightened. "You ... what did you know about her?"

"That she was a mighty fine woman, Lona. You look a lot like her, too. Yes, she wa
s
mighty fine. One of the sweetest, finest women I ever knew. I knew your father i
n
those days, and he was a fine man."

"Why don't you come to see him, then?" she said, frowning at him.

He hesitated. "Lona, that man is not your father. He is no relation to you at all.

There never was a 'Poke' Markham! Isiah Markham was your father. That man down ther
e
is Poke Dunning, a onetime gunfighter and outlaw from the Big Bend country. I don'
t
know what it is he's doing here, but I aim to find out! Your father was once a frien
d
to me when I needed him. Tha
t's why I, now, am a, friend to you."