Monument Rock (Ss) (1998) (26 page)

Aside from Mr. Lisa, the Portuguese proprietor, only three men were in the Express.

A couple of oldsters who were dry-farming near town, and the man Dunning sought
,
a hanger-on known about town as Kansas.

Kansas was more than a loafer, he was a man of unknown background and capacity. Wha
t
his life had been in the years before he arrived in Salt Creek, nobody knew. He ha
d
a wife, and the two lived in a small cabin on the edge of town. It was nicer insid
e
than most houses, for Kansas seemed to have a knack with tools, and he had even varnishe
d
the furniture and there were curtains in the windows and neatness everywhere. Moreover
,
Kansas had a dozen books, more than the rest of the town combined.

Yet he was a loafer, a short, heavy man with a round face and somewhat staring eye
s
who did odd jobs for his money. He smoked a corncob pipe, blinked like an owl
,
and had a faculty for knowing things or knowing how to find out. He had been in th
e
War Between the States, and someone said he had once worked on a newspaper in th
e
East. His conversation was more varied than customary in Salt Creek, for he kne
w
something more than cows and the range. In fact, he knew a little of everything
,
and was nearly as old as Dunning himself.

"Howdy, Kansas!" Dunning said affably. "Have a drink?"

"Right neighborly of you, Poke! B'lieve I will!" He let the dark-faced Lisa pou
r
his drink, then looked over at Dunning. "We don't see you much anymore. I guess yo
u
leave the business mostly to Mailer."

"Some things," Dunning agreed. It was the truth, of course, that Mailer had bee
n
doing the business, yet it nettled him to hear it said. "Any strangers around town?"
h
e asked casually.

To Kansas, the question was not casual. He could not recall that Poke Markham ha
d
ever asked such a question before, and he was aware that the conversation of peopl
e
will usually follow certain definite patterns. Hence it followed that the remar
k
was anything but casual and that Markham was interested in strangers, or some particula
r
stranger.

"Not that I know of," Kansas replied honestly enough. "Not many strangers ever com
e
to Salt Creek. Being off the stage route and miles from the railroad, it doesn'
t
attract folks. Were you expecting somebody?"

"No," Dunning replied, "not exactly." He steered the conversation down another trai
l
and let it ride along for a while before he opened up with another question. "I expec
t
like ever'body else you've seen that Black Rider they talk about," he suggested.

"Can't say I have," Kansas replied. So old Markham was forking that bronc, was he?

What was on his mind
,
anyway? There was a point behind these questions, but Kansas could not place it.

"I've got my own ideas about him," he added, "an' I'd bet a little money they ar
e
true."

"What sort of ideas? You know who he is? Why he's here?" Poke was a little too anxiou
s
and it showed in his voice. Kansas needed some extra money and this might be th
e
way to get it.

"Oh, I've been studyin' on it."

The two oldsters had started for the door and Lisa was opening a barrel of flour.

Poke Dunning leaned closer to Kansas. "You find out who he is and I'll make it wort
h
your while."

"How much is my while worth?" Kansas asked.

Poke hesitated, then dug into his jeans. "Twenty dollars?"

It was a talking point, but Kansas decided he might get more. He never accepted
a
man's first offer. "Make it fifty," he said.

"Too much." Poke hesitated. "I'll give you thirty."

Kansas sighted through his glass. "All right," he said, "I'll find out for you."

"What was your hunch?" Dunning wanted to know.

Kansas hesitated. "You seen this Nita Howard over to the Fandango?"

"Not yet."

"You take a good look. I think she's Nita Riordan."

The name meant nothing to Dunning and he said as much. Kansas turned his head towar
d
Dunning. "Well, Nita Riordan is associated with Kilkenny. He met her down on th
e
border during that wire war in the Live Oak country. Then she was with him over t
o
the Cedars in that ruckus."

"Kilkenny . . ." Dunning's eyes narrowed as he hal
f
spoke, half gasped the word. Now there was a thought! Why, if he could hire Kilkenn
y
. . .! When the split came with Mailer, it would pay to have the mysterious gunma
n
on his side.

He scowled suddenly. "Why would he be here? What would he be doin' here?"

Kansas shook his head. "What he's doing here, I don't know. But Kilkenny keeps t
o
himself like this Rider does. Moreover, the Howard woman at the Fandango calls he
r
bartender Cain, an' Cain Brockman was with Kilkenny in that last fuss."

Dunning peeled a couple of twenties from a buckskin-wrapped roll of them and slappe
d
them in the man's hand. "If you can get word to him, I'll give you another thirty.

I want to see him on the quiet, an' don't let it get around, you hear?"

Kansas nodded, and Poke Dunning walked out and stopped on the step.

Kilkenny! If it were only he! But maybe he wouldn't take the job; there were storie
s
that Kilkenny's gun was not for hire. That was sure nonsense, of course, any man'
s
gun could be hired for enough money, and he had the money. To be rid of Mailer i
t
would be worth plenty.

Lona was up at daybreak, having scarcely slept a wink. She had followed the Rider'
s
instructions and tried to recall all she could of the ride on the wagon, but it wa
s
little enough. She recalled the town where the fat lady had been so nice to her an
d
where she had given her maple sugar brought out from Michigan in a can. There ha
d
been Indians there, and a lot of people. She was sure that town was Santa Fe.

She waited until the hands were gone and then got a hurried breakfast from Dave Betts.

"Rusty?" Betts asked. "Sure, I know where he went. He went south, down to Malpai
s
Arroyo. Mailer sent him down there to roust some stock out of that rough countr
y
an' start it back this away."

Zusa was ready and eager to go, and Lona let the mare run. She was curious to tal
k
to Gates again, for she was sure now that he knew who the Rider was. Though he seeme
d
young, the Rider had known her father. Maybe Rusty would know.

She found him by as fine a flow of profanity as she had ever heard. He was down i
n
the brush fighting an old ladino who had Rusty's rope on his horns but who had plunge
d
into the brush even as the rope snagged it, and at the moment it was a stalemate
,
with Gates venting his irritation in no uncertain terms.

"Hi!" she called. "Having trouble?"

He shoved his hat back on his sweaty forehead and grinned at her. "That goll-durned
,
ornery critter!" he said. "I got to get him out of here, and the durned fool want
s
to stay! You just wait, I'll show him!" Rusty eased his horse sideways and then loosene
d
his rope from the saddle horn. Before the steer could back up any farther into th
e
brush, he whipped the rope around the stub of an ancient tree and tied it off. "There!"
h
e said. "We'll just let him sit for a while."

Rusty walked over to her, his eyes curious, but if he had a question, Lona beat hi
m
to the draw. "Rusty, who is the Black Rider?"

Gates wrinkled his nose at the fancy name. "He'll tell you, ma'am, when he's ready
,
and he's the one to do it."

"But how could he have known my father?"

Rusty looked up quickly. "Ma'am, how he knew you
r
father, I don't exactly know, only it seems to be your pa helped him when he wa
s
a kid and havin' it tough. I guess your pa talked a good bit about his plans. H
e
only found out a short time ago that your pa was dead an' that there might be troubl
e
here. Naturally, being' the man he is, he had to do somethin' about it."

The sound of a horse made them both look up, and Lona felt herself grow pale as sh
e
saw Frank Mailer!

"Lona!" His voice was hoarse with anger. "What's goin' on here? What are you doin'
,
meetin' this puncher down here?"

"I'm talking to him!" she flared. "Why shouldn't I? He works for me! And it migh
t
be a good idea," she added with spirit, "for you to remember that you work for us
,
too!"

Frank Mailer's face stiffened and his eyes narrowed. "You seem to forget that yo
u
are the girl I'm to marry," he said, in a tone less harsh. "Naturally, I don't wan
t
you around like this."

"Well, until we are married," she said coldly, "it happens to be none of your business!

If you'd like to change your mind, you may. In fact, I don't like your bullying ton
e
and I think I've change
d
my mind!"

Frank Mailer was furious. He glared, struggling for speech. When he did speak i
t
was to roar at Gates. "Get that steer out of that brush, you blamed farmer! Get i
t
out an' you get them cows back to the ranch, pronto!"

Rusty Gates calmly went to work freeing the steer. Lona and Zusa started out of th
e
arroyo. "Wait!" Mailer shouted. "I want to talk to you!"

She turned in her saddle. "Until you learn how to act like a gentleman, I haven'
t
got a thing to say!"

Touching a spur to the mare, she was gone like a streak.

Frank stared after her, then swearing bitterly, he reined his horse around and rod
e
away, ignoring Gates.

Chapter
3

Frank Mailer was in a murderous mood when he returned to Blue Hill. He left his saddle
d
horse to Flynn and went up the steps to the house. Poke Dunning was standing in fron
t
of the fireplace when Mailer stormed into the room.

"Poke!" Frank said. "I've had about enough out of that girl! She threw her weigh
t
around too much today! Let's fix that marriage for next week!"

Dunning was lighting his pipe and he puffed thoughtfully, his eyes on the flame.

Here it was, sooner than he wanted it. Well, there was more than one way to stall.

"What's the matter? What did she say?"

"I found her down at Malpais with that new puncher. I told her I didn't like it an
d
she told me it didn't matter whether I did or not, that I worked for her! For her!"

Dunning chuckled. "Well, in a way she's right!" he said slyly. "This here is he
r
ranch. And you're the foreman."

Mailer's eyes narrowed vindictively and he felt hot rage burning inside him. Ther
e
were times when he hated Dunning. He glared at him. "I'm a damn sight more than an
y
foreman!" he flared.

"Are you?" Dunning looked up under shaggy brows. His hands were on his hips, whethe
r
by accident or design, but his eyes were cool and steady.

Frank Mailer felt everything in him suddenly grow still. He turned on Dunning, an
d
with a shock, he realized something he had been forgetting, that Poke Dunning wa
s
a gunman himself, and that he was not, by any means, too old. Right now he looke
d
like a fairly dangerous proposition, and Mailer found that he did not like it, he did not like it one bit. He fel
t
sure he could beat Poke, but he might get a slug in the process, and tomorrow the
y
would be leaving on that job.