Nevada (1995) (3 page)

Chapter
two.

It was a cold, bleak November day when Nevada rode into Lineville.

Dust and leaves whipped up with the wind. Columns of blue woo
d
smoke curled from the shacks and huts and houses of the stragglin
g
hamlet. Part of these habitations, those on one side of the road
,
lay in California, and those on the other belonged to Nevada. Man
y
a bullet had been fired from one state to kill a man in the other.

Lineville had been a mining town of some pretensions during th
e
early days of the gold rush. Deserted and weathered shacks wer
e
mute reminders of more populous times. High on the bleak dra
b
foothill stood the ruins of an ore mill, with long chute and ruste
d
pipes running down to the stream. Black holes in the cliff
s
opposite attested to bygone activity of prospectors. Gold wa
s
still to be mined in the rugged hills, though only in scan
t
quantity. Prospectors arrived in Lineville, wandered around for
a
season, then left on their endless search, while other prospector
s
came. When Nevada had last been there it was possible to find
a
few honest men and women, but the percentage in the three hundre
d
population was small.

Nevada halted before a gray cabin set well back in a large plot o
f
ground just inside the limits of the town. The place had no
t
changed. A brown sway-back horse, with the wind ruffling his dee
p
fuzzy coat, huddled in the lee of an old squat barn. Nevada kne
w
the horse. Corrals and sheds stood farther back at the foot of th
e
rocky slope. Briers and brush surrounded a garden where some lat
e
greens showed bright against the red dug-up soil. Nevad
a
remembered the rudely painted sign that had been nailed slantwis
e
on the gate-post Lodgings.

Dismounting, Nevada left his horses and entered, to go round to th
e
back of the cabin. A wide low porch had been stacked to the roo
f
with cut stove wood, handy to the door. Nevada hesitated a moment
,
then knocked. He heard a bustling inside, brisk footsteps, afte
r
which the door was opened by a buxom matron, with ruddy face, bi
g
frank eyes, and hair beginning to turn gray.

"Howdy, Mrs. Wood!" he greeted her.

The woman stared, then burst out: "Well, for goodness' sake, if i
t
ain't Jim Lacy!"

"I reckon. Are you goin' to ask me in? I'm aboot froze."

"Jim, you know you never had to ask to come in my house," sh
e
replied, and drew him into a cozy little kitchen where a hot stov
e
and the pleasant odor of baking bread appealed powerfully t
o
Nevada.

"Thanks. I'm glad to hear that. Shore seems like home to me.

I've been layin' out in the cold an' starvin' for a long time."

"Son, you look it," she returned, nodding her head disapprovingl
y
at him. "Never saw you like this. Jim, you used to be a handsom
e
lad. How lanky you are! An' you're as bushy-haired as
a
miner. . . . What've you been up to?"

"Wal, Mrs. Wood," he drawled, coolly, "shore you've heard aboot m
e
lately?" And his gaze studied her face. Much might depend upo
n
her reply, but she gave no sign.

"Nary a word, Jim. Not lately or ever since you left."

"No? Wal, I am surprised, an' glad, too," replied Nevada, smilin
g
his relief. "Reckon you couldn't give me a job? Helpin' around
,
like I used to, for my board."

"Jim, I jest could, an' I will," she declared. "You won't have t
o
sleep in the barn, either."

"Now, I'm dog-gone lucky, Mrs. Wood," replied Nevada, gratefully.

"Humph! I don't know about that, Jim. Comin' back to Linevill
e
can't be lucky. . . . Ah, boy, I'd hoped if you was alive you'
d
turned over a new leaf."

"It was good of you to think of me kind like that," he said, movin
g
away from the warm stove. "I'll go out an' look after my pack an'
h
orses."

"Fetch your pack right in. An' I'll not forget you're starved."

Nevada went out thoughtfully, and slowly led his horses out to th
e
barn. There, while he unpacked, his mind dwelt on the singula
r
effect that Mrs. Wood's words had upon him. Perhaps speech fro
m
anyone in Lineville would have affected him similarly. He had bee
n
brought back by word of mouth to actualities. This kindly woma
n
had hoped he would never return. He took so long about caring fo
r
his horses and unpacking part of his outfit that presently Mrs.

Wood called him. Then shouldering his bed-roll and carrying
a
small pack, he returned to the kitchen. She had a hot mea
l
prepared. Nevada indeed showed his need of good and wholesom
e
food.

"You poor boy!" she said once, sadly and curiously. But she di
d
not ask any questions.

Nevada ate until he was ashamed of himself. "Shore I know what t
o
call myself. But it tasted so good."

"Ahuh. Well, Jim, you take some hot water an' shave your wooll
y
face," she returned. "You can have the end room, right off th
e
hall. There's a stove an' a box of wood."

Nevada carried his pack into the room designated, then returned fo
r
the hot water, soap, and towel. Perhaps it was the dim and scarre
d
mirror that gave his face such an unsightly appearance. He was t
o
find out presently that shaving and clean clothes and a vastl
y
improved appearance meant nothing to him, because Hettie had gon
e
out of his life forever. What did he care how he looked? Yet h
e
remembered with a twinge that she would care. When an hour late
r
he strode into the kitchen to confront Mrs. Wood, she studied hi
m
with eyes as speculative as kind.

"Jim, I notice your gun has the same old swing, low down. No
w
that's queer, ain't it?" she said, ironically.

"Wal, it shore feels queer," he responded. "For, honest, Mrs.

Wood, I haven't packed it at all for a long time."

"An' you haven't been lookin' at red liquor, either?" she went on.

"Reckon not."

"An' you haven't been lookin' at women, either?"

"Gosh, no. I always was scared of them," he laughed, easily. Bu
t
he could not deceive her.

"Boy, somethin' has happened to you," she declared, seriously.

"You're older. Your eyes aren't like daggers any more. They'v
e
got shadows. . . . Jim, I once saw Billy the Kid in New Mexico.

You used to look like him, not in face or body or walk, but jest i
n
some way, some LOOK I can't describe. But now it's gone."

"Ahuh. Wal, I don't know whether or not you're complimentin' me,"
d
rawled Nevada. "Billy the Kid was a pretty wild hombre, wasn'
t
he?"

"Humph! You'd have thought so if you'd gone through that Lincol
n
County cattle war with me an' my husband. They killed thre
e
hundred men, and my Jack was one of them."

"Lincoln County war?" mused Nevada. "Shore I've heard of that
,
too. An' how many of the three hundred did Billy the Kid kill?"

"Lord only knows," she returned, fervently. "Billy had twenty-on
e
men to his gun before the war, an' that wasn't countin' Greasers o
r
Injuns. They said he was death on them. . . . Yes, Jim, you ha
d
the look of Billy, an' if you'd kept on you'd been another lik
e
him. But somethin' has happened to you. I ain't inquisitive, bu
t
have you lost your nerve? Gunmen do that sometimes, you know."

"Shore, that's it, Mrs. Wood. I've no more nerve than a chicken,"
d
rawled Nevada, with all his old easy coolness. It was good fo
r
him to hear her voice and to exercise his own.

"Shoo! An' I'll bet that's all you tell me about yourself," sh
e
said. "Jim Lacy, you left here a boy an' you've come back a man.

Wonder what Lize Teller will think of you now. She was moony abou
t
you, the hussy!"

"Lize Teller," echoed Nevada, ponderingly. "Shore I remember now.

Is she heah?"

"She about bosses Lineville, Jim. She doesn't live with my humbl
e
self any more, but hangs out at the Gold Mine."

Nevada found a seat on a low bench between the stove and th
e
corner, a place that had been a favorite with him and into which h
e
dropped instinctively, and settled himself for a talk. This woma
n
held an unique position in the little border hamlet, in that sh
e
possessed the confidence of gamblers, miners, rustlers, everybody.

She was a good soul, always ready to help anyone in sickness o
r
trouble. Whatever her life had been in the past--and Nevad
a
guessed it had been one with her outlaw husband--she was an hones
t
and hard-working woman now. In the wild days of his forme
r
association with Lineville he had not appreciated her. Sh
e
probably had some other idler or fugitive like himself doing th
e
very odd jobs about the place that he had applied for. Nevad
a
remembered that her kindliness for him had been sort of motherly
,
no doubt owing to the fact that he had been the youngest of th
e
notorious characters of Lineville.

"Lize married yet?" began Nevada, casually.

"No indeed, an' she never will be now," replied Mrs. Wood
,
forcibly. "She had her chance, a decent cattleman named Holder
,
from Eureka. Reckon he knew he was buyin' stolen cattle. But fo
r
all that he was a mighty fine sort for Lineville. Much too goo
d
for that black-eyed wench. She was taken with him, too. Her on
e
chance to get away from Lineville! Then Cash Burridge rode in on
e
day--after a long absence. 'Most as long as yours. Cash had bee
n
in somethin' big, south somewhere. An' he came back to lie low an'
g
amble. He had plenty of money, as usual. Lost it, as usual Liz
e
was clerk at the Gold Mine. She got thick with Cash. He an'

Holder had a mixup over the girl, an' that settled her. Maybe I
d
idn't give her a piece of my mind. But I might as well hav
e
shouted to the hills. She went from bad to worse. You'll see."

"Cash Burridge back," rejoined Nevada, somberly, and he dropped hi
s
head. That name had power to make him want to hide the sudden fir
e
in his eyes. "Reckon I'd plumb forgot Cash."

"Ha! Ha! Yes, you did, Jim Lacy," replied the woman, knowingly.

"No one would ever forget Cash, much less you. . . . Dear me, I
h
ope you an' he don't meet again."

"Wal, of course we'll meet," said Nevada. "I cain't hang roun
d
your kitchen all the while, much as I like it."

"Jim, I didn't mean meet him on the street, or in the store, o
r
anywhere. You know what I meant."