Sins of Summer (24 page)

“Milo didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout womenfolk bein’ there.”

“What the hell do ya think they went down there fer? A church meetin’?”

“Wal, even if they did have courtin’ on their minds, Waller didn’t have to kill Sid.”

“What would ya a done if somebody shot you? Stand there and let him shoot ya again?”

“That ain’t the way Milo told it an’ he was there.”

“He lied to cover up the meanness he done down there. Two shots were fired. One from Sid’s gun, one from Waller’s. Sid hit
Waller in the arm, Waller hit him between the eyes. Figure it out fer yoreselves.”

“Milo didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout Sid firin’. Said there was one shot.”

“Milo’s lyin’. I found the shell by Sid’s body. How ya think it got there? It shore didn’t jump ten feet outta Waller’s gun.
Found Waller’s shell too. Right where he was standin’.”

“Wal… I’m wonderin’ why Milo lied. Sounds fair ta me.”

“Shit! I didn’t want ta believe Waller was a killer.”

“Should’a knowed Milo’d try an’ make him an’ Sid look good.”

“Milo’s been talkin’ ’bout Waller’s girl. Said he liked it cause she couldn’t hear. Said she was deaf as a stump.”

“That shows ya where his brains is,” Tinker said with disgust. “If ya want to know what kinda man yo’re workin’ fer—ride down
and take a look at what Milo done to Miss Dory. It’ll make ya want to puke.” Tinker turned on his heel and walked away.

Standing on the fringe of the crowd, Steven listened to Tinker talk to the men and noted that none of Milo’s cronies were
among them. After the sawyer left, they lingered and talked among themselves for a while, then began to put out the torches
and head for the bunkhouse.

Steven went down the path to his own quarters. Inside the cabin he lit the lamp, dropped the bar that secured the door and
closed and locked the inside shutters.

Now that the time had come to make a move, he felt strangely calm. Nevertheless, the need for a drink of good brandy sent
him to the liquor cabinet. With glass in hand he stood in the middle of the room and looked around. He had been comfortable
here. Almost happy. Now that he was leaving it, he would have to plan carefully, because once he left, he wouldn’t be back.
It
would be too dangerous. If he showed his face on this side of the mountain after doing what he was honor-bound to do, his
life wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel.

He finished his drink, rinsed and wiped the glass, and then knelt down and removed the false front of the cabinet that concealed
the safe.

Only a foot and a half square, the heavy iron safe was small but adequate. It held a thousand dollars of cash money, all of
it earned while working for Callahan and Sons, and two packets of letters. Steven took one of the packets to the table, adjusted
the lamp, opened a letter, and began to read.

Dear friend Steven,

Of all the men I know, you are the one I trust to do what is best for my loved ones. Wiley is my dear and loyal friend, but
what must be done would be too great a burden to put on a man of limited education. I realize you may not want to stay here
after I am gone
—
in fact you have told me so. Please stay for a while and if you think things are going as we hope they will I want you to
destroy the document. If not, and I fear it will not, you must take these papers to Judge Kenton.

Steven continued to read the letter he had read a dozen or more times before. When he finished, he folded it carefully, and
then read the next letter in the stack. It was from Jean Callahan. George had given him the letter along with his own. The
letter started with:
Dear friend Steven.

Steven could almost recite the words from memory. Still he read it through, folded it, and put it with George’s letter. There
were four more letters and a legal document in the stack. The letters were old and bore such postmarks as Bay Horse, Cracked
Rock, and Two Shoes. Steven didn’t read them. One time had been enough. He wrapped the packet of letters and the document
in a piece of thin leather and tied the bundle securely with a shoestring.

The other packet of letters was personal. Steven looked at them and asked himself why he had kept them all these years. He
knew the answer. They were a connection with his past. Oh, yes, he’d had a past before he’d come to the Bitterroot Mountains.
He’d had a family who loved him, a mother who worried, a father and a brother who despised him—at the end. They were gone
now. He had read in the San Francisco newspaper about his father’s ship going down. His mother and brother had been on board
as well. He had grieved—for his mother.

Looking back he wished he had stayed, faced the disgrace and worked to clear his name. Realistically, he knew that he had
done the only thing he could have done: run. It was folly to think he could have cleared his name while in prison. The cards
were all stacked against him. Even his own father and brother had thought him guilty when thousands of dollars were missing
from his father’s shipbuilding company.

His wild lifestyle of drinking and gambling and the fact that he kept the company books had made him the logical suspect.
The family had been shunned by lifelong friends, and irate stockholders had hired men to kill him. He’d had several narrow
escapes before he had wandered cold, sick, and hungry to the Callahan homestead and Jean and George Callahan had taken him
in.

When he had recovered, they had offered him the job of keeping the books for the small but growing lumber company. Before
accepting, he had told them his story and prepared to move on, not wanting to bring trouble down on his new friends. They
had persuaded him to stay. He had changed his name and settled into a life far more primitive than the one he had left behind.

Several times over the years, bounty hunters had come looking for him. The picture they showed no longer resembled the man
who kept books at the mill. No one had ever heard of a man named Maxwell Lilly.

Reminiscing was painful even after almost twenty years. Steven kindled a small fire in the pot-bellied stove that sat in the
corner of the room. When the flames were high, he tossed in one scrap of paper at a time: a letter from a girl he had been
engaged to marry, newspaper clippings, and wanted posters. He couldn’t part with the note his mother had left on his bed the
day he had been accused. She told him that she loved him and believed him innocent. He tucked it and a ledger sheet from the
books he had kept so long ago into an envelope and put them back in the safe. He had kept the ledger sheet thinking that maybe
someday it might be useful in clearing his name. It no longer mattered. He was Steven Marz now. He stirred the ashes with
the poker until they fell through the grate. Nothing remained.

Maxwell Lilly no longer existed.

Louis was in a rage. Milo lay on his bunk, his hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling.

“Ya done it now. Ya really done it. Ain’t I told ya to stay clear a Waller’s girl? Ain’t I told ya? Ya had to go down there,
just had to go, and ya got Sid killed.”

“How’d I know Waller’d gun him down?”

“Don’t ya be tellin’ me more lies. Gawdammit! Ya said one shot was fired. There was two. Sid shot first.”

“I heard one shot.”

“Then yo’re deaf as a doornail! Tinker found a shell by Sid’s body and smelled the barrel of his gun. Sid shot Waller in the
arm. Waller’s aim was better.”

“Ya believin’ me or hired help?” Milo sat up on the bunk, an ugly scowl on his face.

“I saw it. Steven saw it. I don’t give a shit about Sid. What’s this about him weddin’ Dory? Who thought a that?”

“I did. We’d better get her wed to someone who’ll do what we say, or she’ll up and wed someone like that Waller. That’d be
real trouble.”

“Real trouble’ll come when James sees what you done to her. He’s a tail-twister when he’s stirred up an’ this’ll rile him
aplenty.”

“We ort ta a took care of that sonofabitch long time ago. I been tempted more’n once. Always too many around. But I’ll get
the pecker yet.”

“Ya’d better get ta him afore he gets ta you. He’ll tear down yore smokehouse.”

“Harrumpt! I got friends here what owe me. We could take him an’ his bunch with both legs tied together.” Milo snorted and
lay back down on the bunk.

“I ain’t wantin’ the men takin’ sides. And that ain’t all, damn ya to hell. Sit up and listen to me.”

“What’er ya harpin’ on now? Don’t want to hear no more ‘bout Whory Dory. She got what was comin’ ta her. Stabbed Sid with
a fork. Would’ve stabbed me if she’d got ta me. If’n that old man hadn’t butted in, I’d a let Sid have a go at ’er, teach
’er some respect fer her betters. His pecker’s big as a stump.
Was
big as a stump. Don’t guess it ’mounts ta much now.”

Louis looked at his brother for a long moment, then sat down on his bunk and held his head in his hands. Things were piling
up on him too fast, and this brainless brother of his was no help at all.

“She wants Steven to go to Judge Kenton an’ try an’ get the company split up in half. Half would go ta her an’ James an’ half
ta us. Ya know what that’ll mean? It’ll mean we’ll have ta buy ’em out ta hold onta what’s ours. We ain’t got a pissin’ cent
that ain’t tied up.”

Milo was silent for a moment. Then he grinned.

“Might not be a bad idee. They could buy us out. We could go ta Seattle or San Francisco. See the sights.”

Louis jumped to his feet. “Have ya lost yore mind? I ain’t sellin’.”

“Calm down. I’m just a talkin’. Kenton won’t do that nohow. Ain’t no way he could divide it up even. If’n he did, it’d take
a year or two to get it done. All ya got ta do is keep yore eyes on Steven so’s he can’t get to Kenton to ask him.”

“You ain’t worried a-tall, air ya? I worked my ass off an’ I ain’t givin’ up nothin’. The chance has come to get even with
Malone—”

“—It’s all ya think of—gettin’ even with Malone.”

Louis sat down and tried to speak reasonably.

“Air ya forgettin’ that fer three years in a row, he’s clogged the river an’ got the best price fer his logs? And we got the
leavin’s? Have ya forgot that it was a Malone whore what come in here an’ took our maw’s place an’ gived the old man a couple
of bastards that get half of what’s ours? Have ya forgot it was a Malone what ruint Dory an’ dragged our name through the
mud? I ain’t forgot—”

“I ain’t forgot old Jean. That’s certain. She was a hot little heifer. I can still hear them bedsprings a squeakin’ an’ the
old man a gruntin’.”

“Shut up!” Louis shouted. “I ain’t wantin’ to hear ’bout no whore.”

“Why is it ya never want ta hear ‘bout Jean an’ the old man? I used to think ya was kinda sweet on her an’ jealous of him
a gettin’ what ya was wantin’. Guess it was ya hated her, huh? Whory Dory reminds me of her. Both of ’em built to give a man
a good ride.”

“Is that all ya think of? Pluggin’ a woman?”

“Ain’t nothin’ better to think ’bout.” Milo laughed. “Sometimes I think ‘bout ridin’ ‘em like a wild bronc or bouncin’ on
‘em like a featherbed, or pokin’ it down their gullet. Now old Sid, he liked to nuss titties—”

Milo’s voice droned on. Louis pulled off his boots, blew out the lamp, and lay down on his bunk. He had a lot to think about,
plans to make. Milo had his cravings. He had his. One thing was certain. He wasn’t going to let Milo’s cravings interfere
with his.

It was decided that Ben and Wiley would spend the night in the house. Ben had put his horse in the barn and fetched Wiley’s
crutch and the pot of beans Dory had cooked for their supper. They sat at the kitchen table. Odette and Dory had gone upstairs
while Ben was outside.

“Ain’t no need me bein’ in here, Ben. Milo ain’t comin’ back here tonight. Bout now Louis is a gnawin’ on his arse like a
dog on a bone. Not that Louis cares what he done to Dory, but he’s scared a what Dory said ‘bout the dividin’ part.”

“I think she just pulled that out of her hat to rile Louis. If the judge did anything at all, it would be to force one party
to buy the other out. If that couldn’t be done, he’d sell the whole works and divide the money.”

“James’ll go plumb outta his head when he sees what Milo done to Dory.” Wiley had finished his plate of beans and was on his
second cup of coffee. He didn’t have much of an appetite. His leg hurt like hell.

“I’ve been thinking about that. If it wasn’t for that killer running loose, we could take the women down to McHenry’s. I don’t
think Dory would go to the Malones’. She’d be too ashamed for them to see her all beat up.”

“When James sees her, ya can bet he’ll be on Milo like a chicken on a junebug. One of ’em might end up dead. If it’s James,
that gal ain’t got nobody.”

“She’d have somebody.” Ben’s fork paused on the trip from his plate to his mouth.

“I be a old man, son. ’Sides, Milo’ll back-shoot me first chance he gets.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Wal… yeah… an’ I thank ya. But I ain’t wantin’ James ta go off half-cocked an’ get hisself killed.”

“I’m not wanting that either. He’s going to wonder why I’m not back in the morning and think something’s happened. I’m hoping
he comes here before he goes to the mill.”

“Will his crew be knowin’ how ta run the engine?”

“One of the men up there has worked with steam. He knows to watch the gauge and not to fill the firebox too full. I could
have stayed on a day or two longer, but as of now, my job is done. They’re on their own as far as I’m concerned.” He spread
butter and honey on a thick slice of bread and ate it before he spoke again. “How do you think Steven figures in this?”

“Never been able to figure him out. Stays to hisself. Don’t take sides. Been a big help keepin’ the company goin’. George
thought a heap of him, is all I know.”

“Papa—” Odette spoke from the doorway and came into the room to stand beside Ben. “Dory is frettin’. She’s afraid for Baby.
She’s scared for James and Wiley—for all of us.”

“Have you had supper, honey?” Ben tugged gently on her hand and she sat down.

“Baby and I had one of James’s candies.”