Sweetwater (23 page)

“I ain’t knowin’ who we’d get.” The bartender placed a double-barreled shotgun on the bar. “Meantime, I’m keepin’ this handy.”

McCall ate his steak and eggs, and listened to the conversation. Suddenly he was dead tired. The long ride and the short fight had been too much for a man who had had little sleep for the last three nights. He longed for a bed, but he still had to take his horse to the livery before he could find one at the hotel.

He slapped his hat on his head, stepped around the man mopping the floor and went to the bar. He fished in his pocket for money to pay for his meal.

“Sorry about the fracas.”

“Hartog’s been spoilin’ for a fight for a couple of days. Glad you obliged him.”

“Who’s he work for?”

“Havelshell, I reckon.” Oscar gave another swipe at the bar with his wet cloth. “Stayin’ in town tonight, McCall?”

“If they’ve got a bed at the hotel.”

“Melva’ll have one. If she ain’t, she’ll let ya share hers.”

“I’m too tired even for
that
.” McCall grinned at the good-natured bartender.

“Hell! Ya must be plumb frazzled out!” Oscar scooped up the coins from the counter. “Keep an eye out for Hartog and that sneaky little Mexican. It ain’t likely that they’ll forget ‘bout this little set-to.”

Chapter Fourteen

Travor McCall chuckled as he rode out of town the next morning. The black-haired girl with the light blue eyes was something. He’d bet his bottom dollar that she’d not back down to anything or anybody. At first her mouth had dropped when he winked at her, then it snapped shut and her eyes shot daggers at him. Surely one with her looks had been winked at before.

It could be that they knew Trell, which was unlikely because when the liveryman told him the teacher was in town buying out the store, he’d said she’d only been in the territory for a short time. But if they had met, it was no wonder she was surprised. Winking at a woman was definitely something his brother would
not
do.

He made an attempt to banish the women from his mind and concentrated on being alert even though he was reasonably sure that Crocker had not reached Sweetwater. The saloon was the best source of information in any town. The bartender would have told him if a stranger had been there asking about a McCall.

Travor’s thoughts kept returning to the black-haired girl. He realized suddenly and with greater clarity than ever before that he was a lonely man, a drifting man with no ties except to his brother and Mara Shannon and Pack, who had their own lives. He suddenly yearned to belong to a woman as Pack belonged, as his friend Sam Sparks belonged to his wife, Emily. Travor wanted to stop drifting, to settle down, break his own horses, brand his own cows. He wanted to look out over his own land and sleep in the same bed every night.

Thank God for Trell. While he’d been flitting from one place to the other, Trell had stayed tight and held their place together. He was back now to stay. And Trell no longer had to shoulder the whole load. As soon as he could get this business with Crocker settled, he just might visit that black-haired girl and see if she was as interesting as she looked.

When Travor rode into the yard of the Double T Ranch, Joe was coming out of the ranch house. He had met the cowboy one time a year ago. Trell seemed to like him, think he was trustworthy.

“Trell, for God’s sake where’ve ya been. Yore horse come in a little bit ago. I already sent Curtis out lookin’ fer ya and was just goin’ myself.”

Travor frowned and stepped from his horse. “I’m Travor. I met you about a year ago. What’s this about Trell?”

“Godamighty! I’d a swore—”

“Yeah. Now what’s this about Trell?”

“Well,” Joe swiped his hand across his mouth. “Trell went to Forest City yesterday morning. Said for sure he’d be back in the afternoon to help sort the mares. He hasn’t come back yet. Curtis found his horse, still saddled, ’bout a half mile from here. The horse was on his way back to the ranch.”

“Any blood on the saddle?”

“I looked for some. It was clean. He had a package in his saddlebag so I figure whatever happened happened on the way back from Forest City.”

“Any strangers been around? Have you seen a man in a white duster?”

“No. Curtis said a big man and a Mexican crossed the river yesterday afternoon.”

“Headin’ which way?”

“Toward Sweetwater.”

A girl came out of the house with a big smile on her face.

“I told Joe not to worry none. Ya’d come home.”

Joe held his hand out to her. “Honeybunch, it ain’t Trell. ’Member I tol’ ya Trell had a brother that looked just like him. This here is Travor. Him and Trell is look-alike twins. This is my wife, Una May.”

“Howdy. Oh, I thought sure … ya was Trell.”

“Howdy, ma’am.” Travor’s eyes traveled from one worried face to the other. “Did Trell say why he was going to Forest City?”

“I think it was to post some letters.”

“Why not Sweetwater? It’s closer.”

“I not be knowin’ that.” Joe rubbed a hand over his worried face. “Una May’s kept some vittles ready for Trell … when he came. I just had a bite.”

“Then I’ll eat, get a fresh horse and go down the river trail to Forest City.” Travor began unsaddling his horse. “Stay here with your wife, Joe, and keep your eyes peeled for a man in a white duster or that big galoot and the Mexican. I had a set-to with him last night in town. He thought I was Trell.”

“Now that I think about it, I come onto a feller camped out by the river ’bout a month ago. He had one of them long coats. Wasn’t wearing it, but I saw it hangin’ on a branch a dryin’. Feller was bald on top, but had a spot a hair just about his forehead and around his ears. Nice feller. We jawed a little. He said he was just passin’ through.”

Travor had stopped unsaddling and listened with interest.

“Did he ask about me?”

“No.”

“Did you tell him that this was the McCall ranch?”

“Yeah. Seems like I did.”

“His name is Crocker. He’s a hired killer. I have reason to think he’s looking for me. He may have found Trell, but I don’t think so … yet. He was a few towns behind me. It’s more likely that Trell ran into Hartog and the Mexican.”

“That’d mean Trell spent the night in Forest City. He said he’d be back in the afternoon.”

“Does he spend the night in town often?” Even as he asked Travor remembered the hotel woman saying something about he’d not spent the night there before.

“He’s not stayed all night in town since I worked here. He did stay away all night a couple weeks ago. He helped bury a nester and put out a grass fire on Stoney Creek Ranch. A day or two ago he took a milch cow over to Stoney Creek.”

“Would he have gone back over there?”

“Naw. If he’d been goin’ there or stayin’ in Forest City, he’d not a told me he’d be back in the afternoon to help with the mares. He knows we’re behind with the work here.” Joe was clearly distressed.

“If Crocker comes back, hole up in the bunkhouse or barn and don’t come out. He’d think no more of shootin’ you down than steppin’ on an ant if he wanted to lie in wait for me.”

By the time Travor had finished eating, Joe had saddled a horse, and had also strapped on a gun belt.

“He don’t look like much. Fact is he’s ugly as a mud pie,” Joe said when he saw Travor eyeing the big gray horse with black-spotted hindquarters. “But he’ll take ya to hell and back, that is, if he likes ya. He’ll do anythin’ fer Trell; thought he’d do the same for you.”

Travor approached the horse head-on. The big animal rolled his eyes and jerked his head. Talking to him gently, Travor put out a hand. At first the gray bared his teeth, then gradually, Travor was allowed to rub his nose.

“Guess he’s taken to ya. He’d bite my hand off if I tried that.”

“What’s the nearest town east of here?”

“Big Piney, but Trell’s not said anythin’ ’bout bein’ there.”

“When Curtis comes back, tell him to look around over at Orphan Butte. Trell might have gone there to check on his mustangs and somehow got thrown.”

“That sorrel wouldn’t’a left him if he was in sight or sound.”

Travor mounted the horse and didn’t speak again until after the animal stopped dancing in place and settled down.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’ll scout the trail from here to Forest City and try to find out when he left there. Joe, keep your wife out of sight if Hartog and that Mexican show up here. I hear he’s crazy-mean where women are concerned.”

“I’d blow that sucker clear to hell if he even looked at my wife!”

“Watch yourself. He’s got away with it a few times. That’s how a man builds a reputation like that.”

Travor left the ranch filled with apprehension. If something had happened to Trell because of him, it sure as hell would be hard to live with. He couldn’t imagine life without Trell. He’d always been there, sturdy as a rock. Hellfire! Without Trell he’d have probably gone off on the outlaw trail with their older half brother. He’d ended up shot in the back near a miner’s shack up near Trinity.

Travor rode cautiously knowing that Hartog and the Mexican had left Sweetwater that morning. The trail was very still; there was no sound but the hoof falls of Mud Pie, a name Travor considered suitable for the gray-and-black horse. Dipping down, the path led into the aspens then up to the highest point. The horse walked, ears pricked, into the stillness on the high plateau.

This was a spooky place. A man could be picked off here in the open. Travor forced the horse to the edge of the bluff so he could look down. The river rushed by fifty or more feet below. Down on the slope were the remains of a calf that scavengers had feasted on. He backed Mud Pie off the ledge and continued on down the trail.

When Travor reached Forest City, he went directly to the post office and was greeted by the postmaster.

“Howdy, McCall. Got mail? Stage leaves in about half an hour.”

“I take it you know Trell McCall.”

The postmaster looked at him as if he’d been eating loco weed.

“’Course, I know him. You’re him, ain’t ya?”

“No, I’m his brother. We’re often mistaken for each other. His horse came home without him and I’m looking for him.”

“By golly, ya sure do look like him.”

“So I’ve been told. When did you see him last?”

“A couple days ago. He was in and posted mail for the teacher at Stoney Creek Indian school.” The worried postmaster rubbed a hand across his mouth. “I ain’t suppose to be tellin’ who posts mail.”

“I’m obliged to you for letting me know he was here. He had a package in his saddlebag. Did he buy something here?”

“A music box. Said it was a wedding present. Said he was heading back after he got a bite to eat.”

“Where would he go to eat?”

Travor went down the street to the restaurant after the postmaster pointed it out. Again he had to explain that he was Trell’s brother and that they were often mistaken for each other. The proprietor told him Trell had eaten an early noon meal and had said that he’d like to give his horse a longer rest but that he needed to get back home.

Travor rode away from Forest City with two sure things in mind. Trell had planned to go straight back home and he had posted letters for the teacher at Stoney Creek. Why would he ride all the way to Forest City when she was going to Sweetwater, a couple of days later and could post them there?

Then a fresh thought hit him. If Trell knew the teacher at Stoney Creek well enough to tote her mail to Forest City, and if they had mistaken
him
for Trell, which most folks did, Trell was not only missing, he was in deep trouble with the woman at Stoney Creek for snubbing her. He hoped the black-haired girl wasn’t the teacher.

It was dark when Trell approached the Double T. He proceeded cautiously. All was quiet. He whistled a signal he and Trell had used since they were boys. If Trell was there he would answer; if not, maybe he and Joe used the same signal. When the answering whistle came, Travor rode up to the house.

It was a worried Joe who met him.

“Find out anythin’?”

“Nothin’. I’ll get a few hours’ sleep and head out again in the morning.”

Chapter Fifteen

The Grays and Murphys had just finished breakfast when Ike Klein spotted four men riding across the meadow toward the house.

“Havelshell’s men,” he said peering out the window. “I seen one of them afore. Name’s Armstrong.”

“I’ve seen one of ’em before, too. He was one of ’em who came to warn us off the place.” Colleen took her father’s gun belt off the hook beside the door and strapped it around her waist.

Granny stepped to the window, peered out, and then backed away, her eyes dark with worry, her gnarled hands pressed tightly together.

“He wasn’t the murderer. Don’t do anything foolish, child.”

“He was part of it. I’ll not be caught short-handed like Pa was.”

“Let it go. I can’t … lose ya—”

“Ya won’t. Don’t worry, Granny.” Colleen put her arm around her grandmother’s shoulders and hugged her.

Jenny was tired this morning, but she forgot her weariness the instant Ike said the men were headed their way. She went to the other room, took the little derringer off a top shelf and put it in her pocket.

Last night she had lain awake for hours, her mind refusing to shut off the unanswered questions that troubled her. Why had Trell McCall gone to Sweetwater? Why, if he was on a mission to betray her trust, had he made no effort to keep them from seeing him? Instead, he had flaunted his presence.

She returned to the kitchen to see the girls and Granny looking out the door. Colleen and Ike had gone outside.

“Girls, stay in the house with Granny until we find out what they want.”

“It’s foolish of you not to let someone teach me how to handle a gun, Virginia.” Cassandra had not spoken a dozen words to any of them since the incident with Trell. “You know how to shoot, don’t you, Granny?”

“If it should ever come to that, darlin’, I’ll load and you shoot. It’s what I did when Colleen was yore age.”

“What were you shooting at?”

“Wolves. It was dead a winter and they was hungry.”