The Trail West (18 page)

She only wanted to get out of town, collect Monahan, and get moving east. She missed the dog, and wanted to put as much distance between herself and all that death as she possibly could.

Julia and Sweeney rode out of Yuma at last, leading only the burro, Goat. Half an hour later, they joined Monahan. The afternoon was nearly gone, but they kept on moving until they ran out of daylight and the old cowboy called a halt.

They camped by the river’s bank. Monahan made a fire near some scattered boulders about fifteen feet from the water’s edge, and threw together the fixings for a good beef stew made with the vittles he had bought in town. Sweeney took some more of the pain medicine the doc in town had given him for his arm and shoulder after he dug out the last of the slugs, and Julia snuggled down with her old Navajo blanket and waited for her supper. The evening air was crisp, and she was glad for the blanket’s comfort.

“I been thinkin’,” she said into the silence.

Monahan looked up and nodded approvingly. “Ever’body oughta think. Good for the soul. What’s got the bee in your bonnet?”

She tightened the blanket around her neck. “What hasn’t?”

Monahan cocked his head. “You’re thinkin’ that you seen enough bad things in the past couple o’ days to last you more ’n a lifetime.”

Surprised, she nodded. “How’d you know that?”

“Reckon we all feel about the same way. A little bit of dyin’ an’ bodies shootin’ at you with arrows or iron goes a long way with most folks.”

She let out a sigh. “Yeah. Reckon it does.”

“Even when it comes for some trashy pond scum like it come for the Baylors. And Vince.”

“And Uncle Kirby?”

“Your uncle, too.” Monahan poured them both a cup of coffee, and after he handed hers over, he sniffed the air, then made a face. “Blue take a crap close to camp?”

Julia felt herself flush. “It’s me, not Blue.”

Monahan’s head cocked again.

“I sat in some wolf scat earlier. Back when Kirby put us all in the weeds.”

“You wanna get yourself cleaned up?”

She slowly got to her feet and scowled at him. “If you’re tryin’ to hint, you ain’t doin’ a very good job of bein’ roundabout.”

The old cowboy smiled. “Got just enough time before dinner. Get outta here and take that wolf stink with you. It’s upsettin’ the dog.”

Blue, stretched out on the other side of the fire, yawned.

Julia said, “Yeah, I can see that he’s all outta shape about it.” She pulled her spare britches out of her saddle bags, found the yellowed sliver of soap she’d stolen from the saloon’s makeshift kitchen, and made her way down to the riverbank. Having already calculated the way to be naked for the least amount of time, she left the clean britches and her boots up on a flat boulder and waded out before she squatted into the water and began to scrub the seat of her pants.

She heard Sweeney’s voice, and quickly glanced at the fire. The smell of the stew had roused him at last, and he was sitting up with his eyes open, and holding his plate out toward Monahan. She snorted under her breath and shook her head.
That darn Butch,
she was thinking.
He can always force himself to eat, can’t he?

By the time she’d scrubbed the britches clean, dried off, changed clothes, and made her way back over to the fire, Sweeney was scraping his plate clean. She laid her pants out flat over a rock as she said, “Guess I got back just in time to get my measly bite of stew.”

Sweeney raised a brow. “Measly? Since when did you ever take a measly bite of anything?”

“Since I made your acquaintance and started havin’ to share grub with you,” she said without a second’s hesitation. She peered into the pot and made a face. “See there? It’s practically gone already, and I ain’t yet et a bite of it!”

“Hold it!” Monahan thundered, his hand in the air. “I swear, if words were clubs, you two would be black and blue! Here.” He held her plate—full and still steaming—out toward her. “Oh,” she said, and accepted it numbly. “Guess I yelled without thinkin’. Sorry, Butch.”

“That’s more like it, girl!” Sweeney said.

Monahan promptly threw a spoonful of hot beef gravy in his direction.

 

 

The next day found the trio back on the Old Mormon Trail, again heading east toward Phoenix, and more important, back toward Buckshot Bob and Mae Hoskins’s ranch and stage stop. They couldn’t get there fast enough to suit Monahan, although Sweeney, who was still healing from his shoulder wounds, would have been content to throw down temporary roots anywhere along the trail and just sleep for a few days. And eat, too, of course.

As for young Julia, she went along with mixed feelings. She missed the safety and comfort of the Hoskins’ home and the friendship of their daughter, Meggie. She had never had a real buddy before, but despite their short acquaintance and the slight difference in their ages, she and Meggie had become great friends.

But what would she do without Monahan to protect her?

As for Sweeney, she’d miss him more than she’d ever admit, but it was the old cowboy and the dog who tugged hardest at her heartstrings. Not that she’d say as much to him. She’d already told Blue—who miraculously managed to keep up with them, despite the heat—trotting at a steady pace in one of the horse’s shadow, and she figured that was enough.

 

 

It took them several days on the sparkling-sided trail to reach the Hoskins ranch, and once there, they received the warmest of welcomes. It was like they were genuine conquering heroes, Julia would later say. It seemed no one who had met Dooley Monahan escaped his presence without becoming a fan, and while she wasn’t right, she was close to it.

 

 

“I appreciate it, Bob,” Monahan said. The two men were sitting out on the front porch, smoking, and everyone else had gone off to bed. “Poor little thing ain’t got nobody or no place to belong.”

“The gals have taken a real strong likin’ to each other,” Buckshot Bob said, nodding. “It’s as good for Meggie as it is for Julia.”

The old cowboy took a drag on his smoke. “’Bout what I thought . . . Now, don’t forget about them reward vouchers. That’s her money for her life.”

Buckshot Bob nodded thoughtfully, then flicked his ash. “It’s a lot, all right.”

Beside Monahan, Blue stretched and yawned, then flipped over onto his back and groaned happily. It was the end of a long, hot journey, and he was grateful for a night with good food and fresh water. He sensed that Monahan was relieved, too. He’d felt the old cowboy truly relax for the first time, and it was good.

Blue stretched again, lifting his front paws to rake at invisible ladder rungs and relaxing his mouth so that his lips fell open, leaving him with a big, toothy, upside down doggy grin.

It was
all
good.

 

 

Julia woke to the sounds of shuffling boots on wooden floors and of men tramping through the house. Yawning, she got up and wandered out to the kitchen, letting Meggie sleep while she could.

Julia found a stack of hotcakes on the table, along with a bowl half filled with fresh whipped cream and a pitcher of blueberry syrup. There was oatmeal on the stove, too, but not one living soul in evidence.

She started calling for people as she walked through the house, but didn’t find anyone until she was clear outside—Monahan and Sweeney were out front, General Grant and Chili were tacked up and ready to go, and Bob and Mae were bidding them farewell.

“You’re leavin, and you weren’t even gonna wake me up?” Julia asked from the front porch.

Monahan let the cinch strap drop, then pulled the stirrup free from the saddle horn and let it swing down into place. He turned toward her and said grandly, “Well, good mornin’ to you, Miss Julia!”

“Don’t try to make me feel guilty just ’cause I didn’t say good mornin!” she huffed.

“Now, honey . . .”

“You were gonna just leave me, without so much as a by-your-leave!” She felt the tears welling and felt the thickness in her throat, both as surprising as they were sudden. “Please, don’t . . . you can’t . . .” She began to cry, and clutched the post and rail to hold herself erect.

Monahan tossed his reins to Sweeney, then stepped toward her. “Now, honey,” he said as he took her in his arms. “Don’t go and make a thing of it.”

She let go of the porch rail, relying on him to hold her up, and cried into his shoulder.

“I just convinced myself it’d be easier if we . . . Well, if we was already gone when you got up.”

She shook her head
no
and sobbed harder.

“I don’t know what to say to you, Julia honey. Just didn’t figure you’d take it this hard. Now, me and Butch ain’t goin’ to Europe or nothin’. We’ll see you again.”

She lifted her head and looked up into his rheumy old eyes and whispered, “I wish you were my pa.” She ducked back down again.

She felt him kiss the top of her head, then release her, and she fell into a sit on the porch step. She heard him say, “All right then, Bob. Take care o’ those kids, Mae.”

His saddle leather creaked. “Good-bye, Julia. Take ’er easy.”

Sweeney said something similar in farewell, although she couldn’t have told you what it was to save her life. She felt warm fur brush against her arm as Blue came over to say good-bye, too. His tongue wiped the tears from her nose and chin, and he whined softly.

“Oh, good-bye, Blue dog.” She wept as she buried her face in his ruff. “Travel safe.” She opened her eyes, and found him looking back at her, his eyes filled with love. “Travel safe, Blue.”

In five days, the men had got as far as Phoenix. Just what Monahan had intended to do. Sweeney had no clue regarding a plan. Every time he had broached the subject, Monahan had managed to turn the conversation on its head and thoroughly distract him.

The old cowboy had parked them in a hotel far from anything interesting, and Sweeney was bored silly. He had never before been to a town the size of Phoenix, and despite the nagging ache in his wounded shoulder, he’d been looking forward to spending some time in the big city.

But all Monahan did was complain . . . about how expensive everything was . . . and Apaches . . . and how far they had to go yet, which was still a mystery to Sweeney.

He’d only been out of the hotel twice, to check the horses. He’d taken his time on both occasions, walking down the street several blocks in every direction, north, south, east, and west. He’d seen houses—big houses, little houses, shanties and lean-tos barely cobbled together, nice houses where families lived, and fancy houses. He’d been tempted to go into one of the latter, just to see what it was like—well, and test their wares, he had to admit—but he was too poor to walk through their front gates, let alone ask a lady upstairs to pleasure him. He was broke.

He wondered if Monahan had any cash on him. He’d spent more time with the bodies than Sweeney had. Maybe the dead men had been carrying a roll. He hoped it had been the Baylors’ cash. Somehow, he didn’t want to be living on money that should have gone to Julia, which her uncle’s surely should have.

 

 

Fresh from his latest fruitless visit around the town, Sweeney walked into the hotel lobby, only to meet Monahan, who had just come downstairs.

Sweeney had done little more than open his mouth when the old cowboy grinned wide, threw his arm around Sweeney’s shoulders, and said, “Let’s get us some dinner, boy!”

Sweeney was too hungry to do anything but accept.

They went into the hotel’s dining room and were seated. The serving girl handed them menus and left them to consider the choices.

When the serving girl returned, Sweeney said, “I’ll have the special with extra potatoes, and a beer.”

Dooley ordered, then lit the smoke he’d been fiddling with. It was a ready-made. He favored them when he could get them, but he could only find them in big towns.

Phoenix qualified
, he guessed. W
hy, there must be better than a thousand people here!

There was a big cotton gin and a medium-sized icehouse, and a fellow raised Appaloosa horses on the edge of town. A public schoolhouse was planned, and work was already being done on the courthouse, since the capitol was switched between Phoenix and Prescott every five minutes. The Capitol on Wheels, people called it.

Monahan just called it foolish. But all in all, he liked the city. The folks were friendly but they didn’t overwhelm a fellow, dogs were welcome most everywhere, and Mexicans could go about anywhere in town and not get sniffed at nor get a rock upside the head, like they got in many towns.

There was also the big First Territorial Bank of Arizona, where he planned to go in the morning to finally cash in his voucher. He supposed it was still good, anyway, even though he’d been carrying it for a few years. He’d found it again while they were still camped outside of town. He also discovered something was missing, some piece of paper or other, but he couldn’t remember what exactly. He’d been puzzling over it all day, in fact, and had remembered at long last—not what it was, of course, but the fact that it had existed. He’d been planning to ask Sweeney about it at dinner.

Their dinners arrived at that moment. As they began eating, Monahan asked, “Butch? Do you remember as how I had a slip of paper, somethin’ or other, in my wallet? Do you remember? Did I ask you or the girl to carry it for me, maybe?”

Butch roused out of his stupor. “You mean, like a newspaper article or somethin’?”

The mists cleared for Monahan. “Yeah. A newspaper clippin’.” He could almost see it . . . .

Sweeney reached for his wallet and pulled it from his pocket. He rummaged around for a moment before he took the paper out between two fingers. “Like this? About Alaska?” He held it out.

Monahan took it from him. “Yeah, about Alaska.” He let the words soak into his brain. “About how a body can strike gold up in Alaska.” He rubbed at his chin, then took hold of it like he was going to pinch it off. He announced, “Screw that ranch.”

Butch looked at him like he’d gone crazy.

Monahan frowned. “Why the hell should I go to work on some lousy cow spread for ten bucks a month when I can go to Alaska and get myself rich? You go up there and work if you’re so dang set on it!”

“Fine. I’m goin’ with you!” Sweeney roared all of a sudden.

The old cowboy almost physically jumped back. “Go with me? You crazy?”

“Why should I get my legs or ribs busted up by some crazy cow when I could be taggin’ after you, makin’ my million? If I hadn’t given you that clippin’ you woulda forgot all about it!”

He had a point. Monahan had hold of his old chin again, rubbing and squeezing it. He didn’t want to let Sweeney know how mad he was, or how close he was to just killing him. Well, not killing him all the way to death, but something awful close to it! “Jus’ who the hell do you think you are to muscle in on another man’s dream?”

Sweeney didn’t say anything for a long minute, and Monahan thought he’d pretty well got him buffaloed, figuratively speaking, anyway. But the young cowboy leaned his chair back against the wall, pillowed the back of his head in his hands, and said like he had never insulted anybody in his whole live-long life, “I ain’t musclin’ in on nothin’, Dooley. Sounds like a good plan, that’s all. Why, the fact is, I’m fair keen on the idea.”

All the air went out of the old cowboy like he was a big balloon somebody had just stabbed a hat pin into. He leaned his elbows on the table with his head in his hands.

A few seconds of silence later, he heard Sweeney say, “Dooley? Dooley, are you all right?”

Monahan looked up suddenly and snarled. “No, goddamn it, I’m not alright! Just who in tarnation do you think you are, stealin’ everybody’s dreams and makin’ them your own? You think I’d just roll over and let you do it, ’cause you been of some sorta help these last weeks? You think I’d just hand over everything I been wishin’ for, just like that?”

Butch blinked, but said nothing.

Monahan stood up and huffed, “I didn’t think so!”

And then, before he had a chance to do any more thinking on the matter, he marched out of the dining room, hoping Sweeney heard his footsteps, loud and never faltering. And he hoped they scared the hell out of him.

 

 

It wasn’t until three hours later—he hoped Sweeney had thought he’d spent them in a bar, but which he really spent alone in the boarding stable, talking to General Grant—that he came halfway to his senses. He didn’t own Alaska. He didn’t even own a parcel of land up there. He had never been to the place and had no say in who went where. Who did he think he was? God Almighty?

He suddenly felt very small, so small that he nearly got shorter.

“Gotta do it, General. Gotta back down and let the boy go where he wants. Gotta let him be his own man. After all, he might’ve seen that clippin’ anywhere. He might’ve talked to a feller on the street or in a bar. Anybody might’ve told him about Alaska. He’s not got nothin’ against me, and it ain’t all on me.”

“You in here all alone, waxin’ poetic over Alaska? Still?” asked a voice from the doorway.

It came so unexpectedly that Monahan started, but he managed to catch himself on the side of the stall. His eyes narrowed to see through the gloom. He made out a spare man—not tall, but not somebody you’d call short, either—dressed in cowboy gear, and leaning in the shadowed doorway.
Dark hair
, he thought.
Clean shaven
.

He didn’t have the first clue to the man’s identity.

The man didn’t seem to be having the same trouble with him, though. He finished rolling his smoke, saying, “Been a while. How you been keepin’?”

“Tolerable,” replied Monahan, his guard still up. “And you?”

The man flicked a match into flame and lit his smoke. “’Bout the same. Still got bunions. Still on the scout.”

Oddly, that sounded a little familiar, but out of long-standing habit, Monahan didn’t relax one iota. Behind the cover of the stall’s walls, he let his hand drop to dangle stiffly near his Colt. And then, without warning, a word sprang from his lips. “Miller.”

The man smiled. “I was thinkin’ you had another of those ‘clobbered’ times o’ yours. It’s good that you remembered my name, Dooley. I feel better about you, now.”

Monahan didn’t know how to respond, so he just said, “Good for you.” He still couldn’t place the fellow, still couldn’t consciously fit him into any background or with any group of people.

The man shook his head and sighed. “Think, Dooley. Think the spring roundup in Fort Carroll, Wyoming. About six, eight years back?” The man stared at him, looking for some sign of recognition. Apparently, he didn’t see one, because next he said, “Don’t you remember? Scalper Johnson was up there with us, and the Kid, and Darby. You spent the summer carvin’ skunks outta pine knots when we wasn’t workin’, and the Kid spent ’bout all his time tryin’ to figure out how to sell ’em? Aw, c’mon, Dooley! Say you remember just a little?”

The man’s tone had become pleading, but Dooley kept his hand by his gun, and said, “I may know your name, but that’s all I know. Not your face, not any of those other names you said. I’m an old man, and I got enough ghosts already. Leave me be.”

Miller, who appeared to be about forty, maybe forty-five, shook his head sadly. “Well, all right. I’ll let you get on with it. But I’m stayin’ at the Adams, and if you remember anything, gimme a shout, okay? Room two-oh-seven.”

Monahan nodded.

“Don’t forget?” said Miller.

“I won’t.” The old cowboy might have forgotten where the hell he was five or six years ago, but he wouldn’t forget this little encounter if he had anything to do with it. It might take him a while, but . . . “Luden,” he said suddenly. “Luden’s Mill.”

A grin bloomed across Miller’s face. “That’s right, Dooley! The L slash M. Colonel Harry Luden’s spread! Knew you’d remember, iffen I gave you enough time.”

Monahan felt his fingers twitch and his hand rise away from his gun. “Colonel Luden wasn’t there, he’d been called up.” He remembered something about the Ludens. They hadn’t owned the spread that long, and he’d been told that after Vicksburg, the colonel had been called back into service by the North. He had been gone before Monahan showed up, and he left before the colonel returned. Two years had been spent on the Luden spread, two years filled with ravening Indians and cougars and unrest, and . . . “Did I serve?”

“In what?” Miller asked. “The war?”

Monahan nodded.

“Sure you did. Least, you said so.”

“For the North?”

Miller’s brows went up warily at the question. But he nodded and said, “Yup.”

All of a sudden, the rest came flooding in. Monahan slapped the side of his head, spooking General Grant. “Now I remember. George Miller, right?”

Miller’s smile grew into a grin that exposed the hole left by a missing incisor on the bottom and a gold crown on top. He tossed his cigarette butt to the street outside, and came forward to greet Monahan with both arms out.

They embraced over the stall’s rail, and the old cowboy was suddenly exceedingly grateful he hadn’t shot Miller on first sight. He’d been sorely tempted. He’d admit that, if only to himself.

George Miller was some years younger than Dooley Monahan. At five-foot-ten, he was taller than average, and his dark brown hair had only just begun to gray. When Monahan had known him up in Wyoming, it hadn’t yet begun to turn, and he remembered being mad at George then for not aging like he had. He’d felt old age slowly covering him all over like candle wax. But his anger had disappeared in no time once he got to know George.

And just like then, he felt all his initial uneasiness melt away as the two men began to rehash old times and tell each other over and over again just how plain
good
it was to set an eye on the other.

He returned to the hotel alone, but in much better spirits than he had left it. In fact, he didn’t even remember the argument about Alaska until he’d been tiptoeing around Sweeney’s sleeping form for about five minutes.

Even then, he held no hard feelings. Why, if he hadn’t argued over Alaska he never would have stormed out of the hotel, never would have gone to the livery, and never would have run in to George! He reckoned he owed Sweeney a word or two of gratitude. But later. He was plumb worn out.

He climbed into bed with the dog right behind him, got his feet angled over the end of the mattress like he wanted, and fell asleep thinking happy thoughts.