Wayward Wind (41 page)

“Is that all you have to do?”

“When you finish, give her one of those coins like you did me, and wait for the change.”

“Thank you. There’s one more thing. Do you know Cooper Parnell?”

“Sure do. There’s not a finer man around than Cooper. He was in here the other day and said he was going partners with a young
feller down on the Blue. Do you know Cooper?”

“That old Clayhill will run them out of there,” she said heatedly, ignoring his question.

Lorna went to the front of the store and McCloud followed. He felt uneasy about her. “Are you staying the night in town?”

“I don’t know, yet.”

“If there’s anything I can do for you, come on back in.”

“You’ve done plenty, thanks.”

“That Dunbar’s a rough man, miss, he hangs out with the town toughs. Are you sure you want to find him?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, in that case,” McCloud said with a deep sigh, “take off that hat and ride down the street with all that pretty hair
flyin’ loose, and in a hour every man in town will be on the street to get a look at you. Word will spread about the new woman
in town and Dunbar’ll find you.”

“That’s a good idea. Thank you, Mr. McCloud.”

“You can tie your horse out behind, if you like. Give him a scoop of grain.”

“I’ll pay—”

“Stop in before you leave town and we’ll settle.”

McCloud watched Lorna lead the horse between the buildings. It was as fine an animal as he’d seen in a long time and his curiosity
about the girl grew. She was a lovely, well-mannered young woman, but oh, so unworldly. What could she want with a man like
Red Dunbar? He wished he had a way of getting word to Cooper Parnell before Dunbar came back to town.

He stood in the doorway of the store and watched her come back from between the buildings. She carried her rifle in her hand
and had the bullwhip looped over her shoulder. Instead of going down the boardwalk to the restaurant, she went down the middle
of the street. At first glance she appeared to be a slim lad, but on second glance anyone could tell she was a woman, and
McCloud had no doubt as to what the reaction to a woman in britches would be. He scratched his head. He couldn’t think of
a time when he’d seen a woman come to town in britches since a freighter and his woman came through several years ago. He
watched to make sure Lorna was going in the right direction, then went back into the store.

It was no easier walking into the restaurant than it had been to enter the store. There was one long table down the center
of the room and several round tables at the back. One diner, a man in a dusty flannel shirt, sat at the long table with his
back to the door and another man, in a tan leather vest, sat at one of the round tables. Lorna hesitated. Was she really hungry
enough to go in?

“Come on in, youngun.” The woman’s voice came from the back and a round face looked through a hole cut in the wall. “Find
ya a seat. It’s a beef ’n dumplin’s today.”

Lorna despised having to walk between the tables to get to the back where she could sit facing the door, but she did it as
quickly as possible. She perched on the edge of the chair, with the rifle across her knees.

“Take off yore hat!” The voice boomed from the back. “Ain’t ya got no manners? No man eats at
my
table under a hat.”

Lorna’s face turned a fiery red. Both men turned to look at her and she wanted to crawl under the table. Her eyes fastened
on the woman coming through the doorway. She was very fat, her dark hair was parted in the middle and pulled to a tight bun
on the back of her head. She was fanning her flushed face with the tail of the apron wrapped about her waist. Lorna snatched
the hat from her head and her hair tumbled around her face and the braid fell forward onto her chest. She gripped the hat
in one hand and the rifle in the other, and wished she hadn’t been so foolish as to come in.

“God love ya, dearie!” The woman stopped and stared. “I thought ya was one of them trail busters that’s been eatin’ at the
end of a wagon fer so long they ain’t got no manners a’tall. Here ye be, a pretty little gal. Hungry, air ya?”

“Yes, ma’am. I can pay.”

“I got the fixin’s all ready. It’s a mite early fer the noonin’. So ya can eat ’n be gone afore the crowd pops in.”

“I’m agoin’, Mable. Ya want to take my money now?” The cowhand at the big table got to his feet as he spoke.

“Ain’t ya got time fer more pie, John?”

“It’s mighty good pie, but I’d better be lightin’ a shuck for the ranch.”

“Wal, now, if ya hurry, ya might have time to stop by Bessie’s on the way.” The fat woman laughed uproariously.

“If ya wasn’t so busy cookin’ up larrupin’ grub, I’d not have to go to Bessie’s.” The cowhand dropped some coins on the table
and pinched Mable’s cheek.

“Go on with ya, John Nelson. Stop the tomfoolery or I’ll tell Logan to kick yore butt off Morning Sun.” Mable slapped at his
hand, picked up the coins and put them in her pocket.

“If’n he did, it’d give me more time with you, darlin’.”

Mable reached for the broom and the laughing cowhand raced for the door. She was chuckling when she brought out the granite
coffee pot and refilled the other diner’s cup.

“You wantin’ anything else, mister?”

“No, thank you. I’ve had plenty.”

“Ya sure do look like somebody I know, but I can’t place the when or the where of it.”

“I was in here yesterday.”

“Lordy mercy! I knowed that. I mean—”

The man laughed and Lorna’s eyes were drawn to him. He was clean shaven and his hair was combed neatly. Although he was seated
she knew he was tall. He reminded her of Cooper and she turned her eyes away. She didn’t want to be reminded of Cooper. She
didn’t want to be distracted from what she had to do. Besides, she told herself sternly, this man’s hair was dark and Cooper’s
was light. His voice wasn’t soft like Cooper’s and his eyes weren’t blue like Cooper’s, and—

“DeBolt,” he was saying. “Kain DeBolt.”

“Name don’t mean nothin’,” Mable said. “I must be gettin’ old. Time was I could name ya ever’ handsome man fer twenty square
miles.” Mable laughed and her belly bounced in rhythm. “I’ll be gettin’ your dinner now, honey,” she called to Lorna and went
back to the kitchen.

The man finished his coffee and was placing his money on the table when Mable returned with a plate of food and pan of bread.

“Bye. Come on back, now,” Mable called.

“Thank you, I will.”

“Ya want coffee?” She put a plate of beef and noodles in front of Lorna. Lorna nodded and began to eat. Mable returned with
the coffee pot and two cups. “Do ya mind if I set with ya a spell? The rush’ll start ’n I’ll not get a chance to get off my
feet. Lordy, they do hurt ’n I’ve got a pile of dishes to do.”

“I’ll do them for you.” An idea had hit Lorna. Everybody had to eat.

“Bless ya, honey. Ya lookin’ for work?”

“No. I’m looking for some men who burned down my house and killed my pa.”

“Well, landsakes!” Mable panted and wiped her eyes on her apron as if better to see Lorna. “What’ll ya do with ’em when ya
find ’em?”

“I’m going to kill one of them. I’ve not decided about the other three.” She spoke in a calm unruffled voice and took another
bite of food.

“Child! Do ya know what yore sayin’?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do. And I’m not a child. I’m almost twenty years old.”

“Where’re ya from, ch—miss—”

“Douglas. Lorna Douglas. I’m from Light’s Mountain.”

“Is that up near Cheyenne?”

“No, ma’am. It’s south.” Lorna lifted the fork again and chewed the food slowly. She decided suddenly she wasn’t as hungry
as she thought she was. She placed the fork beside her plate and looked the woman in the eye. “Miss Mable, I’ll wash all your
dishes if you’ll help me. I need to get myself fixed up in a dress and my hair all prettied up on top of my head like pictures
I’ve seen. I need to get a parasol and shoes with heels and something to make me smell good. How can I do that?” she asked
so innocently that Mable’s mouth fell open.

“Well… I don’t know if there’s a store-made dress in town. I guess yores got burned up in the fire.” She clucked her tongue
against the roof of her mouth sorrowfully. “Poor little mite.”

“I didn’t have any dresses. I never wear them. But Mr. McCloud at the mercantile said if I let my hair down and walked down
the street, word would get out about a new woman in town and the men would come to look at me. I thought if I had on a pretty
dress, they’d come faster. I don’t want to stay here very long. I want to do what I’ve got to do and get back. I need to find
a place to winter.”

“Yo’re thinkin’ the men yo’re lookin’ for will come to ya?”

“It’s what Mr. McCloud said.”

Mable made a mental note to tell McCloud to keep his big mouth shut and his advice to himself. Aloud she said, “Do ya know
anybody around here?”

“Ah… no.”

Mable fanned her face with her apron and gave Lorna’s hand a reassuring pat. Her single-mindedness was unshakable, she decided.
With or without her help she’d do what she’d set out to do. The only way she could help her was to delay it a little if she
could.

“I’ll tell you what. Have you heard of The House?”

“No, ma’am.”

“A friend of mine, Bessie Wilhite, lives out there. She’s got some girls ’n one a ’em, Minnie Wilson, is ’bout yore size.
Go ’n tell Bessie what ya need. I’ll write a letter for ya to take to ’er so she’ll know ya ain’t job huntin’.” Mable laughed
and Lorna wondered why.

“I can pay—”

“Honey…” Mable gazed at the beautiful young face and the violet-blue eyes. There were men here who would die for this innocent
young woman, and others who would kill to get her. “This is a mean town. Every drifter, outlaw, deserter, and just plain no-gooder
wanders in and out of here. Why don’t ya just give this up ’n go back home?”

“I can’t, Miss Mable.” Tears flooded Lorna’s violet eyes and beaded her thick dark lashes. “I just buried my pa. I can’t let
’em go.”

“All right, honey.” Mable squeezed her hand. “Ya tell Bessie what yo’re up to. Bessie’s been in more ’n a few tight spots.
She’ll know what t’do.”

“I’ll wash the dishes before I go.”

“You don’t need to—”

“I want to. You’ve been kind.”

“I ain’t got the heart to say no. But ya ain’t payin’ fer yore meal.”

Lorna washed dishes all through the noon meal, glancing through the opening in the wall every time she heard the screen door
slam, hoping to see one of the men she was searching for. The men came in, removed their hats, sat down at a table and helped
themselves from the large bowls of beef and noodles and platters of cornbread. They laughed and talked, but there was no loud
swearing and no spitting on the floor. Mable carried a large coffee pot from table to table, joking with the customers and
filling coffee cups.

Lorna looked at each face, but none of the men were Brice, Hollis, Billy, or the red-headed Dunbar. By the time the last man
left the dining room, Lorna was doing the last of the dishes. She dried her hands on the roller towel, put on her coat and
carefully tucked her hair up under her hat.

“Here’s the letter.” Mable slipped a folded paper in her coat pocket. “If ya change yore mind ya can winter with me ’n work
fer yore keep.”

“Thank you. It’s good to know I’ve a place to come back to.”

“Ya bet your bottom dollar ya have, honey,” Mable boomed. “Ya know where yo’re agoin’, now?”

“Straight north along the creek. White house with flower boxes in the windows.”

“That’s it. I told Bessie in the letter to keep ya the night. I ain’t awantin’ you hurt, child.”

Lorna picked up her rifle and her whip. “I’ll be all right.”

But she wasn’t so sure when she crossed the porch and stepped into the dusty street. There were people and movement everywhere.
The town was alive with horses and wagons; some covered, some loaded with freight. A handsome buggy sped past her, driven
by a black man in a black coat and square, high-topped hat. She barely had time to get out of the way. She could hear music
and loud laughter. The dust was offensive to her eyes and nose and the noise to her ears.

Halfway down the block a teamster was having trouble with a balky mule. He was shouting curses and trying to back the mule
into a three harness hitch positioned beside two other mules. The animal was frightened and the louder the man cursed and
yanked on the bit the more the animal resisted. Finally the man began to beat the mule with a flat board. The mule squealed
and tried to sidle away. The animal was scared and suffering. It was more than Lorna could stand. She broke into a run.

“Stop that!” she shouted and hung onto the man’s arm.

The big, burly teamster shoved her away with a sweep of his arm and brought the board down against the side of the mule’s
head. Lorna regained her balance and before he could strike the animal again, the tip of the bullwhip caught the teamster
between the shoulder blades. She put just enough strength behind the blow to sting him and get his attention.

“What the hell!” he spun around. “What the hell are you doin’?”

“Don’t hit that mule again, mister.”

“Why you goddamn, snot-nosed brat! I’ll hit that goddamn mule when I want. It’s my mule.”

“Not while I’m here, you won’t. I’ll put the mule in there if you can’t do it.”

“Who said I couldn’t?” The teamster’s face was a mask of fury. He spit toward Lorna and lifted the board. She cast the whip
and the board flew out of his hand. “Yeeow! Goddamn you to hell and back!” He yanked a wood splinter from the palm of his
hand, swore viciously, and lunged for Lorna. She sidestepped his charge easily.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said and backed away. “I just don’t want you hurting that mule. Back off, mister.”

“You meanin’ to fight me?” The man looked at her with disbelief.

“If I have to.”

“Jesus Christ! I can break your scrawny neck!”

“I can put your eye out with this whip if I’ve a mind to.”

“Hey, some of you fellers step on the end of that whip. This kid needs his ass busted.”