“Pay you a social call? Would you have served tea?” he asked, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm. “This visit isn’t a social call, either. You’ve got to get out of here. Go down to that stone building and take your valuables with you.”

  “Is it Bushy-face, Mamma?”

  “Shhh . . . Theresa—” Mary scolded, then hugged the child, who began to whimper with fear and hid her face against her mother’s neck.

  “What are you talking about?” Katy turned the gun on him again. “We’re not going anywhere on your say-so.”

  “You stubborn little mule! I knew you’d be like this,” he said softly, then barked irritably, “Put that gun down before you shoot somebody. You don’t have much time. Within the next fifteen or twenty minutes three men will ride into town who’ll make me look like a saint. I just saw one of them kill a man in cold blood.”

  “You saw it, and you did nothing to stop it?” Katy asked contemptuously.

  “Goddammit, Katy! I was a quarter of a mile away and saw it through my spyglass. Are you going down to that stone building, or am I going to throw you across my shoulder and carry you there?” He stepped upon the porch, shouldered his way past her and went inside. “Do you have any more ammunition for that rifle?”

  “Yes,” Mary answered. “Four boxes.”

  “Get it, and anything else you value that you can carry, and go to the stone building. It’s the safest place in town.” He directed his remarks to Mary. “I’ll close this place and throw some trash up onto the porch so they’ll think it’s as empty as the rest of the town.”

  He went through their living quarters to the rear and shut the door. On his way back he checked the firebox on the cook-stove. Katy was still standing beside the door, stunned motionless. Mary put Theresa on the floor and spread a blanket on the bed. With the child clinging to her skirts, she went to the trunk for her journal. She placed it and the clock her mother had given her for a wedding present in the center of the blanket, added the boxes of shells, and tied the four corners.

  “Mary! Why are we trusting him?” Katy blurted. “Maybe it’s Roy coming back.”

  “Ma’am, would your husband be wearing parts of an army uniform?” Rowe asked sharply.

  “No,” Mary answered, then to Katy, “We’ve got to trust him. We have no choice.”

  “That’s right you don’t. Now go, unless you plan to stay here and be raped by three killers when they get here.”

  His dark eyes bored into Katy’s blue ones, a hint of repressed savagery behind them. There was impatience in such a man, impatience that would cause most women to obey his orders without question. But Katy was not one to follow blindly.

  She turned her back and spoke to her sister. “I say we stay here. We may be in just as much danger from him as from the men riding in.”

  “Don’t push me, Katy,” Rowe said angrily. “I’ll not permit you a choice now or ever when your safety is concerned. Climb down off your high horse and behave. You’re going to that stone building—whether you like it or not.”

  “Come on, Katy,” Mary pleaded. “We’ve got to trust him.”

  “I don’t like him. He’s got shifty eyes.”

  Katy didn’t know why she had said anything so stupid! His gaze was as steady as a hawk’s. The only excuse she gave herself for the untruth was that she was determined not to knuckle under completely. Was that laughter she saw in the depth of his midnight eyes just before she thrust her arm under the knot Mary had tied in the blanket? What really infuriated her was the inescapable feeling that she could buck him every step of the way, but in the end she would do as he said. For Mary and Theresa’s sake, she told herself.

  “Can you carry all that?” Mary asked.

  “I’ll have to. You’ll have to carry Theresa.”

  “What about Mable?” Mary turned back as they stepped off the porch.

  “Mable? Good God! Is there another woman here beside you two?”

  “Mable’s the cow.”

  “Ah . . .” He said several words in a language they didn’t understand, but there was no mistaking the frustration in his tone. “I’ll put the cow behind the livery if there’s time. Don’t fool around about getting down there. I want you women out of sight.”

  Katy and Mary hurried as fast as they could through the middle of the deserted town. Katy looked over her shoulder to see the man who called himself Garrick Rowe throwing dead brush and broken boards up onto the porch of their home. Then he took a branch and began to sweep away their footprints. He was trying to help them. She had known it from the first, but his arrogant manner had forced her to rebel against his orders.

  “Walk in the grass,” she told Mary. “He’s trying to erase our footprints.”

  The two women were out of breath by the time they reached the stone building. The interior was cool and dim. Katy dropped the bundle inside the door as soon as they entered; her arm was numb from carrying it.

  “Does he expect us to just sit here and wait?”

  “He’s trying to help us,” Mary said firmly.

  “He said the men were wearing army uniforms, Mary. How do we know that it isn’t a legitimate patrol? How do we know he doesn’t want to keep us here and is scaring us into staying out of sight?”

  “Do we dare take the chance? Why are you so suspicious of him?”

  “From past experience. I’ve been pushed, pulled, pinched, fondled, and propositioned ever since I came West. I’m sick of men who slobber, spit, and stink. All they know is mining, brawling, drinking, and whoring. Old Bushy-face may have killed the cat, carried water to Mable, and shaved; but he’s still a scallywag looking to get rich without working.”

  “Oh, Katy. I didn’t realize you were so bitter. It’s because of me you’re here and I’m so sorry.”

  The pain in Mary’s voice slipped through Katy’s anger and into her mind. She turned and put her arm around her sister.

  “I’m sorry for being such a grouch. The way he looked at me and the way he bossed us around got under my skin. I knew we’d do what he thought best, but I wasn’t going to fall whole-hog into his plan like a mindless feather-head.”

  Mary set Theresa down on one of the two slabs, built out from the wall, that served as bunks. Rowe’s bedroll was on one of them. The bedding was folded neatly and the bags containing his belongings were stacked beneath his bunk. A narrow slit was cut in the rock wall on the south, used as a lookout and for ventilation.

  “He’s taking Mable to the corral behind the livery,” Katy said from her position beside the door.

  The bawling cow was protesting in the only way she knew how. The lead rope was stretching her neck as she was being pulled along behind the black horse, her heavy udders swaying with each step. They disappeared behind the livery and a few minutes later Rowe was loping down the road toward the jail, the dog at his heels.

  The first thing he did was to scatter the cold ashes where he had cooked his food. Then he scooped up an armful of dead brush, and covered them. Katy stood just inside the building, looking out the doorway.

  Rowe came to the door. “They’ll be here anytime now,” he said looking toward the south. “Do you know how to use that rifle?”

  “I wouldn’t be carrying it if I didn’t.”

  Her answer seemed to satisfy him. “I’ll draw them away from here if I can. Keep the little girl quiet.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “To the saloon. They’ll see my horse and the mules and know that someone is here. It’s better to face them down before they find out the town’s completely deserted.”

  “I could help—”

  “No. Stay here. I don’t want to worry about you.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t buck me now, Katy. I don’t have time for it. Do as I tell you and you’ll come out of this all right. Shut and bar the door and don’t leave this place regardless of what you hear. There’s water and food to last for several days. Understand?”

  “No.” Her retort was quick. “Why should I follow your orders without question? You’re as much of a stranger as they—”

  He cut into what she was saying. “Do I seem like a stranger to you, Katy?”

  Under the steady gaze of his dark eyes, her heart began to hammer. No, right at this minute he didn’t seem like a stranger, but damned if she’d admit it to him! To evade the question, she asked one of her own.

  “Is there a chance they’re not as bad as you think?”

  “There’s always a chance, but not much of one. They shot a man in the back and left him for the wolves. You don’t get much worse than that. Like I said, shut and bar the door and don’t come out until I call to you. And . . . cover that slit in the wall so they won’t be tempted to come look inside.” His voice was low and even, but the tone left no doubt that he expected to be obeyed.

  “All right.”

  For just an instant, his hand touched her arm. “If anyone tries to come in, shoot him.”

  “I will. Be careful.”

  “You, too.” A whisper of a smile touched his mouth. Then, with a gesture to the dog, he ran across the street to the saloon, his shaggy pet at his heels.

  Katy watched him go. The man and the dog were a team. Who was he? From the look of his plunder, he was here to stay a good long while. A distant part of her mind told her to steer clear of personal involvement with this man. He was the kind of man who would take over a woman’s life, and she wouldn’t have a prayer of holding out against him.

  Rowe opened the double doors of the saloon and pushed them back against the wall. He took a full bottle of whiskey from his private stock beneath the counter and set it out on the bar along with several glasses so that they could be seen through the open door. It just might make the men riding in think there were several men inside. He checked his gun. The pistol was a Smith & Wesson, the best gun built. After trying the balance of it in his hand, he checked the load and shoved it down in the holster. His cartridge belt was full, and he had extra ammunition for the rifle. He tilted his hat back and surveyed the road leading into town. With the rifle in the crook of his arm, he stood just inside the building, waiting. He had no plan except to tell them to leave. After that, he would play it by ear.

  Modo came and sat down beside him, his tongue hanging out as he panted. The dog looked at his master, and, when Rowe motioned, lay at his feet.

  The afternoon sun slanted across the dusty porch. From Rowe’s vantage point, he had a view of the still-empty road and the stone building. In the few minutes before a battle the senses are always keener Rowe mused. He heard the wind in the pines and smelled the freshness of the high, cool air. He remembered the pungent smell of cedar, the deep red glow of campfires he had fed with mesquite and buffalo chips.

  Nightrose. The name moved like a ghost across his memory. It had something to do with Katy. The sensation of timelessness returned with sudden intensity, and he was in another time, another place. This had happened before. Sometime, somewhere, he had waited, just like this, waited to protect what was his. He shook his head and the feeling was gone. But he continued to think about Katy.

  She was tall for a woman, and he liked that. Her eyebrows and lashes were just a shade darker than her hair. The perfect oval of her face with its small, fine nose and full, soft lips were a perfect background for her eyes. They were blue-gray as he had known they would be; and when they met his, they had held a definite shimmer of defiance. It raised her hackles to be told what to do, he thought, with a quirk of his lips. During that first moment when he had looked at her, he wondered if the shock he had felt registered on his face. It was so strange, this feeling of knowing her, knowing how she would fit into his arms, how her mouth would feel beneath his, how her breast would fill his hand, and how passionate she was beneath that cool facade.

  The sound of hoofbeats brought Rowe out of his reverie and into the realization that he was about to face three men who would kill him if he stood between them and what they wanted. And if they succeeded, it would be only a matter of time until the women in the stone building were discovered. Katy would not be able to hold out long against them. All the men would have to do was build a fire in front of the heavy oak door and smoke them out.

  The sudden knowledge that now he had more than just himself to live for made Rowe extremely cautious. He was a man who took his time to study things out, never one to come to quick decisions or solutions. That single trait in his character had already brought him through a goodly number of crises.

  The riders coming up from the south were also cautious. They stopped their horses in the middle of the road and talked together while looking over the town. After a few minutes of discussion, one of the men went east and another west; the man leading the dead man’s horse stayed in the middle of the road.

  The damn cow! Rowe thought. They would know there were women in town because no miner or cowman would waste time and effort on a milch cow. After looking behind the buildings on both sides of the street, the other two came back, re-joining the third rider. The three proceeded up the street, walking their horses slowly. They stopped in front of the saloon. The open doors had provided the temptation to lure them to him, just as Rowe expected. After ordering Modo to stay, he stepped out onto the porch and faced them.

  “Ride on. There’s nothing for you here.” Rowe’s voice rang loud with authority.

  “Who said so?”

  “I did.”

  “We’re a patrol out of Fort Kearny and in need of a drink of whiskey. Hell! We need a bottle each.” The man who spoke had a wide face and a scar on his cheekbone.

  “A patrol?” The sneer in Rowe’s voice told that he knew of the lie. “You must be lost.”

  The man didn’t bother to deny it. “Yeah, we’re lost,” he said and laughed. “Are you the marshal here? Haw! Haw! Haw!”

  “You might say that. Ride on and avoid trouble.”

  “I don’t see anybody backin’ his hand, Arch. I’m thinkin’ he’s here all by his own self.”

  “He ain’t by his own self. He’s got a woman ’round here somewheres. That’s a fresh cow out back. A fresh cow means women. I ain’t had me no white woman in quite a spell ’n’ I’m hankerin’ to get me one.”

  “May be she ain’t white.”

  “I ain’t a carin’. Red, white, or blue, it’s all the same once ya’ve got yore pecker up.” The man called Arch made to step down from his horse.

  The rifle in Rowe’s hand came up. “Don’t.”

  “You goin’ to hold us all off?” Arch asked and settled back into the saddle.

  Rowe didn’t bother to answer. It would be anytime now. The one doing the talking wasn’t the one to watch. He was the diversion for the other two. The man on the left was trying to ease his horse into position so when he drew his gun, he would have an easy target. The other slouched in the saddle, but had kicked his feet free of the stirrups.

  One second the tired horse Arch was riding stood with his head down; the next second he had reared and plunged. It was a practiced tactic that they had probably used before. Rowe shot to kill the man on the left, but because of the moving horses, the bullet struck the rider on the hip, knocking him sideways out of the saddle. The two bullets shot at Rowe were equally off target. One grazed the side of his head and hit the doorjamb; the other ripped splinters from the porch at his feet. A third bullet tore into his thigh as he dived inside the building. As he went down, the rifle flew from his hand.

  Rowe blinked rapidly against the pain, then pushed himself erect as he heard boot heels hit the porch of the saloon. With a weaving, drunken gait, he took the necessary steps, getting himself in position to meet the men who were bent on killing him as they charged through the doorway and dived to the floor, rolling toward the protection of the bar.

  “Attack!” he yelled. Modo sprang on the man nearest the door.

  Rowe opened up a blinding roar of gunfire with the Smith & Wesson. His bullets struck the man kneeling on the floor. The intruder reared back, then sprawled, arms outstretched. Surprised and off balance by the big dog’s attack, Arch fanned his gun. The range was close, and Rowe felt the searing impact of the bullet that passed through his upper arm. The gun in his hand felt like a hundred-pound weight, but he lifted it and aimed point-blank at Arch’s head. The shot entered above the ear and the man slumped to the floor.

  “Modo,” he called. The dog released his hold on the dead man’s arm and padded obediently to his master.

  Rowe’s head felt as if it were a huge drum, and someone was pounding on it with a hammer. Half-blinded with pain and his own blood that dripped from his lacerated scalp, he leaned against the wall and thumbed shells into the Smith & Wesson. Two of the three men were accounted for. The one he had knocked from the saddle was outside. If he still lived, he would be like a wounded bear because he had nothing to lose. Rowe staggered to the door and peered out into the street. It was empty. Had the wounded man ridden out?

  A bullet coming in through the doorway struck the glasses on the bar, sending shards of glass in every direction. It answered the question. Rowe cursed and fell back. He wiped the blood out of his eye with his shirt sleeve. He hadn’t even seen where the bullet had come from. The man was in no better condition to run than he was. Maybe he would surrender.

  “Hey, out there!” he called. “Your friends are dead. You’ve been hit. Give up and I’ll let you ride out.”

  “You stupid son of a bitch! Ya’re in worse shape than I am, if I know Arch ’n’ Roberts. I aim to keep ya in there till ya bleed to death!”

  Rowe wondered if he had the strength to climb the stairs to the second floor so he would have a better view of the street. Then he remembered the windows on the front were still boarded up. They wouldn’t do him much good. The only place the man could be hiding was behind the stone wall built around the well in the middle of the street.

  Blood from the wound in his thigh had run down into his boot, squishing when he walked. Blood from his arm dripped onto the floor. His head was beginning to feel light. He sat down in a chair and tried to tie his neckerchief about his thigh. The sun coming in the doorway told him it would be hours before dark. He leaned forward in the chair to prop himself against the table. The straight line of the bar tilted and then vanished into a wavering mist. It returned for a brief instant before darkness fell.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35