The Bounty Hunters, page 3
“Suit yourself,” he said. “I’m sure your husband will be glad to know what really happened that day.”
He touched his hat and reined the horse around, heading south toward the Big R.
“Wait!” the woman called. “What do you want to know?”
He turned his horse and came back, not even trying to hide his malicious triumph. “I want to know anything you can tell me about Travis,” he said. “Do you have any idea where he went?”
The woman shook her head. “He was at the ranch, but he didn’t tell anyone where he was going.”
“Do you know if he has any folks anywhere?”
“No, I don’t know,” she said. “Travis don’t talk much about nothing. When he worked at the ranch, he never told anyone who he was or where he came from.”
“You don’t think Travis is his real name, then?” Colman asked.
“I don’t know,” the woman said impatiently. “I just told you, he never talked about nothing. My husband said he never could find out anything much about him the whole time he was there. Just that he was the best hand he ever had.”
“How long was he there?” Colman asked.
“I don’t know. He was foreman at the ranch when I married Chet. I don’t know how long he was there before that.”
“In other words, you don’t know anything about him,” Colman said in disgust.
“I already said I didn’t!” the woman exclaimed angrily. “I told you that to begin with.”
“What about the man with Red Grayson that day?” Colman asked. “What did he look like?”
“I thought you said you talked to him!” Colman did not answer and the woman’s voice rose angrily. “Then it was a trick! I knew it all along! You get out of my way and don’t come near me again!”
She raised the whip and Colman reined his horse out of the way. The whip cut the air where his face had been a moment before and the woman tried to drive the buggy over him. But he was well out of the road by then and he wasted no time heading north, looking back over his shoulder as she headed south.
As he rode back to Cottonwood Creek he had the uneasy feeling that he had asked her the wrong questions. But he felt certain that it would be a waste of time to try to talk to her again—and he had wasted too much time already. The thing to do now was to buy the roan, pick up some supplies and try to find Travis.
There was only one hotel in Comanche Crossing, one saloon, one restaurant, and one store. But the restaurant, just an adjoining room of the store, no longer served meals, and the only place to eat at the moment was the hotel dining room, which had started serving meals at virtually all hours, to pick up a little extra money.
Lorna Mason came down the stairs wearing her green dress and coolly ignored the tensely watching clerk as she crossed the lobby to the dining room door. There she paused. The man she knew as Farley sat at a table facing the door. From the window of her room she had seen him ride into town, but now she pretended to be surprised to see him. After a moment she entered the dining room and stopped in front of his table. It was not the time people usually ate and they were the only ones in the dining room.
“I wondered what became of you,” Lorna Mason said. “I’ve been wanting to apologize for the way I behaved on the stage.”
He glanced up at her with a remote smile in his gray-blue eyes. “It’s not important,” he said in a strangely quiet, brief way—as if it really was not important.
She hesitated, remembering suddenly that he had not risen from his chair or even removed his hat. And he continued eating almost as if she was not there. When she had first seen him in Twin Buttes she had taken him for a gentleman, although a quiet, reserved one. Quiet and reserved he certainly was, but she was beginning to doubt if he was a gentleman. On the other hand, she felt certain that she could trust him and that he would not try to take advantage of her in any way.
“I hoped I’d see you again,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
He looked up at her with that strange remote smile in his eyes and kept eating. He did not say anything.
She blushed. “About a job, sort of. Is it all right if I sit down?”
He merely nodded at the chair in front of her and did not offer to assist her.
Frowning slightly, she sat down and studied his lean, hard face, and in spite of herself her cool green eyes softened and became almost dreamy. He was without a doubt the most handsome man she had ever seen, and there was something so quiet and calm and sure about him, so relaxed—and so indifferent. It was his indifference that puzzled her. Most men began to sweat at sight of her—like that stupid clerk out there, whose eyes clung to her like leeches every time she passed through the lobby. But this blond, bronzed man seemed to know there could never be anything between them and that it would be a waste of time to think about what could never be. Too many things stood between them. But how did he know that?
“I’m on my way to Santa Fe to meet my husband,” she said. “I’m not familiar with this part of the country and I just thought I could take another stage on to Santa Fe from here. But I didn’t think to ask the driver until we arrived in Comanche Crossing and he told me I’d have to go way north or way south and circle around the Staked Plains, as this was as far west as the stages go on this route. I don’t want to go hundreds of miles out of my way, so I thought if I could hire someone who’s familiar with the country—”
“I’m not going to Santa Fe,” Travis said.
“Oh, I see,” Lorna Mason said softly. “Are you going anywhere near there?”
Travis finished eating, then sat back with his coffee, watching her silently. “Your best bet is to go around,” he said finally.
She waited for some explanation, but none was volunteered. “That’s what the stage driver told me,” she said. “But I felt certain he exaggerated the dangers and hardships of crossing the Staked Plains. Surely it can’t be as bad as he said.”
Travis sipped his coffee in silence a moment, watching the street through the window. Then he again looked at Lorna. “How did your husband get to Santa Fe?” he asked.
“I—I’m not sure,” she said. “That is, he tried mining in Colorado before going on to Santa Fe.”
There was another one of those little silences that were becoming more and more awkward for the woman. Travis’s face was carefully blank, his eyes politely attentive.
“Actually,” Lorna Mason said, blushing, “my husband and I are separated. But I thought if I went out to Santa Fe maybe we could patch things up. The truth is, I’m not even sure he’s still there. No one back home has heard from him for quite a while. But that’s where he was the last time he wrote. We lived in a small town in eastern Kansas.”
Travis glanced down at his empty cup, almost frowning. But when he raised his glance his eyes were as clear and unreadable as before. “Anyone could have told you your best bet was to go by train as far as it went and then take a stage on the Santa Fe Trail.”
“But I wanted to visit my aunt who lives in Dallas,” Lorna said. “Coming this way by stage was her idea. She said she thought I could go all the way to Santa Fe on the stages.”
Travis shook his head, then suddenly asked, “What happened to the gambler? Hubbard, I believe his name was.”
“Oh, he left right after we got here,” Lorna said. “I’m not sure where he went.” She felt certain Travis did not believe her, and she quickly changed the subject. “The driver said I would have to go back to Cottonwood Creek even to catch a stage going north or south around the Staked Plains. I don’t want to go back. That’s why I was trying to hire someone who knows the country as a guide. So far I haven’t seen anyone in this town I’d trust. I think I can trust you, and I know how well you can shoot, if we ran into Indians or anything.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’d get us both killed?” Travis asked, distantly polite.
Lorna blushed, but tried to smile. “I don’t know what came over me when I said that. It’s just that I’ve heard so many bad things about the Grayson gang. But I’m not even sure it was them.” Then she asked, “Have you found out for certain whether it was them or not?”
Travis shook his head. “No, not for certain.”
“It probably wasn’t even them,” Lorna said. “That fat drummer had me scared out of my wits with his talk.”
Travis seemed to think for a moment. Then he said in his quiet, casual way, “You might hire that man named Colman. I have an idea he’ll turn up before long.”
“But can he be trusted?”
“I don’t think he’d try to rob you or cheat you or harm you in any way,” Travis said. “Beyond that, I don’t know. If he found out he could use you somehow, he might try that.”
“How could he use me?” Lorna asked.
Travis shrugged. “You’d know more about that than I would.”
Lorna frowned. “You mean he might try to blackmail me or something like that?”
“Not exactly,” Travis said. He shrugged again. “I’m only guessing anyhow. It might not be a good idea to trust anyone, including me.”
“You have to trust someone,” Lorna said.
“I don’t,” Travis said, looking directly into her eyes.
“I gathered that,” she said stiffly, pushing back her chair and getting to her feet. “I’m sorry I bothered you, Mr. Farley—if that’s who you are.”
“You know who I am,” he said quietly.
She looked at him uncertainly, not knowing quite how he meant that. “I don’t think anyone knows who you are,” she said, and walked out of the dining room, holding herself erect.
In the lobby she had an impulse to walk over to the desk and slap the leering clerk, but restrained herself and climbed the stairs to her room. Anyway, it was not him she was angry at, but herself and Travis. She felt certain the quiet blond man had seen right through her. Her performance had been wasted. With very little doubt, Travis had guessed that Barney Pierce had left her behind to slow him down, in case he was looking for Pierce. And he had turned the tables on them by leaving her behind to slow Link Colman down, who was almost certainly looking for Travis.
A bitter smile twisted her lips. It seemed that the only one who wanted her company right now was the sweaty clerk.
Later from her window she saw Travis ride out of town, and the fact that he was heading west, directly toward the Staked Plains, did not improve her mood.
Chapter 4
Three days later Link Colman rode into Comanche Crossing. He had figured that Travis would avoid the town, but he had finally picked up a trail leading this way, and he believed it had been made by Travis. He could not decide whether or not Travis had left the trail on purpose, to mislead him into continuing in the wrong direction when he lost the trail again.
Travis would have picked up supplies at the general store, so that was the first place Colman went. Behind the counter stood a hard-faced woman of uncertain age. She did not look very friendly.
“I’m looking for a man who might have come here a few days back,” Colman said. “A man about my size, maybe a little taller. Sort of copper-blond hair and blue or gray eyes. Fine looking man and probably well dressed, but I’m not sure what he was wearing.”
“Why are you looking for him?” the woman asked in a hard voice.
Colman somehow knew it would be a waste of time to try to deceive her. “He killed a man.”
“Maybe the man needed killing,” the woman said. Then she asked in an even harsher tone, “Are you a bounty hunter?”
Colman nodded. Then after a moment he said, “I don’t mind paying for the information.”
The woman waited silently.
Colman took a gold coin from his pocket and held it up.
The woman looked at the coin. “What do you want to know?” she asked.
“First off, did the man I described come through here?”
The woman nodded. “He was here three days ago. Bought some supplies and headed west.”
“What sort of supplies?”
“Just grub and a canvas water bag. And a box of cartridges. I remember the cartridges because he had one of them open-top .44 Colts that use rimfire cartridges. But he wanted centerfire shells. So I guess he’d had it fixed to use them.”
This did not surprise Colman. “Do you remember if he had the gun in his waistband or in a holster?”
“Holster. He was wearing a shell belt and a holster.”
“By the way, what kind of clothes was he wearing? A dark suit?”
The woman shook her head. “When he come in here he was wearing a duck jacket and butternut trousers.”
“What kind of hat?”
The woman thought for a moment. “There was something about his hat—now I remember. It looked like too nice a hat for the clothes he was wearing. More like the kind of hat you’d expect to see with a suit like you mentioned. Gray, I believe, with a medium crown and brim. The brim was almost flat, but not quite.”
“You’ve got good eyes,” Colman said, handing her the gold coin.
“For another one of these I could tell you something else you might like to know,” the woman said.
“I’d have to hear it first,” Colman said.
The woman glanced through the window. “There’s a lady been in town nearly a week. Real looker. Dark hair, green eyes, a face and figure I’d trade this store for. She come in here day before yesterday and asked if I’d seen a stranger wearing dark clothes. She did a fair job of describing you. Black hair and mustache. Dark eyes, dark complexion. Strong nose. Yes sir, I’d say you’re the one she had in mind. She’s staying at the hotel, in case you’re interested.”
Colman silently laid another gold piece on the counter. He was scowling darkly.
“Obliged,” the woman said, reaching for the coin. “I’d just as soon you didn’t mention I told you. She asked me not to tell you she was asking about you.”
Colman nodded. “There don’t seem to be a livery stable in town. Where could I get my horse fed and watered?”
“There’s a corral behind the store, but you’ll have to take care of the horse yourself. I usually charge two bits a day, but if you’re not planning to be around long don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks,” Colman said. “I may come back later and pick up a few things.”
The woman merely nodded, looking through the window with empty eyes.
Colman took care of his horse, then carried his saddlebags and Winchester to the hotel. The rifle he had bought in Cottonwood Creek, for there was a chance he would need it. He merely nodded to the man at the desk and entered the dining room.
He had been in the dining room only a short time when Lorna Mason came in and sat down near the door. They were the only ones in the room, but neither spoke for a time. There was a slight frown on the woman’s face and she avoided Colman’s eyes. It was apparent that, like a great many people, she had not fallen in love with him at first sight.
Finally she looked at him and reluctantly nodded. “Mr. Colman, I believe,” she said.
He nodded shortly, then glanced toward the kitchen. “Wonder if you can get anything to eat around here this time of day.”
“You might,” she said, “if you like warmed-over beefstew.”
“Right now I could eat a warmed-over goat,” he said.
Lorna Mason did not respond to that. She sat facing the kitchen door, her left profile to him, and since she was not watching him directly he had a closer look at her. With the possible exception of Nita Ramsey, he had never seen a more attractive woman, or one with a better figure. He could not help noticing that, despite her trim slenderness, she had very nice breasts. Her straight dark hair had a healthy luster and her lightly tanned face had a rosy glow. But her green eyes were entirely too cool, and now and then her lips twisted in a way he did not like.
“I didn’t expect to find you here,” Colman said.
“I sort of got stranded here,” she said, without looking at him. “I thought the stage went on to Santa Fe. Or I knew that one didn’t, but I thought I could take another from here. But it seems this is as far west as they go on this route.”
“What do you plan to do now?” Colman asked.
“I haven’t decided yet,” she said. “I understand there won’t be another eastbound stage for over a week. It looks like I’m stuck here for at least that long. I thought about hiring someone to take me on to Santa Fe across the Staked Plains, but I’ve been advised against it.”
“Sounds like good advice,” Colman agreed. “Nobody crosses that country who don’t have to.” Then he asked, as casually as possible, “You seen the fellow named Farley, who was on the stage with us?”
She gave him a quick look. “He got off in Cottonwood Creek, didn’t he?”
“I understand he got a horse and come on out this way,” Colman said. “I thought you might have seen him.”
“Oh, now I remember,” Lorna Mason said. “He was here. Came in here one day to eat. But I don’t think he stayed long.”
“Know which way he headed?”
The woman shook her head. “I’m not sure. I only saw him for a minute.”
Colman suddenly got up, picked up his saddlebags and reached for his rifle leaning against the wall and crossed to Lorna Mason’s table. He helped himself to a chair across from her and said quietly, “Got a little business proposition that might interest you.” He saw her fine dark brows go up and he added, “Nothing like that. But you might wish it was. Then you could call the waiter or the cook and tell them to throw me out. But I’m afraid it won’t be that easy to get rid of me, Mrs. Mason.”
The woman’s green eyes were icy with indignation. “Just what are you driving at?” she asked.
“We might as well stop playing games,” he said. “I know who you are and by now you must know who I am. What I do for a living. I’m a bounty hunter. But I’m not interested in Barney Pierce right now. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lorna Mason said coldly.
