Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (29 page)

“No, you’re not a baby, but you don’t know this country. You’ll have to trust me to do what’s best for you.” The coldness of his tone angered her all the more.

“Then go. I’ll not force my company on you.” She turned back to the stove. Her legs trembled and her voice wavered out of control. In a sudden fit of temper, she slammed the round iron lid back over the hole in the top of the range and threw the poker in the woodbox.

“Be reasonable, Mara Shannon. I can’t take you this time.” Pack got up from the table and went to stand behind her. He placed his hand on her shoulder. She jerked away from it.

“You’ve made that quite clear.”

“There’s a man in town who is interested in buying my freight line. I’ve got to see what he’s willing to offer, and there’s another matter I need to attend to. I can’t leave you standing on the street while I do that.”

“Of course not. You wouldn’t want me to accompany you to the Diamond Saloon while you do ‘business’ with Miss Candy. You needn’t worry. She can have
that
part of you. I certainly don’t want it.”

“And you’ve made that quite clear.” He repeated her words.

He wanted to grab her and shake her. Instead he stood for a moment longer looking on her auburn hair with its hidden fire, her rigid back and her fists, clenched and pressed against her thighs.

When she refused to turn and look at him, Pack slammed his hat down on his head and, swearing under his breath, left the house.

Damn her for a high-tempered
spalpeen!
He couldn’t tell her that he didn’t know what awaited him in Laramie. He couldn’t tell her that he wanted a chance to tell Candy that he was married. There were matters to settle with the gamblers at the Kosy Kitty Saloon before he could take Mara to town. Willy had sent word by Sam that he had a buyer for the freight line. He intended to see about that first, just in case he wasn’t able to talk business after he cracked a few heads at the saloon.

He wanted to tell her that it hadn’t been his idea to wed! And because he had married her, didn’t mean that she owned him or that she’d always call the shots. If she was so damned stubborn she wouldn’t even listen to reason, she could stay here and stew in her own juice for all he cared.

Maybe by the time he got back she’d be cooled off.

FOURTEEN

Pack and Sam rode into Laramie and down the rutted busy street that ran parallel with the shining tracks of the Union Pacific Railroad, the lifeblood of the town. Nothing had changed. Even at mid-morning the street was clogged with wagons, horses, and mule teams. They passed a saloon just as the bartender was throwing a drunk into the street. They walked their horses slowly, weaving in and out of the traffic. Both men scanned the town with careful eyes, alert to any attention they might be getting.

At the end of the first block was a two-storied building with a porch that extended out eight feet, offering shelter to a couple of wooden benches polished by the seats of many breeches. Over the door was the sign: DIAMOND SALOON. A sweet potato plant sat in a jar on one side of the shiny window, its long reaching vines tied to the top of the window frame. Voices and music coming from the Diamond Saloon were muted. Miss Candace Camp, the owner, allowed no toughs in her place of business.

They crossed the intersection and rode past Flannery’s Dining Hall on the corner. In the middle of the block was a building with a stairway going up the side. Across the front was a crudely lettered sign: BARBERSHOP, MISS NAN NEAL, PROPRIETOR. In Nan’s shop a man could get a shave, haircut, bath, and twenty minutes in bed with the bawdy Nan, all for ten dollars. Of course, if he needed more than the twenty minutes, it would cost him another five unless he was one of Nan’s favorite customers. In that case the time in bed could extend to an hour or two without extra charge while other customers waited. Nan Neal was a woman who clearly enjoyed her work.

A loafer leaning against the rail in front of the eating place glanced at the two tall riders out of the corners of his eyes, then jerked his head to see them better. “Holy shit!” He ducked under the hitching rail and headed for the Kosy Kitty, proud that he would be the one to spread the news that Pack Gallagher was back.

Pack and Sam turned the corner and rode into what was considered the “tough” part of town. They rode past the Kosy Kitty, a long, narrow building with a long bar and a good many tables. It had been the hangout for the town’s rougher element as well as for an occasional outlaw drifter since the town’s beginnings two years earlier. Next to this a one-room bunkhouse served as a place for casual sleeping with a dozen tiers of bunks and a few tables for playing cards. The usual rowdy sounds issued from the Kitty, but no one came out to see the riders pass.

Beyond that was the small headquarters building of Pack’s freight business and the corrals where he kept his horses, mules and freight wagons.

The old man sitting on the stump in front of the building did not change his position as the riders approached him. He alternately stroked his drooping mustache to the right and then to the left, with a little twist at the end each time. His eyes, sad with a perpetual mist, watched the two men on horseback. As they neared, he raised a browned forefinger to the bush on his upper lip, lifted it, leaned back a little, and spat. The brown juice struck squarely on the stone he had been aiming at, and had rarely missed for the past four days.

“Howdy, Willy.”

“Ya took yore sweet time ’bout gettin’ here.”

“Did you miss me?” Pack stepped down from his horse and tied the reins to the rail.

“Humph! Like I’d a missed a bellyache.”

“You know Sam?”

“I know ’em. Sent word by ’em, didn’t I? Howdy.” With that he dismissed Sam. “I’ll swear, Pack, yo’re the bestin’est man I ever saw. I been sittin’ here four days waitin’ fer ya.”

Pack looked at the juice-spattered rock. “Only four days?”

“I got a feller here what’ll take the mules, wagons ’n the whole kit ’n caboodle off’n our hands. Ya know freightin’s ’bout played out in these parts.”

“I’ve been telling you that for the past year, Willy. Did you pay off the two drivers?”

“Ya don’t see ’em, do ya? Ain’t no sense in a man sittin’ doin’ nothin’ ’n drawin’ pay. Even I know that.”

“Find the fellow that wants to buy and we’ll get to dickering.”

Sam listened to the exchange between the old man and Pack and grinned. The two were fond of each other but neither would admit it.

“I’ll mosey round. See ya back ’bout noon.” Whistling between his teeth, Sam turned his horse toward the main part of town.

It took the rest of the morning for Pack and the buyer to agree on a price for his wagons, mules and his contract with the army to haul supplies from the railroad to Fort Laramie. The man, a mule skinner from Nebraska, would finish out the contract, then move on south where the railroad was not expected to eat into the trade for years.

When Sam returned they ate a meal together at Flannery’s Dining Hall, which was nothing more than a tent with a board floor and board siding. While they ate, they were forced to listen to the Nebraskan brag about the places he’d been and the sights he’d seen. Afterward, Sam went to tend to some business of his own and Pack walked with the man to the bank where he signed the bill of sale. He deposited the money, shook hands with the Nebraskan and wished him luck. As Pack started to leave, the banker invited him into his private office.

“Sit down, Pack. Have a cigar.” The banker held out a box of Cuban-made cigars. He was a man of middle age with a large paunch and a shiny bald spot at the top of his head. He parted his side hair just an inch above his right ear and combed the long strands carefully over his bald pate.

Pack selected a cigar and lit it. It amused him that now that he had a substantial amount of money in the bank, Herman Flagg considered him worthy of being invited into his private office.

“What are you planning on doing, Pack?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I was sorry to learn you’d been set upon by that bunch of poor losers after the fight with Bob Mason. I had hopes Marshal January would run that element out of Laramie, but he seems to spend most of his time out of town.”

Pack shrugged his shoulders and drew deeply on the cigar. He looked the banker in the eye and remained silent.

“I’ve been asked to find a buyer for the Shamrock Hotel, Pack. Interested?”

“Lord, no.”

“I didn’t think so.” Flagg templed his fingers and leaned back in his swivel chair. “But I’ve another proposition to put to you. We’re planning a big shindig at the end of August to celebrate Union Pacific Day. It’s sure to draw a crowd of thousands. A fight promoter from Kansas City came to town last week. He’s looking for someone to fight his man.”

“Who’s his man?”

“Moose Kilkenny.”

“He’s tough. He’s no whiskey-soaked drifter.”

“I think you’re tougher.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Moose is a first-class fighting man.” Pack dusted the ash from his cigar into the can of sand at the end of the rolltop desk.

“He’s Irish; you’re Irish. It would be a good fight.”

“Let the stinking Irish micks kill each other, huh?”

“You said it, I didn’t,” Flagg said quickly. “A good fight is what I want. I’m a gambling man.”

“Do your depositors know their money is in the hands of a gambling man?”

Flagg ignored the sarcasm. His eyes roved over Pack’s broad shoulders, immense forearms and the hard fist that lay on his thigh. Flagg put his cigar on the edge of the desk where other cigars had left a row of burns and smoothed his already slicked-down hair.

“Have you seen Kilkenny fight?”

“I’ve seen him.”

The banker picked up the cigar and puffed rapidly. “Do you think you can beat him?”

“I never climb into the ring expecting to lose.”

Flagg looked into cold eyes and had no doubt that Pack was speaking the truth. He had not believed it when he had been told that Pack would throw the fight. He’d followed his instincts and won a substantial amount of money when Black Bob Mason had been unable to stand after Pack had knocked him down three times.

“It would be a fair and square fight using the London Prize Ring Rules.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“A fourth of the purse.”

“A third.”

“With a decent crowd a fourth of the gate could be a thousand dollars. If you think you’ve a chance to whip him, you can always make your own side bet. You could come out with quite a bit of money. I’ll bet a couple thousand myself.”

“The celebration should bring more than a decent crowd to town. I want a third if I win. If I lose, which I won’t, I’ll take an eighth to pay for my time . . . and my pain.”

The banker stood. “Agreed.” He offered his hand and Pack took it.

“Agreed. I don’t welsh on my deals, you’d better not either.”

“I didn’t get to where I am by welshing on deals. Where can I get in touch with you?”

“Send word out to the McCall place.”

Herman Flagg raised his brows. “The McCall place?”

“That’s right.”

“You’ll get yourself killed or crippled out there. That place is a hideout for every petty outlaw who can find it.”

“Not anymore. I’m running the place now. You can spread the word.”

Pack walked out the door. If he had looked back he would have seen the banker holding the cigar between his teeth and smiling around it.

Willy was lounging against the building and moved up beside Pack when he stepped to the edge of the walk to throw the cigar butt in the gutter.

“What are you going to do now, Willy?”

“What ya do. I been lookin’ out fer ya fer so long, I don’t know how to do nothin’ else.”

“I thought you’d say that. What do you know about ranching?”

“Ever’thin’. I been a drover since I was ass-high to a duck.”

“Good. You can teach me all you know about ranching some night after supper.”

“I ain’t funnin’, goldurn it. I know ranchin’. My pappy ranched down on Purgatoire Creek near Raton Pass in the early forties. That country was so full a wildcats ’n bears my maw had ta kick ’em outta the way to get to the privy.” Willy stepped off the walk and out into the street to let a lady with a parasol pass. “Howdy, ma’am.”

Pack reached into his pocket, took out some bills and shoved them into Willy’s hand.

“Go up to the livery, buy a good wagon and hitch it to that pair of blacks. We’ll take it and that six head of horses out to the McCall place.”

“What ’n hell do ya want to go out there fer?”

“Because my wife is out there, that’s why.”

“Wife!” Willy backed up a step as if he’d been dealt a blow. “Who in hell’d marry you?”

Pack grinned. “Why are you so surprised? There’s plenty of women who’d jump at the chance to marry me.”

“All bangtails,” Willy snorted. “Only decent woman what ever looked at ya was old Mrs. Eliza Swain. That’s cause she wanted help gettin’ ’cross the mud puddles to the votin’ place. Haw! Haw! Who’d a thought she’d be the first female in the whole world to vote in a election ’n ya helped her ’cross the puddle.” His weathered face took on a serious expression. “It warn’t decent what she done.”

“Decent or not, it put Laramie on the map. The news went clear around the world. Mrs. Swain isn’t my only admirer. There’s Nan.” Pack had started walking down the street, Willy taking two steps to his one to keep up.

“Yep, there’s Nan. What was that ya said ’bout havin’ a wife?”

“I said I had one. Her name is Mara Shannon. She’s out at the McCall place.”

“They ain’t nothin’ out thar but a nest a cutthroats. Ya went and married one a them? Why’d ya go ’n do that fer?”

“The cutthroats are cleaned out or I’d not have left my wife and two young brothers out there. From now on it’ll be known as the Gallagher Ranch.”

“Jesus, my Lord! I dunno what’ll become of ya! How’d ya manage that? Where’d the woman come from anyhow?’

“You can ask her when you get there.”

“Pack! Pack, darlin’. Where’ve ya been?”

Nan Neal came from the back room when Pack entered her barbershop, Willy crowding in behind him. Nan was a pencil-slim girl with black curly hair, a wide mouth and laughing brown eyes. Her calf-length dress exposed skinny legs. The bodice barely covered her small, bouncy breasts. She was a bundle of energy. Nan never walked when she could run, never spoke softly when she could shout. She took a few running steps and leaped into Pack’s arms. He backstepped a few paces to keep his balance and grabbed her around the waist. Her arms encircled his neck and her legs his hips as she placed loud smacking kisses on his face.