Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (31 page)

“Ballard here?”

“Hell, no, Pack. As soon as he got word you were in town he left here like he was shot out of a cannon.” The man roared with laughter. “He’d sooner meet up with the devil than you, Pack.”

“When I catch up to him he’ll wish to hell it was the devil that caught him.”

“No doubt he knows that. Wilson left town a couple weeks ago. Nan up at the barbershop put the fear in him. She threatened to get some of the fellers to hold him while she cut off his whacker. Goddamn it was funny! He was so scared when he was telling it, he ’bout wet his drawers.” The bartender laughed again. It was an unusually loud laugh for such a small man.

Pack didn’t laugh. “How come you’re still here, Anderson?”

“Wasn’t no reason for me to be feared of you, Pack. I didn’t have nothin’ to do with any of that. Ask any of the men here. Hell, I won a hundred and ninety dollars. I knew you wouldn’t throw the fight.”

Anderson was a small man with a big head. His hair was parted in the middle and slicked down on both sides. He wore a walrus style mustache that he was very proud of.

Pack nodded, then turned his back and leaned on the bar. He believed him. Anderson would have never stayed and faced him if he’d had any part in having him waylaid and beaten.

“If any of you men’ve got a bone to pick with me, speak up. Wilson and Ballard tried to bribe me to throw the fight. I refused and told them so. If you believed them and lost money on me, it’s your hard luck.” Pack looked at each face in the room while he waited.

“Ballard said you’d agreed to throw it.” The surly voice came from one of the card tables at the end of the room.

“He lied. Go settle your complaint with him. I told my friends I could win for them and I did.”

“I lost a month’s pay,” the man grumbled.

“Why are you whining to me about it? Did it occur to you that Wilson and Ballard might have told you I was going to throw the fight to get you to bet on the other man? If I come on to either of them, or any one of the four who ambushed me, they’ll be gumming their eats for the rest of their lives.”

“We’d not blame ya none, Pack,” Anderson said from behind him. “It was dirty what they did.”

“No. We’d not blame ya none a’tall.”

“I’ve never stepped in the ring and not given it my best, and I never will.” Pack turned back to the bar. “Give me a beer, Anderson.”

The men began to crowd around. “You goin’ to fight Kilkenny, Pack?”

“By God, I’d bet on ya. Ya sure whupped Black Bob Mason.”

“Hell, Kilkenny couldn’t stay two rounds with ya, Pack. Take him on. I’d shore like to see it.”

Pack lifted his beer and grinned. Today they were his friends. After he had beaten Mason and they had lost their bets, they had been ready to tear him apart. Pack gulped his beer to the bottom of the glass and elbowed his way out of the crowd. He was sick of the stench of sweat and stale ale. He wanted to go home to Mara Shannon.

Outside Sam was waiting for him. “That didn’t take long.”

“I was spoiling for a fight and nobody would give it to me.” Pack grinned.

“This here’s a friend of mine, Pack. Meet Zachary Quill.”

“Howdy, Mr. Quill.” Pack held out his hand.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Gallagher. Sam has been telling me you’re the best bareknuckle boxer west of the Mississippi.”

“I don’t know about that.” Pack eyed the older man sharply and wondered if he was the promoter Flagg had mentioned.

“I’ve seen a few matches back East.” The man spoke with an accent that was not unlike that of Charlie Rivers. “They’re beginning to adopt the Marquess of Queensberry Rules back there that call for opponents to wear gloves.”

“It sounds plumb sissified. I can’t see a country boy from Ireland fighting with gloves on.”

“I heard there was to be a fight here in late August.”

“I was thinkin’ you were the one promoting it.”

“No.” The man waved a hand at Sam. “But Sam and I have been in a few fights of a different kind. Huh, Sam?”

“Me ’n Zack met up a time or two durin’ the war. Once his company damn near wiped us out.”

“Not without a hell of a fight. Texans don’t know what it means to quit. Terrible war, terrible war.” Zack shook his gray head, and a sad look came over his face. “I lost a lot of good friends.”

Pack propped his foot up on a water trough and rested his forearm on his thigh. “Are you looking to settle out here, Mr. Quill?”

“No, but I’ll be here for awhile. Sam, I hope your young lady will be able to see with the eyeglasses. I’d like to meet her and her brother.”

“I’m obliged to ya for bringin’ them, Zack. I’ll be back in town in a day or two. We could take a day ’n ride out. I’d like ya to meet Emily.”

“It seems my friend here is in love.” Zack winked at Pack. “I’ll be at the Shamrock Hotel, Sam. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gallagher.”

Sam and Pack watched the tall dignified man walk down the boardwalk toward the hotel.

“Yo’re curious as a cat. Ain’t ya goin’ to ask what that was all ’bout?” They stepped into the street and headed for the corrals.

“No.” Pack glanced sideways at his friend. “You’re just busting to tell me anyway.”

“I knew Zack was comin’. I wired him several weeks back to bring magnifying eyeglasses. I’ve known people who couldn’t see a lick without ’em. I’m thinkin’ they’ll help Emily.”

“Charlie said she had a pair when she was little, but they weren’t right. They made her dizzy. Then the war came and their folks were killed.”

“Charlie’s closemouthed. I don’t even know what side he was on. Not that it matters none.”

“It didn’t sound like you and Quill was on the same side.”

“We wasn’t, but we are now. He’s the man that sent me out here. But he’s not here checkin’ on me. The governor of the territory sent him to find a site for a penitentiary.”

“Penitentiary?”

“Ain’t no secret. Congress set aside the money ta build one in all the territories. Governor Campbell asked Zack to come out ’n find a place. Him ’n the committee has ’bout decided ta build it west of the Big Laramie River atween Haley ’n Hunter’s Ranch. Zack says it’s a good site, close to water ’n stone for the buildin’s. But he wants to look around to be sure there ain’t a better place.”

Pack whistled. “He must be an important man.”

“He’s become a legend like his pa. His pa was Farrway Quill, Congressman from Illinois. There’s a town on the Wabash named for him. It’s called Quill’s Station. It’s where Zack grew up. He still lives there when he’s not off doin’ business for the government. Zack’s a fair man ’n a hell of a scrapper. Too bad he was on the other side.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Pack was thinking about getting home to Mara Shannon, and Sam was wondering what the eyeglasses would do for Emily’s eyesight and if she had been looking for him.

“ ’Bout time ya got here,” Willy shouted as they came alongside the corral fence. “If’n I don’t miss my guess, there’s a real turd floater comin’.”

“In that case you’ll get a bath without having to pay for it.”

Pack looked toward the south and saw the bank of dark clouds rolling their way. Rain or no rain, he wasn’t staying in town a minute longer than it would take to put the horses on a string and head out. An explosion of sheet lightning lit up the darkened sky, followed by a low rumble of thunder. The lightning was not unlike the feeling of elation that raced through Pack, making him want to laugh aloud. His pulse accelerated and the skin on his face and neck tingled.

He was going home. Home to Mara Shannon.

FIFTEEN

Anger kept Mara going until noon. After that it was the desire to finish what she had started regardless of her aching back and the blisters on her palms. With an old felt hat on her head and a hoe in her hands, she chopped at the weeds in front of the house, raked them into a pile to carry away later, and set to spading a flowerbed. The ground was soft, the spade sharp, and the bed grew to be larger than she had planned.

Trellis and Travor had offered to help with the spading when they saw her carrying the long-handled tool from the shed. With a strong hint of impatience in her voice she told them they had best be doing the chores Pack had assigned them, which was pulling deadfalls out of the woods and getting them ready to saw into lengths to split for firewood, or he’d be madder than a stepped-on skunk when he returned. She then added out of pure spite, “At that it would be an improvement over his usual pigheaded disposition.”

At noon she ate a cold biscuit, drank milk, and tried not to think about Pack in town with the woman from the Diamond Saloon. She would not ask him again to take her to town. A wagon was in the shed and horses were in the corrals. They belonged to her every bit as much as they did to him. She would have Riley or Steamboat hitch a horse to the wagon and she would drive herself to town. The foot of her crossed leg began to move back and forth in a rhythmic movement that reflected her frustration. She would come and go as she pleased, she fumed silently. She would not be dictated to by that mule-headed, arrogant, opinionated, jackass of an Irishman.

By late afternoon Mara was dead tired but viewed her day’s work with satisfaction. Her flowerbeds were a myriad of blossoms. It had taken trip after trip to bring the plants from where they grew along the creek bank. Outlining the bed and along each side of the walk leading to where the white fence once stood she had planted creeping phlox in shades from dark to light purple. In the big bed, arranged according to color, were buttercups, black-eyed Susans, wild iris, lily-of-the-valley and delicate little violets. Among the plants known to her were others she could not name. One had small white flowers much the same as those on the bridal wreath bush; another had blue blossoms that looked like small fuzzy heads.

The bank of dark clouds in the south was a promise of rain. Overhead the sky was suddenly gray except for small white clouds that scuttered before the wind. A gentle rain would be just the thing for her flowerbeds, but she couldn’t count on it. Rain clouds had a way of scattering and disappearing. One or two more trips to the well and her plants would be safe until morning.

Mara caught a glimpse of a rider coming up the road just as she was pouring the last of the water on the purple phlox. The wind had become stronger and gustier and had torn her hair loose from the ribbon holding it. The long strands of auburn hair blew across her face. She couldn’t see. She tried to brush the hair away with the back of one hand while holding her skirt down with the other. At first she thought the rider was Pack, then she remembered that Pack had ridden away on his big gray horse. This horse was a roan and coming fast, the rider leaning forward in the saddle.

The mud on her hands was smeared on her hair as she captured the windblown tresses with her two hands and held them back from her face, squinting her eyes against the wind as she watched the rider approach. It was Ace January, the marshal. Behind him lightning flashed and from a distance came the muttering of thunder. Silhouetted against the dark sky, the horse and the rider with his duster flapping was an ominous sight.

Ace January pulled his horse to an abrupt stop beside the hitching rail. He slid from the saddle and twisted the reins around the top bar. The horse was blowing, his sides heaving, and white foam covered his flanks. What had happened to cause the marshal to run his horse almost into the ground? Had something happened to Pack?

Taking long determined strides, Ace came up the walk to where she was standing. His face was as dark and as angry as the thunderclouds he had been racing. He didn’t take his eyes from her face, nor did he greet her.

“Get in the house.”

“Has . . . has something happened?”

“It sure as hell has.” He took her elbow in his hand and propelled her up the porch steps.

“Just a minute!” Mara tried to jerk her elbow from his grasp. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Alarm caused her to raise her voice.

He didn’t answer or look at her. His strides carried them across the porch and through the doorway. He shoved her inside and marched her through the parlor and into the kitchen. By this time her stomach was quaking, her legs seemed to have no bones in them, and she was dangerously close to crying. Pack! Had Pack been hurt or . . . killed? Oh, God, that couldn’t be what he was going to tell her!

Ace pushed her down in a chair and loomed over her. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach and lay there, thumping in a strange and alarming way.

“Why ’n the hell did you marry that son of a bitch?”

She looked at him stupidly. “Why . . . what?”

“You heard me, damn you!” he gritted out harshly. “I just found out today that you married that Irish bastard. Why?”

As soon as his words sank into her mind, relief swept over her like a warm, caressing hand, leaving her giddy and trembling. Pack was all right! Ace had not come to tell her something dreadful had happened to him. Dangerously on the edge of hysteria, she tried to swallow the laughter that bubbled up in her throat. Mara looked up into Ace January’s angry face; her smile spread, her eyes sparkled. With her arms folded across her chest, she rocked back and forth. Shrill, uncontrollable gasps of giggles burst from her mouth, then bloomed into laughter.

With the swiftness of a striking snake, Ace lifted his hand and slapped her, hard. The blow cut off the laughter and sent her reeling sideways. He grabbed her shoulder to keep her from falling off the chair. She straightened and looked into his blazing eyes, her own filled with tears and disbelief. For the first time in her life she had been struck in the face. She was so shocked by the blow that she scarcely felt the pain on her cheek.

“I asked you why you married him? Answer me, goddamn it! If you laugh I’ll slap you again.”

“It’s none of your business,” she gasped. She came to full awareness. “It’s none of your business,” she repeated. “Get out of here! Get out of my house!”

“Have you slept with him?”

“Have I— Why, you unspeakable, crude—”

“Have you?” He grabbed her shoulders and hauled her to her feet.

“Have you lost your mind? Get out!” Mara began to panic, but her common sense exerted itself. “Your behavior is totally unacceptable. I want you to leave.” She tried to speak calmly and with dignity, but her voice trembled.