Monument Rock (Ss) (1998) (18 page)

Lute was the first to reach the ground. He turned to face the porch, then stopped
,
his face stupid with shock.

Surprised, Leosa turned, and found the unshaven stranger at her side. He had belte
d
on her uncle's guns.

"You heard the lady. Get goin'! Get out of here!"

There was a low, ugly sound in the man's voice that frightened her and apparentl
y
had something of the same effect upon Lute Wilson, for he froze where he stood, uncertai
n
how to move.

"Leosa," Rorick demanded, "who is this man? What is he doing here?"

The stranger stepped down to the ground, his movements swift and catlike. "Shut up,"
h
e said, and his voice was not hard, only somehow more deadly for it. "Shut up an'
g
et out!"

"My friend"-Rorick's face was a study in controlled fury-"you don't know what you'r
e
buttin' into!"

"I can tell a coyote when I see one," the stranger said coolly.

Wilson reached for him. But the stranger sidestepped and smashed him in the stomac
h
with a lifting uppercut that stood Wilson on his toes. Before Rorick could thin
k
to move, the stranger smashed a right and left to Wilson's face, and the rider wen
t
down in the dust, his face smeared and bloody.

Rorick reached for his gun, reached . . . then stopped, for he was looking into th
e
muzzle of a pistol in the stranger's hand. "Get off your horse," the stranger sai
d
quietly, and when Van Rorick, still amazed by the speed of that draw, had dismounted
,
the stranger said, "Now turn around, take your friend, and start walkin'. When you'r
e
out of sight I'll turn your horses loose."

The two men turned, and with Rorick half supportin
g
Wilson, they lurched out of the yard. Together, the newcomer and Leosa stood watchin
g
them go, and when they were out of gunshot, the stranger stooped and, lifting th
e
bucket, drank fo
r
a
long time. It was only when he replaced the bucket that he turned the horses loose
,
each with a ringing slap on the haunches.

"Those horses will run all the way home, so I figure we've nothin' to bother us fo
r
a bit. Meanwhile, you can give me the hang of this so I'll know what's goin' on."

"Your shoulder," she said suddenly. "It's bleeding again!"

"Yeah." He grinned sheepishly. "I reckon I forgot all about it until I began throwin
g
punches. Man, but it hurts!"

"You've had a hard time." She hesitated, wanting to know what had happened to him
,
but not liking to ask.

Then she hurried about, getting food on the table and making coffee. He sat in
a
chair near the door and dozed; as she looked at him she marveled at the strengt
h
of the man. Nowhere was he bulky, yet his shoulders were compact and hard lookin
g
under the faded color of his shirt.

"Do you have a home?" she asked suddenly. "Or are you just drifting?"

His eyes opened sleepily, and he shrugged. "Home?" He shook his head. "I've no home.

I always"-his eyes showed a strange wistfulness-"always sort of wanted one."

"I see," she said softly, and she did.

"Who was that man?" he asked suddenly. "What's he want?"

She frowned. "Van was born around here, has lived here most of his life but for som
e
six years. He went away and joined the army, and when he came back, he seems to hav
e
become a changed man. Or so they tell me. I've bee
n
here but a short time. I guess war does change some men," she added.

He shrugged, watching her. "Maybe. It may, like anything, bring out what's in him.

I don't know if it would put anything there that wasn't there before."

"Well, when he came back he moved onto a small spread and began expanding his herd.

He prospered, with Lute Wilson to help him. He gets along with some people, ride
s
roughshod over the others. He didn't get along with my uncle, who owned this place.

About a year ago my uncle was thrown by a bad horse, just after he had invited m
e
to come here to live with him.

"He died a few days later, and it seems he left some debts. Rorick heard of them
,
and he bought up the notes and got a lien against this place. He offered to pay m
e
two hundred dollars and give me the notes if I would leave, and I would not.

"You see, there's a valley back of the house that is well watered and every yea
r
my uncle got two good cuttings of hay off that piece, and a good deal of grazin
g
after the hay was cut. He also has an orchard and a good-sized garden plot. However
,
that is only a part of it, for there are some five hundred acres that could be develope
d
into good hay land by putting in a dam on Placer Creek."

"No wonder he wants to get you off," he said dryly. "You could get rich with tha
t
amount of hay, and this land." He looked up suddenly. "You haven't even asked wh
o
I am."

"Well, I thought you'd tell me if you wanted to. We don't ask many questions aroun
d
here. Especially," she added, "from men who come out of the Dead Hills."

"I know." He said nothing for a minute, staring out the window. "Better call me Rock,"
h
e said. "It's a good name around here."

She laughed. "There's plenty of it, certainly!"

The way he looked at her made her wonder if she'd missed something. "You've no friend
s
to help you?" he said.

"There's one man. His name is Tom Andrews, and he used to ride for my uncle, an
d
he knew my father. I've written to him and he's on his way."

Rock nodded, then he said quietly, "You'd better stop waitin' for him." He drew
a
wallet from his pocket. "Did you ever see this before?"

She took it in her fingers, and her lips trembled. She had seen it, many times. "Wher
e
... where did you get this?"

"I found him back in the hills. He'd been wounded, and was in mighty bad shape. I
t
ried to help him, and got shot for my pains. They killed both our horses."

"Who was it? " Leosa asked quickly.

"That"-his eyes were suddenly hard-"is what I'd like to know!" He got to his feet.

"About that dam now. How much money would it take?"

"Whiting, he's my lawyer, he said it could be done for a couple of thousand dollar
s
for wages if one used native rock and earth. He said a better dam could be buil
t
later, if necessary."

"That makes sense. I'll lo
ok the spot over." He touched
the guns on his hips. "I'll need these. Is it all right?"

"Of course! Do you . . . does that mean you intend to stay?"

He smiled. "If you'd like me to. I think you need me right now, and I've some restin
g
up to do. I want to get the lay of the land around here."

She nodded. "Please stay on. I don't know what I'd have done today without you. Se
e
this through with me and I'll give you a share in the place."

"Now, that there's an interesting idea."

"Good!" Leosa said quickly. "Fifty percent. It won't be worth anything if I lose."

"I'll settle for that." His eyes were thoughtful. "This Rorick got any property aroun
d
other than his spread?"

"Yes, he owns the Longhorn Hotel and Saloon, and I hear he has an interest in anothe
r
saloon. There are," she added, "nine saloons in Joe Billy. Nine saloons, four stores
,
one hotel, one church, and a few other businesses, including a livery stable."

She watched him as he walked toward the empty bunkhouse. Her brow furrowed a little.

Was she wrong in accepting the help of a total stranger? In taking as a partner
a
man she had known but a couple of hours? Who did not even volunteer his full name?

On the other hand, had she a choice? He had at least come to her aid in an hour o
f
need. He had brought Andrews's wallet to her and he seemed ready to accept the tas
k
Andrews had been unable to attempt.

Leosa opened the wallet thoughtfully. There was money in it, almost a hundred dollars
,
and a few papers. One of them was a scrawled signature on a piece of torn envelope.

Last Will: All my belongings to Leosa Barron, friend and daughter of a friend.

Tom Andrew
s
The signature was merely a scrawl, and her eyes filled with tears at the though
t
of Tom, his last thoughts for her, a girl he had known only as a skinny child wit
h
freckles and braids. And from him had come this stranger. With a shock of somethin
g
that was half excitement and half fear, she remembered the sheer brutality of hi
s
attack on Wilson, the flashing speed with which the gun had leaped to his hand. Wh
o
was he? What was he?

In the bunkhouse there was an empty bed with folded blankets/
a
nd several with no bedding beyond mattresses. Obviously, this was the bunk awaitin
g
Tom Andrews. Rock sat down and studied the room. It was strongly built, as everythin
g
seemed to be on this ranch. No effort had been spared to make it strong or comfortable.

He walked to the door and stared toward town. Joe Billy ... his town!

There would be trouble when they knew, and plenty of it. They did not know him now
,
yet already he had met Rorick and faced him down. His advantage had been surprise
,
and next time they would be prepared for him. How soon, he wondered, would they realiz
e
who he was and why he had come back? All hell would break loose then and Van Roric
k
would be the one who led it.

In a way, Leosa's fight was his fight. His thoughts went back to the tall, rathe
r
shy girl, who had accepted him so readily. He pulled off his shirt and hunted th
e
cabin for shaving gear. He found an old razor, and after a healthy stropping, h
e
shaved. It was dark when he had finished cleaning up, and he walked outside.

Whiting, that was the name of the lawyer that Leosa had mentioned. He would go t
o
him. He walked outside and roped and saddled a horse, then he mounted and rode t
o
the door. "Ridin' to Joe Billy," he said quietly. "You better stay in an' keep
a
rifle handy."

She watched him ride away, liking the set of his shoulders and the way he rode. Queerl
y
disturbed, she returned inside, pausing to look into the fire. It was strange, havin
g
this man here, yet somehow he did not seem strange, and she felt oddly happy. . ..

Security, that was it. What else could it be?

Ranee Whiting had an office over the squat gray bank building. Rock glanced at th
e
tall man who rose to greet him, and instantly liked the man. He had a thin face
,
high cheekbones, and an aquiline nose. His eyes were gray, and friendly. An ope
n
volume of Horace sat on the nearby table.

Rock glanced at the title, then at the lawyer. " 'We are dust and shadow/ " he quoted.

Whiting was surprised, and he measured the rider again. The cold green eyes, th
e
shock of dark curly hair, the bronzed features, blunt and strong, the wool shir
t
under which muscles bulged. "You know Horace?" he asked.

Rock laughed. "Only that. Read it once, an' liked it. I used to read a good deal.

Hombre left a flock of books behind an' I was snowed in for the winter. Mostly Shakespear
e
an' Plato."