Monument Rock (Ss) (1998) (22 page)

He thought again of Jaime Brigo, and the thought bothered him. There was somethin
g
about the big, silent man that disturbed him. He did not think of Lona. The gir
l
was here when he wanted her, and he did want her, but only casually. His desire fo
r
Nita Howard was a sharp, burning thing.

The Fandango was easily the most impressive place in Salt Creek, and finer than anythin
g
in Bloomington. In fact, finer than anything this side of Santa Fe. Nita Howard watche
d
the crowd, well pleased. Her hazel eyes with tiny flecks of darker color were larg
e
and her lashes were long.

Her skin was the color of old ivory, her hair a deep, beautiful black, gathered i
n
a loose knot at the nape of her neck. Although her lips were full, slightly sensual
,
there was a certain wistful, elusive charm about them, and a quick, fleeting humo
r
that made her doubly beautiful. She was a tall woman, somewhere just beyond thirty
,
but her body was strong, and graceful.

Standing in the door, she said, without looking down at the man in the tipped-bac
k
chair, "Any message, Jaime?"

The Yaqui gunman glanced up. "No, senorita, there is none. He has been seen thi
s
day near Monument Rock. You have seen the map."

Nita Howard relaxed. "Yes, I know. As long as he is well, we had best leave him alone."

"He is loyal. A long time ago Markham, he befriended the senor when he was wounde
d
and in danger. The senor does not forget. So he comes here. And you come here; s
o
this means I do, too." Brigo shrugged. "We are all loyal to one another, but fo
r
now you must trust that our friend knows what he is doing."

The door opened suddenly and Frank Mailer stepped into the room; behind him wer
e
Kane Geslin and Sam Starr with another man known as Socorro. Mailer's eyes brightene
d
with satisfaction when he saw Nita and he turned abruptly and walked toward her.

How huge he was! Could anything ever stop this man if he became angered? Nita watche
d
him come, her mind coolly accepting the danger but not disturbed by it. Her fathe
r
had died long ago and left her the doubtful legacy of a tough saloon on the Rio Grand
e
border. She had directed its fortunes herself, with Brigo at her side, he who love
d
her like his own sister, and all because of her father's friendship to him.

Mailer stopped before her, his hard eyes surveying Nit
a
with appreciation. "You're all woman, Nita!" he said. "All woman! Just the kind I'v
e
been lookin' for!"

She did not smile. "It is said around town that you are to marry Lona Markham."

Mailer was irritated; there was no reason to think of Lona now and he disliked th
e
subject being brought up. "Come on!" he said impatiently. "I'll buy a drink!"

"Good!" she said smoothly. Lifting her eyes, she glanced over at the bartender. "Cain"-th
e
big bartender glanced up sharply-"the gentleman is buying a drink." Her eye
s
turned to Mailer. "You meant you were buying for th
e
'house, did you not?"

Crimson started to go up Mailer's neck. He had meant nothing of the kind, yet he'
d
been neatly trapped and he had the feeling that he would appear cheap if he backe
d
out. "Sure," he said grudgingly, "for the house! Now come on." He reached for he
r
arm. "You drink with me."

"Sorry, I do not drink. Cain will serve you." She turned and stepped through th
e
door, closing it behind her.

Frank Mailer's eyes grew ugly. He lunged toward the door at the end of the bar.

"Senor." Brigo was on his feet. "The senorita is ver' tired tonight. You understand?"

Mailer glared at Brigo, but the Yaqui's flat dark face was expressionless. Maile
r
turned on his heel and walked to the bar in baffled fury.

The big bartender finished pouring the drinks, then looked over at Mailer. "That'l
l
be thirty bucks," he said flatly.

His jaws set, Mailer paid for the drinks. Geslin was in a game with several others.

One of them was a red-haired puncher, stocky and tough looking. Mailer dropped int
o
Ian empty chair and bought chips.

At the end of the third hand the redheaded punche
r
looked up at him. "Mailer, don't you ramrod that Blue Hill spread? I'm huntin' fo
r
work."

Frank Mailer's eyes slanted to the redhead. He was a tough, capable-looking man wit
h
hard, steady eyes. He packed his gun low. "You been anywhere I might've heard about?"

"I rode for Pierce an' for Goodnight."

"Then I can use you, all right." With the riding he planned to do with Geslin an
d
the others, he would need a few good hands. Also, unless his guess was altogethe
r
wrong, this man had ridden the owl hoot himself. "Texas man, hey?"

"Big Bend."

"Know Wes Hardin?" Mailer asked. "I hear he's fast."

"Plenty, an' with both hands. Maybe as fast as Kilkenny."

"Kilkenny?" Geslin turned his white eyes toward the redhead. "You say he's faste
r
than Hardin? Did you ever see Hardin?"

"Uh-huh." Rusty Gates picked up his cards. "I seen Kilkenny, too."

All eyes were on him now. Men who had seen Kilkenny to know him were few and fa
r
between. The strange drifting gunfighter had a habit of appearing under various name
s
and nobody ever really knew who he was until suddenly there was a blaze of guns an
d
then he was riding out of town. "What's he like?" Mailer asked.

"Fast."

"I mean, what's he look like?"

"Tall, black hair, green eyes that look right through you when he's riled up. Quie
t
feller, friendly enough mostly."

"Is it true what they say? That he's killed forty or fifty men?"

Gates shrugged. "Doubt it. A friend of his told m
e
it was no more than eighteen.
An' he might have been exaggeratin."

Hours later, when the game had broken up, Rusty Gates crossed to the bar for on
e
last drink. The others had started back to the ranch and he was to come out the followin
g
day. He accepted his drink, and Cain grinned at him and shoved his money back. "I
g
ot the job," Gates said.

"Good!" Cain nodded emphatically. "I'll tell the boss."

Bright sunlight lay across the Blue Hill when Lona left the house the following morning.

Frank Mailer had gone out early, and her father was fussing over some accounts i
n
his office. Yet the night had neither lessened her curiosity nor changed her mood
,
and she started for the corral to catch up a horse, believing the hands were al
l
gone.

The ranch lay between two peaks with its back to the low bench where Lona had see
n
the Black Rider on the previous night. These peaks lifted five hundred feet or s
o
above the ranch house, and it was from one of them that the ranch had taken its name.

The ranch house faced northwest, and off to the right, also running toward the northwest
,
lay the Old Mormon Trail to Utah. Beyond the trail the cliffs lifted high, and a
t
one point a crown of rock reached out to need no more than a half mile to join th
e
twin peaks at Blue Hill.

She had reached the corral when
she
heard a boot scuff stones and turned to fac
e
a strange, redheaded puncher who grinned at her in a friendly fashion. "Can I help
,
ma'am? I'm Rusty Gates, a new hand."

"Oh, would you? I was going to saddle my horse. The black mare."

Gates nodded. "I been studyin' that mare, ma'am. She's sure all horse."

He shook out a loop and caught the black. As the rope settled, the mare stood still
,
and when she saw Lona she even walked toward the gate. Rusty led the horse outsid
e
and glanced at Lona. She was very young, very pretty, and had a trim, neat figure
,
auburn hair, and gray eyes. She caught his glance and he grinned. "Your hair's 'mos
t
as red as mine, ma'am," he said. "I reckon that makes us partners."

There was something so friendly in his manner that she warmed to him instantly. O
n
impulse, she confided in him. "Rusty," she said, "don't you tell a soul what I'
m
going to tell you, but I'm going to see the Black Rider!"

Rusty gave her a sidelong, cautious glance. "To see him? How do you figure to d
o
that?"

"I'm going to ride out and look along the ridges for him, then if I see him, I'l
l
leave it up to Zusa to do the rest. She'll run him down if anything can."

Gates was silent. After a while he asked, "You ever see the Rider?"

"I saw him last night, right back on the bench in the rain. I waved to him, and h
e
waved back! Isn't it exciting?"

She expected him to disapprove or to caution her, but strangely, he did not. He merel
y
nodded, then said, "Ma'am, if I wanted to see that Black Rider, you know what I'
d
do? I'd head across the valley for Monument Rock, an' then if I saw him, I wouldn'
t
take after him none at all. I'd just sit still an' wait."

"Wait?" Lena's eyes widened doubtfully. "You mean he might come up to me?"

Rusty chuckled. "Ma'am, they do say that the Rider's a ghost, but flesh and bloo
d
or ghost, if anything that is male or wa
s
male saw you settin' a horse waitin' for him, he'd sure come a-runnin'!"

She laughed. "Rusty, you're just like all the cowhands! Full of the old blarney!"

"Sure I am. But, ma'am"-his voice dropped a note lower and the look in his eyes wa
s
not a teasing look- "you do what I say an' see if it don't work. But," he added
,
"don't you ever tell anybody on this ranch I suggested it. Don't you tell."

"Thanks, Rusty. I won't." She turned to go and he caught her bridle rein.

"Ma'am," he said, "before you go ... who's your best friend on this ranch? I mean
,
ma'am, somebody who really loves you."

Surprised, she looked down at him, but he was in dead earnest. The question brough
t
her up short, too, for it made her wonder. Who were her friends? Did she have any?

Frank? She shuddered slightly. Her father? For a long time she hesitated. He ha
d
never been close to her, never since she returned from school. He had been stric
t
and stern, had given her what she wanted, but allowed her little freedom. She realize
d
suddenly that her father was almost a stranger to her.

"I... I guess I haven't many friends, Rusty," she said, in a small voice. "I gues
s
... Dave, the cook, and Gordon."

Gates relaxed his grip. "Well, ma'am," he said, his voice thick, "I reckon you ca
n
count on another friend now. You can count on me. If ever you need a friend, I'
d
admire to have you call on me." He turned away, then stopped and turned, glancin
g
up out of his bright blue eyes. "Maybe you've got more friends than you realize
,
ma'am."

Lona turned the mare up the trail to the bench, and drawing up, she looked carefull
y
around. There were no tracks!

A curious little thrill of fear went through her. Was it possible the stories wer
e
true? Had it been a ghost wh
o
waved at her? The rain could have wiped them out, of course, and there was much rock.