Name On The Bullet - Edge Series 6 (30 page)

She shrugged as she said: ‘That’s your problem. Look, mister, there’s something you never asked and I never told you while you were doing so much talking about the past last night?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Some of the names you made mention of . . . Well, some of those people are still living in Pine River Junction. And I reckon they’ll be able to tell you what exactly happened here. How maybe this Guthrie guy you figure you’ve got so much reason to hate was killed in the fire or something else happened to him?’

They were riding past the point where the track between the former carefully tended crop fields, that was now barely discernible in the high brush, cut off the trail toward what had once been the house and out buildings of the Guthrie place. She made a sweeping gesture with an extended arm to encompass the entire spread and as he took another look across the overgrown fields and pastures he said:

‘I’m much obliged, lady. And if I figure it does matter to me, I can always ask somebody with a name I recall?’

‘Like Slim Haydon, for instance,’ she told him eagerly. ‘Or Jack Whitney? He’s Fred’s pa and he still runs the Timberland.’

‘Maybe I’ll have a chance to visit his saloon this time around.’

‘That Fred Whitney ain’t right in the head, did you know that?’

‘Doesn’t sound like the kid I had some dealings with. I guess he wasn’t so smart but he wasn’t stupid either.’

‘The grocery store is still there,’ she volunteered. ‘And it’s still run by John Smith and his wife.’

‘He wasn’t married back then, as far as I knew.’

‘Of course, the Guthries might be living in town after whatever happened to their place out here. Working at some other business now.’

‘Yeah that could be so,’ he allowed.

‘Pine River’s gotten to be a whole lot bigger since you were last there, I’d guess. And there’s a whole lot more people living in the town that I don’t know than I do. Me being in my line of work, I never did too much socialising with anyone except the men that came to the hotel to make use of my services.’

He shrugged and said: ‘I can see how that would be.’

She chose not to respond to this latest indifferent contribution to the desultory exchange and after this a new silence settled comfortably between them. But this time Edge did not withdraw into a period of deep thought as they rode beyond the eastern property line of the old Guthrie place. Started up the slope toward the crest of the hill between this small valley in which there used to be a single farm and the next, much broader one, where according to Hannah Foster an entire expanded town continued to thrive. He remained alert enough to be aware of the subdued excitement mounting within the woman as she neared this community which had been her home until the ill-fated Vic Munro showed up to make promises he was not able to honour.

And Edge found himself in a mood somewhat similar to that of the woman’s. Not so much excitement, maybe. But he certainly experienced a keen sense of rising anticipation as he relished the prospect of fulfilling the vow he made to himself when he first started to head back to this part of the country. A determination to see that Steele’s remains would be laid to their final rest on the Trail’s End spread in the Providence River Valley. A chore he intended to complete even if the horse ranch the Virginian had been so proud of building up was now reduced to the same kind of rubble-littered and overgrown wasteland as the old Guthrie place.

‘Do you know why I’m so sorry I can’t help you, mister?’ Hannah Foster peered intently into the middle distance as she went on: ‘Even with tittle-tattle that maybe wouldn’t be of more than passing interest?’

‘No, lady, I’ve got no idea why that should be.’

‘It’s because I really and truly admire you for what you’re doing.’

‘You do?’

‘I guess I’ve known my fair share of people who have died. Naturally or before their time for one reason or another?’

‘You’ll find that the older you get the more that will happen,’ he told her.

‘And there’s a few of them, I’ve been thinking lately, who died without me being able to make amends for some kind of wrong I did to them. But after they were dead and buried, there wasn’t anything I ever did to set things right. And you sure are all fired up by a will to do just that.’

‘That’s what I plan to do, lady.’

‘On account of how this Steele guy took the blame for shooting down that marshal when it was really you who killed him?’

‘No, it’s not because of that.’

‘I really appreciate you telling me what happened the way you have,’ she said hurriedly. ‘For confiding in me: and I want you to know, cross my heart and hope to die the worse way there is – ‘ Her expression was solemn as she made the sign of the cross at her breast. ‘ – that I won’t breathe a word to anyone about what you told me.’

‘I’m much obliged.’

‘So?’

‘So what, lady?’

‘Is it just out of friendship, plain and simple, that you want to see the guy buried where you figure is right for him?’

‘Kind of friends is all Steele and me ever were,’ Edge told her. ‘Not bosom buddies. Or even true partners. We just met up by chance every once in a while and it always seemed that when we did that one of us had to cover the other’s back or get each other out of one tough spot or another.’

‘Yeah, I think I can understand what it is you’re getting at.’

‘It’s hard to explain exactly how things were between us. Not without me telling you a whole lot more about Steele and me. And the kind of things that happened to us when we were riding together - or we were a whole lot of miles apart. That’s a whole bunch of different stories.’

‘And they’re none of my business?’

‘But none of that amounts to the reason I want to do what I’m planning on,’ Edge said.

‘It’s the matter of a favour I owe the feller.’

‘A favour?’

‘Because of a bad mistake I made.’

‘Mistake? What kind of – ‘

‘When I handed him the wrong Colt Hartford rifle the last time I was in Pine River Junction.’

She looked perplexed. ‘But he still would have been shot. And died of the wound, ain’t that so?’

‘That’s certainly so, lady. But even with a bullet in his chest, if I’d passed Steele his own rifle that night he’d have shot dead the sonofabitch who fired the killing shot into him.’

She shrugged and allowed: ‘If you say so, mister.’

‘I know so, lady. Because with his own weapon the Virginian was the best rifle shot I ever met up with. And I’ve come across quite a few who could claim to be that.’

They rode on through the timber toward a brightness down the trail that showed where the trees began to thin. And beyond the timber line, Edge knew, he would get his first glimpse in a long time of the three valleys that met at Pine River Junction. A few minutes later Hannah warned: ‘I think I ought to tell you something about the way this place is run these days, mister?’

‘If you want to.’

‘Like I told you, the town’s much bigger than it was when you were last there. And I ought to warn you it’s a whole lot more law abiding. Sheriff Haydon and the men on the town council, they don’t look lightly on killing. Or violence of any kind as a matter of fact.’

‘Yeah, times are changing fast in a lot of places.’

‘In Pine River Junction they reckon those old fashioned ways of settling scores are gone forever in these modern times.’

‘Like I told you, lady, the feller I’m planning to find is already dead.’

‘But you said if this guy Guthrie is still around you might want to do what you friend wasn’t able to because you handed him the wrong rifle?’

Edge sighed, nipped out and tossed away the cigarette butt and showed a brief sardonic smile. ‘That was just an old time feller talking tough. And anyway, the Virginian and me never did fight each other’s battles.’

They rode up to a town marker on the right. A recently repainted sign supported by two poles that proclaimed the name of the community and registered that it had a population of two thousand five hundred and twenty three citizens. Then soon they were clear of the trees and, like all those years before, he could not see too much of the town from here because of the flatness of the terrain between the wooded slopes of the valley. Like Hannah Foster and the marker had informed him, it was certainly a lot bigger than he remembered it: and he could see that many of the vacant lots that had once isolated the widely scattered buildings had been developed with newer business establishments and houses. Clapboard, like the earlier ones. And at first impression a total stranger to town would be hard pressed to tell which were the old and which the more recent, he thought. If the Junction Hotel was anything to go by, for the place was no longer sadly derelict, it’s painted woodwork and windows now gleaming in the bright morning sunlight.

‘Well, I guess this is where we part company, mister,’ the woman announced as she reined in her mount. He interrupted his impassive survey of their surroundings and saw in her green-eyed gaze the same kind of regret that sounded in her voice as she went on: ‘I’m real glad to have known you, Edge. And real grateful that you allowed me to ride along with you after what happened to Vic. I want you to know that if you ever feel the need of . . . ‘

‘Hey, girls! Get yourselves out here and take a look! It’s Hannie! Hannie’s come back! And with a different john to the one she went off with! Come take a look everybody, why don’t you?’

Hannah Foster had abandoned what she was saying a second or so before the shrill voice sounded from the open doorway of the renovated Junction Hotel

‘And you know that I’ve got other plans, lady,’ Edge told her as the garishly made up and statuesque redhead on the threshold of the hotel was joined by three more women in the same twenty to thirty age group, all of them overdressed for the time of day. And the babble of their excited voices made what each of them shouted impossible to discern clearly. ‘It sounds like you won’t be lacking for company here.’

She waved dismissively to the raucous welcoming committee then showed Edge a brief smile as she dismounted from her travel weary mount and answered: ‘Yeah. It’s good to know that when my latest plan turns to dust I can come back to where I started and re-new old acquaintances.’

Edge tipped his hat, heeled his horse forward and left the strident feminine chatter behind as he moved further into town on what was now a genuine main street. One that twisted and turned over the same meandering line it had followed when it was just another stretch of the Sacramento Turnpike with a widely spaced scattering of buildings aligned along either side. When he rode past the church in the cemetery he barely spared it a glance for he knew that from the street he would not be able to see precisely where Steele was buried, way over in the far left hand corner.

Saw that a restaurant and a branch of a chain of state-wide banks now flanked the stage depot and its corral. And across the street was a row of three stores, one selling ladies clothes, the second men’s footwear and the third notions and candy. Next he noticed the meeting hall looked to be more frequently used these days, for outside was a board to which a number of freshly printed flyers were pinned: to inform people when the next gathering of this or that society or club was scheduled to be held. Then houses flanked him and side streets angled off, lined with more houses: the larger residences of the richer citizens to the right and the smaller dwellings to the left. At this fall time of the year, the river flowed more strongly and was deeper than in the long gone summer when he last needed to cross it. And it could run a lot deeper and faster nowadays without being a problem because a solidly built stone bridge spanned it.

So far since he had entered town Edge had been aware of close scrutiny only by the chattering whores who greeted Hannah Foster. Clearly they had asked about her riding companion and been told something about him as he moved away along the street. Elsewhere, if there had been eyes watching him from behind store or house windows he was not conscious of the surreptitious attention. Certainly there was nobody out on the street or in the neatly fenced yards of the houses at this mid-morning time of the day. Although from within many of them came subdued sounds that signalled household chores were in progress. Beyond the bridge was the commercial mid-town area of Pine River Junction, the snaking main street and those that cut off to the sides flanked by stores and other commercial enterprises. Including the L-shaped premises of John Smith that was minus it’s challenging sign these days. Here a scattering of people were about on the raised sidewalks, coming and going from the obviously prospering establishments that bought and sold merchandise or provided many different kinds of services. Here and there men were working at putting up new buildings and from the east side of town came muffled sounds of the sawmill machinery where seasoned timber was being cut and planed and shaped to provide raw materials for future construction. There were saddle horses and wagons moving or stationery on the streets and a buzz of many mundane conversations as the people of this expanding country town went about their day to day routine business. A town that was large enough for not everyone to know everyone else and so the presence of a passing through stranger aroused little if any interest. Only when he reached the telegraph office did he recognise a vaguely familiar face. An older, fatter and balder Ross Pope who glanced up from working at his key and then did a double take out through the open doorway as Edge rode by: but seemed not to remember why he should recognise the stranger to town until after he went by. And maybe not then.