Passin' Through (1985) (7 page)

Pushing back my chair, I made as if to get up, but she asked me to stay, so I relaxed, sort of. But my eyes were on the road outside. To tell the truth I was worried about that detective. He was a hard, sharp man and he was, like I remembered the Pinkertons, a stayer. He was not one to give up, and I was worried for Matty. If it was her he was looking for, which I doubted.

When a man starts hunting for somebody with few clues he just naturally follows any lead he can find, and if somebody told him about a young blond woman newly arrived at a ranch, he would surely investigate. Chances are when he had looked at her he would realize he was wrong and ride on about his business.

"That young man who was out here? The one who said he was Mr. Phillip's nephew? What was his full name? The one they called Lew?"

"Paine. Lew Paine. I know nothing else about him. In fact, I don't recall Mr. Phillips ever mentioning him."

"He may not have liked him. There's no reason why a man has to like all his relatives or why they should like him."

Mrs. Hollyrood must have been a really beautiful woman when she was young. Not that I know much about women or have been associated with them very much. She was a handsome woman even now. She looked soft, warm, and pleasant. Her gray hair always as neat as could be. It was no wonder that Mr. Phillips was taken with her, and I suspected had he lived he would have been popping the question.

"Mr. Phillips?" I asked. "What sort of a man was he?"

She glanced at me, then said, "Why, most pleasant! More like a businessman than a rancher. He dressed very well, always neat. And he was very much the gentleman although perhaps a little old- fashioned. I liked him."

"He surely liked you, to leave all this ranch to you."

"I don't believe there was anyone else. I did not know about the nephew, and Mr. Phillips never mentioned him. That was how I came to the conclusion they did not get along."

She frowned a little. "He seemed to have no financial worries, and since coming here I've wondered if he did not have some source of income other than this ranch. Although he may have made a sale of some of his cattle -"

"I don't think so. I mean there's cattle out there he'd prob'ly have sold if he was making a drive." I reached for my hat. "Where'd you meet him, ma'am?"

"In Kansas City. He came every night to the theater."

"And the last time you saw him?"

"In Denver, at the Brown Palace. He always stayed there, and as you know it was the place where big cattlemen stayed, and mining men as well."

I wanted to ask where she actually met Matty, but shied away from it. Certainly it was none of my affair, but since this Pink was on somebody's trail it had me worried. Anyway, it was probably some other blond young woman. There were a lot of them around.

Taking my hat I got up. "If that Pinkerton man comes around again, do you want to see him?"

She hesitated, and again I wondered where Matty was and if she could hear us. "If necessary. To tell you the truth, Td rather not." She glanced at me. "You did not mention Matty?"

"No, ma'am, I didn't. I didn't at all."

Outside, I turned my hat in my hands and wiped off the sweatband, although it didn't need it. Somehow the conversation worried me.

Did she not want to meet the Pinkerton? Or was it Matty?

Surely they needed somebody to take care of them, and I'll bet right now they were wishing Mr. Phillips was still alive. He would have known what to do.

Me, I was all right when it came to shootin'.

Chapter
Seven

There was plenty to do and I was a man accustomed to hard work. This here was piddling stuff, yet I enjoyed the doing of it. Never did I work for any rawhide outfit and I wasn't about to begin. There's no stopping of work on a ranch. There's always something needs doing.

Each day I used a different horse in the morning and at noon, trying to keep them in shape for riding. Meanwhile I kept an eye on the road.

A lot of folks went by. When I say a lot, I mean five or six a day and occasional freight wagons hauling to Parrott City or over to the Mormon settlements westward.

Time to time I passed the time of day with folks on the trail. The railroad was building toward Animas City but there was some difficulty about where and how they would build. Folks in Animas City had some big ideas about how much the railroad would do for their town and how much they'd get for their land.

Three days went by and I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. That Pinkerton man hadn't been back. More than likely he'd found he was mistaken and had gone on about his business. Just about the time I decided that, I was forking hay to the stock and I saw him. He was riding a bay horse and seemed to be driving right along the road.

I stuck the fork down in the hay and walked to the road. He pulled up when he saw me.

"Howdy." He had a cold eye. "You the gent I talked to the other evenin'?"

"I'd say so."

"You always wear a gun at work?"

"It's a tool. A man never knows when he'll need his tools. You find who you're lookin' for?"

"Not yet."

"Lots of good country west of here. Far's that goes, there's country east, north, an' south, too. No use a man confinin' himself."

"What do they call you?"

Well, I looked at him. "Nobody has to call me more than once," I said.

"I'm not hunting trouble. I am looking for a woman. She's wanted."

"Most women are," I said, "by somebody, somewhere. If you keep travelin' you might find one that wants you."

He studied me carefully. "You look to me like a man who could take care of himself with men. How are you with women?"

"Nobody never complained, an' I've known a few here an' there."

"Nice spread." He turned in the saddle, glancing around.

"Needs work," I said. "I been fixin' up around. I hate to see a place run down."

"So do I. Hard for a woman to keep a pl3. Cc like this/'

"Uh-huh. I doubt if Phillips had been doin' much on the place himself. Or else he didn't want to spend money on hands. I'll shape it up some before I ride on."

He studied me. "To where?"

"The San Juans, maybe."

"This woman you're working for? Elderly, you say?"

"I don't recall sayin'. She's got gray hair. Doesn't get around very much."

Somebody was behind a curtain in the window. I'd seen it move a mite. We were too far away for anybody to hear what we were sayin', but whoever was watching could see us talkin'.

"I don't see much of them," I said. "I'm gettin' the place into shape an' then I'm ridin' on. After all" - I grinned at him - "I'm just passin' through."

When I smiled he glanced at me. "Something funny about that?"

"It's what folks call me. 'Passin' Through.' "

"If I were you," he said, "I'd just live up to the name."

With that he clucked to his horse, touched his heels to the gelding's ribs, and trotted off along the trail. Standing there, I watched him go, wondering about him.

Suddenly, I went to the corral and dabbed a loop on a buckskin, led him to the rail, and saddled up. When I rode him over to the house, Matty met me at the door.

"Thought I'd meander along to Parrott City," I said, "look at the city lights. Anything I can get you in town?"

"What did that man want?"

"Snoopin', mostly." Hesitating, I then added, "He's huntin' a woman, a young, blond woman."

She studied me. "You believe he is looking for me? Is that it?"

"No, ma'am, I don't. I think he's lookin' for some other woman and when he heard there were women here he decided to sort of check it out."

"Did he say why he was looking for her?"

"I didn't expect him to. His kind are lookin' for information, not givin' it out."

She gave me a list, not a long one. "What I would like most are some newspapers or magazines."

"They're hard to come by, ma'am. That's what ever'body wants and they are almighty scarce. I'll see what I can do."

That blue roan led to too much talk so I had chosen the buckskin for this ride to town. The trail followed Cherry Creek for a way, then I turned off, leaving the trail and heading toward the La Platas through the scrub oak. I never did cotton to regular-traveled trails and I knew the town was tucked away close to the mountain, somewhere almost due north.

From time to time I drew up to study the country. This was get-acquainted time and I knew too little of the country. Setting my horse amongst the brush, I could look back across at a high peak and the fine sweep of land that comprised the ranch. Toward the top of the peak, crested with ponderosa, there was a thick stand of aspen and a lovely draw that ran up from the creek to a saddle just west of the highest point. It was surely beautiful country, and I don't mind thinking how much I envied Mrs. Hollyrood, owning that place.

The buckskin was a good horse and he took to rough country like he was born to it, which he probably was. I'd known of Parrott City before ever I left Pioche. John Moss had laid out the town about 1875 when he was prospecting for Tiburcio Parrott, a banker in San Francisco. Wherever miners or prospectors gather there is talk of new strikes, new mining towns, or trails leading to good prospects. The La Platas were much talked about, as, of course, were the San Juans, only a bit further along. Silverton was a booming camp, but that was sixty or seventy miles away over rough mountain trails.

When I rode up the street in Parrott City it took me no time at all to see what was available. There were a couple of saloons, a blacksmith shop where most of the work was sharpening drill steel, and there was a general supply store and a couple of tents which rented out beds. I guess there were ten to twelve buildings in town and some makeshift squatters' shacks. But nobody had promised me another Denver.

At the store I bought a packet of pins and some needles for Matty and a couple of shirts for myself as well as a new pair of pants. Nobody seemed to pay me much mind until I paid my bill, and then the storekeeper asked me if I was a miner.

"I've mined," I said, "mostly for myself." Before he could ask any more questions I took my goods and walked outside, looking up at the mountain. This was mighty pretty country and La Plata Canyon invited a man to try his luck.

Standing on the street, I sort of looked the town over, and there wasn't enough of it to take a man more than a few minutes. That Pinkerton man was somewhere about and I wanted to learn more about him.

There was a two-by-four sort of place across the street where they served meals and I crossed over and went in. An unshaved man in shirt sleeves was washing dishes back of the counter, which was just a couple of planks nailed together with a bench in front of it. There were also two tables. "Am I late for grub?"

"Hell, no! I've always got something on. You partial to venison stew?" He winked at me. "Least that's what I call it. Some of these folks are touchy when their cows turn up missin'."

"Well," I said, "I never heard of anybody readin' a brand from stew meat."

He chuckled. "Now you're right about that. You look like a miner."

"I've mined," I said, and keeping a straight face, I added, "Right now I'm a cattleman."

His face went blank, then he said, "That really is venison. Some of it."

"I'm not huntin' rustlers," I said, "and I don't own any stock hereabouts. I only hang rustlers when I catch them at it, and this is mighty fine stew. You must have cooked in a cow camp sometime or other."

"I done it," he said with satisfaction. "I went over the trail twict. Went with the big herds, first to Dodge, then to Ogallala." He looked at me again. "You been over the trail?"

"Twice," I said, "the first time when I was a youngster. I was wranglin' horses that time. Next time I was trail boss."

"Trail boss? You must've made a name for yourself."

"They knew me," I said. "It was a time of trouble."

He leaned over the counter. "Friend," he said, "you could do worse than to locate right here. Buy yourself a couple of town lots. This place will boom. Take it from me. There's rich mines all about here, an' La Plata County was set up in 1874. This here's the county seat. Get in on the ground floor if you've got any capital.

"I own four city lots," he added, "an' I've staked some ground up the canyon."

"I was just passin' through," I commented. "Stopped down on Cherry Creek to help a woman get her place in shape."

"Oh?" He looked at me again. "You're him? Heard about you. You the one who killed Houston Burrows?"

News had a way of travelin', and among some western people gunfighters were talked of like they were prizefighters or theater people. Nobody but some tinhorn wanted to be known as a gunfighter.

"Houston Burrows threw a wide loop," I said, "and he made the wrong catch."

The stew was good. I ate another plate of it and drank some coffee. The man behind the counter was a talker, and he felt because I'd ridden the cow trails that I was an old friend. He told me a good bit about everybody in town, all the prospects and the plans. Most of it I'd heard before about other places, because everybody who starts a town believes it will be a metropolis, eventually.