Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (5 page)

No train of wagons appeared on the trail below, but there were four riders. Rowe dismounted, pulled his horse back out of sight, and tied him to a bush. He motioned for Modo to stay with the horse and took the spyglass from his saddlebag. Walking hunched so that he wouldn’t be outlined against the sky, he crept to the edge of the shelf and dropped down on his belly. His first thought was that the men were a detail of soldiers because of their uniforms. He studied them, then changed his mind when he saw the way they slumped in the saddles. Also, any detail this far from the fort would have had a packhorse to carry supplies.

Suddenly, the two riders ahead stopped, spun their horses around, and faced the two men riding behind. One of these drew apart leaving his fellow rider to face the other two. He was gesturing with his arm. Although Rowe couldn’t hear what they were saying, it was evident to him they were having an argument. The lone man turned his horse as if to leave.

The sound of the shot was no more than a pop by the time it reached Rowe. Hit in the back, the man fell from his saddle and his horse danced away. The man who had fired the gun shoved it into his holster and dismounted. He kicked at the man on the ground with his booted foot, then stripped him of his holster, gun, and the contents of his pockets. One of his companions caught the dead man’s frightened horse, and they proceeded up the trail toward Trinity.

“The bastards didn’t even bury the man,” Rowe murmured.

He closed the spyglass and hurried back to his horse. The men were deserters, or they had killed for the army uniforms. Rowe figured that he would get to town fifteen or twenty minutes before the trio. After what he had seen, he had no doubt about the kind of men they were. Any decent human would have buried the man he killed, regardless of the reason for killing him. To leave a man’s body for the buzzards and wolves and calmly ride away was the act of the morally depraved.

Rowe put his heels to the big black horse. The Arabian loved to run, and where the trail was smooth, he let him. If Rowe had only himself to consider, there wouldn’t be the urgency to get back. He could hole up in the stone building until the trio left town unless they decided to set fire to the buildings, in which case he would have to stop them.

The women and the child were his concern. They would be totally helpless against such men. Rage at the thought of a man forcing himself on Katy or the child’s mother knifed through him. Rage made him reckless, and he found himself letting Apollo run full speed over a rocky, twisting course. He pulled up on the reins and slowed the horse down. Now was not the time to take unnecessary chances. He was all that stood between the women and that trio riding into town.

Three

The sound of a horse running hard caused Katy to snap shut the book she had been reading and hurry to the door. A big black horse was coming up through the center of town at full speed. She reached for the rifle and checked the load before stepping out onto the porch.

“Who is it?” Mary, with Theresa in her arms, stuck her head out the doorway so that she could see.

“Stay inside.” Katy backed into the building and prepared to slam the door.

The rider came directly to their door and jumped from the saddle.

“Stay back!” Katy shouted. “Put one foot on this porch and I’ll blow it off.”

“Put the gun down, Katy. You’ve nothing to fear from me.”

Katy’s mouth dropped open when the man said her name. There was something familiar about the buckskins, the wide shoulders, the flat-crowned leather hat, and the way the gun belt clung to his narrow hips.

“Who . . . are you?” The thought hovered in the back of her mind that the man’s battle-scarred face was that of an ancient warrior.

“Garrick Rowe. I shot the cougar.” The big brown dog came and lay at Rowe’s feet, his tongue hanging out. “I’ve been here damn near a week. You’ve seen me—”

“The man who shot the cougar had a beard.”

“Good Lord! I shaved!”

The eyes that looked into Katy’s were as black as midnight. The hair that curled down over his forehead, his eyebrows and mustache were as black as his eyes. Hard cheekbones, a wide firm mouth, an arrogant nose, a square chin, and stubborn jaw completed his face. He stood still, looking at her in the same intense way she was looking at him.

“If you’re Bushy-face, why’ve you been sneaking around?” Katy snarled, and lowered the rifle. “Why didn’t you come tell us who you were and what you’re doing here?” Her eyes clung to the dark craggy face of the man who towered over her.

“Pay you a social call? Would you have served tea?” he asked, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm. “This visit isn’t a social call, either. You’ve got to get out of here. Go down to that stone building and take your valuables with you.”

“Is it Bushy-face, Mamma?”

“Shhh . . . Theresa—” Mary scolded, then hugged the child, who began to whimper with fear and hid her face against her mother’s neck.

“What are you talking about?” Katy turned the gun on him again. “We’re not going anywhere on your say-so.”

“You stubborn little mule! I knew you’d be like this,” he said softly, then barked irritably, “Put that gun down before you shoot somebody. You don’t have much time. Within the next fifteen or twenty minutes three men will ride into town who’ll make me look like a saint. I just saw one of them kill a man in cold blood.”

“You saw it, and you did nothing to stop it?” Katy asked contemptuously.

“Goddammit, Katy! I was a quarter of a mile away and saw it through my spyglass. Are you going down to that stone building, or am I going to throw you across my shoulder and carry you there?” He stepped upon the porch, shouldered his way past her and went inside. “Do you have any more ammunition for that rifle?”

“Yes,” Mary answered. “Four boxes.”

“Get it, and anything else you value that you can carry, and go to the stone building. It’s the safest place in town.” He directed his remarks to Mary. “I’ll close this place and throw some trash up onto the porch so they’ll think it’s as empty as the rest of the town.”

He went through their living quarters to the rear and shut the door. On his way back he checked the firebox on the cook-stove. Katy was still standing beside the door, stunned motionless. Mary put Theresa on the floor and spread a blanket on the bed. With the child clinging to her skirts, she went to the trunk for her journal. She placed it and the clock her mother had given her for a wedding present in the center of the blanket, added the boxes of shells, and tied the four corners.

“Mary! Why are we trusting him?” Katy blurted. “Maybe it’s Roy coming back.”

“Ma’am, would your husband be wearing parts of an army uniform?” Rowe asked sharply.

“No,” Mary answered, then to Katy, “We’ve got to trust him. We have no choice.”

“That’s right you don’t. Now go, unless you plan to stay here and be raped by three killers when they get here.”

His dark eyes bored into Katy’s blue ones, a hint of repressed savagery behind them. There was impatience in such a man, impatience that would cause most women to obey his orders without question. But Katy was not one to follow blindly.

She turned her back and spoke to her sister. “I say we stay here. We may be in just as much danger from
him
as from the men riding in.”

“Don’t push me, Katy,” Rowe said angrily. “I’ll not permit you a choice now or ever when your safety is concerned. Climb down off your high horse and behave. You’re going to that stone building—whether you like it or not.”

“Come on, Katy,” Mary pleaded. “We’ve got to trust him.”

“I don’t like him. He’s got shifty eyes.”

Katy didn’t know why she had said anything so stupid! His gaze was as steady as a hawk’s. The only excuse she gave herself for the untruth was that she was determined not to knuckle under completely. Was that laughter she saw in the depth of his midnight eyes just before she thrust her arm under the knot Mary had tied in the blanket? What really infuriated her was the inescapable feeling that she could buck him every step of the way, but in the end she would do as he said. For Mary and Theresa’s sake, she told herself.

“Can you carry all that?” Mary asked.

“I’ll have to. You’ll have to carry Theresa.”

“What about Mable?” Mary turned back as they stepped off the porch.

“Mable? Good God! Is there another woman here beside you two?”

“Mable’s the cow.”

“Ah . . .” He said several words in a language they didn’t understand, but there was no mistaking the frustration in his tone. “I’ll put the cow behind the livery if there’s time. Don’t fool around about getting down there. I want you women out of sight.”

Katy and Mary hurried as fast as they could through the middle of the deserted town. Katy looked over her shoulder to see the man who called himself Garrick Rowe throwing dead brush and broken boards up onto the porch of their home. Then he took a branch and began to sweep away their footprints. He
was
trying to help them. She had known it from the first, but his arrogant manner had forced her to rebel against his orders.

“Walk in the grass,” she told Mary. “He’s trying to erase our footprints.”

The two women were out of breath by the time they reached the stone building. The interior was cool and dim. Katy dropped the bundle inside the door as soon as they entered; her arm was numb from carrying it.

“Does he expect us to just sit here and wait?”

“He’s trying to help us,” Mary said firmly.

“He said the men were wearing army uniforms, Mary. How do we know that it isn’t a legitimate patrol? How do we know he doesn’t want to keep us here and is scaring us into staying out of sight?”

“Do we dare take the chance? Why are you so suspicious of him?”

“From past experience. I’ve been pushed, pulled, pinched, fondled, and propositioned ever since I came West. I’m sick of men who slobber, spit, and stink. All they know is mining, brawling, drinking, and whoring. Old Bushy-face may have killed the cat, carried water to Mable, and shaved; but he’s still a scallywag looking to get rich without working.”

“Oh, Katy. I didn’t realize you were so bitter. It’s because of me you’re here and I’m so sorry.”

The pain in Mary’s voice slipped through Katy’s anger and into her mind. She turned and put her arm around her sister.

“I’m sorry for being such a grouch. The way he looked at me and the way he bossed us around got under my skin. I knew we’d do what he thought best, but I wasn’t going to fall whole-hog into his plan like a mindless feather-head.”

Mary set Theresa down on one of the two slabs, built out from the wall, that served as bunks. Rowe’s bedroll was on one of them. The bedding was folded neatly and the bags containing his belongings were stacked beneath his bunk. A narrow slit was cut in the rock wall on the south, used as a lookout and for ventilation.

“He’s taking Mable to the corral behind the livery,” Katy said from her position beside the door.

The bawling cow was protesting in the only way she knew how. The lead rope was stretching her neck as she was being pulled along behind the black horse, her heavy udders swaying with each step. They disappeared behind the livery and a few minutes later Rowe was loping down the road toward the jail, the dog at his heels.

The first thing he did was to scatter the cold ashes where he had cooked his food. Then he scooped up an armful of dead brush, and covered them. Katy stood just inside the building, looking out the doorway.

Rowe came to the door. “They’ll be here anytime now,” he said looking toward the south. “Do you know how to use that rifle?”

“I wouldn’t be carrying it if I didn’t.”

Her answer seemed to satisfy him. “I’ll draw them away from here if I can. Keep the little girl quiet.”

“Where will you go?”

“To the saloon. They’ll see my horse and the mules and know that someone is here. It’s better to face them down before they find out the town’s completely deserted.”

“I could help—”

“No. Stay here. I don’t want to worry about you.”

“But—”

“Don’t buck me now, Katy. I don’t have time for it. Do as I tell you and you’ll come out of this all right. Shut and bar the door and don’t leave this place regardless of what you hear. There’s water and food to last for several days. Understand?”

“No.” Her retort was quick. “Why should I follow your orders without question? You’re as much of a stranger as they—”

He cut into what she was saying. “Do I seem like a stranger to you, Katy?”

Under the steady gaze of his dark eyes, her heart began to hammer. No, right at this minute he didn’t seem like a stranger, but damned if she’d admit it to him! To evade the question, she asked one of her own.

“Is there a chance they’re not as bad as you think?”

“There’s always a chance, but not much of one. They shot a man in the back and left him for the wolves. You don’t get much worse than that. Like I said, shut and bar the door and don’t come out until I call to you. And . . . cover that slit in the wall so they won’t be tempted to come look inside.” His voice was low and even, but the tone left no doubt that he expected to be obeyed.

“All right.”

For just an instant, his hand touched her arm. “If anyone tries to come in, shoot him.”

“I will. Be careful.”

“You, too.” A whisper of a smile touched his mouth. Then, with a gesture to the dog, he ran across the street to the saloon, his shaggy pet at his heels.

Katy watched him go. The man and the dog were a team. Who was he? From the look of his plunder, he was here to stay a good long while. A distant part of her mind told her to steer clear of personal involvement with this man. He was the kind of man who would take over a woman’s life, and she wouldn’t have a prayer of holding out against him.

Rowe opened the double doors of the saloon and pushed them back against the wall. He took a full bottle of whiskey from his private stock beneath the counter and set it out on the bar along with several glasses so that they could be seen through the open door. It just might make the men riding in think there were several men inside. He checked his gun. The pistol was a Smith & Wesson, the best gun built. After trying the balance of it in his hand, he checked the load and shoved it down in the holster. His cartridge belt was full, and he had extra ammunition for the rifle. He tilted his hat back and surveyed the road leading into town. With the rifle in the crook of his arm, he stood just inside the building, waiting. He had no plan except to tell them to leave. After that, he would play it by ear.