Twisted Trails (2 page)

"Then I won't bother you any more," Paul Scott said.

"Why such a hurry?" a soft voice asked from the shadows behind the front door.

Paul frowned. It had been a long time since he had heard the voice of a woman, and this voice disturbed him. He searched the shadows and saw the white oval of her face. It appeared to float there, disembodied.

"I'm not hurrying. It's a planned thing," Paul said.

She moved toward him, slow, graceful and beautiful.

"You were asked to dinner," she said, looking up at him. There was rebuke in her brown eyes. "Is it polite to refuse?"

"I wasn't asked," Paul objected, feeling uncomfortable at the sudden appearance of this poised girl. "Your friend here, Brother Aaron, begged for me because he felt he owed me something."

"Then I'm asking you," she said gravely.

Uriah broke in. "Why have you come here, Norah?"

"You never asked me that before, Father. I come when I please. Who is this man?"

Aaron Sodek squirmed on the sack of grain, and a groan escaped him. "He's Paul Scott," Aaron said through set teeth. "Not a man to have his nose ringed, Norah, even by you."

"Do you mean he's a tramp?" the girl asked, looking sideways at Scott.

"Pay her no mind," Uriah Young said. "She ain't been broke to the bit yet. If you won't stay, you won't stay. I hoped you was a man who wouldn't shy from sweat and blisters. If you change your mind—"

"I'm right grateful, sir. Now if you'll excuse me—" Paul turned toward the door, keeping his eyes from Norah with an effort.

"My, but we're full of starch," Norah said. "Are you mad at me?"

Paul felt his own face redden. "Might be I'm touchy. No offense intended. And thanks for the invite."

He pushed out into the hot afternoon sun and stood for a moment getting his bearings. Off to the left, behind the store, flowed and frothed a miraculous spring. It gushed from the earth a stream full-born and babbled toward the broad green acres of Uriah Young a quarter of a mile distant. The ranch house, what he could see of it, looked lost and dwarfed among the giant cottonwoods. A half-mile down the valley, and connected to the spring with a wooden flume, stood the military post.

He turned, mounted his horse and rode toward the two-story frame building some distance up the road toward the mines. Near the building sprawled the shacks and office of the contractor building the railroad. It was a fabulous railroad, crawling straight as a die across the flats and then zigzagging up the face of the mountain in a series of switchbacks. There were tents there, too, in which the tracks crews slept when they were glutted with working, drinking, gambling and brawling.

A skinny old man with a tobacco-stained beard untangled his long legs on the steps of the porch.

"Howdy, stranger," the man said. He weaved unsteadily.

"Howdy. Do they stable horses here? Mine's tired an' hungry."

"Come far?" the man prodded.

Paul didn't like nosy strangers. "Far enough."

"There's a corral out back. Hay's in the shed. I'll take care of him if you want."

Paul reconsidered. His stay there might be short. Finch might have come and gone. He might not have arrived. In either case there would be sense in him spending money waiting at the Lone Chance.

"Never mind," he told the skinny man, who immediately tangled himself up again on the step.

After tying his horse at the rail, Paul entered the building.

The stale smell of liquor met him as he blinked against the dim light. His eyes took in the interior, the long pine bar, the tables near the door, the dance floor beyond and the stairs leading upward into dark, secret places. With the same glance he saw the tableau at the table to his left. A miner stood crouched over his kicked back chair, a gun in his hand. The man at the side of the table backed toward the bar, his eyes staring fascinated at the gun. Across the table, his hands clawed motionless above some cards, his handsome face exuding sweat and a smile still on his lips, although the mirth had gone out of it, sat Alonzo Finch!

As Paul stood momentarily poised, the words, "You cheatin' tinhorn!" seemed still to hang in the air—hang over Alonzo Finch as his eyes stared at death. The miner's was no idle threat. Even Paul understood that, and realized the man had drawn for one purpose only. Paul knew, too, that Alonzo Finch must not die. If he did, the journey of twelve-hundred miles would have been for nothing.

With the step of a cat, Paul moved behind the crouched miner. He heard a commotion on the stairs but dared not turn his head. Once before today he had blundered into trouble, double trouble. He gave no thought to odds, or who might back the miner up. He knew only that Alonzo Finch must not die. Lifting his booted foot, Paul stiff-legged against the hinge of the miner's knee. The unexpected action buckled the man's leg, and he pivoted, crashing back across the upset chair. Cursing, the man threw his right hand down to catch himself. Paul placed his boot across the thick brown wrist and pressed. The gun slid free, and with a quick motion Paul kicked it across the floor.

The miner rolled free of the chair and crouched to his thick legs, roaring and weaving like a wounded bear. Instinctively, Paul moved back against the wall, expecting the attack. The attack never came. A woman's voice, a firm, throaty voice, said from the bottorn of the stairs:

"Morgan, pick up your money and go home!"

The miner, consumed with fury at the man who had cheated him of money and the man who had cheated him of revenge, closed his big-knuckled hands, hands used to swinging a sixteen-pound double-jack all day, upon the back of the broken chair. With one motion he swung the wreck high and brought it crashing down upon Finch's back. Then his fury died and he looked about him with bloodshot eyes.

"Take up your money, Morgan, and get," the woman said in a quieter voice.

Paul saw her then, draped in a dress of white. Not a jewel marred the simplicity of her costume, or the taffy-colored hair swept upward in a pompadour. The woman wore her years secretly, as though she had been cast from a mold complete and endowed. Even without the skillfully applied make-up, her skin would have been soft and without flaw. And yet all the overripe loveliness was but a showcase for the nerveless, determined, commanding presence underneath.

"I'm sorry, Addie," the miner grumbled.

"Come back when you can behave, Morgan," Addie said.

"I didn't know you harbored cheats, Addie; my mistake."

"I give every man one chance," Addie said. "Mr. Finch has had his."

Alonzo Finch had straightened in his chair and shoved his hat forward to the usual jaunty angle. The moisture had seeped back into his wide, flat-planed face, and his smile thawed to one of ironical humor.

Oddly enough, the cards were still in order upon the green-topped table. A stud hand, with one card face down. Before Finch lay a ten, jack, queen and king of hearts. Before Morgan's place lay a pair of treys, a four, a king—and he had turned up another king. Finch hadn't yet turned up his card. He did so now with a negligent flip of his long-boned hand. It was a six!

"It's your money, Morgan," Finch said casually; "pick it up."

Paul found himself admiring Alonzo's adroitness. By a move of his hand and a few words, he had put them in the position of owing him an apology.

Somewhat sheepishly, Morgan picked up the money and went out. Before the door closed, Paul found his eyes clashing with Finch's gray eyes.

"What are you doing here, Paul?" Finch asked.

Paul was conscious of Addie watching them.

"Do you have to ask that, Alonzo?" Paul countered.

"This is a big country, Paul. A man of your talents should do well here, but there's one funny thing about all this space. If a man wants trouble, he can find it without half trying. Be smart and ride on."

Paul read the threat in Finch's words. Shaking his head slowly, he said, "This is as far as I go. You left a trail as crooked as your own crooked heart. Now you're going back to Oklahoma with me to face the music."

Finch said in the same unhurried voice, "You better be careful, Paul. If you keep makin' them long speeches in this high altitude, you'll run out of wind. Suppose I don't want to go, you going to tie me up and pack me on your back?"

"I'll find a way to get you back," Paul replied.

"I won't be much good to you dead."

"That I know. Why do you think I horned into your fight?"

"I forgot to thank you for that, Paul," Finch acknowledged. "You got a warrant for me? This is Utah territory."

"Before I get through, you'll be glad to go back, Alonzo."

"Paul," Alonzo said, rising and walking toward the stairs, "you're going to spring a hole in your head with all those big ideas. Remember what I told you about the altitude?"

At the foot of the stairs, Alonzo turned toward Addie. "When do you expect Lieth back, ma'am?"

"A week, maybe," Addie answered, her eyes on Paul.

"Thank you," Finch said with elaborate politeness, and walked away into the darkness. Then Paul heard Addie's warm, throaty voice. She was moving toward the bar with a gliding motion, as though she were mounted on wheels.

"Come over here, stranger," she said. "I'll buy you a drink."

Paul went to the bar, and the barkeep heaved his fat body erect and waddled toward them. The other card player had disappeared during the excitement.

"Whiskey," Paul said, his eyes meeting Addie's. "The name's Paul Scott."

"I saw you handle that miner, and I liked what I saw," Addie said as they raised their glasses. She sipped hers and set it down.

"Thank you," said Paul.

"What was your trouble with Alonzo Finch?"

"It has nothing to do with this country or you, ma'am."

"Call me Addie; everybody does. I didn't mean to stick my long nose into your business," Addie said, giving him a quick smile.

"Your nose isn't long," he replied. "When did Finch get here?"

"He's been here a month. I haven't got him figured out yet, and I'm pretty good at figuring. He already seems to have some kind of hold on Lieth Severs, my partner."

"That's how he works. Where is your partner? Are you running this place alone?"

"I am right now. Lieth's gone to Salt Lake on some land business. They've been resurveying some of this country since the railroad and mines came. I need a man here. I thought I had one in Lieth." Her voice dropped, and a shadow of sadness crossed her eyes.

"You are in love with him?"

"How can one love something that's not whole?" she asked softly. "I need a man who can handle himself to help me take care of things here. It's quiet at this time of day, but later, when the men knock off work, they'll swarm in here. They're a mixed bunch. I think you're the man for the job."

"I'm sorry, ma'am…"

"Call me Addie," she prompted again.

"I'm right sorry, Addie, but I can't work for you. I'm going to be here just long enough to get Alonzo Finch out of camp. What good could I do you in that length of time?"

"Have you figured a way to get him out?"

"I will."

"There's only one way I see, and it will take time. You'd have to keep it quiet, though, so that he could not escape you. Send a message with the stage tomorrow to send over the telegraph from Salt Lake to Oklahoma. Have the sheriff there send a warrant to the U.S. marshal at Provo. He can come over, arrest Finch legally, and maybe deputize you to take him back."

There it was—the legal way, the right way.

"But that will take weeks," Paul objected.

"Two weeks maybe—three. How long have you been on Finch's trail?"

"Couple of months."

"Then why begrudge the time? While you're here, you can earn your keep. I'll guarantee you won't be bored," Addie promised.

Paul could feel the woman reining him hard, and he fought the bit stubbornly. In one afternoon he had confronted two women and had had two offers of jobs.

"I've already got a job," he surprised himself by saying.

"Miner? Laborer?"

"Uriah Young. He needs a man to haul hay."

"Oh, I saw you riding into camp with old Sodek. Have you met Norah?"

The inflection in the throaty voice irritated Paul.

"What has Norah got to do with it?"

"Don't jump down my throat, Paul. I didn't say she had anything to do with it. It just seems strange you should take a job with Uriah without a special reason. You're not a farmhand."

Paul was vaguely aware that they were quarreling, and it puzzled him.

"What do you think I am, Addie? A roustabout? A swamper? A gunnie to whip your customers into line?"

Addie laughed softly. "She's a beautiful girl, Paul. A good girl, but still a little wet behind the ears."

Outside, the first of the evening's customers was fogging dust toward the Lone Chance. Addie walked to the stairs without looking back, and Paul watched her go. At the foot of the stairs she turned.

"If you change your mind, Paul, let me know."

Without answering, he pushed through the door, and the miners, lathered with sweat and stained red from the blood of the earth, made way for him on the porch.

He mounted his horse and headed for the ranch.

The next morning Norah, still abed, heard the loaded hayrack rattle and bounce across the rocky creek bottom on its way to the stockade. Cherry, an Indian girl who helped with the housework, always cooked early breakfast for the men. She had been taught the simple tasks of frying hogmeat, eggs and potatoes. Being Mormons, the Youngs drank no coffee. But there was plenty of milk, and for the more hardy, Brigham tea, brewed from a local bush. The more complicated cooking was done by Helen, Uriah's wife.

What had Paul done at Addie's? He had been there a long time, and something that had happened there had brought him back to the ranch to work for Uriah. Had he found Alonzo Finch? If he had, there would be little reason for him remaining there. No, it must have been something to do with Addie. He was staying so that he could see Addie again. The thought made her uncomfortable. If it was Addie who was keeping him there, why didn't he stay at the Lone Chance?