The operation went smoothly, though, which came as no surprise to Denny. She knew that Cal hired top hands for the Sugarloaf crew.

  That included Steve Markham, who was doing a good job getting horses up a ramp into one of the cars. Denny found herself keeping an eye on him more than she should. She knew she ought to be supervising the entire crew.

  “Can I speak plainly, Miss Denny?”

  “Of course you can, Cal. You’re my pa’s foreman, and besides, like Smoke said, you’re practically a member of the family. One thing, though . . . You’re going to have to stop calling me Miss Denny. Might be times out on the trail when you’ll need to get my attention or tell me something in a hurry, and there’s no point in wasting time with that ‘miss’ business.”

  He nodded and said, “All right, Denny. What I’ve got to say is about Steve Markham.”

  She felt her face growing a little warm. Cal must have noticed the way she was watching him. She vowed not to let herself get distracted like that in the future. This trip was for business, not pleasure.

  Cal went on. “Once Miss Sally got better and Smoke decided you could go along with those horses to Montana, I expected him to tell me that Markham wasn’t going. But he didn’t say a thing about it.”

  “He didn’t say anything to me, either, and I was a little surprised by that,” Denny admitted. “But Steve’s a good hand, and Pa knows it. It makes sense that he’d want good hands to deliver the horses.”

  “I reckon,” Cal said with a shrug. “But that was up to him, and I’m not in the habit of second-guessing Smoke’s decisions.” His voice got a little harder and flatter. “I’m also not in the habit of being a chaperone. Whatever happens between you and Markham, I’m not getting mixed up in it. My job’s to get those horses safely to the Circle C, and that’s all I’m concerned about.”

  Denny gave him a curt nod. “Good. Like you said, that’s your job. And mine, too, and Steve Markham’s, and everybody else’s who’s going along on the trip. That’s all that’s going to happen, Cal.”

  He shrugged again. “Like I said, none of my business.”

  Denny could tell that both of them felt uncomfortable, but in a way, she was glad that Cal had brought up the subject. Now they had cleared the air, and they could put the whole thing behind them.

  Gene Cunningham, the cowboy Cal had picked for the position of segundo on the journey, rode over to them and reported, “We’ve just about got ’em all loaded and should be ready to close up the cars in just a few minutes, Cal.”

  “Thanks, Gene. You boys have done a good job.” Cal took his turnip watch from his pocket and opened it to check the time. “Still an hour or so until the train gets here. Pick a couple of men to keep an eye on these cars and tell the others they can get a beer. One beer. Anybody who comes back here pie-eyed not only won’t go to Montana, he’ll be out of a job, period. We’ll go a little shorthanded if we have to.”

  “I don’t reckon you have to worry about that. Everybody likes working for Smoke too much to risk it.”

  Cunningham turned his mount and loped back toward the railroad cars and the rest of the crew.

  Cal thumbed back his hat and said to Denny, “I reckon I know what you’ll be doing before we pull out.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  He nodded toward the main part of town. Denny turned her head to look in that direction and saw Smoke riding leisurely toward them.

  Denny frowned. She had already said her good-byes to her parents and Brad. She’d sat next to her mother’s bed that morning and assured her that she wouldn’t go to Montana if Sally thought it was a bad idea. Denny remembered the quick conversation.

  * * *

  Sally’s cheeks were still a little pink from the temperature she was running, but her eyes were bright and alert and she had her appetite back. Earlier, she had eaten the breakfast Inez had brought up to her on a tray, and part of a cup of coffee sat on the night table that she picked up and sipped from now and then.

  “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” she assured Denny. “However . . .”

  “I sort of figured there might be a however,” Denny said with a smile.

  “I’m not sure how proper it is for a young girl to travel all that way, alone with a bunch of cowboys.”

  “I’m not that young,” Denny insisted. “I’m a grown woman. And I lived with a gang of outlaws for a while last summer, remember.”

  “I certainly haven’t forgotten. I probably never will.”

  “But I won’t really be alone,” Denny went on. “Cal is going along, and he’ll look out for me, I’m sure.”

  “I trust Cal with my life. But I’m your mother, Denise. I’m going to worry.”

  Denny reached out and clasped one of Sally’s hands in both of hers.

  “It’s going to be all right. And if it’s Steve Markham you’re concerned about, you don’t need to be. As far as I’m concerned, while we’re gone, he’s just another of the hands.”

  * * *

  That had been her intention, but she wasn’t sure she could stick to it completely. And Cal, while he would protect her life with his own if it came to that, had just made it clear he wasn’t going to interfere in her love life, no matter what Denny had told her mother.

  All of that might be moot, she thought as she nudged her horse into motion and rode toward Smoke. She hoped that him showing up unexpectedly in town didn’t mean that her mother had taken a turn for the worse.

  “What’s wrong, Pa?” she asked as she came up to him and reined in. “Is it Ma?”

  Smoke shook his head. “No, she’s fine, or as fine as she’s going to be until she’s completely over that sickness. She’s doing so well, in fact, that she told me to come on into town to see you off. I reckon she knew I wanted to.”

  “Oh,” Denny said, relieved. “Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Brad insisted on coming along, too. He stopped at Goldstein’s, but he’ll be along in a minute.” Smoke shrugged. “I gave him a couple of pennies for candy.”

  Denny grinned. “He made you feel guilty about not letting him go to Montana with me, didn’t he?”

  “He really wants to go.” Smoke shook his head. “I told him his mother wouldn’t allow it, though. If she and Louis got back and found out that he’d gone traipsing off to Montana, she wouldn’t be happy, I’ll bet.”

  “You’re right.” Brad had complained plenty to Denny during the past twenty-four hours about her being allowed to go when he wasn’t. He resented that enough that the good-bye hug he’d given her that morning had been a grudging one. She leaned her head toward the siding and went on. “The horses are loaded. We’re just waiting for the train. Cal let the men go get a beer before they leave.”

  “Where’s Markham?”

  Denny’s shrug was casual. “Don’t know. With the rest of the boys, I reckon.”

  Smoke nodded slowly. “You keep that attitude, this trip ought to work out fine.”

  “It will work out fine. Cal and I will see to that.”

  Brad rode up then on the blaze-faced horse. He said excitedly, “Look, Denny. Rafael said I could ride him today.”

  “He’ll make a good saddle mount for you, Brad. The two of you will sort of grow up together.”

  “How about you and Rocket? Did you bring him along?”

  Denny laughed and shook her head. “I’m not sure that loco horse will ever grow up. But maybe I’ll work with him some more when I get back from Montana.”

  “I still wish I was goin’ with you,” the boy said with a sigh. “The next time you drive horses or cattle somewhere, I get to come along. I’m callin’ that now.”

  That would be up to Melanie and Louis, thought Denny, but she didn’t point that out to Brad. Nor did she mention that this might be the last time a crew from the Sugarloaf set off on an old-fashioned drive. The world was moving fast. Pretty soon the railroads would be everywhere, and Denny had heard that there were automobiles on the streets of Denver and Cheyenne.

  She and Smoke and Brad chatted for a while longer, then the shrill whistle of a locomotive sounded in the distance. The Sugarloaf hands began drifting back toward the railroad station on foot. They had already loaded their saddle mounts in one of the cars on the siding.

  Denny needed to do the same with her horse. “Time to get busy. So long, Pa. Be good, Brad.” She leaned over in the saddle to exchange hugs with both of them, then turned her mount toward the siding. As she rode up to the one car where the doors were still open and the loading ramp still in place, she saw Steve Markham standing nearby.

  “You didn’t go get a beer with the others?” she asked as she swung down from the saddle.

  “Nope. I volunteered to stay here with Gene and keep an eye on things. I’ll load that horse for you and unsaddle him.”

  “I can do that,” Denny said sharply. “I carry my weight when it comes to work.”

  “Oh, I never doubted that,” Markham replied with a smile.

  “Cal’s the boss, and as far as this trip is concerned, I’m just one of the hands.”

  Markham continued smiling, but he looked like he didn’t really believe what Denny had just said.

  She felt a brief surge of irritation. “Until we get back, the two of us are just cowboys, Steve. Understand?”

  “Sure,” he said, then added in a drawl, “pard.”

  Denny growled a curse under her breath and put the horse up the ramp. Steve Markham had better not get any fancy ideas during this trip, she told herself, or he would find himself with all kinds of trouble on his hands.

  CHAPTER 39

  Brice Rogers rested his hands on the little counter in front of the window in the Western Union office located inside the Big Rock railroad depot. That was the most convenient place for it since the singing wires followed the same route as the steel rails.

  “You’re sure there’s nothing from the chief marshal in Denver?” Brice asked as he frowned.

  On the other side of the opening, the telegrapher sat at the desk where his telegraph key rested. He wore a green visor, white shirt, dark vest, string tie, and sleeve garters. He shook his head in response to Brice’s question and said, “Sorry, Marshal. Were you expecting a wire from Chief Marshal Long?”

  Brice sighed. “No, not really. I just had a hunch he might have a new assignment for me.”

  “If I do get a message from him, I’ll send a boy to find you.”

  Brice nodded, thanked the man, and turned away from the window. The depot lobby was practically deserted at the moment. A train had already come through today, and there wouldn’t be another until the evening.

  Brice walked out to the street, where he paused, took off his hat, and raked his fingers through his hair. He sighed. For the first time since he’d pinned on a badge, he almost hoped some trouble would crop up. Anything to take his mind off the fact that Denny Jensen had left Big Rock two days earlier, bound for Montana . . . with Steve Markham.

  Of course, she wasn’t alone with Markham, he reminded himself. Calvin Woods and a dozen other hands from the Sugarloaf had gone along on the trip to deliver those horses. Brice had heard all about it. Whatever the Jensens did was always news in Big Rock, since they were the leading family in the entire valley.

  And it was none of his concern what Denny did. He had been trying very hard to convince himself of that. He’d been attracted to Denny from the very first time he’d met her, despite the fact that she could be mighty annoying a lot of the time. She was set in her ways, that was for damn sure, and had strong opinions on just about everything, including how she should act. She didn’t like anybody telling her what to do.

  Brice supposed he couldn’t blame her for that, even though it went against the way most folks thought ladies should conduct themselves.

  As Denny might say, she was no damn lady . . . except when it suited her to be one.

  Brice clapped his hat back on his head and strode away from the depot. Standing there brooding wasn’t accomplishing a blasted thing.

  Denny would still be gone.

  After a minute, he realized his steps were carrying him toward Monte Carson’s office. He hadn’t spoken to the sheriff in a while, so when he reached the large, square stone building that housed not only Monte’s office but also Big Rock’s jail, he stopped and opened the door.

  Monte glanced up from the old, scarred desk that sat in front of a gun rack holding a number of rifles and shotguns. The lawman had papers scattered on the desk, a pencil in his hand, and an irritated look on his face. He put the pencil down and sighed. “Come on in, Brice. I’m glad to see you. No offense, but almost any visitor would be a welcome distraction right now.”

  “Paperwork, Sheriff?” Brice asked.

  “That’s right. The bane of any star packer’s existence. Does the chief marshal make you fill out a paper for everything you do?”

  Brice chuckled. “Not as bad as some I’ve heard about. When he was packing a deputy marshal’s badge, he hated all that rigamarole as much as anybody, or so the stories go. Still, he’s got to follow the rules, too.”

  Monte leaned back in his chair and reached for his pipe. As he began filling it with tobacco from a soft leather pouch, he asked, “What brings you here today?”

  “Boredom. I was just over at the telegraph office, checking to see if I had any wires from Denver.”

  “Lester would have come looking for you if you did.”

  “Yeah, I know. I just hoped there might be something for me to do that would get me out on the trail for a while.”

  Monte scratched a match to life on the sole of his left boot, held the flame to the pipe, and puffed until he had it going. He blew out a little smoke and said, “Out on the trail away from Big Rock . . . and the Sugarloaf.”

  Brice felt his face growing warm. “Maybe,” he admitted. “Anything wrong with that?”

  “Oh, not as far as I’m concerned. I understand. I may be pretty far past the age when a gal can tie my guts up in knots, but I remember what that was like, I promise you.”

  “My guts are just fine,” Brice insisted.

  “Whatever you say.” Monte sat there puffing tranquilly on the pipe.

  After a moment of awkward silence, Brice asked, “Got any new wanted posters? There might be some outlaw wanted on federal charges I could try to track down.”

  Monte opened a desk drawer, pulled out a stack of papers, and placed them on the desk. “Help yourself. I didn’t know you were supposed to take off after any fugitives without specific orders, though.”

  “Like I said, Marshal Long gives us some leeway.” Brice picked up the stack of reward dodgers and carried them over to an old sofa against the side wall. He sat down and started looking through them while Monte picked up his pencil again, sighed, and started writing on one of the papers on the desk in front of him. The pencil’s scratching was the only sound in the room for a few minutes.

  When the door opened again both men looked up in relief.

  Pearlie Fontaine, Smoke’s old friend and retired foreman, ambled into the office. “Howdy, Monte.” He glanced over at Brice. “Marshal. Didn’t expect to find you here.”

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Pearlie,” Monte greeted him. They were old friends as well, having been acquainted with each other even before they first met Smoke. Both men had hired out their guns in those days, not really owlhoots but not far from it, and although they had usually fought on the same side of whatever dispute involved them, that hadn’t always been the case. Luckily for their friendship, they had never actually traded shots with each other.

  “I don’t know if you’ll say that once you find out why I’m here,” said Pearlie.

  “That sounds like trouble brewing,” Brice commented from the sofa. “Something wrong out at the Sugarloaf, Pearlie?” He frowned suddenly. “It’s not Mrs. Jensen, is it? I heard that she’s been sick and that Dr. Steward has been treating her.”

  Pearlie shook his head and waved off the question. “Nope, I’m happy to say that Miss Sally’s steadily gettin’ better. The doc said she wasn’t hardly runnin’ any temperature this mornin’. I got somethin’ else on my mind.”

  “Well, then, spit it out.” Monte grinned. “You don’t want to strain that brain of yours.”

  “My thinkin’ matter is just fine, thank you most to death,” Pearlie snapped. “I want to look at your old ree-ward dodgers, Monte. You got a collection goin’ back a long time, don’t you?”

  “Twenty years or more,” Monte said, nodding. “And before you go accusing me of being a pack rat, I know I ought to go through them and weed out the ones on fellas who are dead or spending the rest of their lives in prison. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

  “Uh-huh. Where are they?”

  Monte pointed to a cabinet in the corner. “Right in there. Help yourself.”

  Pearlie went to the cabinet and opened the doors. He let out a whistle when he saw the stacks and stacks of paper inside. “Are these in any kinda order?”

  “Oldest on the bottom. You did say you wanted to look at old ones, right?”

  “Yeah.” Pearlie bent, took a stack off the bottom shelf, and carried them to the desk.

  “Reminiscing?” asked Monte as Pearlie began flipping through the wanted posters. “We probably rode with some of those fellas, back in the bad ol’ days.”

  “Not exactly. You remember a polecat called the Santa Rosa Kid?”

  It was Monte’s turn to whistle in surprise. “I don’t see how I could forget anybody like that. The Santa Rosa Kid was about as bad an hombre as I ever ran across.”

  “You met him, personal-like?”

  Monte shrugged. “We signed up for the same job. Rancher down along the Rio Grande in Texas wanted some Mexicans run off from land he’d decided was his. He didn’t care if they were burned out or hung from the branch of a cottonwood tree. The whole business put a bad taste in my mouth, but the Kid loved it. Used to brag about the Mex farmers he strung up . . . but only after he made those fellas watch what he did to their wives and daughters.” Monte’s face hardened into stone as he went on. “I remember him talking about one time when he took a knife to some little señorita . . .” He shook his head. “I gave the rancher back his money and rode on. It was either that or gun the Kid down like the hydrophobia skunk he was. Looking back on it, that’s what I should have done, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34