Passin' Through (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Read online

  Waiting for me to move? Waiting to kill me? Or some passing traveler wondering if he should ask for shelter from the already darkened house?

  Did he know that only women lived here? Or did he know about me? Was he looking for me?

  The wind stirred again, rustling the leaves, and I waited. No sign of a horse. Was he afoot or did he leave his horse back up the road? Or did he hope to steal a horse here?

  An Indian? This was Ute country and folks were saying the Utes were mighty unhappy about a lot of things. I knew the Utes. They were tough people, good fighting men and not about to be pushed around by anyone. If they went on the warpath it would mean a lot of good people were going to get hurt.

  Yonder in the granary I had a good bed waiting, and I was tired, ready to turn in. My eyes searched the shadows. What I had heard sounded like a boot on gravel, and that meant whoever was out there was not likely to be an Indian.

  What this place needed was a good dog, a watchdog who would make himself known. There should be one on the place before I left. A dog right now would know that man was out there and would tell us when people arrived or left.

  As for myself I understood my position. If somehow I was shot, nobody would pay much attention. I was a drifter whom nobody knew and about whom nobody cared. My death would be a matter of conversation for a few hours or days depending on what else there was to talk about.

  Things had quieted down inside with all the lights out and I believed the womenfolks had gone to bed. My eyes were accustomed to the darkness now and I could make things out pretty good.

  Whoever was out there could not know I was outside. He might have seen me go in, he might have seen me through the windows, although I doubted it. I believed he arrived just as I was coming out and when I first heard him. I did not know that, however. Yet, the chances were he believed all here were inside and in bed. Leaning against the corner of the house, I waited while the slow minutes passed. Suddenly the roan blew loudly, and I could see his head was up and he was listening, watching something.

  A shadow detached itself from the other shadows and a man stood in the road looking toward the house.

  “Whatever you’ve got in mind,” I said, “you’d better forget it. We don’t take kindly to prowlers.”

  He stood very still. He was in the open and I was in deep shadow. He was wearing a narrow-brimmed hat and a suit.

  “I’m looking for a woman,” he said.

  “You can prob’ly find one at Parrott City. Just ride west three or four miles an’ take the canyon road. It’s up the road a piece.”

  “I don’t mean that kind of woman. It is very important that I find her.”

  “You usually do your lookin’ at night? Prowlin’ in the dark? A man got himself killed a while back. He fell not ten feet from where you stand. If it was daylight you might see the blood.”

  “I heard of that.” He didn’t seem fazed by it, not one bit. This was a cool character. He kept his voice even and low, just as I did, and he hadn’t tried to move an inch.

  “My advice is to move on down the trail. We got nothing for you here.”

  “I have it now. You’re the man who killed Burrows!”

  When I did not reply he shifted his feet, the first move he’d made since I first spoke. “Burrows was said to be quick.”

  “He thought so.”

  “You could help me. There’d be fifty dollars in it.”

  “I’ve got fifty dollars.”

  “I’ve heard there was a woman here, living on this ranch. I want to talk to her.”

  “Come in the daytime. There’s womenfolks on several ranches around here. They’re friendly folks, most of them. But they don’t take to prowlers.”

  “I’m not a prowler. I was traveling late.”

  “We’ve talked enough. You’d better hit the trail.”

  “The woman who owns this place? She is a young woman?”

  “She’s a handsome woman. A lady. I make it a practice never to guess a woman’s age. She has beautiful gray hair, if that helps.”

  “Gray?” His disappointment was obvious.

  “You’d better move,” I said. “It’s past my bedtime. If you have any idea of comin’ back, come in the daytime.”

  “The woman I’m looking for is young—”

  “Mister, I don’t give a damn who you’re lookin’ for. I just run out of patience. You light a shuck.”

  “I’m going. The woman I’m looking for is young, blond, and—”

  “Light a shuck,” I said.

  He started, walked a half-dozen steps, then turned. “I’m a Pinkerton man. I’ll be in Parrott City, and the offer stands. Fifty dollars is two months’ wages for a cowhand.”

  He walked away and I listened to his footsteps on the trail until they died away. Shortly after, I heard a horse walking away. Listening until the sound died out, I walked across the road to the granary and turned in.

  A Pinkerton man, looking for a young, blond woman? He evidently did not know there were two women here and he had believed the woman he sought owned the ranch. Now why was he looking for Matty, if that was who it was? Detectives often searched for people for other reasons than crimes.

  At daylight I walked up the road to where he’d tied his horse. He had come from the east, probably Animas City, and had walked his horse in the grass along the shoulder of the trail until well past the house. He had gotten past the house without my hearing him and had tied his mount, then walked back down, probably to look in the windows. By the time he was close the lights had gone out. He had ridden east when he left, and the closest place would be Parrott City.

  Irritated, I walked back to the house and breakfast. I was upset with myself at being so careless as to let a rider pass without my knowing it. A thing like that could get a man killed. It showed what good food and womenfolks could do to a man. Take his mind off the things he’d best pay a mind to.

  My breakfast was on the table when I came in but neither of the women was around. I ate alone, hurried it up, and then went outside. I’d planned on makin’ a partial count of the cattle on the place, but after that visit last night I figured I’d better stay around the home place. There was plenty to do.

  McCarron, the hand Burrows had killed, had rounded up some saddle stock and brought it in to a corral near the barn. They hadn’t been ridden much, aside from the two head they kept in the barn for the women to ride. I’d need something to spare the roan, so I saddled up a couple of the broncs in the corral, and although pretty feisty at first they gentled down pretty good. One of them was a black gelding with a white face, and I brought him in for the morning ride.

  The roan didn’t like it much. He tossed his head and trotted along the corral fence keeping pace with us and wanting to go. As the ranch house was at the lowest place on the ranch, I could ride a good part of the nearby range without getting out of sight of the house. Taking my time, I cleaned out a water hole, stacked some fallen-down branches for firewood, and generally kept a watch on the trail.

  A couple of buckboards passed, and a spring wagon coming from the west, evidently headed for Animas City. There was no sign of my visitor of the previous night.

  Had he given up? I doubted that, knowing the breed. He would inquire around and come upon some cowboy or miner who knew Matty was living at the ranch. Then he would come back again. The men Pinkerton hired were tough men, and they were stayers. This one had been a cool customer and wasn’t going to be stampeded by anyone or anything.

  We needed a dog and we needed another man. There’d be times when I wouldn’t be around. The trouble was I didn’t know anybody in this neck of the woods unless somebody drifted in rustling work. If I was ever going to reclaim my outfit I’d have to get back along the trail and pick it up and pay for the keep of my horses.

  Mrs. Hollyrood was in the kitchen when
I entered. It was just shy of noon. Matty was nowhere to be seen.

  “Are you hungry? Matty made sandwiches, and there’s coffee.”

  “It’ll do me.” I sat down and she brought a couple of thick sandwiches to the table and poured coffee. “You hear all that talk last night?”

  She stopped, coffeepot in hand. “Talk?”

  “After you went to bed, when the lights were out. There was a man out there, said he was a Pink. A Pinkerton.”

  “You mean a detective? Here?”

  The laughter that always seemed to lurk behind her eyes had vanished. The eyes were cool, speculative. “Just what did he want?”

  “He was asking about a young woman, a young, blond woman. He seemed to have the idea she was the owner here.”

  The room was quiet. Hungry, I bit into my sandwich. It was good, mighty good. Mrs. Hollyrood looked out the window, up the road to the east, and what she was thinking I had no idea.

  “Did he say why he looked for her?”

  “No. The fact is that I sent him on his way. It was late and I was afraid our talking would wake you up, if you were asleep.”

  “He’s gone then?”

  “No, ma’am. He’ll be back. You understand, I didn’t see him in daylight, but that’s a tough man. He’ll be back until he finds what he’s lookin’ for, whatever that is.”

  “A young, blond woman? Did he describe Matty? Did he have a name?”

  “He didn’t have time.”

  Her face was partly turned from me and I could read nothing in it. If she was scared or worried she did not show it at all.

  “Ma’am? Over there where they tried to hang me I left an outfit. I mean I had two horses and some gear, tools, bedding, an’ such. One of these days I’m going to ride over there and pick it up.”

  “You’ll be gone then?”

  “For a few days. I reckon a week. When I rode over this away I was travelin’ mighty fast. I figured there’d be a posse right behind me and I stretched out. That roan, I love that horse, ma’am, that roan did what would have killed most horses. I wasn’t makin’ any great show of it but I was putting a lot of country behind me. What I covered in two days an’ most of a night would take me easy four days riding sensible.”

  “We will miss you, and I wish—I wish you’d not leave for a day or two. I mean with this detective…I don’t know what to think about him. I wish you’d stay on.”

  “That I can do.”

  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. Phillips’ 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 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, I’d 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 7

  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 place 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.