Passin' Through (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 6

  “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.

  “I don’t see many strangers around,” I objected, “not city men, anyway.”

  “Ever’ once in a while,” he said. “You ain’t here like I am. They all come in this place to eat. There’s one in town right now. He doesn’t have much to say but he stands around, listenin’ to folks. He’s some easterner, lookin’ for good buys. I can tell. Fact is, he’s lookin’ for ranch property.” The cook glanced at me. “That woman who owns the Phillips place? The one you work for? D’you think she’d sell? Hers was one of the places he was inquirin’ about.”

  I’ll bet, I said to myself, I’ll bet he asked a lot of questions.

  “She might sell,” I said, “but I doubt it. She was lookin’ for a place to light when she met Phillips. Been an actress,” I said, knowing he’d heard it all before, “an’ tired of travel. She loves this country.”

  Turning sidewise on the bench, I sipped my coffee, watching the street. Where was he now?

  “How much?” I asked.

  He spread his hands. “It’s a tin roof,” he said, “because you come over the trail.”

  “ ‘Tin roof’?” I asked.

  He grinned. “On the house,” he said. “Feller sprung that on me one time and I liked it. Next time you can pay, but this is for old times’ sake.”

  “You can’t make any money that way,” I protested.

  He chuckled. “Don’t you worry! These lots will make me rich! You’ll see! This here town will boom! John Moss started the town and he knows what he’s about. It’s named for this big Frisco banker, and you know darned well no Frisco banker is goin’ to let his town die! But it ain’t that. The mines are rich! Rich, I tell you.

  “Then there’s
cattle. Lots of men running cattle. Feller named Caviness come in with a big herd. Thompson, too. He’s in that cove just west of where you’re located.

  “Some towns are minin’, some are cow towns, but this has it all, minin’, cattle, sheep, an’ now the railroad.”

  “That’s comin’ to Animas City, I hear.”

  “Oh, sure! That’s what they say, and it will, but do you think they’d pass up a boomin’ town like this? They’ll be in here within the year. You just wait an’ see!”

  A buckboard was tied up across the street, and a man and woman were getting down from it. Walking across, I untied my horse, glancing at the woman as I did so. She was young, quite pretty, and a city woman. The man with her looked like a businessman or an official of some kind. She gave me a quick look, then looked again. I tipped my hat and she looked quickly away, flushing a little. Stepping into the saddle, I rode out of town.

  When I saw an opening in the scrub oak I rode through, taking a route a half-mile or so to the east of that I had taken when riding to Parrott City, so as not to follow the same route on my return. Several times I drew up, listening, and whenever possible checked my back trail by sitting my horse and watching the few open areas I’d crossed. Soon I was working my way through and around stands of ponderosa or aspen until I found myself in a clearing on the mountainside with a tremendous view of the ranch. Drawing rein, while sitting horse under a couple of tall pines, I studied the layout.

  Backed by the long ridge, at least a thousand feet higher than the ranch buildings, it was a green and lovely place with several wooded knolls like thick fingers reaching out from the ridge toward Cherry Creek and the trail.

  Between the knolls were meadows with fine stands of grass. As I sat my saddle studying the place I saw three riders come from under the trees on the highest part of the ridge opposite. From where they were they had a great view of the ranch and of my area as well, but I was well back in the shadow of the pines and, I hoped, invisible to them, as long as I remained still.

  One of the riders was astride a black horse with a splash of white over its rump. The man who had come to the ranch with Lew Paine had ridden such a horse, the man who had placed the noose around my neck.

  They were a good half-mile away, and as I watched they began to ride along the ridge, dipping down into the saddle, riding west and closer to the ranch. There were trails from the ridge to the meadows, as I’d seen one of them. They dipped into the trees and I lost them.

  Keeping under cover, I headed for the ranch. What they had in mind I did not know, but when they arrived, I’d be waiting.

  Waiting, and with a Winchester…

  CHAPTER 8

  The buckskin would be hard to see against the mottled greens and browns of the mountainside, and my clothes were nondescript. Keeping under the shelter of the ponderosa, I wove a course west above the trail, then dipped down into a draw that ended behind the house.

  Unfortunately, I startled a deer feeding on the slope behind the house, but he ran off just a few yards and stopped, looking around. When it seemed obvious I wasn’t on the hunt, he just went to feeding again.

  Lazy smoke rose from the chimney and I stepped down from the saddle and went to the side door, leaving my horse tied to a willow tree back of the house. Winchester in hand, I knocked on the door.

  Matty opened it. “Trouble coming,” I said. “I wanted you should know.”

  “That detective again?”

  “Lew Paine and a couple of riders. They’re up on the ridge but they’re keeping from sight and I don’t know what they have in mind. You folks keep quiet and out of sight.”

  Taking a chair, I sat back inside the window but where I could keep a watch. There was a low ridge back of the creek that worried me some but it did not offer much cover. It did provide an easy place to watch the house and within easy rifle range. They could get to it without me seeing them. If they came down the meadow and around the end of the ridge I’d have them covered. There was a place back the way I’d come that would allow me to cover that ridge. I got up. “Just wanted you to know. No matter what happens, you folks stay inside. I’ll be around doin’ what’s needful.”

  Taking my rifle, I went back to the buckskin, mounted, and went back along the draw I’d followed from up on the mountain. When some scrub oak and a cedar tree offered cover, I rode up out of the draw and into the trees. Tying my horse to some brush, I went down through the trees until I found the spot I wanted.

  It was a warm, clear day. A few puffballs of cloud floated about, as they nearly always did in this country, and it was pleasant setting there, smelling the pines. There was a litter of pinecones among the needles on the ground, and away from the trees the tall grass moved when stirred by the wind.

  They came out of the trees at the head of the meadow, then crossed to the near side where I could no longer see them. What they had in mind I’d no idea, unless they meant to try and scare the womenfolks. They knew I wouldn’t scare, but they might not know I’d returned from Parrott City.

  When they reached the end of the concealment offered by one of those long knolls they stepped down from their horses and led them, keeping to low ground and heading for that ridge. There was some low brush on the ridge, and a few scattered trees. I’d had a look at the ridge when I first rode around on the ranch and knew it was rocky ground with only thin grass.

  A magpie lit on a low branch near me and cocked his head at me, trying to decide whether my being there was reason enough to make a fuss. Finally, after pecking at a few items in the grass he flew off about his business, and I eased the rifle from the ground, keeping it out of the sunlight as I wanted no flash from sunlight on the barrel to warn them.

  They’d found the place they wanted, and Lew Paine rested his rifle in the crotch of a small oak and tucked the butt against his shoulder. When he done that, I squeezed off a shot. Now, I was of no mind to kill him unless he made it necessary, but I knew what I could do with a rifle, and my bullet slapped that tree trunk right close to his face. Of course, he might have moved into my line of fire, but he didn’t. That bullet spat bark fragments in his face and he dropped his rifle like it was red-hot and hit the dirt.

  Just for luck I moved over a few paces and put a bullet into the dirt under one man’s feet. It was that same gent who looped the rope over my head at the hangin’.

  Well, they left out of there. They’d come to scare some women, not to be shot at themselves. They hit their saddles like they’d been scalded and they raised some dust gettin’ off down the trail, afraid they’d be shot at again.

  Taking two cartridges from my belt, I fed them into the rifle, where I’d be apt to need them. Setting there, just resting, I thought back to that girl I’d seen over at Parrott City, and why she had looked at me as she had. She wasn’t anybody I remembered knowing, although she was looking at me like she knew me. Or had she just heard talk around and was curious?

  Matty was at the door when I came up on the porch. “I heard shooting?”

  “They were fixin’ to shoot at the house so I dusted ’em a mite to sort of change their minds.”

  Shadows were falling when I stripped the riggin’ from the buckskin and turned it into the corral. Washing up, I studied about things and found there was something bothered me, but what it was I couldn’t pin down.

  Supper was laid and Matty told me to sit down and she’d have it on. From my pocket I took the pins and needles I’d picked up for her and she thanked me. “It isn’t much of a town,” I explained, “supplies are limited. More fixin’s for miners than anything else, but there’s some grub. Groceries, I mean. Not much to interest a woman.”

  “We’ve not been over there,” Matty said. “We did drive into Animas City once, but it is such a long drive and we didn’t like to be away from the place.

  “It’s so different here than Mrs. Hollyrood expected. When Mr. P
hillips spoke of his ranch, she always thought of it like a southern plantation with a big house, white pillars and all that, with a fine carriage and driving horses. She just didn’t know what a ranch could be like, and neither did I.”

  “Pretty rough by your standards,” I suggested. “Folks out here have to make do. This house is better than most. The logs were squared off by somebody who knew how to use an adze and a broadax. The granary and barn were built by the same hand. It shows in the workmanship.

  “It’s a fine place,” I said, “but to make any money out of it the owner has to know cattle or somebody who does. I can see where she must have been surprised.”

  She put a plate before me and I set to. Bein’ hungry, I wasted no time. Then I said, “Didn’t Phillips tell you what the ranch was like?”

  “I scarcely knew him. Yes, he told us about it, but Mrs. Hollyrood had never seen a western ranch and thought of it in different terms. When we were coming out on the train she said we’d have a good life here, and hoped the servants would be the sort she wanted to keep. I believe she was expecting much more.”

  “It’s a rough life,” I agreed, “but there’s some fine folks in the country around. I mean, good substantial people, all of them working to make something of their land or the mines or whatever.”

  “I believe she’s thinking about selling.”

  Well, I swallowed what I had in my mouth and waited a minute whilst she filled my cup. “I haven’t asked around,” I said, “but I’d not imagine she could get much of a price. This here is good land but mostly for cattle or sheep. There’s a man over west of here has done well planting barley and oats, but you have to know what you’re doing. To tell you the truth, ma’am, I doubt if you could get more for the place than it would cost you to go back east.”

  “I don’t believe that.” It was Mrs. Hollyrood, wearing another one of those dressin’ gowns she wore all the time. “This is good land, and I am sure someone would wish to buy it.”