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

  She changed the subject then and began to talk of the theater and of plays she’d been in like East Lynne and Lady of Lyons. It was mighty pleasant, sitting there in the soft light of the coal-oil lamps, with the smell of fresh coffee in the room, hearing her tell stories of that life so far from this.

  “We had our troubles, too,” she added. “Once when we were playing a small town on the Mississippi several men tried to break up the show. One of our men stopped it, but there was some shooting.”

  “Three of them? He must’ve been good.”

  “Parmalee Sackett? He was very skillful with a gun. I’d heard that he’d shot a riverboat gambler before he joined the company.” She paused. “He really wasn’t an actor but he did very well and could have made a career of it.”

  “What happened to him?” I was curious.

  “Something happened out west. He left us very suddenly, in fact. I believe some relative of his was in trouble, but that was many years ago.”

  Goin’ to plays an’ such was something I’d never done much of, although here and there, in Tombstone or Deadwood, they had theaters puttin’ on plays. I seen a play once in Denver, too. I mentioned that.

  “Denver?” Her voice was a little higher. “I never had the opportunity to play there.”

  “Wasn’t that where Mr. Phillips died?”

  “Yes, yes, it was. My company had gone back east, however.”

  Folding the bill of sale, I put it in my shirt pocket. “I’d better get some rest.”

  “You sure you don’t want to buy the ranch, Mr. Passin’?”

  “Me? I ain’t got that much. I’d have to strike another rich pocket before I could afford a ranch.”

  “Every little bit helps, though, Mr. Passin’. That’s what I always say, every little bit helps. Now don’t you forget”—she arose and gathered her robe about her—“when you come back by I want to fix you a nice supper, something really nice. You’ve been very kind.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Outside in the night I mopped my forehead and wondered why I was sweating. It was cool out here and it had not been that warm inside.

  I was riding west, all right, and I’d pick up my horses and come back through here. Maybe I’d stop over, but somehow I had a hunch that nice supper she planned to fix for me, somehow I didn’t feel I’d ever get to eat that meal.

  Maybe it was just a hunch, and maybe something more.

  CHAPTER 11

  The way prices were these days I might have bought the ranch, but probably not. Lots of land was free for the taking. A man could homestead a place, and if he settled on a water hole he’d control the range all around. Grass was no good without water.

  Right now I had more money than ever in my life before. I had twelve hundred and forty-six dollars. That was what I’d taken from that pocket I discovered, and besides that I had twenty-eight dollars of walking-around money. That is, I had that twenty-eight dollars when I found the pocket for spending along the way. The twelve hundred and forty-six was my stake, and right now I was going to head for the high-up hills, find myself a little camp, and contemplate.

  I mean I had to think what I was going to do. When a man has always worked for the other fellow and never had more than his wages, that twelve hundred and forty-six dollars was a lot of money.

  I was born poor and raised poor, and my pa was a hardworkin’ man who always gave a day’s work for a day’s pay, the same as me. He never saw this much money in his whole life, I suspect, and I’d never had so much or even seen that much in any place but a gamblin’ house. So I needed to contemplate.

  Nobody needed to tell me I might never have so much again, although a man is always wishful about it. I’d never been a hand for whiskey. Oh, I took a drink now and again but had never been drunk in my life and never wanted to be. I always figured if I had my wits about me I could figure my way out of any corner I might get into, but a man drinking…well, his judgment’s not that good, although he thinks it is.

  Take Houston Burrows, now. He’d been drinking and now he was dead. Had he been sober he might have been a shade more cautious with a man he’d never seen before. Not that he would have been any luckier. He just wasn’t anywhere near as good with a gun as he thought. It’s easy to be a giant when you are walking among pygmies.

  As for gamblin’, I knew too much about it. I just left that to others, so I wasn’t about to lose my money to some card mechanic or roulette wheel. Nor was I going to drink it up. All my life I’d worked for wages, except when prospectin’, and never had more than thirty dollars a month. Now I had to get myself alone up above the aspen somewhere and just look out over a lot of country and think.

  The work I’d done around the ranch, well, the roan was ample payment for that. I might have done it anyway, as those womenfolks were alone there and I just hate to see a place all run down like that. When I seen a load that needed to be carried it was just my nature to back up to it and carry it where it needed to be. That was the way with that ranch. I rode in there and saw that gate hanging on a broken hinge, saw broken rails and holes needed patchin’ an’ fence posts leanin’ ever’ which way…well, I just had to fix it up. I just don’t know no better.

  Folks have called me a hard man. It’s just that I don’t take to bein’ pushed. Like that Burrows, now, I had nothing against him but I just hate to get shot.

  Lead lies heavy on the stomach and a man can digest only so much of it. All I wanted that night was a drink to cut the dust out of my throat, then a meal and a bed. Killing a man is nothing to be proud of, even if the man is armed and coming at you. If it has to be done, you do it.

  The granary was dark. I lighted the old lantern I had and looked around, then put the light out and undressed in the dark, not being a trusting man. Before I got into bed I pulled the latch string inside so nobody could open the door whilst I was sleeping.

  Lying back on the bed with my hands clasped behind my head, I tried to think about the situation. What I should do was to take that will to a judge somewhere and leave it with him to do what he was of a mind to. Then I’d ride off down the trail.

  The trouble with my trying to think of a nighttime is that whilst my intentions are good I always fall asleep. So when daybreak came I was no further along. I just saddled up the buckskin and took the trail to Parrott City. Only I didn’t follow the trail. I just didn’t want to be anywhere I might be expected to be.

  Parrott City was warm in the sunshine when I rode into town, and I tied the buckskin and went to an eating joint. It was better than when I was there before, with red-and-white checkered tablecloths and even curtains in the windows. A man and his wife were running the place and they set a good table. And that was just what it was, two long tables with benches on either side.

  I picked a place where I could watch the door and ordered breakfast. Looking at the grub they put before me, they must have figured I was a whole roundup crew, but it was remarkable what I did to it.

  When I had surrounded and destroyed about half of what they put before me the door opened and that girl came in. She came in, and as I was the only person eating she came right over to me.

  “Are you riding that buckskin?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m eatin’ breakfast. Will you join me?”

  “Did you ride that buckskin to town?”

  “It was either that or walk and I never walk anywhere when I can get a horseback.”

  She was a right pretty girl and was the one I’d seen in town before. I had stood up when she spoke to me and now I said, “Ma’am? Won’t you sit down? I can’t sit whilst you’re standin’ an’ my breakfast is gettin’ cold.”

  She sat down, and I did, too. The woman who ran the place along with her husband, she came out and brought coffee. “Breakfast, miss?”

  “No, thank you. I’ve already eaten.”

  She l
ooked at me out of the prettiest blue eyes I’d seen in a month of Sundays and she said, “That horse belongs to me.”

  “He’s a fine horse,” I said.

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  “No, ma’am. Time to time I talk right smart. As a matter of fact I just rode him over from the ranch. I was figurin’ on breakfast and maybe seein’ you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I saw you over here just the other day, and I thought then I’d surely like to see you again. I hadn’t tried because I’m not much of a hand with women. I can handle a horse or cow, a pick or shovel, a single jack and drill steel, or a gun, but with women I don’t do so good. Especially when they are as pretty as you.”

  “You’re doing all right.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I had an idea who you were. You’re Janet Le Caudy.”

  Her eyes were cool. “Now how did you know that?”

  “I got a mule that reads the past, present, and future,” I said. “He told me who you were and that you owned half the ranch I’ve been workin’ on.”

  She looked at me, a faint stir of amusement in her eyes. “I’d like to meet your mule. What else did he tell you?”

  “That you had best be very careful around here. Several other people claim that ranch and one of them is Lew Paine.”

  “He’s a relative by marriage but I’ve never met him.”

  “You’re lucky. If I were you I’d avoid him.”

  “Do you work for that woman? The one who is living on the ranch?”

  “There’s two women. No, I don’t exactly work for them although I’ve been fixin’ up around. Do you know Reed Bell?”

  “No, I don’t believe I do.”

  “Kind of a square-built man? Wearin’ city clothes? A brown suit, often. Thick mustache?”

  “I’ve seen him around town.”

  “He’s a Pink. I mean, a Pinkerton man, a detective.”

  “So?”

  “He’s lookin’ for some woman, a young woman.”

  “And you believe it might be me?”

  “No, ma’am.” I was embarrassed. “This woman would be about thirty, maybe thirty-five. You can’t be more than twenty.”

  “I am nineteen, and I assure you, I haven’t murdered anyone.”

  The woman came in and filled my cup. Janet Le Caudy looked up. “I believe I’ll have a cup, too.”

  When she had her coffee and a swallow of it I said, “Ma’am? Being as you’re part owner of that ranch, I’d like to clear something with you. There’s a blue roan—”

  “The Death Horse?”

  I winced a mite. “Ma’am, others may call him that. I like that horse, and for work I’ve done about the place Mrs. Hollyrood gave me a bill of sale for the roan. Bein’ you’re half-owner, that bill of sale might not carry me far if you weren’t happy with it. If that horse is left around here, somebody is goin’ to shoot him. Lew Paine was about to when I stopped him. That’s a fine animal, ma’am, an’ we like each other. Maybe it’s because he’s a loner like me.”

  “He is said to be a jinx.” She studied me, and I saw her eyes go to my open shirt where the red scars of the rope burn still showed. “Aren’t you afraid?”

  “No, ma’am. That horse brought me to where you are.”

  She looked at me again, her eyes level and cool, but she seemed to ignore what I’d said. “Those women at the ranch? What are they like?”

  Well, now? What were they like? I mulled that one over a mite. “Mrs. Hollyrood, she’s an actress. Matty was with the show for a time, too, but I reckon she’s new at it. Both of them conduct themselves like ladies. I never saw them anyplace but in the ranch house, and Mrs. Hollyrood—”

  “Does she have a good figure?”

  That embarrassed me a mite and Janet Le Caudy saw it. You see, I wasn’t accustomed to talkin’ about women’s shapes, not with other women, at least. “I don’t rightly know. She always wears a robe. You know, like a kimono or something. My guess would be”—and this was something I hadn’t thought of before—“that she has a good figure.”

  “Gray hair, you said?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but always beautifully combed. She keeps herself well and she’s a handsome woman.”

  “Always combed?”

  “Yes, ma’am, like she’d stepped out of a bandbox, as the saying is.”

  “And Matty?”

  “A rarely beautiful young woman. Very cool. Smiles almost none at all. Only feature seems to move is her eyes, but I got an idea she listens, too. There’s no scare in her. When one of Paine’s friends rushed the house with a torch to burn them out, she shot him dead.”

  “Good for her. That’s a beautifully built house. I’d not like to see it burned.”

  “She didn’t waste no time. She just didn’t say aye, yes, or no, she just threw down on him and she wasn’t intending to miss.”

  “What did Mrs. Hollyrood say to that?”

  “She never commented on it.”

  We sat quiet. Looking out the door I could see the shape of the mountain called Baldy, just opposite, beyond the trail that led up La Plata Canyon. The sky was marvelously blue, scattered with white clouds.

  “They’re planning to sell the ranch,” I said.

  She smiled. “They will find themselves in trouble. That ranch is almost all I have in the world, and I want it.” She looked at me. “I want all of it. Uncle John wanted me to have it. He told me so several times.”

  “He told you so?”

  “I have several letters he wrote to me.”

  And in my pocket I had a will that left it all to her. This shaped up like a women’s fight and I couldn’t see any way I could get anything but the worst of it because I stood right in the middle of it. All my good sense told me to get that roan and light out. I mean, to put some trail behind me. But that would mean I would have to leave where she was.

  That stopped me cold in my thinkin’ tracks. Was I off my trail completely? All the sign showed trouble comin’ and trouble that was none of mine. Was I going to get myself shot over a pair of blue eyes and some freckles across her nose? And what about Matty? Or Mrs. Hollyrood, who was plannin’ on fixin’ supper for me?

  Settin’ there across the table from her, I found myself not wantin’ to pick up an’ move. All my life I’d had trouble talkin’ to womenfolks but I had no such trouble with her. Moreover, she was in trouble. But so were those other women, so just where did I stand? I had a will, but I had no idea what it meant. If Phillips had written a later will, this here one I had wasn’t worth the paper it was written on.

  “Ma’am? Was I you I’d walk careful. I don’t have any idea what you’re up against but I’ve a feelin’ these folks can be right mean. That Lew Paine, now—”

  “I know about him.” She looked up at me. “I have a friend, too, a man who has offered to help me. He knows about situations and people like these. He should ride into town almost anytime now.”

  “An old friend?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, I just met him. When he found out where I was going, he became interested, he said he had property out here and would help me. He thinks I should meet with Mrs. Hollyrood and settle it out of court. He suggested I ride out to the ranch with him.”

  Well, I got my back up. Was I jealous? What right had I to be? Nonetheless, I was suspicious. These strangers a person meets traveling…well, a body has to be careful.

  “I’ll be around,” I said. “If you need me, call on me.” Suddenly, I was even more suspicious. “This man you met? Is he a lawyer?”

  “He’s an Englishman. He is an adjuster for some estates in England and is accustomed to dealing with matters of this kind.”

  “Their laws are different than ours.” Were my suspicions due to jealousy?

  “He’s a very dis
tinguished man. His name is Charles Pelham Clinton, and he said he would be glad to speak for me. He has to be here anyway.”

  Well, maybe. But I made a vow to be around and keep my eyes open. Still, I admitted grudgingly, it could happen just that way. She was a mighty fetching girl, and a man who had to be here anyway—Well, why not? I’d have done it. In fact, I was offering to do what I could.

  We talked some more and then she suddenly got up. “I must be going, Mister—?”

  “They been callin’ me Mr. Passin’, for Passin’ Through, which I usually am.”

  “All right, Mr. Passin’, and thank you for your offer of help. I doubt if I shall need it, but thank you, anyway.”

  “About that blue roan—”

  “Later. We will discuss that later.”

  With that, she was gone. I paid for my meal, and as the woman was gatherin’ the dishes I asked her, “That Englishman? Has he been in here?”

  “Mr. Clinton? Oh, yes, indeed! A very handsome gentleman he is, too! And such nice manners!”

  Feeling no better, I walked out on the street, tightened the cinch a little, and studied about the situation. It seems I was out of it all around. Mrs. Hollyrood surely didn’t need me any longer, and Janet Le Caudy didn’t either.

  If I just had clear title to that blue roan I’d saddle up and ride off down the trail and leave them to settle their own affairs. Reed Bell didn’t seem to be anywhere around so I mounted up and headed out of town.

  Just as I started into the trees, a spanking-new rig, all shining and beautiful, came down the trail with a man in a white suit driving. He wore a picturesque white hat and handled the lines like an expert.

  That was him! I just knew it was him. It was that Englishman, and there couldn’t be two like that in the country.

  He was a handsome man with a neatly trimmed blond mustache, and a shotgun beside him leaning against the seat.

  Charles Pelham Clinton. It was a name I’d not forget.

  CHAPTER 12

  When I rode down through the pines to where I could look across the creek at the ranch, I drew rein. It was a magnificent sweep of country. The ranch lay at the foot of a ridge about two miles long ending in what folks around here called Maggie’s Rock. Aside from the meadows the place was pretty well covered with Gambel oak or ponderosa pine, while in the folds of the ridge aspen trailed down toward the meadows.