Tom Healy looked at Janice's expression and then at Mabry. He had reached the barn and was opening the door, a big, powerful man who knew this country and who walked strongly down a way he chose. Healy felt a pang of jealousy.
He pulled up short, considering that.
Him?
Jealous?
With a curiously empty feeling in his stomach he stared at the glowing stove in the next room. He was in love.
He was in love with Janice Ryan.
Chapter 4
H
E STOOD ALONE on the outer edge of the crowd that watched the show, a tall, straight man with just a little slope to his shoulders from riding the long trails.
He wore no gun in sight, but his thumbs were hooked in his belt and Janice had the feeling that the butt of a gun was just behind his hand. It would always be there.
The light from the coal-oil lamp on the wall touched his face, turning his cheeks into hollows of darkness and his eyes into shadows. He still wore his hat, shoved back from his face. He looked what he was, hard, toughâ¦and lonely.
The thought came unbidden. He would always know loneliness. The mark of it was on him.
He was a man of violence. No sort of man she would ever have met at homeâ¦and no sort of man for her to know. Yet from her childhood she had heard of such men.
Watching from behind the edge of the blanket curtain, Janice remembered stories heard when she was a little girl, stories told by half-admiring men of duels and gun battles; but they had never known such a man as this, who walked in a lost world of his own creation.
Yet King Mabry was not unlike her father. Stern like him, yet with quiet humor sleeping at the corners of his eyes.
Maggie was out front now, holding them as she always held them with her tear-jerking monologues and her songs of lonely men. Her face was puffy under her too blonde hair, her voice hoarse from whisky and too many years on the boards, but she had them as not even Doc Guilford could get them. Because at heart all these men were sentimental.
All?
She looked again at King Mabry. Could a man be sentimental and kill eleven men?
And what sort of man was he?
The thought made her look for Benton, but he was nowhere in sight. Joe Noss stood near the door talking to Art Boyle. She thought the name, and then it registered in her consciousness and she looked again.
Yes, it was Barker's teamster. He stood very close to Noss, his eyes on the stage. But she knew he was listening to Noss.
The sight made her vaguely uneasy, yet there was nothing unusual in two men talking together in these cramped quarters, where sooner or later everybody must rub elbows with everybody else.
If Mabry was aware of their presence, he gave no indication. His concern seemed only with the show.
Dodie Saxon came up behind her and Janice drew aside so the younger girl could stand in the opening.
“Which one is King Mabry?” Dodie whispered.
Janice indicated the man standing quietly against the wall.
“He's handsome.”
“He's a killer.”
Janice spoke more sharply than she had intended. Dodie was too much interested in men, and this man was the wrong one in whom to be interested.
Dodie shrugged a shapely shoulder. “So? This is Wyoming, not Boston. It's different here.”
“It's still killing.” Janice turned sharply away. “You're on next, Dodie.”
Dodie opened her coat, revealing her can-can costume. “I'm ready.”
Mabry straightened from the wall as applause followed the end of Maggie's act. He turned his back on the stage and started toward the door.
“He's leaving,” Janice said. Just why, she could not have explained, but she was secretly pleased.
Dodie threw off her coat and signaled Doc Guilford at the piano for her cue. “He won't leave,” she said pertly. “Not if he's the man I think he is!”
She moved into the steps of the can-can, and she moved to something more than music. Janice felt her cheeks flush self-consciously. Dodie had an exciting body that she knew very well how to use, and she delighted in the admiration of men. Yet tonight she was dancing for just one man, and Janice realized it with a pang of jealousy. Angrily she turned away, but her anger was for herself. It was silly to feel as she did when she was not interested in King Mabry, or likely to be.
Yet she turned and glanced back. Mabry had stopped at the sound of the music. Joe Noss had vanished, but Art Boyle remained where he had been, the stage receiving all his attention now.
As Dodie began to sing, her tall, graceful body moving with the music, Mabry dropped his hand from the door latch and walked back to the bar. The song was in French. Not more than one or two understood the words, but of the meaning there could be no doubt. It was pert and it was saucy. Mabry watched Dodie finish her act with a last flippant twist of her hips, and then Janice went on.
She sang the old songs, the heart songs, the songs of home sung to men who had no homes. She sang of love to men who knew only the casual women of frontier towns; of lilacs in bloom, of gaslight, of walking down shady lanes, all to men who knew only the raw backs of mountains, wilderness untamed and brutal.
She sang of peace to men who walked the hairline between life and the trigger finger. And she won them there as she never could have won them back East, where all that she sang of was available and present.
Tom Healy came to the bar and watched her, knowing with a sort of desperation that for him there could be no other girl; yet he knew she had never thought of him as husband or lover.
She was all he had ever wanted, all he could ever want.
“Ever been married, King?” he asked.
“Is it likely?”
“Neither have I.”
Barker came into the room and paused, rolling a cigar between his lips as he watched Janice. From the corner of his mouth he spoke to Art Boyle, and Boyle turned instantly and left the room.
Barker crossed to the bar. Ignoring Mabry, he spoke to Healy. “The weather's broken. If you're ready, we can move out the first of the week.”
“We'll be ready.”
Healy had no enthusiasm in him. This was what he had wanted, but watching the girl who sang, he was uneasy. He had no right to take her off into the winter, to risk her life, or the lives of the others.
“Boyle's at work with another man. They'll get runners on the wagons. Then we can move.”
Healy glanced at Mabry, but the gun fighter's face told him nothing.
“We'll need supplies,” Barker added.
Healy drew his sack purse from his pocket and shook out three gold coins. Barker accepted them, his eyes estimating the sack.
Mabry turned abruptly and went outside. His shadow merged into the blackness near the station and he looked at the sky. Tomorrow he must go on to Cheyenne. It was as well. This was not his business.
The clouds had broken. It was warmer, and the wind had gone down. Behind the barn he could see the glow of lanterns. He crossed to the barn, the snow crunching under his heels.
Inside, the barn was lighted by the glow of two lanterns hanging from a two-by-four that ran down the center. He walked back to his horse, put more feed in the box, and checked the position of his saddle. For a long time he stood there, his hand on the cold leather.
It was not his business. Healy should know what he was doing. And he could be wrong about Barker.
Nevertheless, it was a fool play, starting into that country in the dead of winter with three women and wagons that heavy. And no roadsâ¦only horse trails at best. There was no way they could make it in less than a month, and it might take twice that.
Yet he remembered the light on Janice's face, and remembered her voice, reaching back into his boyhood with her songs. He swore softly. He should saddle up and get out. It was no place for him. No business of his. Healy was a good sort, but he was a fool.
Outside he could hear the voices and the hammering as the workmen removed wheels and put on runners.
The hostler came from his quarters in the corner of the barn.
“Them actors ain't showin' much sense.”
Mabry made no comment.
“Rough country. No proper trails. An' they'll be buckin' the north wind most of the way.”
“Know this man Barker?”
The hostler's talkative mood seemed to dissipate. He cleared his throat. “Gettin' late.” He turned away, too quickly. “I better get some sleep.”
Outside Mabry struck a match and looked at the thermometer. It was only two degrees below zero. Much better than the forty below it had been. By day, with the sun out, it would be good traveling.
No reason for him to interfere, and he had no time even if he wanted to. He was due in Cheyenne within forty-eight hours and he was not going to make it unless he rode the clock around. He had no business getting involved in whatever Barker was up to. Yet the thought rankled.â¦
D
AY BROKE COLD and clear, but infinitely warmer than it had been for the past week. Mabry rolled out of bed with the first light and dressed swiftly. Nobody was awakened by his movements, and, gathering his gear, he stepped out into the passage.
Across the hall there were soft movements. He went into the empty saloon and, still carrying his gear, on to the dining room.
Williams was there, huddled over a pot of coffee, and Mabry picked up a cup and joined him.
The cook brought in their breakfast and Williams handed the coffeepot to Mabry. “You got to watch that Benton,” Williams volunteered. “Griffin, too. They won't forget.”
“Neither will I.”
Janice came into the room suddenly, glancing at the two men. She sat down a little to one side, accepting her breakfast from the cook.
“You're leaving?”
At her question, Mabry nodded. Deliberately he tried to avoid conversation, but Janice persisted.
“You don't approve of our trip, do you?”
“No.” He put down his cup. “None of my business.”
“Why don't you approve?”
He said nothing, but continued to eat. Janice waited several minutes, then said, “I asked you why.”
“No trip for women. Be bitter cold.”
“And you don't like Andy Barker.”
“That's right. I don't like him.”
“Why?”
“No man goes off on a trip like that in winter unless something's wrong about it.”
“You're traveling.”
He smiled briefly, without humor. “And something's wrong. I've business in Cheyenne. After that, I'm on my own.”
She considered that, then said, “I'll trust Tom Healy. He knows what he's doing.”
“Maybe.” He got up, not wanting to continue. “And maybe he doesn't know what he's doing.”
“Talking about me?”
Tom Healy stood in the doorway. There was no humor in him now. He walked on into the room and faced Mabry across the table. When he spoke his voice was low but positive.
“This company is my business. We won't do any business between Cheyenne and Salt Lake with bigger companies ahead of us. We're going to Alder Gulch. You don't think I know what I'm doing. I do.”
“None of my business. You handle it your way.”
He gathered his gear and went out the door with Healy looking after him. More than anything else, Healy wanted Mabry with them, respecting the knowledge the other man possessed, knowledge and experience he dearly needed. Yet it was not in him to ask. Had Janice not been there, he might have suggested it, but having seen the way she looked at Mabry, Healy knew he did not want Mabry along.
At the door, Mabry turned. He looked past Healy at Janice and said, “Luck.”
His shoulders filled the doorway as he went out. For several minutes after he was gone nobody said anything.
“Knew him in Dodge,” Williams said suddenly, “and again in Utah. He's salty.”
“Has he really killed so many men?”
“He has. Killed one at Doan's store. Fellow name of Les Benham was going to cut Mabry's herd. Mabry said he wasn't.”
“Did they cut it?”
“Too busy burying Les Benham.”
A
CROSS THE ROAD in a small cabin Griffin looked up from his bunk. His shoulder was on the mend, but he was feeling weak.
Barker nodded toward the curtained doorway. “Anybody in there?”
“We're alone. What's on your mind?”
“Two hundred fast dollars for you.”
“Never started a conversation better.” Griffin sat up and began to roll a smoke. “What's the story?”
“Two hundred dollars if Mabry doesn't last out the week.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I want to spend the money I make.”
“Scared?” Barker sneered.
“You bet I am. I don't want any part of him.”
“Three hundred?”
Griffin said nothing and Barker waited. He did not want to go higher, but remembering Janice, he knew that more than money was involved. He had rarely wanted one woman more than another, but he wanted this one.
Moreover, there was three hundred in that small sack of Healy's, and if the information from his spy in the bank was correct, there was fifteen thousand in gold hidden in those show wagons.
Mabry might ride away, but Barker was no gambler. And he had seen the way Mabry and Janice looked at each other. There was no place in his plans for interference by a man of Mabry's caliber.
“No,” Griffin said at last, “I won't touch it.”
“I'd think you'd hate his guts.”
“Mabry?” Griffin's eyes were venomous. “I do. I'd kill him in a minute if it was safe.”
“There's no reason he should even see you.”
Griffin stared at the comforter on the bed. He hated snow and cold, and with money in his pocket he could go to California. California would be nice this time of year. He'd worked for Hunter quite a spell, or he would never have gone after Mabry for him, but knowing Hunter, he did not want to return and report his failure. The old man had a reputation as an honest cattleman and he did not like hired gunmen who were able to talk. But California was no good to a dead man.
“They wouldn't find him until spring,” Barker argued, “if they ever found him. You could be a hundred yards off, and if you missed you'd have time for another shot.”
Mabry had only two hands. He was only a man, and Griffin had never been bested with a rifle. Bellied down in the snow with a good field of fireâ¦