Western Romance Collection: Rugged Cowboys Part 27

"Of course. But I didn't get a good impression from the man. If you could just come look around, maybe talk to the fella we got the name from and see what your office can do..."

The man pulled a cigarette from his pocket, tried to straighten it where it had bent, and then gave up and offered it to Glen. He shook his head, so the Deputy put it between his lips and lit a match on the bottom of his boot to get it going.

"I can, but it's a little late. You think it'll wait until morning?"

"Sure. Where should I stay so you can find me?"

"There's a good hotel down the way. Big sign, you can't miss it. 'Grand Hotel.' Big red letters."

Glen thanked him. In the morning, he'd either be coming back with someone who might do something about their little problem, or he would have some very useful information for the future: The knowledge that he was on his own, and the law wasn't going to step in to right things.

Part of him liked that idea, the same part of him that had been whispering since the whole thing had started. The part that was still itching to test his new gun.

Nineteen.

She couldn't leave the twins alone. They were too young to handle it. At the same time, Glen had taken the only horse into town. It was three, maybe four hours on foot to the doctor, and judging by the sky it would be dark for hours yet.

Catherine cursed under her breath, held Ada tight.

"Baby, you're fine, it's gonna be alright."

She should have gotten ice, she thought. Something, anything that would help cool the girl down, but they didn't have an ice chest. How would they have kept it?

She laid Ada down, ignoring the girl's protests, and used her sternest voice to tell the girl to "stay right here."

To Catherine's surprise, there wasn't much argument. Ada was worse than she thought. Ada hadn't ever listened to her, not this well. She had too much of her mother in her. The thought made her smile as she poured out a bowlful of water and wetted down a towel.

It wasn't much, but it would have to do. They could wait for Glen to return. They'd have to wait. Catherine just had to hope that Ada would be alright. Hope, pray, and whatever happened next, happened.

She set her book aside, pulled up a chair beside Ada's seat on the couch. Cole came padding out of the room.

"Momma?"

"What is it, sweetie?"

"Can't find Ada."

"I know, sweet. She's right here. G'on back to bed, now."

"Oh. Okay."

She breathed out a sigh of relief. Things could be better, that much was for sure. But they could sure get a heck of a lot worse.

She watched out the window. Tonight of all nights was not the time for anyone to be going for her cattle. She pulled the rifle off its place over the mantle. Catherine had to watch out. The minute she could take her daughter out of here, take her to see a doctor, she'd take that opportunity.

Anyone who tried to stand in her way would be explaining it to the Lord.

Glen took off the gun belt and left it on the bed. He wasn't going to need it. Truth be told, he shouldn't have been going down at all. But he'd seen some folks at the table, sounded like they were playing cards, and he had a night to kill.

More than that, though, was the knowledge that if he just made a little more money then the ranch expedition he had gotten himself tangled up in got that much easier.

He checked his billfold. Twenty dollars and change. If he went slow, he could double it before he needed to turn in for the night. Maybe better than that, if they were some real suckers.

"You mind if I join you?"

Glen pulled out a chair without waiting for an answer. If they minded, he would get back up, but no one said anything so he pulled himself up to the table. Middle of a hand, they went around.

It was good that they did, he thought. Gave him time to figure out who was playing, and how they played. He recognized a few faces. Traveling sort of folk, he guessed.

Lee Bridges, who told too many stories about his time prospecting out in California. He was the first, he claims, to have hit on the gold rush out there. If he had, then he wouldn't be at the tables.

Others he didn't know by name, but he'd seen them before. Over the years he got to know a lot of the folks who were out around the scene. An empty chair sat with a still-burning cigarette hanging off the edge. A sure-enough sign that whoever it was, he was coming back.

The cards came out, one at a time. None for the empty seat. Glen looked at his cards and grimaced. Nothing worth keeping. Might as well have dealt himself a new hand entirely.

When the betting started, he kept it slow. Lee was already working the table, anyways. They'd have to split the profits, but then again, Glen had never tried to show off. That was the key to winning-letting them think it was luck. That any minute, they'd turn it around.

Nothing flashy, never take a guy's last dollar, and always let the hand develop first. It helped to make folks think that he was just playing by ear. If Lee recognized him, it was only as another traveler. At least, that was what he hoped.

He kept the ace and drew four new cards. Still nothing. When the betting came around he tossed the cards back into the pile. Not worth losing any more money than he'd already bet. He could use a drink. There was something about sitting at the card table with a beer that made him seem relaxed, as if he were just playing to blow off some steam. That was what he hoped to look like, anyway.

He stood up, said he'd just be a minute, and headed to the bar. Asked to have a drink sent over to the table. After waiting a half a second to see if the bartender was listening, and still not entirely sure he would get his drink, he went back. They were just shuffling the cards for the next hand.

As he slid back into his seat, Glen checked the empty chair. A man had slipped into it. He had the cigarette between his teeth, and he was already talking animatedly about the Mexican women he'd been to bed with lately to the man next to him, who seemed not to hear it. It was Bill Howell, sure as the day he was born.

Glen frowned. What was he doing back in Wyoming? He had made it sound like he was heading south, down to Texas. That had only been a couple weeks back. He could have made it, maybe, before he came back. But only barely. Unless he'd just been going down to make a delivery, there was no way he'd be back already.

He tried to decide whether or not it would be smart to call him out. After all, the man was a scoundrel, and a fool, but more than that, he squelched on debts. Experience had already shown that Bill had no money, never mind any of the other things he'd done.

"Bill," he said finally. "Bill Howell!"

"Oh, hey, it's you," Bill said. His voice showed surprise. "How's the ranch going for you? Back to cards already?"

"It's going fine, I'm just here to blow off some steam." He paused a moment, trying to decide how deep into this he wanted to get himself. He should have left it well enough alone, but Glen never was good at making smart decisions. "Bill, you got money to cover your bets this time? I seem to recall back in Denver-"

Bill cut him off. As well he should, from the looks the others around the table had started to give the man. Glen might have felt bad if it were someone else.

"Yeah, I got money."

"Enough?"

"Plenty."

Glen thought that he could have backed off, but he didn't. "Show it to me."

Bill raised his eyebrows. He didn't like being called out, but he shouldn't have. Glen wasn't doing it for his amus.e.m.e.nt, or to win the man's friends.h.i.+p. Instead of answering with his words, though, he lifted up one hip, pulled out a billfold, and opened it up.

There wasn't time to count, but from the fanned out money in front of him, it looked like Bill had the better part of a thousand dollars in his pocket.

There were men out there who could make that kind of money in an afternoon, with the right crowds and some start-up money. There were men back east, making that kind of money every day.

But Bill Howell wasn't that good, and he wasn't that smart. And that meant that wherever he'd gotten that money, Glen thought, unable to keep his displeasure off his face, he wasn't going to like finding out.

Twenty.

Cole and Grace were good children, and they were able to deal with a lot, but all the excitement this morning had them in a bad mood. It wasn't that Catherine couldn't understand why they were complaining, but her worries about Ada were overwhelming. So even though she understood, she was fighting the desire to snap at them.

Then she was feeling bad about it.

"I know your foot hurt, baby, but we just need to go into town, okay?"

Grace reached up, wanting her mother to carry her. Catherine wanted to, too. If she could have carried all of them, she would. But with Ada slipping in and out of consciousness... her arms were simply too full. So instead, she satisfied herself with a sad smile at her.

"Mommy needs you to be strong for her, okay?" She bent down and pressed a kiss into the girl's forehead. "Can you do that?"

The girl's voice did little to hide her disappointment. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good girl."

They were halfway there, but everyone was already tired. Well, she couldn't afford to let that stop her. Not when Ada was burning up, barely able to keep her eyes open more than a few minutes at a time. She needed a doctor, and she needed him fast. Catherine only had the hope that she wasn't already too late, and the knowledge that she couldn't have been any faster.

The return trip did little to convince Glen that trains were a good thing, or that he would want to take another. But he took it, all the same, because they were in a hurry.

The Deputy had left a message for him to come to the office when he got up, before Glen rose at the first sight of the sun over the horizon. The man had his bag packed, and was out the door before a minute had pa.s.sed.

It was oddly refres.h.i.+ng to be taken seriously. Something about the entire experience with Sheriff Barnes had thrown him into a bad mood about law enforcement, least in Wyoming. It was refres.h.i.+ng to see that there was someone who was willing to at least make a showing of trying to do their jobs.

They got off, and while Glen went to retrieve his horse from the stable, Deputy Barrett talked over his plan. There had been some a.s.sumption, on Glen's part, that he might be going around alone. That the Deputy would take care of it.

But as things developed it was becoming clearer that in a certain sense the man was deputizing him-he was being recruited as an extra pair of hands, and to his displeasure, his advice seemed to be little more than a suggestion.

"We'll talk to the Sheriff first."

"You're wasting your time," Glen said. "He'll tell you whatever he thinks you want to hear. Just to get you gone."

"We'll see." Being ignored was frustrating. But the man was doing his job, or at least, he was near enough to doing it.

Making their way through town to the Sheriff's office. It was still early, and there was a question in Glen's mind whether or not they would find the place open. To his surprise, the place was lit up like a tree on Christmas. Apparently Sheriff Barnes was an earlier riser than Glen had given him credit for, or he'd had a very long night the night before.

Catherine's chest hurt. Why couldn't they have gotten here sooner? Why was it taking the Doc so long to figure out what was wrong?

She knew better than to think that she was getting anything other than his best service. He would go as fast as he could. But still, it burned to know that every moment that they weren't working on fixing her daughter, was a moment that she was getting worse. And that precious time was being eaten up while she lay there on Doctor Connelly's couch.

"Any news?" She knew right away she shouldn't have asked. If there was news, then she would have been told it. Asking wasn't going to help, and answering her was just going to waste time. But not knowing was too painful, and as long as she couldn't figure a way to help her girls, things were just going to get worse.

Grace had climbed up into her mother's lap as soon as they'd all sat down, and then promptly fallen asleep. Catherine let herself look down at the girl. She looked alright. Catherine put a hand to her forehead, just to check. To make absolutely sure, as if she might be able to cure Ada by making sure that whatever ailed her wasn't spreading to her little brother and sister.

The girl's forehead was no warmer than normal. No tell-tale cough. As far as anyone could tell, Grace was in perfect health. Just the eldest child, it seemed.

Catherine tried to let herself calm down. They were doing everything they could. She raised her head, watched Doctor Connelly press his stethoscope against her daughter's chest. It was still rising and falling with each breath, more labored than Catherine liked. It was what it had to be, though. There was nothing anyone could do to change the reality.

She closed her eyes. No, she was wrong. There was something else that she could do.

Catherine lowered her head and folded her hands. She could feel Grace stirring, just a bit, in her arms. Go back to sleep, she thought.

Then, as unfamiliar as it felt, Catherine started to pray.

Lord, I know I haven't been praying like I should, and I know I haven't put your love into my children. I know that I've been leaving you behind in my life, and I know that I need to correct that before I deserve any of your favor. But please, Lord, save my daughter. I'll do anything, just don't take Ada away from me.

She raised her head and took a breath, unsure what else she should do. What else she could do. Her head shot back down into an image of quiet contemplation.

Amen.

She raised her head again. Catherine had never been sure that prayers were answered, not the way that they were asked anyway. But she had to hope. And that meant that she had to trust that everything was going to be alright, even though she didn't feel it. That was what faith was, and right up until she'd met Billy, that had been a big part of her life.

When she'd let it go, what had she lost? More than she realized, she thought. More than it was worth. She made a promise to herself. Whatever happened, she was going to church this Sunday. This Sunday, and every Sunday after it.

Ada coughed again, and again Catherine felt the pull to stand up, to go over and try to coo over her daughter, to get the girl to feel somewhat normal again. But it wasn't going to help. The doctor was doing his best, and anything she did was just going to get in the way.

But it sure didn't feel good, she thought. She wanted to be able to help, wanted to make the problem go away. The fact that she couldn't, just made her feel worse.

The doctor turned and pulled the stethoscope out of his ears. He seemed, for all the world, to be packing his kit back up, and then finally he turned to regard Catherine. At last, she hoped, she was going to get her answer.

Twenty One "Well, I'd like to thank you at least for bringing the man along who brought the accusations. I can tell you that Mr. Riley in particular has been responsible for hara.s.sing several of my deputies in their duties, and he simply won't listen to reason on the subject of his supposed claims." Sheriff Barnes sat forward. "There simply isn't any basis to his claim that his cattle are being stolen. He brought up north a herd of barely fifty head of cattle, barely six months old. Who would want to steal those cattle?"

The Deputy's face remained neutral. "What do you say to his claim of a witness who says that he's been offered a deal on stolen cattle?"

"I'm sorry to say that there's simply nothing to those claims. I personally rode up to Caspar, and asked after the man. They say he's a drunk, nothing like a ranch owner."

Glen's face darkened. He didn't like any of this. In fact, it downright stunk. Something was going on, and as much as he had hoped to get his hands clean of the trouble that he'd faced so far, it seemed less and less likely that he was going to find anything without digging in deeper.

"That's very interesting news to me."

"We spoke to the man anyways-he doesn't tell the story anything like Mr. Riley here tells it. Mr. Beck said that he, Mr. Riley, and the hussy he's living in sin with, were going around asking anyone who would tell them to name Mr. Rod Dawson as the man who had stolen their cattle, even offering to pay."

Glen grit his teeth but remained silent.