Joseph West - The Man From Nowhere - A Ralph Compton Novel

“Why did Darlene and her brother leave in such an all-fired hurry?” Oates asked. “Carson was dead and the ranch was hers.”

The boy shook his head. “I’m hurtin’ real bad. My belly’s on fire. I—I need a drink of water.”

“I’ll get the canteen,” Rivette said.

“Warren, is that wise? I mean giving a gut-shot man water?”

“Do you really think it matters a hill of beans, Eddie?”

“No. No, I guess it doesn’t.”

Rivette returned with the canteen, lifted the boy’s head and let him drink. Collins coughed, then said, “It was the hands that done for Darlene. The only law at the Circle-T is cowboy law. That’s how Mr. Carson set it up, and that’s how it was with him.

“The boys knowed that Charlie had done for their boss and that Darlene had give the order. About thirty Circle-T hands gathered at the bunkhouse and they’re a hard, unforgiving bunch. It didn’t take them long to pass sentence on Darlene and her brother They were all for hanging them right there and then.”

The light was fading from Randy Collins’ blue eyes and as he stepped to the threshold of eternity, he was scared. “You boys will stay with me until . . . until . . .”

“We’ll stay,” Oates said.

“The pain is getting worse all the time and I don’t want to die out here alone.”

“We’ll be here,” Oates assured him. “And we’ll see you off in fine style, I promise.”

“How did Darlene and Charlie escape?” Rivette asked.

“One of the hands who was agin lynching warned her in time. Darlene and Charlie lit a shuck in a big hurry and me, Mash Halleck and his son Clem covered our back trail. We had a running fight with the Circle-T that lasted most of the day. Then we lost them at night in the Gila. Far as I know, most of them boys are still hunting us. They’re fired up.”

“Why did you try to rob the stage, boy?” Rivette asked. “Speak plain now.”

“A road stake. That was all, just a road stake. We didn’t count on the crazy old coot of a guard and his scattergun.”

“The crazy old coot was Ethan Savage,” Rivette said. “He’d already killed his share before you were born.”

“Did you hear Darlene say anything about a town called Heartbreak?” Oates asked.

Collins shook his head. “I don’t know nothing about that.” He groaned deep in his throat. “I’m hurting real bad,” he said. “I can’t stand this much longer.”

“Take your medicine, boy,” Rivette said, his face grimmer than Oates had ever seen it.

“I can’t,” Collins whispered. His white lips were peeled back from his teeth in a silent scream. “My gut is being torn apart by claws.” He looked up at Oates. “Mister, I’ve told you what I know, so I’m dying clean. He . . . the Man upstairs will take that into account, huh?”

“He’ll study on it for sure.”

Oates rose to his feet and turned to Rivette. “What do we do with him, Warren? He’s hurting more than any man should.”

Rivette nodded. He drew his gun and fired once. And the kid’s hurting was over forever.

“I didn’t mean that!” Oates said, horrified.

“It’s all we could do for him. I hope if I’d been lying there, you would have done the same for me.”

Oates looked down at his feet and shook his head. “Lordy, but we’re living in hard times.”

“And there’s worse coming down,” Rivette said. “We better head back to Heartbreak.”

“Darlene?”

“Count on it.”

“What are we going to do about the dead kid?”

“Nothing.”

Oates nodded. “Well, I guess that answered my question.”

“Eddie, it was the only answer to your question.”

Chapter 37

Oates and Rivette rode north into the teeth of the keening winter wind. A few flakes of snow cartwheeled around them and the leaden sky promised more to come.

They smelled the chimneys of Heartbreak before they crossed a rise, then rode across the bridge onto Main Street.

Despite the snow flurries, there were people on the street. There was no sign of Darlene McWilliams.

Rivette looked around him at the glittering lamps in his saloon, lit against the darkness of the afternoon. “A day like this makes a man feel glad to be home, huh, Eddie?” he said, smiling.

“My home is where Nantan is,” Oates said. “I’m sure of that.”

“Well, Nantan is here, so that makes Heartbreak your home, right?”

“Nantan and me are passing through, Warren. Just passing through.”

Rivette waited until they were in the livery and had stripped the rigging off their mounts before he brought up the subject again.

“You didn’t mean that, about just passing through?”

“There’s nothing for me here,” Oates answered, scooping oats to the horses. “Come spring, I think Nantan and me will head west a ways. I always believed that if I fell on hard times, I might prosper in the lava rock business.”

Rivette took off his hat and ran his fingers through his thick black hair before he once again settled the Stetson on his head. “Eddie, you and Nantan can’t leave this town. You were here from the beginning and you’re as much a part of it as any of us. Hell, Stella is already driving me crazy, planning on all the clothes she’s going to buy your little girl.”

“It could be a boy,” Oates said, smiling.

“Nah, Stella and Lorraine say by the way Nantan is carrying, it will be a girl. Nellie says it’s a boy, but I think that’s only to cross Lorraine.” Rivette grinned. “Nellie has become real uppity since she started walking out with Luke McCloud”—he made a face—“my esteemed competitor in the saloon business.”

“She could do worse. McCloud looks like he’s thriving.”

Rivette shrugged. “I guess a man who struts around with a diamond stickpin and carries an extra ace in his sock is thriving. I don’t like him much.”

The gambler looked into Oates’ eyes. “Eddie, don’t even think about leaving Heartbreak. Me, Stella, everybody else in town need you here. You get a long Yankee face on you sometimes, but you’re a rock, and this town needs a rock to prop up its shaky foundations.”

Rivette smiled. “Tell me you’ll think this thing through before you do anything rash.”

“I’ll think about it, Warren, but I can’t make promises, not right now.”

“Well, that’s good enough for me. Now get home to the increasingly generous bosom of your family.”

“You look so cold, Eddie, frozen stiff,” Nantan said. She helped him off with his coat and hat and sat him by the fire. “I have good hot soup ready. That will warm you.”

As he ate the soup, Oates told Nantan about the dead puncher and what he had said about Darlene McWilliams.

“She’s got nothing against you, Nantan, but be on your guard just the same,” he said. “Don’t go out anywhere unless I’m with you.” He looked at his wife. “Promise me.”

“Of course, Eddie, I promise.”

Oates ate in silence for a while, then looked around at what Nantan, who had learned it from the nuns, called the parlor. The shabby room had little furniture and what there was had been bought secondhand or scavenged from abandoned houses and showed more than its share of scratches, dents and wear. But the wood floor was scrubbed to a honey color and chairs, settee and table gleamed from constant polishing.

It was a warm, homey and welcoming place and Oates found it easy to understand why Stella and Rivette spent so much time here, away from the plush, red velvet and brass splendor of the Golden Garter.

The hot soup and warm fire had relaxed him, and as he wiggled his toes to the flames, he realized just how lucky he was to have Nantan. She was already showing, but not hugely, and the cheap, gingham dress she wore accented the curves of her slim figure. Her hair was drawn back in a loose bun that complemented her broad, high cheekbones and gave full play to her vivid black eyes.