Ralph Compton - Bluff City

“Lead the way,” Melanie said.

They reached the outskirts of Bluff City before the sun was half an hour high. Mr. Train turned south and before long they were at the junction. Train took the right fork.

Clay kept his thoughts to himself as they went over the stone bridge. Once on the other side he asked, “How is it you picked this way?”

“I do as Mr. Barker tells me,” Train said.

“The rumors he mentioned about Stark’s hidey-hole,” Clay said. “How come I have never heard of them?”

“People are more likely to tell you things when you offer them money,” Mr. Train answered. “And money is one thing Barker has plenty of.”

The road climbed. Steep slope after steep slope, with heavy timber on both sides. At noon they rested the horses on a grassy shelf. The middle of the afternoon found them at the first of the mining camps. Silver had been discovered along the upper reaches of Pine Creek. A small strike, yet it drew the greedy like carrion drew vultures.

“We will stop here for the night,” Mr. Train announced.

“But it’s early yet,” Clay objected. “We can cover a good many more miles before nightfall.”

“I am to meet a man here,” Mr. Train revealed. “He has information about Stark that will help us find Stark’s lair.”

The Pine Creek Camp, as it was called, had a tent saloon and a tent church and a tent where canned goods and tools where sold. A few lean-tos were scattered among the tents.

There was nowhere they could put up for the night so Clay and Mr. Train erected a tent of their own in a dry wash. Not for them; for Melanie. The wash afforded them some degree of privacy, and shelter from the wind.

Mr. Train excused himself to go look for the man he was to meet. “Don’t wait up for me. I might not be back until late.”

“I don’t trust him,” Clay said after Train walked off.

“Follow him, then,” Melanie suggested. “See if he really meets someone.”

“And leave you here alone?”

“I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself.”

“You are the only woman in this camp, as near as I could tell,” Clay said. “Or didn’t you notice how all the men were staring?”

“I thought they were admiring my dashing outfit,” Melanie replied, making light of the attention.

They were not the only ones. Clay liked how her new riding garb accented the shapely contours of her figure. The trouble was, just as a flame drew moths, her figure might draw unsavory sorts who were not above imposing on a female. “I’ll stick close anyhow.”

“Do you cook, too?” Melanie teased.

As it turned out, Clay did do the cooking; they flipped a coin and he lost. He heated beans and made johnnycakes, simple fare they hungrily wolfed down. By then the stars had blossomed, and from the mining camp came the tinkle of a piano and merry laughter.

“It would be a shame to sit here all night doing nothing,” Melanie remarked. “Why don’t we take in the sights?”

“Tents, tents and more tents?”

“Come on. If anyone gives us a hard time, you have my permission to beat them senseless.”

“The altitude has made you bloodthirsty,” Clay said.

But he took her.

The camp was awhirl with activity. The saloon was the hub, with prospectors and others constantly coming and going. The reek of liquor reached Clay and Melanie from fifty feet away. Taking her elbow, he steered her away from the press of women-hungry wolves and along a narrow aisle between the tents that brought them to Pine Creek.

Tucking her legs under her, Melanie sank to her knees and dipped a hand in the water. “It’s ice-cold!”

“Runoff from higher up,” Clay said. “From the snow on the peaks.”

“There will be a lot more before too long,” Melanie mentioned. “I hope an early winter storm doesn’t drive us back down.” She patted the ground next to her. “Have a seat, why don’t you?”

Clay probed the veil of darkness. “It’s not safe. I shouldn’t.”

“Will you listen to yourself? I swear, sometimes I think you think everyone is out to get you.”

“Old habits,” Clay said.

“Have we heard one gunshot since we got here? Has there been a disturbance of any kind?” Melanie patted the ground again. “We are as safe here as we would be in Bluff City. Sit before I drag you down.”

“Since you put it that way.” Clay complied, his left arm across his knees, his right hand brushing his jacket.

“Now take some deep breaths and appreciate the stars and the night,” Melanie said, placing her hand on his leg.

Clay stared at the hand and then at her. “What are you doing?” he asked, more huskily than he intended.

“Something you need to do more of. They call it relaxing.”

Putting his hand on hers, Clay said, “I was talking about this.”

Melanie averted her gaze. “You make too much of a friendly gesture.” She removed her hand and folded her hands in her lap. “I wonder if Mr. Train has found the man who was to meet him here.”

“I wonder if there even is a man.”

“There you go again. Always so suspicious. What will it take to break those old habits of yours?”

Clay took the question seriously. “Maybe when I can finally put my past behind me.”

“You could do that now.”

“Not with Jesse Stark still alive. Not when I wake up every night in a cold sweat from the nightmares. He nearly beat me to death.”

“Killing him will make the nightmares go away?”

“I don’t know,” Clay said. “But it might help. Even if it doesn’t, I can’t let him get away with what he did.”

“There is such a thing as turning the other cheek.”

“Not for me. When I think of him—think of what he did—my insides twist and my head pounds. When he is gone, the twisting and the pounding will stop.”

Melanie bent her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I hope so, for your sake. I hope you can wipe the slate clean and start over.”

“I have never wanted anything more,” Clay said.

“Except to kill Jesse Stark.”

Clay tried to lighten her mood with, “You gnaw a bone to death, don’t you?”

“I have habits of my own. I’m pigheaded. Don’t snort. I admit that when I sink my teeth into something I don’t let up. But if I were like most women, if I acted fragile and demure, I would not be where I am today.”

“Sitting high on a mountain in the middle of nowhere?”

Melanie’s teeth showed white in the dark. “I would not be a journalist. I would not have come half as far as I have. I would be married, with nine kids, and be chained to a stove.”

“That’s harsh,” Clay said.

“Oh, I’ll marry one day. When the right man comes along. A man who won’t mind my pigheadedness. A man who will let me go on working until I don’t want to work any more. A man who will let me make my own decisions and not make them for me.”

“I don’t mind your pigheadedness.”

“Really?” Melanie gazed heavenward. “I don’t mind yours, either.”

They sat in silence a while. Then Clay reached out and gently ran a finger from her chin across her cheek to her ear.

“Why did you do that?”

“It sort of did itself.”

“You can do it again if you want.”

Clay did it again. “You shivered. We can head back if you are cold.”

“No. Can I lean against your shoulder?”

“Need you ask?”

Melanie leaned, and after another while she coughed and said, “You sure are a shy cuss, aren’t you?”

“Touching your cheek took all the courage I have.”

“Then I guess it is up to me.” Melanie shifted toward him.

“What are you—”

A long silence ended with a sigh and a shifting and Melanie saying, “That was nice. I thought you were never going to do it.”