Ralph Compton - Bluff City

“I didn’t. You did.”

“A gentleman should not nitpick when a lady is flattering him with her attention,” Melanie scolded.

A shooting star blazed in the firmament. To the north rose the ululating wail of a wolf.

“So what now? Are we…? Dowe…? I mean—”

“You are having an awful time finishing a sentence tonight,” Melanie said.

“Blame your lips,” Clay said. “What I am trying to ask you, in my bumbling way, is if this changes anything.”

“It changes everything unless you don’t want it to change anything, in which case you will crush my heart.”

“I hold your heart in high regard.”

“Then it changes everything.”

“I was hoping it would,” Clay said. “So if I ask you to forget about Stark and forget about the newspapers your story would sell and go back to Bluff City in the morning, what would you say?”

“I would say yes if you are willing to forget about Stark and give up your revenge and go back with me.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Pardon my unladylike language,” Melanie said, “but then there is no chance in hell that I will, either.”

“So much for changing everything,” Clay said.

Chapter 20

Mr. Train did not return to their camp until well past midnight. Clay and Melanie had only been back a short while and heard him turn in. Clay did not let himself fall asleep until he was sure Train was sleeping.

Shortly before first light, Clay awoke. The smell of brewing coffee brought him out from under his blankets. The manhunter was already up, hunched close to the fire warming his hands. Clay jammed his derby on his head and shuffled over, his legs a little stiff. “You must like worms.”

“We have a long day in the saddle ahead of us,” Mr. Train said. “Best we get an early start.”

“Did you find the man you were supposed to meet?”

“Yes.” Mr. Train did not elaborate.

Clay hunkered and held his own hands close to the crackling flames. Soon the whole front of him was warm. He poured a cup of coffee and sat back. “I’ll wake Melanie in a few minutes.”

“She is an attractive woman, that one,” Mr. Train remarked.

“I think so.”

“So that is how it is.”

“That is how it is,” Clay said.

“There were hints. I wanted to be sure. Not that I have a personal interest. I have a woman. She pleases me and I am content with her.”

“You don’t fool around ever?” Clay asked.

“Would you?”

That ended their conversation until Clay was almost done his coffee and Mr. Train looked at him.

“Why do you wear those clothes?”

“Folks would talk if I ran around naked.”

“They are the clothes of a city man. But I have seen how you move, how you ride, how you carry yourself. You are not a city man.”

“I’ve spent some time outdoors,” Clay hedged.

“It is more than that,” Mr. Train persisted. “But if you do not want to tell me that is your right.”

“Since we’re asking questions,” Clay said, “how did you ever get started in the man-hunting business?”

Train’s flat, dark eyes glittered. “I have always liked to hunt. When I was a boy I hunted every creature in the forest and swamp. Birds, snakes, deer, everything. I became good at it. So good, it was too easy. When I was twelve I started to hunt bears, cougars and alligators. I became good at that, too. And when it became too easy, like before, and there was no challenge, I started to hunt the only thing left.”

“Men.”

“I started with runaway slaves and escaped convicts. There was money in that, a lot of money. Word spread. Offers came from all over and have kept coming.”

“So this is just another job to you?”

“What else would it be? I never know those I hunt so it is never personal, if that is what you mean. I have heard of this Jesse Stark, though. He has been in the newspapers. A little man with much blood on his hands.”

“That’s him, sure enough,” Clay said. He swallowed the last of his coffee, then asked, “Do you trust Harve Barker?”

“He is paying me.”

“That’s not an answer. Do you trust him? Trust him enough to put your life in danger?”

“He has hired me to hunt a man for him. Trust has nothing to do with it. I will find Stark, and Barker will pay me, and that will be that.”

“Has anyone ever double-crossed you? Hired you and then refused to pay you?”

Mr. Train put his hand on the hilt of his bowie. “Only once. Are you suggesting Barker would do that to me? I do not see it. Not with all the money he has.” Train’s eyes narrowed. “You try to turn me against him, is that it?”

“Would you help someone you hate? Someone who has taken up with the woman you cared for?”

“No.”

“Me either.”

Mr. Train stared at the tent. “Barker and her?”

“He staked a claim but nothing ever came of it.”

“Are you sure he hates you?”

“Some of his men tried to kill me.”

“It appears there is more to this than I was told,” Mr. Train said. “But it does not change my purpose. I will do as I am being paid to do. I have given my word and I never go back on my word.”

“Just so you know,” Clay said.

“You have done me a favor,” Mr. Train said. “I will not forget it.”

Clay was in slightly better spirits when they headed out. But he still rode with his hand on his thigh, close to his jacket.

The new day brought a change in Melanie. She was a fount of happiness. She smiled a perpetual smile. She hummed. Where the trail permitted, she rode beside the claybank.

“This mountain air must agree with you,” Clay remarked at one point.

“After last night everything agrees with me,” Melanie said. A look of concern came over her. “Don’t you feel the same way?”

“Giddy and silly?”

“Like you are as light as a feather. Like you could fly. Like everything is right with the world.” Melanie glanced at him, and when Clay did not comment, she said, “Well? Don’t you?”

“What do you want me to say?” Clay rejoined. “Last night you made me the happiest I have ever been. But we are in the mountains. There are hostiles on the prowl. Outlaws are as thick as fleas, and we are after the worst outlaw there is. I’ll save the giddiness for later.”

All morning they climbed, wending along a pock-marked and rutted trail that led ever higher and ever deeper into the vastness of the Rockies. Midday brought them to an overlook that afforded a spectacular vista of the lower reaches. They drank from their canteens and chewed jerky and were soon under way again.

That night they camped in heavy timber. Somber ranks of fir enclosed them in a protective phalanx, blocking out much of the sky but also screening their fire from unfriendly eyes.

Six days of hard travel carried them ever higher. They passed through two more mining camps, some of the many that had sprouted since the silver boom began. Most would wither and fade once the ore that gave them life ran out.

On the sixth day they arrived at yet another. Clay did not like some of the looks they were given, especially the hungry gazes fixed on Melanie.

Mr. Train led them beyond the camp to a hummock. At the top, amid huge boulders, was a clear space. It was early yet, only the middle of the afternoon, but they stripped their horses and Mr. Train kindled a fire. “I was told I might learn more about Stark here. I will ask around.”

“Unless I’m mistaken,” Melanie said, “this is Calamity, the mining camp Stark raided a while back.”

“Is it, now?” This was news to Clay. “I’d like to do some asking around myself.”

“You two go ahead,” Melanie said. “Someone has to watch our things. I will be all right.”