The Copper City - Chris Scott Wilson [13]
Now, a week after the fight, which neither he nor Pete had explained to her, Quantro could walk. He accompanied her out on to the street, but the pain was still evident in the way he held himself and from the look in his eyes. She was pleased when he walked with her. It reminded her of the time when he had been recovering from his bullet wounds in the mountains, at the Apache village. That was when he had needed her. Although since she and Pete had joined him he had tried to be cold to her, she had still sensed the way his eyes trailed her about the house while she cooked and cleaned. He had caught her smiling secretly to herself, enjoying his eyes on her, but when he had asked why she smiled, she had shaken her head and said nothing. She had not wanted to spoil it.
Now, he limped beside her as she walked slowly down Capote hill to the railroad tracks, on their way to buy flour and coffee. When they reached the first of the stores, they met Pete, who was leaning against the hitching-rail, jawing with a man who looked like a miner.
Quantro leaned toward White-Wing. “I’m getting mighty tired. You get on to the store. I’ll stay here with Pete till you get back.”
She examined the lines of strain around his eyes and nodded, releasing his arm. “I will not be long.”
He hobbled over to Pete. The miner said “Howdy,” then slapped Pete’s arm and set off for the saloon.
“You walking okay, now?” Pete asked.
“Made it this far. Be riding soon. How’re the horses?”
“Just been down to the livery. Your buckskin don’t like being tied up in a stall.”
Quantro smiled. “Like me. He likes new ground under his hooves and a fresh wind in his mane.”
Pete sniffed. “Which brings on the question. What’re we going to do now?”
Quantro leaned both elbows on the rail and surveyed the street. “You tell me. The mine job didn’t last too long. Guess I messed that one up.”
“What the hell? It was bad for my health down there. Pushed many more of them trucks and it would’ve broke my back.”
Quantro stretched, wincing as pain sliced across his ribcage. “That big miner had a punch like a truck. Only glad he stopped while I still had some teeth.” Quantro began to put together a cigarette, shaking the tobacco from the sack of Bull Durham on to the thin paper. “You got any ideas?”
Pete scowled. “Not right now. Leastways not any legal kind of ideas that’s gonna get us enough money to buy that ranch.”
“Never reckoned myself as a train-robber,” Quantro said dryly.
“Me neither,” Pete grinned. He looked up and down the street as if the answer lay somewhere out there. “Anyhow, it’ll be a couple of weeks before you can ride, so there’s plenty of time to think it over.” He chuckled.
Quantro looked up from fashioning his cigarette. “What’s eating you?”
“That is we got plenty of time unless that buckskin of yours kicks down the livery.”
Quantro snorted. “He would too. He can be…”
His voice trailed away as a scream pierced the noises of the street. His eyes flickered to Pete, then along the street.
“White-Wing,” Pete said quietly, but Quantro was already moving, face grim, his boots hammering the boardwalk.
Then she screamed again.
CHAPTER 4
“I’ll bet she does,” drawled the man, his eyes alive and hungry as they swept White-Wing’s body from head to foot as she walked toward him. “Oh, I’ll just bet she does.” His tongue licked across the bottom edge of his teeth then made a pass along his top lip.
“What, Seth?” asked the other man, a little shorter than his friend, as he leaned against the wall, thumbs hooked in his gunbelt.