This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [36]
“A week ago, an army caravan was ambushed, twelve men were killed. It just so happened it wasn’t the pay wagon or one carrying weapons. The wagons were ransacked and clothing and food taken.”
Instinctively, Jesse knew this wasn’t all the captain had to say, so he waited.
“It was meant to look like an Indian raid. One dead Apache was left behind and several dead horses. I’ve never known of Apaches leaving their dead, and I know for certain they don’t kill horses unless there’s no other way. The four horses were deliberately shot in the head.”
“Don’t appear to me it was Apaches.”
“My scouts swear it wasn’t, but I’m keeping it under my hat for the time being.”
“According to Slater, the bunch he ran into couldn’t have whipped their way out of a tow-sack. He picked off most of them himself. Said they were disorganized and hopped up on loco-weed or whiskey. He wouldn’t a killed a one of them if he could have helped it.” Jesse stopped and lit a smoke. “Good man, Slater, he’ll meet you half way to be decent. But he don’t take no shit.”
“I’ve heard that about him. I’ll be going his way in a few weeks. I’d appreciate your company; that is, if Mrs. McLean can spare you.”
“I’d like that. Thanks for asking me. There’s more here than meets the eye.”
They stopped on the trail, the familiar sounds of the encampment reaching them: clinking of pans, low masculine voices, blowing and stamping of tethered horses.
“I hear a mighty good-looking woman came in on the stage and went out to McLean’s Keep. Slater import himself a bride?”
“Well,” Jesse answered carefully, “I don’t know if it’ll come to that. The girl and her brother own the claim across the creek from Slater. It seems her mother filed on it, and Sam and Slater improved on it for her. It’s the strip that runs between McLean’s Keep and the Rockin’ S.”
“Interesting,” Captain Slane said slowly. “I’m anxious to meet the lady.” He started to say more, but stopped. His sharp eyes were peering into the darkness behind Jesse. “We’ll be pulling out early. I’ll say goodbye, Jesse. It was an enjoyable evening.”
“Goodnight, captain. Send word when you’re ready to patrol south.”
Jesse turned up the trail. The shine from a silver beltbuckle caught his eye. Travis, obviously listening. Jesse pinched out his cigarette and, flipping it toward the glint in the darkness, went back toward the house.
Nothing can hang on for long when its time is past, Jesse mused, as he lifted the whiskey bottle and poured himself a drink. His time here was coming to a close. It was time for him to consider what was best for him. And for Ellen. This was her home. She would never leave it. The thought of parting with Ellen was not as disturbing as it would have been a few years—or even a few months—ago. There had been a time when he would have killed Travis; waylaid him and killed him in cold blood, if necessary, in order to stay with Ellen. Now, the simple truth was he had become dissatisfied with his life.
Mentally, he saw the girl again: big green eyes, unruly bronze curls, her lips, face and neck marked by Travis’s attack. Then, the frightened eyes that turned on him when he stepped from the shadows to give her a push in the swing, the color draining from her cheeks on hearing Travis’s insults. All day, he had been seeing that face.
He finished his drink and started up the stairs, his mind lingering on the woman and her child out at McLean’s Keep. She would be safe there. As safe from Travis as she would be anywhere.
He was still thinking about her when he opened the door to his room. He stood still for a moment, trying to bring his thoughts back to the present. In the faint glow of the oillamp burning on his bureau, he saw Ellen, lying relaxed and smiling, on his bed. He quietly closed the door.
When he turned, she was beside him, dressed in a simple, flowing pink robe, her blonde hair parted in the center, falling freely to her waist, her half-shut eyes containing the unmistakable look of longing.