Part 27 (1/2)

”Of course. But I didn't get a good impression from the man. If you could just come look around, maybe talk to the fella we got the name from and see what your office can do...”

The man pulled a cigarette from his pocket, tried to straighten it where it had bent, and then gave up and offered it to Glen. He shook his head, so the Deputy put it between his lips and lit a match on the bottom of his boot to get it going.

”I can, but it's a little late. You think it'll wait until morning?”

”Sure. Where should I stay so you can find me?”

”There's a good hotel down the way. Big sign, you can't miss it. 'Grand Hotel.' Big red letters.”

Glen thanked him. In the morning, he'd either be coming back with someone who might do something about their little problem, or he would have some very useful information for the future: The knowledge that he was on his own, and the law wasn't going to step in to right things.

Part of him liked that idea, the same part of him that had been whispering since the whole thing had started. The part that was still itching to test his new gun.

Nineteen.

She couldn't leave the twins alone. They were too young to handle it. At the same time, Glen had taken the only horse into town. It was three, maybe four hours on foot to the doctor, and judging by the sky it would be dark for hours yet.

Catherine cursed under her breath, held Ada tight.

”Baby, you're fine, it's gonna be alright.”

She should have gotten ice, she thought. Something, anything that would help cool the girl down, but they didn't have an ice chest. How would they have kept it?

She laid Ada down, ignoring the girl's protests, and used her sternest voice to tell the girl to ”stay right here.”

To Catherine's surprise, there wasn't much argument. Ada was worse than she thought. Ada hadn't ever listened to her, not this well. She had too much of her mother in her. The thought made her smile as she poured out a bowlful of water and wetted down a towel.

It wasn't much, but it would have to do. They could wait for Glen to return. They'd have to wait. Catherine just had to hope that Ada would be alright. Hope, pray, and whatever happened next, happened.

She set her book aside, pulled up a chair beside Ada's seat on the couch. Cole came padding out of the room.

”Momma?”

”What is it, sweetie?”

”Can't find Ada.”

”I know, sweet. She's right here. G'on back to bed, now.”

”Oh. Okay.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief. Things could be better, that much was for sure. But they could sure get a heck of a lot worse.

She watched out the window. Tonight of all nights was not the time for anyone to be going for her cattle. She pulled the rifle off its place over the mantle. Catherine had to watch out. The minute she could take her daughter out of here, take her to see a doctor, she'd take that opportunity.

Anyone who tried to stand in her way would be explaining it to the Lord.

Glen took off the gun belt and left it on the bed. He wasn't going to need it. Truth be told, he shouldn't have been going down at all. But he'd seen some folks at the table, sounded like they were playing cards, and he had a night to kill.

More than that, though, was the knowledge that if he just made a little more money then the ranch expedition he had gotten himself tangled up in got that much easier.

He checked his billfold. Twenty dollars and change. If he went slow, he could double it before he needed to turn in for the night. Maybe better than that, if they were some real suckers.

”You mind if I join you?”

Glen pulled out a chair without waiting for an answer. If they minded, he would get back up, but no one said anything so he pulled himself up to the table. Middle of a hand, they went around.

It was good that they did, he thought. Gave him time to figure out who was playing, and how they played. He recognized a few faces. Traveling sort of folk, he guessed.

Lee Bridges, who told too many stories about his time prospecting out in California. He was the first, he claims, to have hit on the gold rush out there. If he had, then he wouldn't be at the tables.

Others he didn't know by name, but he'd seen them before. Over the years he got to know a lot of the folks who were out around the scene. An empty chair sat with a still-burning cigarette hanging off the edge. A sure-enough sign that whoever it was, he was coming back.

The cards came out, one at a time. None for the empty seat. Glen looked at his cards and grimaced. Nothing worth keeping. Might as well have dealt himself a new hand entirely.

When the betting started, he kept it slow. Lee was already working the table, anyways. They'd have to split the profits, but then again, Glen had never tried to show off. That was the key to winning-letting them think it was luck. That any minute, they'd turn it around.

Nothing flashy, never take a guy's last dollar, and always let the hand develop first. It helped to make folks think that he was just playing by ear. If Lee recognized him, it was only as another traveler. At least, that was what he hoped.

He kept the ace and drew four new cards. Still nothing. When the betting came around he tossed the cards back into the pile. Not worth losing any more money than he'd already bet. He could use a drink. There was something about sitting at the card table with a beer that made him seem relaxed, as if he were just playing to blow off some steam. That was what he hoped to look like, anyway.

He stood up, said he'd just be a minute, and headed to the bar. Asked to have a drink sent over to the table. After waiting a half a second to see if the bartender was listening, and still not entirely sure he would get his drink, he went back. They were just shuffling the cards for the next hand.

As he slid back into his seat, Glen checked the empty chair. A man had slipped into it. He had the cigarette between his teeth, and he was already talking animatedly about the Mexican women he'd been to bed with lately to the man next to him, who seemed not to hear it. It was Bill Howell, sure as the day he was born.

Glen frowned. What was he doing back in Wyoming? He had made it sound like he was heading south, down to Texas. That had only been a couple weeks back. He could have made it, maybe, before he came back. But only barely. Unless he'd just been going down to make a delivery, there was no way he'd be back already.

He tried to decide whether or not it would be smart to call him out. After all, the man was a scoundrel, and a fool, but more than that, he squelched on debts. Experience had already shown that Bill had no money, never mind any of the other things he'd done.

”Bill,” he said finally. ”Bill Howell!”

”Oh, hey, it's you,” Bill said. His voice showed surprise. ”How's the ranch going for you? Back to cards already?”

”It's going fine, I'm just here to blow off some steam.” He paused a moment, trying to decide how deep into this he wanted to get himself. He should have left it well enough alone, but Glen never was good at making smart decisions. ”Bill, you got money to cover your bets this time? I seem to recall back in Denver-”

Bill cut him off. As well he should, from the looks the others around the table had started to give the man. Glen might have felt bad if it were someone else.

”Yeah, I got money.”

”Enough?”

”Plenty.”

Glen thought that he could have backed off, but he didn't. ”Show it to me.”