Black Hills (9781101559116) (14 page)

Cormac remained silent and looked hard in the direction from which the voice had come. He could just make out two shapes in the early graying light. The smaller of the two slipped off to the side, and the voice called again.

“Hello the camp. Anyone there? There are two of us, and we mean you no harm. Your coffee smells almighty good. We could sure use some; we been walking most of the night and getting mighty hungry and really cold. A little coffee would be a life-saver.”

Cormac still made no reply; he couldn't tell where the other shape had gone.

“Okay, we'll move on, but can you please let my wife come in and get warm? She's very cold.” The other shape returned, doing something at belt level that appeared to be, maybe, fastening its pants. “Can't say as I blame you,” the voice continued. “It's dangerous traveling now days. You never know who, or what, you're going to run into. My wife and I had a spell of bad luck, and we had to run. My wife's got relatives upstream a ways and we're trying to get there. We'll move on now.”

The shapes moved toward the river in the upstream direction. The larger shape appeared to have his arm around the smaller one.

“Okay, wait,” Cormac called. “You can come in. Just both of you keep your hands where I can see them.”

A man and woman came hesitantly into the light. They were not dressed to be traveling in this weather. Their coats were too light, and they had no mittens or gloves and only the woman had a head covering. The man was of average size with no hat, although he was protected some from the cold by his heavy hair and beard, but the too-thin coat he was wearing was much too small to button. The large, thick, and heavy coat she was wearing and the big hat pulled down around her ears could only have belonged to him, which spoke well of him.

She was of average size, with dark hair and cheeks blushed red from the cold. Cormac wondered if there were any others with them that were still hiding in the woods, but a glance at Lop Ear and Horse showed them paying no attention to anything other than the approaching couple.

“Go ahead and sit down on that log by the fire,” he told them. “I'll get you some coffee and fix you something to eat.”

“That would be greatly appreciated, sir.” The man helped his wife around the fire to the log, only to huddle and stand as closely as possible to the heat, holding out their hands and turning first their backs and then their fronts to the fire. The man turned back with his hand out to Cormac. “My name is Ferguson, sir. John Ferguson. They call me Jack, and this is my wife, Rebecca. May we know your name?”

Unspeaking, Cormac shook the hand and stared a long moment at the only person other than his sister he had ever met named Rebecca.

“Good morning, my name is Cormac Lynch. Welcome to my fire. One of you will have to drink from a bowl; I only have one cup.”

“Mister, if you're willing to give us coffee, I'll drink it out of my shoe if I have to.”

Cormac fried more bacon and potatoes, giving them the last two biscuits with more coffee with which to wash it all down. The food quickly disappeared.

“Thank you, mister,” the woman said finally, smiling widely, the first words she had spoken. “Do you mind if I call you, Mack? Cormac sounds so formal and not at all as friendly as you really are.”

“You're welcome,” he answered. “I'm glad I was here, and yes you can.” Cormac rolled a smoke and offered the makings to his man-guest.

“No, thank you, but my wife might like some. She's from the hills of Tennessee and most of the people in that neck of the woods smoke or chew, or both.”

Speechless, Cormac offered it to the woman who eagerly accepted. Making a paper trough with her thumb, forefinger, and middle finger of her left hand, she filled it with tobacco, and then rolled it expertly with the same hand, licking the sticky side of the paper. She finished the roll with one hand while she handed the tobacco bag back to Cormac with the other. Cormac had never seen it done better. He watched in amazement as she lit it and took her first long drag.

“I can do that with one hand, but not as gracefully as you,” he told her. “I've never seen a woman smoke before.”

“It does surprise some people, but I enjoy it,” she said while she gave the big hat back to her husband and shook out her long dark hair. The hot food and fire were doing their jobs, and with the fire close in front, Rebecca Ferguson unbuttoned the big coat. “It reminds me of home. I learned how to roll cigarettes making them for my daddy. I haven't got to have one lately, so it tastes very good.” Unwrapped, she was a woman of average looks made more attractive by her smile.

“Tell me what's happened that's got you travelin' half dressed in the dark on a cold night like this,” instructed Cormac.

“Curse me for a fool,” began the man named John, shaking his head sorrowfully. “I lost her in a crooked poker game. I can't believe I was so stupid. By the time I realized what was going on, it was too late, and I was in serious trouble.

“On second thought, could I change my mind and have that smoke you offered? I only smoke but rarely.”

Cormac handed him the Bull Durham bag and waited while he got his smoke going with none of the experience and grace shown by his wife. The day was getting off to a hazy start, but it was light enough to see through the trees to the river running fast and deep and looking very cold.

Cormac was anxious to get on his way; he didn't like the ominous look of the clouds; they were in for some weather. But at the same time, he couldn't just leave them to fend for themselves. They had neither the clothes nor the experience to deal with the storm that was coming, and he was curious to learn how a man could lose a wife he obviously cared for in a game of poker.

“Right after we married five years ago in New York, we moved to Southern Missoura. We both wanted to raise our children in the country, but had no idea how hard the life of a farmer was, and we knew nothing about farming. We hadn't thought it out. I had some money saved, so we bought an existing farm to save the time and effort of building our own. We couldn't wait to start planting our own crops.

“That's when we first began realizing there was more to it than we thought. We didn't know how much water it would take, and there was only a small well near the buildings that ran dry anytime we tried to take out too much. There was enough rain to get us through the first year, and we sold our crops for enough money for food and seed to get us through the next, but that year brought very little rain. We got a very poor crop, but figured the upcoming year would be better. It wasn't.

“Rebecca's sister in Pierre wrote us that her husband could give me a job in his general store, so we jumped at it. We couldn't find a buyer for a farm with no water, but we sold our furniture and personal effects and left with one hundred and twenty-five dollars. Travel expenses and food took us down to one hundred and five, but that was still plenty enough money to live on and buy space on the riverboat to Pierre. I think it's about another thirty miles upriver from here.”

John Ferguson halted his story to ask for another cup of coffee. Cormac poured it for him while he continued.

“We planned on staying the night in a small village on the river about fifteen miles south of here and catching the boat in the morning. We were told there's one coming through on a weekly basis, and the next one was due tomorrow morning; that's this morning now. While we were waiting, Rebecca wanted to get a bath, and while she was taking care of that, I went next door to the local saloon for a beer. That was my first mistake.

“There were some fellas playing poker for matchsticks back in one corner. Now, I am not a poker player, but I do enjoy it. There was a lot of laughing and joking from the table. They were having a lot of fun teasing a big guy about always trying to bluff them and always losing. One went to the outhouse and stopped to talk with the bartender on his way back. They were laughing and having fun, and I found myself drawn into the conversation; he invited me to join the game. So I said sure, it's just matchsticks, it's a good way to kill time waiting for Rebecca.

“I was lucky and started winning right off. One of them makes a joke after I'd won a few hands that it was too bad for me we weren't playing for money. The big guy that was always losing his bluffs agreed. He had better luck playing for money, he said. He couldn't take matchstick-playing seriously, so he talked the others into playing for two-bits and four-bits.

“I was still winning more than I was losing so I stayed in the game. I couldn't believe my good fortune. I had never done so well. Somehow the bets had increased to five and ten dollars, and I was still winning. I couldn't wait until Rebecca returned so I could show her how much money I had won.

“By then, the big guy was pretty drunk, I thought. I realized later he was just acting and they were all in on it. Then I got dealt four aces, and he was raising. First thing you know, I had all of my money on the table, and he took out a big wad of bills and threw it in the pot and said I had to match it or he would win all the money without even showing his hand.

“I told him I didn't have any more, so we should just show our hands; I knew he was bluffing again. He said no. I had to match his bet or forfeit the pot. Just then, Rebecca knocked on the window, all sparkly clean and pretty and smiling at me, to let me know she was there.

“The big guy said he would accept a voucher that she would clean his house for him as a matching bet because he was terrible at house cleaning and was tired of living in a pigsty. It was either agree or lose all of our money, so I agreed. It was just to clean his house, and I would help her if I lost, but I knew my four aces wouldn't lose.

“When he dealt the last card, he fumbled a little and it was easy to see he was bottom dealing. When I called him on it, he became furious and pulled out his gun and said I better realize real quick that I had been mistaken, or he was going to kill me right then and there, right in front of Rebecca. I'm no good with a gun. In fact, I don't seem to be much good at anything.”

Rebecca's hand found his and squeezed. “Mine was still in my holster with the thong on the hammer,” he continued. “I wasn't anticipating any gunplay.

“I asked the other players if they hadn't seen it, too, and they all said no, they hadn't seen anything. It was too obvious for them not to have seen it. I knew then I had been set up, and they would kill me for the money if I gave them the chance. So after agreeing that I must have been mistaken, I let him take the pot with a royal flush he had dealt himself.

“He said if she wasn't at his house the first thing this morning, he would come looking for us. He said there was no place to hide, and the boat wouldn't be coming until around the dinner hour. He was making jokes to his friends that made it clear he had more than house cleaning in mind for her once he got her there.

“I had no choice. I took the directions to his house and promised we would be there early. When I walked out, I let them hear me tell Rebecca that we should go get something to eat before turning in, and then we started walking and just kept going. We just left our things. I had to get her out of that village.”

Horse and Lop Ear came to attention, staring downstream a few seconds before the sounds of riders came to them.

“Someone's comin',” Cormac told them. “Quick, hand me your dishes and get behind the boulder and stay quiet.” He unbuttoned his coat and loosened the Smith & Wesson in its holster as seven riders came into sight through the woods.

“Hello the camp, we're comin' in,” came the voice as the newcomers rode in without waiting for an invitation. Cormac had just gotten out of one situation with rustlers, now he was in another one with who knows what. If this was what the world was like off the farm, maybe he better just go back and spend the rest of his life pickin' taters, shootin' rabbits, and teasin' Lainey. Well, at least pickin' taters and shootin' rabbits. The Lainey door was closed. No, that whole situation was closed. Time to pretend like he was a big boy and play the hand life was dealing him. At least he knew God wasn't stacking the deck.

Although appearing to be holding a cup of coffee with both hands, Cormac faced the newcomers with the weight of his coffee cup supported by his left hand, leaving the right free for gunplay, if such became necessary.

“Mornin' boys,” Cormac said easily. “If you're wantin' coffee, I can make you some if you got cups. I only got this one.”

“We ain't lookin' for coffee. We're lookin' for a man and a woman who's got something that belongs to me. You seen anything of them?” The man doing the talking must have been the bluffer; he was runnin' the show, and he was big. All were dressed for cold weather in heavy sheepskin coats with big collars and warm gloves, if there was such a thing—Cormac's fingers were always cold when he was wearing gloves, mittens were much warmer. Most were wearing the ten-gallon hat that was getting so popular.

“Nope, sorry,” he answered. “But I just got up. If they came this way, they passed on by without me hearin', but I'm surprised my horses didn't hear their horses and let me know.” That was a nice touch, he thought.

“They aren't riding, they're walking.”

“Why in the world would anybody be walking as cold as it is? They smokin' loco weed?”

“You're right about that, but he's not the smartest one around these parts. It's hard to track them in this cold. The ground is frozen solid, and we lost their trail about an hour ago. Maybe they went inland. I reckon we'll go back and circle the area and see if we can pick up any sign.”

Cormac Lynch watched them leave and immediately started packing up.