Return to Massacre Mesa - Edge Series 5 (3 page)

But none of these were soldiers who, unusually, all seemed to be staying away from the settlement - as if they had been ordered to do so. Which she thought quite likely: for without saying anything specific, Glenn had told her and her father that the small detail of officers he was to be a part of for at least a week was assigned to a highly secret mission. And because she had lived within close proximity to an army post for so long Lucy was quite familiar with some facets of how the military ran its affairs. Too, having been courted by a young lieutenant, she perhaps knew more of this than many other civilians hereabouts did.

Inside, the little house was as neat and tidy as its outside appearance suggested it would be. For because she had been motherless since she was a child of eight Lucy had grown well used to the hard work of housekeeping. And, sensitive to her father’s penchant for cleanliness and good order in all things, she had from an early age striven to do her best in this. Had compensated for the loss of her mother and his wife at least in respect of smooth run domesticity. She lit one lamp in the parlour, another in the kitchen and cheerfully set about preparing and cooking a nourishing supper: content with the chores except that she wished she was required to cook for three and could set an extra place at the table.

It was beef stew tonight. The meal chosen because she was not certain exactly when her father would return home from yet another ride to the border with a northern lawman who needed to catch up with or be absolutely sure that his quarry was lost to United States justice in the wilds of Mexico. It was something that Billy Russell often did to prevent the visiting peace officers from straying outside their jurisdiction into forbidden territory and thus breaking the laws of another country while attempting to uphold those of their own. For because the international boundary was not clearly marked local knowledge of the kind Billy Russell possessed was all that could be relied 16

upon to prevent this from happening. But as a bonus, there was a considerable amount of game roaming the rugged border area and nine times out of ten Billy not only earned a little government money during these excursions: he also bagged some good eating. It was a day’s easy ride to where Mexico began so took a day to return. But the time her father spent hunting was not so easy to estimate. However, the sheriff who had gone with him on this trip had returned alone this morning with a message that Billy expected to be home for supper: eight o’clock give or take a half hour or so. So at seven thirty, with the house warmed by the range fire and smelling deliciously of simmering stew, Lucy feeling fresh from bathing and a change of clothes out of store wear cotton to a white satin dress, she stepped on to the stoop. She moved to the far end and peered southward out along the Farm Trail that started beside the fort and wound away into the foothills of the Cedars. Any rider approaching Fort Chance on this trail was within sight for the final half mile this side of the gently rolling terrain that stretched to the distant mountain peaks. And Lucy smiled as she saw a lone horseman moving along the trail. He was still too far off to be recognised for certain or for her to see if his saddlebags were heavy with game. But she instinctively knew it was her father, who was without question the most reliable man she had ever known. And she knew that most people without her familial prejudice agreed with her. Then her face clouded as she shifted her dark eyed gaze to the fort and saw no sign the gates were about to be opened to allow soldiers –

one particular officer outside.

A burst of harsh laughter from another direction suddenly disturbed the peace of the cooling evening. And Lucy’s frown became a scowl when she turned her head to look toward the source of the raucous sound. This was the Wild Dog cantina that was a ramshackle two-story sprawl of a place set apart from the cluster of stores and houses maybe a quarter mile out along the north side of the El Paso Trail. Opinions about the need for such an establishment in the community were divided and Lucy was one of those who felt strongly that Fort Chance would be better off without it. But most people, her father included, argued that the tiny town with its 17

surrounding farmsteads should not remain totally isolated from the rest of the territory

- and the entire country beyond - other than by distance. In the world that existed far from this tiny dot on the map there were bad elements that were not all fugitives. And by the geographical position of Fort Chance, it was inevitable that some of these undesirables would drift through from time to time. So best they be corralled in the Wild Dog and provided with the kind of unsavoury pleasures of the flesh and hard liquor such men demanded. This was preferable, it was argued, to having them kick over the traces in the cluster of respectable establishments that comprised the beginnings of a hoped for town of substance. And Sam Tree who ran the cantina and was the same kind of honorary lawman as her father did all he could to ensure that whatever trouble erupted in the cantina did not spill outside of it. Whether these troublemakers were strangers passing through into or out from Mexico or over-boisterous off-duty troopers from the fort. So it was a state of affairs that worked pretty well, Lucy had to allow. For there had been only an infrequent complaint about rowdiness disturbing the sleep of ordinary folk. Or occasionally one of the women of easy virtue had ruffled local sensibilities by speaking or dressing in a manner that had given offence to decent ladies going about their daily business.

This evening it was one of these loose women who had captured the attention of Lucy Russell: the harlot’s laughter driven to a shrill peak by drunkenness rather than good humour. The immodestly dressed woman staggered as she emerged from between the batwings, clearly seen in the bright lamplight that shafted across the porch from behind her. And she would have pitched into the street had there not been a roof support to which she could cling. Next a man appeared on the threshold behind her and said something that erupted another peal of strident laughter from the woman as she pressed herself to the timber post in a wanton manner. Then Lucy uttered an involuntary gasp and clutched a hand to her throat to check a louder exclamation as she saw the man embrace the woman and kiss her passionately. Before the two of them stumbled back into the cantina as one of the man’s hands moved much lower down her spine than was proper.

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As the batwings flapped, by turns expanding and reducing the level of light that splashed out across the porch, the night became quiet again. While Lucy struggled to breathe evenly: and considered withdrawing into the house for some cool water to sprinkle on her face and neck that burned with embarrassment and must surely be bright crimson. Then her attention was drawn toward movement on the moonlit landscape that lay beyond the cantina, where two riders were advancing slowly along the El Paso Trail. They increased their pace from a walk to a trot as they came closer to the Wild Dog.

As Lucy watched, her distress at the lewd public display she had witnessed between the man and the loose woman was displaced by a sense of unease and she could not understand why this should be: unless this new emotion was stirred by illogical feminine intuition. Her attention continued to be concentrated on the riders approaching along the trail from the east. For in her mind she was convinced, for some illogical, inexplicable reason, that they had something to do with why Glenn had not returned from the secret patrol – albeit that the army’s business he was involved in was somewhere to the west.

‘Lucy? Is something wrong, sweetheart?’

She was startled by her father’s voice, vented a low cry and wrenched her wide eyed gaze away from the riders as he dismounted, led his horse for a few final yards and came to a halt below the steps of the stoop.

‘
Lucy!
’ He spoke his daughter’s name with greater emphasis, his tone as concerned as his expression, earnestly sure that something was seriously wrong with his daughter. Then he glanced away from her frowning face and realised that the riders were the reason for her consternation. ‘What’s the matter, sweetheart? Has something bad happened?’

She showed him a wan smile, descended the steps and made a dismissive gesture with one hand while she rested the other on his arm.

‘Oh, I’m just being plain foolish, pa. I’d hoped Glenn would be back to have supper with us tonight. And I’m standing here having all kinds of crazy notions about 19

why he isn’t. I saw those two men ride in and started to think about that pair of troopers who deserted from the post the other day and . . . ‘ She shook her head and shrugged. ‘What with all the secrecy about the patrol and . . . Oh, it really is stupid of me, letting my imagination trouble me this way! Did you have a good trip? The sheriff you took down to the border showed up and has left already. He gave me your message.’

William Russell, who was known as Billy to anyone close enough to be on first name terms with him, was a powerfully built, square faced, iron grey haired man aged a well preserved forty some years. His bright blue, glinting eyed gaze shifted back and forth between his daughter and the pair of riders as they reined their mounts down to a walk near the Wild Dog, brought them to a halt and swung stiffly out of their saddles. He thought they looked about as weary and travel stained as he was.

‘You’re sure it’s nothing more than imagination, Lucy? You haven’t heard or seen anything for certain?’

She shook her head, feeling as foolish as she was sure she looked while the two new arrivals hitched their horses to the cantina rail, stepped up on to the porch and pushed in though the batwings.

They were talking quietly and spared no glances along the street that started where the El Paso Trail ended to run through the huddle of buildings toward the fort and there divided to become one road to the south and another to the west. Billy Russell prompted: ‘Lucy?’

She laughed girlishly and answered brightly: ‘No! No, I haven’t heard anything from anybody, pa. Ah well, things can’t be perfect in life all the time, can they? Glenn will come see me just as soon as ever he can, I’m certain of that. Are you ready for supper?’

‘Can it wait for awhile, sweetheart?’

‘It’s only stew, so sure it can wait. I guess you’re in sore need of a drink or two after the long ride?’

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‘I surely do need something to wet my whistle, Lucy.’ He smiled wearily. ‘And I’m hopeful supper won’t need so much attention that you can’t take care of your old man’s horse for him? A couple of drinks: and I have to turn the prisoner loose, don’t I?

If Quinton’s still in the jailhouse?’

‘Well, I’ll tell you, pa, the way he said he liked the food I’ve been taking him so much, it could be Mr Quinton won’t want to be let out of jail.’ She smiled and reached for the reins of the piebald gelding. ‘Okay, I’ll see to the horse and then I’ve got some darning to catch up on. In all, it ought to take me forty-five minutes at the most. Supper will be on the table right about then.’

‘Sure, sweetheart.’ Her father handed her the reins. ‘There are a couple of plump rabbits and four wild duck in the bags that’ll need a little attention. If the needlework can wait?’

‘You’ll be the one who has to walk around with holes in his socks,’ she warned lightly, every trace of her earlier anxiety gone as she turned away and led the big horse around the side of the house to the stable out back.

And Russell began to trudge wearily along the undeveloped stretch of street between the group of buildings and the isolated cantina. Where he angled off beside the Wild Dog: went to the small, single story adobe addition that was built on at the side midway between the front and rear corners. His heavy footfalls on the hard packed dirt sounded clearly because the Wild Dog was quiet at this evening time of the day.

‘I’m hoping that ain’t anyone else but you, Mr Russell?’ the prisoner greeted evenly as he showed his unshaven, forty years old face at the barred window in the timber door of the adobe that comprised the town’s single cell jailhouse

‘How you doing, Red?’ Russell asked of the tall and skinny man who until recently had been Trooper Edwin Quinton. One of three soldiers who mustered out from the detachment at Fort Chance at the same time.

The other two had left town immediately but the tow haired Quinton stayed 21

behind to celebrate his release from the rigors of army discipline. And two nights ago, Sam Tree had arrested him for being threateningly abusive to a woman who worked at the Wild Dog. The ex-trooper had started out cursing her because he did not have any money left to purchase her favours or buy further liquor. Which was not an uncommon occurrence at the cantina: but on this occasion Quinton had been gripped by what had seemed a murderous rage: so Tree locked him up to cool off.

‘I’m pretty good, I guess, even though my buddies didn’t show up to pay the fine,’ Quinton’s tone held no rancour.

Russell shrugged. ‘I was away all yesterday and today, so I wouldn’t know. But a couple of guys just rode in from off the El Paso Trail. They went into the cantina and I was too far off to recognise them.’

Because it was lack of money that had gotten Quinton so mad and caused him to make the trouble that landed him in jail, it followed he did not have the necessary funds to cover the standard two dollar fine imposed on drunks who did not harm anybody or seriously damage property. This fine to be paid after twenty-four hours in jail. When he was told the alternative to the fine was a further twenty four hour stay in the cramped adobe, the by then sullen Quinton had rattled the cell bars and called Russell and Tree every kind of dirty name a veteran cavalryman could lay tongue to. But later, when he was fully sobered up and had a solid breakfast inside of him, the subdued prisoner claimed that soon his two former army buddies would return to town, pay the fine and spring him.