Savage rode into Deadman, New Mexico, late in the afternoon, on a powerful, red roan. Had he known how prophetic the town’s name was, he might have kept riding. But his horse was tired, much the same as its rider, so he found the livery and put his mount up there for the night.
‘Looks like the town lives up to its name,’ the tall, ex-cavalry captain muttered as he stared down at a body which lay on the main street, just off the boardwalk.
The man had been shot twice in the chest at close range; the tell-tale powder burns on his shirtfront attested to that.
An average-built man with a stubble-covered face stepped from the saloon that Savage stood outside of. He looked at the man before him who wore Union Blue pants, matching shirt, buckskin coat, and a new gun belt that housed a Remington.
‘You’d best move along, stranger. There ain’t nothing to see here.’
Savage lowered the Yellow Boy from its resting place on his shoulder and stared at the man through brown eyes. He then ran a hand over his stubbled face and said, ‘Undertaker not working today?’
‘What’s it got to do with you? I told you to keep walking.’
The Drifter stared into the man’s green eyes and saw someone who was used to being obeyed. He became aware that all the traffic traversing the main street had stopped.
His gaze came back to the man before him. ‘Looks to me like folks in this town are mighty curious all of a sudden. Is it me or you?’
The man was confused. ‘What?’
‘Are they waiting to see if you’ll kill me or what I aim to do? I mean, you did kill this feller here, didn’t you?’
The man’s expression changed, became more confident. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘A few things. The first is the wind is blowing toward me and I can smell the powder on you. The other is your hammer-thong is off your six-gun. That tells me you’re still looking for trouble. And third, I can smell the rotgut on you. That’s the only way a gutless son of a bitch like you would get his courage.’
The man snarled with rage and his hand grasped at his gun. Savage was ready for him and the Yellow Boy came up to rest beneath the would-be killer’s chin before he could clear leather.
The man froze and a thin sheen of sweat appeared across his brow. His eyes bulged, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
There was a cold harshness in Savage’s voice when he said, ‘Let it go.’
The man did as he was ordered.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Milt.’
‘What do you do, Milt?’
‘I … ahh…’
‘He works for me.’
A second man emerged from the saloon. This one was well dressed in clean attire.
Savage ran his eyes over him with open suspicion. ‘Who are you?’
The well-dressed man held a cheroot in his right hand and used it as a pointer to show the Drifter the sign above the batwing doors. It read: Charity Saloon. Josiah Breen, Proprietor.
‘So, you’re Breen, huh?’
A broad, mirthless smile split his face. ‘I am.’
Breen pointed at the rifle in Savage’s hands. ‘Would you mind … Who might you be?’
The Drifter lowered the Yellow Boy. ‘Jeff Savage.’
There was a faint spark of recognition in the man’s eyes at the name. In recent times, whispers had filtered across the south-west of a man with that very name, who traveled alone. They called him ‘Drifter’ because he never stayed in the same place more than a few days. But that wasn’t all. Word also had it that after the war, he’d tracked down and killed the men who’d murdered his wife; every last one of them.
‘You have something against that feller on the street?’
Breen shrugged. ‘Not anymore.’
Savage nodded. ‘What about the law?’
Breen and Milt glanced at one another, something unseen passed between them. Breen shrugged and said, ‘What about it?’
There was a moment of silence as Savage tried to read Breen’s face. Then the saloon owner said, ‘Anyway, I must go back to work. Enjoy your stay.’
Savage watched them go back inside and turned his gaze to the corpse once more. He frowned. Then his curiosity got the better of him and he stepped down beside the body. He lowered the barrel of the Winchester and pushed the dead man’s jacket lapel aside to reveal more of the shirt. And there it was; the shiny, nickel-plated badge with the word Sheriff stamped on it.
‘He weren’t much, but he didn’t deserve this,’ a voice said from Savage’s left.
The Drifter looked up to see an older man standing there. He was dressed in black and wore glasses. Undertaker no doubt.
‘How’s that?’
The undertaker shrugged. ‘He was a drunk, but he was working on getting sober again. He hadn’t had a drink for nigh on a week. I’m guessing someone didn’t want that.’
Savage looked back at the saloon. ‘Someone like Breen?’
The undertaker remained silent.
‘I noticed a herd on the outskirts of town when I rode in. Do you know if they’re hiring?’
‘You might want to check at the Golden Barrel. Mind you, I don’t like their chances of making it to the railhead.’
‘Why not?’
‘Ever since Breen has been here in town, some herds have disappeared before they’ve gone twenty miles. Those that made it seem to arrive with a different crew driving them.’
Savage looked at the saloon. ‘And you think Breen is behind it?’
‘That and a dozen other things which have happened around here.’
Savage nodded. ‘I’ll check them out.’
‘Still wasting your time.’
Savage stared at the undertaker, waiting for him to continue.
‘The feller that’s boss of the herd is a Reb. Had himself a brigade or some such during the war. He’ll take one look at them duds you’re wearing and likely blow a damned bugle. He only hires Texans for his crew.’
‘I guess I’m in luck then.’
‘Why?’
Savage gave him a wry smile. ‘’Cause I’m from Texas.’
Savage found a room at the Night Shade Hotel. It was a double-storey concern run by an elderly couple. The foyer was well presented with carpet, hardwood counter, glass paneled doors and pictures on the walls. The staircase had a hand-tooled balustrade with round knobs on top of the posts.
‘How many nights will you be wanting?’ the thin-faced man asked.
‘A couple at least,’ Savage told him. ‘Maybe one or two more.’
The man nodded. Then his expression changed. ‘You ain’t part of the cow crew, are you? We’ve had cowboys here before and never again.’
Savage shook his head. ‘Not yet, anyway. I figure on going to see their boss.’
Concern etched the man’s face. ‘Maybe we’d best take it a day at a time. Mind you, I wouldn’t be working for the owner.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Strangest thing. They got this far and the crew up and quit. Just like that. Left the owner and his daughter, along with the ramrod, stranded here. Then they had to go to the trouble of hiring a new crew. I shouldn’t imagine they’ll be here much longer now that they have one, though.’
‘I tell you what. I’ll pay for two nights, but if I get me a job, I’ll move out.’
The man was surprised. ‘Not many folks would offer something like that, stranger. Much obliged.’
Savage paid for the room and got a key.
‘Room number six is along the hall at the top of the stairs. Halfway down on your right. One other thing …two, actually. No alcohol in the rooms and no women.’
Savage thanked him and headed up the stairs. He found the room and once inside, dropped his saddlebags and rifle on the small, iron-framed bed and walked across to the window.
Down below things seemed normal. He saw the undertaker had gained some helpers who were carrying the sheriff’s corpse along the street. Across the other side of the dusty thoroughfare, he saw a man leaning against an awning upright outside the barbershop. Every now and then he glanced up at the windows of the hotel.
‘Now, what threat am I to you, Josiah Breen?’ Savage murmured.
A second man crossed the street from almost beneath the window. He talked with the first man and then they both looked directly at Savage’s window. That meant the second man had been at the hotel counter asking questions.
The Drifter turned away from the window and crossed to the bed where he sat on its edge. The frame squeaked a protest as he tested the mattress. After dropping the saddlebags to the floor, Savage lay down. He needed a bath and a shave. That would wait. He placed the Yellow Boy beside himself within easy reach, then closed his eyes and fell asleep.
It was dark when Savage awoke. A thin sliver of moonlight filtered through the curtain and shone on the lower half of the bed. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since early morning.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and gathered himself for a moment before standing erect. His stiff back protested each movement, but it would loosen up after a while.
Gathering the Yellow Boy, Savage opened his room door and stepped out into the lamplit hall. He walked downstairs and found the owner still behind the counter.
‘Is there a place where I can get something to eat?’
The man reached into his pocket and took out a silver watch with a small-linked chain attached to it. He nodded. ‘You might have got something here earlier, but seeing as it’s gone past nine, I think the wife might protest mighty fierce. Maybe they could still be serving at the Charity Saloon.’
‘Anywhere else?’
‘I guess you could try the Golden Barrel. It’s along the street near the dry-goods store. You might even find the feller there who owns that herd outside of town. His name is Linc Porter.’
Savage nodded. ‘Thanks.’
When the Drifter exited the hotel, the first thing he noted was the figure lurking in the shadows across the street. He paused a moment and stared directly at the man to see what he would do.
Nothing. He just stayed right there.
Savage turned to his left and walked along the boardwalk until he found the Hide and Horns. He pushed in through the batwing doors and found that the noise he could hear before entering was caused by a large crowd.
There were men lined up along the bar, plus most of the tables were full. A thick cloud of cigar smoke hung heavily in the room, almost as heavy as the racket caused by the pianist flogging out a melody on an out-of-tune piano.
Savage crossed the sawdust-covered floor and found a narrow space at the bar. He squeezed in and one of the two barkeeps came up to him and asked, ‘What’ll it be, stranger?’
‘I’ll just have a beer.’
The ’keep nodded and walked back along the bar to pull the beer for the Drifter. When he came back, he placed it on the polished countertop and Savage paid him.
The dark-haired barkeep nodded at Savage’s rifle and asked with a wry smile, ‘Plan on killing someone with that thing?’
The Drifter’s face was deadpan when he replied, ‘Only if they ask me damn fool questions.’
The barkeep shot him a funny look, unsure if he’d caused offense. He made to apologize when Savage cut him off. ‘I’m looking for the feller who owns the herd outside of town. Is he in here? I was told his name is Porter.’
‘Why?’
‘My business.’
‘Stranger, unless you tell me why, then I ain’t telling you anything. You might want to shoot him for all I know.’
Savage took a sip of his beer and put it back on the counter. ‘I’m looking for a job riding herd.’
The barkeep stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if what he said was true. Then nodding towards the far left of the room, he said, ‘Over there in the corner. He’s sitting with his daughter and ramrod. Mind you, I don’t like your chances.’
Savage let the comment go and picked up his beer and finished it. Then he pointed himself towards the table where Porter sat.
The herd owner stopped talking and looked up at the man before his table. Savage figured him to be in his late fifties. His hair was silver and his face lined.
Beside him sat a young woman, perhaps in her late twenties, early thirties, long brown hair, attractive.
The other man at the table was solidly-built and the Drifter figured him to be around his own age. He had a scar above one eye, and his nose had been broken at least once before. He’d be the muscle, Savage figured.
The ramrod looked Savage up and down and snapped, ‘What do you want, Blue-belly?’
‘War’s over in case you ain’t heard.’
‘Not around here.’
Savage stared at him for a moment longer before shifting his gaze to the older man. ‘Are you Porter?’
The old man’s gaze was like granite. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘The name’s Savage. Jeff Savage.’
‘The question still stands. What do you want?’
‘I’m looking for a job.’
The old man snorted.
‘Frig off, Yank,’ the younger man snapped.
Savage looked at him and said, ‘I’m talking to your boss, not you. You got a mighty big chip on that shoulder, friend. Be careful someone don’t knock it off for you.’
The man came to his feet, a snarled expression on his face. ‘Why, you son of a bitch. I’ll plant …’
The hand movements of the Drifter were a blur as he brought the Yellow Boy up, reversed it, and drove the brass butt plate forward so it hit the man between his eyes.
‘Sit down,’ Savage snapped.
He dropped back into his seat, stunned and bleeding from a small cut at the center of a fast-rising lump.
Suddenly the room was quiet, and a few angry grumbles could be heard as some of the trail hands started to gather. Savage twisted about and turned the rifle on the advancing crowd.
‘That was just a warning. The next feller who tries something on, I’ll stop with a .44 Henry. Consider yourselves warned.’
He turned back to Porter. As he did so, he saw the shock on the woman’s face at the brutality she’d witnessed.
‘All I wanted to do was ask for a job.’
‘Get the hell out of here,’ Porter snapped.
‘I guess that’s a no. Oh well.’
Savage turned and walked back through the crowd that parted for him, not wanting to test the warning they’d been given. At the bar, the barkeep said, ‘Great way to ask for a job.’
‘Feller got his ambitions mixed up with his capabilities is all. Who is he, anyway?’
‘Brock Trent. Rode for the old man in the war. Considers himself his right hand. Some say he’s going to marry Porter’s daughter.’
Savage nodded. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Mavis.’
The Drifter looked at him. ‘No shit? He actually called his daughter that. I can think of plenty other names that would suit. Mavis ain’t one of them.’
‘They say she’s as tough as her old man.’
‘She’ll need to be if she plans on going on the trail drive.’
There was movement in the large mirror behind the bar and Savage noticed the three of them leave. Trent was still a touch uncertain on his feet and was being helped by Mavis Porter.
The batwings swung shut behind them and soon after came the sound of gunshots followed by a high-pitched scream.
Savage followed the crowd outside as they surged through the door. In the middle of the street, he saw Mavis bent over her father as she tried to stem the flow of blood from his chest. Beside them stood Trent, six-gun in his hand while he searched for a target.
When none presented itself, he holstered the weapon and knelt beside the distraught woman. After a couple of moments, he stood erect and eased her up by her shoulders. Her father was dead.
Then Savage noticed something else. Across the street, Breen and Milt had appeared. With them were two men the Drifter guessed were those he’d seen earlier. As he watched them, he thought he saw a smile come to Breen’s lips then disappear.
He looked back at the two figures standing next to Porter’s corpse. The woman had her face buried in Trent’s shoulder as she shook visibly with the outpouring of her grief. Trent, on the other hand, looked over at Breen. That’s when Savage saw it. An almost imperceptible nod that told him that something was very wrong.
Two hours after the death of Linc Porter, Breen, Milt, and Trent were all having a celebratory drink in the back room of the Charity Saloon.
‘Here’s to our acquisition,’ Breen told Trent, holding a full glass high.
‘We ain’t got the herd yet,’ the ramrod pointed out.
‘We will when my men refuse to work for a woman. I’ll be right there when it happens, and I’ll buy them for a song.’
‘I hope it’s that easy.’
‘It shall be.’
‘I been thinking,’ Trent said.
Breen glanced at Milt. ‘Uh oh. I sense that we are about to have a problem.’
Trent shook his head. ‘No problem. There’s around fifty-thousand dollars out there on the edge of town. Two-thousand head of prime beef that I’ll be in charge of driving north. I figure that’s worth a couple extra thousand at least.’
Breen frowned and shook his head. ‘Oh, dear. Greed is not good for a business relationship, Mr. Trent.’
‘I don’t consider—’
Breen’s voice grew harsh. ‘No, you didn’t consider anything. So, listen up. This is my plan, not yours. I didn’t pay off the last crew so the herd could slip through my fingers now. And when I purchase the cattle, they will be mine, not yours. You will be working for me, and as such, you will do as I frigging well say. Do you understand?’
Trent thought about arguing but the spark in the saloon owner’s eyes warned him against it. He nodded. ‘Okay.’
Breen gave him a mirthless smile. ‘Good. Except now you get two-thousand instead of five. I won’t abide greed.’
‘What? Now hang on …’
‘Milt!’ Breen snapped.
The gunman’s shoulder dipped, and his hand came up holding a cocked six-gun.
Trent’s eyes widened, and his hands came up. ‘Whoa. Hold on there. I didn’t say I wouldn’t take it.’
Breen nodded. ‘I’m glad we understand each other. Now we can concentrate on getting that herd.’
Savage had planned on leaving Deadman the following morning, after the death of Porter and the unlikelihood of a job. But something had nagged at him since the murder of the herd owner, so, after a breakfast of bacon and eggs at the hotel, he decided to hang around and see how things played out. He couldn’t help thinking that Breen was up to something and the young woman was about to be on the receiving end of whatever that was.
By midmorning, Savage started to find out what it was when he came across a gathered crowd in the main street.
He approached the group from along the boardwalk and stopped once within earshot. The Drifter leaned against an awning upright outside the barbershop and listened. In the center of the group of cowboys stood Mavis Porter, Trent, Breen, and Milt.
‘No!’ Mavis exclaimed. ‘I’ll not sell to him or anyone else. I’ll take them to Cheyenne myself if need be.’
‘That’s just it, May,’ Trent told her. ‘The boys aren’t going to work for you. They signed with your pa.’
‘Then I’ll hire a new trail crew,’ she paused and said defiantly, ‘And a new ramrod. Surely I can find more men looking for work.’
‘Not around here you won’t,’ Breen said.
Mavis set her jaw firm and stared at the saloon owner. ‘I can sure as hell try.’
Savage nodded. She had pluck, he had to give her that.
She turned and looked over the men surrounding her before calling out, ‘Are any of you willing to come with me?’
Not one man answered.
‘I see,’ she said despondently.
‘It’s a good price, May,’ Trent pointed out.
Her eyes flared. ‘The hell it is. Ten dollars a head is an insult.’
Breen cleared his throat. ‘Well, actually that’s not quite accurate. That was the price I offered your pa. Your price is five.’
Mavis Porter’s jaw dropped. ‘Why you thieving son of a bitch. You go to hell. I’ll not sell a damned cow to you while I’m still breathing. Pa wouldn’t and neither will I.’
‘May …’ Trent started.
‘Shut your mouth! I used to think a lot of you. But now I realize you’re no better than this four-flusher.’
She went to storm off, but the trail crew blocked her way.
‘It would pay for you to see sense,’ Breen told her.
‘I’ll take your herd.’
Everyone turned and stared at the man who leaned against the upright.
‘You keep out of this, Yank,’ Trent growled. ‘This ain’t none of your concern.’
Savage ignored him. ‘I’ll take your herd to Cheyenne, Miss Porter.’
‘Where do you think you’ll find a crew?’ Breen asked.
The Drifter settled his steely gaze on Breen as he spoke to Mavis Porter. ‘Ma’am, I’ll get a crew that’ll work for you. It might cost you a little extra, however, I guarantee they’ll get the herd through.’
Breen’s eyes glittered. ‘You sound mighty confident, Savage.’
‘Just stating facts.’
The next person to speak was Mavis Porter. ‘All right, Mr. Savage. If you can find me a crew, the job is yours.’
Savage shook his head. ‘Nope. I’ll get your crew. If you want me, you hire me now.’
She stared into his eyes and nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘I’m the boss, what I say goes.’
‘Done.’
The Drifter saw the urgent exchange of glances between Trent and Breen. Next thing the ramrod said, ‘Okay, May, we’ll take the herd to Cheyenne for you. I’ll take it.’
‘Not your problem any more, Trent,’ Savage said.
He ignored the Drifter. ‘May?’
Savage pulled away from the upright but stayed on the boardwalk where he could get a better view of the crowd.
‘If you want to talk to someone, Trent, you talk to me. I’m the boss, now. The lady appointed me. Didn’t you hear? Maybe you’re deaf.’
‘I’ve had about all I’m going to take from you, you son of a bitch,’ Trent snarled and stepped towards the Drifter.
Savage was ready for him and when Trent was close enough, the Drifter lashed out with his right foot and caught the advancing man flush in the chest. He followed as the man floundered backward, then hit the ramrod flush in the mouth.
Trent staggered a moment before gathering himself, blood at the corner of his mouth. He brought his fists up and spat on the ground. ‘Now you’re talking my kind of language. C’mon you son of a bitch.’
The ramrod stepped forward and let go an almighty swing with a huge right fist, which, had it connected, would have almost killed Savage then and there. But it was a clumsy blow and the Drifter saw it from two days away.
He went under it and let go a right uppercut from down near his knee. The blow hammered into the bigger man’s chest, just below his heart. Air whooshed from his lungs and his face turned red as he retched. Another hard left, followed by a right, put the big man down.
But there was no way Trent was going to stay there and he hauled himself to his feet.
With a bellow of rage, the bigger man charged and hit Savage in the middle with a powerful shoulder. The Drifter was driven back and both men crashed through a hitchrail and flat out onto the boardwalk behind it.
Trent dealt Savage two punishing blows. One to the face and another to the side of the head. The Drifter retaliated and chopped the heel of his hand across the snarling man's throat.
The ramrod reeled back as he gagged from the force of it. Savage came back to his feet, shook his head, and wiped blood from his mouth.
As he closed in on the hunched over Trent, the ramrod flung dirt into Savage’s face, temporarily blinding him. Trent crowded back in close and drove a fist into Savage’s guts. He doubled over just in time to meet a brutal uppercut that made him straighten and his head whip back.
Savage spat blood and gathered himself as Trent came in to finish him off. But Savage was tough, and he knew how to fight.
The next blow literally wiped the snarled grin off Trent's face when his lips were mashed back against his teeth. He stopped in his tracks and Savage hit him again, and again.
The ramrod fell to his knees, his battered head dropping to his chest. He looked up at the Drifter and smiled at him, teeth covered with blood. ‘Frig you.’
Savage drew his Remington and smashed it up the side of Trent’s head. The bigger man fell like a tree into the dust of the street.
An aggressive murmur rippled through the trail hands and they started to crowd forward. They stopped when the Drifter pointed the cocked six-gun in their direction. ‘I’ve had enough of fighting. Plumb wore out, in fact. One of you takes another step, I’ll kill him.’
‘Don’t listen to him,’ a cowboy in a blue shirt snapped. ‘He’d hang for murder.’
‘In case you haven’t learned yet, someone shot the sheriff. You’ll only get one warning. Consider this it.’
The cowboy closed in. ‘You can’t bluff me …’
The Remington roared, and the man fell to the ground with a red stain on his shirtfront. The six-gun shifted back to the stunned crowd, but his eyes drifted to Breen. ‘Anyone else?’
Mavis Porter stepped forward, face pale. ‘You—you murdered him. Just shot him down like—like some dog.’
Savage didn’t want this, and he was all out of patience. ‘Listen up, Miss Porter, and listen good. Every man jack of your crew is in on a scheme to rip your herd away from you and leave you with nothing. Killing your father was just the first step. He wouldn’t sell, and they killed him for it. Next is you. You either sell or you’ll be in a hole beside your old man. Why else do you think Trent was working so hard to get you to sell? And then when I said I would do it, he changes his mind.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
His anger still ran high. ‘I don’t give two shits whether you do or not. What I need you to believe is that I’m the only person who can get your herd through to Cheyenne. If you do, I can help you. If not, I’m no good to you and you might as well sell that herd to Breen right now for five-dollars a head. When you work it out, you’ll find me at the hotel.’
With that, Savage pushed his way through the crowd and stormed off.
Breen and Milt watched him disappear. Once the Drifter was out of sight, Milt asked, ‘What now?’
‘We kill him. Tonight.’
Meanwhile, unnoticed to those below on the street, a curtain moved at a second-storey window as it fell back into place. There was someone else who had taken an interest in the fight between the two men.
It took an hour, but the knock on his room door came. When Savage opened it, Mavis Porter was standing there, a look of apprehension etched across her face. He invited her in then stepped aside to allow her entry and closed the door behind her.
Mavis stopped in the center of the room and turned to face him, her eyes narrowed. ‘Let’s get one thing straight from the start. I don’t like what you did to that man and I won’t stand for it if you do something like that again.’
The Drifter nodded. ‘Okay. Let me ask you something. Those men on the crew, had they worked for your father before?’
‘Only Trent.’
‘Who hired them?’
‘Trent did. After the last crew quit when we arrived here, Pa had to find another.’
Savage frowned. ‘Why did they quit?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Pa said they never gave him a reason.’
‘Your old crew. Had they worked for your father at his ranch before?’
She shook her head. ‘No. All the old hands, except for Brock, stayed in Texas. Pa hired them especially for the drive.’
‘My guess is Trent hired the new men especially for this job. And I think he’s in cahoots with Breen.’
‘But why? He’s a good man. I was going to marry him. Maybe if I just talk to him, he’ll see sense and …’
‘No. If you want him along, then I quit. They say love is blind, and up to a certain point it is, I guess. But I’m telling you now, your man isn’t who you think he is.’
‘I was hoping to convince you otherwise,’ Mavis said. ‘But obviously not.’
‘No, ma’am.’
She nodded. ‘Well, I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. Thank you for your offer of help, but I trust Brock. I’ll insist he hires another crew and then we’ll leave for Cheyenne after that.’
Savage’s face grew grim. ‘You do as you see fit.’
Her answer was curt. ‘I will.’
‘Then goodbye.’
‘Goodbye.’
He shook his head as Mavis closed the door behind her. It was all going to end badly.
A battered Brock Trent met with Breen in the backroom of the Charity Saloon that night to break the news to him about Mavis’ decision.
Breen had a fat cigar jammed between his teeth as he considered what Trent was telling him.
‘You know that is unacceptable, Trent.’
‘Yes, well. It gets Savage out of the way.’
‘I already have a plan in place to get rid of him.’
‘What?’
‘Milt will be taking care of him.’
‘And then what?’
‘You will keep the crew and we will take the herd.’
‘We?’
‘Yes. I’m coming with you. My partner and I have a new business interest up there.’
Trent frowned. ‘Why would you give this up?’
Breen took the cigar from his mouth. ‘A town. We’re not going to Cheyenne as you seem to think. We’re headed to the South Platte River. With all the money we have made from our cattle venture, we are going to build a town. One where the ranchers from Texas and places in between, can drive their cattle to. We will have a rail spur that’s come in from Fort Sedgewick and yards big enough to hold thousands of cattle at any one time. It shall be called Dobson. Word has already gone out and herds will start arriving late this season.’
‘What about the other towns? Cheyenne?’
‘Cheyenne will wither on the vine, so to speak. Our town will be bigger and better. In fact, it has already started. My partner has had yards built and a rail spur shall be completed by the time we arrive. But I need this herd for the final payment. And I mean to have it.’
Trent looked into the man’s blazing eyes and knew that he meant what he said.
‘Okay. Let me worry about May. You’ll have your cattle.’
‘I won’t have anything stand in my way, Trent. You get her to see our way, or I’ll kill her, and you too.’
For the second time that day, a knock sounded at Savage’s door. Although his lamp was still burning, he’d been dozing on the bed. But it wasn’t the noise of knuckles on wood which roused him, it was the placement of a foot on the squeaky board out in the hall that had him reaching for his Remington.
‘Who is it?’
‘Open the door.’
A female.
Savage frowned, and the bed squeaked as he climbed off it. He padded across to the door and swung it open.
Standing in the hallway was a woman of an age somewhere akin to his own. She wore an emerald-green dress that was low cut, beneath which a tight corset forced her ample breasts upward, so the pale flesh almost billowed over the top of her revealing bodice.
Her eyes were cornflower-blue, her flawless face framed by long, dark, curly hair. She looked him up and down and smiled seductively and asked, ‘Are you going to shoot me or invite me in?’
‘Who are you?’
‘Elizabeth,’ she said, pushing past him. ‘You can call me Lizzy.’
She stopped after crossing the threshold and turned to face Savage.
‘Come on in,’ he said.
‘Close the door.’
He frowned at her. ‘What is it you want?’
Lizzy turned away and walked over to the bed. She ran a hand over it and sat down. ‘I saw your fight in the street with Trent today.’
‘So?’
‘I thought you might need …’ she ran a hand across the tops of her breasts, ‘… tending.’
Savage closed the door. He tucked the Remington into the front of his pants.
Lizzy gave him a playful look. ‘You might want to be careful with that. We wouldn’t want it to go bang. Not that anyway.’
‘Who the hell are you?’
‘A friend. Or I could be if you wanted me to be. Come over here.’
The Drifter hesitantly walked over to her.
She patted the bed. ‘Sit with me.’
From where he stood, Savage could see down the deep valley between her breasts. His pulse quickened, and he could feel the stirring in his groin. Every fiber of his body told him this was a bad idea, but hell, a man don’t get an offer like this every day.
‘What do you get out of it?’
‘Why don’t we discuss that later.’
Lizzy grabbed at the top of his pants and started to drag them down. Savage reached for the Remington and tossed it on the floor. He’d pick it up later. Then he discarded his shirt, revealing a torso ripped with cords of muscle, and a chest covered in dark hair.
When his erection sprang free from his pants, Lizzy looked up at him and smiled, her eyes sparkling. ‘My, that’s nice.’
Before Savage could speak, she moved her head forward and the Drifter felt his toes curl against the floor. She worked on him for a minute before a deep growl emerged from his throat and his hand grabbed a fistful of Lizzy’s hair and dragged her to her feet.
There was a look of erotic excitement in her eyes. ‘What’s the problem?’ she asked hoarsely.
Savage grasped at the top of Lizzy’s dress and dragged down in a sharp movement. Her pale breasts sprang free and revealed hard, pink nipples. The Drifter pinched one between a thumb and forefinger.
Lizzy moaned and pressed his head firmly to her chest with her left hand, while her right massaged his shaft.
Savage’s tongue flickered over Lizzy’s left breast, stopped at the nipple, pursed his lips, and sucked it in.
She pushed him away. ‘Damn it, help me get out of this dress.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
With swift movements, the dress came off, along with Savage’s own attire.
Lizzy stood before him, her large breasts thrust forward, stomach flat and defined. She pushed him back onto the bed and followed, hovering above his hard body. Then holding him in position, Lizzy lowered herself slowly down.
Savage rose part of the way to meet her and Lizzy moaned again. The Drifter felt himself become harder as her warmth enveloped him.
Lizzy gasped. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
She leaned down and kissed him, her tongue darting into his mouth and back out. Then Lizzy straightened up and Savage cupped her breasts, lightly brushing her erect nipples with his thumbs.
Slowly at first, Lizzy started to move her hips against him, but the longer her movements went on, the more urgent they became until she could hold back no more. Her head went back, tossing her dark curls down her spine, and exposed the tender flesh of her throat.
The invitation was too enticing to resist, and, as Lizzy tipped over the precipice of ecstasy, Savage lifted from the bed and buried his face into the hollow where her throat and shoulder met. As her rhythm slowed, she looked down at him and gave him a mischievous smile. ‘Your turn.’
Savage lay on the bed and watched Lizzy dress and re-pin her hair. ‘Are you going to tell me who you are?’
She stopped what she was doing and asked, ‘Is it important?’
‘Just curious is all.’
‘Maybe I’ll keep it to myself.’
‘Will I see you again before I leave town?’
She thought for a moment and shrugged. ‘Maybe. Depends if you leave town before I do.’
‘You’re leaving?’
‘The day after tomorrow on the stage. I’m headed north.’
‘I guess this is goodbye then.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Well, then. Goodbye.’
She finished what she was doing and blew Savage a kiss. ‘Bye, handsome.’
As Lizzy opened the door and stepped out, she bumped into the hotel owner. ‘Oh, sorry Mr. Lane. I should be more careful stepping out into the hallway.’
The man was shocked. ‘I … ahh … I … that’s quite all right, Mrs. Breen.’
She smiled warmly. ‘Good evening.’
‘Ahh … yes.’
Lane looked at the open doorway and saw Savage standing there, pants on, chest bare. ‘Did you say …?’
‘Breen? Yes. Mrs. Josiah Breen.’
Savage pulled a face. ‘Oh, shit.’
‘And I’d say loads of it, Mr. Savage. Loads of it.’
When Lizzy Breen walked into the spacious room that her and Josiah shared, she found him seated in a corner, drinking expensive brandy that he had shipped in from New Orleans. She hesitated when she saw him because he only ever sat up drinking like that when he was angry.
‘Hello, Josiah,’ she greeted him, a cautious smile on her face.
His gaze was like granite, his voice matched. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Out visiting.’
Lizzy walked over to her dresser and sat down facing the mirror. She started to let her hair down as she watched his reflection.
‘Who was it you were visiting? Mrs. Wells?’
A chill ran down her spine. He was starting to scare her. ‘If you must know, yes.’
‘Are you sure? Maybe it was that stranger in town, Savage?’
A flicker of alarm crossed Lizzy’s face briefly before she composed herself. ‘Don’t be absurd.’
The half-empty glass of brandy whizzed past her head and smashed into the mirror. Lizzy jumped with fright as glass and alcohol sprayed across the room.
‘Don’t lie to me, you bitch!’ Breen screeched.
He came out of his chair and crossed to her trembling form in swift strides. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her head around so he could glare into her fear-filled eyes.
‘You were with him!’
‘N—no.’
He slapped Lizzy across the face. ‘Liar!’
Lizzy clutched at her cheek as it turned bright red, burning with the pain.
‘You were with him!’
She hesitated.
His hand raised.
‘Yes! Okay, yes I was with him.’
Breen shoved her forcefully away and her ribs hit the edge of the dresser. He started to walk towards the door.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked through gritted teeth at the pain in her side.
‘I was going to have Milt kill him tonight. Now, I’ll do it myself.’
‘No, Josiah, don’t.’
Breen gave his wife a look of contempt. ‘I’ll deal with you when I get back.’
‘Josiah, No! Josiah!’
The door slammed shut hard enough to vibrate along the wall. Lizzy’s shoulders slumped and, with her face in her hands, she cried.
When they came, Savage was asleep. After what had happened earlier with Lizzy Breen, he should have been on edge. But he let his guard down and was unaware of the intruders’ presence until it was too late.
‘Drag your sorry ass out of that bed, you son of a bitch,’ Breen hissed.
The pressure of a gun barrel under the Drifter’s chin left him helpless. All he could do was obey.
‘Milt, get the lamp,’ Breen barked.
The light came up and filled the room. Savage looked into Breen’s eyes and could see the deep-seated fire burning in them.
‘I suppose the fact I didn’t know who she was won’t count for much?’
His answer was a sharp rap to the side of his head with a gun barrel, which drew blood and caused the Drifter to stagger. He gathered himself and stared Breen in the eye.
‘I guess you plan on killing me,’ he said.
Breen nodded. ‘I do.’
‘Then I have a question for you?’
‘What?’
‘How does it feel to be married to a whore?’
The gun in Josiah Breen’s fist roared twice and everything in Savage’s world went black.