CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Arman Broussard raised his nose and sniffed. “Yes, it’s coffee. And bacon frying.”

“I smell it too,” Leah Leighton said. “And there’s a fire right ahead of us. Do you see it?”

“I see it,” Luna Talbot said. “It could be the Rathmores.”

“I don’t think so,” Broussard said. “I never smelled bacon in the arroyo. If they ever had any, it ran out a long time ago. And why would they camp so far off their home range?”

“Well, I’m worn out and hungry enough that I’m willing to take a chance that it’s not the Rathmores,” Luna said.

“Could be Rangers,” Leah said.

“Could be anybody,” Luna said. “Let’s go find out.”

Broussard felt reassured by the weight of the Colt in his waistband and that Luna and Leah were armed. But it was late to be calling on strangers in this wild country that seemed to nurture even wilder men.

Luna must have read his thoughts. “Ride in easy, but be on your guard. We don’t know if we’re about to meet up with friend or foe.”

“Or a little of both,” Broussard said.

With the dark of night tight around them and under a sky without a moon, Luna held up a halting hand and drew rein when they were as yet a good distance from the fire. “Hello, the camp!” she called out.

Silence.

Luna saw shadow figures move in the fire glow and then the distinct click-clack of a Winchester lever.

A moment . . . and then a man’s voice called out, “What do you want? State your intentions.”

“We smelled your coffee and would admire to share your fire,” Luna said.

“How many of you?”

“Three. Two women and a man.”

Another pause, then, “Who’s the man?”

“My name is Broussard. It’s well-known in some quarters.”

The silence dragged on longer before a man said, “Arman Broussard, out of New Orleans?”

“The very same.”

“I heard you’d been hung.”

“You heard wrong.”

“Then come on in real slow. And Broussard, keep your hand well away from your gun. There’s some mighty excitable gents around here, and they ain’t trusting men.”

“We’re coming in,” Broussard said. “Grinning like visiting kinfolk.”

The three riders approached the campfire at a walk, and then as frontier etiquette demanded, sat their saddles until they were asked to step down.

“Light and set,” Johnny Teague said. “There’s coffee in the pot and bacon and cornbread in the pan.”

Broussard didn’t dismount with the women. His eyes hard on Teague he said, “It’s been a while, Johnny.”

“Four years. That time in Galveston,” Teague said. His hand hung close to his gun. “You were dealing faro in the First Chance saloon when I shot Charlie Banks.”

“I recollect, Johnny,” Broussard said. “Banks was no good. Neither was his brother.”

“You joined the posse that went after me though, Arman. Ran me for three days before y’all gave up.”

“Johnny, I was a pillar of the community, a new experience for me. I was expected to do my duty. The others took pots at you, but I didn’t. I always figured that Banks only got what was coming to him.”

“Well, let bygones be bygones, I say. Water under the bridge, huh? Now light and set.”

“We still got a problem, Johnny. I have to say it straight out, no holding back.”

“Tell it. I’m listening.”

“I killed a man in New Orleans, a rich man’s son, and his pa put a price on my head,” Broussard said. “I’ve been dogged by bounty hunters ever since.”

“I figured that’s why I thought you’d been hung already,” Teague said. “I got my information wrong.”

“Seems like. The thing is, I’d take it real hard if you try to collect that bounty. I mean, given our past history and all.”

“Men in my profession don’t cotton to bounty hunters. Too close to the law for our liking,” Teague said. “If there’s a bounty on you, I won’t be the one cutting off your head and taking it to New Orleans. You savvy? You have my word on it.”

Broussard nodded. “Your word is good enough for me.” He swung out of the saddle. “Now where’s the coffee?”

“Aren’t you going to introduce the ladies first?” Teague said.

“Of course. That was remiss of me. Johnny Teague, this is Mrs. Luna Talbot and Miss Leah Leighton, her ranch segundo.” Broussard might have said more, but the stunned expression on Teague’s face stopped him in his tracks.

“But . . . Mrs. Talbot . . . but you shot at us,” the outlaw said.

“When, Mr. Teague? Recently or at some time in the past?”

“Just before sundown when we rode up on the mountains,” Teague said. “And then you shot at Crystal Casey, who used to work for you.”

Luna smiled. “I see you, Crystal. You look well.”

The woman smiled. “No hard feelings, Mrs. Talbot.”

“Not hard enough to shoot you, my dear.” Luna looked back at Teague and said, “I assure you, I didn’t shoot at you, either, nor did Miss Leighton or Mr. Broussard.”

Teague looked doubtful, as though he was unconvinced. “Arman, give me the right of it.”

“Mrs. Talbot didn’t shoot at you, Johnny. But I can tell you who did.”

“Who?” Teague was angry. “Give me names.”

Broussard shook his head. “All in due time. Johnny, as a host you leave much to be desired. Do I ever get the coffee you promised?”

“Mrs. Talbot, I’ll get your coffee, and yours too, Leah,” Crystal said, anxious to make amends for her betrayal.

“Arman, help yourself and then tell me who I can add to my list of enemies,” Teague said. “It seems to grows longer by the day.”

“And of course you’ll want to know all about the Lucky Cuss gold mine, won’t you, Mr. Teague?” Luna said.

That caught the outlaw flat-footed, but he managed to say, “It had crossed my mind.”

Luna smiled. “I’m sure it had. And I’m afraid you’re in for a huge disappointment.”