Molly Wilmont was bored. The wailing screech of the string quartet got on her nerves. The thin-faced leader annoyed her by the way he screwed up his face in what he fondly imagined was a look of rapture but which resembled someone who’d been sucking on a lump of alum. She stood by the double doors of the sitting-room of the Wellington house and tried to look as if she were enjoying herself. Glancing sideways at the mirror on the wall she half approved, half hated, what she saw: a tall, slim, black-haired and beautiful young woman dressed to the height of fashion. The frock, leaving her shoulders bare, was tight and constraining to someone who’d been used to more casual clothes. Her face was losing its tan now and taking on the socially acceptable pallor which she so disliked.
Across the room Laverne and Alvine Wellington were tittering and whispering behind their fans. She watched them and felt disgusted. They were something she hated, simpering flirts who lived for two things only, gossip and flirtations. They and the others of their kind in the room did not interest her; they’d nothing in common. By the punchbowl Mrs. Wellington stood erect, her thin, pointed face showing disapproval at something or other. Molly did not like Mrs. Wellington any more than her two daughters, nor did Mrs. Wellington particularly like her.
Looking around the room Molly hoped that her fiancé, Keith Wellington, had arrived. There was no sign of him, or his father, the bluff, hearty Sam, a man she could like and admire. The old man was rich now, very rich, but he’d earned his money the hard way though he was reputed to be one of the richest men in Chicago. Money would not change him but his wife had done so. Mrs. Wellington was an errant snob, a sour-faced arbiter of what she thought was good taste.
The piece of music ended to polite applause and Molly wished she could find an excuse to leave. There was no hope of that. Mrs. Wellington’s plans for the day included this musical afternoon, then a visit to a theatre. There was no avoiding either. She must sit through the agony of the music all afternoon, then attend the dry as dust play that evening. She wished Keith were here. Keith was some boy and she loved him but she wished he would relax more. He’d taken her around with him to the usual social round, visits to the Streeterville Sporting Club where the bloods of upper-class Chicago forgathered. He’d taken her riding and proved to be good on a horse, though not as good as the youngest cowhand working on the Lazy W, but that was to be expected. Molly, knew that riding for a living was different to riding for sport. He’d taken her to a meeting of the Streeterville Rifle Club and displayed skill with a rifle although she was amused at the way he and his friends handled revolvers. They could shoot good groups on a target at twenty-five yards but she’d seen men who could do better. For all of that she loved Keith and knew that, given a chance, and away, from his mother, he would be all man.
‘Miss Wilmont.’ Molly turned at the disapproving voice of Limbkin the butler. ‘There are two persons asking for you at the front door.’
‘Who are they?’ Molly knew Limbkin did not approve of her and she didn’t like him.
‘I did not inquire. They are not the sort of people madam would’ encourage to come visiting.’
‘What is it, Molly dear?’ Mrs. Wellington was by Molly’s elbow, frowning. ‘Monsieur le Beaufort is just going to perform again.’
‘Somebody’s asking for me at the door,’ Molly answered, seeing the leader of the quartet lifting his bow.
‘Dear me. I do hope they are not like the last ones.’
Molly bit down an angry retort. Early in her acquaintance with the Wellington family a cowhand and his wife came to visit her while on a trip to Chicago. Mrs. Wellington arrived in time to hear Molly entertaining her guests, Mr. and Keith Wellington and a prominent railway president to a rowdy and slightly bawdy cowhand song. There’d been some unpleasant scenes over that and Mrs. Wellington never gave Molly a chance to forget it. It was only because of Sam Wellington’s intervention that the engagement did not end then. He swore that he’d never heard the song done better.
Turning on her heel Molly went towards the door. She could not think who would be visiting her here. There were few enough people in Chicago who knew her, outside the circle of the Wellington family. Whoever they were they did not meet with Limbkin’s approval. Then, nobody apart from Mrs. Wellington did. She opened the doors before Limbkin could arrive and forestall her. It always annoyed him. She went to the front door and a liveried footman drew it open for her. She didn’t know what to expect and stared, hardly believing her eyes. She gave a most unladylike whoop. ‘Rusty!’
‘Hi Molly.’ Mary Anne stepped forward and the two girls hugged each other.
‘Say what’re you doing here?’ Molly “asked, her pleasure at seeing her old friend making her forget where she was. Behind her the doors were open and the music came to a stop as everyone turned to see what the noise was about.
‘Came to see you, gal.’ Mary Anne grinned delightedly. ‘Say, you remember my lil brother, Waco.’
Before Molly could answer there was an interruption. Mrs. Wellington was standing there, a vinegar sour scowl on her face. ‘Molly!’
‘I’d like you to meet—’ Molly began.
Mrs. Wellington ignored the girl, looking Mary Anne and Waco up and down. They were still wearing the clothes they’d bought at the Texas railhead and these were not to the best of fashion. She sniffed then said, ‘Tell your friends to go round the back to the kitchen if they want a meal. And I would like to see you immediately in the library.’
Molly’s face turned red, wild anger in her eyes. She swung to Mary Anne. ‘You come in a Victoria?’
‘Sure,’ Mary Anne was annoyed. She knew she was not well dressed, but-there was no call for such impoliteness.
‘Wait for me in it. This won’t take long.’
Mary Anne and Waco watched the girl following the sour-faced woman into a side room. The annoyance at once left Mary Anne. She turned and grinned at Waco. ‘Man, there’ll be some fur flying soon. I haven’t seen ole Molly so wild since she caught Susan Mae O’Dea with the boy who’d brought her to the quilting party. Come on.’
Molly went into the library with fire in her eyes. Mrs. Wellington was waiting for her and the Wellington girls, tittering behind their fans, were also in the room. Mrs. Wellington looked at Molly with the scowl she usually saved for her social inferiors.
‘I have asked you repeatedly not to associate with those low people, Molly. After all, when you are married to a Wellington you—’
The door opened and Keith Wellington came in. He was a tall, fair, handsome and well built young man, his well-cut suit emphasizing his powerful figure. He came forward, face worried for he’d seen that look on his mother’s face before and knew what it meant. ‘What’s wrong. Molly?’
Molly ignored him. Her temper was up now and when that happened she was wild as a long horned Texas steer. ‘If I marry a Wellington the first thing I’ll do is get him as far away from you as I can. That girl out there is my best friend. She’s more like a sister to me. She happens to own a ranch as big, if not bigger, than the Lazy W. Not that that bothers me. She could still come to visit me even if she was as poor as a Texas sharecropper and she’d be welcome. Friendship doesn’t mean how much money a person has in the bank. Not to me. She was my friend and came to see me, not to be insulted.’
Laverne Wellington gave a shriek and her mother sat rigid at the girl’s effrontery. Then her voice lashed out in the tone which cowed unruly business people and servants. ‘Listen to me, young woman. I’ve never been in favor of you marrying my son. You are not the kind of person a Wellington should marry.’
‘Is that right?’ Molly’s eyes flickered to Keith. ‘What do you say to that, Keith boy?’
Keith’s mouth opened and then closed. He was in an awkward spot now, torn between loyalty to his mother and love for this fiery Texas girl. He tried to smooth things over.
‘Look, Molly—’
‘No, you look. I’m not good enough for your family, it looks like. All right, that suits me. I didn’t intend marrying all your family. If I marry you it looks as if I’d have to marry the family.’ She pulled the engagement ring from her finger and threw it on to the table top. ‘There, give it to some tittering, simpering flirt like these two. There’s a whole lot of them out there who’d just be ready to let your mother wipe her feet on them to become a Wellington. Give that ring to one of them. You don’t want a woman.’
‘Don’t you dare speak to my brother like that?’ Laverne
shouted, determined to show this girl her dislike. ‘I’ll—’
The words ended abruptly as Molly gripped the front of Laverne’s dress and pulled the girl forward, holding a folded, hard-looking fist under her nose. ‘You’ll do nothing. You dumb little sheep, you couldn’t walk the width of the room without a guide. It’s a pity you didn’t see the man who was with my friend. He’d really have set you going after some of the things I’ve seen you flirting with.’
Molly gave Laveme a contemptuous push which staggered her back across the room. Mrs. Wellington gave a cry and flopped back in her chair with arms hanging limp and mouth open. Molly looked at Keith. ‘I’m going back to Texas. Goodbye.’
Keith was about to speak but the Wellington girls were by their mother and shrieking that she was having one of her turns. Once more he was caught in that mess. It was either the girl he loved or his mother. He’d seen enough of her turns to know how dangerous they were. Yet for all that he could not just walk away and leave her, it might be serious. Also sense told him that in her present mood Molly would not listen to any reason. Turning, Keith bent over his mother, hearing the door of the room slam behind Molly. He thought there was a flickering smile of triumph across his mother’s lips.
Stamping down the passage towards the door Molly ignored the sea of faces which watched her. She knew everyone here was interested in what was going on. It would give them something to talk about for days she guessed. Limbkin was opening the door for her, a supercilious sneer on his face. There was a look of delight about him that annoyed her as he said, ‘The persons are waiting in the Victoria, Miss Wilmont.’
‘Why thank you most to death, Limbkin.’ Molly’s voice dripped with poison loaded honey. ‘You remind me of a pet packrat I once had, only he was better looking, smelling and tempered. Don’t drink too much of Mr. Wellington’s best whiskey. He’ll catch you one of these days.’
With this she swept proudly through the front door, for all her poise giving the footman a broad wink and seeing an eyelid droop in the impassive face. Limbkin watched her go, frowning, shocked out of his usual blank expression by the fact that his secret incursions into Wellington’s best bonded whiskey were noted. He was pleased the girl was going but knew she’d left him the loser.
Mrs. Wellington was recovering when the door of the library burst open. Sam Wellington came in, his usually red face redder as he pulled open his collar and slammed the door with a bang which jarred the pictures on the wall.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ he roared.
Laverne sniffed. ‘That horrible girl said nasty things to Mama. I thought she would strike me.’
‘It’s a pity she didn’t. Might have knocked some sense into you,’ Wellington growled, then looked at his wife. ‘Stop your fooling, Clara, them turns of yours don’t fool me. You never had them when we lived in the badlands, down Clancy Street.’ Mrs. Wellington sat up again, her turn ending even quicker than it began. Her husband, like the few others so privileged, usually called her Clarissa, rather than by her given name of Clara. She also knew that her husband was usually mild and compliant but when he took that tone it was time to step carefully.
‘Samuel—’
‘Where’s she now?’ Wellington growled, ignoring his wife’s words.
‘She’s left.’ Keith stood looking at the ring on the table.
‘So you finally did it, did you?’ Wellington roared at his wife. ‘You finally drove off that little girl. Before I made my pile you’d have been proud to have a gal like Molly marry our boy. You’re getting so high toned and snooty you’ve forgot how we started out.’ He turned his attention and anger on his son. ‘And you. For once in your life you pick a decent gal, the sort who’ll make you a good wife and make a man out of you. So what do you do, you let her get away. I’d have hoped you would show more damned sense than lose her and by hell you’re not going to lose her. You’re going out of this house and you don’t come back until you bring her with a wedding ring on her finger. Understand?’
Keith drew himself erect. ‘I understand.’
‘All right, get going.’
Walking from the library Keith was aware that all eyes were on him. He turned and went to his room. Inside he began to pack his bag with a change of clothes. He knew Molly and knew that the only way to get her back was to go to Texas and win her. He knew little of the West, except what he’d read in the blood and thunder stories of Ned Buntline and what Molly told him. He could ride and hoped to get work as a cowhand until he could win her back. The door of his room opened as he packed his small bag with a change of underclothes, that was all he would be taking with him. He did not turn around or even look up as his father’s voice came to him.
‘You going all the way after her, boy?’
‘It’s the only way.’
Sam Wellington took out his wallet, extracted a sheaf of money, dropping it by his son’s hand. ‘You’ll likely need some of this, then. Good luck.’
Leaving his son’s room Wellington went downstairs. Fie glared at the crowd in the room, livery eye was on him, every one giving him their attention. He’d never realized how much he disliked most of his wife’s circle of friends before. The time was on hand for a revolution and Sam Wellington was the man to make it.
‘Limbkin,’ Wellington yelled. ‘Send down to Pat O’Leary’s shebeen down on Clancy Street and get a couple of bottles of his whiskey.’ Then turning to the pained-looking quartet leader he went on. ‘Say, Horace, do you know Finnigan’s Wake?’
Keith Wellington packed his bag and left, making for the Texas and Chicago Depot. He made a reservation on the night westbound train, left his grip and went to the Reed-Astoria. Entering the hall he went to the desk. ‘Hello, Jules. Is Miss Wilmont in?’
‘No sir. She returned and left with Mr. and Miss Catlan.’
‘When will she be back?’
Jules sniffed. ‘She didn’t say, sir.’
Keith got it. Jules was under orders not to give anything away. He must have seen the missing engagement ring and drawn his own conclusions. Jules was a smart gent, besides, knowing Molly she’d probably given orders for her whereabouts not to be mentioned. Turning on his heel Keith left the hotel and went to the Streeterville Sporting Club to spend a miserable afternoon.
Molly was also spending a miserable afternoon. Her temper was still at boiling point when she got to the hotel. Mary Anne knew there was nothing they could do but wait for the storm to blow over. She worked on the principle that the best way to cool a woman’s temper was to get her to spend some money.
‘Damn all men!’ Molly slung her bag on the bed. ‘There’s not a good one any place, they’re all the same.’
‘Sure are,’ Marry Anne agreed, winking at Waco who was standing back and keeping quiet, showing wisdom. ‘Ain’t none of them worth the keeping. Let’s go shopping.’
‘I’m going home tonight.’
‘Thought you was selling the Lazy W,’ Mary Anne answered.
‘You thought what?’
Mary Anne held out the letter and Molly took it. She read the letter and her face got even more red. ‘What the hell?’ Molly’s voice was hard. ‘I never wrote this.’
‘I never thought you did. Look at the spelling, it’s too good for you,’ Mary Anne answered. ‘But it got to Colonel O’Dea.’
‘Got to Colonel O’Dea.’
‘Got to Colonel O’Dea?’ Molly felt stupid repeating the words but her mind was not working properly.
‘Sure, got to him. Look, you’re not thinking properly yet. Let’s go shopping and I’ll explain it all to you.’
Molly agreed to this but she just could not get up enough energy yet. She looked at the letter again and shook her head. Waco came forward and Mary Anne jerked a hand to him. ‘Didn’t get time to introduce you to my lil brother before. This here’s Waco.’
Molly grinned, holding out her hand. ‘Hi, boy. Some lil brother. You growed up, boy.’
‘So’d you. Who’d you write to down in Texas, Molly?’
‘Colonel O’Dea, his gals. I wrote to White, a couple of the other gals, telling them about getting engaged.”
‘Short letters?’ Waco went on.
Mary Anne laughed. ‘Short letters. She wouldn’t know how.’
Molly eyed her friend. ‘Listen Fatty—’
‘Fatty is it?’ Mary Anne answered. ‘Why you—’
‘Simmer down, both of you.’ Waco pushed Mary Anne on to the bed and Molly into a chair. ‘This’s more serious than having a hair yanking. Didn’t you meet anybody from Texas in the past month or so?’
‘Nope, nor was I likely to. Mrs. Wellington thinks all Texans, including me, are uncouth savages, just one stage further advanced than the Indians. Mind,’ Molly eyed Mary Anne and Waco, ‘I’m not saying she was far wrong where some of us are concerned.’
‘Sure, you Lazy W bunch were always the same, wild, woolly, full of fleas and never seen a currying below the knees. Come on, let’s go shopping and make reservations on the night train. I never thought you would sell the Lazy W.’ Mary Anne grinned at her friend. ‘You aren’t smart but you’re too smart for that.’
‘Yeah,’ Molly snorted. ‘I’m not sure with neighbors like you I’d show sense if I did sell out.’ She paused and picked up her hat from where she’d thrown it. ‘Why’d you pair come here anyway?’
‘To show you this letter,’ Waco explained. ‘Lootenant Ballinger allows a Doc Pilsener wrote it, Doc being found dead the day after it was posted. That means the man who did it is an Eastern man, but one that knows the Ranse River country. He wants both Lazy W and S.S.C. and with this letter he’d likely come to get them both. Colonel O’Dea would have sold him the Lazy W. and then with control of the water he could run S.S.C. off.’
‘You got somebody in mind, boy?’ Molly asked, watching this handsome youngster and wondering where he’d learned to act like this.
‘Mebbee, mebbee not. Man never can tell and I sure don’t aim to.’
Mary Anne could see that Waco did not wish to say any more on the subject and pressed that they went shopping before they pulled out of the big city. Molly took the hint and Waco was evicted while she put on a dress which, while not being so stylish was at least comfortable.
Jules studied the three as they came to the desk, noting Molly was not wearing her engagement ring now. ‘If anyone comes asking for me you don’t know how long I’ll be gone, Jules,’ Molly said grimly.
‘I understand, Miss Wilmont.’ In his frigid way Jules liked the Texas girl and he did not intend doing anything she would not wish him to do. ‘I hope your suite is satisfactory, Miss Catlan?’
‘Sure. We’ll be checking out tonight.’
They’d left only a few moments when Keith arrived. That night found them all on the westbound train, headed for Texas. Molly did not even suspect Keith was on the train, nor did Keith guess the girl he loved was in a sleeper in the compartment next to his own. He sat moodily in the room for a time then rose and made his way to the smoker.
The smoker was almost deserted as he sat at one of the tables and called for a beer. Two beefy, flashily-dressed men sat by the bar and nodded to the other. They rose, coming along to the table. ‘Can we join you, friend?’
‘Sure, take a seat.’ Keith looked up. These men were not the sort he would have chosen to associate with in Chicago but things were done differently out west.
‘Going west?’ the bigger of the pair asked, offering a cigar case.
‘Texas. And you?’
‘Texas, too. A fine country.’ The man was heavily mustached, his face reddened from either sun or long exposure to the full glare of a whiskey glass. He wore a loud check suit which clashed with his salmon pink shirt and big bow tie. ‘I’m Joe. Sell razors, bay rum and stuff for a barbershop. This’s Lou. You might not believe it but he sells ladies’ corsets.’
Lou was bearded, dressed as glaringly as his friend and grinned amiably. He did not appear to be at all worried by his friend telling what he sold. ‘Good things to sell. The gals are always going to wear them. Have a drink.’
The train was moving now, rattling along the rails. Keith sat back laughing at the stories the men told, stories of their adventures while travelling. They appeared to be a pair of cheery, rough diamonds and were just what he wanted now to relieve the monotony of the journey.
‘Say, how about a game of poker to pass the time?’ Joe asked. ‘Lou here owes me a dollar fifty from our last game and I sure hate to see him win.’
Keith was just a little suspicious. He’d heard of cardsharps on trains before. His first inclination was to decline the offer but Lou shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Joe. We don’t know this young feller. I know he looks all right but—’
Keith frowned. The man did not trust him. The feeling hurt. Here he was, a member of the Streeterville Sporting Club and this overdressed drummer did not trust him. He sat back, his mouth a tight, grim line and Joe snorted. ‘You’ve hurt the young feller’s feelings. You can’t take him any place twice, they won’t even have him back to apologize for the first time. I’m not playing unless our friend plays, Lou.’
Lou looked contrite. ‘All right, all right. No offence, friend. It’s just that there gets to be a lot of sharps on these trains. I wasn’t making out that you are one. Say, to show you there’s nothing in it you go get the deck of cards from the bar.’
Keith was mollified by this. He’d been doubtful but now he felt ashamed of himself. Here were two perfectly decent men and he’d thought they were crooked gamblers. Now they were going to let him get the cards showing they trusted him. He was a good poker player. The play at the Streeterville Sporting Club was often high and he’d held his own there. He might win or lose a few dollars in this game but that would not matter for his wallet was bulging and he could afford a small loss.
Taking the cards back to the table Keith sat down facing the two men. He was seated with his back to the leather seat while they were facing him across the table, yet they were well apart. Nothing could be wrong.
‘What’s the stakes?’ Lou asked.
‘Whatever you fancy.’ Keith felt expansive.
‘Man, we’ll have to watch him, Lou,’ Joe chuckled. ‘He’s got a gleam in his eye. Let’s us set down real small and try him out. Say five cents to twenty-five.’
Keith chuckled, giving the cards a riffle. The stakes would not break him, he was going to enjoy a friendly game.