Five
The bullet never came. Instead, a low chuckling reached Falcon’s ears.
Falcon smiled as he recognized the quiet laughter. He turned and looked at the source.
“Big Bob Marsh,” Falcon said, exhaling anxiety-filled air from his lungs.
“In the flesh and as handsome to the ladies as ever,” the man said, stepping closer.
Falcon stood up and the men shook hands.
“What in the world . . . ?”
Big Bob waved him silent. “I was about a hundred miles north of that pissant town in Utah when you put lead into Chet and Butch Noonan. If two ever deserved killin’, them two did. But I knowed Nance would send men out lookin’ for you. I thought and thought ’bout where you might go to hole up. Felt you wouldn’t go back to Colorado; you wouldn’t want to bring trouble to your kin. Then I ’membered that old cabin built into the mountain. Went there. But by the time I reached the cabin, you’d done hauled it outta there. Been trackin’ you ever since.”
“Now you found me, and a peck of trouble, too.”
“Hell, boy, I ain’t never shied away from trouble in my life.”
Falcon stepped back and looked hard at Big Bob. Falcon figured the man to be about sixty years old. But still in fine physical shape. A huge man, standing several inches taller than Falcon, and Falcon was no little man. Big Bob had come out west when he was just a boy, and Falcon’s dad had talked often about the man. Big Bob was one of those larger-than-life legends of the mountains.
“You want a job, Bob?”
The man shrugged massive shoulders. “I might do a dab of work for a month or so. What you got in mind?”
“Let’s fix some coffee and jaw about it.”
“Long as I can fix the mud. I recall yours is too damn weak for this child.”
Falcon built a small fire and coffee was soon on. Falcon talked while he worked. Finally, after a cup of coffee strong enough to melt an anvil, Big Bob Marsh grinned. “Oh, that shines, boy. It purely does. Hell, yes, I’ll stick around. I hate a bully like this Gilman. When you reckon the others will drag their asses in?”
“Couple of weeks, maybe sooner. Depends on how close they are and how soon they get the word.”
“Be good to see some of them ol’ boys. I ain’t seen Wildcat Wheeless in ten years or so. I thought Jack Stump was long dead. Good to hear he’s alive and kickin.’ You shore Mustang is still breathin’?”
“Positive.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. Ain’t seen him since . . . oh, I reckon it was ’62 or thereabouts. But I seen Puma Parley ’bout two years ago.” Bob shook his shaggy head. “He had just lost his old cat and was trainin’ ’nother one. Big cat, too. I purely hope he leaves that son of a bitch to home. Home bein’ that cave he lives in. Beats me how a man can live with a damn mountain lion.”
Falcon smiled. But like Bob, he hoped Puma would leave his snarling pet at home. Mountain lions made him nervous. “What’s this cat’s name?”
“Jenny. Just as gentle as a baby with Puma. Kept lookin’ at me like I was supper. Made me plumb edgy. You tryin’ to get hold of anybody else?”
“Dan Carson.”
“Las’ I heard he was hangin’ ’round Denver. And that was just two, three months ago. Some woman had just about dabbed a loop on him and he was tryin’ to figure out a way to get shut of her. This ought to do it.”
“I don’t know whether the world is ready for six or seven of you old coots all together in one spot,” Falcon said with a grin.
“Whaw!” Big Bob snorted. “We’ll shore enough kick up a fuss, now, let me tell you.”
“Bob, in all seriousness, have you ever worked as a cowboy?”
“Shore! I can rope, brand, herd . . . you name it, I’ve done it. So have the others. Don’t you worry none. Me and the boys will get them critters to a railhead. Or die tryin’.” Then he sobered. “But I’ll add this: ’Fore all of us die tryin’, there’ll be blood on the moon, boy. Bet on that.”
“I sure wouldn’t bet against you, Bob.”
Big Bob Marsh grinned, exposing a pretty good set of choppers for his age and the time. “Let’s finish up this coffee and head on to the ranch, boy. I want to meet the folks I’ll be working for and stow my possibles.”
* * *
John, Martha, Angie, Jimmy, Cookie, and the foreman, Kip, stood in a group and stared for a moment at Big Bob Marsh. He was the biggest man any of them had ever seen: six feet, seven inches tall and weighing about two hundred and ninety pounds, all bone and gristle and muscle.
Finally, John found his voice. “Bob,” he said, walking up and holding out his hand, “welcome to the Rockingchair.”
Bob’s hand swallowed the rancher’s. “Thankee, Mr. Bailey. You can be shore I’ll give you a day’s work for a day’s pay. I don’t believe in slackin’ none.”
“I’m sure you will, Bob,” the rancher said, looking up into the broad and whiskered face. “I’m payin’ fightin’ wages: sixty a month and found.”
“Whew! Them’s good wages. If the grub’s as good as the pay, I found me a home for a time.”
John smiled. “We’ve got the best cook in this part of Wyoming.”
Kip stepped up and howdied and shook. “Come on, Bob. Let’s get you settled in.”
After the foreman and Bob had walked off, Jimmy asked, “Is that man a giant?”
After a good laugh, John tousled his grandson’s hair and looked at Falcon. “How’d you find him so quick?”
“I didn’t. He found me. We just crossed trails a few miles north of here. Bob was just wandering. He’s known me since I was just a tadpole. He and my father were good friends.”
“Someday you’ll have to tell us about your father,” Angie said, smiling at Falcon.
“Someday I will, Angie. My dad was quite a character.”
“Brothers and sisters, Val?” Martha asked.
“A whole bunch of them, Mrs. Bailey. It’s a long story.” He touched the brim of his hat with his fingertips. “Now if you all will excuse me, I want to get Bob settled in and pick out some horses for him to ride. It takes a big horse for him.”
As Falcon walked away toward the bunkhouse, Angie said, “I am determined to learn the truth about that man.”
John took off his hat and mopped his forehead with a bandanna. “He’ll tell us when he’s good and ready, daughter. And maybe he never will.”
Martha smiled and took her daughter’s hand. “Let’s go bake some pies for supper.”
“Now, that just might do it,” John said with a laugh.
* * *
There were a few moments of silent shock and then some mild panic at the Bank of Gilman as the bank president read the wire just received from a very prestigious bank in San Francisco. A line of credit had been set up for one Val Mack in the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars, the money guaranteed by the bank in San Francisco.
Within minutes, the bank president was in his buggy, heading for the Striking Snake ranch.
“Twenty-five thousand dollars!” Miles Gilman screamed. “Where the hell does a saddle-bum gunfighter get that much money?”
“I ain’t never even seen that much money all in a bunch,” Claude spoke the words wistfully.
“Damn few people have,” Miles told him, settling down somewhat. He waved the wired message. “What the hell is goin’ on around here?”
“I think we best do some checkin’ on this Val Mack,” Claude said. “Take a look down his back trail real close.”
Miles thought about that for a time, then shook his head. “Time we arranged for all that and got it done, it would be too late. Stegman and Noonan is movin’ herds from their range down south right now. It’s gonna take some time ’fore they get here. But I don’t want this Val Mack to be around when they do. Cut the boys loose, Claude.”
“Consider it done, Miles.”
* * *
“You noticed, I reckon, this place is built like a fort?” Big Bob said to Falcon. “Main house, bunkhouse, even the barn.”
“Ten years ago there was a lot of Indian trouble here. Many of the settlers didn’t last long. Men like John Bailey dug in and stayed. They built to last.”
The men were sitting on a bench outside the bunkhouse, smoking and jawing while they waited for the call to come to supper at the main house. While there was just the two of them, they would eat with the Bailey family. When, or if, the others showed up, the hands would eat separately, their meals prepared by Cookie in the kitchen adjoining the bunkhouse.
“Sooner or later, boy,” Bob said, “you gonna have to tell these good folks who you are.”
“I know. Sooner or later.”
“That Angie gal, she’s got her cap set for you.”
Falcon sighed. “I haven’t been able to think of another woman since Marie was killed. Too soon, Bob.”
“I understand, boy. I felt the same way when Crow Woman was killed back in ’51. I tracked them damn men for five years. But I finally got ’em all.”
“What happened to your kids, Bob?”
“Fever got one. I heard the other was killed at the Little Bighorn. Me and him never was close.”
“How long after Crow Woman was killed ’fore you could take more than a passing interest in another woman?”
Big Bob Marsh was silent for half a minute. “Long time, boy. I reckon that was the only woman I ever loved. You might be the same way.” Then he smiled. “But that don’t mean that ever’ now and then you can’t get an itch that only a woman can scratch.”
Falcon laughed, then sobered. “I haven’t even had one of them since Marie was killed.”
“You will, boy. You will. Give it time. You’re still followin’ a trail called grief. But it will fork one of these days. Believe me.”
“Yo, boys!” John Bailey called from the front porch. “Supper’s on the table. Got steaks and taters and gravy and hot bread and fresh-baked apple pie.”
Big Bob slapped Falcon on the leg and Falcon wondered if he could even stand up after the blow. “Let’s eat, boy!” the big man thundered.
“I don’t know if I can even walk,” Falcon muttered, standing up. He bent over to rub his leg just as someone on the ridges around the ranch complex squeezed the trigger. The bullet tore a hole in the outer wall of the bunkhouse, missing Falcon by only a few inches.
Five seconds later, Falcon and Big Bob Marsh were inside the thick walls of the bunkhouse, rifles in their hands.
“Now this really pisses me off,” Big Bob grumbled.
“Getting shot at?”
“No. Startin’ a war ’fore I have time to eat my supper!”