Matt finished strapping on his Colt. He was standing in front of the deep iron tub of soapy water. The fenced yard was maybe ten-by-fourteen feet. Towels hung on hooks and there was soapy water on the plank platform from Matt’s carelessness.
The little man in front of him looked like a little red rooster.
“Draw your own water,” Matt said.
“I paid for this bath.”
“So did I.”
“You’re lyin’.”
Matt made a face. “You call me a liar one more time, I’m goin’ to make your nose so flat it’ll come out your ears.”
“Maybe you don’t know I’m Red Oliver. I’ve whupped every man in this town. And you can bet on it.”
“That don’t scare me none.”
Red rubbed his nose. “Well, I ain’t wastin’ that bath water. You wanna step out front?”
“Nope, I’m all cleaned up, and I got no time for you.”
Pushing his hat back, Red grimaced. “Here I come!”
Red charged across the six-foot space between them. His pale eyes were round under heavy brows, his mouth twisted in a snarl, his scrawny hands reaching.
Then he slipped on the wet, soapy platform and landed on his rump, sliding wildly toward Matt’s legs. Matt lifted one leg, shoved him on through, and kicked him in the rear as he went sailing past. He turned around with a grin.
But then Matt’s boots slipped on the soapy water and he fought frantically to keep his balance. He slid and went over backwards, landing on his rear with a loud thump.
Red spun around, still seated on the wet floor.
They glared at each other, and then the scrawny man began to laugh. “You look plumb foolish sittin’ there.”
“It was your idea.”
“How about I buy you a drink?”
“Coffee maybe. I’m plenty hungry.”
“Got me a room at the hotel. As soon as I have a bath, we’ll have some grub.”
“Sounds all right. I’ll be puttin’ up my horse.”
They both fought to stand up and slid around. Red lost his balance, his feet went out from under him, and he sat down with a loud splash in the tub, his legs flying up in the air as water went swirling across the floor. He was up to his chin and looking mighty silly.
Matt was grinning. “Well, the water’s sure dirty now.”
Red struggled to get back to his feet, one hand on the tub to steady himself.
Matt was grinning. “Did you really whup every man in town?”
“Well, maybe one or two got scared off by my bellerin’. It works, you know. When you’re my size, you gotta try most anything. Who are you anyhow?”
“Matt Landry.”
“Well I’ll be. Everyone says you’re gonna marry Adriane Driscoll. Me, I got a shirttail outfit. Between McClain’s and Target, near the Red Rocks.”
“The old outlaw hangout, I hear.”
“Yeah. And yesterday, I was best man at McClain’s weddin’. Even wore me one of them little string ties.”
Matt drew a deep breath, then told him about the attack.
For a long moment Red could only stare at him. Then he spoke with a wavering voice as his eyes misted.
“Had to be Target.”
“There’s no proof.”
“Then you get it, Matt Landry.”
Matt wanted to respond in the negative, but the short man’s face was so set with trust that Matt could only swallow and turn carefully toward the door, slipping and sliding until he gripped the frame. Water from Red’s splash was trailing him.
Matt made it into the carpeted hallway that led to the barbershop, wiping his boots on the thick rug.
“I saw that!” a woman snapped. She had curly red hair and was pudgy with a round pink face. She was maybe five feet high and nearly that round, in her forties, and wearing an apron over a gingham dress. “You got no manners, mister.”
“You work here?”
“I’m Molly, the owner. My brother Tuck’s the barber.” She looked down at the water swirling from the outside onto the rug. “My heaven. You’ll clean that up.”
“Wasn’t me. Go see Red Oliver.”
“Red’s back there?” she asked, brightening. “Good thing I’m workin’ my day off. He’s always avoidin’ me.”
“Go get ‘im,” Matt said.
She hurried past him, and Matt chuckled, then headed into the barbershop. No wonder it was so clean, he thought. Molly would scrub and polish anything that moved.
In the barber’s he paused. A man in his mid-fifties was sitting down in the barber chair. He was thin, graying, and had a furrowed brow, but he was smiling as he spoke to the barber.
“Just a little off the sides, Tuck.”
“You was just in here a few days ago, Judge.”
“Got to keep you busy. We need a barber around here.”
Matt considered him carefully, and then while the justice of the peace got his hair cut, Matt told him about the attack on the McClain wagon and how only Bonnie had survived.
Abnauther frowned. “County doesn’t have enough people to be organized yet, so there’s no county sheriff. And Gordon has no authority outside the town limits. Now, I wrote the U.S. Marshal, askin’ him to send a deputy. He wrote back, askin’ me to swear in a man for him. A bit irregular, but he gave me the authority in writing, and the governor concurred.”
“So when will you have this deputy?”
“Not enough prospects. I had asked Will McClain, and he had turned me down. Hey, Tuck, not so close, eh?”
“You know, Judge, I think you just come in to see Molly,” the barber teased.
Abnauther flushed and got out of the chair, dusting himself off with the white cloth and looking around, but there was no sign of her. He walked outside into the twilight with Matt.
“I didn’t catch your name, son.”
“Matt Landry.”
“Oh yes, you and Adriane Driscoll. I heard you studied law with Kingman. You interested in that badge?”
“All I want to do is raise cattle and horses.”
“So the answer’s no?”
“That’s right, but thanks anyhow.”
Matt wasn’t terribly convincing because he had always considered being a lawman like his brothers. He shook the judge’s hand and bid him farewell just as Red Oliver came charging out of the shop, his face reddened. Abnauther looked him over, grunted, and walked down the street toward the south end of town.
Matt grinned at Red. “You and the judge fightin’ over Molly?”
“Hey, he can have her. I ain’t never gonna get married, you can bet on it. She’s a widow and got this idea she oughta marry up with my ranch.”
“You don’t look like you had your bath.”
“With Molly around? No, sir. I’m gonna have one back of the hotel. Ain’t as good. Water’s always cold, but ain’t no woman tryin’ to help me.”
“Before we go there, I’d like to have a look at the saloon.”
After Matt put up his roan in the livery, the two men walked in the moonlight to the Lucky Lady Saloon. A lantern hung outside the door. A dozen horses were tied up at the railing, and they could hear laughter inside. Smoke curled out the swinging doors. The windows were dirty.
“It’ll be mostly Target riders,” Red warned.
Inside the smoky room they found four card tables with men playing poker at two of them. There were several empty tables, and four men were standing at the long bar. Lamps hung on the walls. There was no music, no women, just noisy men with cigarettes and cigars and pipes, arguing over the cards or laughing over a joke. They all looked like cowhands, except the four at the bar.
These four had low slung six-guns, fancy vests, and shirts, and every one of them looked mean as sin.
At the bar a suddenly nervous Red Oliver called to the thin, mustached bartender. “Whiskey.”
Matt stood next to Red as he looked around the room, then placed two bits on the bar as the bartender poured Red a drink. Matt looked directly at the man behind the bar.
“Heard there was a shootin’ here last night.”
“Yep.”
“What happened?”
“Just a little horseplay. What’s it to you, mister?”
Matt studied the man. Everyone sure had their story down pat. He looked at the four guns standing near him, and he met the glance of the first one, a man with black eyes, slimy face, thin nose, and draping black mustache.
“You got anything to say?” Matt asked.
The gunman snickered, then poured himself another drink.
“This here’s Kid Monet,” the bartender said.
“You’d best be gettin’ out of here, mister.”
But one of the men behind Monet came forward. He had a pink face, black beard, and thin mustache. His hat was shoved back from his narrow brow. He had a strong build, and his thick voice was putting on a show for his friends.
“We don’t like strangers askin’ questions.”
Red started to speak, then fell back at Matt’s wave.
“You got a name?” Matt asked.
The man smirked, his hand near his holster. “Yeah, Sid Crutz. And I figure you oughta just turn and walk right out of here.”
“I’d like a few answers first.”
“This is the only answer you’re gonna get.”
The man reached for his gun, but it was only half out of his holster when Matt’s Colt leaped into his hand.
There was a hush. Crutz turned pale. He let his six-gun slide back into place. He moistened his lips, staring into the barrel of Matt’s Colt. The men at the tables were frozen in place. The bartender backed away.
Kid Monet was still snickering. “All right, mister, you’ve had your fun. Now get out of here.”
“The two of you were wounded in here, is that right?”
“Like the man said, horseplay.”
“I understand you speak French.”
“So what? A lot of us do.”
Matt holstered his gun, looking Monet and Crutz and the other two men over carefully. They were gunmen all right, but Crutz was muscle bound and plenty mad about the gunplay.
“You need to be taught a lesson,” Crutz said, unbuckling his gunbelt.
“I got no fight with you.”
“You hidin’ behind that iron, or you got guts?”
Red started to speak, but Matt waved him aside. He wasn’t sure he could take Crutz, but he felt a need to establish himself, first with the gun and now with his fists. Maybe then he’d be someone to reckon with, and not just a name connected with the Driscolls. A name they might back away from for reasons Matt didn’t like.
Crutz was sneering now, his mouth twisted. “You are yellow.”
Matt unbuckled his gunbelt and handed it to Red, who backed away to the end of the bar. Crutz waved his arms, and the other men made room.
Matt stood with his hands at his side, waiting. He knew Crutz had been embarrassed by the gunplay and was determined to beat Matt to a pulp, anything to regain his reputation.
But Matt had an edge. He believed this man was one of the killers back on the ridge, and fury was driving him with renewed strength.
“Let’s see what you got,” Crutz said, dancing about, hands outstretched like a bare-knuckle fighter.
Matt shot his fist in, struck Crutz on the jaw, and darted aside. Crutz’s head snapped back, and he was dazed, eyes blazing like black marbles.
“You better stand still, mister.”
But Matt darted in from the side, clobbered Crutz on the jaw, and darted away again. Furious, Crutz charged. Matt went to jump aside and was tripped by one of the onlookers. He staggered, and Crutz plowed into his middle.
The two men grappled, fighting to stay upright, yet pounding each other’s bellies right and left. Matt ducked and slammed his head against Crutz’s jaw. It made both men dizzy, and they broke apart.
Both were sweating, but Crutz was beginning to realize he was not going to win so easily. He turned and grabbed a wooden chair, raising it and shoving it at Matt’s face. Matt ducked as Crutz charged and kicked him in the rear.
Roaring with anger, Crutz spun around, chair in hand. Matt slammed his fist in Crutz’s middle. Eyes wild, Crutz doubled up, gasping for air and dropping the chair. Matt’s fist landed on the man’s chin, snapping his head back. Crutz staggered backwards, holding his middle as Matt hit him on the jaw once more. Crutz sank to his knees, eyes rolling. He fell forward and lay still.
Matt straightened, gasping for air, sweat drenching him.
Kid Monet was leaning on the bar, smiling with amusement. The others were just staring. Matt calmly took his gun belt from Red and buckled it on very slowly.
“This is only round one,” Monet said. “You’ll be dead by the end of the week.”
Matt backed toward the swinging doors, and a nervous Red backed with him. Red couldn’t resist pausing to hit them hard with his words.
“Maybe you fellas don’t know it, but this here’s Matt Landry.”
Monet’s lips curved down at one corner.
Matt and Red backed out of the smoky room and headed into the cold night air. “Them four weren’t cowhands,” Matt said.
Red was wiping his brow. “Well, you made ’em mad all right, but I made ’em madder. They can’t go after you because you’re gonna marry Driscoll’s daughter. But what I wanna know is, why’d you go after them in the first place?”
“I didn’t want to be known as her fiancé.”
“Well, they sure know who you are now. But they’re a mighty dangerous lot. Saloon belongs to a fellow name Fowler. Used to be a tradin’ post, and word is he took good care of Pollard and his friends.”
“They could have been behind the McClain killin’.”
“Maybe, but you ain’t never gonna find out nothin’,” Red said. “Besides, I heard you turn down the judge when he offered you a badge. So if you ain’t gonna be a lawman, and all you wanna do is marry Adriane Driscoll, how come you’re so curious about the shootin’?”
“I keep thinkin’ about Will McClain.”
“Yeah, and that poor woman from Missouri.”
They crossed the street to the small hotel, which was full, so Matt was grateful when Red offered to share his room. They each enjoyed a big beefsteak and good hot coffee in the hotel cafe.
Matt looked around at the empty tables. There were a lot of plates stacked up on one of them, so it had been busy. But right now it was near silent. Except for Red’s monologue.
Leaning back, Matt sipped his coffee. “Tell me about the first Mrs. McClain.”
“Some man killed her all right.”
“Any ideas?”
Red hesitated, making sure the waiter was out of earshot. “Well, a lot of men admired her. But Kerby Driscoll, he figured she ought to jump right in his arms. Everyone laughed at him, but—”
“Why would he do it?”
“I don’t know, Matt. Maybe he didn’t.”
After a long night in the hotel with Red snoring so much that Matt had to move his bunk to the far wall, Matt awakened early. As Red lay sputtering in his sleep across the room Matt stared at the dark ceiling and the moonlight through the dirty curtains on the window.
He was thinking of Adriane. He had been getting weary of politics about the time he met her, but she was so swept up in Governor Hoyt’s pride in Matt that he couldn’t do anything but agree he would try to be governor someday. He knew it had impressed her, and he had fallen all over himself pleasing her. But now she might well be angry at his decision to be a rancher instead.
When Red awakened, they pulled on their boots. The little man offered to guide him most of the way to Target.
“My place is between McClain’s and Target. Got me a couple hundred head and two hands. McClain, he got three hands and maybe three hundred head.”
“Good start.”
“But when the land opened up, Target brought in twenty-five thousand head of Texas cattle right off and filled up the grass all the way to the Powder River, with maybe forty hands. But they’re bringin’ more cattle and men, and they want us out. Once they get me and McClain’s, they’ll roll on over the rest of ’em.”
“So you agree that was no accident in the canyon.”
“If you mean do I think they was just harrassin’ the newlyweds? Well, I figure they was plannin’ to run ’em off all the time. They just was bein’ mean about it.”
At breakfast in the hotel cafe there were several merchants and two cowhands, but Red and Matt found an empty table. They had steak and beans, and Matt had trouble concentrating on his food. All he could think about was Adriane and what was being said about the two of them.
It was then the waiter came with fresh coffee and paused to stare past them. The three men turned in their chairs to follow the old man’s gaze.
Standing in the doorway was Jasper Mickleson, blood on his shirt.