Larry looked at Stretch. Stretch looked at Larry, grimaced, and said, “Not for this child. No siree. Not by a long shot.”
“Miss Rena,” said Larry, “we don’t figure to ride herd on eight females.”
“You said you won the whole outfit,” drawled Rena. “Well, the whole outfit includes eight gals with just one idea in their heads. Get to Happy Rock to get wed.”
“The more I hear of it,” muttered Larry, “the less I fancy it.”
“The girls are getting ready to eat,” Rena observed.
“Come on. You might as well be introduced …” She chuckled softly, “ … to the valuable merchandise.”
They joined the other seven women by the fire. Eight pairs of eyes focused on the tall trouble-shooters, as Rena unhurriedly performed introductions.
“The big one is Charity Hawke.”
“Howdy, gents,” frowned Charity.
“And that’s Katie Risson with the fire-red hair,” continued Rena. “The gal in overalls is Mary Ann Breslow. The others ...” She nodded to them in turn, “Donna Phelps, Tess McGill, Fern Guthrie and Abigail Lee.”
“They’re purtier than Bellew or Greb,” decided the slim and dark-eyed Fern.
“Better protection, too, I reckon,” mused Charity.
“They look like they know how to handle their hardware.”
“Hold hard now, ladies,” remonstrated Larry. “We already told Miss Rena we ain’t takin’ you to Montana.”
“But we have to make it to Happy Rock!” protested Abigail Lee. She thrust a hand into the bodice of her gown, causing Stretch to recoil hastily. Triumphantly, she produced a small tintype and offered it for Larry’s inspection. “Take a look at my future husband. Ain’t he somethin’? He owns the biggest bank in Happy Rock!”
“And I’m all set to hitch up with the mayor,” drawled Charity.
“We’ll all be marryin’ important men,” giggled Fern. “Not just them no-account prospectors,” said Tess. “Bankers, storekeepers. Rich men, and real respectable.”
“Well,” shrugged Rena, “that’s what they’re expecting.” The other girls produced pictures of the husbands selected for them by the marriage brokers. Larry studied them thoughtfully, and came to a conclusion, but kept it to himself. An idea was stirring in his mind. Bellew and Greb were probably experts at this unsavory game.
“Eat breakfast,” he gruffly ordered Rena. “You and I are gonna take a little ride, soon as you’re ready.”
“Where to?” she demanded.
“Egansville,” he frowned. “I know a sociable lawman in Egansville—and maybe he can tell me what I need to know. It’ll be better if you come along.”
“Well,” shrugged Charity, “I guess you can trust him.”
“Don’t worry on my account, Charity,” said Rena. “Around any man, I know how to look out for myself.” She seated herself, took up a plate and fork, began eating. Stretch flicked his cigarette-butt into the fire, stared longingly towards his waiting pinto. As though reading his thoughts, Larry bluntly informed him:
“You’re stayin’ here with the ladies, while Rena and me visit with the deputy.”
“J-J-Just me?” blinked Stretch. “And s-seven females?”
“We’re kind of responsible for ’em,” Larry explained to Stretch. “It wouldn’t be right for us to leave ’em unguarded.”
“Tell me one thing,” challenged Stretch. “Who’s gonna guard me?”
The women laughed knowingly and Stretch’s fears increased. He was still voicing futile protests some short time later, when Larry boosted Rena astride the pinto and mounted his sorrel.
In Egansville, Larry took Rena directly to the law office. The sheriff hadn’t reported for duty, but Sam Hale was there, filling a cane-back on the porch. He greeted Rena politely and lent an attentive ear to Larry’s query. His eyes gleamed. His mouth set in a hard line.
“It’s too bad,” he asserted, “that my doggone insomnia didn’t send me to the saloon about an hour earlier. I’d give a month’s pay for a chance at nailin’ those skunks.”
“Figure you know ’em?” prodded Larry.
“Know of ’em,” growled Hale. “Yeah. They’re likely the same two jaspers. C’mon inside.”
He ushered them into the office, pulled out a chair for Rena, then began rummaging in the file cabinet. Larry perched on a corner of the desk and awaited the inevitable. Sure enough, Hale unearthed a thick folder. From it, he extracted a ‘Wanted’ notice which he exhibited for Rena’s inspection.
“They were callin’ ’emselves Billings and Grayson,” he explained, “when the Denver law took their pictures. You recognize ’em?”
“Same two,” she nodded.
“The word,” Hale sourly informed Larry, “is procurers. They’ve been at it a couple years. There are lawmen all over the south-west just itchin’ to put ’em away. Marriage brokers they call ’emselves. Some fine business they’re in. They make a contract with some saloon owner in some far-out settlement—then they go huntin’ stray females. Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but ...”
“You don’t have to spare my feelings, Deputy,” she murmured.
“The girls join up with these buzzards,” Hale went on, “thinkin’ they’re gonna be escorted proper to some law-abidin’ town and get hitched up to decent citizens—only it never turns out that way. They always end up workin’ for percentages in some honky tonk. All of a sudden, they ain’t ladies anymore.” He grimaced uncomfortably. “You follow me, Larry?”
“I’m way ahead of you, Sam,” muttered Larry. He looked at Rena.
“I know what the girls will say,” she frowned. “They didn’t leave much behind, so what do they have to lose? They’ll still want to go to Happy Rock—and take their chances.”
“Stretch and me,” growled Larry, “don’t run no transportation service. We ain’t angels, Rena, but if you think we’d deliver women to a boom-town hell-house, you got another think comin’.”
“You won us, Texas,” she reminded Larry. “We’re broke, and you claim you feel responsible for us. All right. Where does that leave us?”
“Only one thing to be done,” shrugged Larry.
“Exactly what do you have in mind?” she demanded. “You’ll learn,” he promised, “when we join up with your friends again.” He helped her to her feet. “Come on.”
“Any chance I could head ’em off?” wondered Hale.
“Bellew and Greb?” frowned Larry. “Well, Stretch saw ’em headed west, and that was maybe four hours back.”
“They’d be clear of Egan County by now,” opined Hale. “Still, I reckon I’ll spread the word. Wouldn’t be no trouble to wire Cordina and Harrisburg. We want those jaspers—want ’em bad.”
Larry thanked the deputy. Outside, he boosted Rena into the saddle. From the law office, he led her downtown to the railroad depot. The ticket-clerk listened to his query, then checked his lists, made calculations and named a figure. Larry’s eyebrows shot up.
“That’s a lot of loot,” he complained, “for a one-way trip.”
“But you said there’d be eight of ’em,” the clerk reminded him. “Eight folks one-way. That’s how much it’ll cost, stranger.”
During the ride back to the creek, Larry mentally checked the bankroll, and the dark-haired beauty read his mind.
“You won’t be satisfied,” she accused, “till we’re off your hands.”
“I aim to do what’s right,” Larry told her. “You mightn’t appreciate it, but that’s the way it has to be.”
The campfire blazed cheerfully. Stretch squatted cross-legged, surrounded by his admiring audience. As Larry and Rena rode in, he was bringing his tenth tall tale to an exciting conclusion.
“ ... outnumbered—sure, we were outnumbered. Must’ve been better’n thirty of them Mex bandidos closin’ in on us—and us outa ammunition ...”
“And then you woke up,” jeered Larry, as he dismounted. “And there you were—under a table at Dugan’s Bar, in Applejack Gulch. So the barkeep threw you out—and he was just a sawed-off squirt—about five feet tall ...”
“There you go again,” complained Stretch. “Always belittlin’.”
Larry helped Rena to the ground. She sauntered across to seat herself between Fern and Tess. Expectantly, the girls eyed the Texans. Larry hunkered on his heels, dug out his makings and began building a smoke. There wasn’t any easy way of explaining it to them, he reflected.
“You were headed for Happy Rock all right,” he muttered, “but not to get hitched to law-abidin’ citizens—not to live decent. Those pictures Bellew gave you—I don’t know where he got ’em, but you can bet they ain’t pictures of honest citizens. Bellew and Greb only pretended to be marriage brokers.”
“But ...!” began Mary Ann.
“Save it, honey,” sighed Rena. “Let him tell it all.”
“They’re wanted all over,” said Larry.
“You checked with Sam,” prodded Stretch.
“Sure enough,” nodded Larry. “It was a set-up. They’d worked it before, in other towns. They collect a passel of women and ship ’em to some far-out settlement where women are scarce. Never any weddin’ rings waitin’ for the ladies, if you know what I mean. Just peek-a-boo gowns, paint and powder. A crib in some hell-town cat-house.” He was being brutal about it, but only for the sake of winning their understanding. “In Happy Rock, you gals would’ve been dumped in some saloon—to work for a percentage of the take. You couldn’t call your souls your own, and you’d have no husbands. You’d belong to any man—any woman-hungry hombre that could pay the price.”
He stopped talking abruptly, let his narrowed eyes travel from face to face. Charity didn’t appear shocked; just plain indignant. Abigail and Fern were ashen-faced. Mary Ann’s mouth trembled. Tess and Donna shrugged ruefully.
“All right,” frowned Charity. “So Bellew and Greb were a couple of sharpies.”
“But, maybe ...” began Katie.
“Maybe Happy Rock isn’t such a bad place,” finished Fern.
“Happy Rock,” said Larry, “is a minin’ camp—one year old. You savvy what that means? I can tell you, because I’ve seen more boomtowns than I could keep count of. There’ll be more tents than shacks, more shacks than regular cabins. The fanciest places are the saloons.”
“You make it sound rough,” drawled Charity. “Well, I’ll tell you somethin’, mister. Us Iowa gals can be plenty rough, when we have to. In Happy Rock, we’ll make our own rules. We’ll stick together and ...”
“And we’ll do what we started out to do,” declared Donna. “We’ll get decent husbands, Mr. Valentine. You’ll see. Just take us to Happy Rock. That’s all we ask.”
“What did I tell you?” Rena challenged him. “I warned you they couldn’t be talked out of it.”
“Get one thing straight,” growled Larry. “We Texans ain’t takin’ you gals to Happy Rock—or any other hell-town.”
“Just what,” demanded Charity, “do you aim to do with us?”
“Only thing I can do,” said Larry, “is ship you back to Iowa on the next eastbound train.”
“But we don’t want to go home,” protested Donna.
“Home!” jeered Katie. “You call Baker’s Grove home?”
“Baker’s Grove,” said Larry, “is where you started from—and Baker’s Grove is where you’re headed. I can’t just leave you in Egansville, and I sure don’t figure to tote you to Happy Rock—so it has to be Baker’s Grove.”
“You’ll travel in style,” Stretch consoled the girls.
“There’s an eastbound train comes through Egansville at four o’clock this afternoon,” announced Larry. “You gals will be on it. I aim to sell these wagons and teams to some Egansville dealer.”
“Yeah,” grunted Charity. “You got to make some profit out of this deal.”
“Whatever dinero we can get for the wagons,” said Larry, “goes to you and your friends—so you won’t travel poor from here to Baker’s Grove.”
“You’re being mighty generous,” Tess conceded.
“He’ll be glad to see us go,” pouted Donna.
“No use arguin’ about it.” Larry decided he had no choice but to become aggressive. “Get your duds packed and rig yourselves purty. Stretch and me’ll hitch up the teams, and then we’re rollin’ into Egansville.”
The women were reluctant and filled with resentment, but Larry was adamant. Within a quarter-hour, the teams were harnessed and the eight would-be brides bedecked in their Sunday best. Stretch threw dirt onto the fire, swung astride his pinto. Charity and Mary Ann drove the wagons, with the Texans riding abreast of the seats.
By mid-afternoon—exactly three-oh-seven p.m.—the drifters were ready to quit Egansville once and for all. The girls sat in the waiting room at the railroad depot, their baggage stacked on the loading platform. Larry had disposed of the wagons and horses to one Abel Dunstetter, a local dealer with whom he had struck a hard bargain. The sale-money made a substantial bulge in Rena’s purse. Larry had appointed her treasurer.
None of the girls smiled, as the Texans rode away from the depot. There were no cheerful giggles, no good-humored farewells. Larry and Stretch gravely doffed their Stetsons, but won no acknowledgment. They shrugged, wheeled their mounts and rode northward along the main stem.
“We hurt ’em,” reflected Stretch, “and that makes me feel awful mean.”
“We didn’t have any doggone choice,” Larry gloomily pointed out. “Wasn’t any other way I could handle it.”
“Hell, no,” frowned Stretch. “We did right. Wasn’t nothin’ else we could do—but I sure feel sad—just thinkin’ about ’em. They were the eight miserablest females I ever saw.”
“Females can be plumb unlucky for us,” Larry reminded him.
“So now what?” demanded Stretch. “We’re near broke. It cost us plenty to buy passage for Miss Rena and her sidekicks.”
“We’ll likely find a sizeable cattle outfit somewheres north,” drawled Larry. “Some big spread that could use a couple extra riders. Been quite awhile since you and me worked cattle.”
“Okay by me,” shrugged Stretch.
Towards sundown, they reined up in the entrance to a pass leading through the high country. Gazing eastward, they detected the smoke-puffs rising skyward. This high vantage point gave them an uninterrupted view of all the yucca-dotted terrain sprawling to the east horizon.
“You see that smoke, big feller?” frowned Larry.
“Uh-huh,” nodded Stretch. “That’ll be the eastbound train—takin’ the gals home.”
“By now,” opined Larry, “they’ve forgiven us. They know it’s all for their own good.”
“Sure enough,” Stretch virtuously agreed.
Still trying to convince themselves that they had treated the girls fair and square, the Texans drifted through the mountain country and made night-camp. Not until seven-thirty of the following morning did they rouse from slumber, refreshed, hungry, eager to be moving on, and with all thought of the eight comely spinsters thrust from their minds.
That day, they travelled arid country. The alkali rose in thin clouds and rarely was the terrain relieved by a flash of green.
“Cattle country,” Larry observed.
“But,” said Stretch, “they’ve had a drought hereabouts.”
“Was there ever a ranchin’ man,” Larry wondered, “that had all the water he could use?”
The shadows of late afternoon were lengthening into dusk, when they idled their mounts into the dusty main stem of yet another cow town. A signpost identified it as Ruddsboro. It appeared well settled, but somewhat lifeless. To Larry’s discerning eye, the town seemed too large for its population.
“Plumb quiet,” Stretch commented, as they headed for the first saloon.
“I’ll make a guess about this burg,” muttered Larry. “It’s my hunch half the men of Ruddsboro caught the gold-fever and hustled north to Happy Rock. That’s how it is, when somebody makes a lucky strike. A new town gets born. An old town dies.”
“You could be right about that,” nodded Stretch.
A street-lamp glowed near the hitch rack outside the first saloon, the Herders Haven. As they reined up and dismounted, their faces were clearly illuminated, making recognition easy for the man emerging from the next building. That next building was Ruddsboro’s law office. The man on the porch was kicking the street-door shut, chuckling elatedly.
“Valentine and Emerson,” he called. “I knew you’d hit Ruddsboro sooner or later, and it used to fret me. But not anymore, by golly. Not anymore!”