Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (7 page)

“Now listen here, dog,” she said sternly. “We’re here to help your master and we don’t need any trouble from you.”

“He’ll not let us near him. What’ll we do?” Mary was holding Theresa’s face against her shoulder to keep her from seeing the carnage.

“I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.”

“Is he dead?”

The voices drifted into Rowe’s consciousness. The only words that were distinguishable were the last three.

“Hell no, I’m not dead,” he muttered.

“He’s not dead!” Katy’s voice sounded far away.

“I’m not dead,” he repeated stupidly.

“Then call off the damn dog so we can help you!”

“Katy? One . . . by the well—” Rowe opened his eyes and tried to focus on the two women silhouetted against the light. His head felt as if it were about to explode.

“Don’t worry about him. Call off the dog.”

“Modo, down.” The dog obeyed instantly and crawled under the table to lie at Rowe’s feet. “Did he ride out?”

“No. He’s dead,” Katy spoke as she came toward him. He didn’t question, and she asked, “How bad are you hurt? Oh, my God! You’re covered with blood!”

“Katy, Katy. Don’t fret. It’s not my time to die—”

“Can you stand up? We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“Stand up? I can’t even see straight.”

“Mary, help me get him to his feet. We’ve got to get him over to the jail building before he passes out.”

“Our place is nearer.” Mary brought the whiskey bottle from the bar. “See if you can get him to drink some of this while I take Theresa outside. I’ll be right back.”

Later Katy was to wonder not only how Rowe got to his feet, but also how he was able to walk to the funerary. She and Mary had somehow managed to bear up under his weight. Theresa, frightened by the blood and not understanding what was taking place, cried as she followed along behind them.

Mary cut his soft doeskin shirt up the front and slipped it off, baring his upper body. Katy held a blanket in place to hide his nakedness, while Mary pulled off his blood-soaked britches.

Rowe drifted in and out of consciousness while the women washed him and disinfected his wounds first with vinegar, then with whiskey. He heard Katy say that he would have a permanent part in his hair, and that the bullet in his leg would have to come out. The pain was excruciating when they probed the wound; then, blessed darkness came.

Afternoon turned into evening. Before dark, Katy found the dead men’s horses standing at the water tank. She stripped them of saddles and turned them into the enclosure with Rowe’s horse and mules. She closed the doors of the saloon and covered the dead man at the well with a blanket from Rowe’s bunk. It was all she could do. She and Mary would be forced to dig graves when morning came, but for now they had their hands full taking care of the man who had faced the three outlaws and had almost been killed by them.

They had cut the fine, curly hair from around his head-wound and found it to be only a crease that would give him a terrific headache, but nothing more. The thigh wound was on the side and had left a gaping hole. Mary had cleaned it and bound it as tightly as she could. The bullet had passed through the fleshy part of his arm, and they were reasonably sure the muscles had not been damaged.

When they could rouse Rowe, they made him drink sweetened whiskey weakened with water. He was no longer the fierce warrior who had come striding into their home hours before, demanding that they go to the stone building. He seemed young and gentle, in spite of his large, muscular body and his dark, hawklike face.

He was not what Katy would call a handsome man, but he was attractive. Never had she seen eyelashes as thick or as black or as long as his. His thin-lipped mouth, when relaxed, was soft and sensitive. She had not thought much about the human body being beautiful, especially a male body, but Garrick Rowe’s was beautiful. Mary had covered his privates with a sheet, but the rest of him lay naked to her eyes. His legs were long, his thighs rock hard, his shoulders and arms muscular. He had a patch of dark hair on his chest that arrowed down toward his flat belly. He was lean and tough, like a timber wolf.

Although she and Mary were dead tired, they took turns sitting beside him all through the night. After the events of the day, they felt more vulnerable than ever in the lonely town. They barred the doors, and took great pains to see that no light escaped through the windows. The dog took up a vigil on the porch, and it was a comfort to know that he was there.

Once during the night Rowe awakened. He squinted his eyes against the glare of a lamp and saw a woman sitting in a chair beside him.

“You’re here.”

Katy leaned forward. “Yes, I’m here.”

“
Remember when I won the footrace at the games in Ath
ens? Afterward we walked along the shore of the Aegean Sea
and you wore my laurel wreath on your head
—”

The words were spoken in a language that Katy couldn’t identify. But she touched his hand and nodded as if she understood, and his eyes drifted shut again.

When next he awakened, Mary was sitting beside him. She forced him to drink the watered whiskey and sugar before allowing him to go back to sleep.

Morning came, and when Katy opened the door to let in fresh mountain air, Modo entered and went directly to the bunk where Rowe lay. He sniffed at his face, lifted his majestic head and looked around, then lay down beneath the bed, his jowls resting on his paws.

“It looks like he’s going to stay,” Mary said worriedly.

“I’d hate to try and put him out if he doesn’t want to go. Let’s just ignore him. But watch Theresa. I’ll go milk the cow.”

Rowe smelled food when he awakened. His head hurt, his arm and leg throbbed, but his mind was clear enough to tell Mary there was a medical kit among his belongings. She promised to get it, but first he had to eat. She spread a flapjack with butter and sugar, rolled so he could handle it and took it to him. He ate what Mary brought, then swung his feet off the bunk, and sat up on the side. He held his throbbing head in his hands. The dog came out from under the bed and sat looking at him.

“You shouldn’t sit up, Mr. Rowe.”

“I can’t lie here and get weaker, ma’am. Do you suppose I could have a cup of coffee?”

“Of course. My name is Mrs. Stanton, but call me Mary. Would you like cream and sugar?”

“Yes, please. Lordy. My head aches.”

“And it will for a few days. Katy thinks you may have a slight concussion. She knows about such things. She’s my sister. I hope you understand the reason why she was so mistrustful of you yesterday.”

“It pays to be careful How long have you ladies been here?”

“We came last fall. Everyone left about two months ago. We stayed to wait for my husband. He’ll be coming back for us any day now,” Mary felt obligated to say. “Living out here like this has been hard on Katy.”

“Does she have a man coming back for her?”

“No. Katy has never married.”

“What happened to the man at the well?”

“Katy shot him. She didn’t want to, Mr. Rowe. But there wasn’t anything else we could do.”

“She’s quite a woman. You both are. I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

“We appreciate what you did for us. I shudder to think of what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.”

“I’ve got to do something about the bodies. I can’t wait. In this heat—”

“Katy and I have talked it over. We’ll take care of them.”

“It’s not a job for a gentle woman,” he protested.

“Mr. Rowe, Katy and I have survived this long by doing what had to be done. We will manage. There’s only one thing. I’d like for my daughter to stay here with you while we’re gone. It isn’t something I want her to see.”

“My men are on the way. Wait until afternoon—”

“If they don’t come, it will only make the job more difficult. While you drink your coffee, I’ll get your medical kit. If you have laudanum it will ease the pain.”

“I have, but two drops in a glass of water is all I will take.”

“About your dog, Mr. Rowe. I’m afraid to let Theresa near him.”

“Modo is as gentle as a lamb unless I tell him otherwise. He’ll not hurt your little girl. I’d stake my life on it, and please, no more of that mister stuff. Just call me Rowe.”

Rowe had slept off and on all day. Mary roused him to eat, and to check the bandages on his thigh and his arm. Katy, worn out from a sleepless night and the strenuous work, lay sleeping on a pallet with Theresa close beside her. It was the twilight time of day that Mary liked the best. She sat in the rocking chair and recorded the events of the last two days in her journal.

Trinity, June 8, 1874.

Yesterday, June 7, was a day I shall never forget. Three bad men rode into town, and if not for Mr. Rowe’s protection, I’m sure that Katy and I would have met a fate worse than death. I shudder to think of it and of Theresa witnessing such a thing. Katy killed one of the men; Mr. Rowe the other two. It was a terrible thing for Katy to have to do. I keep wondering where her courage comes from. Mr. Rowe suffered three gunshot wounds, but he will be all right. It was a struggle to get him from the saloon to our place. He is a strong, brave man, and very well educated. At times during the night he spoke in a foreign language that Katy and I have not heard before.

Today Katy and I buried the three men. I hope that neither of us is forced to do anything so gruesome again. The awful part was emptying their pockets and taking off their gun belts, which we left in the saloon. At Mr. Rowe’s suggestion, we saddled the gentlest of the horses, tied a rope about the feet of the dead men, with the other end wrapped about the saddle-horn, and dragged the men, one at a time, to a deep gully at the far end of town where we shoveled dirt over them. It was hot, and flies were already beginning to swarm. I thought the task would never end. Not for an instant did I let myself think about the families of these men, or if there were a mother somewhere who wondered what had happened to her boy. Katy and I said a prayer over them, although to tell the truth, our hearts were not in it.

On the bunk, Rowe stirred restlessly. Dreams of his childhood came to haunt him. He was in a tree, the limb extending over rushing water. Something was pulling on his feet. He looked down to see a boy with white-blond hair and a sneering face looking up at him.

“Dirty, black foreigner, dirty, black foreigner,” the boy chanted. “You and your ma are black as niggers—”

“We ain’t! We ain’t neither black! Let go my feet,” he yelled. “I can’t swim!”

“I hope you drown, I want you dead!”

“I’ll tell Pa—”

“Tattle is all you’re good for! Pa hates you.”

“Pa don’t hate me. Let go—”

“He does too hate you. He said you look like a nigger.”

“He didn’t. You’re lying—”

“You ain’t no Rowe, you’re Greek—”

“I am too a Rowe—

Rowe awakened and looked blankly at the woman bending over him. “I am too a Rowe.”

“Of course you are,” Mary said. “Your name is Garrick Rowe. Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here beside you.”

The detective studied the man behind the massive walnut desk. He was like a lion ready to spring. In fact, it could be said that he resembled one with that thick mane of blond hair and blond mustache that curved down each side of his hard mouth.

“And that’s all he’s been up to?” Justin Rowe demanded of the Pinkerton man.

“He hasn’t committed a crime, Mr. Rowe, if that’s what you mean.”

“I’m paying a lot of money for this piddling information,” Justin sneered.

He pushed the chair back with a force that sent it crashing into the wall behind, got up, and went to the window. He looked down at the carefully tended lawn that sloped to the Hudson River. His wife moved amid the rose bushes. Somehow, seeing the blond hair piled atop her small head kindled the memory of a dark head bending over it, and the dark, savage face of his half brother flashed before his eyes. Justin whirled, with the air of an angry king ready to slice the head from the one who had brought him bad news. The detective’s calm, his utter lack of servility, further infuriated him.

“I want more! I want something that will completely discredit him!”

The Pinkerton man got to his feet. “The facts are in the report, Mr. Rowe. Your brother went to Paris, buried his mother, and—”

“My
half brother
!”

“And when he returned he bought out the Farworth Mining Company’s holdings in southwest Montana Territory.”

Justin returned to the desk, pulled the chair back in place and sat down again. He quickly thumbed through the neatly written pages of the report.

“What’s the mine’s prospects? Is gold there?”

“I’m not a miner, but what I understand from one who knows—not much.”

Justin eyed him sharply. “Garrick is a lot of things, but he’s not a fool where money is concerned. He must have found something there worth buying.”

“There’s the town of Trinity. I’ve heard it’s being abandoned as the gold peters out. I understand it’s not much of a town but for a few hastily constructed buildings and a hole in the mountain. You’ll find everything detailed in the report. The agency’s bill is attached. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment.”

Justin stood and looked down at the shorter man, ignoring what he had said about leaving. “Women? Has there been one in particular?”

“None during the past year and a half. Oh, there were the usual, a woman here, a woman there, but he didn’t see any one of them more than a half-dozen times.”

“All blond, I suppose,” Justin said, his thin lips twisted in a sneer.

“On the contrary. All had dark hair,” the detective was pleased to say.

The Pinkerton man looked into the hard steel blue eyes of the financier and wondered what had caused this man to despise his brother so much that he would go to any means to discredit him. The small, balding detective had not liked this case from the beginning. He was a railroad detective. It went against his grain to investigate a man’s mother to determine if there had been something in her past that would have made her marriage to Justin Rowe’s father illegal and his half brother a bastard. Justin Rowe wished to challenge a will that divided the estate equally between the two men after provisions had been made for the widow. Half of Preston Rowe’s fortune would be more, much more, than most men dreamed of having, yet it seemed this greedy bastard wanted it all.