Taming of Jessi Rose (6 page)

Verification that Griff's messages had reached their destinations came back a few moments later. Both operators wired back that they'd pass Griff's information along.

Griff touched his hat in parting to the men sitting around the stove and headed out the door. By law, telegraph operators were not supposed to reveal their
messages to anyone other than the recipient, but Griff knew that even before he walked the short distance to where the gelding stood tied and waiting, Atkins would have told everybody in the office that Blake was wiring for reinforcements. Griff just hoped they'd come.

As he rode down Vale's main street, Griff pondered the problem of supplies. The Clayton stores were very low, but with no one around willing to take Clayton money they couldn't be replenished. He wondered if the boss lady would mind him taking a trip over to Fort Worth? Surely Darcy's influence didn't reach that far. Once there he could buy everything they needed.

As he passed the Darcy Hotel, his thoughts returned to Jessi Clayton. She certainly didn't carry herself like any whores he'd ever known. She was way too serious, for one thing, and had given him no indication that she was free with her favors. This morning she seemed just as shocked by his nudity as any other properly raised woman. Had she really been Calico Bob's woman? The Jessi Clayton questions were stacking up again, but for the moment there didn't seem to by any solid answers.

Joth was still cleaning his room when Griff got back.

Griff stuck his head in the door and asked, “How're you coming?”

Joth looked up, glum. “If hogs can live in a sty, why can't I live like I want?”

“Mainly because you're not a hog,” Griff quipped, giving him a look as he stared around the room. Hogs would certainly have felt comfortable, Griff had to admit. There were things everywhere: books and more books, stuffed in bookcases and stacked on the window seats. There were two telescopes, a microscope, and two saddles and their accompanying tack up on top of a barely visible desk resting against one wall. On the top of an equally barely discernible nightstand were jars of insects resting precariously atop a collection of glass-
framed mounted moths. “If you add one more thing to this room, you're going to have to move your bed out.”

“You sound like Aunt Jessi.”

“Then forget I said that.”

Joth grinned.

Griff grinned back.

The boy had more belongings than any other ten-year-old Griff had ever met. In addition to the items he'd noticed before, he saw mounds of clothes, boots, and a fiddle with broken strings. There was a ball bat and lacrosse sticks. There were even a pair of ice skates. What amazed Griff most, however, were the walls plastered with Wanted posters. There had to be a hundred or more. Drawn by the sheer numbers, Griff waded over to the nearest wall and just stared. There were notices for every outlaw of color Griff had ever heard of and some he had not. He saw one for the Black Seminole known as Charley Bowlegs, whose all-Indian gang had terrorized the good citizens of Indian Territory a few years ago, but if Griff remembered correctly, Charley had been caught, sentenced by Judge Parker, and hanged back in '83. Nailed up beside the Bowlegs warrant was one for Jackson Crow, a Choctaw wanted for the assassination of Charles Wilson, a prominent Choctaw citizen. There were at least five notices posted by Joth for the Black outlaw Dick Glass, wanted in Indian Territory for everything from murder to whiskey running. Next to the Glass poster, Joth had tacked up Glass's death notice, dated June 11, 1885. Griff, not knowing Glass was dead, saw that he had died in a shootout with a group of the Territory's Lighthorse policemen led by the well-known lawman Sam Sixkiller. Griff had met Glass a couple of times on his flights through Indian Territory and had liked the man. Further down the wall, Griff came across warrants for his old buddy, Isom Dart. The last time he and Isom were together, they'd been sitting in a Colo
rado saloon with a couple of lovely ladies on their respective laps, toasting their friendship. Even though Isom had a good ten years of age on Griff, they'd covered one another's backs on more than a few occasions. At the time of their parting, Griff had been on his way to California to relieve yet another railroad express car of its gold, and Isom swore he planned on leaving the life to settle down and be a farmer. Griff had laughed, of course. Isom was notorious for getting religion and then suddenly showing up to help Griff waylay a train.

“Where'd you get all these?” Griffin asked, still amazed at the size of Joth's collection.

“From sheriffs and marshals I write to. It started out as a school project Mr. Trent had us do on outlaws. There's couple of my pa over there, and two of you over there.”

Griff went over and looked at his own. They were a few years old. One was for his escape from the jail in Colorado two years ago. He'd been helped in that by the mayor's wife and the spinster daughter of the sheriff. Both women had been very,
very
accommodating during his week-long stay. Griff hoped they hadn't gotten in too much trouble for the roles they'd played in his breakout.

Griff turned his attention back to Joth and the room. He was still amazed by the sheer volume of the boy's possessions. “Did your Aunt Jessi buy all this stuff?” Microscopes and telescopes were very expensive out here in the West, as were books.

“She gave me some of the books, but most of the other things are gifts from my Aunt Paris.”

“Who's she?”

“She's a friend of Aunt Jessi's who lives back east. Aunt Jessi says Aunt Paris has way more money than she knows what to do with.”

Griff chuckled. Looking at all Joth's possessions, he
thought Aunt Jessi must be right. “Have you been cleaning the whole time I've been gone?”

Joth shook his head solemnly as he began putting another handful of books upright in the bookcase.

“How about I see if I can wrangle you a reprieve from the governor?”

Joth's eyes widened with joy. “Would you? I've cleaned up a lot, I really have.”

Griff doubted the boy's assessment as he surveyed the mountain of belongings still needing to be put in their places, but it was a beautiful day outside and it was begging to be enjoyed, even by a boy suspended from school.

“If I do get you pardoned, you'll have to promise me you'll make some real progress on this place once we get back. Deal?”

A grinning Joth came over and firmly shook Griff's outstretched hand. “Deal.”

Griff found Jessi seated on a stool by the barn door, repairing the stitching on a saddle.

“Don't mean to bother you, Miss Clayton, but Joth and I would like to go riding, if that's okay with you.”

“Where?” she asked, looking up from her task. Seeing him made her remember this morning all over again. She wondered how long it would take her to forget the beauty of his male body and its effects on her.

“I want him to give me a tour of the place.”

“I already gave you one, remember?”

“I know, but I want him to show it to me from where he sits. Children see things different than adults do at times.”

Jessi observed him for a moment, then said knowingly, “I think you're just trying to get Joth out of his chores.”

Griff tried to keep his smile hidden but failed. “I just thought it being such a nice day and all—”

She waved a hand. “It's all right, Mr. Blake, we agree. I was just about to go in and tell him to take a break, so riding with you is fine.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure, just don't be gone too long, because I can tell you without even going into his room that he has much left to do.”

Griff wondered if her being embarrassed this morning had anything to do with her easy surrender now. Knowing better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, he didn't pursue the matter; instead, he touched his hat politely. “Then we'll see you later.”

“Have a good time.”

 

On the ride, Griff found he liked the boy more and more. Joth was much smarter than Griff had been at the same age. Joth knew about foreign countries, ancient history, and how to catch fish with his hands. As Joth knelt on the edge of the clear stream waiting to hand snag their lunch, he explained, “We had a Cheyenne brave work for us before Gramps was killed and he taught me how to spear fish, which is easy, but he also taught me how to fish with my hands.”

Fascinated, Griff watched from where he stood nearby.

“You have to be real quiet, Griff.”

“Okay.”

“Then you have to let your hand become part of the stream.”

Griff watched Joth stick his hand in the water and leave it there until the fish and other water dwellers began to swim around it, comfortable once more. Moments later, Joth snatched up a fat little fish and tossed it on the bank. “See?” he cried with a grin. “It's easy.”

“Not bad,” the impressed Griff admitted. “Next time, I'll try.”

Joth caught a few more and didn't want any help scaling, gutting, or cooking the fish. “Aunt Jessi showed me how to do all this. Gramps, too, but mostly Aunt Jessi.”

“You love her a lot, don't you?”

“More than Buttercup.”

Griff laughed. Buttercup was Joth's palomino pony. “A woman's got to be mighty special to make a cowboy love her more than his horse.”

Joth smiled, embarrassed.

Later, as they ate, Griff asked, “So, did you learn all that history you've been spouting from Mr. Trent at school?”

“Naw, from Aunt Jessi. She used to be a teacher back east before I was born.”

Griff stared. He'd been handed another piece to fit into the Jessi Clayton puzzle, but had no idea where it went.

Before he could ask about it, however, Joth stood and looked across the rolling land. “Riders coming.”

Griff stood by his side. There were two men on horseback and one man driving a large, fancy black carriage. One of the mounted riders was trailing a cow.

“It's Reed Darcy, and he's stealing our cows again!”

Joth stalked over to his mount and pulled the rifle from his saddle's scabbard.

Watching him, Griff felt his eyes widen. As the determined boy fed cartridges into the gun. Griff held up his hands. “Whoa, there! What're you doing?”

“Protecting what's mine. I promised Gramps.”

Griff could see that the boy's blood ran as fiercely as his Aunt Jessi's. “Well, how about we try and talk this out first? A firearm might not be necessary.” Even though Griff had on a gunbelt, he hoped he wouldn't have to use the Colt it held.

“Reed Darcy doesn't talk,” Joth replied firmly.

Griff waited silently.

“All right,” Joth offered in surrender. “But if he shoots us, you're going to have to answer to Aunt Jessi, not me.”

Griff grinned in spite of the tension. “I won't let him shoot us. Don't worry.”

The men didn't seem to care that they'd been spotted. In fact, they rode right up to where Griff and Joth stood.

“That's a Clayton cow!” Joth declared accusingly, as the party reined their horses to a stop.

Griff placed a hand on the boy's shoulder to calm him a bit.

In the fancy black carriage sat a middle aged, brown-skinned man with pomaded hair. Dressed nattily in an expensive-looking dark suit and string tie, he had the girth of a man who lived well. He responded to Joth's angry accusation with a cold smile. “Now Joth, where are your manners? I'm sure your aunt taught you not to speak to adults unless you're spoken to first.” The brittle black eyes assessed the boy. Then, as if deeming him unworthy of a further audience, the man pointedly ignored him and turned to Griff. “Afternoon, son. Who're you?”

“Name's Blake.”

Darcy took a moment to look Griffin over. “Are you the man my son and his wife met in Abe's store yesterday?”

“Yes. And you are?”

“Reed Darcy. I own most of the land around here,” he boasted.

Griffin was not impressed. “Is that a Clayton cow?”

“Not sure,” Darcy lied easily. “The boys and I found it just sort of wandering around. But I'm having some friends over later in the week. I thought it would make a good barbecue candidate.”

Griff assessed the two riders escorting Darcy, then asked coolly, “Is there a brand?”

“I didn't think to look,” he said, eyeing Griff.

“Well, why don't we look now, just so there's no misunderstandings later?”

“How about we don't and I give you some advice instead? Nobody around here works for the Claytons. Bad for the health, if you catch my meaning.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yep, and if you have any sense, you'll pack your gear and ride out.”

Griff hated being told what to do, especially by a man in a fancy suit and tie. “Well, Mr. Darcy, I've never been one to have much sense, so I think I'll stick around. Besides, I especially like meeting men who pick fights with women and children.”

Darcy's face flashed with anger. “You're a pretty uppity cowboy.”

“Thank you.”

The two men assessed each other and neither appeared to like what they were seeing.

One of the riders, a tall lean man with bad teeth interrupted to ask Griff, “Don't I know you?”

Griff slowly turned his attention away from Darcy's angry face. “Maybe.”

“Yeah, I do, but your name wasn't Blake.”

The man paused a minute, staring intently, as if trying to place Griff, then declared, “You used to rob trains. Saw your picture in the paper in Omaha a few years back. Oklahoma Red!”

Griff executed a slight bow.

Darcy asked his employee, “He any good?”

Griff knew Darcy was asking about his prowess with a gun.

In answer, the man got down from his horse and untied the cow's rope from his saddle.

Darcy snapped, “What the hell are you doing?”