Blood and Gold

Like every puncher I ever knew, Meldrum’s first loyalty was to the ranch, but you don’t buy devotion like that for forty a month. To a man like Meldrum, the ranch was not an area of land, of pastures, rivers and forests, but a principle and a way of life. He believed in that principle and that way of life and held the unshakable opinion that it was worth preserving, worth fighting for and even worth dying for. This was the wellspring of his loyalty and what sustained it through good times and bad. Had Meldrum thought otherwise, he would have been spitting on his own life and mine, rendering them both pointless, useless, without reason or purpose.

“Well, I got to get back to the house,” I said finally. “Mr. Fullerton will be powerful mad if I don’t show up for my grub.”

“One more thing, Dusty,” Meldrum said, taking a step closer to me. “A word of warning: Lafe Wingo, the man you were telling us about, won’t let go of thirty thousand so easily.”

“You know him?”

“I know him. Seen him work one time up in Den ver. He’s good with a gun, maybe the best there is around.”

My fingers strayed to my wounded shoulder. “I can testify to that.”

“Just step carefully and keep your eyes open. Wingo will come here, to the SP, depend on it.”

“Jim, you’ll stand with me if that happens?”

“When it happens.” Meldrum glanced up at the threatening sky, rain falling on the sharp planes of his hard-boned face. Then he lowered his head and looked at me, his eyes bleak. “I’ll stand with the SP Connected, Dusty. But there’s something you ought to know: I’m handy with a gun my ownself, but I’m not near good enough to shade Lafe Wingo.” His cold gray eyes probed mine, searching deep. “Are you?”

I tried to make light of it and grinned. “I wasn’t the last time we met.”

Meldrum didn’t smile in return. “Then best you get in some practice.” His face was drawn, his mouth pinched. “I’ve a feeling you’re going to need it.”

The rain was falling harder as I walked back to the house, Meldrum’s warning lying heavy on me. I felt tight and strange inside, knowing that the last thing I wanted was to meet Lafe Wingo in another gunfight.

Now that Ma had the thirty thousand and the ranch could get out from under the bankers, I’d thought the entire affair with all its blood and death was over. But if Meldrum was right, it wasn’t over . . . not by a long shot.

It was just beginning.

When I stepped into the parlor, Ma and Lila sat on each side of a burning log fire, each holding a dainty cup and saucer in her hands.

Ma, who had retained much of the frugality of her early, hardscrabble years, had kept every dress she’d ever owned, at least those that weren’t too worn-out. Lila was wearing a gown of pale blue gingham that Ma must have bought when she was younger and a lot slimmer, and the girl’s black hair was pulled back from her face with a bow of darker blue.

The sight of her made my breath catch in my throat and as I sat on the chair that Ma indicated, I heard my heartbeat hammer in my ears.

Lila Tryon wasn’t just pretty like Sally Coleman. She had a dark, flashing beauty that Sally could never match, the kind that made a man look twice . . . and then, all unbelieving, look again.

“Dusty,” Ma said, after I’d finally settled into my chair, “Lila tells me she wants to get to her ranch as soon as possible.”

Before I could answer, Lila said quietly and insistently: “It’s a farm, Mrs. Prather.”

Ma smiled at the girl. “Lila, you must call me Ma—everyone else does.” Then, revealing her natural prejudices as a cattleman’s wife, she added, maybe a little too sweetly: “This is ranching country, my dear.”

Lila opened her mouth to speak, but I jumped in quickly to keep the peace. “Ma, I already told Lila she can’t go to her . . . place until the Apaches are rounded up.”

Ma nodded, brushing a strand of gray hair away from one red apple cheek. “That dreadful Victorio, I’ll be so glad when the army finally catches him.” She looked at me, her brownish-green eyes troubled. “Dusty, did you hear about Tom Jurgunsen?”

I nodded. “Uh-huh. Mr. Fullerton told me.”

As if she hadn’t heard, Ma continued. “Tom gone, and his handsome young son, and Betty not expected to live. It’s just so terrible.”

Hooves sounded outside and Ma glanced toward the window. “That must be Deke. I sent him out to scout around for any sign of Apaches.” She rose to her feet and laid her cup and saucer on the table. “I’ll go hear what he has to tell me.”

I was about to say I’d join her, but the door opened and Charlie walked in, holding a tray heaped high with food. “Ah,” Ma said, “and here’s Mr. Fullerton just in time.” She studied the tray closely, nodded her approval and said: “Eat hearty, Dusty. I’ll be back soon.”

The food was good and I was hungry and for a while the only sound was the clink of my fork on the plate. Finally, after eating most of two steaks, seven eggs and several slabs of bread, I had to admit defeat. I sighed and placed the tray on the table beside me.

“Did you enjoy that?” Lila asked, one eyebrow arching.