plight.
“Yummy,” Screech said. “Ummm, yummy.”
“Yes, me, too,” she answered, then settled her derriere onto the lid of the trunk.
* * *
Having finished his business at the bank, Lantree walked the isolated path that wound through the trees behind the main street of town.
The boardwalk in front of the establishments would have been a quicker way to get back to his wagon, but this way was more peaceful, more private.
Unfortunately, this path tended to be a dumping ground for drunks who had been tossed from the saloons. He spotted one now, face down in a mud puddle.
With the inebriated as plentiful as fleas on a hound, no one much cared if one of them never came out of his stupor. Boot Hill was home to a fair share of unfortunate alcoholics.
Lantree crouched down beside the man. His skin was an unhealthy color. He touched the man’s throat, feeling for a pulse.
It was there, sluggish under his fingertips. Turning the fellow over, he sighed. The drunk was more a boy than a man. If he kept up this behavior he wouldn’t live long enough to grow a full beard.
“Let’s get you out of here,” he said. Slinging the limp body over his shoulder, he stood up.
The closest thing to a doctor that Coulson could boast was the bartender at the Gilded Cage Saloon. “Doc” Brody had assisted an army doctor for three years so he did what he was able.
Brody would have enough skill to see the kid back to sobriety.
Lantree walked past the River Queen on his way to the Gilded Cage. Only one passenger remained in sight.
This one straggler made him pivot at the hip, stop and stare. She sat upon a trunk beside the dock, apparently conversing with a large green bird in a dome-shaped cage.
Decent women in Coulson were rare. Perhaps she was a lady of the night, but if that were the case, she would just be starting her career.
Her skin looked fresh...lovely even. Her expression was bright and untroubled.
Evidently, the bird must have done something funny because the woman laughed out loud. She didn’t try to hide her amusement coyly behind her hand, but let it out, lifting her face to the sky, looking joyful.
He wanted to weep for her. Give the girl six months, and she would be visiting Doc Brody with sores that she would never recover from.
Maybe he ought to sit down beside her and warn her of the danger, but he had the boy slung over his shoulder.
At any rate, the young woman would resent his interference and he was in no position to advise or heal anyone.
Still, it was a shame to imagine such beauty fading to despair and illness.
A few moments later, he deposited the boy on a chair inside the Gilded Cage.
He approached the bar and signaled Brody with a wave.
“That one’s no more than a kid,” he explained to the “Doctor” and pushed a five-dollar bill in his direction. “See what you can do to get him sober.”
“You and your strays, Lantree.” The bartender poured him a shot of amber-colored whiskey. “Just a dram to keep you warm on the ride home.”
“Appreciate it, Doc.”
He took a sip, enjoying the smooth heat sliding down his throat, warming his belly.
At the other end of the bar, a young man...a deckhand from the Queen, he thought, chatted with Big Nosed Mike. No one knew Mike’s real name, but everyone knew about his bullish reputation...everyone apparently but the boy chatting amiably with him.
Lantree slugged down the rest of his drink. Coulson was wearing on his nerves. The sooner he got home to the tranquility of the ranch, the happier he would be.
On his way out the door, he paused to straighten the boy in his chair and check his pulse one more time.
He’d recover this time, but if no one took him in hand he faced a sad, short future.
Outside, June sunshine warmed his face, but come tonight the weather would turn downright cold. It was a lucky thing he’d purchased several heavy blankets and a couple of rain slickers.
“Walker!” came a voice from behind him on the boardwalk. “Hold up a minute.”
He’d hoped to get in and out of town without a confrontation with William Smothers, Coulson’s power-hungry mayor.
He stopped, turned. When he did, he spotted the fresh young woman with the bird. She was standing beside her trunk, stretching. She was tall, very tall, with a lithe, lovely figure. He wished...well, he wished for a lot of things, but it was a shame about the girl.
Smothers gazed up at him, yanking then smoothing the lapels of his fancy suit over his portly belly. “I heard you were in town.”
“Just on my way out.”
“Arrange a meeting for me with your boss.” As usual, Smothers was short and to the point.
The fellow was shifty, all right. Just because he wore a tailored suit and polished boots didn’t make him any less of a snake.
“Mr. Moreland sends his regards and his regrets.”
“See here, Lantree. The railroad is coming. This town is going to grow up overnight. We need lumber. Moreland’s got more trees than he needs.”
“Not interested.”
Smothers might yak all day without Hershal giving up so much as a branch.
He’d refused to sell it to fuel the steamboats. He’d escorted the railroad folks off his land with a shotgun. His boss was as protective of his trees as he might have been with his own kin, if he’d had any.
There was the granddaughter, but her mother’s family had poisoned her opinion of Moreland. The girl would never come here, no matter how much comfort she would be able to give the old man.
“You arrange a meeting, and I’ll make it worth your while. How much do you make as ramrod for Moreland? Not as much as you’d like, I’d be willing to bet.”
“I watch out for Moreland’s interests.”
“Just deliver the message this time.” Smothers’s face began to mottle. A red circle blotched his nose. “Or I’ll find another, not-so-gentle way of delivering it.”
“Is that a threat, Smothers?” Lantree took a step closer, bent down to the mayor’s level and spoke softly. “I reckon you didn’t mean it to be.”
“I want those trees.”
“Get them somewhere else.”
“You know that property has the best lumber, and all near the river. We need it and we need it fast if Coulson is going to be the railhead and not Billings. The survival of this town depends on it.”
One more reason for Hershal to hold on to his trees, as far as Lantree was concerned. If the railroad boss picked another place for his town and this one died, so much the better.
“If you try anything illegal, I’ll know it, Smothers.”
He walked away, leaving the man steaming in his fancy duds.
Home, Moreland Ranch, could not come soon enough.
* * *
Thanks to Tom, Rebecca had a guide. She watched while the squat but solid-looking man built a campfire for the night.
To appearances, Mike looked like a ruffian, with shaggy hair that could use a wash, along with the rest of him. But this was a rugged land, full of rugged men, and she would not judge his character by his grooming habits. Besides, Tom would not have sent him to her unless he was of dependable character.