bed is large and firm, and it's very airy."
"I'll be quite comfortable wherever you put me," he sured her.
Smiling, he looked into the room, then backed out again.
"I'll go help Hank with the trunks."
"If you're tired"
"Tess, do I look tired? If yon Heusen is coming back tonight, we want to
look settled in, don't we?"
"It's interesting that you should feel that way. Apparently the
lieutenant wasn't very worried."
"Don't underestimate him, Tess. He knows what he's doing."
"You would defend him no matter what, wouldn't you?"
"Because I know him," Jon said quietly, and he stepped past her, down
the hall and down the stairs. She'd best get moving herself, Tess
decided.
She turned and hurried down the hallway in Jon's wake. While the men
unloaded the wagon, she could see to the horses and the mules.
Then she'd have to find out how many of the ranch hands had stayed
around once they'd heard that von Heusen would be taking over.
And then she'd have to wait. for von Heusen himself.
The town of Wiltshire was not a little hole-in the-wall, Jamie decided
as he rode down the main street. It was really quite sophisticated, with
rows and rows of Victorian houses with their cupolas and gingerbread
lining the roads that ran off the main street. Along the main street
were any number of businesses--two different mercantiles, a barbershop,
a corset shop, a men's wear shop, a cooper, a photographer, a mortician,
a pharmacy, a doctor, two lawyers, a boardinghouse for young ladies and
an inn that boasted a sign, "Perry McCarthy's Shady Rest Hotel--Stop
Here and Dine! We've a Restaurant for Any Respectable Traveler,
Gentleman, Lady or Child."
He wondered how well Perry McCarthy was doing. The streets were very
quiet.
In front of the barbershop a few men sat around and puffed on pipes.
One was missing an arm, another was minus his left foot. A pair of
crutches leaned against the wall behind him.
The men looked at Jamie as he rode by. The 125 war, Jamie thought. These
men had fought in the war.
Southerners, like he'd been. Even if Miss. Stuart was insisting upon
calling him a Yank. Well, he was a Yank. Hell, they were all Yanks now.
Because the damn Yanks had won the war.
"Howdy," he called out to the group.
The fellow with the stump for an arm nodded.
"Stranger in these parts, aren't you, mister."
"Yes, sir, I am. But it seems to be a nice enough place."
"Used to be," the man minus the foot said, spitting on the ground.
"Used to be. But then the varmints started coming in and taking over.
You know how that is. You don't hail from these parts, but I don't think
that's any Chicago accent you got on you, boy. Where you from?"
"Missouri," Jamie said.
"Missouri," the footless man repeated. He stroked his graying beard with
a smile and settled back.
"Well, now, I hope you stay a while."
"I was planning on it. I thought I'd buy some land."
"Don't think you're going to be able to, not good land.
Oh, there's some land up to the north for sale, but it's pure desert.
You don't want that, boy."
"Well, I'll look around. I heard that Joe Stuart was killed. Maybe I can
get my hands on some of his land."
The man without the arm was up in a minute.
"Don't you go looking around to be a vulture after Joe's place. You'll
wind up dead yourself, young man."
"Maybe you'd better shut up, Carter," the other fellow muttered.
Jamie leaned down, smiling.
"Fellows, Joe's niece is alive and well and kicking, I can tell you."
"Miss. Tess!" The one named Carter gasped with pleasure.
"Why, that's the best news I've heard since '61! You telling the truth
there, boy?"
"Sir, I'm over thirty," Jamie politely told him.
"And I think I count. double time for the war, my friends, so that makes
me pretty darned old, and nobody's boy."
"Sorry there, Carter and me, we didn't mean to offend."
"No offense taken. My name is Jamie Slater. I'm look- hag to buy land.
You hear of anything, you let me know."
"We'll do that. But you aren't going to get the Smart ranch. Von Heusen
wants that. He wants it bad."
"But he doesn't want that other land. That's interesting," Jamie mused.
"Hope you stay a while," Carter said.
"Thanks. I intend to."
"My name's Jeremiah Miller, you need any more information, bo--young
man, you look me up. Hell, anybody younger'n me is a boy, son!"
Jamie laughed and urged his mount on. He could see the saloon ahead.
He reined in before it, tossed his reins over the tethering bar and
entered through the swinging doors. He paused for a minute, letting his
eyes adjust to the dimness and the smoke. There was a piano player in
the rear. A singer with a short mauve shirt that barely covered rich
black petticoats and stockings perched on the piano. Her voice was as
smoky as the atmosphere.
There was a bar to his right, running the length of the establishment.
Two heavyset bartenders ha white aprons leaned against the mahogany bar
talking to customers. There were a number of patrons at the twenty or so
tables in the place. Some were well-dressed small-town merchants, others
were ranch men, wearing denim pants and spurs and tall, dusty hats.
Their spurred boots were sometimes up on chairs or tables. It was a lazy
crowd, it seemed, an interesting one.
The crowd went silent the minute Jamie entered the room. The singer
forgot the lyrics to her song. The piano player swung around and stared,
too.
"Howdy," Jamie said casually.
People stared. Then the brunette hopped off the piano and walked
forward.
"Hello, there," she said, frowning at the others, offering Jamie a broad
smile.
"What's the matter with you all! We've a stranger in town. Let's not
make him think we haven't a single wit of manners between the lot of
us!"
"Sure thing, Sherry, honey? one of the cowboys called out. He let his
feet fall to the floor.
"Howdy, there, stranger.
Welcome to Wiltshire. We ain't rude. We're just surprised. Strangers
just don't come here very often very more." "Why is that?" Jamie asked.
The cowboy shrugged, but not before looking around the room. In one
corner, a few men in suits were playing cards.
"It ain't a good gamble, that's why," a tall, thin man with heavy
iron-gray whiskers called out.
"But you're here now, so come on in. Hardy!" He called to the bartender.
"Give the stranger a whiskey, on me." "Thank you kindly," Jamie said. He
strode into the room. Sherry brought his whiskey. He sat across from the
man who had invited him, next to a small, nervous man with wir~rimmed
spectacles.
"My haree's Edward Clancy," the bewhiskered man said, offering Jamie a
hand.
"I'm the editor of the Wiltshire Sun."
Jamie nearly betrayed his surprise. He kept a firm smile plastered to
his face.
"The Sun, huh? The newspaper?" "The gossip rag," the man said flatly.
"That's all I dare print, and I'm careful about that. Oh, well, I write
up some articles about President Grant and about the Indians. But not
much else."
"Why?"
'"Cause I like living," Edward Clancy said flatly.
"We're playing poker. You in?"
Jamie pushed back his hair and reached into his pocket for money.
"Sure, I'm in. I like to gamble."
"Then you're in the right town, mister. You're surely in the right towm
What's your name?"
"Jamie. Jamie Slater."
Clancy smiled slowly.
"I've heard of you. You're one of the Slater brothers. Why, I heard that
you can hit a fly in the clouds with that " Rumor," Jamie interrupted