"He didn't kill anybody for it, as I understand it."
Wirt Sewell grunted. "Don't misunderstand me. There's nothin' wrong with takin' reward money. Federal deputies, and a lot of county lawmen, do it all the time. It's just that Olsen hisself never did it before. I wonder why he's startin' now."
"I think he aims to hand it over to Miss Garnett."
"Why'd he do a thing like that?"
"Have you ever seen Miss Garnett?"
Crouching in his dark corner, Gault sensed that the lanky express agent was smiling. "I seen her. And it might be you're right. Half the heads in New Boston was nigh twisted out of joint when the sheriff brought her to town to identify the body. I don't reckon Olsen would be the first one to let a pretty face make a fool out of him."
The two men thought about it for a moment. Gault said with a touch of dryness, "You've been watching over things since I left New Boston, seems like. Did you see the deputy's two visitors last night?"
The express agent made a startled sound. "What visitors?" He listened intently as Gault told about the arrival the night before of Olsen and the stranger. "When the storm came up," Sewell said, "I scooted back down the creekbank and throwed my bed under a rock shelf. How long was they here?"
"Two hours maybe. They pulled out before first light."
"I wish I knew who it was that Olsen had with him."
"A little stoop-shouldered geezer, that was all I could see. What do you make of it?"
The agent slumped like a poorly tied bedroll in the corner of the shed. "I don't know. I'd like to take a look inside that house."
"Not much chance. That's where Miss Garnett's sleepin'."
"Do you know where Colly Fay throwed his bed?" Gault pointed to the main shed on the other side of the farmyard. Wirt Sewell uncoiled slowly and got to his feet. "Set easy for a few minutes. I want to take a look around." He slipped quickly through the doorway. Gault watched the slender figure mingle with dark shadows and disappear.
Several minutes passed but Sewell did not reappear. After a time it was almost possible to believe that the express agent had never existed. Gault lay back on the loose hay, every bone in his body aching. How long had it been since he had had any real rest or decent sleep? He couldn't remember.
He drifted toward unconsciousness, slowly, quietly, like a fallen leaf caught on a dark current. He thought fleetingly of Esther Garnett, but not with undue concern. He had little doubt that Miss Garnett could take care of herself. And anyway, Colly Fay was in the shed just on the other side of the farmhouse, in case Sewell was fool enough to cause trouble.
Sour with exhaustion, Gault allowed sleep to overtake him. And for once he did not dream of Martha. He dreamed of another storm. Of dark rolling clouds, and faraway lightning and thunder. When he awoke it was daylight again. There had been no storm. The morning was bright and clean-smelling and cool. And there was no sign of Wirt Sewell, nor could Gault discover any evidence to suggest that the lanky express agent had been there at all.
CHAPTER FIVE
Gault took some practice steps outside the shed, and Esther Garnett appeared at her kitchen door. "Seems to me like you're on the mend, Mr. Gault."
"Thanks to you, Miss Garnett," Gault said. Colly Fay appeared from a deep arroyo in the back of the house carrying a shovel.
Esther only gave Colly a casual glance. She said, "Pretty soon you'll be wantin' to leave us, I expect."
"I was thinkin'," Gault said, "that I've caused you about enough trouble. I'm much obliged for all you've done, but I'm able to ride now, any time. If Colly could help me get the buckskin saddled…"
In the back of Gault's memory lingered the shadowy figure of Wirt Sewell, and a puzzled expression showed in his face. Esther Garnett saw it immediately. "Is somethin' wrong, Mr. Gault?"
He couldn't bring himself to mention the mysterious express agent. He knew that Sewell had been there in the shed with him, and he knew that they had talked—he also knew that he could prove none of it.
"Nothin's wrong," he said, managing a small smile. "It was just a dream I had last night."
Those blue eyes looked at him steadily. "What kind of dream?"
"A storm. Thunder and lightnin', that kind of thing."
"There wasn't no storm last night," she told him soberly. "There was stars all over the sky. I was tellin' Colly."
"Like I say, it was just a dream." But what had happened to Wirt Sewell? He hadn't been a dream.
Gault returned to the shed, and within a few minutes Colly Fay was standing in the doorway. "Miss Esther says you're pullin' out."
"If you'll help me get the buckskin saddled."
"Which way will you be headin'?"
No sense starting a fight, Gault told himself. "Don't worry, Colly, I won't be headin' back to New Boston."
Colly brought up the saddled buckskin, then he helped Gault roll his bed and tie it on behind the cantle. "Deputy Finley said I'd get my Winchester back when I was well enough to ride out of here."
The posseman grinned. "Whatever the deputy says." He brought Gault his rifle. The firing pin had been replaced, but the magazine was empty. Gault knew without looking that the spare box of cartridges that he always carried would not be in the saddle pocket. He shoved the empty rifle into the boot.
Gault grasped the saddle horn and laboriously mounted the buckskin. The effort left him gasping. He leaned forward on the saddle horn, waiting for the pain to subside.
Colly was looking up at him, grinning widely. "You don't look too pert to me, Gault. A man in your shape, the best thing he can do is to stay out of trouble." Maybe Colly wasn't as simple as he appeared.
As Gault was pushing himself erect, Esther Garnett came out of the house carrying a grub sack. "It ain't much," she said apologetically. "Cold biscuits and dry salt meat. But maybe it'll last you till you get to your place in the Territory."
It seemed to Gault that no one ever missed an opportunity to suggest that he should make straight for Indian Territory and away from Texas. Wirt Sewell was the only one who hadn't offered some kind of argument in favor of his leaving Standard County as soon as possible—and Sewell hadn't been heard from since. "I'm much obliged for everything you've done, Miss Garnett," Gault said politely. "I'm sorry if I've put you out."
"You haven't put me out, Mr. Gault," she said with a placid smile.
The exchange was stilted and rang with false good humor. With a courteous little nod, Gault reined the buckskin away from the shed and started at an easy walk across the farmyard, heading north. He looked back once and Esther and the big posseman were deep in serious conversation. Gault rode on toward the river.
Shortly before sundown the indignant bellowing of a range cow caught Gault's attention. He reined to a knoll to see where the sound was coming from. The soft green valley of the Little Wichita was spread out in front of him, and in the center of that green carpet a man was kneeling beside a downed steer. A well-trained cow pony was standing patiently nearby.
Gault hesitated before moving in closer. If the stranger was a rustler, or an ambitious cowhand adding to his own stock, it would be smart to ride around him and pretend that he had seen nothing. But there was no branding fire that Gault could see. On impulse, he nudged the buckskin into the valley.
The man looked up at Gault. "Howdy." Then he went back to what he was doing. Beside him on the ground was an opened barlow knife, a syrup bucket half full of axle grease "dope," and a rag dauber. "Worms," the cowhand said without looking around. Meticulously, he cleaned a large sore on the steer's shoulder, cut away the proud flesh and coated the area with the black worm medicine. Finally he untied the animal and the steer loped across the valley, still bawling. The cowhand got to his feet and looked again at Gault. "You ain't from Colton, are you?"