“Huh!” Thurston Wellman expelled his breath forcefully. “Never thought I’d see the day that gal would let loose of another one of her horses, after she had to sell that stud of her pa’s. She’s tighter’n an old maid’s pucker when it comes to her animals.”
Roan waited patiently for the older man’s nattering to cease. He’d known the sight of him atop the sleek mare would set tongues wagging and he’d been right. Evan Gardner had been in the general store just minutes ago, his eyebrows at half-mast when Roan came through the doorway.
“How’d you get your hands on one of Cassidy’s horses?” the man had blurted out. “Does Katherine know you’re ridin’ her mare?”
Roan had given him a glare to end all and turned to the storekeeper. His list was long, and it took more than a few minutes to name the supplies he’d need for his trip. At least for the first leg of the journey.
In the meantime, Evan had stomped out the door, reentering minutes later. “That’s surer than the dickens one of Cassidy’s horses,” he’d said vengefully. “You got no right to that mare, stranger.”
Roan had turned to face the man. “If you got a problem, I’ll meet you out front. Are you callin’ me a horse thief?” The words were spit with precision, the tone tightly leashed but edging toward anger.
Evan Gardner wisely backed off, his face ruddy, his words sputtering without coherency from his lips. “Never said, uh, didn’t mean…sure didn’t…”
Roan had spun to the storekeeper. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Can you have it packed and ready for me?”
With the man’s assurance still in the air, Roan had left the store, brushing past Evan Gardner with a look of scorn.
Now he tended to the business at hand. The purchase of a packsaddle was next on his agenda. The stud he’d ridden through Tucker Center just over a month ago would carry his supplies, perhaps trading off with the mare if she needed spelling during the long journey.
“You got a packsaddle I can buy?” he asked Thurston Wellman. He’d loosened the girth on the mare and turned the stallion into the small corral while he’d gone to the dry goods store earlier. Now it was time to do his business and make tracks to the south.
Thurston cleared his throat, loathe to miss a sale of any sort. “I expect I can locate what you need, mister. Might take me an hour or so to come up with it, though. You got anything you need to do? Mebbe you’d like to wet your whistle over at the saloon while I check things out.”
The idea of a long swallow of beer was mighty appealing to Roan. It’d been a long dry spell since he’d left Ohio, heading for Charlie Cassidy’s spread. But drinking and riding a trail didn’t mix well in his book. In fact, he might just bed down at the hotel for the night and make it an early start in the morning.
“Sounds good to me,” he told the livery stable owner. “Maybe I’ll stay overnight and head out early.” He swept his hat from his head and tossed it to rest on a bale of hay. “Show me a stall for my mare and I’ll unsaddle her.”
“Second one on the right,” Thurston said agreeably. “You can stow your tack over yonder. It’ll be two bits for the night, if you leave the stud in the corral. I’ll feed ‘em both.”
Roan nodded. He led the mare to the stall and stripped the saddle from her back. Replacing the bridle with a halter, he rubbed her down, his hands possessive as they swept the glossy length of her. Checking twice to be sure she was securely tied, he left the stall.
“I’ll toss her some hay,” Thurston told him. “There’s some for your stud already in the hay rack outside.”
Roan grunted in reply, snatching his hat on the way out the double doors into the sunlight.
Already it had started, he thought gloomily, catching sight of sidelong glances as he passed small knots of townsfolk. Noting the speculative look on the face of the local lawman as he neared the jail, he slowed his steps.
“Sheriff?” he said, greeting the robust man cordially.
“Yessir, I’m Sheriff Doober.” The man straightened from his post against the wall. “You the feller asked about the whereabouts of the Cassidy place a while back? Heard from Evan Gardner you was stayin’ out there. He was kinda upset, bein’ an admirer of Katherine and all.”
“I was there. Now I’m leavin’. My name’s Roan Devereaux. I’m an old friend of Charlie’s,” he told him, hand outstretched in greeting.
With a degree of reluctance, the lawman met his grip. “Heard tell you got away with one of Charlie’s mares,” he said, his words tinged with admiration.
“Mares aren’t Charlie’s anymore,” Roan corrected him. “They belong to Miss Katherine now, and yes, I made a deal with her for one of them.”
“She’s kinda low on stock, ain’t she? What with sellin’ one to the banker for his daughter pretty soon, she’ll be scrapin’ the bottom of the barrel.”
Roan nodded. “Pretty close. She’s got one more filly she’s workin’ with and the yearlings she’s trainin’.”
“Looks like she’d think twice before she sold off her breeding stock,” Sheriff Doober said.
“Want to ride out there with me and ask her about it?” Roan offered quietly.
The other man shook his head. “No, I don’t reckon I do. Just makin’ conversation.”
Roan nodded and walked on, feeling himself the center of attention. The town probably hadn’t had this much excitement in years, he thought with a suggestion of good humor. It sounded like Katherine had a reputation for being stingy, least when it came to her horses.
He made a quick stop at the dry goods, where Orv Tucker, the owner, agreed to store his purchases in the back room till morning. “Won’t be no trouble at all,” he assured him.
Across the street was the hotel, the tallest building in town, with elegantly carved wooden curlicues and flourishes garnishing its framework. As though expecting his arrival, the clerk met Roan with an ingratiating smile, assigning him a room with much fuss and ado. Extolling the virtues of the establishment, the clerk ushered him up the stairs, unlocking the door with a flourish.
“Yessir, we’ve got the finest rooms for fifty miles,” the young man boasted. “Our dining room’s known all over the area. Why, we get folks come from miles away just to eat dinner here,” he said, beaming with pride.
Roan waited patiently, nodding agreeably, then herded the enthusiastic clerk out the door.
“I’ll send up a pitcher of hot water,” came the final word from the young man as he stood in the hallway.
“You do that,” Roan answered, already stripping off his shirt. He turned the glass knob once more and stuck his head through the open door. “In fact, make that a whole tub of hot water. Might be the last chance I get for a good bath for a while.”
A marked contrast to the short cot and the quiet barn, he found the hotel to be a mixed blessing. The bed was comfortable but the sounds coming through the open window kept him awake half the night.
“Didn’t know the saloon would be open till all hours,” he grumbled to the desk clerk in the morning. “Man can’t get a decent night’s sleep.”
“Should have closed your window, sir,” the clerk ventured mildly, counting the coins Roan had given him.
“Felt like I was in a tomb, with all that velvet hangin’ all over the place,” Roan growled. “Can’t sleep without fresh air.”
Breakfast was plentiful in the hotel dining room. Ignoring the speculation he encountered on several faces, he plowed through the plate full of ham and potatoes