Текст книги "Cloud's Rider "

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

“Thank you, ma’am,” the older boy said. “I’m grateful. We are. Really.”

“Any time.” She opened the door, waited just long enough to see the boys leave down the snowy steps.

Then she shut the door and latched it against the kind of drunken fools that sometimes mistook the private door for the office, and calmed herself enough for a sigh of relief.

The girl was hers. They hadn’t, after all, come to make any other arrangements. They were no more than kids themselves, the younger boy young enough to need someone’s care—but not hers. It didn’t need to be her business. Nothing about them needed to be her business.

But in one thing she was puzzled—the impression she’d gotten that, after all they’d done to save her, they’d not been shattered by her condition—or cheered by her improvement. They’d just offered money—and left with nothing in evidence but relief.

Odd, she thought. That certainly wasn’t the behavior of loving brothers. It just wasn’t. And Brionne had shed no tears, none at all.

The kids hadn’tcome back down from the midway shelter when the weather cleared—which meant the two of them had a choice of going up what Tara called a hellish road, or going up a straight-up-the-mountain route that Tara swore she could make, and that Guil maintained, against her protestations, that hecould make.

There were, Tara said, logging shelters and miners’ cabins, and she knew with a local rider’s knowledge where they were.

There was supposedly such a shelter ahead of them on their ascent, not of the road, but of the broad mountain face. It was a shelter, as Tara had imaged it,

But thus far Guil saw it only through the inner eye, in Tara’s memory of a summer approach to the place, and not the sort she’d care to overnight among. The image was

The reality was and it was a good thing, Guil thought, that they had two experienced high-country horses feeling their way through the snow, knowingby the way trees grew and brush situated itself that there might be a ledge, knowing the soft, attractive snow was not at all reliable. It wasn’t a rapid progress and, hazy as the snow-sifting branches had become to Guil’s perception, he walked, or staggered, used Burn’s tail to help him up the generally steep slopes.

It wasn’t Burn’s favorite way to make a climb, with a human pulling on a fairly important part of Burn’s dignity, but Burn tolerated it, as Burn tolerated the baggage knocking about his ribs, because otherwise his rider wasn’t going to be able to follow Tara and Flicker up this damn slope—and that would have meant Burn, torn between and faced an unthinkably inconvenient choice.

Which would of course be but damnablydreadful to make.

<“Burn…” waiting.> Guil didn’t talk out loud much at all—or hadn’t, until the last few days. He didn’t know when he’d last had someone to talk to—last time he’d ridden with Aby, he guessed; but it surprised him, now, the unaccustomed word coming out of his mouth, the way it surprised him that the snow was so gray and the world that was going around in such an unaccustomed way.

It was a very inconvenient place to fall. He had empty air at his back, rock under his feet, and feeling himself overbalanced, he grabbed a sapling evergreen, which bent, but which kept him on his feet and on the small ledge somewhere on a fairly steep slope. Even when the whole world went and an attempt to find footing failed; he only swung around with the tree in his embrace—facing he wasn’t quite sure what direction, but it felt like sideways on the mountain.

“Guil? Guil, hang on!”

“Oh, I will,” he said, and kept his arms full of tree, hoping that his sight would come back—he had Burn’s view of and but he didn’t think that was directly in front of him. It seemed rather, like the rest of the mountain, somewhat to the side and behind him.

That persuaded him, along with the general inclination of the very flexible, smelly and prickly sapling, which stabbed right through his gloves and through a gap that had developed between his glove and his jacket cuff, that if he let go he’d fall—which would hurt his side and his headache far worse than hanging on was hurting him. So he clung.

Eventually he heard, through the gray that beset his vision, the scrabble of human feet and felt much closer to him.

“Here.” A hand closed on his arm. “I’ll steady you.”

“I’m not seeing.”

“You can’t see?”

“It’s not bad. It’ll come back.”

“The hell it’ll come back!”

“A little knock on the skull. A while back. I’m just dizzy.”

“But you can’t see.”

“It’ll go away.”

“You’re a damn fool, Guil!”

“Just wait here a minute.”

“You should have told me you were having blackouts!”

“Just gray. It’s fine.” He blinked several times. He could see quite plainly, looking down on the scene and slightly overlapped—his brain having temporarily lost the knack for sifting skewed images into one image. It made him dizzier, and for a moment he thought he was going to lose his breakfast into the bargain, which might make him let go of the tree.

Not a good idea.

And he supposed if it were just him and Burn, Burn would get back down here and give him something besides a tree to hold to; Burn had four feet, and he’d feel a lot better about that, than about Tara’s trying to pry him loose.

“You can’t hold me,” he said.

“I want you to put your arm around my shoulder and I want you to put your right foot in the direction I go. All right?”

“You can’t hold me.”

“Shut up and let go! We’re not that far from the shelter. Trustme, hear?”

He let go. He didn’t grab her, fearful of dragging her off if he slipped, trusting if they slid, her instinct would save her; and he’d try for the tree. He could see a bit—at least a blur of white and gray that was snow and rock. He could see through Tara’s eyes, clearer than that, once the human brain decided which view of things was compatible with where two human bodies were standing. Once he had that, he could climb, using her balance and her sight, up that slope to where two horses waited anxiously.

“Sit down?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, and found a rock and rested there until the blood got back to his brain or away from it or whatever unnatural condition was causing the gray-out.

Then he saw a log cabin in front of him.

“We’re here,” he said.

“Yeah,” she said. “We’re here. Mining camp. Halfway to the upper road.”

He said, on a copper-tasting breath and with a pounding headache: “Told you I could do it.”

Preacher John Quarles came to call at the clinic in the morning. John’s mother had sent over a cake, which came welcome.

“Is it true?” John asked. “Has the little girl waked?”

“Yes,” she said. She didn’t want John to go and pray over her, but she didn’t see any way out. She brought him upstairs, where the sunlight through white curtains, on white lace and yellow walls, made the girl so beautiful she liked just to look at her at this hour.

Brionne had actually been reading—one of Faye’s books, that lay beside a white hand on the lace and satin coverlet. Brionne had nodded off, as she would almost every page.

“She’s very weak yet,” Darcy said in a hushed voice. “She asked for books. But she tires very quickly.”

“An angel,” John said, and launched into a quiet little prayer for “the Lord’s own little miracle.”

Brionne never stirred.

Darcy led her visitor downstairs again and, in the obligation to social courtesy, found herself comfortablewith the visit—actually found herself in a buoyant mood as John sat and shared tea and cookies.

“Truthfully,” John said, “it wasn’t just the cake that brought me. I wanted to be sure you were aware—” John cleared his throat. “I trust there’ve been no visits from Simms.”

“For what?” She reacted to every breath of wind that threatened the girl staying here. She’d come to hope—so much. And they couldn’tchange the arrangement. She didn’t wantto deal with lawyers.

God, did he suspect? Did he know it mattered that much?

“Knowing that child’s welfare is precious to you,” John said, “I think you should petition the court for guardianship—and have her rights protected.”

“Against what?” Her nerves wouldn’t take shocks. Not anymore. “Why?”

“This child has rights,” John said, “to a lot of property. There was a village meeting about it. The Goss children are the heirs to the smith down in Tarmin. And a house. At least one house. Maybe two. It’s been the talk in the village—”

“I don’t get around the village much,” Darcy said. “Socially. As you know.”

“Well, in the Lord’s wisdom, the boys and this dear child are the only living heirs—some say of the whole village, but the judge I think will rule that the village is salvage, except that the Goss family holds the blacksmith shop and the family house and maybe one or two other houses in the village.”

“The boys came here talking about maybe coming into some money. Thatwas what they meant.”

“Seems they do stand to inherit quite an establishment. Now, the oldest boy seems quite a nice young man—but I just would be careful, Darcy. I think you should seek legal guardianship. In this child’s interests. There are just too many who might seek it. If you understand.”

Hell, she thought. Thatwas why the elder boy had been so forward with his offers of money. She said with never a ruffle: “There’s no way this poor girl can go down there. God knows the conditions down there. I hope you’ll back me in that with the judge.”

“I have no difficulty with that,” John said. “The boys are good boys. But they have their interests in actually working the forge, in which I just do not imagine this fragile child has any skill. I do think they’ll stand by her financially as the Lord blesses them—they seem good churchgoing boys, and they do seem right in their intentions, but the older boy in particular is at that age when some girl will take his fancy, and he’ll start thinking of his own house. The brothers seem very close, and I think there’s no worry for the younger boy, who I’m sure will apprentice to his brother, but I think to assure equity forthis child there should be some provision for her, specifically, with some caring person, independent of means, to look out for her interests.”

“I agree. Guardianship.” Darcy found her hands trembling and tried to disguise the fact. John Quarles was an opinion that counted almost conclusively with the judge. John was also one to couch even his harshest judgments in very soft words, and John seemedto be saying that in his opinion the boys weren’t that acutely concerned for their sister—in which conclusion her own observations thoroughly concurred. “Also,” she said, “I do think—whatever my own reservations—it would be well if the child had exposure to church. You know I sent Faye. As traumatized as this child has been—I am thinking of taking her to services. And that tells you, John, how much I’m willing to commit to for this child.”

“That in itself is a miracle, Darcy.”

“Maybe—” She’d sell her soulfor possession of the girl upstairs. And prepared to do it. “Maybe after all I’ve been through I’m willing to listen, myself. I at least think it’s important to give this child every stable influence I can lay hands on. And this child needs a guide, John.” She considered half a breath and threw all the chips on the table. “Maybe I need a change of heart, too.”

That, God help her, led to a spate of praying right there and then, which she found incredibly ridiculous and embarrassing. But she bowed her head and said, feeling she would throw up, “Amen,” when John was finished.

But it meant John would fight for her rights. John had himself a couple of challenging prospects. They were hard come by, in a village divided between the hard-drinking woods-dwellers and the villager youth who, after their usual pubescent foolishness, realized that their respectability and their standing depended on the church. Village youngsters fell, either as a matter of course or a matter of post-procreative contrition, into John’s kindly hands. Those were no challenge. Shewas. Her attendance would set the village abuzz—and satisfy no few pious busybodies who’d included her in Sunday prayers for years.

Her Brionne. Her wayfarer from the storm—might be a wealthy young woman. A respectable, looked-up-to woman, churched, prayed-over, able to dictate her own way in the world and have anything she wanted.

Thatwas what the boy had been talking about, this Tarmin business, and coming into some money. If he wanted to send money, if he wanted to pay Brionne her inheritance in cash, that was very good. She’d call Simms tomorrow and have a document drawn up, something to protect Brionne and assure her rights to her share.

She wrote out a prescription to the pharmacist for cough medicine which John and his mother both used.

“How soon do you think they willresettle Tarmin?” she asked.

“Oh, up and running by next fall. At least to get a substantial establishment there, and maybe some supplies up here. The marshal’s organizing. The judge is drawing up documents. And the very clever heads are figuring how to deal with the lowland companies without getting into debt. There’s a great deal of greed at work here, Darcy, an uncomfortable amount of worldly greed.”

That, she believed truly shocked John. So many things did. It didn’t mean John didn’t understand them.

“I tell you,” she said, “this child’s been through enough. She deserves to stay up here and be very comfortable.”

“Amen,” John said. “Lord bless, and amen to that.”

That afternoon, with the sun peeking through gray clouds and the office curtains back, and her porch sign saying Openfor the first time in a year, Darcy had her first doors-open customer, when a miner came trailing in with a sliced arm he claimed to have gotten on a nail near the barracks and she knew damned well was a knife cut, likely gotten in the tavern last night, by the color and character of it, the sort of thing knife fighters often got defending themselves, and bad knife fighters at that.

Even before this last year she’d tended to send this sort of patient to the pharmacist for salve and bandages, since the man hadn’t come in directly after the fight (he’d slept it off, she was sure, oblivious to the pain) and the cut was too old for the stitches it could have used. Probably it had been a clean knife. The likeliest contaminant was The Evergreen’s steak sauce.

“I do appreciate this,” the man was saying. Earnest was his name. Earnest Riggs. Miner, of the sort constantly trying to get a stake to hire and provision a couple of his fellows for some hole in the rocks out of which they did a little hunting, a little mining, a little of anything to keep going another season, for, of course, the big find, the vein he just knew was there. She didn’t even ask if he was the down-the-mountain sort, or the up-the-mountain sort, which might have said whether he was panning or digging. She personally didn’t care. He did have credit slips with the bank, which she asked for up front. But while she was getting the bandages, he was telling her what an upstanding citizen he was, and how his little company had a find– this was always preface to an appeal for funds, but he hadn’t gotten to it yet.

She was aware of movement and a whiteness on the stairs a second before calamity—Brionne slipped, squealed in alarm and skidded a few steps.

Earnest leaped up and all but knocked her down getting from the office to the stairs to pick up Brionne who, both feet out from under her, was clinging to the rail. He was a big man with long hair and a grizzled, bushy beard, and Brionne was so, so slight in his huge arms, her white nightgown against his blue plaid shirt.

“You poor, pretty thing,” Ernest said over and over, and hugged Brionne against his shaggy self. “Damn. Damn. —Are you all right, honey?”

“Let me see,” Darcy said, anxious, and not alone for the almost fall. “Set her down. Set her down!”

“Poor little girl.” The miner, Ernest, set Brionne down on the couch and Brionne sat and looked up at him with wide, dazed eyes.

And Earnest—

Earnest was clearly entranced. Nothing would do but that Earnest help Brionne up the stairs once Darcy had ascertained there were no injuries.

“She’s perfectly fine,” Darcy said, taking charge to prevent Earnest carrying the girl into the bedroom. “Downstairs. I’ll be right down to take care of you.”

“Now, don’t you slight that poor little girl. This scrape’s nothin’. You take care of that poor little lady first, and I’ll wait downstairs. It don’t hurt. I promise you, it don’t hurt me none at all.”

It didn’t ease her mind. Earnest clearly had an interest in That Pretty Little Girl, as Earnest called her.

Himself being a big rough miner and of course not in any pain from a knife slice. Damn him.

Meanwhile, Brionne was just weak, was all she could detect. Brionne had gotten hungry and come downstairs, and that was easy enough to deal with.

Earnest, she feared, was another matter. Earnest had turned worshipful, and when she came downstairs to deal with Earnest, the deity in Earnest’s universe was clearly upstairs, where Earnest directed soulful looks.

She was ever so relieved to get him out the door.

She was more than annoyed when Earnest came back an hour after she’d put him out the door, knocking at the streetside entry and presenting a box of cookies from the bakery, and a bouquet of paper flowers.

Ernest wanted to carry the cookies up to The Little Girl’s room, but she wouldn’t have that—no. She wouldn’t let him in. But she took the bouquet and several cookies and a cup of tea upstairs and didn’t tell Brionne exactly where they’d come from. Brionne was pleased with the flowers and ate two of the cookies.

But she’d no more than carried the tray downstairs again and begun to wash dishes than came a knock at the streetside door and—

Earnest.

“Now, look, Mr. Riggs,” she began in exasperation, gripping the edge of the door and bracing a foot behind it.

“No, no, ma’am,” Earnest said, and took off his hat, scarf and all, despite the bitter wind starting to veil the street in snow. “I know– I knowI’ve bothered you three times today. But I been thinking.”

She wasn’t about to let him in. She was thinking about the marshal. “Well, I’m working, Mr. Riggs, I’m very busy, and if you don’t mind—”

“Ma’am, I don’t ask to come in. Just a minute of your time. I just was noticing how the porch rail is losin’ paint—”

“You don’t paint in the winter, Mr. Riggs.”

“—and missin’ some pieces. So’s various things. You don’t have anybody regular hired to fix those things—”

“The house will stand through the winter, Mr. Riggs. Then it may be time to think about it.”

“By then ever’body’ll be down to Tarmin, ma’am. And what I hear, what I hear, ma’am, that pretty little girl is from there. And she’s due a lot of property if there was those lookin’ out to protect her—”

“Not your business, Mr. Riggs.”

“Well, them Mackeys have got her brothers, and those brothers is sellin’ her out, ma’am. I don’t know they know what they got into, but there’s lawyers comin’ and goin’ out of Mackeys place—”

She had by no means meant to let Mr. Riggs in. He was just too persistent, and wanted something. He was a fearsome looking sort, with his wild hair and unkept beard, and dealing with miners was dangerous. Some would steal when your back was turned. Some would get ideas of different sort, and his infatuation with her or with, God help them, Brionne, in this place where miners very, very rarely found prospects among the local girls and even less rarely found women willing to go out into the privation of the camps, could easily get out of control.

But he had information she didn’t have, that she suspected John Quarles didn’t have, and if Simms or Hodges were taking money or promises regarding Tarmin property, forewarned was forearmed.

She opened the door. “Come in, Mr. Riggs.” And stepped back, cautiously, all the while thinking of the gun in Mark’s office.

But Ernest wasprobably harmless. He was very careful to wipe his feet and to dust the snow off.

“So what aboutthe lawyers? Simms? Is it Simms?”

“A woman.”

“That’s Simms.” Simms was the lawyer who wasn’trelated to Judge Hodges. The one she wasn’tmad at for shenanigans with Mark’s father’s property and that damn brother of Mark’s.

“Well, actually the otherone was there, too,” Earnest said. He was a careful man with his hat. He didn’t roll it or crush it. His fingers kept dancing around the careful curves of it, smoothing the bushdevil tail that was its ornament. “I didn’t get his name, either. But I heard say that’s who it was. I kind of hang out at The Evergreen, ma’am, and that’s right next door to the Mackeys. So’s the barracks, for that matter. So, you know, winter settin’ in and strangers come around, what they do, people watch. And gossip about.”

“So what isthe gossip?”

“How them brothers is dealing with the Mackeys for a stake to go down there come spring, and how they been hanging around with that rider lad that brought ’em in, and how there’s just somethin’ sharp goin’ on, if you take my drift.”

“Not entirely, Mr. Riggs. —Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out, ma’am.”

“Oh, the water’s generally hot. Come into the kitchen.”

Sound from talk in the parlor could carry upstairs. And she wanted everything Earnest Riggs knew or suspected, but she wouldn’t leave him alone near the office and the drugs, either.

So she led him into the kitchen, set him at the breakfast table, made two cups of strong tea and put out a piece of the cake John had brought over.

Earnest’s eyes lit at that.

“So what sharp dealing is going on?” she asked Earnest when he had his mouth full of cake.

A sip of tea followed. “Well, ma’am, what they’re sayin’ is how the Mackeys is going to provide the backing for them boys, and how either they’re going to trade ’em the shop and house up here, which ain’t worth near what the one down in Tarmin is, for the shop and at least two big houses down there. Otherwise there’s talk as how they got to employ Rick and pay ’em back near a hundred percent interest on anything they lent ’em. I ain’t supposing there’s been too much damage to the shop by the critters, but water comin‘ by snows and rains might not be too good, and a lot of doors was left standin’ open, if you take my meaning.”

“Entirely. In other words, it’s going to take supplies of food, possibly of cash for metal—”

“Well, it’s going to be worse than that, ma’am, I am greatly afraid.”

“How?”

“Well, that the Mackeys northem boys is going to hold out against the looters. That town’s going to be a bloody mess. Law ain’t goin’ down there. Bunch of lawyers’ papers—they ain’t worth– Well, they ain’t goin’ to be worth a thing, ma’am. Miners, many of ’em, is fine folk. And some ain’t. There’s them that’d shoot you in the back for a nugget, let alone a house. And there ain’t going to be any law down there. The marshal can’t leave here. His deputies ain’t fools. So—them as wants to holdthe property that they got title to had better have guns and better be ready to use ’em. And I don’t think the Mackeys have got the guts, if you want my opinion, ma’am. They’re early in the game, but they’re likely to end piss-poor or dead.”

Darcy drew a long, slow breath. Sense told her she was hearing the truth from this man, a truth that didn’t bode well for anybody holding rights down in Tarmin.

“So what’s your proposition, Mr. Riggs? I take it you have a proposition.”

“Well, yes, ma’am, I do. This little girl, her havin’ rights and all, her brothers is dealing with the wrong folk in the Mackeys, and they’re going to get sharped out of ever’thing they got due ’em. Whichis fairly well goin’ to take this little girl’s property down with ’em, if you’re relyin’ on them two boys to protect her rights. Mackeys is going to get killed if they go down there. And so’s them boys. But that little girl—she’s such a pretty thing—”

“You said there’s a riderbacking the boys.”

“Oh, yeah. And that’s a powerful hand. Don’t nothin’ move crosscountry without ’em. But once we get there, once there’s walls, ma’am, us miner types, we know how to dig in, we know how to get by. First villager boy tries it, he’s down something’s gullet fast. But there ain’t but your two riders, and they got a little girl to watch out for, besides they can’t leave the village without riders. That’s down to onerider, this Fisher boy, and some friends of his, supposedly, but that’s still three riders and a lot of supplies to haul down—and how many places can this Fisher be at once? You got supplies to haul. You got Tarmin to sit guard on. Any convoy that moves ain’t really safe without at least a rider to front and one to back. There’s just a hell of a lot they ain’t addin’ up, ma’am. You got to have somebody to sit down there and defend a bunch of pukin’ village boys who’d lose all their sense and rush right out into a lorrie-lie’s arms, first night they heard the Wild talkin’ to ’em, and you got to have somebody to ride with the truck convoys—granted they’ll come with their own riders—but somebody’s got to fix the damn phone lines, too. And that’s another rider. Fisher can’t be all those places. The convoy riders, they’re another breed, and they got theirhire. Before they can do anything like move supplies they got to get riders from the other villages, and then the word’s out, and not a lot of people in those villages– speciallythe miners—is going to be damn happy there’s a bunch from Evergreen who’s gone down to Tarmin and squatted on the good property. Miner’s laws goin‘ to rule this ’un when the dust flies, ma’am, and if somebody ain’t looking out for that little girl’s interests—she ain’t going to get a penny.”

“Then I can provide for her, Mr. Riggs. Sounds as if I’m going to have a lot of business.”

Earnest leaned forward across the table. “Yes, ma’am. But that ain’t the only danger. You got this little girl, same as them boys, walking around with nobody to watch ’em, and could happen– couldhappen, there’d be some snatch this pretty little thing on account of her being not only just damn pretty but also rich and having rights. And when the law doescome down there in a couple of years, if you’re alive and you got rights—the law’s going to be for you and again’ others in whatever dispute might be. You don’t want to sign away what’s due that pretty little girl.”

“Yeah. I might, rather than see her involved in what you’re talking about.”

“No, now, ma’am, you can look out for that little lady’s interest, you know, if you’d have somebody as can defend her claim down there.”

Now it came to money. “Mr. Riggs, clearly you’re expecting I’ll give you a stake. And I don’t have money for groceries. I’ve not been working the last year.”

“You got this nice house. You got credit at the bank.”

“Mr. Riggs, —if I gaveyou money and you went down there and got killed, I’d have a debt, the girl would be broke, and there’d be no recourse.”

“Ma’am, we’ve thought of that. There’s a number of us, five or six, that’s willin’ to go down there together to look out for ourselves, and the little girl’s interest, well, you know men. It’s a hell of a lot easier to keep guys headed the same direction, if they got a thing to do together. So while we’re looking out for ourselves, we could look out for the little girl’s property.”

“Her brothers’ property.”

“Well, we could strike a deal with them for her third. Damn sure the Mackeys ain’t going to pay anything to keep the property safe, and the boys are poorer than we are. We could hire them, howsoever.”

“Let me have it clear. You’re proposing to have me pay you money to shoot anybody who tries to claim the Goss property.”

“No, ma’am. I’m proposing you buy us shells and flour and oil and such and we’ll sit on the property and defend ourselves if someone’s such a fool as to take on five of us. It’s that little girl’s legal title to the property that’d give us special status before the law, ma’am. And the property aroundit’s what we’d claim for ourselves. Wouldn’t lay no claim on the girl’s property.”

“That’d be a fair piece of the village you’d be sitting on.”

“Yes, ma’am, it would.”

“How much would you want?”

“Thousand. In advance. For supplies, ma’am. Not a penny more.”

It wasn’t so much as she’d feared. But it was a huge amount of cash.

“And what about the brothers?”

“Fairly well depends on them. How they like us for neighbors. Or we’d protect them, too, if they come up with an offer.”

There were very sharp edges to this affair. And she couldn’ttrust that Riggs wouldn’t strong-arm the Goss brothers once they were down in Tarmin with Riggs’ crew all around them.

She was halfway surprised she didn’t hear an offer to make sure The Little Girl inherited allthe Goss property. But if she borrowed that trouble she lost all power to control the purse strings and thereby to control Riggs.

And there was a chance the Gross boys might– mighttry to prevent her gaining custody of Brionne. She wasn’t a fool. She didn’t give up her cards until she knew what they were worth.

And she didn’t need to put a thousand in cash into Riggs’ hands so he could drink it up by spring and ask for another.

“This spring,” she said, “I’ll have the cash for you.”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but spring’ll be a rush on supplies, prices are bound to go up. We’ll need more if we wait till spring.”

“Then I’ll put it on account at the store and they’ll reserve you supplies, but they won’t deliver until I say so.”

“Ma’am, you’re one sharp woman.”

“Yes, I am. You turn in your list to me. Can you write?”

“No, ma’am. But one of my guys can. We’ll get a list.”

“The other matter, Mr. Riggs, is—don’t talk outside your group about my supporting you. If this becomes gossip around town, I’ll know I can’t trust you, and you won’t get a sack of flour or a foot of rope.”