Bloody Sunday (9 page)

“Yes, ma'am. I'll bring the coffee.”

When the waitress had gone, Glory said, “I hope it's all right I picked what to eat, Luke.”

“You know the place better than I do,” he told her. “As long as it's good.”

“It will be. Hazel Anderson's mother is an excellent cook. Not as good as Teresa, mind you, but still good.”

Hazel brought the coffee, then returned a few minutes later with plates that contained sizzling steaks, potatoes, greens, and a couple of rolls that steamed when they were broken open.

“You showed good judgment,” Luke said after he had been eating for a few minutes.

“In this, perhaps, but not always, unfortunately.”

Luke sipped his coffee and said, “Forgive me for being blunt, but opinions in this town seem to be divided when it comes to you. Some people seem to like you, but a lot of them don't appear to have much use for you.”

“You're absolutely right,” Glory said. “There are several reasons for that. Some of them knew Sam's first wife. She was much loved and admired around here, and they resent me for what they see as trying to take her place. After Sam died, it got even worse. They'd been willing to tolerate me for his sake, but now with him gone, I'm just the outsider who came in and took over his ranch. With some of the old-timers, just the fact that I'm an outsider is enough for them not to like me.”

“Where you're from isn't exactly your fault.”

“No, but they'll hold it against me anyway. Then there are the people who support Harry Elston. His ranch isn't as big and successful as the MC, but it's big enough that Elston wields a lot of influence around here. People try to curry favor with him, especially the ones who think that he'll win in the end and take over my ranch.”

“Like Sheriff Whittaker,” Luke commented.

“Precisely. By the way, I hope you have eyes in the back of your head. I wouldn't put it past Whitey Singletary to try to ambush you. Nobody's ever beaten him like that before. The wound to his pride is probably even more painful than his broken nose.”

“It won't be the first time somebody's had a grudge against me.”

Glory regarded him speculatively and said, “No, I imagine it won't be. You've been through some rough times, haven't you?”

“A few,” Luke admitted. “They build character.”

Glory laughed and said, “Indeed, they do.”

A few minutes later, a short, pudgy man with a round, beaming face and slicked-down brown hair came into the café, looked around, and then started toward their table when he spotted them.

“Mrs. MacCrae,” he said as he came up to the table.

“Hello, Claude,” Glory said. “Luke, this is Claude Lister, Painted Post's undertaker. Claude, this is Luke Jensen.”

Luke stood up and shook hands with the undertaker. He could have made some comment about how they were both in the business of death, but he didn't see any point in that.

“Mrs. MacCrae, the gentleman you brought in had some money among his belongings,” Lister said, “but not quite enough to cover my services. I was told you were in here, and I thought you might want to . . .”

“I'll cover the cost,” Glory said. “Figure up a bill, and I'll stop by your place on the way out of town and pay it. And by the way, he wasn't what I would call a gentleman.”

“By the time I see them, such distinctions usually don't mean much anymore. Can I assume you won't be attending the service . . . ?”

“Just put him in the ground,” Glory said. “Where snakes belong.”

The lunch special included a bowl of peach cobbler, which was as good as the rest of the meal. When they were finished, Luke insisted on paying.

“But you're my guest,” Glory argued.

“And you've fed me a couple of meals already. This one is on me.”

Glory shrugged and agreed. Luke left the price of the meals and a generous tip for Hazel on the table. That cut into the dinero he had left, but he told himself that it didn't matter. Pretty soon he'd be collecting that five-thousand-dollar bounty on Glory, and he'd be flush for quite a while.

He just wished the thought of doing that didn't make something stir uncomfortably inside him.

As they stepped out onto the street again, he reminded himself that she had murdered her husband back in Baltimore, and there was a good chance she'd bushwhacked Sam MacCrae, too. He knew she was a good shot, so there was no reason to think she couldn't have plugged MacCrae in the back. Sure, she had saved
his
life by cutting down that night rider, but that didn't excuse her other crimes.

Did it?

That was a troubling question, but Luke didn't have time to ponder it. Sheriff Jared Whittaker was coming toward them, and as usual, the lawman didn't look happy or friendly.

“I've talked to Judge Marbright,” Whittaker said without any sort of greeting as he came up to them. “The inquest will be at two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. You'll have to testify, and so will Jensen here. And Gabe Pendleton, too.”

“All right,” Glory said. “We'll be here, although I hate to have to make another trip into town so soon.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you killed that man.”

“If I'd stopped to think about anything, Mr. Jensen probably wouldn't be alive.”

Whittaker grunted. It was obvious he thought that wouldn't be any great loss.

“How's your deputy?” Luke asked. Maybe it was a little petty, trying to get under Whittaker's skin that way, but he didn't really care.

“His nose is busted all to hell,” Whittaker snapped. “Doc Fleming says he may never breathe right again.”

“Maybe
he
should have thought of
that
.”

Whittaker's shoulders bunched as he struggled to control his anger. Glory linked her arm with Luke's and said, “Come on. We still have to stop at the undertaking parlor.”

Luke gave Whittaker a curt nod, said, “Sheriff,” and then turned to go with Glory.

“Do you make a habit of going around poking hornet's nests?” she asked under her breath as they walked away from Whittaker.

“You're a fine one to talk after some of the things you said to that hombre.”

She laughed.

“I suppose you're right. I just don't like the man. It's hard not to say things you know are going to irritate him. But he
is
the legally elected sheriff. There's only so far we can push him.”

“You're sure he was elected legally? No irregularities in the voting?”

“None that I'm aware of.”

“All right,” Luke said. “I'll try to be on my best behavior from now on, but I can't make any promises.”

“Neither can I,” Glory said with a smile.

They went into Claude Lister's undertaking parlor, where Glory settled the bill for a pine box and planting the dead man.

“By all rights it should be Harry Elston paying for this,” Glory said as she handed over the money.

“I wouldn't know anything about that, ma'am,” Lister said. “A man in my business, he's sort of got to be neutral, you know? Sooner or later, I have responsibilities to both sides in any dispute.”

“Of course,” Glory said. “And since that man died on my ranch, I suppose I have some responsibility, too.”

“What about his belongings?” Luke asked. “You said you found some money.”

“Pocket change, not much more than that,” Lister said.

“What about anything else? Letters, or anything else that might identify him?”

The undertaker shook his head.

“I'm afraid not. Tobacco, some loose ammunition, an elk's tooth lucky piece, a pocket watch, that's about it.”

“So you don't have a name to put on the marker.”

“No, he'll have to be buried as unknown, unless somebody comes in pretty quickly to let me know different. I'll be loading up the coffin and taking it out to the cemetery soon.”

Glory said, “If you see Harry Elston, you might ask him. I doubt if he'll be in town today, though.”

Again Lister looked a little uncomfortable. Glory shook her head and muttered an apology. She and Luke left the undertaking parlor.

“I should have held my tongue,” she said. “I know that most of the people here in town are hoping that the trouble between Elston and me will be settled one way or the other before they're forced to take sides. They don't want a range war spilling over into Painted Post.”

“Can't really blame them for feeling that way,” Luke said.

“No, but it bothers me when people can see what's going on and yet they refuse to take a stand. When they're finally pushed into a corner, it may be too late.”

Luke couldn't disagree with that sentiment.

Glory's wagon was still parked in front of the courthouse. The two horses in the team and the roan Luke had borrowed had had a chance to drink at the trough where Sheriff Whittaker had scooped up water to throw in his senseless deputy's face.

Luke untied the team while Glory climbed to the driver's seat. He swung up into the saddle, and they headed north along McDowell Street until it turned into the road that led up through Sabado Valley. Remembering how long it had taken them to reach the settlement that morning, Luke calculated it would be almost dark by the time they got back to the MC headquarters.

That estimate proved to be correct. They moved steadily, pausing now and then to rest the horses, and the sun had just dipped below the hills to the northwest when they came in sight of the ranch buildings. Luke knew that darkness fell quickly out here, but they were close enough now that they wouldn't have any trouble making it the rest of the way. The trail was easy enough to follow.

But as the gloom gathered, he heard hoofbeats up ahead, coming toward them. Ever since they had left Painted Post, he had been alert and watchful, studying the landscape around them for any sign of impending trouble. He didn't think it was likely they would run into an ambush this close to the ranch, but nothing was impossible.

He drew his Winchester from its sheath and held the rifle across the saddle in front of him. Glory had brought along her carbine; it was on the floorboard of the driver's box at her feet. Luke said quietly, “Better get that gun and put it on the seat beside you.”

“What is it?” Glory asked.

“Horses coming.”

But a moment later a familiar voice hailed them, and in a relieved voice Glory said, “That's Gabe. Someone must have spotted us, and he and some of the men came out to meet us.”

Pendleton and three other riders loomed up out of the dusk. The foreman said, “Is that you, Mrs. MacCrae?”

“It is,” Glory replied. “Me and Mr. Jensen.”

Pendleton might not be all that happy he had come back from Painted Post with Glory, Luke thought. But he must have known that would happen, since Luke's horse was still here at the ranch.

Pendleton turned his horse to ride on the other side of the wagon from Luke. The other men fell in behind the vehicle. Pendleton asked, “What happened in town?”

“I turned the body over to the sheriff like I said I was going to. And then Claude Lister took charge of it. I expect that the man's been buried by now.”

“I'll bet Whittaker was fit to be tied,” Pendleton said.

“He wasn't happy, that's certain. But it was that deputy of his, Whitey Singletary, who caused the real trouble.”

“Singletary,” Pendleton repeated, sounding like the name tasted bad in his mouth. “What did that ugly, pale-faced polecat do?”

“He attacked Mr. Jensen and actually tried to cut his throat. There was quite a battle.”

“Is that so?” Pendleton looked across the driver's seat at Luke. “You don't appear to be busted up too bad.”

“I'll be sore in the morning, I expect,” Luke said. “But Whitey's the one who's going to be wheezing through a crooked nose from now on.”

One of the cowboys said, “You busted Singletary's nose? Good for you!”

“Yeah, it's long past time somebody handed that varmint his needin's,” another man added. “He's been known to jump a cowboy who's had too much to drink and beat the stuffin' outta him, for no good reason.”

The cowboy who had spoken up first said, “No offense, Jensen, but I'm a mite surprised you were able to whip him. Nobody else ever has, since he's been in Painted Post. He's half bear, half buffalo.”

“It wasn't easy,” Luke said.

The punchers started to heap more praise on him, but Pendleton interrupted them and said, “You fellas get on back to the ranch. Everything's under control. I'll see to it that the boss lady gets home safely.”

“The boss lady can take care of herself,” Glory said dryly.

“Yes, ma'am, I didn't mean otherwise.”

The three cowboys rode on ahead and vanished into the gloom that was dispelled by a few yellow patches of lamplight from the buildings. A few minutes later, still accompanied by Luke and Pendleton, Glory drove the wagon up to the barn and stopped it. Ernie and Vince, the two young wranglers, were waiting and moved in quickly to take over the chore of putting up the wagon and unhitching the team.

Glory jumped down from the seat before Luke could move to help her. She looked up at her foreman and said, “You'll have to come back into town with us tomorrow, Gabe. Judge Marbright wants you to testify at the inquest into the killing, along with Luke and me.”

“I don't like leaving the ranch,” Pendleton said. “Who'll make sure all the work gets done?”

“We have a good crew. I think we can trust them to work without supervision for one day.”

Pendleton gave a skeptical grunt and said, “Reckon I don't have any choice, if that's what the judge wants.”

“It is.” Glory turned to Luke. “You'll have dinner with me again this evening.”

It wasn't a question. While Luke didn't much like being told what to do, even by a beautiful woman, he didn't argue. He was still trying to sort out how he was going to proceed here and what he was going to do about Glory.

It wasn't as easy a decision as he had thought it would be when he first arrived on the MacCrae ranch.

While Glory went into the house, Luke and Pendleton led their horses into the barn to unsaddle them and turn them into the corral. As they were doing that, Pendleton said, “It sounds to me like you're sort of a magnet for trouble, Jensen.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Whitey Singletary jumping you that way. He's a bad man to have for an enemy.”

“I've already been warned that he might try to bushwhack me.”

“You think it's smart for you to hang around here? I mean, Mrs. MacCrae already has enough problems with Harry Elston. . . .”

Luke asked, “Are you saying that I'm just going to bring more trouble down on her head?”

Pendleton shrugged and said, “If you're crosswise with the law, it can't help matters.”

“What about Elston trying to force her off the MC with all that rustling and raiding?”

“The boys and I can handle that,” Pendleton snapped.

“We don't need any help from a gunfighter.”

Luke set his saddle on a sawhorse and said, “I don't recall that I claimed to be a gunfighter.”

Pendleton snorted.

“What else can you be, packing two guns like that? You're sure no grub line rider.”

“Never claimed to be that, either. As for Elston and his men . . . No offense, Pendleton, but I'm not sure how well you and the rest of the crew match up with Verne Finn and those other gun-wolves working for Elston.”

“So it's back to you hiring your gun out to the boss.” Pendleton made a disgusted sound and turned away. “Nothing but trouble is going to come of you coiling your twine here, Jensen. If you really want to help Mrs. MacCrae, you'll ride out when that inquest is over and put this part of the country behind you.”

“We'll see,” Luke said curtly. He knew, though, that he wasn't going to be leaving.

Not without Glory.

He left Pendleton quietly seething behind him and walked toward the house. This conversation had convinced him more than ever that the foreman thought of Glory as more than just the boss lady. He entertained dreams of someday marrying her and becoming the boss of the MC himself.

A wild thought suddenly occurred to Luke.

Was that dream so strong inside Gabe Pendleton that he would resort to murder to help it along? Were Pendleton's whereabouts unaccounted for at the time Sam MacCrae was bushwhacked?

He would have to talk to Glory about that, he decided, but he would need to be careful about how he phrased his questions. He couldn't just come out and ask her if she thought Gabe Pendleton might have murdered her husband.

For one thing, if she herself was guilty, more than likely she would be quick to cast suspicion on somebody else, even Pendleton.

Luke went into the house, wondering a little how he had talked himself into trying to solve Sam MacCrae's murder.

He unbuckled his gun belt and hung it on the peg near the door, then dropped his hat on the peg as well. Teresa came into the room and told him, “Señora MacCrae is freshening up. She asked that you wait for her in the dining room.”

“Gracias,”
Luke said. He went on, “Did you work for Sam MacCrae for a long time, Teresa?”

She looked a little surprised that he would ask her a question. As a servant, maybe she wasn't used to having a real conversation with a guest. But after a second's hesitation, she said, “
Sí
, I worked for Señor MacCrae and the first Señora MacCrae ever since they came to Sabado Valley, long before the town of Painted Post was there, long before the railroad came. In those days, this part of Texas belonged to the Apaches. My late husband, El Señor Dios rest his soul, was the
patrón
's foreman. Together they fought the Apaches and the weather and the land to make this ranch what it is.”