The Stranger from Abilene

When the girl reached the door, Clayton called out, “Emma, I’ll talk to Angus McLean, hear what he has to say.”

He didn’t know if she’d heard him or not.

Chapter 43

“Eighty dollars a month, Mr. Clayton, and there’s my best offer,” Angus McLean said.

“I was paying my top hand that much,” Clayton said.

“Aye, and look what happened to you.”

“Add a twenty to the wage.”

“A hundred a month? Are ye daft, man?”

“You won’t find a better ranch manager, not around these parts or in Boston either.”

McLean rocked back and forth on the hotel porch, nursing a hangover, his mood as sour as curdled cream.

“Ye’re a robber, so ye are,” he said.

“A hundred a month. I’ll have a wife to support, remember.”

“Marrying that lassie the constable was talking aboot?”

“If she’ll have me.”

The Scotsman turned and looked at Clayton. After a while he said, “Aye, weel, she might. There’s no accounting for some lassies’ tastes.”

Again McLean lapsed into silence; then, “Ninety dollars a month, and another ten if ye prove to be satisfactory after a calendar year.”

The Scotsman’s eyes hardened. “I’ll only accept your best work, mind. If ye shirk your duties, then out ye go.”

“Agreed.”

McLean leaned out of his rocker. “Then here’s my hand on it. You’re hired. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers who’ll draw up a contract.”

“I appreciate it, Mr. McLean,” Clayton said.

“Your best work. I want that ranch to make a profit.”

“It will.”

“Aye, weel, I’ll take you at your word.”

McLean’s eyes drifted down the street where shadows angled in the morning sun. “Ah, here’s Moses coming. He’s taking me out to see more of the range I just bought. Sharp as a tack, that laddie.”

When Anderson stopped the rig at the porch, McLean yelled, “Did you bring a bottle, ye damned heathen?”

The black man grinned and held up a bottle of Old Crow. “And I brung some fried chicken an’ sourdough biscuits my woman cooked,” Anderson said.

McLean rose to his feet. “And you’ll charge me for it, nae doubt.”

“No, it’s all included in the price, Mr. McLean.”

“Aye, and the price is high enough as it is, I’ll be bound. Ye’re a robbing Hindoo and there’s the case stated plain and square.”

McLean climbed into the gig, then turned to Clayton.

“I’ll be back this evening and we’ll talk some more,” he said. “Bring the lassie with you.”

“I’ll do that,” Clayton said.

But would Emma agree to come?

Chapter 44

Shad Vestal ignored the whiskey bottle and drank coffee. A man who planned to murder six human beings had to stay sober.

He sat in Park Southwell’s favorite leather chair, in a parlor with female touches that should have reminded him of Lee. It didn’t. The whore was gone. He would soon have her money, so why even think about her?

Women came cheap and he’d have his fill of them. Glutted. He’d heard Park use that word once and it had tickled him ever since. He’d have so many women he’d be glutted.

“Glut-ted,” he said aloud. The sound of the word pleased Vestal and he smiled.

“Hello the house!”

Vestal stiffened. Not the law, not Kelly. A voice he didn’t recognize.

He rose to his feet, lifted a Colt from the table, and tucked it behind him into his waistband. He opened the door.

“Hell, it’s you, Moses,” he said.

The black man moved forward in his seat. “And Mr. McLean.”

A sudden surge of panic spiked Vestal. Had the little Scotsman changed his mind?

“Just passing by, Mr. Vestal,” McLean said. “Taking another look at the range and the cattle and buildings appertaining thereto.”

Relieved, Vestal said, “Then step down and have a drink.”

McLean held up a skinny hand. “Oh, dearie me, no. I don’t want to intrude; just driving past.” He looked around him. “And where is the bonnie lassie?”

“She’s out riding,” Vestal said. “I’m surprised you didn’t meet her.”

“Well, we might see her on the way back.”

Vestal stepped beside the gig. “When are you headed back to Boston, Mr. McLean?”

“Tomorrow on the noon stage. After that I’ll make my train connections.”

The Scotsman studied Vestal’s face. “You’re not worried about the check, are ye?”

Vestal affected a smile. “Of course not. But I’ve decided to come with you to Boston.”

“Ye have? Why in the world would you want to do that?”

“Lee and I talked it over. We agreed that I should leave her here to get her affairs in order, then meet her in Boston.” Vestal shook his head. “You know what strange notions women get.”

“No, I do not,” McLean said, “since I never saw the need to enter a state of wedlock.” He thought for a few moments, then said, “Ach, weel, you’ll be company on the journey.” His face grew crafty. “But you’ll pay your own way, mind.”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll see you the morn at the stage. Don’t be late, now. I won’t hold it for you.”

Vestal nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

“I’m off, then,” McLean said. “I’ll say good day to ye.”

After he watched the rig vanish from sight behind a billow of dust, Vestal walked back into the house.