Mabry let his eyes canvass the room, probing for possible trouble. A man remained alive by knowing what to expect. and what direction to expect it from.
And there was a man near the card table with a long, narrow face filled with latent viciousness. He stood near a slack-jawed man with shifty eyes.
The man in the fur-collared coat spun a gold coin on the bar and refilled their glasses.
In the momentary stillness of the room the sound of the coin was distinct and clear. Heads turned and eyes held on the coin, then lifted to the face of the man in the fur collar. An Eastern face, an Eastern man, a tenderfoot. And then their eyes went naturally to Mabry, and seemed to pause. “Easy with that gold, mister.” Mabry lifted his glass.
“Maybe half the men in this room would slit your throat for it.” Healy’s smile was friendly, yet faintly taunting. “I’m green, friend, but not that green. Even if I’m Irish.” Mabry tossed off the whisky. “You fork your own broncs in this country,” he said, and turned abruptly away.
He took up his rifle and saddlebags and stepped out toward the adjoining room, and then he missed a stride and almost stopped, for a girl had just come into the room.
She walked with quick, purposeful steps, but as their eyes met her step faltered, too. Then she caught herself and went on by, leaving hint with a flashing memory of red-gold hair and a gray traveling dress whose like he had not seen since Richmond.
He opened the inner door and entered the hallway beyond.
Away from the fire, it was cold.
Along the hall on one side were four doors.
These he surmised led to separate rooms. On the left side was one door, which he opened. This led to a long room lined with tiers of bunks, three high.
The room would sleep thirty. Choosing an empty bunk near the door, he dumped his gear. He shucked his sheepskin coat, then his belt and gun.
The second gun stayed in his waistband.
City girl… must be with the Healy show. Her eyes had looked into his, straight and clean. Not boldly, but with assurance and self-possession. She was all woman, that one. And a lady.
None of his affair.
His thoughts reverted to the men in the room.
Dispassionately, yet with knowledge born of long experience, he could see what would happen. Within thirty minutes or less Griffin’s friends would know he had come in and under what circumstances. What happened then would depend on how comfar they would go for a friend.
Not far… unless it would serve their own ends, or one of them was building a reputation.
Or unless the man with the narrow face was one of them.
That one had a devil riding him. He would kill.
If the weather broke by daybreak he would push on.
He took the gun from his waistband and spun the cyhn- der. It was a solid, well-made gun. He returned it to his belt and walked back to the outer room.
“How about grub?” Williams jerked his head toward an open door through which came the rattle of dishes. “Beef and beans, maybe more. Best cook this side of the IXI-RATHER in Deadwood.” Mabry walked around the bar into a long room with two tables placed end to end. Benches lined either side. At the far end of the table near the fireplace Healy sat with the girl, andwitha big man whom Mabry had not seen before.
He was a man with a wide face and a geniality that immediately rubbed Mabry the wrong way. Better dressed than most of the men in the outer room, he held a fat black cigar between his fingers.
“Take some doing, all right. But we can do it.” The big man was speaking. He glanced down the table at Mabry, who was helping himself to dishes that an aproned man had put before him. The big man lowered his voice, but it was still loud enough for Mabry to hear. “West out of here into the Wind River country.
Then north. There’ll be fuel along the Big Horn.” “What about Indians?” The big man waved his cigar. “No trouble.
Mostly Shoshones up thataway, and they’re friendly.” Healy made no comment, but he glanced at Mabry, who was eating in silence. Healy seemed about to speak, but changed his mind. Twice the girl looked at Mabry, and he was aware of her glance.
The fellow was either a fool or a liar. Going up that valley was tough at any time, but in the dead of winter, with a woman along, it was asking for trouble. And with two loaded vans. As for Indians, the Shoshones were friendly, but there were roving bands of renegade Sioux who had taken to the rough country after the Custer fight and had never returned to the reservation. Only last week a couple of trappers out of Spearfish had been murdered up in the Big Horns. Their companions found their bodies and plenty of Indian sign. They lit out for Deadwood and the story had been familiar around town before Mabry took the outtrail. It was not the only case. Mabry had talked to them, had bought the black horse from them, in fact.
“I’ll have my two men,” the big man said. “That will make four of us and the three women.” Three women.
And those renegade Sioux did not have their squaws with them. He filled his cup and put the coffeepot down. The girl glanced around and for an instant their eyes held, then she looked away. “Join us, friend?” Healy suggested.
“Thanks,” Mabry said. “I don’t want to interrupt.” It was obvious that the big man was not pleased at the invitation. He was irritated, and shifted angrily on the bench.
“We’re planning a trip,” Healy said. “You can help.” Only the irritation of the big man prompted him.
Otherwise he would have stayed where he was. He shifted his food up the table and sat facing the big man and the girl.
“King,” Healy said, “meet Janice Ryan.
She’s with my troupe. And this is Andy Barker, who’s agreed to guide us to Alder Gulch.” “In this weather?” Barker’s face tightened. “I told them it wouldn’t be easy, but I know that trail.” He hesitated, then took a chance. “Do you?” “No.” Barker showed his relief. “Then I’m afraid you won’t be much use to us,” he said abruptly, “but thanks, anyway. “I haven’t been over that trail, but I’ve been over a lot of others in bad weather.” Barker brushed the ash from his cigar, ignoring Mabry. “That’s about it We can leave as soon as the weather breaks.” “You missed your count,” Healy said. “There’ll be another man.” Baker looked quickly at Mabry.
“You?” Obviously the idea was distasteful to him.
“No,” Healy said, “although we’d like to have him. I referred to the other man in our company, Doc Guilford.” “Oh…. All right.” Mabry tried his coffee and found it hot and strong. The room was very still. On the hearth the fire crackled briefly, then subsided. Barker drew on his cigar, seeming to want to leave, but hesitating, as if he disliked leaving them alone to talk to Mabry.
Or was that, Mabry asked himself, his imagination?
He might be letting an irrational dislike of the man influence his judgment. Mabry liked the coffee, and it warmed away the last of his chill. He liked sitting across the table from Janice Ryan and could feel the sharp edge of her curiosity. “Take quite a while, a trip like that,” he ventured. “Better have plenty of grub and some spare horses.” “When we want your advice,” Barker said, “we’ll ask for it.” King Mabry lifted his eyes. He looked at Barker for a long time, then said quietly, “I’ve been asked,” he reminded him. “by him.” He indicated Healy. “Or do you have some reason for not wanting them to get advice from anyone else?” Barker stared at him, his lips tightening.
He was about to speak when Williams came into the room.
“Mabry,” he said quickly in a low tone, “watch yourself. Trouble making up.” “Thanks.” He saw startled comprehension in Barker’s eyes and saw the man grow faintly white around the eyes as he heard Mabry’s name. Trouble might mean that Griffin’s friends were going to take action. That could mean nothing to Barker, but the name obviously had. It had proved a severe jolt, by the look of him.
“King… King Mabry.” “That’s the name.” Barker smiled stiffly. “Healy,” he said, “when you introduse a man, use his whole name. It might make a difference.” “The bartender called him King. It was the only name I knew.” “Does it matter so much?” Janice asked.
“In this case, yes.” Barker chose his words with care, yet they carried the information he intended, and a warning. “King Mabry is a known man. They say he has killed fifteen men.” Mabry’s eyes were bleak. He gave Barker all his attention. “Not fifteen. Only eleven-not counting Indians.” Barker got up, smiling faintly, obviously feeling he had scored a point against Mabry.