There was no reply, and after a little while Rimes said, “Don’t you think I don’t know why you’re taking this chance, but you’ll waste your time.”
“I had a feeling she was in trouble.”
Rimes was silent for a moment. “Leave it lay. You’d just get yourself in a corner.”
“I just got out of one.”
“You’re not out of it yet. Not by a long shot. If I only knew – ”
“But you don’t, and neither do I.”
“Well,” Rimes said after another pause, “there’s two or three you’d better fight shy of. Dave Cherry … he’s trouble. So’s John Lang. And there will be others, so watch your step.”
His head ached and he was tired, and he continued to hold himself aloof. He thought of the coming night, and was conscious of the faintest sounds, of the smells of coffee, of bacon frying, of burning cedar, and of sagebrush. He got up and walked off a few feet, feeling sick and empty, surrounded by unknown dangers.
A light step sounded behind him. It was Fan Davidge. “Please … you have been hurt,” she said. “You had better drink this.” She handed him a cup of coffee.
“Thank you.” He looked straight into her eyes and liked what he saw there. He took the cup, and when she remained with him he said, “Don’t let me keep you from your supper.”
“You should eat, too.”
But neither moved, and finally he said, “I like the twilight, but there is little of it in the desert.”
“Who are you, Jonas? What are you?” she asked.
“I do not know.” He looked at her over his cup. “I am afraid that what I am is not something to be proud of, but I do not know.”
“What does that mean?”
He touched his wound. “That … since that I can not remember. All I know is that somebody tried to kill me.”
“You don’t know who it was?”
“It was Ben Janish, but I don’t know why.”
“Ben Janish! But then you mustn’t come to the ranch! He might be there even now.”
He shrugged. “A man will do what he must.”
“But that’s crazy! I mean …”
“There are two reasons, I guess. I had nowhere to go, and Rimes suggested the ranch. And then there was you.”
“Me?”
“You looked to be in trouble.”
She glanced at him. “You have troubles enough of your own.”
Then she added, “I own the Rafter D.”
Rafter D! Suddenly it was as if a shaft of light had stabbed into the darkness of his brain. He knew that brand… from where? How?
A thought formed in his consciousness. Four to be killed… four men and a woman.
Killed? By whom? And for what reason?
“You didn’t know you were going to the Rafter D?” she asked.
“I didn’t ask.”
They walked back to the fire, and he refilled his cup and accepted a plate of food. The ache in his head had dulled, and the stiffness seemed to be leaving his muscles, but he still felt tired and on edge. The others sat about talking in a desultory fashion. They seemed to be waiting for somebody, or something.
He knew what was bothering him. He was afraid. Not of any man or men, but of discovering who and what he was. He would have liked just to walk off into the night and leave it all behind … all but Fan Davidge.
He did not want to leave her, and for that he felt that he was a fool, a double-dyed fool to be falling in love – if that was what it was – with a girl he scarcely knew and who was spoken for by the most dangerous man around. Why did that not worry him?
He went to the seep and rinsed his dishes, and replaced them in the buckboard. Arch Billing was standing near the horses, smoking his pipe. Rimes was dozing.
Jonas heard the faintest whisper of sound … listened … heard it again.
“Somebody is coming,” he said.
Rimes opened his eyes, listened, then said, “I hear them.”
There were two mounted men and they came up to the edge of the firelight. He could see little of their faces, but the firelight played on the horses’ legs and shoulders, and he saw that one of the men wore Mexican spurs.
“Who’s he?” the man asked, glancing at Jonas.
“On the dodge,” Billing replied. “He came in with J. B.”
Runes stepped into the light. “Law was after him back yonder.”
“I don’t like it. I don’t like him.” The speaker was a big, rawboned man with a sandy walrus mustache.
“I don’t give a damn what you like.” The words came from Rimes. “I haven’t asked you for anything, and there isn’t anything you can give me.”
The man on the horse seemed shocked, and his features stiffened. “The rest of you get into the buck-board and get started,” he said. “We’ll leave this gent right here.”
“Now, see here, Lang,” Rimes said. “I-”
“Thanks, J. B.,” Jonas interrupted. He felt suddenly cold inside, and welling up within him was an ugly feeling. “Nobody needs to speak for me. If Lang wants to make an issue of it he can die here as easy as later.”
John Lang was suddenly wary. For the first time he looked straight at the stranger. For a city dude, this one was pushing too hard. There had been rumors of hired killers being sent among the outlaws simply to kill.
“Nobody said anything about dying but you, mister,” Lang said. “I just said we were going to leave you here. We don’t know you.”
“I don’t know you, either, but I am willing to come along.”
“Nevertheless, we leave you.”
“No.”
It was Fan who spoke, quietly but sternly. “This man has been injured. He needs rest and care. He is coming to the ranch with us.”
Lang hesitated. He was a crafty man as well as a dangerous one, and he quickly saw this as an easy way out of a bad situation. After all, if need be they could always be rid of him.
“Certainly, ma’am. Whatever you say goes.” He turned his horse and, followed by the other rider, disappeared into the darkness.
Fan started to get into the buckboard, and Jonas took her elbow, helping her in. She glanced at him, surprised, and said, “Thank you.”
Billing took up the reins. Rimes tossed the last of their gear under the seat and got in. “You sure about this?” he asked.
The man who called himself Jonas shrugged. “I’m sure.”
“You could have got yourself shot back there.”
“I suppose.”
“You sure don’t seem worried.”
“Why should I be? I’m wearing a gun, too.”
Rimes had nothing more to say, and the buckboard was rolling, teetering over rocks, dipping down through a wash, emerging to wind a precarious way among gigantic boulders. The stars were out, the night was colder. Jonas hunched a blanket around his shoulders, eased his gun into a more favorable position, and dozed.
Twice they passed through small bunches of cattle. The only brand he glimpsed was a Rafter D. Once they went through a tiny stream, no more than a trickle of water.
Ahead of them, after they had traveled for some tune, he heard John Lang call out: “It’s all right, Charlie. It’s the buckboard. We’re bringin’ in Rimes and a stranger. Says his name is Jonas.”
“Just so’s it ain’t Jonah. But he better be advised. It’s a whole lot easier to get in than to get out.”
When Jonas helped Fan Davidge down she whispered to him, “Thank you … and be careful.”
Rimes came up to him. “We’ll go to the bunkhouse.”
“Not yet,” Jonas said.
Rimes paused, waiting for him to say more.
“What kind of place is this? Miss Davidge doesn’t seem the kind who’d run an outlaw hangout.”
“She doesn’t run it. She just owns the ranch. Her pa built this ranch and turned it into a money-making outfit, but he was investing in other things, got rich, and went back east.
“He was an easterner, anyway, and he got to dealing with those railroaders and bankers back there. For a time he was a mighty well-off man, and used to come out every so often, then he came up short financially and died of a heart attack. Fan, she came back here to all that was left.
“Arch Billing ran the place for her pa when he was east, and Arch had rustler trouble. Friend of mine named Montana rode for him. Monty was a good hand, but not above holding up a stage or two if things looked right. He knew all the boys on the outlaw trail.
“Montana went to Arch and suggested he had some friends who could handle his rustler problem. Well, Arch knew they were outlaws, but they were also good cowhands when they wanted to work at it. They needed a place where they could lay low for a while, and Arch needed help with his rustler problem, so he took them on.