Golden Feather Press
EMERALD VALLEY

CHAPTER 3

Four riders stopped their horses outside a two story mansion on the outskirts of Grand Junction. They slid out of their saddles, tied the reins to the bar, swaggered up the porch steps and charged through the door into the parlor. They stopped when they saw a bull of a man, leaning on a cane and frowning at them.

"We got 'im, boss," Jude Daily said. "He's deader'n my Aunt Millie."

The others snickered.

"This is my house!" Mason Coby shouted. "No one charges in here without knocking! You got that?"

Jude glanced at his startled companions, then looked at his boots. "Uh, sorry Mr. Coby. Guess we'll be goin' outside." He turned toward the door.

"Not so fast," Coby snapped. "Are you positive he's dead?"

Spinning back around to face Coby, Jude said, "Gill shot 'im in the gut. He weren't movin' none. Even if he weren't dead when we left, ain't no way he'll be alive now, bleedin' like he was."

Mason Coby glanced up the stairway behind him, then jerked his head toward a door to his right. In his office, with the four men following, he slid into a chair sitting askew in front of a rolltop desk. He pulled on a chain and lifted a key from his vest pocket. After unlocking the desk, he shoved up the top and grabbed a brown envelope. Without looking at the men, he said, "Here's the money. Two thousand apiece. I don't care where you go or what you do, just leave this part of the country. And don't come back or I'll have you killed on sight!"

The four men had no sooner ridden away from the house when a tall, slender woman with a strikingly beautiful face and long brown hair walked demurely into the room. She approached Coby from behind and lightly placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Who were those men, Father?"

Coby patted one of her hands. "Just some men that did a job for me, Francine. You're a woman. Don't worry about it. They won't be back."

"Who did you have killed, Father?" Francine asked icily, snatching back her hands. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard them come in the front door."

Mason Coby bowed his head in mock contrition. "Someone who was a serious threat to our very existence here. He would have controlled all the water we need on the ranch."

"No one controls the river, Father. It just flows. We all use it. And to kill a man for it! Father, how could you?"

Coby scooted his chair half around and frowned at her. "Fancine, you sound just like your mother, and she didn't have any business sense either. Upstream to the south, after the river empties out of the canyon, the Lewis spread is the first area where the water is useable to us. We have to divert the river to flow west to our ranch. The only way we can do it is through the draw that extends west at the Lewis ranch. All we have to do is dig away a pile of rock and the water will naturally flow into that depression." Mason smiled. "You know as well as I do water is vital to us. Especially since I got that order for five thousand head of cattle from the Army. Plus, people in the east are clamoring for beef. We can make a fortune by diverting that water to our ranch."

"Who did you have killed, Father?" Francine asked angrily, folding her arms.

"That damn newcomer from Denver. He was only a meddling greenhorn."

Shocked, Francine immediately left the room without a word. As she ascended the stairs, she remembered seeing Dix Logan in town. She'd been in the bank when Dix had tried getting some of his late uncle's money to operate the ranch. Dix was a handsome man and she'd been somewhat startled that Dix was Bill Lewis's nephew. Bill had never mentioned a nephew. She had loved Bill dearly and had visited him often. She'd even cleaned his house on occasion. She'd felt closer to Bill than her own father, and had been devistated when she heard he'd been murdered. The sheriff had said it looked like he'd been killed during a robbery.

Francine slammed her bedroom door, walked to the window and looked out at the reddish mesa to the east. She recalled that Ralph Bardell, the president of Mason Bank, had been unreasonable with Dix. She'd thought of stepping in, but since she was only the daughter of the owner of the bank, she didn't think it would be appropriate. Everything about Dix had been exquisite. His handsome, babyish face, his brown close-cropped hair and his muscles all gave him a countenance of kindness and stamina. He was from Denver, but during a brief stay in that city on her way back from her schooling in the East a month ago, she'd realized one had to have a toughness to live there. Denver was still a wild town in 1888.

Knowing gut-shot men ususally died, sometimes hours later, maybe she could do something for Dix? She could at least comfort him before he died. Dix was such a kind-looking man, it would haunt her forever if she didn't try. Besides, her own father had hired those men to kill him.

Slipping out the back door, Francine ran to the barn and saddled Matilda, her spirited mare that would most likely campaign for woman's sufferage if she were human.

Sensing urgency, Matilda galloped out of the barn and headed south before Francine was scarcely in the saddle.

Rather than take the main road, a short way out of town, Francine pointed Matilda southeast along the Old Ute Trail, a shortcut that Bill Lewis had shown her.