Golden Feather Press
EMERALD VALLEY

CHAPTER 18

A clean-shaven, broad shouldered man stepped off the noon train in Grand Junction. Neatly dressed in a gray woolen shirt and new Levis, he yanked the brim of his newly purchased western hat as he walked toward the growing pile of unloaded baggage. He grabbed his two leather satchels and headed into the station. After knocking on the stationmaster's door, he heard a gruff, "Come in."

As he entered the office, he saw a fat balding man, half-glasses perched far forward on his nose, sitting crouched over a messy desk.

"What can I do for you?" the stationmaster asked without looking up, then added, "Name's Phil Watson."

The man set his bags on the floor. "My name is Michael Creighton. I'm here to see Miss Francine Coby."

Watson peered over his spectacles. "Francine Coby? What do you want with her?" Before Michael could answer, Watson sat straight up in his chair and snapped, "I don't give out that information!" He swiveled the chair and looked out the window. "I'm a busy man. I've no time for you."

"Just point me to her father's ranch," Michael insisted.

Phil Watson spun the chair to face Michael. "You don't want to know where that is, and it's not safe for you to be asking about Francine. Now get the hell out of my office!"

"Look here!" Michael snapped. "I came all the way from Boston to see Miss Coby. At least you could tell me where her father's ranch is. I'll take my chances about safety."

Watson struggled to his feet. He opened a drawer, pulled out a pistol and pointed it at the ceiling. "Get out of here or I'll shoot this gun and the marshal will be here in minutes. I'll tell him you threatened my life." He waved the gun toward the door. "Now, git!"

Stunned, Michael slowly grabbed his bags and headed for the door. As he was about to close it with his elbow, Watson snarled, "And don't tell anyone you were in here!"

Standing at a second-floor window in the Elden Hotel, Michael watched the people, riders and buggies in the dusty street below. It didn't matter if no one here seemed as refined as Bostonians. The men he taught cabinetry were usually from the outskirts of town and would fit right in here. He wondered if anything shady was going on at the Coby Ranch. Was Francine involved in something unseemly? She hadn't given him the slightest indication that she was worried about questionable activities at her father's ranch. Her reluctance to leave seemed to center around his own unwillingness to go with her. If she'd only waited another four months. He'd just enrolled two new students and had to train them in the finer points of dovetailing, carving and running the business. It was hard to do with Francine so far away, but he'd done it. He'd come this far now because his shop was in good hands.

Michael turned from the window and pulled his smaller bag across the bed. He undid the latch and drew out a recent tintype of Francine. She looked lovely posing in her new traveling dress and Flossy hat. He could almost see the soft blue color of her eyes even though the photograph had already faded and turned brownish. Michael walked a few steps, opened the ready-made stand on the frame and placed the photograph on the dresser. "I'll find you," he whispered.

Doing errands in town, suggested by himself, Lake entered the Mercantile General Store. He looked around and saw a portly, gray-haired and bearded man. "Are you the proprietor?"

After introductions, Lake gave John Moore his list of supplies and asked, "Do you board horses?"

John smiled. "I only board horses for my friends. I heard you work for Kyle Chase on Bill Lewis's spread." He winked at Lake. "You can leave your horses here for a year if you want. As for your order, I'll get right on it." He headed toward the storeroom, then turned back. "Look around. I get new things from the East every month."

Lake briefly checked out the store, then sauntered to the counter where John Moore stacked cans of peaches. "Do you remember Bill Lewis and his nephew, Dix Logan?" Lake asked.

"Of course I remember Bill." John wiped his hands on his apron and slowly shook his head. In a choked voice with rapidly tearing eyes, he said, "Old Bill was one of my best friends. I couldn't believe someone killed him. He didn't have an enemy in the world." John's misty eyes blinked a few times as he looked at Lake, then they turned hard. "Bill never mentioned a nephew. He told me he'd only had one brother who'd been killed in the Civil War. I don't know who this Logan is. Never seen him before this summer."

Lake raised an eyebrow. "What kind of things did Bill buy here?"

"Food." John grinned. "And dynamite. Bill was always blowing something up to see if there was gold in it."

They laughed.

"How much dynamite would he buy?"

"Usually only a few sticks. That's all he could afford from what gold he'd panned." John laughed out loud and slapped a flour sack on the counter. "Except that time he bought fifty sticks. Bill asked me to let him pay later, which I did, of course. Two days after that we heard a couple deep rumbles echoing down the canyon. People were frightened by it, but I knew Bill had used all fifty sticks on something." He scratched his head. "Come to think of it, Bill bought that valley a short time after." He searched Lake's face. "Do you think he actually found some gold?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out." Lake reached over the counter and placed his hand on John's shoulder. "Kyle and I are also going to find out who murdered him."

John's eyes misted again and he grabbed Lake's arm. "I'm counting on you two. I loved Bill. We all did."

"Somebody didn't," Lake said. He dumped four twenty-dollar gold coins onto the counter. "Take the boarding of my horse and pack horse out of that. I'll be back tomorrow."

John glanced at the list of supplies and smiled. "You'll have change coming. Bring the horses around back and put them in the second corral. They'll get brushed and fed by Samson."

"Much obliged," Lake said as he left the store.

Lake sauntered into Woody's blacksmith shop. He stopped dead and gawked at Woody, stripped to the waist. Woody's black muscles glistened with sweat as he pounded a red-hot iron wagon rim. "Am I ever ready for Woody," Lake said under his breath.

"Howdy!" Lake shouted over the clangs of the hammer.

Without stopping, Woody yelled, "What can I do for you?"

"How about a wash-up before supper?" Lake shouted.

Woody grinned, still forming the wagon rim. "Who told you that?"

"Kyle Chase. I'm his new hired hand."

The half-round rim fell into the fire. "Kyle? You know Kyle?"

Lake grinned. "Of course. Kyle and I have been partners for years. He told me your supper wash-ups are to die for. I'm suicidal."

Woody laughed. Using iron tongs, he shifted the wheel rim deeper into the fiery coals. "How about tonight?"

"Er, howdy." a man said, walking through the shop door.

Woody grinned at him. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm Michael Creighton. I want to know where I can rent a horse to the Coby ranch. No one seems to want to rent one to me."

Woody jostled the dull-red rim. "What do you want at the Coby ranch?"

"I have to find Francine."

Woody forgot the wagon rim and glared at Creighton. "What do you want with Francine?"

"I'm her fiancé," Michael said. "I don't care about the danger of going to her father's ranch. I've traveled from Boston to find her." Michael saw both their expressions brighten. Thinking he'd met men he could deal with honestly, he added, "I hope nothing is going on at the Coby ranch that would put Francine in danger. I haven't received a pleasant welcome in this town."

Lake didn't hear what Woody and Michael said to each other as he surveyed Michael's face, chest and crotch. He thought Michael's masculine face, which exuded knowledge and kindness, fit perfectly with his broad shoulders and muscular frame. He figured this man would put up with Francine just fine.

"…I'm a cabinet maker..."

Startled at that comment of Michael's, Lake interrupted, "Francine told us about you last night at supper." He held out his hand. "Glad to meet you. Name's Lake Bolton."

Michael shook his hand. "You had supper with Francine last night? Is she all right? Do you work on the Coby ranch?"

Lake grinned. "I work for Dix Logan. Francine's safe from her father at his ranch. She's not involved in any crime. She was imprisoned by her criminal father and escaped. Kyle and I have been keeping her hidden for a few days." Lake folded his arms. "She's planning on leaving for Boston tomorrow. You'll have to ride to the ranch now. When you get there, just remember the foreman is deadly. If Francine is glad to see you, he'll let you in. If not, you're dead."

Woody chuckled. He looked at Michael. "I'll get you a horse." He left by the back door.

Later, Woody and Kyle stood outside the blacksmith shop and watched Michael gallop toward Dix Logan's ranch. When Michael disappeared around a bend, Woody slid his hand over Lake's back and down his butt.

Lake helped Woody close the shop early.

In his office the next morning, Mason Coby shouted at Bryce, "What do you mean you can't find Francine!" He banged his fist on his desk. "I told you to find her!"

Holding his hat over his privates, Bryce whimpered, "But Boss, we've looked everywhere. She ain't nowhere."

"Go to Bill Lewis' ranch and look there," Coby snapped, "She may have taken up with Logan. Take six men with you. Now, get out!" As Bryce shuffled up the steps to the open door, Coby yelled, "Tell Rory I want to see him. Immediately!"

Thirty minutes later, Rory sauntered into Coby's office. "You wanted to see me?"

"What the hell's gotten into you?" Coby shouted at him. "Ever since you found out William Deluce and Jake Brady know I'm here, you've been acting distant. You haven't gone soft, have you? I thought you were a man!"

Rory walked over to Coby, stood straight and shoved his crotch toward Coby's face. "I am a man. And I had the pleasure of meeting William Deluce." Rory folded his arms and glared at Mason Coby. "Wiley's more of a man than I'll ever be, but I'm gonna try." He bent down and looked Coby in the eyes. "I'm through takin' orders from a dried-up toad who even keeps his own daughter prisoner."

Still folding his arms, Rory stood straight. "William Deluce said he'll be back. I'm sure to haul you to prison. I don't want to be with you when he does. I quit!" He turned to leave, then spun back to Coby. "One of Chase's hands is in town spreadin' the story of Kyle Chase shootin' off your kneecap when you were cheatin' at cards. People're talkin' about other things they remember you doin'." Rory pointed his finger at Mason Coby and snarled, "Your rottin' goose is cooked!" He stormed out the door.

Coby spat toward the door. "Yellow!" he shouted, then turned and pounded his fist on the desk. He heard Rory gallop toward the road.

Coby yanked open the top drawer of his desk and pulled out his pistol. He decided that if Bryce or any of the other men tried to quit, he'd kill them. He cocked the gun and gently placed it in the drawer. He'd leave it that way to be prepared.