Page 10 of The Promise
"Mornin', Patrick." Amos reined in his horse, stopping a few feet away.
"Amos." Patrick studied the younger man's face. With his curly hair and whisker-free face, he resembled a choirboy more than a gunman, but Patrick knew his looks were deceptive. He couldn't really say why, but there was something about the sheriff he just didn't like. "What brings you out this way so early?"
"Mrs. Hurley. She seems to have lost Arless again."
Patrick smiled, despite himself. Lena Hurley was a bear of woman with a voice to match her stature. Her husband, Arless, periodically took respite from her constant bellowing by up and disappearing. Not content to let her husband roam around on his own, Lena usually waited a few days and then sent for the sheriff. "You think he's up there somewhere?" Patrick nodded toward the peaks behind him.
Amos fingered the brim of his hat. "Well, he's been known to use that line shack of yours. Thought it was worth a look see."
"Any luck?"
"Nah, he ain't there. Ran into Pete, though. He told me about Michael. Thought maybe you could use some help."
Patrick felt the moment of lightness slip away. He had more important things to think about than Mrs. Hurley's runaway husband. "Much obliged. I've searched the gulches west of Shallow Creek and Pete is covering the area north of here."
"Fine, I'll head east. There's a couple of places a man could shelter up in Grenard Gulch. First thing I'd do if I were shot is head for shelter, and Grenard is the closest canyon to the road."
Patrick glanced sharply at Amos. "What makes you think Michael was shot?"
Amos frowned, studying the reins in his hand. "Don't know really. Pete said you boys found blood on Roscoe's saddle. I just figured most likely thing out here to draw blood is a gunshot. 'Sides, you know as well as I do, we've been having trouble with road agents."
Patrick pushed his hat back, his gaze leveled on the sheriff. "Yeah, but most of that's been up towards Antelope Springs."
Amos grinned, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well now, never did know an outlaw who was much interested in boundaries."
"True enough." Patrick swallowed his sense of uneasiness. "Guess we'd best get to it. Right now, the most important thing is to find my brother."
"Right. I'll signal with this," Amos patted his Winchester, "if I find him."
"Same here. I'll meet you at the turn off to Clune in a couple of hours."
Amos nodded and wheeled his horse around. Patrick watched as they galloped away, a slow moving cloud of dust spreading in their wake. With a sigh, Patrick turned the stallion, easing him into a smooth canter, heading for the slopes to the south, his eyes scanning the terrain for some sign of his brother.
"I tell you,Loralee, I heard you last night and I know he said something about silver."
Loralee grabbed the wad of soggy linen and rubbed it vigorously against a rock in the creek behind the cribs. Corabeth always had her nose in everyone else's business, but, besides being a busy body, she'd been a good friend, and in her line of work, true friends were a rare thing.
"Loralee, you're not listening to me. I want to know if Duncan really did hit it big."
She turned to look at the girl sitting on the rock, shading her eyes against the early morning sun. Corabeth was a tiny thing, her head crowned with a swirl of henna dyed curls. At the moment, like Loralee, she was clad in little more than bloomers and a wrapper. Not much sense in getting dressed. The cribs weren't one of those elegant parlor houses where the customers behaved like gentlemen and the whores acted like fancy ladies. No sir, the cribs were the poor man's version and the niceties were few and far between.
"I don't know, Corabeth. Honestly. Duncan wasn't making a lot of sense last night. He'd been hitting the whiskey pretty hard, and you know as well as I do that he's always bragging about striking it big, but it never amounts to anything." She wrung the water out of the chemise she'd been scrubbing and dropped it into a basket.
"Well, I don't understand why you let the old geezer see you anyway. He's old enough to be your father." She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
Loralee shuddered. "Believe me, he's nothing like my father." Finished with the wash, she stood and bent to pick up the laundry basket. "He's harmless enough. And he always pays me. Which is more than I can say for some of the men you see. Besides, we get on."
Corabeth followed Loralee back to her door. "Well, I didn't mean nothing by it. Heavens, sugar, it ain't up to me who you seeand don't see." Her usually perky mouth settled into a pointed pout.
Loralee smiled. It was just too hard to keep secrets from Corabeth. Surely, she could share a little of what Duncan said. There couldn't be any harm in that, could there? Stepping back, she motioned the other girl inside. Corabeth sat down on the bed, bouncing experimentally. Loralee dropped the basket in the corner. She'd hang them out to dry later.
"I still don't see why you do your own wash. The Chinese laundry behind the livery stable does a fine job and it ain't even expensive."
Loralee dropped onto the stool with a sigh. "You know I have to save everything I make. I can't afford to let any of it go for luxuries like laundry."
Her friend reached out to grasp her hand. "I know, honey, and I think it's right nice of you to send all that money to your Mary. But I don't think using a few cents a week for laundry is gonna hurt that child one bit."
Loralee brushed a tired hand through her hair. "You're probably right, but the money's all I got to give her. I know it isn't the same as havin' a mama, but it's the best I can do." She felt her head tighten as the tears threatened. With a groan, she pulled her hand away, automatically reaching up to touch her locket.
