quick step of a fast-walking horse, and it loomed darkly beside her. Despite herself, she looked up, and when she did so she recognized the chin.
"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, it's late for a lady to be out. If you'll permit, I'll just ride along to see you get home safe."
"Thank you."
Oddly enough, she felt shaky inside--an unusual sort of trembling feeling. But she kept on walking, looking straight ahead. After a moment, he spoke again.
"Ma'am, I couldn't help overhearing back there." So he had been listening! Her lips tightened. "If you'll allow me to say so, you shouldn't urge your pa to kick Miller out. He might try it."
"And so?"
"You know the answer to that. Miller might kill him. More probably he'd shame him, which would be worse. It's a bad thing for a man to be shamed in front of his womenfolks ... it's sometimes worse than bein' killed. If he was shamed, he might get a gun and try it on Miller."
Cordelia was appalled. Suddenly, for the first time, she realized what her indignation might mean to her father. Of course, Miller would not go unless he wanted to, and the thought of her father trying to face Miller with a gun touched her with icy fear.
"I--I didn't think of that."
"No, ma'am, and you didn't think about stayin' out this late. Supposing some drunk had come up to you and spoke improper. I'd have to speak to him, and he might resent it. First thing, ma'am, there'd be a man killed--and you'd be to blame."
"It was my only chance to speak to Pa alone."
She had reached the gate at her house, and she turned toward him. "Who are you? What are you?"
"Ben Cowan ... Deputy United States Marshal in the Territory."
"You--you came here after somebody?"
"Miller's my man."
Miller? Then why didn't he arrest him? It would solve everything. She started to say as much, but he spoke first.
"I'll thank you to say nothing to anyone, ma'am. I want to do this in my own good time, and where nobody will be hurt--not even him, if I can help it." He turned his horse. "Evening, ma'am."
He rode away up the street, gone before she could thank him. She went through the gate, closing it behind her, then paused in the darkness to look after him. He was briefly seen against the window lights of a saloon.
Bijah Catlow was sitting at the table talking to her mother as she placed the silver. He looked around at Cordelia. "I near came after you," he said. "It's no time for a decent girl to be out."
"That's what Marshal Cowan said."
Bijah gave a start. "Ben Cowan? You met him?"
When she explained he asked, too quickly, "Did he tell you anything about me?"
"No." She was surprised. "I had no idea you even knew each other."
"Since we were boys. He's a good man, Ben is. One of the best." He looked at her again. "Cord, did he say why he was here?"
She hesitated a moment. "No," she said.
Pa would be coming along soon, and Miller, too. Miller had not met Catlow yet.
Suddenly the door opened and Miller came in--a lean, rangy man with hollow cheeks and sour, suspicious eyes. He shot a quick look at Catlow, and Cordelia introduced them.
Catlow's forearms lay upon the table. He looked up from under his shaggy brows, cataloguing Miller at a glance. "Howdy," he said carelessly.
"Mr. Miller is married to my mother's sister." Cordelia decided she would make it plain at once that there was no blood relationship. "He is visiting us for a few days."
Miller gave her a hard look at the words, "a few days." Then he said, "I got to be around longer'n I figured."
There was a step on the porch outside and Bijah noted the quick way in which Miller turned to face the door. Moss Burton came in.
"I'm driftin' south," Catlow said. He had sensed the situation quickly, recalling words he had heard dropped before this. "Why don't you ride along with me?" He put his eyes hard on Miller. "Men like you or me, we sleep better outside, anyway."
The stillness that entered the room made Cordelia hold her breath. She hesitated, ever so slightly, before
"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, it's late for a lady to be out. If you'll permit, I'll just ride along to see you get home safe."
"Thank you."
Oddly enough, she felt shaky inside--an unusual sort of trembling feeling. But she kept on walking, looking straight ahead. After a moment, he spoke again.
"Ma'am, I couldn't help overhearing back there." So he had been listening! Her lips tightened. "If you'll allow me to say so, you shouldn't urge your pa to kick Miller out. He might try it."
"And so?"
"You know the answer to that. Miller might kill him. More probably he'd shame him, which would be worse. It's a bad thing for a man to be shamed in front of his womenfolks ... it's sometimes worse than bein' killed. If he was shamed, he might get a gun and try it on Miller."
Cordelia was appalled. Suddenly, for the first time, she realized what her indignation might mean to her father. Of course, Miller would not go unless he wanted to, and the thought of her father trying to face Miller with a gun touched her with icy fear.
"I--I didn't think of that."
"No, ma'am, and you didn't think about stayin' out this late. Supposing some drunk had come up to you and spoke improper. I'd have to speak to him, and he might resent it. First thing, ma'am, there'd be a man killed--and you'd be to blame."
"It was my only chance to speak to Pa alone."
She had reached the gate at her house, and she turned toward him. "Who are you? What are you?"
"Ben Cowan ... Deputy United States Marshal in the Territory."
"You--you came here after somebody?"
"Miller's my man."
Miller? Then why didn't he arrest him? It would solve everything. She started to say as much, but he spoke first.
"I'll thank you to say nothing to anyone, ma'am. I want to do this in my own good time, and where nobody will be hurt--not even him, if I can help it." He turned his horse. "Evening, ma'am."
He rode away up the street, gone before she could thank him. She went through the gate, closing it behind her, then paused in the darkness to look after him. He was briefly seen against the window lights of a saloon.
Bijah Catlow was sitting at the table talking to her mother as she placed the silver. He looked around at Cordelia. "I near came after you," he said. "It's no time for a decent girl to be out."
"That's what Marshal Cowan said."
Bijah gave a start. "Ben Cowan? You met him?"
When she explained he asked, too quickly, "Did he tell you anything about me?"
"No." She was surprised. "I had no idea you even knew each other."
"Since we were boys. He's a good man, Ben is. One of the best." He looked at her again. "Cord, did he say why he was here?"
She hesitated a moment. "No," she said.
Pa would be coming along soon, and Miller, too. Miller had not met Catlow yet.
Suddenly the door opened and Miller came in--a lean, rangy man with hollow cheeks and sour, suspicious eyes. He shot a quick look at Catlow, and Cordelia introduced them.
Catlow's forearms lay upon the table. He looked up from under his shaggy brows, cataloguing Miller at a glance. "Howdy," he said carelessly.
"Mr. Miller is married to my mother's sister." Cordelia decided she would make it plain at once that there was no blood relationship. "He is visiting us for a few days."
Miller gave her a hard look at the words, "a few days." Then he said, "I got to be around longer'n I figured."
There was a step on the porch outside and Bijah noted the quick way in which Miller turned to face the door. Moss Burton came in.
"I'm driftin' south," Catlow said. He had sensed the situation quickly, recalling words he had heard dropped before this. "Why don't you ride along with me?" He put his eyes hard on Miller. "Men like you or me, we sleep better outside, anyway."
The stillness that entered the room made Cordelia hold her breath. She hesitated, ever so slightly, before
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