placing the last plate upon the table.
"When I'm ready," Miller said, "I'll go."
Catlow looked up at him and cold amusement flickered in his eyes.
"Get ready," he said.
Chapter Eight.
Though Miller was a cautious man, now fury burst like a bomb in the pit of his stomach. He kept his eyes on his plate, but it was only with an effort that he fought back the urge to lunge across the table at Catlow. He forced himself to take a bite of food and to begin chewing.
"This is your doin," he said to Cordelia. "I don't like it."
"When you come visiting again," she replied coolly, "we will be glad to see you ... if you bring Aunt Ellie." Then with an edge to her voice she asked, "By the way, where is Aunt Ellie?"
"She's in Kansas."
"We'd love to see her. She is always welcome here."
Moss Burton had started in from the kitchen, where he had gone to wash his hands. Now, desperately, he wished he had remained there.
Miller saw him and started to accuse him, but Bijah Catlow was nothing if not considerate of the feelings of others. To save Moss the embarrassment of reiterating the request to leave, with all that might follow, Bijah interrupted Miller.
"You ain't goin' to like it around here nohow," he said, grinning cheerfully. "Cordie's got herself a new gentleman friend."
"What's that to me?"
Catlow chuckled, a taunt in his eyes and in his tone. "Figured it might be. It ain't every day a girl has a U.S. Deputy Marshal comin' to set with her."
The hot fury in Miller's belly was gone. Where it had been there was now a cold lump of fear. "I don't believe you," he muttered, and his fingers fumbled with the handle of his coffee cup.
Catlow, who knew what the grapevine was saying, had a sudden hunch and played it. "Army paymaster killed over near Stein's Pass by a deserter. Were you ever in the Army, Miller?"
Miller gulped his coffee to cover his fear. He had seen too much of what United States marshals could do when he had been around Fort Smith. Why had he been such a fool as to ride into Tucson? Too many people knew he had a brother-in-law here.
He would have to get out. To go ... where? Prescott was out of the question--too many knew him there. Yuma, then? But someone at the Fort might recognize him. The Army was always moving men around ... and the thought of the Federal pen made him nervous.
"That marshal means nothin' to me, but it's plain enough that I ain't wanted ... among my own kin." He pushed back his chair and got to his feet, glancing at Bijah, who watched him, amused but alert. "You, I'll see again."
"Right outside the door, if you like," Catlow replied carelessly, "or in front of the Quartz Rock in half an hour."
"I'll pick the time," Miller said, "and the place."
"You an' Matt Giles," Catlow said.
When Miller had gone, Cordelia asked, "What was that about Matt Giles?"
"Man I used to know. Figured Miller might know of him."
Bijah took Cordelia's guitar from its place in the corner and, tuning up, sang "Buffalo Gals," and followed it with "Sweet Betsy from Pike." He sang easily and cheerfully, just as he had sung around many campfires and in bunkhouses. He was a man who did everything well, and he did most things with something of a flair. As he sang, he watched Cordelia.
She was, he thought, a thoroughbred. She had courage, and a cool, quiet strength, but above all she was a lady. Poised, without pretensions, and gracious, she was friendly, yet reserved. What she thought of him, Catlow had no idea. He had met her, asked to call, and had visited the house several times.
Now he was going away, and for the first time he found, with some surprise, that he did not wish to go. He recalled what he had told Cowan about wanting to marry this girl, and he realized he had meant every word of it. Of his life she knew nothing. She assumed he was a cattleman looking for range--a few of them had drifted into Arizona, looking around. Henry C. Hooker had a herd of cattle stampede while driving them through the state
"When I'm ready," Miller said, "I'll go."
Catlow looked up at him and cold amusement flickered in his eyes.
"Get ready," he said.
Chapter Eight.
Though Miller was a cautious man, now fury burst like a bomb in the pit of his stomach. He kept his eyes on his plate, but it was only with an effort that he fought back the urge to lunge across the table at Catlow. He forced himself to take a bite of food and to begin chewing.
"This is your doin," he said to Cordelia. "I don't like it."
"When you come visiting again," she replied coolly, "we will be glad to see you ... if you bring Aunt Ellie." Then with an edge to her voice she asked, "By the way, where is Aunt Ellie?"
"She's in Kansas."
"We'd love to see her. She is always welcome here."
Moss Burton had started in from the kitchen, where he had gone to wash his hands. Now, desperately, he wished he had remained there.
Miller saw him and started to accuse him, but Bijah Catlow was nothing if not considerate of the feelings of others. To save Moss the embarrassment of reiterating the request to leave, with all that might follow, Bijah interrupted Miller.
"You ain't goin' to like it around here nohow," he said, grinning cheerfully. "Cordie's got herself a new gentleman friend."
"What's that to me?"
Catlow chuckled, a taunt in his eyes and in his tone. "Figured it might be. It ain't every day a girl has a U.S. Deputy Marshal comin' to set with her."
The hot fury in Miller's belly was gone. Where it had been there was now a cold lump of fear. "I don't believe you," he muttered, and his fingers fumbled with the handle of his coffee cup.
Catlow, who knew what the grapevine was saying, had a sudden hunch and played it. "Army paymaster killed over near Stein's Pass by a deserter. Were you ever in the Army, Miller?"
Miller gulped his coffee to cover his fear. He had seen too much of what United States marshals could do when he had been around Fort Smith. Why had he been such a fool as to ride into Tucson? Too many people knew he had a brother-in-law here.
He would have to get out. To go ... where? Prescott was out of the question--too many knew him there. Yuma, then? But someone at the Fort might recognize him. The Army was always moving men around ... and the thought of the Federal pen made him nervous.
"That marshal means nothin' to me, but it's plain enough that I ain't wanted ... among my own kin." He pushed back his chair and got to his feet, glancing at Bijah, who watched him, amused but alert. "You, I'll see again."
"Right outside the door, if you like," Catlow replied carelessly, "or in front of the Quartz Rock in half an hour."
"I'll pick the time," Miller said, "and the place."
"You an' Matt Giles," Catlow said.
When Miller had gone, Cordelia asked, "What was that about Matt Giles?"
"Man I used to know. Figured Miller might know of him."
Bijah took Cordelia's guitar from its place in the corner and, tuning up, sang "Buffalo Gals," and followed it with "Sweet Betsy from Pike." He sang easily and cheerfully, just as he had sung around many campfires and in bunkhouses. He was a man who did everything well, and he did most things with something of a flair. As he sang, he watched Cordelia.
She was, he thought, a thoroughbred. She had courage, and a cool, quiet strength, but above all she was a lady. Poised, without pretensions, and gracious, she was friendly, yet reserved. What she thought of him, Catlow had no idea. He had met her, asked to call, and had visited the house several times.
Now he was going away, and for the first time he found, with some surprise, that he did not wish to go. He recalled what he had told Cowan about wanting to marry this girl, and he realized he had meant every word of it. Of his life she knew nothing. She assumed he was a cattleman looking for range--a few of them had drifted into Arizona, looking around. Henry C. Hooker had a herd of cattle stampede while driving them through the state
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