'Company policy, or
'Don't be insolent, mister,' Wainright choked. 'Miss Richfield is now a stockholder in GPC, as well as a member of the board of directors. Back East you wouldn't even be attending the same social functions. But since it is necessary for us to attend some of the
Danner straightened. Bitterness could drive a man to great lengths, he thought. 'You're pushing me too hard,' he said.
'That'll be enough,' Wainright stormed. 'Just stay where you belong.' He stalked back toward the schoolhouse. After a few strides his empty left coat sleeve worked loose from the pocket of the coat and swung like a pendulum.
Danner gripped the edge of the leather-covered buggy seat with his left hand, waiting for his anger to cool. The whistle of the late train reached him from far away, yet sharply clear. The sound comforted him somehow.
How long he waited there in the darkness Danner didn't know. Finally, he became aware that the music inside had stopped. The couples began drifting outside, calling goodnight to others, and Danner knew the dance was over. Shaking off the dead remains of his tension, he worked his way inside.
Lona sat by the bandstand, staring vacantly across the room and toying with the cameo brooch at her throat. McDaniel stood uncomfortably beside her, searching the dwindling crowd. When he saw Danner, his slow smile erased the worried look.
'Been looking for you, Jeff.'
Danner ducked his head in greeting. Lona ignored him as she gathered her coat from the back of the chair and stood up. McDaniel seemed at a loss for anything else to say; his jowls moved as he swallowed.
'Well, thanks for the dances, Miss Lona. Good night. See you around, Jeff.'
Danner nodded, then reached out to help Lona as she struggled with the light coat. She moved just enough to avoid his assistance, then started toward the door.
The trip to the Ralston home was a silent affair. Danner escorted Lona to the porch, then removed his hat. The night was dead still except for a prowling cat. Light streaming from the window in the door caught Lona in the face and she stepped back into the darkness.
'Lona,' Danner ventured, not sure how to handle this. 'We shouldn't be at odds like this all the time.' He moved through the rectangle of light and stopped near her.
'No, we shouldn't be,' she murmured, staring off the porch into the night.
Danner caught her by the shoulders and drew her close.
'Please, Jeff.' She shook loose and moved away. Her husky voice barely reached him. 'I'm not a fool—or maybe I am at that, for loving you.'
'Dammit, Lona, that's—'
'Don't use profanity on me. I've been humiliated enough already tonight.' Then she turned away, moving to the end of the porch.
Frustration took hold of Danner, shaking its way roughly into his chest. It was like fighting a shadow, it never stood still.
Before he could reply the front door opened and Lona's father came out on the porch—Olie Swensen, small for a Swede, and lacking the genial warmth of his ancestors. Light glistened atop his hairless head.
'Daughter,' he growled, 'if you're through spooning, we'd best be heading home.'
'I'm through, Papa.
Since the Swensens hadn't stayed over for morning church services, Danner slept late. By the time he reached the hotel cafe the church crowd had come and gone. He ate alone, then wandered down to the depot.
The eastbound left a single bag of mail and no passengers, and soon faded into the distance. Only the clatter of the telegraph key broke the early afternoon stillness. The Sunday relief telegrapher was a new man, and Danner didn't feel like getting acquainted just now so he lounged against the side of the depot, warmed by the sun. A smell of dryness and dust in the air indicated the beginning of another scorching summer. Danner missed the throb of life now absent from the Sunday-silent workshops and motionless yard engines.
Nothing stirred along the length of the main street except once when a swamper came out the rear of the Silver Dollar Saloon and emptied some trash into a large barrel. The clatter of the lid sent an old tomcat streaking along the alley. Then a rider broke the dust along the south road, drawing in toward Richfield. Danner watched idly while the speck grew larger. Another ten minutes crawled by before Danner could make out the oversized shape of a man bouncing out of motion with his horse. Only McDaniel rode a horse like that; McDaniel coming in from the little shack he lived in by the breaks along the Richfield River. Town living would have been more convenient for the railroader, but he couldn't forget the pleasantness of his childhood on an Illinois farm.
When McDaniel turned into the main street, Danner moved away from the depot to intercept him. McDaniel rode head down, uncomfortably, his jowls jouncing. When he spotted Danner his heavy features broke into a wide smile.
'Afternoon, Jeff.'
Danner nodded, watching his big friend dismount. Outside of time spent with Lona, Danner's only social contact consisted of occasional games of Casino with McDaniel and Sheriff Brant. With mutual understanding they moved along the walk to the courthouse. Brant lay asleep on a cot, but instantly awakened when Danner tramped through the open door.
'Afternoon, boys.' Brant scrubbed back his tousled, thinning gray hair, then forced on his boots. Danner nodded to him, dropped into a chair by the desk and loaded his pipe. By the time he had it going Brant began shuffling the cards. Danner jerked his head toward the cell block.
'Any trouble with the Dooleys?'
'Nope.' Brant shook his head. 'They're peaceful as milk cows—too peaceful for them.' Glumly, he dealt the first hand in his awkward fashion.
They played cards silently then, but Danner had trouble keeping his mind on the game. He scanned his hand, then picked up a seven of hearts and had a Little Casino with the nine of spades.
Billy grumbled about his poor hand, providing the only break in the silence. Restlessness worked at Danner and more than once he found himself on the point of quitting the game. He heard the afternoon westbound come and go, its whistle soon only a distant sound, forlorn yet comforting. Still, he couldn't shake off the uneasiness.
About mid-afternoon the tread of several persons sounded outside the door and Alec Browder lumbered into the office, his great bulk shaking the floor with each step. Just behind him came Wainright and the swaggering, dandified Tuso. Danner knew that this was to be the climax of the uneasiness that had been working on him all day.
A round of nods failed to ease the tension that hung in the air. Danner remained seated. He suspected what would come next, but he waited for Wainright to commit himself.
Wainright moved a little closer to Danner, for a moment unsure of himself. Browder waited silently in the background, squinting through his thick-lensed glasses. He shifted his weight continually from one leg to the other, much like an elephant Danner had seen once in a St. Louis circus.
The black-clad Tuso leaned his left shoulder against the doorframe, while his right hand hung free near the butt of his holstered gun—a Colts, not a pin-fire. His barrel chest filled the width of the doorway, but his head reached little more than two-thirds of the way to the top of the arch. Now a smug grin split his swarthy features, crowding his broad nose closer to his small eyes. Danner eased up out of his chair. His movement ended the silent waiting.
'I've been looking for you, Danner,' Wainright snapped.
Danner shuttled a quick glance to Browder, then eyed Wainright again, waiting. All uncertainty had vanished from Wainright's countenance.
'I've decided not to press charges against the Dooley brothers.'
A fleeting anger brushed Danner, despite the fact that he had been half-expecting the statement. Now he struggled to maintain his air of indifference. Apparently Wainright had expected an outburst and seemed startled by
