Buck was halfway through his breakfast when Deputy Rogers blundered in, closing the door just a bit too hard. Obviously, he wanted everyone to know he had arrived.
Rogers plopped down in a chair facing Buck and said, “Mr. Richards wants to see you.”
“When I finish eating. Now go away.”
Rogers could not believe his ears. “Hey, gunslick! I said—”
“I heard what you said. So did the entire crowd. I’ll see Mr. Richards when I’m finished. Now go away.”
Rogers wanted to start something. He wanted it so badly he could taste his personal rage. But he had orders to leave Buck alone. Uttering an oath, he stumbled from the table and slammed the door behind him.
The cafe was totally silent. Even the cook had stepped out and was staring in disbelief at Buck. The one collective thought among them all was,
The front door opened. Josh Richards stepped in. He nodded politely to the crowd and walked to Buck’s table, pulling out a chair and calling to the waitress to bring him coffee.
“Ham and eggs are real fine,” Buck said. “I recommend them.”
Richards smiled. “All right. Ham and eggs, Ruby!”
“Yes, sir.”
Buck held out his right hand. “Buck West.”
Richards took the offered hand. “Josh Richards. You don’t much care for Deputy Rogers, do you Mr. West?”
“I don’t think he’s got both hands in the stirrups, that’s for sure.”
“Quaint way of putting it. I’ll have to remember that. Oh, you’re right, Mr. West. Rogers is a bit weak between the ears. But he does what he is told to do.”
“That’s important to you, Mr. Richards?”
“Very.”
“Money’s right, I can be as loyal as any man. More than most, I reckon.”
“I imagine you can. Are you looking for a job, Mr. West?”
“I’m lookin’ for Smoke Jensen, sir. But that gunhand’s backtrail is gone cold.”
“Yes. I’ve had a lot of men looking for Jensen. So far, to no avail. Tell you what I’ll do, Mr. West. I can put you on the payroll today. Right now. Fighting wages. That’s good money. Five or six times what the average puncher makes. You hang around town, the ranch. Just let your presence be known. Every now and then, I’ll have a job for you. Sometimes, Mr. Stratton, Mr. Potter, or myself have to transfer large sums of money from place to place. Highwaymen have taken several of those pouches. I need a good man to see that it doesn’t happen again. How about it?”
“All right,” Buck said with a smile. “Oh, one more thing?”
“Certainly.”
Buck pointed with his fork. “Eat your breakfast. It’s getting cold.”
Buck met Stratton and Potter. It was all he could do to conceal his raw hatred from the men. He shook hands with them and smiled, nodding in all the right places.
When the meeting was over, he returned to his hotel room and washed his hands with lye soap. They still felt dirty to him.
He saw to his horses and found the livery boy true to his word. Both Drifter and the pack animal were getting extra rations of grain.
He walked the town, getting to know the layout of Bury. As he walked, he noticed a buckskin-clad old mountain man leaning against the wall of the not-yet-opened general store. The mountain man appeared not to be watching Buck, but Buck knew he was watching him. His name came to Buck. Dupre. The Louisiana Frenchman. He remembered him from the rendezvous at the ruins of Bent’s Ford, back in…was it ’66? Buck thought it had been.
Dupre looked as old as time itself, and as solid as a granite mountain. Buck had been raised among mountain men, and he knew these old boys were still dangerous as grizzly bears. Not a one of the mountain men still left alive could tell you how many men they’d killed. White men. Indians didn’t count.
When Buck again caught his eyes, Dupre was talking to the store owner. Not owner, Buck corrected himself— manager. The two men went inside. Buck continued walking. Unlike most men who spent their lives on the hurricane deck of a horse, Buck enjoyed a good stroll.
It was a pretty little town, Buck thought. And not just thrown haphazardly together, like so many frontier towns. He took his time, speaking to the men and doffing his hat to the ladies he passed. He noticed suspicion in many of the eyes; open hostility in a like amount. He wondered about that.
“You’re up early,” a voice called from Buck’s left.
He stopped and slowly turned. Sally Reynolds sat on her front porch, drinking what Buck guessed was coffee.
“I enjoy the early morning, Sally.”
“So do I. Would you care for a cup of tea?”
“Tea?”
