turned. 'Hyatt Earl too. We're taking him to Mojave.'
When his hands were cut loose, Mitchell walked over to Dyke. 'Can I have my order now?'
Dyke handed it to him. 'Listen, if I tried to tell you I'm sorry--'
Mitchell turned away. Don't listen to that, he thought. You might hit him. Don't even think of Hyatt. He looked over at the woman and saw her watching him. Then stopped. He'd have plenty of time to talk to her. And he thought, feeling the relief, but still holding himself calm: You've carried it this far. Hang on one more minute. He turned back to Dyke and said, 'Don't take it so hard, we all make mistakes.'
The Rancher's Lady
They came to Anton Chico on the morning stage, Willis Calender and his son, Jim; the man getting out of the coach first, stretching the stiffness from his back and squaring the curled-brim hat lower over his eyes, and then the boy, hesitating, squinting, rubbing his eyes before jumping down to stand close to his dad. It had been a long, all- night trip from the Puerto de Luna station and a six-hour ride in the wagon before that up from the Calender place in the Yeso Creek country.
Willis Calender had come to Anton Chico to marry a woman he'd never met except in letters. Three letters from him--the first two to get acquainted, the third to ask her to be his wife. She'd answered all of them, saying, yes, she was interested in the marriage state and finally she thought living down on the Yeso would be just fine. Which was exactly what the marriage broker said she would say. Her name was Clare Conway and she was to come over from Tascosa and meet Willis. He brought Jim along because Jim was eleven, old enough to make the trip without squirming and wanting to stop every second mile, and because he was anxious for Jim to meet this woman before she became his mother. Then, the trip back to Yeso Creek would give the boy time to get used to her. Just bringing her home suddenly and saying, well, Jim, here's your new ma walking in the door, would be expecting too much of the boy; like asking him to pretend everything was still the same. Jim had been good friends with his mother-- though he didn't cry at the funeral with all the people around--and he had a picture of her in his mind as fresh as yesterday. Willis Calender knew it, and this was the only thing about remarrying that bothered him. Little Molly was different. Molly was three when her mother died, and Willis wasn't sure if the little girl even remembered her still. The first few days with the new mother might be difficult, but it would only be a matter of time. It didn't require the kind of getting used to her that it did with Jim; so Molly had been left home with their three-mileaway neighbors, the Granbys. Molly was four now, though, and she needed a mother. She was the main reason Willis Calender had written to the Santa Fe marriage broker, who was said to have the confidence of every eligible woman from the Panhandle to the Sangre de Cristos.
The boy looked about the early-morning street and then to his dad, who was raising his arms to take the mail sack the driver was lowering. He saw the dark suit coat strain across the shoulders and half expected to hear it rip but hoped it wouldn't, because it was his father's only coat that made up a suit. Usually it was hanging with mothballs in the pockets because cattle aren't fussy about how a man looks. It was funny to see his dad wearing it. When was the last time? Then he remembered the bright, silent afternoon of the funeral. Maybe she won't be here, the boy thought, watching the driver come down off the wheel and take the mail sack and go up the steps of the express office. A man in range clothes was standing there against a post, and as the boy looked that way, their eyes met. The man said, 'Hello, Jimmy,' his mouth forming a funny half-smile in the beard stubble that covered his mouth and jaw.
As Calender looked up, surprise seemed to sadden his weathered face. He put his big hand behind the boy's shoulder and moved him forward toward the steps and said, 'Hello, Dick.' Only that. Dick Maddox was still against the post, his thumbs crooked in his belt. Another man in range clothes was on the other side of the post from him. Maddox nodded and said, 'Will.' Then added, 'I'm surprised you brought your boy along.'
'Why would that be?' Calender said.
'Well, it ain't many boys see their dad get married.'
'How'd you know about that?'
'Things get around,' Maddox said easily. 'You know, I was surprised Clare didn't ask one of us fellas to give her away.'
Calender looked at the man steadily, trying to hide his surprise, and hesitated so it wouldn't show in his voice. 'You know Miss Conway?'
Maddox glanced at the man next to him. 'He says do I know Miss Conway.' Both of them grinned. 'Well, I'd say anybody who's followed the Canadian to Tascosa knows Miss Conway, and that's just about everybody.'
The words came like a slap in the face, but Calender thought: Hold on to yourself. And he kept his voice natural when he said, 'What do you mean by that?'
Maddox straightened slightly against the post.
'You're marrying her, you must've known she worked at the Casa Grande.'
Calender was suddenly conscious of his boy looking up at him. He said, 'Come on, Jim.' And, glancing at Dick Maddox: 'We've got to move along.'
They started up the street toward the two-story hotel, and Maddox called, 'What time's the wedding?' The man with him laughed. Calender heard them but he didn't look around.
When they were farther up the street, the boy said, 'Who was that man?'
'Maddox is his name,' Calender said. 'He used to be old man Granby's herd boss. Now I guess he works around here.'
They were silent, and then the boy said, 'Why'd you get mad when he started talking about her?'
'Who got mad?'
'Well, it looked like it.'
'Most of the time that man doesn't know what he's talking about,' Will Calender said. 'Maybe I looked mad because I had to stand there and be civil while he wasted air.'
'All he said was other people knew her,' the boy said. 'All right, let's not talk about it any more.'
'I didn't see anything wrong in that.'
Calender didn't answer.
'Maybe he was good friends with her.'
Calender turned on the boy suddenly, but his judgment held him, and after a moment he spoke quietly: 'I said let's not talk about it any more.'
But it stayed in his mind, and now there was an urgency inside him, an impatience to meet this woman face to face and try to read there what her past had been. It was strange. From the letters he had never doubted she was anything but a good woman, but now-- And with this uncertainty the fear began to grow, the fear that he'd see something on her face, some mark of an easy woman. Damn Maddox! Why'd he have to say it in front of the boy! But he could be just talking, insinuating what isn't so, Calender thought. A man like that ought to have his tongue cut out. All he's good for is drink and talk. Ask old man Granby, he got his bellyful of Maddox and fired him.
They went into the hotel, into the quiet, dim lobby with its high-beamed ceiling. Their eyes lifted to the second-floor balcony which extended all the way around, except for the front side, so that all of the hotel's eleven rooms looked down on the lobby, where, around the balcony support posts, were cane-bottom Douglas chairs and cuspidors and here and there parts of newspapers. The room was empty, except for the man behind the desk who watched them indifferently. His hair glistened flat on an angle over his forehead, and a matchstick barely showed in the corner of his mouth.
'Miss Conway,' Will Calender said. The name was loud in the highceilinged room, and he felt embarrassed hearing himself say it.
'You're Mr. Calender?'
'That's right.' Calender thought: How does he know my name? He stared at the room clerk closely. If he starts to grin, I'll hit him.
'Miss Conway is in number five.' The clerk nodded vaguely up the balcony.
Calender hesitated. 'Would she be--up yet?'
The clerk started to grin, and Calender thought: Watch yourself, boy. But the clerk just said, 'Why don't you
