“That’s him.”
As big as Frenchie was—and he surely topped six-three—he was dwarfed by Reno, who had to be six foot eight and probably outweighed the big logger by fifty pounds.
“Jesus,” Decker said.
“I told you, he’s a big man.”
The woman standing next to Reno was young and pretty, and it was no insult to her that Decker didn’t notice her right away. Reno was the kind of man who dominated any scene, no matter who was there.
“That’s Miz Boone,” Frenchie said. “She took over the camp when her father was killed.”
“Accident?”
“Nope,” Frenchie said, giving Decker a sideways look. “He was murdered.”
“Murdered?”
“Shot in the head.”
“When?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“Anybody arrested?”
“No,” Frenchie said. “There’s no law here, Decker. We sent word for a federal marshal.”
“Who’s working Wyoming-Montana?” Decker asked.
“Fella named Murdock. Heard of him?”
Decker thought he had and nodded.
“Anyway, we don’t know when he’ll get here.”
“By the time he does the trail will be even colder than it is now.”
“It’s sad,” Frenchie said. “Jack Boone was a good man.”
As the wagon entered the center of the camp both Reno and the Boone woman looked their way. Frenchie stopped the wagon just in front of them and hopped down.
“Who’s that?” Reno asked immediately.
“A new friend of mine,” Frenchie told them. “Name’s Decker. He’s passing through and needs a place to stay. I offered him a bunk in my tent. Okay?”
Reno studied Decker, who had stepped down, and then looked at Miss Boone. She, too, was studying the bounty hunter intently.
“Do you vouch for him, Frenchie?” she asked.
“Sure, I vouch for him, Miz Boone.”
“All right, then,” she said. “Why not?”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Decker said.
She looked at him as if she was surprised that he had spoken, then turned and walked away. There was one wooden cabin in the camp, and she walked to it and entered. Decker recalled what Frenchie had said about everybody being friendly and having friends, and he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. After all, her father had been killed just two weeks earlier.
Later, Decker would berate himself for being too dumb to see what was coming.
The bounty hunter had to agree with what Frenchie had said about the camp’s cook. Either he was one of the best cooks whose wares Decker had ever tasted or food simply tasted better when the air was cold.
Decker had been left to his own devices in the mess tent and was drawing curious looks from the loggers around him. Frenchie was nowhere to be found until he suddenly stepped into the tent with Jeff Reno. They were deep in conversation, and once or twice Reno looked Decker’s way, nodding.
It might have dawned on Decker then, but he was too interested in the hot food in front of him.
When Frenchie and Reno finally finished their conversation, Frenchie got himself a bowl of stew, then sat next to Decker. He attacked his food with vigor and spoke to Decker between bites.
“Well, my friend, how do you like the food?”
“Just like you said,” Decker told him.
“Ah, I knew you’d enjoy it.”
“I hope I didn’t get you in trouble with your boss.”
“Big Jeff?” Frenchie said. “No, we’re good friends. Whatever I do is all right with him.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“How have the lads here been treating you?”
“Like I had the plague.”
“Ah,” Frenchie said, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I should have known!”
“Known what?”
“That they would be suspicious of a stranger in their midst only a couple of weeks after Jack Boone was shot.”
“Speaking of Boone,” Decker said, “what is Miss Boone’s first name?”
“Dani.”
“Danny?”
Frenchie spelled the name for Decker and then said, “I think it’s short for Danielle.”
“Pretty name.”
“She was all bundled up when you saw her, but take my word for it, she’s a pretty little thing.”
“How old is she?”
“I’m not sure, I guess about twenty, twenty-one.”
“That’s young to be running an operation like this, isn’t it?”
“That’s why she’s leaning heavily on Big Jeff and…” Frenchie let the sentence trail off without finishing it.
“And you?”
“A lot of us,” Frenchie said, obviously avoiding the question.
Decker looked Frenchie in the eye and said, “Why is it I get the feeling you’re a little more in charge here than you let on?”
Frenchie put down his fork and looked at Decker.
“I ain’t in charge, Decker,” Frenchie said. “Reno’s in charge, and he reports to Miz Boone. I was just good friends with her father, that’s all. She respects that.”
“Frenchie,” Decker said, “why did you ask me up here? Really?”
“Finish eating,” Frenchie said. “Dani would like to see you in her cabin—if you’ve a mind to talk to her.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Decker said. “And then I’ll talk to you—or you’ll talk to me.”
“You’ve got a deal,” Frenchie said, and once again he attacked his meal.
After they finished eating, Frenchie led Decker to Dani Boone’s cabin.
“Are you coming in?” Decker said.
“Nope. This is between you and her.”
Decker knocked, and when the young woman opened the door he noticed two things. Number one, she was indeed extremely pretty, as Frenchie had said. Her hair was chestnut colored and hung down past her shoulders. She was wearing a heavy plaid work shirt that did nothing to hide the proud thrust of her full breasts. And her jeans molded themselves to the curve of her hips.
The second thing he noticed was the scent of coffee in the cabin.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked.
“Please.”
“Come in, then,” she said, stepping back.
He entered and found himself in a cluttered room dominated by a huge table that was covered with papers.
