Outlaw Hearts(50)

About five men, Jake thought. He had seen three outside, figured there were at least a couple more inside the buildings. There were no wagon trains or visible travelers present at the moment. In the distance a small herd of cattle grazed. He rode closer to the supply store, glad to see there were no wanted posters tacked up anywhere. He started to dismount when he spotted something familiar sitting outside the small sod house next to the supply post. It was a trunk, a gold trunk with brass trim and a faded flower design painted on the top. His heartbeat quickened and he rode a little closer, studying the trunk thoughtfully, searching his memory. He had seen that trunk before, in Randy’s bedroom!

Surely this was just coincidence. What on earth would Randy’s trunk be doing here? Maybe it just happened to look the same. Maybe there were a lot of trunks like this one, with the same gold background and brass trim, the same faded flower design on the lid. Still, they wouldn’t all have the same gouge in the front. For some reason he had remembered that long dent in the front of Randy’s trunk. No two trunks could have exactly the same damage.

What the hell was going on here? He told himself to be careful. Something smelled here, and it was more than the chickens. His dark eyes moved then to a bearded man who came out of the small house, carrying a pitcher of water. Jake was instantly wary. He had long ago learned to read a man by his eyes. That was why he was still alive and free, why he never lost when a man drew on him, why he seldom lost at poker. A man’s eyes could tell a lot, and this man was hiding something. The man hastily closed the door, and Jake did not miss the quick look of worry and guilt on his face.

“Hello there! Can I help you with something?” the man asked, putting on a smile.

Jake glanced at the trunk again. If it was Miranda’s, how had it gotten here? Where were the Jennings wagons? “Just need some supplies.”

“Well, then come on over to my store and I’ll fix you up.” The man was stocky and looked dirty like the others. He scratched at a beard and then smoothed back his greasy hair as he headed toward the building next door, seeming to Jake to be much too eager to get him away from the sod house. “This whole post is my own setup,” the man bragged. “I do pretty good here.”

The man was grinning too much, as far as Jake was concerned. Jake led Outlaw to a hitching post and dismounted, tying the horse. The packhorse, already tied to Outlaw’s saddle, halted wearily behind.

“Name’s Nemus, Jack Nemus,” the owner was telling him.

Jake studied the man as he came closer, wondering when he had washed last. He wore soiled cotton pants, and long johns instead of a shirt. There were sweat stains under the arms of the underwear, and some of the buttons were undone, revealing thick chest hair. He put out his hand to Jake, looking him over and appearing a little awed by Jake’s height and size.

“Well, now, you’re a pretty big man. Hope you ain’t lookin’ for clothes!” The man laughed, and Jake studied teeth stained brown from too much chewing tobacco. He shook the man’s hand, forcing himself to be friendly. He put on a smile.

“Just food and such, tobacco.”

“Well, we have plenty of that. Come on in! What’s your name, anyway?”

Jake followed the man inside. “Jake Turner,” he answered, deciding to stick to his new name.

“Well, Jake, you wear those guns like you know how to use them.” The man walked behind a counter and laughed nervously. “’Course, it makes no difference to me why you wear them. Men come through here from all walks of life, I don’t ask questions. I just sell them what they need and mind my own business.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Jake answered. He looked around inside the stuffy building, seeing no wanted posters there either. He picked up a can of tobacco and set it on the counter, telling himself to stay alert. There were two more men inside the post, probably friends of Nemus. That makes six, he told himself. “Actually, I’m looking for some travelers,” he said aloud, “friends of mine that I’m trying to catch up with. They’re a preacher-family, name of Jennings.” Again he spotted the quick look of guilt and worry in Nemus’s eyes, a look he quickly covered with one of curious thought. “They’re traveling with a trader named Hap Dearing. Did they pass through here?”

Nemus rubbed his chin. “Well, let me think. I don’t always pay attention to names, you know. But some preacher-family did pass through here, four, five days ago. I couldn’t tell you their name was Jennings, but I do remember the trader they traveled with, and it seems his name was Dearing. He had three big wagons loaded down with supplies for Virginia City.”