“Hundred dollars,” Kinkaid murmured.
The storekeeper looked triumphant. “This Sam fella says he’ll fix all our troubles for fifty.”
“Fifty?” Slim Martin said eagerly.
“Now listen here,” young Hotchkiss began, “we’ve as much as hired this gentleman Malone. He’s rode all the way down from San Jose with us, expecting to be employed on our behalf, and—”
“Shut up, boy,” Franklin snapped. “Pay attention to your betters. Fifty, hmmm?” The two men from the store nodded.
Franklin turned and put on his best smile, simultaneously checking to make certain that no one stood between him and the open doorway.
“Mr. Malone, sir, I don’t quite know what to say. I’m afraid we’ve got ourselves a situation here.”
The mountain man regarded him unblinkingly. “Situation?”
“Yes, sir.” Franklin shaded his eyes against the March sun. “It seems that unbeknownst to the rest of us, our friends here have gone and hired this other gentleman to assist with our difficulties. I’m sure you understand that since he was engaged first, the conditions of his employment take precedence over yours.”
Malone glanced at the tall, thin individual standing on the porch chewing tobacco, then looked back down at the big farmer.
“No problem, friend.”
Franklin’s heart, which had commenced to beating as if in expectation of the Final Judgment, resumed a more natural rhythm. “It’s only business, sir. Perhaps we can make use of your services another time.”
“Perhaps.” Malone glanced down the narrow street. “I’ll just find Worthless a stall for the night, and tomorrow I’ll be on my way.” Again a finger rose to touch the lip of the wolf’s head.
He heard the footsteps approaching. It was pitch dark in the stable. In the stall across the way, Worthless slept soundly, for a change not snoring. Two stalls farther up, a mare shuffled against her straw.
Will Hotchkiss quietly approached the recumbent bulk of the mountain man. No one had seen him enter the barn. He reached out to shake the man’s shoulder.
Less than a second later Will was lying on his back in the straw, a knife blade more than an inch wide so close to his Adam’s apple he could feel the chill from the steel. An immense shape loomed over him, and for an instant he thought the eyes glaring down at him were glowing with an internal light of their own, though whether they belonged to the man atop him or to the wolf-skull headpiece in the corner, he could not say.
“Hotchkiss.” Malone sat back on his haunches, a mountainous shape in the dim light. The massive blade withdrew.
The young farmer sat up slowly, unconsciously caressing his throat. “You’re mighty fast for a man your size, Mr. Malone, sir.”
“And you’re mighty stupid even fer one so young.” The mountain man sheathed his blade. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a man in the middle o’ the night? Your head could’ve ended up a play-pretty for my wolf friend’s cubs.”
“Sorry, but I had to come get you without my neighbors knowing what I was about.”
“Did you, now?”
“Mr. Malone, sir, it weren’t right how my neighbors treated you today. It just weren’t right. And I think they’re wrong about that Sam fella. Something about him rubs me the wrong way.
“I’d like for you to come out to my place, sir, and see if you can’t do something for my land. I’ll pay you myself. I’ve got a little money put aside. I’d rather have you working for me than that Sam fella.”
“What, now? In the middle of the night?”
“If you would, sir. That way my neighbors won’t be disturbed by my doing this behind their backs, as it were. It’s them I’ve got to live with after both you and this Sam fella are gone.”
Malone rose, grinning in the darkness. “And if I turn out to be the biggest fraud since Munchausen, I won’t embarrass you in front o’ your peers, is that it?” He waved off Hotchkiss’s incipient protest. “No, never you mind, son. This ain’t a bad way to go about it. I don’t like bein’ embarrassed any more than you do. So if’n I can’t extricate you from your troubles, why, this way there won’t be none others t’ see me fail.”
Hotchkiss waited nervously until the mountain man had saddled his complaining, grumbling mount. The animal’s spirits picked up considerably once outside the stable, however. Hotchkiss had come into town on a wagon pulled by two mares, one of which was near coming into her time.
Nor had the young farmer come by himself. Seated on the wagon, holding the reins and bundled against the evening chill, was a vision of pure country grace.
“Mr. Malone, this is my wife, Emma.”
“Mr. Malone.” She eyed him about the way Worthless was eyeing the nearest mare. Malone pursed his lips.
“Ma’am.”
She kept up a steady stream of chatter all the way out of town, laughing and giggling and batting her eyes at him like an advertisement for a minstrel show, all physical innuendo and sly music. Hotchkiss guided his animals, his attention on the road ahead, oblivious to nocturnal flirting so blatant that it would have put a blush on a bachelor jackrabbit.
Nor did it cease when they reached the neat wood-and-stone farmhouse. Sweet Emma Hotchkiss managed to bump up against Malone once outside and once on the way in, where she made a grand production of removing her cloak and bending toothsomely to stir the sleeping fire. Malone eyed her speculatively. She was a bumptious, simmering three-ring circus barely restrained by tight gingham and lace, and no ringmaster in sight.
Nor was she the only surprise awaiting him.
As Hotchkiss led him into the sitting room, a lanky shape uncoiled from the couch to greet him with a smile. “Malone, ain’t it?” A hand extended toward him. “Ought to be an interesting evening.”
Malone did not take the proffered hand but turned instead to his host. “What is this?”
Hotchkiss looked uncomfortable. “I said that I felt my neighbors had treated you unfairly, Mr. Malone, and I hold to that. But they’re thinking of the money in their pockets instead of their futures, and I’m not. I don’t care who helps us so long as someone does, right quick. Otherwise, everyone in this part of the country is going to go under before the next harvest. So I thought the only fair thing would be for me to hire the both of you for one night to see what each of you can do.”
Malone stroked his beard as he eyed his host. “Reckon I were wrong about you, son. You’re only half-stupid.”
Emma Hotchkiss turned gaily from the fire, which wasn’t smoldering half so much as she, and eyed each of her visitors in turn.
“I think Will was ever so clever for thinking of this. He’s such a clever boy. And if both of you gentlemen can help us, why, then we’ll be twice as well off, won’t we? I’ll be ever so happy to thank the best man with a nice kiss on the cheek.”
Sure she would, Malone thought, watching her warily. The way Venus wanted to kiss Tannhäuser in that German feller’s opera.
Hotchkiss seemed oblivious to it all, his mind on his crops when he ought to have been paying more attention to his field. “How long after you’ve finished your work will it take to show results? A month? Two?”
“Shoot, no, neighbor,” said Sam the farmer’s friend. “I can’t speak for Mr. Malone, but as for myself, I think we can prove something right here tonight.” He smiled up at the mountain man. “What about it, friend?”
“I don’t like contests,” Malone rumbled.
The lanky stranger shrugged. “Don’t matter one way or the other to me. The other good folks hereabouts seem pretty convinced of my skills already. I don’t mind accepting a forfeit.”
Malone was being truthful. He didn’t like contests, and he didn’t like the way he’d been rousted out of a sound sleep on false pretenses. But he also didn’t like the way this blond stranger was eyeing his host’s young wife. Not that she wasn’t encouraging him, along with probably every other human male west of the Sierras, but it wasn’t very tactful of him to respond so readily.