After a while, Stormy started moving a little faster. The gray light from the stars increased, too, and when Frank tilted his head back and looked up, he could actually see some of the little glowing pinpricks in the heavens above him. The tree canopy had thinned. There was a good reason for that. Frank realized that they were on a road now, more than likely one of the logging trails that Chamberlain’s crews had cut into the forest. From what he could see of the stars, he thought he was headed northeast, which would take him toward Eureka.
Suddenly, he reined in sharply as a sound came from somewhere behind him in the towering trees where he had been until a short time earlier. It was like the howl of an animal, but he had never heard a wolf or anything else that sounded exactly like the guttural scream that floated through the forest. It went on for a long moment, finally trailing off into a series of fading, yelping cries. It wasn’t a howl of pain or anger or anything else that Frank could pin down.
All he knew was that it was one of the loneliest sounds he had ever heard.
And that he was damned glad he wasn’t back there in the woods with whatever had made it.
“Come on, horse,” he said as he heeled Stormy into motion. “Let’s get on to town.”
Eureka was a large enough settlement so that Frank saw the lights of the place well before he reached it. Located on Humboldt Bay, Eureka was the center of the logging industry in this part of northern California. Frank could tell it was a prosperous town by the number of two- and three-story brick buildings he saw as he rode down the main street. The street was paved with cobblestones. It had to be. Otherwise in this rainy climate, it would be a morass of mud most of the time.
Frank saw an impressive sign that read CHAMBERLAIN LOGGING COMPANY on an even more impressive brick building. Given the house where Rutherford Chamberlain lived, Frank was a little surprised the company headquarters wasn’t built out of redwood, too.
He could also tell that Eureka was where the loggers came when they wanted to blow off some of the steam that built up because of their grueling, perilous profession. He passed the Bull o’ the Woods Saloon, the Redwood Saloon, and the High Climber’s Saloon. A place that discreetly called itself the Woodsman’s Retreat had a red light burning in the window, so it was pretty obvious why the woodsmen retreated there. Like any boomtown, no matter whether the cause for the boom was gold, oil, or timber, Eureka was a mixture of high finance and low vice.
Frank was hungry, but he wanted to find a place for his horses and a hotel room for himself before he went looking for a café. He stopped at the first stable he came to, Patterson’s Livery and Wagon Yard. The proprietor, a stocky man with a short, reddish-brown beard, came out of the barn wiping his hands on a rag and greeted Frank with a friendly nod.
“Those are some mighty fine-lookin’ horses, mister,” he said. “You lookin’ for a place to keep ’em for the night?”
“That’s right. You have room?”
“Sure do. You’ll be gettin’ the last two empty stalls, though.”
Frank dismounted. “My dog’s used to staying with the horses. Is that all right?”
The liveryman’s eyes narrowed a little. “Is that a dog or a wolf?”
“He’s a dog,” Frank said with a chuckle. “In fact, his name is Dog.”
“Reckon I’ll take your word for it. As long as he’s tame and don’t bother the other horses, he can stay here.”
Frank nodded. “He won’t cause any trouble.”
The man reached for Stormy’s reins. “I can unsaddle for you.”
“Better let me,” Frank said with a shake of his head. “This old hellion’s been known to take a bite out of a man’s hide when he wasn’t looking. He sometimes takes a notion to kick, too.”
“One-man horse, eh? Well, you go right ahead. Plenty of grain in the bin. We didn’t talk about the price.”
“No need. I’m sure it’ll be fine. You don’t strike me as a man who’s in the habit of overcharging anybody.”
Frank led the horses along the barn’s center aisle to the two empty stalls. He unsaddled and rubbed down Stormy, then made sure that both horses had plenty of water and grain. The liveryman watched Frank tending to the animals and commented, “You take good care of those critters, mister. Treat ’em like friends.”
“They are my friends,” Frank said. “I tend to travel around a lot. Spend more time with them than anybody else.”
“I live out back. Got a soup bone in the kitchen that dog of yours can have, if that’s all right.”
Frank nodded. “We’d be obliged. And if you can point me to the best place in town to stay, and to get a good meal, I’d be obliged for that, too.”
“Sure. The Eureka House is the nicest hotel, or so I’ve heard. They’re supposed to have a good dining room, too, or you can go across the street to Harrigan’s Restaurant. Or if you don’t care about fancy and just want some good food, there’s a hash house down by the Bull o’ the Woods Saloon that’s run by a Chinaman who’s a mighty good cook. You won’t go hungry in Eureka, that’s for sure.”
“Good to know,” Frank said with a grin. “I’ve kind of gotten in the habit of eating.”
He got directions to the Eureka House, then left the stable and set off up the street carrying his saddlebags slung over his shoulder and his Winchester in his left hand. He saw a large number of wagons parked in front of various buildings, but not too many saddle horses tied up at the hitch racks. Nor did he pass many people dressed like he was. Most of the pedestrians were either townsmen or loggers. This wasn’t ranching country.
The looks that he got from the people in the lobby of the Eureka House reminded him of that as he walked toward the desk with his spurs jingling. The men wore expensive suits and had pomaded hair. The women wore gowns with bustles and had their hair piled high on their heads in elaborate arrangements of curls.
Frank didn’t care. He got the same sort of reaction every time he walked into a hotel in Denver or San Francisco, and those towns were a lot bigger than Eureka.
Still, if he told the truth, he’d have to admit that he got a little satisfaction out of the expression on the face of the clerk when he set the Winchester on the desk in front of him and said, “I’d like a room, please.”
The clerk swallowed. “Do you intend to keep that weapon in the hotel?”
“That’s right,” Frank said. “A room for me and my Winchester.”
The man turned to glance behind him. “I’m not sure if we have anything available…”
Frank saw several keys hanging on their pegs. “I’ll bet you do,” he said. He took a fifty-dollar gold piece out of his pocket and slapped it on the desk. “Why don’t you check and see?”
The man’s eyes widened at the sight of the coin. He pretended to turn and look again, then said, “Why, ah, I believe we do have a room available, sir.”
“I thought you might,” Frank said dryly.
The clerk turned the register around. Frank signed his name, and in the space for where he was from, he wrote San Francisco. That wasn’t exactly true—he wasn’t really from anywhere anymore, since he was always on the drift—but some of his lawyers had offices in San Francisco, so that was as good a place to put down as any.
“Will you be staying with us long, Mister…” The clerk checked the register. “Morgan?”
“That depends. Keep that fifty and let me know if it runs out.”
“Of course. Do you have a preference as far as rooms go? We have one overlooking the street…”
So now the hombre was asking his preferences. The sight of a gold coin usually made quite a difference.
“If you have anything on the back, I’d rather be there. Quieter, you know.”