In the Land of Dead Horses by Bruce McCandless III

Author:Bruce McCandless III [McCandless III, Bruce]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Greenleaf Book Group Press

16. A Social Call

Austin, October 23

“Good afternoon,” said Freda, struggling to control her breathing as she entered the parlor. She had almost tripped on the stairs and come rolling into the room. That would have made for a graceful introduction. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”

The tall blond man before her stood up from the sofa. He was fair-skinned with green eyes and a touch of sunburn on his nose and cheeks. His wrinkled shirt and battered boots contrasted with the fine felt Stetson he’d left on the sofa. He gazed at Freda like a cat watching a mouse emerge from its hole.

“Not at all, ma’am. Not at all. I was just conversing with this delightful young thing. A Cajun princess, I believe. As pretty as the day is long.”

“Annie Boudreaux,” the princess said. “It was my pleasure.” Nodding to Freda, she exited the room with the scent of ruin and rosewater trailing in her wake.

“If you’d rather I come back later?” asked Freda.

“Please. No. It’s you I came to see. Or, rather, a particular friend of yours. But I understand Sergeant Lightfoot is not at home?”

“Oh, this isn’t his home. He is here on occasion, but I’m afraid you missed him. He’ll be sorry to hear that, Mr.—?”

“I beg your pardon,” said the man. He ran a big hand through his hair. It was the lightest shade of blond she’d ever seen. Close to white. “Sam. Sam Millicent. Could be he’s spoke of me?”

“I’m sure he has,” said Freda. “But I confess, my memory’s not what it used to be. How are the two of you acquainted?”

“We rangered together a few years back.”

“Oh, splendid! You do have the look of a ranger about you.”

“Do I now? I’ll take that as a compliment, sure enough. Just as long as I no longer have the smell of a ranger about me. Horse sweat and ten-cent tobacco.”

Freda felt the heat of a blush in her cheeks. She wasn’t sure whether it was embarrassment at the stranger’s forwardness or the first stirrings of resentment at what seemed like—did she imagine it?—the disdain in his voice. “I’m sure you two have a few stories to tell. Do you care for more coffee?”

“I’m just about coffeed up, thank you. I understand from Al Woodard that Jewel’s on assignment. Is that so? The colonel wasn’t clear on whether he’d left yet.”

“He is indeed. On assignment, I mean. He left three days ago.”

“Headed for Llano, right?”

“For Llano, I believe, and parts farther west. From what I could gather.”

“Have you heard from him since he left?”

“Unfortunately, no. He’s not much for telegrams.”

“Or the telephone?”

Freda felt a tinge of uncertainty in some corner of her mind. Millicent? Was that it? Sam Millicent. The name didn’t ring any bells. And though Jewel was tight-lipped when it came to his work, he was generally happy to talk about his friends. Al Woodard. John Nemo. Ray Lanning, rest his soul. Surely she would have heard something of this man who presented himself as Jewel’s compadre.

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