Legend of Keane O'Leary by P McCormac

Author:P McCormac [McCormac, P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Robert Hale
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

When O’Leary and his companion departed the shack, Alward wrapped the dank-smelling ore sacks around him and tried to sleep. But sleep was as elusive as it had been during the night when O’Leary’s mad rambling had kept him awake.

He wondered what had happened to drive the old man to such a state. From the conversation between his father and Cogan, he had learned that the old man had had an altercation with his daughters.

Alward remembered the O’Leary women, and their hard-bitten and arrogant husbands. He had met them at the jamboree they had attended in honour of O’Leary’s retirement. The women had seemed too sophisticated and calculating for Alward’s taste. He liked his women soft, compliant and loving.

‘Xaviera.’

He spoke the name softly. An empty feeling overwhelmed him and he left the corner where he had been resting and walked to the door. The youngster stared out into the darkness. The storm had passed and left in its wake a light rain. Hot tears spilled down, trickling into the stubble on his cheeks.

Alward Gallagher was trying to come to terms with the fact that his life was changed forever. The young, carefree dude was now a destitute saddle bum. All the things he had enjoyed in the past were lost to him forever: his love trysts with Xaviera, his comfortable life back in California Crossing, his father and brother.

At last he stifled his sobs, rubbing the tears from his eyes, unconsciously smearing grime on to his face and beard. The elegant young fop from California Crossing was, bit by bit, being effaced, and a grubby hobo was gradually taking his place.

‘Monday, where the hell are you? I need to know what’s happening.’

Remembering the horse Monday had lent him, he made his way into the mineshaft and led the animal out and around the back of the shack. There was grass growing there and he hobbled the horse near a water trough brimming with rainwater. He stood watching the animal feed for a while before retracing his steps around the front of the shack to resume his lonely vigil.

The daylight was well advanced with the sun struggling to break through thick cloud when he spotted movement on the slopes below. He did not change his position for he was inside the doorway of the shack and could not be seen.

There were two riders and he watched as they made their way up the trail. Their progress was slow and torturous to watch. As they drew near he could see a lead rope between the two riders. Alward could not imagine who it was coming up to the old deserted mine, needing to lead someone. He began to wonder if this was indeed Monday or someone else altogether. There was nothing to do, only watch and wait. Then he recognized the leading rider.

It was Charlie Turley, the oldster who ran the livery stable. The puzzling thing was the identity of the rider trailing behind. As far as Alward could make out, the man was blindfolded.

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