Destiny at Dry Camp by John D. Nesbitt

Author:John D. Nesbitt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gale, Cengage Learning
Published: 2017-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

We stopped at Brumley’s on our way out to the range. The ranch yard was as desolate as ever, with the stillness broken only by the sound of a horse stamping to keep the flies off. Jack Brumley emerged from the shadowy interior of the barn, his eyes dark and heavy.

“Don’t mean to bother you,” said Dunbar, “but we thought we’d drop in to see if there’s anything we can do to help out.”

Jack raised his head to look up at us, squinting as sunlight fell on his haggard face. “Don’t know what it would be. Thanks for askin’, though.”

Dunbar continued. “I’m sorry for what happened. I wish I could have done something at the time.”

“Well, it’s done, and no one can change it. And I don’t know if anyone could have kept it from happening.” I thought he meant that Kelso and Holcomb were determined to carry out their purpose. Then Jack added, “Some things seem as if they’re written in the book.”

I was struck by his sense of fatalism. I wondered if Dunbar believed in that sort of thing, but he did not respond to the idea.

Instead, he said, “We did speak with Jane Lancaster.” He paused, as if waiting for a response, but none was visible. “She sends her sympathies.”

Still with little expression, Jack said, “Thanks. She’s all right, I guess.”

After a few more seconds, Dunbar said, “Not much else at the moment. We’re on our way to Carlyle’s.”

“Have a safe ride. Thanks for droppin’ in.”

When we had ridden over a hill and put the Brumley place behind us, I asked Dunbar, “Does it seem to you that Jack has some kind of a dislike for Mrs. Lancaster?”

“Could be. I’ve seen something of that nature before. A man’s wife goes outside the bounds, and he resents her friends who might have known about it. Might not be fair on his part, but you can understand he would feel that way. Even if the friend didn’t aid and abet, the friend knew things in confidence that the husband didn’t. And in some cases, the friend might know personal details about the husband that are not all that flattering.”

I felt an uneasiness at that idea. I said, “It’s not a nice prospect to think about.”

“No, it isn’t. And unless a crime has been committed, it’s best to close the door on that sort of thing.”

Tom Carlyle was brushing the palomino horse in the shade of an elm tree when we rode into the yard. Motioning with the brush, he suppressed the uprising chickens and other fowl.

“Back from town,” he said as we dismounted. “I heard the bad news about Willard Brumley. Makes me less and less comfortable about some of my neighbors.”

Dunbar said, “It doesn’t bode well at the present.”

“Who’s this new man Stanton has got there?”

“As far as I know, he’s got two. One is a gunhand, and the other is a young fellow who looks like he might do ranch work.”

“I don’t know what to think about it.

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