The Key West Citizen

A faded battered string of freight cars of the N.M.& A. slowed by the water tower, one of the barn-like doors on the opposite side slid open and a man peered out. For a moment he clung to the iron ladder on the side then he closed the door carefully and dropped to the ground. Without looking back, he struck off across the desert.

Because of his cramped muscles his stride was short and stiff at first but gradually it lengthened into an easy mile-consuming gait. The warm dry wind sent dust devils swirling after him and the late afternoon sun threw his elongated shadow on the ground before him. It was not unlike one of the giant saguaro cacti growing around him.

To the untrained eye his appearance belied his surroundings. His face was a yellowish tan, not the healthy bronze that comes from outdoor living, and his city clothes were ill-fitting as though he had grown after buying them. Now as though suddenly conscious of their inappropriateness he removed his coat and waved it violently in the air then tossed it over his arm. If he had had to explain his action he would have said that the clinging odor of a sheep car was thoroughly repugnant to an ex-cattleman.

After a mile his undeviating course brought him to a small adobe house on the side of what passed for a road. A half tended garden patch fought the sun beside it and in the scanty shade of a seared china-berry tree some brown children played. The man stopped and counted them thoughtfully. Four! He emitted a wry chuckle and knocked on the wooden door.

"Que es eso?" a drawling voice called.

The man didn't answer and in a moment the door swung wide and a drowsy-eyed Mexican peered out. His breath was heavily potent with a mixture of garlic and tequila and now his mouth fell open in a gape of disbelief.

"Dios! Senor Erskine! Is it you?"

Erskine laughed appreciatively. "Do I look like a ghost, Pacheco?"

"No senor, though you are muy blanco." The thick lips widened in a happy grin. "In the paper a year ago it say you killed in war."

Jeff Erskine's thick eyebrows soared in surprise, then he too grinned. "That mistake happened to a lot of guys, amigo."

"Si, but I am glad it is not so."

"Not half as glad as I am," Jeff said dryly. He shifted his weight to the other foot and gave his belt a hike. "Four years is a long time to be away from Arizona, Pacheco. ... I never thought I'd long for the homely sight of a dried-up tumble weed, but I did."

Pacheco nodded solemnly. "Si, it is a long time. We have missed you."

Gesturing toward the group of children, Erskine grinned. "Well I see you haven't wasted the years."

"Ah, los ninos!" The Mexican chuckled proudly and gave Erskine a sly wink. "That is the way to keep the woman happy, Senor, never allow her to forget that she is your wife. My Carmelita is a jewel; I was very lucky to win her." He stood aside. "Come in, Senor, come in."

STOOPING slightly as he passed Erskine entered the cool gloom of the thick-walled adobe. The room was thoroughly lived in and had accumulated all the smells that had ever drifted through it. Pungent Mexican cookery vied with cheap wine and tobacco for dominance.

In one corner a young woman was slapping tortillas on a sizzling griddle. Her full bunchy skirt swayed behind her in time to her quick motions and her blouse drooped over one shoulder revealing a glowing tan skin. She turned and flashed them a quick generous smile.

"Buenos dias, Senor. You will eat with us, si?"

"Gracias, senora, gracias."

Spanish came as easily to Jeff Erskine as his own tongue and now he lapsed into it. "I was hoping you'd put me up for the night too."

"Ai-i-i!" Carmelita gasped in dismay and stared at Pacheco.

Erskine laughed. "I'd forgotten about the children. Of course you have no room. How about letting me sleep with the horses? A pile of hay and an old serape make a mighty fine bed."

"Only two horses, senor, and not much hay." Pacheco looked doubtful.

"Suits me fine. Give me a chance to get acquainted with the nags. If you'll let me borrow one of them, I'm going to ride up home tomorrow." He glanced down at the desert dust on his shoes; it was good to be back!

Pacheco frowned. "Senor, there is something I have not told you."

The slow-spoken words seemed to hold an undercurrent of warning and Erskine's head jerked up.

"Surely it can't be that bad, Amigo."

"But it is, Senor - someone is living in your house."

"What!"

"It is true. A young lady and her father ... for almost a year now."

Erskine swore softly. "I gave no one permission to lease my land."

"I do not know how it happened," Pacheco said in a troubled voice, "But several times I have seen Senor Coulter riding up there."

"Coulter!" Jeff's lower jaw thrust forward. "So he's still around."

Pacheco nodded mutely.

Sleep was slow in coming for Jeff that night. The hay was soft and fragrant, the woolen serape warm, and through the stable window the stars seemed brighter and closer, as though welcoming him back to Arizona, but his mind mulled restlessly over Pacheco's news. Strangers on his land and Coulter involved. Here was trouble and for the Erskines trouble and the name Coulter had always been synonymous.

Tomorrow he'd get to the bottom of it.

(To be continued)