Big Medicine did not realize that Wanna had suddenly grown from a gangling little girl to a handsome young lady; but Lucy knew it. She could tell it in the admiring glances of the cowboys when she and Wanna went to Pinnacle to trade; she could read it in the sidewise glances of Big Medicine’s own cowboys, and from the fact that they were always ready to bring wood or water for the kitchen.
“I seen Torres in Pinnacle last night,” offered Ike Marsh, his mouth filled with food. “Him and Luis Garcia comes into the Greenback Saloon.”
Big Medicine’s brows lifted slightly, but he did not comment on the appearance of two men he had ordered out of the country. Pedro Torres, or “Pete,” as he was better known, was an unprincipled rascal, flashy dresser, handsome in a way, and too clever ever to make an honest living.
Luis Garcia was Pete’s shadow; a low-caste, half-Mexican, half-Apache.
“I seen Jim Reed, too.” Ike was willing to pass out all the information he had, regardless of its interest. “Jim had a drink with Torres.”
“And how much did you lose?” asked Musical.
“Not a dern cent. I was in seventeen dollars and I cashed in seventy-three dollars and four bits.”
“‘Faro’ Lannin’ must be gittin’ easy,” grinned Cleve. “He never let me win that much.”
“Faro wasn’t playin’. ‘Arkansas’ Jones was runnin’ the game.”
Big Medicine looked up from eating, his deep-set eyes speculative.