by J. T. Edson
Stamping down the passage towards the door Molly ignored the sea of faces which watched her. She knew everyone here was interested in what was going on. It would give them something to talk about for days she guessed. Limbkin was opening the door for her, a supercilious sneer on his face. There was a look of delight about him that annoyed her as he said, ‘The persons are waiting in the Victoria, Miss Wilmont.’
‘Why thank you most to death, Limbkin.’ Molly’s voice dripped with poison loaded honey. ‘You remind me of a pet packrat I once had, only he was better looking, smelling and tempered. Don’t drink too much of Mr. Wellington’s best whiskey. He’ll catch you one of these days.’
With this she swept proudly through the front door, for all her poise giving the footman a broad wink and seeing an eyelid droop in the impassive face. Limbkin watched her go, frowning, shocked out of his usual blank expression by the fact that his secret incursions into Wellington’s best bonded whiskey were noted. He was pleased the girl was going but knew she’d left him the loser.
Mrs. Wellington was recovering when the door of the library burst open. Sam Wellington came in, his usually red face redder as he pulled open his collar and slammed the door with a bang which jarred the pictures on the wall.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ he roared.
Laverne sniffed. ‘That horrible girl said nasty things to Mama. I thought she would strike me.’
‘It’s a pity she didn’t. Might have knocked some sense into you,’ Wellington growled, then looked at his wife. ‘Stop your fooling, Clara, them turns of yours don’t fool me. You never had them when we lived in the badlands, down Clancy Street.’ Mrs. Wellington sat up again, her turn ending even quicker than it began. Her husband, like the few others so privileged, usually called her Clarissa, rather than by her given name of Clara. She also knew that her husband was usually mild and compliant but when he took that tone it was time to step carefully.
‘Samuel—’
‘Where’s she now?’ Wellington growled, ignoring his wife’s words.
‘She’s left.’ Keith stood looking at the ring on the table.
‘So you finally did it, did you?’ Wellington roared at his wife. ‘You finally drove off that little girl. Before I made my pile you’d have been proud to have a gal like Molly marry our boy. You’re getting so high toned and snooty you’ve forgot how we started out.’ He turned his attention and anger on his son. ‘And you. For once in your life you pick a decent gal, the sort who’ll make you a good wife and make a man out of you. So what do you do, you let her get away. I’d have hoped you would show more damned sense than lose her and by hell you’re not going to lose her. You’re going out of this house and you don’t come back until you bring her with a wedding ring on her finger. Understand?’
Keith drew himself erect. ‘I understand.’
‘All right, get going.’
Walking from the library Keith was aware that all eyes were on him. He turned and went to his room. Inside he began to pack his bag with a change of clothes. He knew Molly and knew that the only way to get her back was to go to Texas and win her. He knew little of the West, except what he’d read in the blood and thunder stories of Ned Buntline and what Molly told him. He could ride and hoped to get work as a cowhand until he could win her back. The door of his room opened as he packed his small bag with a change of underclothes, that was all he would be taking with him. He did not turn around or even look up as his father’s voice came to him.
‘You going all the way after her, boy?’
‘It’s the only way.’
Sam Wellington took out his wallet, extracted a sheaf of money, dropping it by his son’s hand. ‘You’ll likely need some of this, then. Good luck.’
Leaving his son’s room Wellington went downstairs. Fie glared at the crowd in the room, livery eye was on him, every one giving him their attention. He’d never realized how much he disliked most of his wife’s circle of friends before. The time was on hand for a revolution and Sam Wellington was the man to make it.
‘Limbkin,’ Wellington yelled. ‘Send down to Pat O’Leary’s shebeen down on Clancy Street and get a couple of bottles of his whiskey.’ Then turning to the pained-looking quartet leader he went on. ‘Say, Horace, do you know Finnigan’s Wake?’
Keith Wellington packed his bag and left, making for the Texas and Chicago Depot. He made a reservation on the night westbound train, left his grip and went to the Reed-Astoria. Entering the hall he went to the desk. ‘Hello, Jules. Is Miss Wilmont in?’
‘No sir. She returned and left with Mr. and Miss Catlan.’
‘When will she be back?’
Jules sniffed. ‘She didn’t say, sir.’
Keith got it. Jules was under orders not to give anything away. He must have seen the missing engagement ring and drawn his own conclusions. Jules was a smart gent, besides, knowing Molly she’d probably given orders for her whereabouts not to be mentioned. Turning on his heel Keith left the hotel and went to the Streeterville Sporting Club to spend a miserable afternoon.
Molly was also spending a miserable afternoon. Her temper was still at boiling point when she got to the hotel. Mary Anne knew there was nothing they could do but wait for the storm to blow over. She worked on the principle that the best way to cool a woman’s temper was to get her to spend some money.
‘Damn all men!’ Molly slung her bag on the bed. ‘There’s not a good one any place, they’re all the same.’
‘Sure are,’ Marry Anne agreed, winking at Waco who was standing back and keeping quiet, showing wisdom. ‘Ain’t none of them worth the keeping. Let’s go shopping.’
‘I’m going home tonight.’
‘Thought you was selling the Lazy W,’ Mary Anne answered.
‘You thought what?’
Mary Anne held out the letter and Molly took it. She read the letter and her face got even more red. ‘What the hell?’ Molly’s voice was hard. ‘I never wrote this.’
‘I never thought you did. Look at the spelling, it’s too good for you,’ Mary Anne answered. ‘But it got to Colonel O’Dea.’
‘Got to Colonel O’Dea.’
‘Got to Colonel O’Dea?’ Molly felt stupid repeating the words but her mind was not working properly.
‘Sure, got to him. Look, you’re not thinking properly yet. Let’s go shopping and I’ll explain it all to you.’
Molly agreed to this but she just could not get up enough energy yet. She looked at the letter again and shook her head. Waco came forward and Mary Anne jerked a hand to him. ‘Didn’t get time to introduce you to my lil brother before. This here’s Waco.’
Molly grinned, holding out her hand. ‘Hi, boy. Some lil brother. You growed up, boy.’
‘So’d you. Who’d you write to down in Texas, Molly?’
‘Colonel O’Dea, his gals. I wrote to White, a couple of the other gals, telling them about getting engaged.”
‘Short letters?’ Waco went on.
Mary Anne laughed. ‘Short letters. She wouldn’t know how.’
Molly eyed her friend. ‘Listen Fatty—’
‘Fatty is it?’ Mary Anne answered. ‘Why you—’
‘Simmer down, both of you.’ Waco pushed Mary Anne on to the bed and Molly into a chair. ‘This’s more serious than having a hair yanking. Didn’t you meet anybody from Texas in the past month or so?’
‘Nope, nor was I likely to. Mrs. Wellington thinks all Texans, including me, are uncouth savages, just one stage further advanced than the Indians. Mind,’ Molly eyed Mary Anne and Waco, ‘I’m not saying she was far wrong where some of us are concerned.’
‘Sure, you Lazy W bunch were always the same, wild, woolly, full of fleas and never seen a currying below the knees. Come on, let’s go shopping and make reservations on the night train. I never thought you would sell the Lazy W.’ Mary Anne grinned at her friend. ‘You aren’t smart but you’re too smart for that.’
‘Yeah,’ Molly snorted. ‘I’m not sure with neighbors like you I’d
show sense if I did sell out.’ She paused and picked up her hat from where she’d thrown it. ‘Why’d you pair come here anyway?’
‘To show you this letter,’ Waco explained. ‘Lootenant Ballinger allows a Doc Pilsener wrote it, Doc being found dead the day after it was posted. That means the man who did it is an Eastern man, but one that knows the Ranse River country. He wants both Lazy W and S.S.C. and with this letter he’d likely come to get them both. Colonel O’Dea would have sold him the Lazy W. and then with control of the water he could run S.S.C. off.’
‘You got somebody in mind, boy?’ Molly asked, watching this handsome youngster and wondering where he’d learned to act like this.
‘Mebbee, mebbee not. Man never can tell and I sure don’t aim to.’
Mary Anne could see that Waco did not wish to say any more on the subject and pressed that they went shopping before they pulled out of the big city. Molly took the hint and Waco was evicted while she put on a dress which, while not being so stylish was at least comfortable.
Jules studied the three as they came to the desk, noting Molly was not wearing her engagement ring now. ‘If anyone comes asking for me you don’t know how long I’ll be gone, Jules,’ Molly said grimly.
‘I understand, Miss Wilmont.’ In his frigid way Jules liked the Texas girl and he did not intend doing anything she would not wish him to do. ‘I hope your suite is satisfactory, Miss Catlan?’
‘Sure. We’ll be checking out tonight.’
They’d left only a few moments when Keith arrived. That night found them all on the westbound train, headed for Texas. Molly did not even suspect Keith was on the train, nor did Keith guess the girl he loved was in a sleeper in the compartment next to his own. He sat moodily in the room for a time then rose and made his way to the smoker.
The smoker was almost deserted as he sat at one of the tables and called for a beer. Two beefy, flashily-dressed men sat by the bar and nodded to the other. They rose, coming along to the table. ‘Can we join you, friend?’
‘Sure, take a seat.’ Keith looked up. These men were not the sort he would have chosen to associate with in Chicago but things were done differently out west.
‘Going west?’ the bigger of the pair asked, offering a cigar case.
‘Texas. And you?’
‘Texas, too. A fine country.’ The man was heavily mustached, his face reddened from either sun or long exposure to the full glare of a whiskey glass. He wore a loud check suit which clashed with his salmon pink shirt and big bow tie. ‘I’m Joe. Sell razors, bay rum and stuff for a barbershop. This’s Lou. You might not believe it but he sells ladies’ corsets.’
Lou was bearded, dressed as glaringly as his friend and grinned amiably. He did not appear to be at all worried by his friend telling what he sold. ‘Good things to sell. The gals are always going to wear them. Have a drink.’
The train was moving now, rattling along the rails. Keith sat back laughing at the stories the men told, stories of their adventures while travelling. They appeared to be a pair of cheery, rough diamonds and were just what he wanted now to relieve the monotony of the journey.
‘Say, how about a game of poker to pass the time?’ Joe asked. ‘Lou here owes me a dollar fifty from our last game and I sure hate to see him win.’
Keith was just a little suspicious. He’d heard of cardsharps on trains before. His first inclination was to decline the offer but Lou shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Joe. We don’t know this young feller. I know he looks all right but—’
Keith frowned. The man did not trust him. The feeling hurt. Here he was, a member of the Streeterville Sporting Club and this overdressed drummer did not trust him. He sat back, his mouth a tight, grim line and Joe snorted. ‘You’ve hurt the young feller’s feelings. You can’t take him any place twice, they won’t even have him back to apologize for the first time. I’m not playing unless our friend plays, Lou.’
Lou looked contrite. ‘All right, all right. No offence, friend. It’s just that there gets to be a lot of sharps on these trains. I wasn’t making out that you are one. Say, to show you there’s nothing in it you go get the deck of cards from the bar.’
Keith was mollified by this. He’d been doubtful but now he felt ashamed of himself. Here were two perfectly decent men and he’d thought they were crooked gamblers. Now they were going to let him get the cards showing they trusted him. He was a good poker player. The play at the Streeterville Sporting Club was often high and he’d held his own there. He might win or lose a few dollars in this game but that would not matter for his wallet was bulging and he could afford a small loss.
Taking the cards back to the table Keith sat down facing the two men. He was seated with his back to the leather seat while they were facing him across the table, yet they were well apart. Nothing could be wrong.
‘What’s the stakes?’ Lou asked.
‘Whatever you fancy.’ Keith felt expansive.
‘Man, we’ll have to watch him, Lou,’ Joe chuckled. ‘He’s got a gleam in his eye. Let’s us set down real small and try him out. Say five cents to twenty-five.’
Keith chuckled, giving the cards a riffle. The stakes would not break him, he was going to enjoy a friendly game.
Chapter Eleven
A Top Hand From Chicago
‘He’s not there!’ Molly withdrew her head from the open window.
‘Isn’t he?’ Mary Anne sat back on the bunk of their sleeper compartment. ‘Did you think he would be?’
‘Me?’ Molly snorted. ‘I’m not in the least worried about Mr. Keith Wellington. I wouldn’t speak to him if he was the last man alive.’
‘Was he the last man alive I don’t reckon he’d have time to worry,’ Waco remarked.
‘That’s the sort of remark I could expect from a man.’ Molly was in no mood for jollity. She’d been hoping Keith would at least come to the train and try to stop her leaving. ‘Men! There’s no good in any of them. T he whole lot are stupid, conceited, boasting, tied to their mothers’ apron strings. Where’d they be without a woman to look after them and to sew their buttons on for them?’
‘If there were no women we wouldn’t need the buttons.’ Waco felt called on to defend the male sex in this den of womanhood.
‘Very funny,’ Mary Anne snorted. ‘Don’t worry, Molly, you’ll never be troubled by him again.’
‘I know.’ Molly suddenly gave a sniff and flung herself on to the bunk, sobbing. ‘If only he’d stood up against his mother just once.’
Waco grinned, taking up his hat and making for the door of the compartment. This was no place for a man and the sooner he got out of it the better. ‘I’ll go and see to my bunk,’ he told Mary Anne, ‘Likely see you in the diner later on.’
Waco went along two doors, opening the sleeper reserved for him. His bag lay on the bed and the new rifle by its side. He took it up and turned it over in his hands. This was a weapon a man could be proud of, more range than a ’73 and just as reliable. The Ysabel Kid would be green with envy when he saw it, might even trade in that ‘One of a Thousand ’73’ for this kind. He cleaned the rifle and his twin Colts, then got to his feet and unbuckled the gunbelt. There did not appear to be much point in wearing it tonight. It was too far east for there to be any danger of a hold-up and a brace of matched guns weighed heavy on a man. He thrust his right-hand gun into his waistband so that his coat hid it then picked up the rifle, gunbelt and second Colt, taking them to Mary Anne’s sleeper and knocking. He was let in by Molly who was over her tears now and looking annoyed at her lapse. ‘Lock these away for me, Rusty gal,’ he said. ‘Then let’s go eat.’
The meal was not a success for Molly was about as cheerful as an undertaker with a toothache. After it was over the girls were all for going to bed but Waco decided he would go along to the smoker in the hope he would meet some fellow spirits to pass the night. He walked along the swaying aisles and across the platforms between the train’s carriages. The city was gone from sight now and they were lulling out
into open country again. He breathed in the air and grinned. If that was a big city he hoped such would never come to the West, and that he never need go to another.
Entering the smoker he found it still almost empty and his attention was drawn to the poker game. He moved forward and halted by the empty seat, looking down. Lou was dealing and Waco grinned as he noted the way the man held the cards, three fingers gripping the long edge, fourth around the front and holding square the short edge. Next Waco’s eye went to the young man who sat alone. The two drummers were fleecing him, that was for sure. It was the sort of game a prudent young man would steer clear of; nothing but trouble and loss faced one sitting in on such a game.
‘Room for players, gents?’
Lou looked up from dealing, taking in every detail of Waco’s dress and his apparent youth. He read Waco as a cow hand returning from the big city, a young one and easy meat. His eyes, unused to looking for such things, did not see the bulge made by the gun. Waving a hand he cheerily said, ‘Sure, friend. Set and play a few.’
Waco took the seat next to Keith Wellington with no idea who the young man was. Lou introduced himself, Keith and Joe just by their Christian names and Waco told them the only name he’d ever known. He did not remember Molly’s ex-fiancé’s name or connect this young dude with him. He noted Keith was flushed and worried looking and could guess why.
Keith felt relieved when Waco sat in. The game was getting out of his depth and he was losing heavily. It was the opposite of the early stages when the stakes were low and his luck very good. Hand after hand came to him and brought in pot after pot. Then Lou asked if they could raise the stakes. From a friendly and harmless five to twenty-five cent limit it was now fifty cents to five dollars and Keith’s luck had changed for the worse. Now he could rarely do anything right and was losing heavily. His suspicions were aroused but he could not get over the fact that he chose the cards.
