by Gene Curry
She said her name was Rita when she came back with the drinks. The so-called champagne was uncorked, and she drank some of it. “Hard cider isn’t so bad. It’s the cold tea I hate. If you know how much cold tea I’ve drunk in my life.”
“You want a slug of bourbon?”
Rita shook her head. “Tried it back home in Lancaster. That’s in Pennsylvania. Not bourbon, home brew. No difference to me. I plain didn’t like it. You from the wagon train parked south of here?”
“How did you know that?”
“Somebody told me. That’s how I know. Funny you’re the only one that’s come into town.”
I told her why I was in Junction City. “I could get by with two good men. Two of the men I had lit out, leaving me short.”
Rita raised her glass of bubbling cider. “You’re looking for good men. You’re not about to find them here, Saddler.”
“Not a one?”
“Not that I know of. You’re looking for men of all work, am I right?”
“That’s the kind.”
“What about taking me along with you?”
“Can’t do it,” I said. Then I explained something about Reverend Claggett and his ideas.
“I heard something about that, too. That’s the real reason you didn’t bring the train into town,” she said.
I grinned at her open, country face. “That’s the real reason I can’t take you along. What you do is fine by me, but Claggett would turn a cold eye on you. You don’t have that determined-to-be-saved look about you.”
Rita laughed. “Does it show that much? You’re right, though. I don’t want to be saved; I want to be rich. Frisco is the place for that. There’s so much money out there—some of it has to stick to my little fingers.”
“It might at that,” I said. “The only question is, what’re you doing in Junction City?”
“It’s hard to get on a wagon train if you’re by yourself,” Rita said. “A boy I knew back home in Dutch country—I was his intended and all—was in the Army. He said he’d send for me soon as he made sergeant and was allowed to have a wife on the post. That was five years ago, and finally he wrote and said it was all right for me to come. My father was close to dying, so I couldn’t leave right off. When I finally got here, I found my darlin’ Hobart had deserted the army and gone off with some other woman. No way to chase after him, so I went to work at the only work there was ’cept dumping slop jars in the hotel. I been here only six weeks, and I guess they like me pretty good. But where I want to be is Frisco, make some money, open a real fancy house of my own. A reliable establishment with a good reputation. No wallet stealing, no drunk rolling. Rich men like to go to a house where they know they’ll be safe. Trouble is, how in hell do I get there? Railroad stops short of here to the east, so that’s no good. Wouldn’t stand a chance trying to make it alone.”
I could tell it wasn’t just another saloon girl story. You get to hear hundreds. As a rule, the money is never for themselves; it’s to cure consumption or fix up a clubfoot. This girl was telling it straight, and I knew it.
“If you’ve been here for six weeks, you should have enough to get back to Pennsylvania. If you don’t have enough, I have a few dollars that aren’t working for me at the moment.”
Her eyes opened wide. “You mean you don’t even know me and you’d give me money?” She clicked her fingers. “Just like that.”
I grinned. “A few dollars is what I said. Enough to get you home. After a while it would be like you’d never been here. Who’s to know?”
Rita’s laugh was harsh for such a young girl. “What home? My father is dead, the farm belongs to my Uncle Herman now. So, what in hell would I do there? Work as a hired girl for Herman and his hairy paws that kept getting all over me when I was a kid? Thank you—no! What I do now suits me fine, but for me it’s just a beginning. By now I know all the tricks of the trade and am ready to teach other girls the things they don’t know. Like I said, Saddler, I don’t want to be saved, I want to be rich. I’m smart enough to do it. I’m not PD—that’s Pennsylvania Dutch—for nothing.”
She got up to get me another bourbon. When she brought it back, I said, “I’d like to take you on the train, but the train belongs to old man Claggett.” I thought for a moment. “Maybe there is a way you could go. Pretend to be saved. Act demure, and maybe you’ll get there.” Her eyes flared with sudden anger. “You mean act like a hypocrite!”
I shrugged. “I’m not telling you to do anything. It’s a way to get to California, is all. Not all the way to Frisco, but close enough.”
She reached over and covered her hand with mine. “I’m not mad at you, Saddler. I just can’t do it. I want to be what I am. You want to do me a favor, and I’m thankful for it. I just can’t do it. I’ll just have to find another way.”
“We could have a lot of good nights between here and California.”
“You’re beginning to sound horny. Are you? You’re sitting down, so I can’t see.”
“Very horny,” I said. “I’m ready to go upstairs, if you are. The offer of the money is still good, however you go west. Look, I’m no Holy Joe like Claggett, and I’m not out to make over the world. Be what you want to be, and let anyone that doesn’t like it—”
“Piss against the wind,” Rita said and laughed. “You’ll have to be older, fatter and jollier before you can get away with talk like that in San Francisco. Now, let’s get up those stairs and into a soft bed. For that kind of fun there’s nothing better than bed.”
I placed both hands on the tabletop and was about to get up. Something in Rita’s face stopped me. “What’s the matter?”
The glance she gave the saloon was casual, but it didn’t miss anything, not even the drunk at the next table. She laughed and smiled at nothing. “They want me to help them kill you,” she said.
“Who does?”
“I never did get the name,” Rita said. “But the old man that hired the two gunslingers to kill you was old, with dirty-looking buckskins. Old but with a springy walk.”
I didn’t need to be told Kiowa Sam’s name. Sam wasn’t dumb. He figured I’d ride into Junction City looking to hire a few men as replacements.
“You know who he is?” Rita asked, smiling hard.
“I know him,” I said. “The name would mean nothing to you. He still in town?”
Rita said no. “He hung around a whole day, searching for the right men for the job. The Rainey brothers, twins. I entertained both of them a few times, ’specially Bud, and he was the one that got me into it. Fifty dollars, he promised me. Gave me ten for a start.”
“You’d never collect the rest of it,” I said. “Now, how was this killing to be arranged?”
Rita’s smile was so rigid, it must have hurt her face. “Seems like this old man figured you’d enjoy a woman before you went back to the train. Old man said you have this weakness for good-looking women. I guess that’s me, ’least in this miserable town. They must be terrible afraid of you, Saddler. I mean, the old man is. The Rainey brothers wanted to have it out right in the open, figuring you wouldn’t have a chance against them. The old man said they’d just get killed if they tried that. No money changed hands till they agreed to do it the sneaky way.”
I finished the dribble of whiskey in the glass. “Which of the sneaky ways is that?”
Rita said, “This is how it’s supposed to work. First, we have a few drinks down here and then we go upstairs to my room. The Rainey brothers are waiting in a room down the hall. We get up to my room, and you get your clothes off. You have no way of knowing that somebody is out to kill you in this town, so you just peel off. You don’t wear your gun to bed, do you?”
“Not usually.”
“Nobody does. That’s what they’re counting on. Once you’re peeled off, I get this sudden idea to go down and get a fresh bottle, because you’re fixing to stay a while. You see how it works?”
“You go out, the Raineys come in, blasting. You know them to carry shotguns?”<
br />
“Can’t say what they carry besides their pistols. Shotguns, yes, that could be it. You think you can beat them to it?”
“Looks like it, now that I know about it. After it’s over, what happens to you? You’ll have sided with an outsider against town people.”
Rita stopped smiling. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. I hadn’t thought about it. I just can’t let them kill you like a sick dog. I guess I’ll find my way someplace.”
I squeezed her hand. “Little sister,” I said. “You’re going to California, and you’re going with me. The hell with the preacher. If he doesn’t like it, he can take the ladies to California all by his lonesome. As soon as this is over we’ll be on our way.”
“All this killing talk is making me very horny,” Rita said. This time her smile was real.
I smiled back. “We’ll have plenty of time on the trail.”
Chapter Ten
The bustle of the saloon went on as we went upstairs. The hallway, lined with narrow doors, was dark and quiet. It was a bright day outside, but here oil lamps threw only dim light in the hallway. All the doors were open but one. I figured that’s where the Rainey brothers were. I walked in front of the girl, ready to draw and fire, because there was no way to be sure these two-bit killers would follow the old man’s plan. One or the other might get brave, and then the killing would start.
Rita’s room was five doors down from the door they were watching from. It wasn’t locked, and we went in and closed the door. Once inside, we did a little playacting for the Raineys. I grabbed at Rita, and she giggled the way whores do. I sat on the bed, and it creaked. I dropped one heel on the floor, then followed it with the other. Then I eased myself off the bed without making much noise. I fixed up the bed with a jail dummy and moved over against the wall, the Colt cocked and ready in my hand. There would be no time for reloading. Three bullets apiece would have to get the job done.
Rita pulled on an imitation silk robe and said in a loud voice, “What you need, sir, is some good whiskey to put life in your bone.” That done, she opened the door and closed it with a bang. I heard her going downstairs in the quiet that followed.
They came in without using the door handle. The door was just a flimsy sheet of wood and one kick knocked it off its hinges. A sawed-off shotgun blasted the pillows covered by sheets on the bed. Two blasts, one right after the other, and the bed burst into flames. I blew a hole in the shotgunner’s head as the other shooter reached around him and opened up with a handgun. I had to give him four of my remaining bullets before he was driven back from the cover of his brother’s body and slammed against the far wall. In death they didn’t look much like twins. The one with the shattered face could have been a twin to anyone.
I stepped over them and went downstairs into the suddenly silent saloon. I reloaded and all the chambers in my Colt had live rounds in them again. I wasn’t looking for any more trouble, so I slid it into its holster. Everyone stared at me, but no one tried to stop me. Maybe some of them knew what had taken place. Maybe the Rainey brothers weren’t all that well-liked in town.
I went out after Rita and put her up on the horse in front of me. No bullets chased us as we rode out of town. Then we put distance between us and the town, and when we topped a rise the wagon train lay drowsing in the sun.
Halfway between the rise and the train a varnished buggy with a broken wheel stood by the side of the road. A stocky man with a derby hat pushed far back on his head stood looking at it. Even at a distance there was something familiar about him, but it wasn’t until we got closer that I recognized him as Jacob Steiner, the drummer who had saved my life by tossing me the .38 back in Independence. I caught the flash of field glasses from the wagon train.
I climbed down, and so did Rita. She looked surprised at the way I thumped Steiner on the back and wrung his hand. “What in hell are you doing with a busted buggy in Kansas?”
Steiner smiled all over his broad face. “A good question. But the Jews have a saying for everything. The answer for this situation is—everybody has to be somewhere.”
Steiner doffed his derby and clicked his heels when Rita climbed down from my horse.
“You know this crazy man?” she asked, smiling. “You bet I know him,” I said. “He sided with me when everybody else was wetting their pants with fright. I’d be dead now if not for him.”
Rita held out her hand. “You’re all right with me, Fritz.”
Steiner winced. “Please, young lady, the name is Jacob. Jake, if you like.”
Rita said, “Then Jake it is.”
Instead of shaking Rita’s hand, Jake bent forward to kiss it. Rita blushed and then laughed. “Back home in Pennsylvania they’d think you were crazy if you did that. You ever been to Pennsylvania?”
Jacob Steiner sighed; it was the sigh of a man whose life had been bumpy. “There is no eastern or southern state in which I have not been. You see before you the Wandering Jew.”
I cut in. “You wandered a bit too far this time, Jake. Now, what’s the real answer to the question?”
“You mean what am I doing in Kansas?”
“I mean this part of Kansas.”
“Trying my luck,” Steiner said. “You remember I told you I was a bauble—jewelry—salesman when we met in Independence?”
I remembered. “Has something happened to change that?”
“Most definitely,” he answered. “You can’t sell jewelry if you don’t have it. Shortly after leaving Independence, I was held up on the road and had everything stolen. One of the highwaymen fired a bullet into the wheel of my buggy. Knowing it would come apart sooner or later, I bound it with wire and hoped for the best. I hoped in vain.”
“So I see,” I said. “Men that sell whiskey and jewels, watches even, get robbed all the time. But don’t you work for some company back east?”
“Unfortunately, I am my own company,” Steiner said, sighing hard. “I have had many companies. However did the rumor get started that all Jews are sharp traders? I’m so goddamned tired—excuse me, miss—of trying to sell things. Sometimes, I’m just plain tired.”
I had one of my great ideas. “How would you like to go to California, Jake?”
Steiner’s fat face quivered with excitement. “You mean, cross the Great American Desert with the rest of you?”
“It’s not really a desert,” I said. “Come with us, or I’ll stake you to get wherever it is you want to go. Chicago. St. Louis. New Orleans. New York.”
Steiner smiled. “I owe rather a lot of money in two of the cities just mentioned. Besides, I like the idea of going to California. At least it’s one place that I haven’t been. Perhaps my luck will change out there in the Golden West.” Steiner sighed, a sort of habit with him. “I could use a change, believe me.”
“Then let’s go,” I said.
We took the horse, none-too-well-nourished, and left the broken buggy where it lay on its side. “How I hated that thing,” Steiner said as we walked down the long hill toward the wagon train.
The whole train came out to stare at the new arrivals. Reverend Claggett came forward as if to ward off evil.
“What have we got here?” Claggett asked without as much as a nod to my friends. Claggett’s attitude got my back up. I consider people who risk their lives to save mine to be friends.
“What we have is two people,” I said. “There were no men in Junction City worth a damn. I was lucky enough to run into Mr. Steiner here. He’ll work his passage or pay for it. That depends on what you want him to do.”
“More than that depends on it,” the preacher said abruptly. “Nobody gave you leave to hire a man like this.”
Steiner’s face grew red. “A man like what?”
Claggett took a hard look at Steiner. “I know who you are,” he said. “You helped to kill that man back in Independence. But that’s not the reason. They said you were a peddler of trinkets and baubles. Rubbish sold to gullible, foolish women who should buy food for thei
r families.”
“I wasn’t that successful,” Steiner said. “Anyway, I’m out of the jewelry business. You need a man, and I’m willing to work hard.”
“At what?” Claggett was determined to be unpleasant. “What Mr. Saddler tells me to do. If I have to take orders from you, I won’t go.”
I almost gave out one of Steiner’s breathy sighs. I was breaking my ass to get Steiner to California, and here he was back-talking the boss man.
Claggett had been listening to Steiner’s faint German accent. “What country are you from?”
“I had the misfortune to be born in Germany,” Steiner answered. “At the moment I’m from where I’m standing.”
“What faith are you?”
“I, sir, am a Jew. Does that fact bother you?”
To my surprise Claggett shook his head. “I am well-versed in your faith and have much respect for it. My questions to you are put man-to-man. Take this any way you like. To me you look like a man who has never done an honest day’s work in his life. I’m afraid I don’t want you, Mr. Steiner.”
Rita had to get her oar in. “Why don’t you give your jaw a rest, preacher?”
I shushed her, and she took heed of me. I wanted to get Claggett straight about Steiner. Before I got a chance to talk, Steiner said calmly, as if playing a trump card: “I was one of the best riflemen in the German army. Does that make a difference? You’re going where you’ll need all the marksmen you can find, or so says Mr. Saddler.” Claggett looked at Steiner. “You’ll have to prove that, about being a crack shot. I never heard of any Jews in the German army. I didn’t know they took them in.” Steiner smiled bitterly. “We’re not that anxious to be conscripted, but they take us just the same. When I got the letter to report for service, I immediately took a train for Hamburg. If that boat had sailed on time, I wouldn’t have served at all. Alas, they caught up with me, and I became a German infantryman. There was a black mark against me right from the beginning. In time that changed slightly, when they were forced to acknowledge my ability with a rifle. I was assigned to a company of sharpshooters but remained a private during my military career of two years, three months and six days.” Claggett was puzzled. “What kind of an enlistment is that?”
