by John Benteen
“Jesus,” the night clerk whispered.
“Damn him,” Sundance said harshly. “The stupid kid. I didn’t want to kill him.” But there had been no alternative. When someone pulled on you, there was no time for fancy tricks. You shot to kill.
Doors were breaking open up and down the street; men shouted; there was the sound of running feet. Quickly a crowd gathered. With the gunman’s instinct, Sundance immediately replaced the two spent rounds in the Colt. By then, onlookers were staring at the smashed door and the corpse. “Goddlemighty,” somebody said. Didn’t think anybody could outdraw that kid, ’cept maybe Fitz!”
Then, authoritatively, Ravenal was shoving through, followed by Maynard and Fitz. Trailing him was a man in his early forties wearing a silver badge—the town marshal, Sundance guessed. The four of them stepped over Carson’s body, entered the lobby.
Sundance looked at Ravenal. “Your warnin’ didn’t stick very tight,” he said. “The damned fool came after me anyhow.”
The marshal turned to the desk clerk. “You saw it happen?”
“Yes, sir.” The man’s voice still was shaky. “An even break. The kid shoved in, braced Mr.—” he glanced at the register. “Sundance. Sundance told him he didn’t want to kill him, but Carson drew anyhow. He was fast, but not fast enough.”
The marshal shrugged. “All right. An even break, no charges. Let’s see if he’s got enough money in his pocket to pay for this glass. Then somebody had better go tell his woman.” He bent over Carson’s body.
Ravenal looked quizzically at Sundance. “You really are fast. I don’t think there was a man in town in the same class with Carson except Fitz—and me.”
“I thought you were a businessman,” Sundance said evenly.
Ravenal’s mouth quirked in a kind of smile. “Before that I was a horse soldier in the best troop in the Confederate Army. And before that, I fought four duels in Charleston. I was the one who walked away every time. You don’t get to be top dog in a railroad town like this without—” He gestured. “Never mind. I know how to use a gun. Anyhow, I’m sorry, Sundance. If I’d known it wouldn’t stick, I’d have had Maynard maybe break his arm.”
“You play rough.”
“Only when I have to. Usually, I deplore having to use force. Generally it gets you nowhere. Anyhow, my apologies on behalf of North Platte. Now, maybe you had better go upstairs and get some sleep.”
“Yeah,” Sundance said. First a rabid wolf, he thought, then a rabid gunman. A long day, all right. “See you in the morning, Ravenal.”
“I’m always up bright and early. Good night. And don’t worry about this. I’ll see that the mess gets cleared up.”
“Yeah,” Sundance said. “Thanks.” And he took the key from the desk clerk. But he angled his way up the stairs, hand near his gun, eyes always on the crowd, until he was safe behind a turn at the landing.
Chapter Three
Even in exhaustion, he slept like a wild animal, alert to the faintest sound out of the ordinary. That was why he came instantly awake at the soft knock on the door, to find his gun, hanging on the bedpost, already half-drawn in his hand. Drawing it the rest of the way, he blinked, rolled naked out of bed. The knock came again, very light, secretive.
“Who is it?” he rasped.
“Mr. Sundance.” The voice was that of a woman. “Please let me in. I’ve got to see you.” In her whisper there was tension, fear.
Sundance hesitated. “A minute,” he said. He pulled on his pants, cinched his belt, padded to the locked door. He stood well aside from it as he shot the bolt and cracked it. A kerosene wall lamp burned all night in the hall and in its light he saw her, young, voluptuous, blonde—and frightened, eyes wide in a pale, powdered face.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Claire Baker—I was Jody Carson’s woman.”
Sundance brought the gun down into line. The female of the species could be every bit as deadly as the male, and if she loved the kid, had some idea of taking revenge for his death—
“Are you alone?”
“Yes. Please let me in.”
“All right. But you’re covered. No tricks, you understand? You try any, being a girl won’t save you.”
“Believe me, I’m not here to try to harm you.”
She pushed through into the room, started to close the door behind her. “Leave it cracked,” Sundance ordered, used that much light to back to the table, strike a match, touch it to the lamp there. “Now close it.”
She did and slid the bolt. In the lamplight, he inspected her. In her early twenties, with a china-doll prettiness and huge blue eyes made even more enormous by fright. The gingham dress molded itself over large breasts, a slender waist, curved hips, its length long and modest. But she still wore the rouge and powder that marked her as a dance hall girl or the inmate of some brothel. “You stand right there,” he said. “Hands out in the clear, until I make sure you haven’t got a knife or something on you.”
“I told you,” she whispered. “I’m not here to get even with you for killing Jody. I’m here to thank you.”
“Thank me?” That took Sundance by surprise.
“Yeah. I—I’m awfully nervous. Do you mind if I make a cigarette?”
“Go ahead.”
He kept her covered as she reached into the bosom of her dress, but all she brought out was a tobacco sack and papers. Deftly she rolled one, put it between her lips, struck a match, and inhaled deeply. The smoke seemed to steady her. “To thank you,” she said again. “He was a ... bastard. I’ve been trying to get away from him for three months, but he wouldn’t let me go. Look, please, I’m going to show you something.” Before Sundance could answer, she reached behind herself and he realized she was unbuttoning the top of the dress.
When she pulled it down, he let out a low, soft whistle—and not merely because she wore nothing under it. Naked to the waist, she stood there before him in the lamplight, and her body, otherwise as pale as ivory, was marked with great livid bruises on its flanks, belly, and breasts. “You see? He did that to me.” Coolly, she shrugged back into the garment, not bothering to button it. “Now do you understand?”
“Not quite.”
“Okay; I work in the Doves’ Nest—that’s a dance hall down below the tracks. They’ve got an upstairs, too, and if anybody wants to go there, if they’ve got the money, that’s part of my job. Jody drifted in three months ago, took a shine to me and—well, I liked him all right, too, at first. So we moved into a shack down by the river. But it didn’t take me but about a week to find out how mean he was, how much he liked to do this—” she indicated her torso “—to me. If I didn’t bring home every nickel I made, if he thought I looked at another man in my off hours ... Living with him was pure hell, but there was no way I could get away. I knew he’d kill me. But now you’ve set me free—and so I came to thank you. And to warn you.”
“Warn me?”
“I’m going to leave town before daylight. If Ravenal found out I’d talked to you—” She stubbed out the cigarette in the tin can that served as an ash tray. “Jody worked for Ravenal, you know.”
Sundance stiffened. “Worked for him?” Slowly he lowered the gun, slid it into its holster. “Keep on talking.”
“There’s nothing more to say. Jody was Fitzgerald’s relief as Ravenal’s body guard, and—I heard something about what happened tonight. All I can tell you is this—if Ravenal had really ordered Jody to keep away from you, he never would have come after you.”
Sundance thought about Ravenal and his men dragging Carson outside the saloon, the two minutes that had passed. “Are you trying to tell me that Ravenal sent Carson after me?”
“He’s bound to have. Likely he didn’t want it to look in public like he did, so he didn’t let Jody fight you in the Forks Saloon, pretended to warn him off. But he really told him to kill you.”
This time it was Sundance who took a moment to roll a cigarette and light it. “Why would Ravenal do that?”
>
“Don’t you know? Everybody knows how much he hates Indians and half-breeds, after what they did to his wife. In his own way, he’s as crazy as Jody was. That’s why he drove every half-breed out of town—and had Fitz or Jody kill those that wouldn’t leave,” A kind of shudder passed over her, and suddenly she rubbed her face. “Oh—” her voice broke. “I must be crazy, too. To come here and tell you all this. Now I’ll never live to catch the eastbound train this morning.”
“You’re heading east?”
She raised her head, tears running down her cheeks, and swallowed hard. “Yes, I want to,” she said shakily. “Omaha. Nobody knows me there, and I thought maybe I could start all over. Get some kind of decent job, even if it’s only waiting tables or as somebody’s maid. I hate—I hate the kind of life I’ve been leading here. But if Ravenal finds I’ve told you all this, something will happen to me, I know. And he’ll find out. He sees all, knows everything that happens in this town. I’ve got enough money for the ticket. I held that much out on Jody. But he’ll find out, and—”
Sundance said, “Where’s your gear?”
“My baggage? I’ve only got one suitcase. It’s out in the hall.”
He went to the door, opened the bolt, looked up and down the corridor. Empty. Picking up the cheap cardboard valise, he brought it into the room. Locking the door, he went to the table, looked at his watch. It was one in the morning. “I’m gonna catch the eastbound train tomorrow myself,” he said. “As far as McPherson Station. I’ll see you get on it safely. Nobody’s gonna bother you. The rest of the night, you stay here.”
“All right,” she said promptly, and suddenly threw herself into his arms. “Thank you. Oh, thank you so much. I was hoping you’d say that.”
Sundance held her for a moment, letting her calm down. Presently she pulled away, and before he could speak, she was pulling the dress over her head.
“Wait a minute. I didn’t mean—”
But, naked save for gartered black stockings, she stood there before him. “I know you didn’t. But I’ve got to thank you in some way. Besides ... I feel so afraid and lonely. If you don’t want to, all right. But if you would only hold me ... ” Her eyes flickered away. “I’m clean, if you know what I mean. I promise you that.”
He ran his eyes over that lush ivory white body, marred by the ugly bruises. Then he said quietly, “Get in the bed.”
She did, sliding quickly, shivering slightly, beneath the cover. Sundance slid in beside her, after pulling off the canvas pants. She pushed up hard against him, as if seeking warmth and shelter, and he slipped an arm beneath her. “All right, Claire,” he said gently. “You’re going to be all right.” But he could feel her trembling, the rapid beating of her heart.
“Hold me very tight,” she whispered.
He did, and because he was not made of iron, all that soft woman-flesh against him had its effect. One big hand caressed an unbruised breast, felt its nipple spring erect beneath the palm. Her breath was warm against his mouth, and then her lips found his and her tongue slid past them, darting, and she laid a soft thigh across his body. He slid his hand down her back, over the soft full curve of hip and buttock. She moaned a little, wriggled even closer to him. He moved slightly, fitting himself into her. Two Roads Woman was thousands of miles and many months away ... Then he quit thinking as she rolled over on her back, nails digging into his flesh, her moaning increasing in intensity ...
~*~
In the morning, after she had washed and dressed, she watched him as he shaved himself at the wash basin. Her eyes ran over the muscular, copper-colored torso. “So many scars,” she said.
“I’ve done a lot of fighting in my time ... ”
“But those.” She indicated two ugly, puckered scars on each side of his chest. “What made those?” So he told her about the Sun Dance, next to the Renewal of the Arrows the most sacred ceremony of the Cheyennes, and how, at his first one as a warrior, they had skewered his chest with two wooden pegs from which trailed rawhide ropes, and how, dragging heavy buffalo skulls behind him, he had danced until at last the weight of the skulls, after many hours, had ripped the flesh, dragged free the pegs. She grimaced, then shrugged. “I suppose it’s no worse than what I’ve let myself be put through. So that’s how you got your name.”
“No. My father took the name Sundance, because he was the first white man they ever let join in one.” He dried himself, dressed, cinched on his fighting gear. “Now we’d better hurry if we’re gonna catch that train.”
Few people were abroad so early on the North Platte streets, as, carrying her suitcase, they went to the livery where he reclaimed his horse and panniers. But by the time they reached the station, the usual crowd had gathered to watch the incoming east bound train. Among it was Captain Taylor from the post and half a dozen soldiers. “Jim?” He tipped his hat to Claire Baker, his eyes questioning. “I hear you had some trouble last night.”
“Some.” He explained briefly as Claire bought her ticket. “Now, I’m taking the train as far as McPherson Station. I want to have another talk with General Crook. There are some things that don’t stack up.”
“My regards to the General. If you need me for anything, just send a wire. I brought this detail in to pick up some freight for the post.”
“All you can do for me right now is find out as much as you can about Ravenal. I’d like to know his whole background. But do it on the sly. Don’t get him stirred up. Then send a report to Fort McPherson.”
“Right. I’ll—” He broke off as the girl let out a sharp little cry. Then he turned.
It was the lank, muscular giant Maynard who stood there, eyes hard, lantern jaw set, one hand clamped on the girl’s shoulder. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”
Sundance looked up at Maynard, who topped his own height by a pair of inches. “Miss Baker,” he said, “is catching the train east to Omaha.”
Maynard’s mouth twisted. “No, she ain’t. Not without Mr. Ravenal’s say-so.” He addressed the girl again. “We looked for you all night. Mr. Ravenal’s got business with you.”
“He has no business with me, and I’ve got none with him. Take your hand off me!” Claire tried to back away, but Maynard’s fingers dug in tightly.
Sundance’s hand shot out, closed on Maynard's wrist, grip tightening with bone-crushing force. “Maynard, let her go.”
The hand slipped away, then Maynard ripped it from Sundance’s grasp, turned to face the half-breed. “This is none of your affair,” he rasped. “You got any sense, you stay out of it.”
“Suppose you tell me Ravenal's business with her.”
Maynard hesitated. “She owes him money.”
“That’s a lie!” Claire flared. “I don’t owe him a penny!”
Sundance’s voice was cold. “How much does he claim she owes him, and for what?”
The flicker in Maynard’s eyes was the lie’s giveaway. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “But it’s a lot.”
“You tell Ravenal to come see me with details. There’s time before the train leaves.”
“Goddammit,” Maynard said, “I’ve got my orders. And you ain’t—” The blow he aimed at Sundance was fast as the flash of lightning, his fist enormous, and if it had landed it would have broken the half-breed’s jaw, smashed his face. But Sundance had expected it, knowing Maynard was no gunman, his fists his main weapons. His own reaction was quick, smooth as a panther’s. His head dodged sideways and Maynard’s fist slashed by it, missing cleanly, in the same instant, knowing how much reach Maynard had on him, how much power that huge body contained, he dropped to his knees, and his outflung hands gripped Maynard’s ankles, yanked. Caught by surprise, the big man fell backwards, landing hard in the dust. Sundance had no intention of fighting him fist to fist. He had too much ahead of him to take the beating Maynard would undoubtedly deal even if the half-breed won. Before Maynard realized what had happened, Sundance straightened up, one jack-booted foot lashed out. Even as Maynard
lifted head and shoulders, the boot’s toe connected with his lantern jaw. There was a click like the springing of a steel trap as Maynard’s teeth came together; his eyes glazed. Nevertheless, he instinctively tried to rise, head shaking groggily. Sundance kicked again, and this time the boot heel caught him between the eyes. These jackboots were lifesavers, Sundance thought. Yesterday they had protected him against the wolf; today, much better than the soft-soled plains Indian moccasin, they made a fine weapon. Maynard’s body seemed to ripple, and his head fell back, lolling. Somewhere in the distance, westward, a train whistle sounded.
Sundance stepped back. “Captain Taylor,” he snapped. “I’d appreciate it if you’d find Ravenal and bring him here—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Ravenal’s familiar Southern drawl sounded almost behind the half-breed’s back, and Sundance whirled, hand dropping to his gun. Ravenal was there, immaculate in his gray suit, Fitz behind him, hands by his guns. “Fitz,” Ravenal said, and stepped forward. He looked down at Maynard’s sprawled body. “Lord God,” he said sardonically. “I never saw anybody take him out before, let alone that fast. Sundance, what’s all this about?”
“Claire Baker’s leaving on the eastbound. Maynard tried to stop her, claimed she owed you money. She says she doesn’t.”
“And she’s quite correct.” Ravenal’s black brows arched. “She owes me nothing, so far as I know. And believe me, I didn’t send Maynard to stop her.” He smiled wryly, took out a thin black cigar. “But he’s had his eye on her for a long time. Only Jody Carson and his guns stood between them. With Jody gone, I reckon he saw his chance—“
Sundance said, “Claire says Carson was one of your men.”
Ravenal sighed. “Now, there again. Yeah, he was my man until a week ago. One of my bodyguards. But I don’t like bodyguards who come on duty full of panther sweat and trigger-happy. I fired him, told him he was on his own. He’s been on a high lonesome ever since. Last night, when I had my little talk with him, he told me that he aimed to kill you to show he was still my man. And I told him that if he made a pass at you, I’d see him dead myself. But I reckon he was in no mood to take good advice.”
