Larry and Stretch 7

by Marshall Grover

  “Yeah,” growled Larry. “She’s that same purty filly— and she’s just full of smart tricks!”

  “What the hell’re you talkin’ about?”

  “I’ll tell you, big feller. Last time I saw that female was out by the creek today.”

  “You mean ...?”

  “She’s the same one.”

  “The buck-naked female that was hangin’ her duds on the bushes? Her that jumped in the crick? But, doggone it, that was a Mex gal!”

  “I thought she was Mex—until now.”

  “It don’t make sense!”

  “Did I say it makes sense? All I’m sayin’ is she is the same woman.” Larry’s mouth set in a hard line. “She fooled those Box V hombres, and that’s okay by me. But she tried to fool me as well! One real sassy female, she is. Couldn’t just say, ‘Much obliged and thanks for wantin’ to help’. No. She had to have her fun, had to pretend she was just a poor Mex gal. Well—the heck with her!”

  “Ain’t no call to get mad at her,” protested Stretch.

  “She has to explain it to me,” insisted Larry. “Yep. I reckon she owes me that much. And, if she acts uppity, I’ll paddle her so hard she won’t sit comfortable for a week!”

  “Hold on now!” gasped Stretch. “That’s a real lady! You can’t hit a lady. It ain’t dignified.”

  But Larry wasn’t listening. Already, he was crossing the street to follow the banker’s daughter, and Stretch had no option but to tag along. She never looked back, as she turned into Horton Avenue and made her way to the fine, two-storeyed family home. The front door was closing behind her, when the Texans arrived at the gate. Larry nudged it open and strode up the walk, with Stretch tagging him close. They climbed to the shaded porch. There was a bell, but Larry ignored it. With his clenched fist, he pounded on the door.

  It opened, and they found themselves face to face with five feet one inch of belligerent femininity. The housemaid, Maggie O’Hare scowled up at them, shook a finger under their noses and voiced a stern reprimand.

  “We’ll thank you not to be poundin’ on the door. And furthermore, there’s nobody home to the likes of you.”

  “I aim to parlay,” Larry truculently announced, “with the lady that just came in here.”

  “Lady is right,” sniffed Maggie. “The daughter of Banker Baldwin—herself in person. And what would you be wantin’ with her?”

  “She’ll know what I want,” growled Larry, “soon enough.”

  “Scat!” barked Maggie.

  “You best let us in, ma’am,” advised Stretch. “My partner hankers to have him a showdown with this Baldwin lady.”

  “A showdown you call it?” gasped Maggie. “The nerve of you! She’d never be acquainted with the likes of you!”

  “Larry’s plumb acquainted with her,” Stretch doggedly insisted.

  “For sure?” she suspiciously enquired of Larry.

  “She looks different now,” frowned Larry, “but she’s the same gal I met today.”

  “What d’you mean—different?” she demanded.

  “Well,” explained Stretch, “she wasn’t wearin’ any clothes at all, last time Larry seen her.”

  The little woman started convulsively, gave vent to a choking gasp and fainted. Stretch, in his helpful way, caught her as she dropped.

  “You and your big mouth ...” scowled Larry, as he moved into the hallway.

  “What’d I say?” blinked Stretch. He was following Larry in, with the unconscious maid hefted in the crook of his left arm. “All I said was ...”

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  They halted abruptly. Beth stood in the entrance to the ground floor parlor, surprised, but as poised as ever. There was, Larry noted, a hint of humor in her beautiful brown eyes. But for his still-hot indignation, he might have admired her. Curtly, he told her:

  “You owe me an explanation—señorita.”

  “Really?” She raised her eyebrows. “I haven’t the least idea what ...”

  “Don’t fool with me, lady,” he warned. “You already fooled me once too often.”

  As he advanced on Beth, Stretch called after him. “What’ll I do with this’n?”

  “Tote her to the kitchen,” muttered Larry. “She’ll likely scream blue murder when she wakes up from that faint, so you better be ready to calm her down.”

  “Keno,” shrugged Stretch.

  He began his search for the kitchen, still toting his frail burden, while Beth retreated into the parlor—suddenly intimidated by the expression in Larry’s eyes.

  “Now just a minute, cowboy,” she frowned. “Just—a—minute! If you think you can break into this house and ...!”

  Her warning was rudely interrupted. Larry had wrapped a brawny arm about her waist and was lifting her, toting her to the sofa. She gasped a protest and struggled vigorously, but all to no avail. Quickly, Larry sank to the sofa and threw her across his knees. His strong right hand rose and fell, and her startled gasps became screams of indignation. Relentlessly, he continued the chastisement. As his hand pounded her rounded rear section, he derisively mimicked her speech of that morning.

  “These other gringos ...” Slap, slap, slap, “… they frighten me, señor!” Slap, slap, slap. “But you are not like these evil ones ...” Slap. “You are kind.” Slap. “You are one gran’ caballero.” Slap, slap, slap.

  He released her. She slid to the floor, struggled upright with her cheeks burning and her nether region smarting. For a tense moment, it seemed she would strike at him, but the look in his eyes was a grim discouragement.

  And then, despite her discomfort, she summoned up a rueful smile.

  “All right, cowboy, I guess I deserved that.”

  “In spades,” he nodded. “Just what was the big idea— tryin’ to make me believe you were Mex? You think it’s funny a man should risk his neck to save you from drownin’? For all you knew, maybe I couldn’t swim worth a damn.”

  “You’re a strong swimmer,” she countered.

  “You, too,” he grunted.

  “Maybe I was embarrassed,” she suggested, “having you find me that way. If you talked about seeing Beth Baldwin in her birthday suit …”

  “That,” he sourly assured her, “ain’t somethin’ I’d gab about.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t Mr. Valentine.” She became serious now. “And I’ll be honest with you. I was just amusing myself. I fooled those amorous cowhands into thinking I was Mexican. I wanted to see if I could fool you, too. It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t necessary either—and I apologize for it.”

  He was taken aback somewhat. The apology was spontaneous and genuine, he realized.

  “All right,” he grunted. “Long as you’re apologizin’, I’ll apologize, too. Beatin’ a woman is somethin’ I scarce ever do.”

  “Friends?” She showed him a roguish smile, offered her hand.

  “If that’s how you want it.” He rose up, held her hand a moment. Her touch was warm and confident.

  “We’ll be friends,” he nodded. “But friends don’t have any secrets from each other—huh, Miss Beth?”

  “Just call me Beth,” she offered.

  He resumed his seat. She joined him on the sofa, eyed him enquiringly.

  “Larry,” he told her. “And the long hombre is my sidekick, name of Stretch Emerson.” He took time, now, to note the expensive appointments of this room. “Mighty fine place you got here. I guess you’re well heeled—and that makes me wonder why you’d do such a fool thing. I mean, riggin’ yourself in Mex duds, totin’ a fish-pole ...”

  “The fish-pole wasn’t part of the disguise,” she assured him. “I really do catch fish. If you don’t believe me, check the kitchen. Three fine cod out there, for tonight’s supper. What’s more, I hunt deer in the mountains every so often. It happens I’m a fair shot, Larry.”

  “That’s handy,” he commented.

  And he was casual, so nonchalant as to suggest that there was nothing unusual in his meeting a banker�
��s daughter who could hunt, fish and ride like a man. The humor of the situation started her laughing again. Then, when her mirth subsided, she talked at some length of her life in Horton.

  “Is it so wrong that I should enjoy fishing and shooting? Dad calls me a rebel. Is that what you think of me, Larry? Confidentially, my morals are as sound as any other Horton woman. But I have a sense of humor and a hunger for excitement. I thought it would be amusing to pretend I was Mexican and, for awhile, it was amusing.”

  “If it gives you any satisfaction …” He grinned wryly, “… you sure had me fooled.”

  “My father,” she recalled, “warned me about men like you. You and your friend. He called you drifters—saddle-tramps. Has he done you an injustice?”

  “When a drifter has money in his pockets,” shrugged Larry, “he’s no saddletramp.”

  “But you are a drifter?” she challenged. “You just—roam anywhere you please, doing as you wish?”

  “That’s about it,” he admitted.

  She heaved a wistful sigh.

  “How I envy you, Larry! It must be wonderful—to be free. To be absolutely free.” A new thought struck her then. “How can you bear to stay in Horton? It’s such a humdrum town, full of humdrum people, high-minded bigots always bragging of their progressive spirit. Progressive? They don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “At the start,” he told her, “we only figured to hang around awhile, catch up on our rest. Didn’t have any special chore in mind—until we ran into Annie Stogie.”

  “Ah!” She nodded knowingly “So you’ve met our famous hermit, the wild lady of the hills?”

  “How do you feel about her?” he asked.

  “I refuse to conform,” said Beth. “Ninety per cent of Horton folk despise Annie Stogie—so I admire her. Yes, admire and envy her. She too is a rebel.”

  “She’s one mighty sad lady,” frowned Larry. “I had a yen to do somethin’ for her, you know? Had it all figured out. But now it looks like I’m gonna let her down, and that’s somethin’ I’d hate to do.”

  “Is it a secret?” she asked. “No? Tell me about it then.”

  And so he told her the whole story of his meeting with Annie, his subsequent visit to her cabin and his promise to introduce her to the governor. She hung on his every word, unable to suppress her mirth when he recounted his abortive interview with the austere Miss Cotterell.

  “Trouble with me,” he lamented, “I was high on Annie’s moonshine. I should’ve stopped to think it out. I made a promise—and I can’t deliver.”

  “But it isn’t such an impossible scheme,” she opined. “Annie could still have her ball-gown—and you could take her to the ball.”

  “Tell me how,” he challenged.

  “Cora Cotterell is no problem,” she declared. “A few words from me, and she’ll do as you ask.”

  “Just like that?” he blinked.

  “I guarantee it,” she smiled. “It happens I’m one of her best customers. I wouldn’t hesitate to threaten the old biddy, and you may be sure she wouldn’t risk losing my patronage.”

  “Hey, now!” he breathed.

  “So much for that problem.” She snapped her fingers. “As for the ball—well—a lady can’t attend without an escort. Let’s make it a foursome. You and your friend could meet me outside the Cattleman’s Association Office at twenty to eight. We’ll go to City Hall and, when Annie arrives ...”

  “We all go in together.” He nodded eagerly. “That’d be just fine.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” she chuckled, “if we’re halfway to the official table before anybody recognizes Annie. And then you’ll go ahead and introduce her to the governor, and ...” She broke off, frowning at him. “Can you really manage it? You said the governor was a personal friend of yours. You wouldn’t fool me, would you, Larry?”

  “I’ll be doggoned,” he growled, “if I savvy why it’s so hard for folks to believe. I told you, didn’t I? We saved his life once, pulled him out of an almighty fix. He’s a square hombre with a long memory, and you can bet he hasn’t forgotten us.”

  “You plan on seeing him in private after he arrives?” she prodded.

  “That’s it,” he nodded. “We’ll explain to him the whole score, and, when we walk Annie into City Hall, he’ll be ready for her.”

  He got to his feet, and reached for his hat. Humbly, he told her, “We’re sure obliged to you.”

  “My pleasure,” she assured him, as she rose up and slid an arm through his. “When Annie rides in tomorrow morning, we’ll meet her and take her to the Bon Ton.”

  “One other thing I have to tell you,” he remembered. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  “That,” she commented, “sounds interesting.”

  “Jarvis—that sassy deputy,” he explained, “is draggin’ the creek for you. The three waddies that braced you have hightailed it out of the county, thinkin’ they’ll be wanted for murder. They spilled to their boss. He told it to the sheriff.”

  “Good grief!” she gasped.

  “It won’t do Jarvis any harm,” he suggested, “to stay busy awhile.”

  “So we leave it at that?” she chuckled.

  “Why not?” he grinned.

  In the hallway, they paused to listen to the sounds issuing from the kitchen—high, strident sounds that drew a shocked gasp from Beth.

  “That—that’s Maggie’s voice!”

  “Uh-huh,” he grunted.

  “But—Maggie never sang before!”

  Stretch came loafing into the hall, his grin as guileless as ever.

  “We goin’ now?” he asked Larry.

  “Sure enough,” nodded Larry. “And say ‘howdy’ to Miss Beth.”

  “Howdy, Miss Beth.” Stretch doffed his Stetson, eyed his partner curiously. “Ain’t you mad at her anymore?”

  “Not anymore,” said Larry. “And we can quit frettin’ about a ball-gown for Annie. Everything’s gonna work out fine, on account of Beth aims to help us out.”

  “Bueno,” grinned Stretch.

  Maggie’s voice increased in volume, soaring to a high note and holding it. Larry recognised the song.

  “Macushla,” he frowned.

  “Purty, huh?” Stretch nodded reassuringly to the bemused Beth. “You don’t need to fret about Maggie. She’s feelin’ no pain.”

  “What in tarnation happened to her?” Larry demanded.

  “I was lookin’ around for something to rouse her,” explained the taller Texan. “Ammonia. Somethin’ to snap her outa that faint, you know? Couldn’t find nothin’, so I fed her a shot of this here ...” He slid the flat bottle from his hip pocket and exhibited it for their inspection. “After that, she woke up fast—and she’s been singin’ ever since.”

  Chapter Six

  Cash Sale

  Punctually at ten o’clock next morning, an open wagon rumbled into Horton’s main street, and the locals viewed the driver with keen disfavor. Here and there, a few rowdies called jeering greetings. But, today, Annie Stogie was determined to keep her temper. She wore her Sunday best, a sober black gown that had seen better days. Her poke-bonnet was devoid of floral decoration, and she was resolutely sedate—at least outwardly so.

  Towards the Blue Belle she guided her plodding team, never sparing a glance for the curious locals. Her new friends were on hand, standing on the boardwalk some fifteen yards from the saloon entrance. With the Texans, Annie saw and wondered about the regal beauty in the crisp summer gown. Who was that uncommonly good-looking girl?

  She halted her team and eyed them expectantly. Larry came to the edge of the boardwalk and muttered a brief explanation.

  “This here’s Miss Beth Baldwin, Annie. She offered to lend a hand.”

  “Right neighborly of her,” Annie acknowledged. “But I still say they’ll never let me inside that fancy emporium.”

  “That’s why Beth bought in,” Larry told her. “If Miss Cora turns leery, Beth is gonna lean on her—you know what I mean?
Don’t you fret, Annie. Just leave everything to Beth.”

  “Boost me,” Beth briskly ordered him.

  He boosted her up to the seat. She perched beside Annie, patted her shoulder comfortingly.

  “Drive on, Mrs. Stogie. First stop the Bon Ton—and you have nothing to worry about.”

  Soon the wagon was stalled outside the Bon Ton. The Texans helped the women to the boardwalk. Beth furled her parasol, smiled encouragingly at the still-nervous Annie, winked at Larry and said:

  “Shall we go in?”

  “Let’s just do that,” grinned Stretch.

  Beth sauntered gracefully into the store, escorted by Stretch. The stout Cora emerged from behind the counter and gaped incredulously as Larry moved in with Annie. Then, rallying quickly, she began a vehement protest.

  “How dare you? This is an outrage ...!”

  “Good morning, Cora,” smiled Beth.

  “Miss Baldwin ...” Cora gestured helplessly, “I just don't understand ...!”

  “My good friend Mrs. Stogie,” Beth calmly explained, “requires a new gown for tomorrow’s function. Something white, I think. White satin.”

  “Really ...!” began Cora.

  “Or would you prefer that we take our friend to some other establishment?” Beth’s eyes gleamed in challenge. “May I remind you, Cora, that competition is keen among the ladies’ salons of Horton?” She rapped on the counter with her parasol. “Well, Cora?”

  “You expect me to—wait upon this ...?” blinked Cora.

  “To wait upon this lady,” said Beth, “and with the same courtesy you would extend any other cash customer. Don’t be stubborn, Cora. Unless you’re reasonable about this, I’ll patronize some other emporium—permanently.”

  “I do value your custom, Miss Baldwin,” Cora hastened to assure her. “But really ...”

  “Then it’s settled,” smiled Beth. “And now, if you please, shall we make a selection?”

  “Whatever you say, Miss Baldwin.” The bulky proprietress darted a glance at Annie, heaved a sigh of resignation and, at last, got down to business. “White satin would be appropriate, I believe ...”

  “Gentlemen ...” Beth nodded graciously to the drifters, “would you prefer to wait outside?”