Dodge City

by Randy D. Smith

"Working in the kitchen! I send ya to the best whore house in Dodge City, which means it's probably the best whore house in the world, and you spend most a yer time in the kitchen! Son, I am a disappointed man! What a waste!"

  Stub Moore stepped into the room and gave Burton a harsh look. “Have you been paid yet?”

  Burton shrugged his shoulders.

  Moore waved off Burton as an incompetent and hobbled up to McKnight. "Abe, are we going to settle up, now?"

  "Stub! Have yerself a drink!” McKnight said as he filled a glass.

  "No, you don't, McKnight. I know what it's like when you get like this. I want my money first and the drinks second!"

  "Why, Stubby ole pal. Don't ya trust me?"

  "It ain't a matter a trust, McKnight. I just want to get my money before the whore's do. What with Collier gone, I just as soon be paid up front."

  "Where is Mr. Collier?” Anson asked. “Didn't he come in with you?"

  McKnight poured another glass and downed it. "Spud, the last time I saw Collier, he was a riding straight into the middle a nowhere, a claimin' he was a goin' after the giant! Completely lost his marbles out there this time! The best pardner a man ever had and he jus' off and quits on ya."

  Anson turned to Moore. "What happened? Is he hurt?"

  Moore smiled. "Naw, Collier's just had enough. I wouldn't worry bout him, lad. My guess is he'll show up by and by. I just want my money before McKnight drinks and whores it all up!"

  McKnight took the check out of his pocket and slammed it on the bar. "Big Sally, would you cash this yer check and give these fellers what they claim they're due? Take the rest and put it on my account."

  Stub and Bugs were more than eager to start figuring what was due them.

  No one noticed when Collier entered the building carrying his heavily laden saddle bags. Rather than disturb McKnight, Collier went straight to Anson who was sitting alone at a table. Anson started to get up when he saw Collier approaching but was waved back in his chair. Collier walked to the table, placed the saddle bags on a chair, and shook his hand. "How are you doing?"

  "I'm doing just fine, Mr. Collier. It's good to see you. I was afraid you might be in some sort of trouble."

  Collier motioned for the barkeep to take his order. "What are you drinking, Anson?"

  "Oh, I don't know, Mr. Collier. I guess I'll have whatever you're having."

  The barkeep came up to the table with a towel slung over his shoulder.

  "I guess we'll have a couple of beers," Collier said. He looked down at the boy's leg. "How are you getting along?"

  "Fine, the doc says I will be off the crutch in about a few months. Where's Tobe?"

  "Nobody told you?"

  "No, sir. I figured he was with you."

  Collier put coins on the table to pay for the beers. "Tobe is dead. So is Axoll Mapes."

  "What happened?"

  "They were killed by Cheyenne."

  Anson stared at his beer. "I hope they didn't suffer too much."

  "I don't think that they did. It was pretty quick for both of them."

  "I liked Tobe. He was a pretty good ole boy."

  "He was a fine man, Anson. A fine man.” He lifted his beer. “Here’s to a Tobe.”

  McKnight and Big Sally began a chorus of bawdy bar songs at the bar. The enthusiasm was grand but the talent woefully lacking. Anson shook his head. “Mr. McKnight doesn’t act like he’s sorry at all about Tobe and Axoll.”

  “McKnight lives only for today. He thought a lot of both men but time passes quickly for him.” As McKnight and Big Sally broke into a fresh chorus, Collier rose from his chair. “I don't think this is a very good place to talk. I need a bath and a change of clothes. McKnight and the boys may not be able to wait but I can."

  Anson smiled and nodded as he watched McKnight lift Big Sally to the bar. "How does he do that? She must weigh at least three hundred pounds!"

  "Well, son," Collier smiled as he rose from his chair and picked up the saddle bags, "I think you'll find that when it comes to whores and drinking, Abraham McKnight is capable of superhuman accomplishments."

  As they made their way toward the door the stranger from Abilene entered. He recognized Collier, stiffened, but let him pass in peace.

  As they left the building, Anson turned for a second look. "Say, wasn't that the fellow at the cafe in Abilene?"

  "Yeah, that was the feller."

  "He didn't act like he liked you very much."

  "No, he didn't," Collier smiled. "Sorta acted like he had something up his nose, didn't he?"

  "Yeah, I guess he did." He noticed Collier shifting the heavy saddle bags higher on his shoulder.

  "You act like them saddle bags are pretty heavy."

  "Oh, I don't mind the weight. I don't mind the weight at all."

  They made their way toward the Dodge House Hotel. The rain was letting up and it appeared as though it might be a pleasant evening after all.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Collier was dressed his dark business suit, carrying his saddle bags when he came down the stairs after his bath. He joined Anson, stepped to the hotel front desk and asked the clerk if he could use the safe. The clerk, a small man in spectacles, said Collier was more than welcome and offered to take the saddle bags. Collier said he would prefer to place the bags in the safe himself. The clerk nodded and turned to open a small black safe behind the front desk. Collier set hot wax from a burning candle along the flaps of the bags. He carefully placed the bags in the open safe. He stood and eyed the clerk. "Any of that wax looks disturbed when I return, they'll be hell to pay. Do you understand?"

  The clerk nodded, closed the safe door, and nervously wrote out a receipt. Collier folded it and slide the paper into his vest pocket. He winked at Anson and smiled. "Ticket to paradise."

  "Ticket to paradise?" Anson asked.

  Collier stopped at the front door and waited. "You gonna stand there catching flies in your mouth, or are we gonna eat?"

  "Oh, let's eat."

  "I figured that would get your attention. As I remember, you're fond of steak and potatoes."

  "Yes, sir! Steak and potatoes will be just fine!"

  As they stepped out on the board walk of the hotel, Collier added, "And a big cigar to finish off the meal."

  Anson shrugged. "I think I'll pass on the cigar."

  Collier laughed and put his arm around the young man's shoulder. "Me too, my friend, me too."

  They were working their way down Front Street when they noticed several men rushing into the entrance of the Alhambra. Collier shook his head. "I hope McKnight didn't get carried away again. The last time he did it cost us thirty dollars for broken furniture."

  Bugs Burton rushed out the door and almost ran headlong into Collier and Anson. His face was pale and his expression fearful. He looked at Collier anxiously. "It's Abe, Mr. Collier, he's been shot."

  Collier shoved past Burton and rushed for the door. Anson followed as best he could. As Anson came through the doors, he noticed a crowd of men gathered around a table in the corner of the room. Collier was pushing his way through and Anson followed. Against the wall was a toppled chair with McKnight lying on his back staring at the ceiling. Big Sally was on her knees beside him weeping. McKnight had a hole in his chest and a pool of blood was forming under his back. Collier knelt and placed his hand on McKnight’s shoulder. McKnight turned his head and smiled as best he could. "Kinda made a mess a things, pardner."

  "Take it easy. We'll get you some help."

  "I think it's a little late for that." He coughed blood.

  "Hold on, Abe, hold on."

  McKnight smiled. "Ya know, there's only one thing that bothers me about this."

  "What's that, Abe?"

  “All them whores and no one ta take care a them." He closed his eyes and died.

  Through his tears, Anson watched Collier pat his friend on the shoulder and shake his head. "Abraham," Collier whispered. He reached to the floor and picked up McKnight's revolve
r. He pulled the hammer to halfcock and spun the cylinder. He stood and turned to Stub Moore. "What happened?"

  Moore gulped and answered clumsily. "He got in this card game with this gambler feller. He started losing heavily then suddenly he accused the gambler feller a using marked cards. The gambler feller said 'prove it' and McKnight went for his gun. I never saw anything like it! Abe was shot before he cleared leather. That feller had a pistol in a shoulder holster and he's slicker than greased owl shit!

  Collier stepped to the card table. "Where's the cards, now?"

  A man in the crowd answered. "The gambler put them in his vest pocket when he left."

  "Where did he go?"

  Another crowd member answered. "I saw him heading for the Dodge House."

  Collier started for the door. Anson stepped in front of him. "Please, Mr. Collier, you heard what Stub said. You're no gunfighter. Please, don't!"

  Collier stared at him and cleared his anger. "You're right, Anson." He turned to Moore. "Where's McKnight's Springfield?"

  Moore pointed at the bar. "He left it with the barkeep."

  Collier stepped back to McKnight's body and took five cartridges from his belt. He looked up at Moore. "Get it!"

  Moore retrieved the Springfield from the bartender who was more than happy to comply. He tossed the rifle to Collier who caught it easily and stepped for the door. As he passed Anson, Collier spoke quietly. "You coming?"

  "But I thought....."

  "If you're coming, I'd like to have you," Collier said.

  Anson joined Collier as he left the building.

  Moore rushed to the door and called, "Don't do it! He's too fast for you! The boy was right! You won't have a chance!"

  Collier walked so quickly that Anson struggled to keep pace. He watched as Collier flipped up the door of the Springfield and placed a cartridge in the chamber. He slammed the breech closed and made his way down the board walk.

  Anson looked up the street. He could barely make out the form of the gambler as he was turning to go in the hotel. "There he is, Mr. Collier. He’s that fellow from Abilene. He just went into the hotel."

  "I know. We've got to get to him before he makes it to his room." As they neared the hotel, Collier stopped and handed the Springfield to Anson and placed the other four cartridges in his shirt pocket. He pointed at a small meat shop across the street with a bench on the board walk in front. "Take a position over there, Anson. If the gambler comes out of that hotel door before I do, kill him!"

  Anson blinked. "Yes, sir, I will."

  Collier smiled. "I know you will, Anson. That's why you're here." He took the receipt from his vest pocket and stuffed it in Anson's other pocket. "If I don't make it, make sure those saddle bags get back to Mrs. Collier, and, tell her I loved her. Tell her I was thinking of her at the end."

  Anson nodded. His hands were trembling.

  Collier placed his hand on Anson's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "Don't call out. Don't warn him. Don't even think about giving him a fair chance. Aim that Springfield at his chest and blow him to pieces. If he’s killed both me and McKnight then he's too good for you and doesn't deserve a chance. This is a hard lesson you'll have to learn, son, but honor and glory mean nothing when your life is on the line, especially out here."

  Anson blinked and nodded. "Yes, sir."

  Collier smiled and shook his shoulder. "Go!"

  Balancing both the rifle and crutch, Anson quickly fought his way through the mud of the street. He sat on the bench and looked across the street to see Collier waiting for him to get into position. As Collier entered the hotel, Anson cocked the heavy hammer of the Springfield and waited. He licked his lips. They were dry and he wished for a drink of water.

  The gambler was halfway up the front stairs when Collier entered the lobby. Collier adjusted McKnight's revolver. He checked to see that the revolver would not hang up on his pants when he drew. He stepped into the middle of the lobby where he had a clear shot. "Hold it! I want to talk to you!"

  The gambler stopped and turned. He leaned on the railing of the steps. He had a smirking expression on his face. "What do you want?" he asked sullenly.

  Collier pointed at the gambler's vest pocket. "I mean to see them cards in your vest."

  The gambler straightened and started down the stairs slowly. "You'll see em in hell!"

  Collier straightened and raised his right hand slowly toward his revolver. “I'll be a sharing the view with you."

  The hotel clerk lifted a double barreled shotgun from behind the front desk. "If you fellows mean to make a fight, take it outside. By God, I won't have you shooting up my lobby!"

  Collier stepped back toward the wall and motioned for the gambler to come on down the stairs. "I'll see you on the street."

  A wicked smile grew on the gambler's face as he came down the steps.

  As he started out the door, Collier spoke. "Hold it! I almost forgot."

  The gambler stopped and gave Collier a puzzled look.

  Collier went to the door and called out. "Don't shoot, Anson! We're taking this fight outside! It's alright! Don't shoot!"

  The gambler puffed up and blustered at Collier. "Sonofabitch! You meant to have me ambushed!"

  "No one kills my pardner and lives to brag about it. You just bought yourself a ticket to hell....cards or no cards!"

  The gambler spit on the floor at Collier's feet. "The hell with you!"

  Collier smiled. "I'll serve tea to ya on Sundays."

  The gambler stepped out on the board walk and made his way toward the street with Collier following, drawing his revolver. The gambler walked with his back toward Collier and made his way through the mud into the center. Collier waited on the board walk for the gambler to get into position.

  With his left hand the gambler cleared back his coat to expose a small Smith & Wesson revolver resting in a cross draw shoulder holster. "You took me by surprise back in Abilene. You won't be so lucky this time."

  Collier cocked McKnight's revolver. "I wouldn't be too sure of that, asshole!"

  The gambler spun on his heels, drawing the Smith & Wesson. The pistol had cleared the gambler's jacket when Collier fired a bullet into his chest. The force of the ball spun him on around to face away from Collier. The gambler took a long breath and collapsed face down into the mud. Collier kept his revolver on the gambler as he approached the body. He watched the Smith & Wesson, still in the gambler's hand slowly sinking in the mud. He put his boot on the hand and pushed it into the mud. He flipped the body over on its back and drew the deck of cards from the vest.

  "Drop that gun!" A portly man with a marshal's badge and a long handle bar moustache pointed his revolver. "I don't know what's going on here, but I mean to find out! Now, drop that gun!"

  A crowd had gathered around. An older man rushed up to the marshal. "I saw it all, Marshal! It were a fair fight! That feller in the mud had himself a good chance!"

  The marshal listened then motioned to the cards in Collier's hand. "What ya got there?"

  Collier dropped his revolver. "Marked cards. At least that's what I figure em to be."

  The marshal held out his hand to receive them. "For your sake, they better be. We don't hold with gunfights for no good reason here in Dodge."

  Collier stepped to the marshal and handed him the cards. The marshal took them and looked back at Collier. "You know marked cards when ya see em?"

  "No, I don't."

  The marshal gave Collier a knowing look. "But you ended a man's life to see em."

  "And for killing my friend," Collier replied.

  "If these cards ain't marked, that may not be good enough. I saw that fight, too. You kind a took advantage a that feller."

  Collier shrugged. "His advantage or mine. I needed some even odds."

  The marshal smiled. "Yeah, I figured that." He looked around at the faces in the crowd. "Where's Doc?"

  "He ain't come down from his room yet. It's still a little early," the hotel clerk said.


  The marshal started for the hotel door. He took hold of Collier's arm. "Well, let's get him. He'll be the judge of this."

  The marshal, Collier, Anson, and thirty other men forced their way into the lobby of the Dodge House Hotel. "Get Doc down here," the marshal ordered.

  "Immediately," the clerk replied as he rushed up the stairs.

  A few moments later a small man with a sallow, pale complexion and a large moustache made his way down the stairs. He adjusted his coat and stepped to the marshal and Collier. "You want to see me, Tom?"

  "Yeah, check out this deck a cards for me, will ya, Doc?"

  The small man carefully worked his fingers through the deck and examined the backs. He drew a card and without looking, placed it face down on the table. "Ace." He turned the card over and the Ace of Hearts came into view. Another card was placed face down. "King." He turned the King of Diamonds. "It's a good job. He was a pro. But, the man was a card sharp. Probably just as well this fellow killed him before I did."

  The marshal turned toward Collier. "You can go. Doc Holiday's word is good enough for me." He turned to the crowd." I find this fellow not guilty on account of that hombre was a card sharp and needed killing."

  The crowd cheered and having seen frontier justice served, started out of the building amid conversation and satisfactory comment.

  Anson hobbled to Collier and smiled. "It's over, Mr. Collier."

  "That part is. Let's see to McKnight."

  CHAPTER XXIV

  A small crowd of mourners gathered on the windswept heights of Boot Hill. Representatives of Wright and Rath, local hunters who were able to attend, what was left of Collier and McKnight's crew, a few citizens, and Big Sally's soiled doves gathered for the burial of Abraham McKnight. It was a solemn proceeding but there wasn't a great deal of weeping or hand wringing. No one was particularly surprised McKnight had met such a tragic end, especially considering his character and the lifestyle he had chosen.

  It wasn't just the flame red dress and hat profusely decorated with pink ostrich feathers that caused attention to center on Big Sally; nor the fact that her dress seemed two sizes too small around her breasts and posterior, that created some concern. It wasn't the fact she was just a bit sharp and a tad loud during the hymns. The weeping during the minister' sermon did seem a bit much, especially when it was a whore who was shouting all the "Amens" at the appropriate times. It was rather the combination of all that made Sally the most memorable character of the burial. McKnight would have loved it all just as he loved the woman. She was big, loud, offensive, and beautiful all at the same time. She was, at least for the moment, McKnight's woman and everything he loved about her.