Wild Boys: Six Shooters and Fangs

by catt dahman

  Paris had the money, so he had a hot bath ordered up to his room and shaved meticulously. Then a barber came up to trim his hair for which he received a fat tip.

  Tell whistled. “Ain't you a dandy? You looking for a whore?”

  “I don’t dress this fine for whores, just for games.” Paris started down the stairs and froze. There stood Perry Creek. Eyes narrowing into slits and anger rising, Paris bolted down the stairs, his boot heels clicking on the floorboards. He walked right up to her.

  Frannie sat on a little sofa in the lobby where she had been composing a letter to Doc Holliday. Paris was right over her, so she stood and looked up at him.

  “Mrs. Fallon.“ He tipped his hat.

  “Hello. This is a surprise.” She smiled thinly at him. “I didn't expect to see you.”

  Paris turned his fury on Perry Creek. “Why in the hell are you in Steins with my wife?

  “Doc sent for her; you know how stubborn she is.” Perry was calm. “She said if I didn’t come with her by horse, she'd come alone out here. Now, I sure didn't want to face you and Bat and Doc if I let her do that.”

  “Was that smart?" Paris demanded of Frannie.

  “Stop talking around me," she ordered, "Perry, go somewhere else."

  Paris exploded. "Francis, you can't go around like this; it ain't safe."

  “I had to get to Tombstone some way. You left me in a strange town and told me to get a divorce."

  “You could have gone back to the ranch where you belong."

  Green eyes went deeper. "That would have been easy for you. You married me out of some distorted sense of honor, and you thought you'd get a son in the bargain to raise up to be a killer like you, and when my baby died…." She broke off at the sight of Paris' rage.

  She cursed every bit of feelings she had for him. He didn't love her, but Doc did, so why not go to a man who loved her? She hated the knots that formed in her stomach each time she spoke to him.

  Frannie’s eyes filled with tears.

  "It's my fault you lost the baby," he said softly. “These men got back at me through you. I’m sorry."

  She looked away from him and settled her eyes on her bags; Paris reached down and picked them up. “I’ll take these to your room.” She followed him up the stairs.

  In her room, Paris asked about Doc.

  She smiled and said, “The dry air is helping him.”

  “He can't ever be totally well.” It pained Paris to say it to her.

  “He’s wasted too much time.”

  Paris rubbed his temple. "He’s livin' for you.”

  “Are you going to Tombstone?”

  “Frannie, how will it look? You, my wife, shacked up with my best friend? Tell me, how would that work?" He asked with a sigh. "Until we're divorced, you're my wife. You don’t have to use my name, but you can't legally be his wife.”

  “I’ve been going by Francis Fallon. I know good and damned well I am married to you.”

  “That would be confusing in Tombstone.”

  She didn't know what to say to him. "What shall I call myself, Paris? I don't want to embarrass you. I simply wanted to see Doc and tell him about the baby so he knows. That is only fair. I want to tell him, that is all.”

  ”That's all, huh? Since when? Since you began this journey to be with your lover who just happens to be my best friend.” His voice dripped with venom. “Because this situation is what it is, that's the only reason I don’t kill him or stop you from going to him. I won’t be shamed by my wife.”

  Anger hit her like a wave. “I am sorry we were ever wedded since I shame you.”

  “Cheer up, maybe one of the men I’m tracking will kill me and leave you a widow, a very, very rich widow, in fact. I think we’ll hit the trail early and hasten your widowhood along a little, if you are very lucky.” He tipped his hat and was gone.

  It hadn't dawned on her that he could die. She had heard jealousy in his voice that made her wonder, and she knew that she had to talk to him to see if there was a remote possibility of a future for them. She tried to get her thoughts together. She took a deep breath and ran to Paris' room and knocked. Maybe he had already left. She felt sick.

  When she let herself in, she found the room empty except for a shirt that was across the bed. When she held it to her face, she smelled him, masculine and strong. She cried against the cloth and wondered why she always pretended to him that she didn't care about him when in reality, she considered him to be the finest, most noble man she'd ever known. He had tried to save her father, had saved her from the ledge, had held her when she had nearly bled to death, had gone after the men who had hurt her and killed her father, and had married her to make her child legitimate. So much, and she couldn’t even let him know she cared.

  Frannie heard the floorboards squeak and looked up; Paris touched her shoulder. “Are you okay? Why are you here?”

  “You said you were leaving to go get killed.” She cried. The tender look on his face surprised her when she said it.

  “So you came here? Why? What are you doing with my shirt?” He looked perplexed.

  “I don't want you to die, Paris.” Without thought, she put her arms around him and cried against his shoulder. “I’m so selfish.”

  “I ain't gonna die, Frannie; I keep making you mad, and I make you cry.”

  “I'm tired of this. My father taught me better. Paris, I took your name, and I wear your wedding ring, and I am your wife, so I should act it. I'm going back to the ranch and wait for you to finish this posse business. When you get finished, if you want to, you can come back to the ranch.”

  “You decided that?”

  “What do you want?” she asked. “Do you want me to stop being Mrs. Fallon?"

  “The name sounds good when I hear it and say it, but it ain't real.”

  “Do you want it to be real?"

  “l can't have what I want.”

  He wanted a drink; he wanted her. Unable to stop himself, he leaned close and kissed her gently. She responded so that a passion built quickly; his desire destroyed his control. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and they stripped quickly, holding each other tightly. He tried to be gentle but couldn’t contain his feelings; he had his hands and mouth all over her. She was his wife, and they had consummated the marriage.

  After they had finished making love, he lay next to her; she was not willing to let him move away. She stroked the damp hair from the back of his neck, and he told her that he wanted to go downstairs for a couple of beers, but she wouldn’t allow him to go until he had made love to her again, which he did with pleasure. It was one of the very few times he had ever felt peace in his life.

  She was half-asleep in his bed as Paris dressed and strapped on his guns. He thought that after a couple of drinks, he might want to make love again. Damn the craving that made him not want to leave her even for a few minutes.

  Downstairs, the hotel clerk waved Paris over.

  “Mrs. Fallon left some of her things there on the table.”

  Paris scooped the writing materials up and could not help but see the letter she had been writing to Doc. He didn’t read it.

  It was always Doc.

  His face was blank, his eyes dark and hard as he went upstairs. Had Frannie or anyone else seen him then, he would have seen the emotion he kept the most closely guarded, hurt, and pain so deep that his soul was mirrored in his eyes. It was what she would never see.

  He slipped quietly into the room.

  Chapter 20

  Her Name is Rio

  John Peters Ringo made a name for himself at an early age and then again in the HooDoo wars which were the most brutal range wars ever to be fought, and then as a gambling gunfighter for hire. He didn't deny it. He liked having a well-known name. He had enjoyed teaching the kid in Bent Springs, Texas how to shoot, with the kid's eyes all shiny with admiration.

  Now he was riding with William Brocius, a wanted man from Texas, who went by the name Curly Bill because of his hair. T
heir latest scam was to pretend to meet in a saloon, strike up a card game, and then beat everyone at the table.

  Curly Bill had been pestering Ringo to go to Tombstone, Arizona for a while now. He would say, “There’s more whores there than anywhere else in the country, and the whiskey just pours down the street. Hell, open your mouth, open your pants, stand in the center of the street, any of them: Fourth, Allen, or Toughnut, and you'll be satisfied."

  Ringo listened with some interests. He wasn't that excited over the drink or whores, but the town did have a luring reputation. Curly Bill worked for Old Man Clanton. In fact, he mostly ran the outfits. They brought in stolen cattle from Mexico for sale. The other members in the gang were impressive, the Clanton boys, McLaurys, Billy Claiborne, Pony Deal, and others with rough reputations.

  Ringo had a very fast draw but wasn't as courageous as he was cocky. Mostly he preferred to back-shoot a man or to bluff; this crew might allow him to do either.

  “What is going on in Tombstone?"

  Curly Bill grinned and threw his wad of tobacco. “Last January, I killed the

  marshal.”

  Ringo raised an eyebrow.

  "Sure did. Didn't go to jail, either.” Curly Bill boasted. “Old Fred White got hisself elected marshal and thought he’d make us stop shootin' up the town. He wanted to tame the town.” He laughed.

  "What happened?"

  “Old geezer sent for Wyatt Earp to help him. Then, quicker than shit through a goose, all them Earp boys appeared in town, Wyatt, Virgil, Morgan, and James, along with all their women.”

  "Those Earps are such strutting peacocks,” Ringo said as he sneered.

  “Doc Holliday came with them.

  Ringo’s eyes went cold; he hated the short-tempered, pompous gambler.

  “Marshall White and Wyatt Earp cornered me on the street one night and demanded my gun. I’m never gonna give it over, so we argued. I realized that they were gonna gang up on me, and I didn't have any men with me, so I handed it over. The marshal took it by the barrel, and it went off. An accident, of course.”

  Ringo cut his eyes over at the other man.

  Curly Bill went on, “So then that son of a bitch Earp knocked his own six-shooter up aside my head. After that, all of them started beating on us with their guns, wouldn’t fight us fair but wanted to just whack us on our heads.”

  “Holliday ain't a lawman,” said Ringo.

  “He's thick with Wyatt Earp, and he fancies hisself a lawman now. He's done more killin' than us, but he’s considered to be one of the good guys,” Curly Bill spoke venomously. "Doctor Matthews worked on the marshal, but he died right after. They told everyone that I wasn't responsible."

  "That was lucky.”

  “Sheriff John Behan runs things in Tombstone, has a lot of pull.”

  “He helped you?”

  “Let's say that he gets his pockets lined by my employer.”

  “Sounds like things are fine in Tombstone.”

  “Sure are, but I ain't ever gonna forget Wyatt Earp hitting me.” He touched the back of his head with the memory. “There’s money to be had with Behan’s protection.”

  “I wouldn’t want to tangle with the Earps and Holliday,” Ringo admitted.

  “They’ll get theirs.” Curly Bill winked. “Your name oughtta stir ‘em up.”

  “I ain't nobody.”

  “Hell, you ain't. I know about the Hoodoo wars and how you rode with Cooley.”

  Scott Cooley had helped lead the American side in the range wars with Ringo backing him. When Cooley’s stepfather, Tim Williamson, was arrested and given over to the mob by Deputy Sheriff John Worhle and brutally murdered, Cooley and his close followers took revenge. They scalped the deputy before shooting him.

  James Chaney had the other two American leaders, and Ringo went for revenge and murdered the men before the eyes of their families.

  “I heard tell you killed Charlie Bader and then served time with John Wesley Hardin.”

  Ringo nodded. “You know a lot about me.”

  “I don’t ride with a man I don’t know about, and if-in I don’t know about him, I damned sure don’t offer him a job like the one l’m offerin’you. “

  “I ain't clear on the job yet. “

  “Enforcing the rights of the Cowboys, that’s all.” Curly Bill grinned. “Let me show you somethin’ I don’t think you know yourself.” He dug a coin out. He threw the coin up, and Ringo drew. The coin danced wildly when he hit it. “And you got no conscience to hold you back.”

  “I’m not that fast.”

  “You’re as fast as Buckskin Frank Leslie, Holliday, Fallon, or Kit Darling. You're as fast as Luke Short and faster than John Wesley Hardin.”

  John Ringo liked being included in that group of man-killers. “Hell, I’ll throw in. I’d like to help take some steam outta the Earps and Holliday.”

  That's how it was settled. In the next town, the two men pretended to meet in one of the barrooms. Curly Bill invited Ringo to a game of cards, but Ringo declined. However, as soon as Curly Bill had settled into a game and was acting drunk, Ringo slyly asked to be allowed to join the game.

  Curly Bill, pretending to be drunk, raised the pot, and Ringo raked in the money. The half-Mexican whore appeared out of nowhere to sit at their table, her smile white framed by red, full lips, her eyes glittering green.

  Jack Westcoat owned the saloon, and that was the only thing he hadn't yet lost. He shrugged and said, “I’m about tapped out.”

  Matt Cleary nodded and asked, “So you in or out?”

  “Let’s see your thirty bucks,” Cleary demanded.

  “Raise you thirty.” Westcoat smiled.

  “I ain't seen it,” Curly Bill announced.

  Westcoat grinned wider. “Right here it is; this is Rio.” He motioned to the pretty half-Mexican girl.

  “You can't bet a whore.”

  "Why not?”

  Ringo blinked. “You just can't wager people. What if one of us wins?”

  “Then you win her.”

  One by one the men agreed; he smiled a little at Ringo, who wondered what he would do if he won her.

  Cleary flipped over a pair of sevens with a disappointed look, and then Dick Roberts showed his two pair, Curly Bill cursed his mish mash bunch of cards and threw them down. Westcoat laughed; he had a full house.

  Ringo flipped over an eight of hearts, four threes." Four of a kind,” he whispered.

  “Ain’t possible," Westcoat yelled, “unless you cheated.” He tried to stand. Ringo

  already had his six shooter drawn.

  “Shoot or don’t, but that game was fair.”

  Westcoat re-holstered his gun. “You were right. I can't bet a whore.”

  “Huh?”

  “Let me get you your sixty dollars.” Rio’s eyes caught Ringo’s.

  Ringo shook his head and said, “l won; keep the money.”

  “I ain't givin' her up.” Westcoat reached for Rio’s wrist. She tensed.

  "Take your hand off my property,” Ringo said as he glared.

  Westcoat tried to appeal to her.” Rio, Honey, you can stay; he can't take you if you wanna stay with me. I always treated you good.”

  She spoke with her head held high. “I have a long time belonged to one man or another; I have not had my own money. It has now changed. He has won me.”

  Curly Bill was speechless.

  Westcoat looked at everyone at the table but could not find sympathy. Deep anger burned within him.

  Without a look backwards, Rio followed the men out with a saucy pony's walk. "Where are your rooms?”

  “Why? What is it I’m supposed to do with you?"

  “She's a whore, pretty clear what to do.” Curly Bill roared with laughter.

  “You don't have your own saloon?” Rio mused. “You decide; you won me.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty.” She was embarrassed to be so old. “And my last name is Parker.”

  “Park
er?”

  “My father, he was white…was a lawman. He came to my mother's home on a horse of pure white. He is handsome, and my mother, she falls in love with him. Time, it passes, and then she finds that she is with child. Her parents, they are not happy, but I am born screaming into this world. My father sees me and tells my mother that I am not much of a Marguerite Theresa.”

  She tilted her head. “He says I am twisting and moody like the Rio Grande. That is what I was called. And my father, he goes to fight for this country, and he dies. My mother, she cries. She loved this man; she says had she not gotten big with me, he would’ve stayed with her. She blames me. Then I grow up, and I am prettier than her."

  “I guess she resented you."

  Rio nodded. “She didn't like me so much. It made her angry that they all wanted me, that I was half-white and better'n her.”

  "How’d you come by this?” Ringo motioned to the entire town.

  "I found that I could make money, but then these men come and they…they forced me to do things with them, and there is such pain. Then the doctor says I cannot have children, but I don't know. My mother nurses me back to health.”

  Neither man said a word.

  “I didn't like men for a while and didn't sell myself to give money to my family. My brother who hated me because my father was white sold me to a man going to Texas. He lost me in a game, and then I was sold several times and traded once for a horse.”

  “That’s slavery.”

  She shrugged, "What else would I do? I couldn’t go home.”

  “I don’t know, but I ain't owning you. I don’t have use for you, so you're free.”

  "When I looked into your eyes, I thought this is how you might be, but you’d be out sixty dollars.”

  “I can stand to lose it.” He dug out more money and handed it to her. This will help you get started.

  “But I must repay you.”

  Ringo smiled. “Call it the only nice thing I ever did; tell them all about it over my grave. Hell, you and the boy from Bent Springs would be the only mourners at my grave.”

  “Who is this boy?”