by Ralph Cotton
The townsmen and the lawmen stood frozen in place. A stunned silence loomed as Jane looked all around. Finally Caldwell said, “Janie, what have you done?”
“What have I done?” Jane appeared indignant about the matter. “Hell, he was going for a knife, Undertaker. Had you been watching him instead of studying what these fools were about to do, you would’ve seen it.”
“A knife, your drunken lying ass, Jane,” said Broward, hurrying forward and staring down at both Parker’s and Colon’s bodies. “You’ve denied this town our rightful vengeance.”
“He was going for a knife,” Jane insisted.
As she and Broward stood fuming at each other, Sheriff Watts stepped in, reached down and jerked the knife from Parker’s boot well. “Looks like you owe her an apology, Broward,” he said, pitching the weapon at the blacksmith’s feet.
All eyes went to the knife, then to Jane. She stood glowering at Broward. “I don’t want this metal-bending monkey’s apology.” She shoved the smoking Remington down into her holster and said to Dawson with a tone of sarcasm, “Ah, hell, Marshal, don’t bother thanking me for saving your life.”
Dawson replied to her under his breath, “Parker couldn’t have raised a hand if he had to.”
“Tell them that,” Jane whispered back to him. “Maybe you can get another lynching started.”
Dawson turned to Caldwell and said quietly, “Let’s get our supplies and get out of here.” He then studied Jane skeptically. “Are you sober enough to come along with us? I’ve got a feeling you’ve worn out your welcome around here.”
“I’m sober enough to ride,” she said. She reached down onto the boardwalk beside Albert Colon’s body and picked up his battered hat and slapped it against her thigh to dust it. “I’m sober, I’ve got a gun and horse. What more does a gal like me need?”
Before she could put the floppy hat down onto her head, Raidy ran in as if from out of nowhere, handed Jane a towel and said, “Here, dry your hair first.”
“Obliged, ma’am,” said Jane. She took the towel and rubbed it back and forth roughly on her head. “It’s kind of you to think of me,” she said.
Dawson and Caldwell gave each other a look, then turned to Sheriff Watts, who had stepped in closer now that the tension had begun to relinquish its hold on the townsmen. “I want you to know these are good people here, Marshal,” he said to Dawson. “It’s not every day they lose a man like Doc Wheeler.”
“I understand, Sheriff,” said Dawson. “This was thrown upon them too suddenly. They did the best they could with it.” As he spoke he stared straight at Broward. The blacksmith lowered his head and backed away a step.
“Some of yas come with me,” said Watts to the townsmen, taking charge. “Let’s get Doc’s body out of my office and ready to bury.” He eyed the outlaws’ corpses. “A couple of yas stay here and help drag these carcasses off the street and get them underground.”
Dawson and Caldwell watched as Jane walked away to a hitch rail, where one of the townsmen had gathered the outlaws’ horses and secured them. Raidy followed along close to her side, one step behind her.
“What’s going on with these two?” Caldwell asked Dawson quietly.
“I don’t even want to guess,” said Dawson. “With Jane you never know what to expect. Don’t worry, she’s only with us until we catch up to Shaw. She’s his problem then.”
“I’m wondering how long that’s going to take,” said Caldwell. “There’s no telling what Shaw is up to out there, if he’s even still alive.”
“That’s what I’m determined to find out,” Dawson replied. “Shaw’s never let me down yet.”
“But he’s never had a bullet in his head,” Dawson offered.
“The bullet’s not in his head,” Dawson said with the trace of a wry grin. “You heard the doctor—his head’s just split open and badly bruised. His brain is badly bruised, the doctor says.”
“Damn,” said Caldwell, “what a shape for a gunman like Shaw to be in. For all we know, he’s wandering around not knowing his own name.”
“One more reason for us to find him as quick as we can,” said Dawson.
Chapter 9
For three days Lawrence Shaw had ridden with Dexter Lowe and his men across the border into the badland hills of Mexico. He had been awake and aware, yet, in reflection, everything around him had seemed to come and go as if he were watching someone play out his life on a poorly lit stage. He thought about his condition as he gazed out across a line of jagged hilltops.
He realized that his thinking was not back to where it should be, not yet. But as long as he was the only one who knew it, he would be all right. He still had a job to do, he told himself, pulling his speckled barb back from the edge of a cliff and turning it toward the trail as the other riders filed past him.
“Hey, you,” said Sonny Lloyd Sheer, pulling his horse over to Shaw. “What’re you doing breaking ranks?”
Shaw stared at him, unable to put any words together quick enough to respond. A bad sign . . . , he thought.
“Well,” said Sonny, “are you with us, or are you going to sit here and take in the scenery?”
Hearing Sonny, the other men reined down and sat watching. “Breaking ranks?” New York Joe Toledo said with a bemused look. “This ain’t the army. What’s got your bark on so tight, Sonny?” As he spoke he eased his horse a step nearer to Shaw and Sonny. “The man’s carrying a head wound, for crying out loud.” Beside Toledo, Tuesday Bonhart nodded in agreement.
“Stay out of this, Toledo,” Sonny snapped. “My job is to keep everybody close together ’til Dex gets back from meeting with Corio. You want to face him this evening, tell him you don’t know where everybody is?”
“No,” Toledo replied, “but it ain’t like anybody’s rode away. The man’s got a head wound, he stopped for a minute. It’s nothing to get yourself riled over.”
“I’m not riled,” said Sheer. He grinned and stared at Shaw. “You would not want to see me riled, drifter. It wouldn’t be a pretty sight.”
Shaw made no response, but his senses had piqued at hearing Sonny’s words regarding Madden Corio. Lowe had left sometime during the night without even taking the whore, Tuesday Bonhart, with him. So that was it—he’d gone off somewhere to meet with Corio. Good. . . . Things were in motion for the big job the men had spoken of. Sit tight . . . , he advised himself.
Dan Sax eased his horse over beside Toledo’s and said under his breath, “Easy, Joe, this drifter can take care of himself. We’ve all seen that.”
Toledo knew that Dan Sax was right. Without another word, he backed his horse a step and sat watching quietly while the young whore cut away from beside him and rode over closer to Shaw and Sheer. Shaw sat with a blank stare on his face as if he’d suddenly traveled a thousand miles away.
“Get away from here, Sonny, and stop talking tough just because Dex left you in charge.”
“I don’t get away from here until this one gets back in line like everybody else,” Sheer said.
“Can’t you see he’s not feeling good, Sonny?” said Tuesday, reaching out and placing her hand flat on Shaw’s bandaged-wrapped forehead. “What’s wrong, Mister? Is your head hurting?” she asked with childlike sympathy.
Shaw only stared, wanting to speak but unable to get himself started.
“He’s turned idiot on us, if you ask me,” said Sheer, seeing nothing threatening in the ragged drifter’s demeanor.
“Nobody is asking you,” Tuesday said with frosty authority in her voice. “Now go away. Him and I will ride along behind the rest of yas.”
“Who the hell are you, telling me what to do?” Sheer asked. “I’m the one who leads this outfit ’til Dex gets back!”
“Yeah . . . ?” Tuesday shot back at him. “And I’m the one who sleeps with him when he does get back. Do you want to see which one of us counts the most?” She didn’t wait for Sheer to reply. “Now get moving. I’m looking after this one.”
Watching Sh
eer jerk his horse around and ride away, Joe Toledo said to Dan Sax, “Damn it, Dex told me to look after her. I expect I best go pull her away from there. He’s known to get killing jealous of his women-folk.”
“Naw, let it alone, Joe,” Dan Sax said. “It might be interesting to see how jealous Dex gets with a man this fast with a gun.” He gave Toledo a sly grin.
“Yeah, come to think of it, Dex has been awfully agreeable with this gunman. It might be fun seeing how worked up he gets over this little whore.”
Sitting close to Shaw on her horse, Tuesday shook him by his forearm and said, “Hey, mystery man, can you hear me in there?”
Shaw heard her, but her voice sounded distant and halting. He saw her, but she came in and out of focus against a harsh backdrop of glinting sunlight. He tried to speak again, but with great effort only managed to say unsteadily, “I do. . . .”
“Good, because I want you to listen to me,” Tuesday said, lowering her voice even though the riders had begun to move off along the trail. “I know who you are. You’re Fast Larry Shaw. You ride with Marshal Crayton Dawson and his deputy Caldwell, the Undertaker. ”
“Not anymore,” Shaw said, his own voice sounding weak and distant to him.
“Whether you do or not makes me no difference,” said Tuesday. “I’m in this for what I can get out of it. Do you understand me?” She eyed him with scrutiny, seeing the blankness about him. “If you do, just nod your head.”
Shaw nodded his head, but he also answered, coming around now that he had to focus on his job, and on staying alive. “I understand, ma’am,” he said.
“Good,” said Tuesday, her voice even lower and more guarded. “I’ll keep who you are a secret, but only if you promise not to mess up anything I’ve got going for myself. Deal?”
Shaw didn’t answer. For just a second as she’d spoken, he’d had a hard time comprehending anything she’d said. In that same second he had lost all memory of what had happened to him or what he was doing here. Then it all came rushing back to him. “What is it you’ve got going for yourself?” he asked, hoping she had no way of noticing that his mind had gone temporarily blank.
She stared at him for a moment, then said, “As soon as this is over, Dex and I are clearing out. Far as we’ll be concerned, the law can track down this bunch and Madden Corio’s gang and do whatever they want with them.”
“After what is over?” Shaw asked, working hard at keeping his mind clear and sharp and able to grasp the conversation.
She hesitated. “Well, I’m not sure what we’re going to be doing. Corio is playing things awfully tight-lipped. But Dex is meeting with him today and finding out. Whatever it is, it’s going to big, as many men as Corio is bringing in on it.”
“I hope so,” said Shaw, playing his role as outlaw. “I can use the money.”
Tuesday cocked her head slightly. “I’ll be finding out about it as soon as he gets back. Maybe you and me can keep one another informed on things.” She gave a grin. “I always liked you.”
“You did?” Shaw asked, not understanding what she was implying right away.
“Yes, I did,” she said; then to help him out, she added, “You did me once, remember?”
Not wanting to offend her by saying he didn’t remember, Shaw said, “I hope you’ll overlook me, ma’am. This head wound has me—”
“Call me Tuesday,” she said. “It’s all right that you don’t remember it, you was pretty drunk. But you was a gentleman all the same.”
“Oh,” Shaw said. He stared at her. “Well, I’m glad to hear that.”
She shrugged and put the matter aside. “How bad is your head? You look like you’re doing well to keep from falling over.”
“I’m getting over it quick enough,” Shaw said, his hearing once again taking on a distant tone.
“Yeah?” Tuesday looked doubtful. “How well does your gun hand work?”
“Well enough,” Shaw said confidently.
“Yeah? Well, I’d like to see just how fast—”
Before Tuesday got the words from her mouth, Shaw’s Colt streaked up from its holster, cocked and ready. The tip of the barrel pressed firmly against her large left breast.
“My God!” she said, completely stunned by his action as well as his speed.
“I—I’m sorry,” Shaw said, staring at the gun in his hand, looking as stunned by his action as she was. He lowered the barrel and uncocked the weapon, still staring at it in confusion. “I don’t know why I did that.”
Tuesday recovered quickly from her surprise. “You did the same thing in Colinas Secas when Dex asked you to shoot Bell Mason.”
Shaw stared at her. He didn’t want to admit it but he had no memory of the incident, no image or clue as to what she was talking about.
“You were ready to blow daylight through him, if Dex had given you the word,” Tuesday said. She gave a dark little giggle. “Dex liked that you was going to. It might be why he hired you.” She gave a questioning look. “You do remember it, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Shaw lied, “I remember it.”
“I hope so,” said Tuesday. “If you and me are going to be sharing information, I want to know I can count on you.”
“I don’t know what information I might come upon that would be helpful to you,” Shaw said.
“It’s not just information I might need from you, Fast Larry,” said Tuesday. As she spoke she put her hand over onto the barrel of his Colt and stroked it back and forth slowly, staring at Shaw. “In country like this who knows when a man with a big gun might come in handy?” Her voice had softened, and warmed. “Can I count on you if the time comes when I need to? Can we be secret friends?” She squeezed the barrel tightly, then relaxed her grip on it.
“I’m sure we can,” Shaw said. “But if it’s going to be a secret, you and I best get back with the rest of the riders, before they start thinking something they shouldn’t.” He eased the Colt down from under her hand and slipped it back into his holster.
Tuesday smiled. “I’m glad you and I had this little talk, Fast Larry,” she said, backing her horse a step and turning it back toward the rocky trail. “Come on, we’ll tag along behind the others for a while. Let them think what they want.” She smiled as she gestured him toward the trail. “I’ve been wishing I had a big gunman I could count on. I never dreamed it would be Fast Larry Shaw.”
Madden Corio and Dexter Lowe had spent the day going over parts of the plan that would involve Lowe and his men. In the afternoon, Corio, Bert Jordan and Willard Dance sat atop a ridge and watched Lowe ride down and out across a stretch of flatlands. Making sure he hadn’t been followed, either coming or going, Dance said as Lowe’s rise of dust settled behind him, “What was stuck in Dangerous Dexter’s craw, Madden?”
Corio kept watching as Lowe disappeared out of sight over the edge of the flatlands. “He thought him and his men should be doing something more important than driving freight wagons,” Madden replied.
“The son of a bitch has sure some nerve on him,” Dance said. “What does that little punk want, to run the show, make us his teamsters?”
“Yeah,” said Bert Jordan, “have us driving the wagons for him while he sits perched up watching us, like a hawk or something.”
“How’d you get him to change his mind?” Jordan asked Corio.
Corio smiled. “I explained that somebody always has to drive the wagons.”
“Explained, ha,” said Dance. “I bet you explained it to him with your gun stuck in his ear.”
“No,” said Corio, “there were no threats made. He saw it my way . . . after he realized this was the only deal around that would make him and his boys the kind of money he’s looking for.”
“Dexter Lowe has never been more than a hand-to-mouth sneak thief. What’s got him so greedy for money all of a sudden?” asked Jordan.
Without taking his eyes off the flatlands, Corio said, “He’s gone staggering mad over some young Missouri whore. I expect she’s got him tur
ning ambitious. We all know how a whore can be.”
“Don’t we, though?” said Dance with a chuckle.
“Lowe and his men are meeting Harvey Lemate tomorrow night in Yellow Moon Canyon.” To Bert Jordan he said, “Bert, you get over there and take charge, get those stolen wagons over to the draw where I told Lowe to pick them up from us. Then ride hard and get on back here. I’m going to need you at my side.”
“You’ve got it, Madden,” Jordan. He and Dance gave each other a look.
“Dance,” said Corio, “you ride along with me.”
“Sure thing,” said Dance, turning and catching up alongside Corio as he rode away.
Jordan sat for only a moment watching with a grim expression as the two rode away. Then he shook his head, turned his horse and rode to where the rest of the men sat sipping coffee, awaiting orders.
Lemate stood up and slung coffee grinds from his cup and asked Jordan, “Where’s Madden going?”
“Why don’t you catch up and ask him?” Jordan returned.
“Just wondering, is all.” Lemate shrugged. “What about these freight wagons?”
“We’re taking the wagons over to Yellow Moon tonight, Harvey, getting everything ready to go,” Jordan said, “so get everybody off their asses and on their feet.”
“All right!” said Lemate, getting excited, dusting the seat of his trousers. “That sounds good to me. We’ve been sitting still too long, far as I’m concerned.”
Chapter 10
Darkness had set in by the time Corio and Willard Dance reached the shack outside the abandoned settlement of Astro Rock. A few chickens roosting along a hitch rail rose in protest, batting their wings and scurrying out of sight as the two men stepped down from their saddles, spun their reins and walked onto a rickety porch through a striped glow of candlelight spilling through a plank door.
At the sound of the disturbed chickens, a startled voice called out, “Who goes there?” before either man could knock.
