by Ralph Cotton
“Can’t you see, it is because I love you, Janie!” Raidy called out tearfully.
“I’ve done everything short of sticking a bullet in her ass,” Jane continued, ignoring Raidy’s words. She started to level the sagging pistol toward the young woman again, but Dawson made it over in time to grab the gun from her hand. She gave it up without resistance, Dawson noted, watching her drop her empty hand to her side.
Caldwell ran to the young woman and looked her up and down for any signs of blood. “Ma’am, are you all right?” he asked.
“Oui, I am all right,” said Raidy. “She did not intend to harm me, only to scare me.”
Jane shook her lowered head and said to Dawson, “I don’t know why it is, my whole life, I’ve attracted women like her. I try to tell them I ain’t like them, but it makes no never mind. You saw me try to get rid of her, didn’t you, Cray?” she asked. “You saw, didn’t you?”
Dawson thought she was trying too hard to convince him, but he put the matter aside and took Jane by her fringed doeskin shirtsleeve. “Yes, I saw it, Janie,” he said. “Now come on, let’s get out of this sun and cool off. We’ve still got to find Shaw. That’s the main thing.”
“Yeah, find Shaw . . . that’s the main thing,” Jane agreed in a trancelike state as he led her off toward the shelter of standing rock.
As Dawson helped Jane along, leading her horse out of the sun, Caldwell came up beside him, the young woman in tow. “The gunshot scared this one’s horse away,” he said.
Dawson shook his head in disgust. “That figures,” he said. “They’ll have to ride double.”
“I can’t do that,” Jane said, “not with things being as they are.”
“Nobody is judging you, Janie,” said Dawson. He gave Caldwell a look and walked on.
Chapter 14
In Colinas Secas, the old livery hostler met the lawmen and the two women riding double as they rode off the badlands toward the barn. “Welcome to Dry Hills, Marshal . . . ,” he said, seeing the two badges glint in the sunlight. “Deputy . . . ,” he added, touching the brim of his sun-faded derby hat toward Caldwell. “I’m Caywood Radler, at your service.”
“Obliged, Mr. Radler,” said Dawson, touching his hat brim in return. “I’m Marshal Dawson. This is Deputy Caldwell. Have you any horses for sale?” He gestured a hand toward Jane, who sat atop her horse with Raidy pressed against her back. Raidy slept with one arm around Jane’s waist, the other arm up across the fringed bosom of her doeskin shirt.
Radler gave the two women a curious look.
Jane growled at him, “What the hell are you staring at, old man? We need a horse!”
“What’s wrong with the horse following you?” Radler said, pointing a gnarled finger at the far edge of town where the spooked horse Raidy had been riding walked forward slowly, shyly, its reins dragging the ground.
“I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Jane said, her face reddening. To Dawson and Caldwell she said, “I didn’t know that horse was following us, I swear I didn’t.”
“Neither did we, Jane,” said Dawson, stepping down from his saddle, Caldwell doing the same.
Radler cackled aloud. “Good thing it weren’t some ambusher tracking you.”
“Yeah,” said Dawson, “a good thing it wasn’t.” He and Caldwell looked at Jane as she woke Raidy and helped her down from behind her. Caldwell stepped over and helped the waking woman.
“Say, you lawmen should have been here the other night,” said Radler. “We had more fireworks than a Chinese funeral. One drifter beat the living hell out of three men with a long-handled shovel, caused one of them to kill the other two. I never seen nothing like it.”
Dawson and Caldwell looked at each other. “A man with his head bandaged?” Dawson asked.
“Yep, he’s a daisy, that one,” said Radler. “Turns out the barkeeper recognized him as Fast Larry Shaw. Said he’d seen him before over in Somos Santos.” He beamed at having such knowledge. “Anyhow, Fast Larry Shaw told me you two would be coming along directly. Said to tell you he’s gone off with the Lowe Gang.” He grinned. “What’s left of them anyway. After the drifter was through with that shovel, I expect Dangerous Dexter found himself short of guns.”
“That’s good to know, Mr. Radler,” said Dawson. “Again we’re obliged to you.”
“Hey, you two can just call me Caywood,” said the proud old hostler. “I hope whatever it is you are searching for Fast Larry for ain’t too bad. I mean, you ain’t out to hang him or nothing like that, are you?”
“No,” said Dawson, “it’s nothing like that.”
He and Caldwell both handed Radler the reins to their horses. When the old man had taken them, he stepped over to Jane and took hers. “Did Fast Larry happen to mention anything about me, Jane Crowley?” she asked almost hesitantly, for fear of what his answer would be.
“I know who you are,” said Radler. “I recognized you by your skins as soon as you rode in, Miss Crowley.”
“Well, did he?” Jane asked as Radler turned to walk away.
Radler looked back over his shoulder at Jane. Then he looked Raidy up and down knowingly and said, “No, ma’am, Miss Crowley, not a word.”
When they had watered, grained and rested the horses, Caldwell led the animals out into the evening sunlight, where Jane and Dawson stood talking in the dark shade of a thick ancient saguaro cactus. He heard Jane saying to Dawson, “Crayton, I can’t help what impression this girl has gotten of me. I didn’t do anything to lead her on. Leastwise I did nothing intentionally. I didn’t set out to break her heart. You know me, I ain’t that kind of person.”
Listening, Caldwell caught a certain underlying pride in her voice, as if she liked having a man’s kind of conversation, with a man, about a woman.
“Get rid of her, Jane,” was all Dawson offered in reply. “We’ve got no time for this.”
Caldwell walked up and stood with them. “The horses are all ready to go,” he said. “Where’s the woman?”
“I’m right here, Undertaker, are you blind?” Jane said, immediately taking on a testy attitude toward the deputy.
“You know who I mean, Janie,” said Caldwell, not allowing her to turn anything he said into some childish sobering drunkard’s argument.
“Yes, I guess I do, Undertaker,” Jane said, taking a different approach toward him. “We were just talking. I was telling Dawson that I don’t want to hurt that poor girl any more than I have to, you know, to get rid of her?”
“Yes, I understand,” said Caldwell. He gave Dawson a look.
“What was that?” Jane said, catching the gesture. “What are you two thinking? If either one of yas has something to say, spit it out. If you think I’ve done something to be ashamed of with the young woman, don’t be bashful, tell me about it.” She glared at Caldwell.
“Nothing, Janie,” he said. “She’s your friend, not mine.”
“Friend?” Jane flared, red-faced and wild-eyed. “She’s not my damned friend, Undertaker!”
“She’s certainly not your enemy either,” Caldwell offered. “I use the term ‘friend’ because I have no idea what she is to you.”
“She’s just a girl I happen to know,” said Jane, “same as you two know women all over these badlands. Is there anything wrong with that?”
The two lawmen shook their heads.
“Good,” Jane said, “because if it’s any of your business, or if you haven’t noticed as yet, I am in love with Lawrence Shaw.”
The two lawmen saw Raidy Bowe walk up behind Jane as she spoke, but there was no time to warn her until it was too late. “Jane,” Dawson said quietly, giving a nod past her to where the young woman stood with a hurt, stunned look on her face.
“Oh, hell,” Jane said under her breath. She turned to say something to Raidy, but the woman had turned, her eyes welling with tears, and ran away around the corner of the livery barn. “I better go talk to her,” Jane said.
As soon as she was out of sight, Caldwell asked Da
wson, “Does it appear she’s enjoying this in some strange way?”
“Yes, but I don’t even want to let myself think about it,” Dawson replied. “Jane’s an odd one—she always has been.”
“No wonder Shaw’s so hard to find,” Caldwell murmured in dark contemplation.
Jane caught up to Raidy behind the livery barn, having to grab her by her arm to stop her. “Wait, Raidy, I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I had to say all that, for the lawmen to hear.”
Raidy said in a hurt voice, “You are ashamed to say how you feel for me?”
“If I felt for you the way you want me to, yes, I expect I would be,” said Jane. “But I don’t feel that way about you.”
“Then how do you feel?” Raidy asked.
Jane wrinkled her brow. “It’s hard to explain, Raidy.”
“I see,” Raidy replied. “But it’s safe to say that you do not love me, as I do you.”
“In that respect, yes, it’s safe to say so,” said Jane. “But I like the hell out of you . . . you know, in a friendly, sisterly sort of way.” She grinned.
“Turn me loose, sister,” Raidy said in a clipped tone. “I am riding back to Wooten.”
Jane let go of her forearm. “I think that’s a good idea, Raidy.” She brushed a strand of hair from the younger woman’s forehead. “When these things I’m doing are settled down some, maybe I can—”
“Do not tell me things that you do not mean again, sister, Jane,” Raidy said. “I made the mistake of believing you before and it caused me to do stupid, terrible things.”
“I never told you anything before I left Wooten,” Jane said. “I didn’t lead you on. I was sober enough by then to remember. I didn’t do anything to cause you to follow me here.”
“No, I do not mean right before you left Wooten,” Raidy said. “I mean before that, when you were drinking so much you could not find your hotel. I took you in. You stayed with me.”
“I did?” Jane took on a strange, confused look. “I stayed with you . . . in your room? For how long?”
“It does not matter now,” Raidy said, “but you told me things, how you felt about me, when the two of us were in bed together, making love—”
“No—stop it, Raidy,” Jane said, aghast. “Nothing like that happened. I wasn’t that drunk . . . was I?” she asked with a margin of doubt.
“Oui, you were drunk,” said Raidy.
“Why didn’t you mention this to me when I was sobering up, before I left town with Dawson and Caldwell?”
“I—I wanted you to remember on your own,” said Raidy. “I wanted you to be sure of yourself. I wanted you to love me, the way you loved the gunman, Fast Larry Shaw.”
“Jesus . . .” Jane hung her head for a moment. When she raised it she said, “Listen, Raidy, nobody can ever know what you’ve told me here. Do you understand? I was blind drunk and I did lots of things I shouldn’t have, including trying to kill the man I love.”
Raidy studied Jane’s serious expression. “I will never tell anyone. It will be our secret.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “And now I will tell you something that you must never tell anyone. It was I, not you, who shot Lawrence Shaw.”
“On my God, no,” Jane said with a gasp of fear in her voice.
“It is true,” said Raidy. “I saw how unhappy you were with him. You always came to me, crying about how bad he made you feel.”
“Raidy, that was my drunken whiskey talk, getting this thing off my chest. That was just me wanting something from Shaw that he couldn’t give.”
“I thought with Fast Larry dead, you would be happy with me,” Raidy said. “I knew I could make you happy. I still can.”
“Oh, Raidy,” Jane said, pulling the young woman to her in an embrace, “this is the worst I’ve ever screwed anything up in my life. I don’t know how I’ll ever straighten this out with Shaw.”
“But it was not you who shoot him, it was me,” said Raidy against Jane’s doeskin shirt bosom.
“It might have been you who pulled the trigger,” Jane said, still having no certainty on the matter. “But if it was, it was only because my drunken carping and crying led you to do it.”
Raidy closed her eyes against the warm fringed doeskin. “Oui, perhaps it was,” she whispered.
On the dirt street out in front of the livery barn, Dawson said to Caldwell, “We’ve got to get moving while there’s enough daylight to pick up Shaw’s trail.”
“I’ll get her,” said Caldwell.
He walked around the livery barn and stopped suddenly at the rear corner when he saw the two women standing in each other’s embrace. “Whoa,” he murmured to himself. “I didn’t want to see this. . . .” He backed away out of sight before Jane or Raidy knew he was there.
Out front, Dawson watched the deputy return from around the corner of the barn with a strange look on his face. “What’s wrong?” Dawson asked.
“Nothing,” said Caldwell. “She’s coming.” He stood in silence and offered no more on the matter.
A moment later, Jane and Raidy appeared from around the corner and walked toward the horses. Jane stepped to her horse’s side, but Raidy walked to the other side of the hitch rail and stood quietly, watching Jane unhitch her horse and mount it.
Dawson and Caldwell stepped over to their horses and mounted without asking any questions. Finally before the three backed their horses onto the dirt street, Jane said quietly, “She’s not coming with us.”
Dawson and Caldwell only nodded. They touched their hat brims toward Raidy and turned their horses. As they moved away at a walk, Jane looked down at Raidy and said quietly, “Don’t worry. Things will work out. I’ll see you soon.” Then she turned her horse and caught up alongside the two lawmen.
None of the three said anything until they had ridden nearly a full mile from the town and veered onto a trail leading west, across the badlands toward the border trails and rock passes. Finally Jane said, “She’s going back to Wooten. I expect she’ll be wanting her job back at the hotel baths.”
Not knowing what to say, the two lawmen rode on without comment.
The rest of the evening they rode in an awkward silence, having no trouble finding Shaw’s trail—the same meandering set of hooves they’d been following. But once they had made camp and boiled a pot of coffee from the crushed beans Caldwell carried in his saddlebags, Jane leaned back on her bedroll, stared into the steaming brew and said, “Pards, now that I’m sobering up I’ve given it some thought. I didn’t shoot Shaw.”
“Then why’d you say you did?” Caldwell asked.
Before Jane could reply, Dawson cut in saying, “She was hungover and shaky that I pushed her into thinking she did it.”
“I wasn’t going to blame you, Crayton Dawson,” Jane said firmly.
“You don’t have to,” said Dawson, letting her off the hook. “I saw I was pushing too hard and I backed off, but not soon enough.” He paused, then said, “So, are you saying you didn’t shoot Shaw?”
Jane considered it, then said, “I’m saying I might not have, now that I’m sober enough to start making sense of myself.”
Caldwell gave her a look. “You might want to decide for sure one way or the other. We’ll be meeting up with Shaw before long, I expect. For all we know Shaw might be hot on Madden Corio’s trail this minute. This is not the time for uncertainty.”
“I know . . . ,” Jane said, and she fell silent and stared back down into the dark swirl of steaming coffee.
Chapter 15
Madden Corio and Bert Jordan stood on the boarding platform at the last water stop along the western edge of the badland territory. Corio wore the finely pressed and dusted uniform of a U.S. Army colonel, with it a wide-brimmed cavalry frontier hat. Jordan wore a trim-fitting major’s uniform and a campaign field cap. He and Lemate had ridden all night in order to be back in time to meet Corio and get into the uniforms.
Jordan had told Corio about the change in plans, and about Lowe sending his
new partner to gather the wagons. He’d told Corio about leaving Skinner and Watkins to keep watch on things. “Good idea,” Corio had told him as he appeared to consider the matter. But he’d offered no further comment. Jordan was certain that Dangerous Dexter Lowe and his whole gang would be killed before the job was finished. Seeing Lowe, his men and his new partner dead suited Jordan well enough.
Behind the platform sitting atop their horses in a column of twos sat Robert Hooks, Irish Tommie Wade and six other members of the Corio Gang who’d met Corio along the trail. The six had brought along the army uniforms that had been burgled over a year earlier from a frontier outpost. At the head of the column, Robert Hooks sat squarely in his saddle, eyes straight ahead as the engine of the train rolled past, coming to a slow stop, a long blast of steam rising from its iron brakes.
“Look sharp, lads,” Hooks said over his shoulder. “Our game has commenced.”
Speaking without visibly moving his lips, Irish Tommie said jokingly, “Aye, Sergeant, and will it be an extra ration of hardtack for us each at the end of this long day?”
“And then some, I wager,” said Harvey Lemate to Arnold Stemms, one of the six who’d brought the uniforms.
“There better be,” said another of the six, a young Missourian named Matthew Ford, cousin to the Ford brothers, Robert and Charles, and a longtime friend of Robert Hooks.
The other four men withheld their smiles and stared at the slowing train as faces of soldiers looked out at them questionably through the open passing windows. Ordinarily there would have been greetings exchanged back and forth from the troop car to the column, but the presence of a colonel brought with it a more serious, attentive atmosphere.
From one of the front-most windows, a young captain from Baltimore named William Ploster had looked up from a checkerboard in time to see the stoic passing faces of the colonel and major staring straight at him. “Damn it to hell, Webster!” Ploster shouted at his sergeant. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
