Death In Helltown

by John Legg

  Bloodworth smiled softly. “I reckoned that would be the case,” he responded in like kind. “Thank you.”

  Hope let him to the sitting room, where Edith Wickline waited, sitting stiffly in one of the plush chairs.

  “Miz Wickline,” he said quietly.

  “Mr. Bloodworth.” There was little pleasure in it.

  “I ain’t quite sure…”

  “Please sit, Mr. Bloodworth.” The tone had not changed.

  Bloodworth set his hat on the table and, taking into account his pistols, he sat gingerly in the chair across the small table from her. “I’m obliged that you agreed to see me, Miz Edith.” He cleared his throat. “I ain’t good at speaking’ to ladies, ’specially fine ladies like you, so you’ll pardon me if I ain’t so eloquent. Words ain’t my way, as you might figure. I’m used to dealin’ with hard cases with fist and gun.”

  Edith’s rather stony visage did not seem to change. But it did not deter Bloodworth. “I must admit, ma’am, that I am mortified at what occurred when last we met. Not so much, I reckon, as what occurred, but what a fool I made of myself. Things I said were offensive to you.”

  “They were that,” Edith murmured.

  “Thing is, Miz Edith, is that I meant no offense. You had made an offer, if saying it as such is not offensive to you, that any man—well, any man who had any sense—including me would take as something extraordinarily special. It was, but seein’ as how I replied, I’m one of the few men lackin’ sense and so turnin’ that offer into something hurtful and insultin’.”

  He paused, and took a deep breath, watching Edith. She seemed to have softened ever so little, perhaps to a degree above freezing.

  “I don’t know what I can say to wash away that insult and hurtfulness. I reckon there’s really nothin’ I can do. I had meant to do right by your employee, and you because of that. Seems I made a heap of a mess at it. All I can say, Miz Edith, is that you have my most strong apology.”

  Bloodworth reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a gold coin, leaned forward and laid it on the table. “It ain’t much, but I hope it comes close to squarin’ us for my room and board.”

  “That is not necessary, Mr. Bloodworth.” The stone façade of Edith’s face crumbled a bit. “I’ve told you that.”

  “And I’ve told you I feel honor bound to repay what I can.” Her only response was a slight nod. He rose. “Well, Miz Edith, I’ve had my say, so I’ll be on my way. I don’t reckon my apology will mitigate what I’ve done, but know that it comes honestly. And know, too, that I won’t come callin’ on you no more so as not to bother you. I am grateful for all you did for me. It weren’t for you, my bones’d be bleachin’ out yonder south of town.”

  He picked up his hat but stopped before he clapped it on when Edith said, “Sit back down, Mr. Bloodworth.”

  When he did, Edith rang her small bell. Hope entered. “Yes’m?”

  “Coffee for us, Hope. And some of that cobbler for Mr. Bloodworth.”

  “I don’t…” He shut up when Edith gave him a flinty stare, but she seemed to relax a little. “I do not know if I shall accept your apology, Mr. Bloodworth, but I will say that I appreciate your having made it.”

  Bloodworth nodded.

  “And if it will ease your mind any, it was quite elegant.” A small smile touched her lips. “Especially for a man of your particular…talents.”

  Hope entered the room with a tray that she placed on the table. “Anything else, ma’am?”

  “That will be sufficient, Hope.” Edith poured coffee for Bloodworth and herself. She spooned some sugar and a bit of milk into her visitor’s cup.

  “You remembered.”

  Again, the small smile. “Is your work still lacking in adventure?”

  Bloodworth shoveled a bite of cobbler into his mouth and chewed. When he swallowed. “It is.”

  “Do you wish for adventure?”

  Bloodworth ate a little as pondered that. “I reckon I am, at least some. Adventures aren’t always good. But I reckon it’s better’n dyin’ of boredom.” He laughed. “Of course, dyin’ from tryin’ to run some bad men to ground wouldn’t be much of a pleasure neither.”

  “You have done well thus far.”

  “Until the night you found me,” he said sourly.

  “Yet you are still here among us.”

  “Reckon I am.” He finished off the cobbler and placed the empty plate on the tray. “Well, I reckon I ought to be going.” He rose once again and reached for his hat. “May I come callin’ again?”

  “It would not.”

  ** ** ** ** **

  Bloodworth knocked on Edith Wickline’s door. Hope grinned when she opened it. She looked him up and down, from his slicked back hair under a new beaver felt hat to his starched shirt to his clean denim pants and his polished boots.

  “What?” he said, uncomfortable.

  “You are looking quite dashing this evening, Mr. Bloodworth,” she said with a giggle. But he thought he detected something else in her eye, though he could not quite figure it out.

  “Thank you,” he grumbled. “Now please go tell Miz Wickline I’m here.”

  Minutes later, Edith walked into the parlor. “Harlan,” she said, with what seemed to Bloodworth to be some pleasure.

  “Edith,” he said cautiously.

  “Sit, Harlan.” When he did, she said, “Would you like something to drink?” She smiled just a bit. “Something with somewhat more of a kick than coffee?”

  Bloodworth grinned. “That would be a far sight better’n coffee.”

  Bloodworth figured Edith must have been expecting this, for when she rang the bell, Hope arrived with a bottle of brandy and two glasses.

  “I hope brandy will be all right.”

  “Reckon so. Never had it as I can recall, but I’ve heard tell it’s right tasty.”

  Edith filled their glasses and handed him one. “It should be drunk slowly, unlike redeye.” She smiled to take any possible sting out of the remark.

  Bloodworth did as he was told. “Damn fine,” he acknowledged.

  They sipped in silence for a bit, before Edith said, “If I was to make a suggestion — offer, you might say — as I did some weeks ago, would I expect to be insulted?”

  “No, ma’am. What you should expect is a humble acceptance, with considerable gratitude.”

  She rose, walked to his chair and kissed him long and hard. She stepped back and held out her hand. He took it and stood, then let her lead him to her room. It was far more commodious than the one he had occupied during his recuperation, and far more finely furnished. Not that he paid much mind. Edith turned and moved up so she was pressed against him. She tilted her head up. Bloodworth needed no vocal introduction. He smothered her mouth with his.

  Edith finally pulled away and smiled. She gently touched his face. “Time for you to shed those pistols.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ll be back in moments.” She smiled and nodded to the privacy screen in one corner. She flowed more than walked there.

  Bloodworth quickly shucked his guns and garments, then slid beneath the starched, fresh-smelling sheets on the fancy carved wood bed. After what seemed a long time, Edith slipped out from behind the curtain. Bloodworth drew in a breath. “Damn, but ain’t you something,” he breathed.

  “You think so?” she asked, a touch of uncertainty in her voice.

  “I do, ma’am. You are a fine figure of a woman. Best I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  Her smile softened her face and let her beauty fully show through. She yanked the sheet down to the foot of the bed, exposing him. “You’re a mighty fine specimen yourself.” Then, with a laugh, she climbed on top of him and planted her mouth on his.

  He rolled, holding her, until he was on top. His mouth, lips and tongue began making journeys along her long, lean form, touching here, kissing there, gently nipping inches farther on. He stroked her flawless body from her shining brunette hair to her dainty toes.

 
Soon Edith was steadily moaning, shifting her body to derive the most pleasure of every one of Bloodworth’s moves. Then he was inside her, and both groaned with pleasure ending in an explosion of ecstasy.

  Then they were lying together, entwined in each other’s bodies, trying to regain their breath. Eventually, Edith touched the wound where the bullet had exited Bloodworth’s body. “Does that hurt, Harlan?”

  “No. No more than the others.”

  “Others?” She looked at him in alarm, then touched his right shoulder. “There?” He nodded, and she looked down the length of his body as if seeing it for the first time, and touched a puckered scar on his left thigh. “Here, too?”

  “Yes. And the scars along my ribs here, one from a bullet, one from a knife. And, of course, the leg that left me with the limp.”

  “That must have been bad.”

  “It was. Like I said, the sawbones wanted to take it off. I was still alert enough that I objected. The doc tried to insist. Up till I put my pistol to his forehead and told him that if he started sawin’ away, I was going to put him out of my misery. He gave up the idea of takin’ my leg. He sewed up what he could, then put a splint on me. I hobbled out and took myself to a pal’s house to get better.”

  “You have had an adventuresome life.” Her hand stroked down from his midsection. “Let’s see if we can add another adventure.”

  ** ** ** ** **

  Hope seemed rather put out when she served Bloodworth and Edith breakfast in the morning. Both were still naked, though they had the sheet pulled up to cover themselves.

  After eating, Bloodworth got up and began dressing.

  “The offer for you to stay here still stands, Harlan,” Edith said. She sounded almost wistful.

  “I reckon it would be unseemly. I’d not want to tarnish your reputation.”

  “My reputation was tarnished long since, Harlan. It can bear a bit more of a beating.”

  He grinned. “So you’d like me to end up in a tussle every day defendin’ your honor?”

  “Oh, hell, Harlan, that’s damn foolish.”

  “Reckon it is, Edith. But I ain’t lookin’ for a wife.”

  “Nor I a husband.”

  “I didn’t mean that badly, Edith. Tell true, I like keepin’ my own company often as not.”

  “That can get mighty lonely.”

  “Yep, it can when it’s too long of a time. But if you don’t mind me callin’ on you now and again, I won’t be lonely very long.”

  “And you want to be with other women?” Edith asked stiffly.

  “I won’t say that it won’t ever happen, but the truth is, Edith, I like bein’ on my own. I’ve been forced into it for so long that I’ve come to enjoy it.”

  Edith looked somewhat appeased. “You ever been married, Harlan?”

  He hesitated, a touch of pain flickering across his face. “Yes.” It was said flatly.

  “Is she…?”

  “No,” Bloodworth said tightly. “She was shot down during the war.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Bloodworth shrugged. “It was a long time ago.” He turned to leave.

  “Come back soon, Harlan.”

  He looked back and smiled. “That will not be a chore, ma’am.” Then he was gone.

  Chapter Five

  Bloodworth spent a considerable amount of time with Edith when he was in Dodge. Once she had gotten over her insult, she was warm and affectionate. She made no demands of him, other than he pleasure her when they were alone in the bedroom. He was thankful for the former and quite willing to provide the latter.

  He was quite surprised when one evening, as he was preparing to leave, she announced that she would be taking the stage in the morning. He looked at her, his eyes raised.

  “I have business in Clay Center. I’ll be there for several days.” She smiled. “Long enough so that I’ll be taking the stage back when you make on your next run up that way.”

  “I shall be honored to have you as a passenger,” he said gallantly. “And I promise to protect you well and willingly.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  ** ** ** ** **

  Bloodworth wandered over to the Pecos saloon, down in Helltown, after leaving Edith’s. When he walked in, he stopped short. He eyes narrowed when he saw a big man at the bar. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

  He limped up and, without hesitation, kicked the man behind the left knee.

  The man sagged and grabbed hold of the bar to keep from falling. “What the hell?” he muttered.

  “I expect you got something belongs to me,” Bloodworth growled.

  The man gingerly turned to face Bloodworth, who whacked him hard on the forehead with his pistol. An instant later, he swiveled, and jammed the muzzle of his revolver into a man’s face, just at the philtrum. With his left hand holding the very wobbly big man by the throat, he smiled without humor. “I don’t know who you are, boy…” His eyes flickered to his left a little. “But if your two pards over there move any closer, I will blow a hole through you that you could drive a herd of your stinkin’ cattle through.”

  The two other men who had begun inching up from the faro table stopped. Each moved a hand toward his pistol.

  “You can jerk those hoglegs, boys, but your amigo here will find his head splattered across the floor. And the two of you will be dead before you clear leather.”

  “You ain’t that good,” one of them said, arrogance dripping from his voice.

  “You want to bet your life on that, boy?”

  “Damn right.” The man went for his gun. Without hesitation, Bloodworth fired, tearing a large, jagged hole in the man’s face and a larger one in the back of his head. Bloodworth spun and fired again. The ball punched through the other, smirking outlaw’s teeth. He fell, a brief look of surprise on his face.

  His companion, swiftly let go of his pistol grip and held up both hands in supplication.

  “Ease that pistol out and toss it — lightly — over in this direction. Then go sit back at the faro table, back to me. You do as you’re told and you just might make it through the evening.”

  The man did so.

  Bloodworth turned back to the big man. “Well, ‘Boss,’” he said with a note of sarcasm, “as I said, you have something of mine, and I’ll be obliged to have it — well both of them — back.” He slid his pistol into the holster.

  “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” The outlaw was beginning to recover his senses a bit, though his eyes still wouldn’t focus all that well.

  “This.” He jerked his old revolver from the sagging holster at the man’s hip.

  The man’s eyes widened in shock. “You!” he gasped.

  “That’s right, me. You and your boys try to kill a man and steal his possessions, you ought to make sure you finish the job. Now where’s my belly gun?”

  “I ain’t got it,” he said, trying to sneer. “I sold it.”

  Bloodworth sighed. “You saw what I did to your two companions there. I’ll have no reluctance sendin’ you across the divide to join ’em. Now hand over that piece.”

  From behind, Bloodworth head, “That’s enough.” Bloodworth spun, dragging the man he knew only as Boss around so he was in front of him. Bloodworth’s forearm rested on the outlaw’s shoulder, pistol facing outward — at Marshal Redmon.

  “Put that pistol down and come along with me peaceable.”

  “Marshal,” Bloodworth said tightly, “you got no business here. So I’d be obliged if you went back to your side of town and leave me to my business.”

  “I don’t truck with killin’ as a man’s business. I knew right off you were a hard case and that there’d be killin’ at your hands sooner or later.”

  “I got reason. This one here for sure, and those two dead on the floor I think are the scum who ambushed me, stole what little I had with me and left me for dead. I just wanted my property back. Those two on the floor made a play to kill me. I just took them down first.”

&nb
sp; “He’s lyin’,” ‘Boss’ said, voice quivering with fear and hope.

  “Marshal, this pistol I’m pointin’ at you is mine, the one he took when he and his boys shot me in the back and left me to die. He’s got my belly gun somewhere on him, I expect.”

  “I don’t know what the hell he’s talkin’ about.” ‘Boss’ started to pull away, but Bloodworth kicked his leg out from under him. Bloodworth sank to one knee to keep the outlaw in front of him as a shield. “You move again, and I’ll splatted your brains on the floor. If you got any.”

  “Then the marshal’ll get you.”

  “That is far from certain, boy. But it won’t matter none to you. You’ll’ve gone under before that.”

  “How do you know it’s your gun?” Redmon asked.

  “It’s a .44-caliber Remington. That might be common, but this one’s got a bone grip with my initials in the grips — one on each side.”

  “Your belly gun?”

  “A cut down Colt .44. Nothin’ special about it, other than I’m used to it and I like it.”

  Redmon stood there for some moments, pistol still pointed toward Bloodworth and ‘Boss.’ The Marshal nodded, more to himself than to the two men in front of him, and slid his gun away. “You got his other gun, fat man, you best give it over to him.”

  “But I don’t …”

  “I ain’t gonna protect you, boy,” Redmon snapped. It was plain that he did not like killing in his town, even if it was on the wrong side of the tracks. But he seemed astute enough to know that there could be more, and he hoped to head it off. But if not, he would live with it in this case. For now. “What the hell is your name, anyway?”

  “Carter. Elmo Carter.”

  “Well, Mr. Carter, if you don’t hand over that piece, I won’t stand in Mr. Bloodworth’s way should he decide to put a bullet into your fat ass.” He surveyed the room, making sure no one else wanted to cause trouble.

  Carter hesitated about two seconds, then said, sweating, “I need to reach around behind my back to fetch it out.”