Further Adventures of James Butler Hickok (9781101601853)

by Roberts, J. R.

  “We have up to now,” Cody said, “but tomorrow we head for Philadelphia.”

  “I’ve never been to Philadelphia,” she said excitedly.

  “Well, we’ve got a few stops to make up North,” Cody said, “but we’re going to end up in Rochester before we eventually come back here to Manhattan.”

  “Where is Rochester?”

  “New York,” Clint told her. “North of here.”

  “All of the traveling is so exciting,” she said.

  “Wait until we travel to Europe,” Texas Jack said.

  “Oh, my,” she said, her eyes shining, “when will that be?”

  “Who knows?” Cody said. “We’re still tryin’ to work out all the details.”

  During dinner, they talked about the possible stops in Europe, and then Cody asked Texas Jack to see Hannah to her room.

  “I have to talk some business with Hickok and Clint,” he told her. He looked at Texas Jack. “Come right back here.”

  “Okay.”

  As Jack walked Hannah out, Cody told the waiter to bring coffee and pie. They waited for the waiter to comply, then waited again until Texas Jack returned.

  “What’s on your mind, Cody?” Hickok asked.

  “I want Clint to travel with us,” Cody said. “Every stop until we get back here.”

  “I told you, I’m not—”

  “Not as a performer,” Cody said. “I need somebody who can keep his eyes open while the rest of us are onstage.”

  “You’re thinking the shooter is going to follow you north?” Clint asked.

  “I’m plannin’ for it,” Cody said. “Whoever took that shot isn’t done.”

  “What makes you say that?” Clint asked.

  “That’s easy,” Hickok said. “Like I said, the shot was meant for me—and he missed.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  Clint made plans to go to Philadelphia.

  He didn’t promise Cody that he’d stay with the show for the remainder of the trip, but he didn’t see any harm in going along to the next stop.

  As far as keeping a sharp eye out while the others were onstage, Clint understood that from the stage it was very hard for anyone to make out faces. Shapes, forms, yes. Not faces. And if somebody in the house wanted to take a shot, the performers would never know it was coming.

  Clint went to Cody’s room to firm up the trip plans. As Texas Jack let him in, he saw that a doctor was working on Cody’s arm wound, which certainly looked worse than Cody had been letting on.

  “It’s a good thing Mr. Omohundro sent for me,” the doctor said. “If you had allowed this to become infected, you could have lost your arm.”

  “Hell, Doc, I had worse scratches than this when I was scoutin’ for the Army.”

  “I’m sure you’ve had many wounds, Colonel Cody,” the doctor said, “but right now my concern is this one.”

  “I understand, Doc,” Cody said.

  The doctor finished bandaging the arm and Texas Jack saw him to the door, absorbing the rest of the doctor’s directions.

  “You need me anymore, boss?” Omohundro asked.

  “No, go ahead and turn in, Jack. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

  “Good night, Clint.”

  “Night, Jack.”

  As the door closed, Cody looked up at Clint and said, “What’s on your mind?”

  “Why don’t you just yank Hickok off the stage until we find out who took that shot?”

  “Well,” Cody said, “for one thing he’s my big-name draw. And for another, he’d refuse. You know him.”

  “Then close down the whole show.”

  “I can’t do that,” Cody said. “I got too many people countin’ on me.” He pointed and added, “And now they’re countin’ on you.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “All I’m askin’ is that you don’t let anybody shoot any of my actors,” Cody said, “especially Hickok—or me.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  * * *

  Before returning to his own room, Clint stopped by Hannah’s door and knocked. When she opened the door and smiled, she reached out and drew him in by the arm.

  “What did you decide?” she asked. “Are you coming?”

  “I’m coming along, at least to Philadelphia,” he said.

  “That’s wonderful,” she said, hugging him, pressing her body tightly to his. “I guess I don’t have to give you my good-bye gift, then.”

  “Your good-bye gift?”

  “I had something special planned,” she confided.

  “What was that?”

  “Do you want me to show you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you ready for this?”

  “I’m ready for anything.”

  “It’s odd,” she said, “it seems like we just met, but . . .”

  She stepped back, reached behind her, and undid her dress. She let it drop to the floor, where it pooled around her feet. Her underwear was black, her skin white, and she was a thing of beauty.

  “Is this my present?” he asked.

  “Almost,” she said. “You’ll have to unwrap it the rest of the way yourself.”

  He approached her and said, “I don’t think that will be a problem . . .”

  * * *

  In Cody’s room there was a knock on the door. The showman answered the door, stepped back to allow Texas Jack to enter.

  “What did he say?” Jack asked.

  “Clint will come with us to Philadelphia.”

  “That’s all?”

  “I’ll work on him there,” Cody said. “I’ll get him to come to our way of thinkin’.”

  “Maybe have Hickok work on him.”

  “I’m not all that sure that Hickok will be stayin’ with us,” Cody said. “He really doesn’t like bein’ onstage.”

  “Well,” Texas Jack said, “we need one of ’em.”

  “Don’t worry,” Cody said.

  “How’s the arm?”

  “Sore,” Cody said, “but it’ll be fine. You better turn in. We got an early start tomorrow.”

  “I’ll see you in the lobby first thing,” Jack said.

  “If anybody asks,” Cody said, “we’ll have breakfast on the train.”

  “Yes, sir. Good night, boss.”

  “Night, Jack.”

  FORTY-SIX

  Clint removed Hannah’s underwear and took her in his arms. Her skin was creamy smooth, and fragrant. He pressed his lips to her shoulders, her neck, and then her breasts. She shuddered, and her flesh became dappled with goose bumps.

  “I have a confession to make,” she murmured.

  “Hmm?”

  “I traded seats.”

  “What?”

  “I traded seats with a fat woman so I could sit next to you and meet you.”

  He drew his head back and stared at her.

  “Oh, I didn’t know who you were,” she said. “I just thought you were . . . interesting, and you were. Are.”

  He pulled her to him and kissed her hard.

  “And now,” she said, starting to unbutton his shirt, “you have entirely too many clothes on.”

  He stood still and allowed her to undress him. Then she took hold of his penis and led him to the bed.

  “I’m not exactly inexperienced at this,” she said.

  “I can see that,” he said, looking down at himself in her hand.

  “But I’m not a whore either.”

  “I never would have thought that.”

  “If I was a whore,” she said, “I would have done this last night, when I wanted to.”

  “That wouldn’t have made you a whore either.”

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p; “No?”

  “No,” Clint said.

  “What, then?”

  “Well,” he said, “it would have made us both happy.”

  She smiled and said, “We can make each other happy now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They made love eagerly, fell asleep, then woke and did it again, more slowly. Her nipples were extremely sensitive, and when he spent enough time on them with his mouth and teeth, she began to squirm. Then when he slid his hand down and touched her between her legs, she gasped and shuddered. Once he realized how truly sensitive she was, he was able to play her body like a musician plays a violin.

  She lay in his arms later and said, “I’ve never known a man to be so gentle, so knowing. You’ve been with a lot of women, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve been with a few.”

  “I’ll bet,” she said. “A man like you, who loves women the way you do, I’m sure you can’t keep them away from you. That must be what I felt when I saw you at the theater. I’m very glad I traded tickets with that fat woman.”

  “I am, too,” he said, “or I might be in bed with her right now.”

  She laughed, punched him playfully, then relaxed and fell asleep in his arms.

  * * *

  He woke up the next morning early enough to slip from her bed and go to his own room to pack. He’d been in New York only a couple of days, and now he was headed to Philadelphia.

  When he got to his room, he washed up, changed into fresh clothes, and then packed his bag. He missed being on horseback, and now that he’d agreed to go to Philadelphia, it would be even longer before he got back to Duke.

  He sat for an hour, alone with his thoughts, before leaving his room and going to get Hannah.

  She was dressed, looking lovely and refreshed when she opened her door.

  “Let me take your bag,” he said. “We’ll meet the others in the lobby.”

  She put her arm through his and they went down.

  * * *

  Cody, Texas Jack, and Hickok were in the lobby. Hickok looked like he’d spent a rough night, and he was complaining about not getting any food.

  “Didn’t Jack tell you we’d be eatin’ breakfast on the train?” Cody asked.

  “He did,” Hickok said, “but I’m hungry now.”

  “Well then, you eat here and meet us at the station,” Cody said. “Don’t miss the train.”

  “I won’t,” Hickok said. He looked at Clint. “You hungry?”

  Clint looked at Cody, who nodded.

  “Starving,” Clint said.

  “Jack and me will see that Hannah gets to the train,” Cody said.

  Hickok started for the dining room. Cody grabbed Clint’s arm and said, “Don’t let him miss that train.”

  “I won’t,” Clint promised.

  He followed Hickok.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  “This was a mistake,” Hickok said.

  “I told you to have steak instead of ham.”

  “No, not the breakfast,” Hickok said. “The food is fine. I mean comin’ here and bein’ in Cody’s show. It was a mistake.”

  “You’ve only done two performances, Bill,” Clint said. “Give it time.”

  “It was everythin’ I could do not to shoot out that light again last night.”

  “It’s good that you didn’t do it,” Clint said. “Each one of those lights costs Cody money.”

  “It’s his own damn fault,” Hickok said. “It was his idea for me to come here.”

  “Maybe he needs your help, Bill.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Maybe the show is in trouble, and he needs you to draw some people.”

  “That ain’t the way he put it when he sent me that telegram.”

  “Well, Cody’s proud,” Clint said. “He wouldn’t just come out and ask for help, would he?”

  “Well, if that’s the case,” Hickok said, “why don’t you get onstage?”

  “Oh no, not me,” Clint said.

  “Why not?” Hickok asked. “Because you see what a monkey I look like when I’m up there?”

  “It’s got nothing to do with the way you look up there,” Clint said. “It’s just—well, me. I’ve got no desire to be a stage performer.”

  “Well, I didn’t either,” Hickok said, “but if Cody’s show is in trouble like you say, it would sure help him to have you in it.”

  “I’m not Wild Bill Hickok,” he said. “If you can’t save his show, nobody can. Besides, I am helping him.”

  “How?”

  “By getting you to that train on time,” Clint said. “So eat up!”

  * * *

  They made it to the platform just as the train was pulling out. They hopped on board and looked at each other. They knew if they had missed the train, they never would have heard the end of it from Cody.

  They walked through the train, found Texas Jack and Hannah sitting in the dining car eating breakfast, and joined them.

  “Just coffee,” Clint told the waiter.

  “Me, too,” Hickok said.

  “Where’s Cody?” Clint asked.

  Texas Jack looked up from his eggs and said, “Cody took his breakfast to his compartment. He’s makin’ some changes in the show for Philadelphia.”

  “Then maybe he’s writin’ me out,” Hickok said.

  “Nonsense,” Hannah said. “A few more sessions with me and you’ll be perfect.”

  “Is that so?” Hickok asked. “You either have a lot of confidence in me, or a lot of confidence in yourself, Miss Hannah.”

  “Maybe both, Mr. Hickok,” she said.

  After Clint had finished a cup of coffee, he said, “I better go and tell Cody we’re here so he can stop worrying.”

  “He’s in compartment four, two cars on,” Texas Jack said.

  “Any of the rest of us have compartments?” Clint asked.

  “Bill’s in five, Hannah’s in six.”

  “You don’t have a compartment?” Hannah asked Jack.

  “Don’t need one,” Jack said. “I just need someplace to sit.”

  “I’ll be back,” Clint said.

  When he got to compartment four, he knocked. Cody slid the door open and said, “Come on in.”

  Clint entered, slid the door closed. Cody sat back down by the window.

  “You made it,” he said. “Bill with you?”

  “He is.”

  “Have a seat.”

  Clint sat on a bunk.

  “I’m writing a bigger part for Hannah.”

  “Why?”

  Cody looked up from the work.

  “What?”

  “I said, why? Is she that good?”

  “She has some talent,” Cody said, “but I want to keep her around to work with Bill. How did breakfast go?”

  “He’s thinking about leaving.”

  Cody didn’t look happy.

  “Ah, damn. What will he do?”

  “I don’t know,” Clint said. “Go back west, I guess.”

  “He’ll get himself killed,” Cody said. “His eyes are bad, Clint, and getting worse. He’s just gonna get himself killed.”

  “Is that why you want him with the show?” Clint asked. “To save him?”

  “What did you think?”

  “I don’t now,” Clint said. “I told him maybe the show was in trouble, and you needed him to save it.”

  Cody thought about that, raised his eyebrows.

  “That’s good,” he said. “Let him think that. Let him think that he’s helpin’ me. Maybe that’ll make him stay.”

  Cody went back to writing. Clint got up and walked to the door.

  “Cody.”


  “Yes?”

  “Has he seen an eye doctor?”

  Cody looked a him.

  “He won’t,” he said. “I think he’s afraid of what he might find out.”

  “Maybe we can get him to see one,” Clint said.

  “Yes,” Cody said, “yes, maybe between us, we can convince him.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Cody’s show had two performances in Philadelphia. Clint watched them both from backstage, standing at enough of an angle so that the spotlights didn’t spoil his vision of the audience.

  Hannah was very good in her larger part. During the day she worked with Hickok, who became slightly less wooden in his performance, but the audiences didn’t seem to care. After all, they were seeing Wild Bill Hickok. Maybe even word about his shooting out the spotlight had reached them. They could always hope.

  The second night Clint was standing backstage with Texas Jack, watching Hickok onstage, when something occurred to him.

  “Jack.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did Cody arrange for that shot in New York?”

  “Why would you ask a fool question like that?” Jack asked.

  “He wants Bill to stay with the show.”

  “And you think he’d take a bullet to make that happen?”

  “If he thought it would keep Bill alive, maybe,” Clint said.

  “And who would Cody trust to make a shot like that?” Jack asked. “In the dark, and in a crowd?”

  Clint couldn’t answer.

  “I’ll tell you,” Jack went on. “He’d trust three men—you, me, or Bill. And none of us took that shot, right?”

  They were all on the street at the time, so Clint said, “Right.”

  “There ya go.”

  They watched a bit more of the show and then Clint spoke again.

  “If he did arrange for that shot, would you tell me?” he asked.

  Jack hesitated a moment, then said, “No.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  But Jack had made a valid point. Who else would Buffalo Bill Cody trust to make a shot like that? So maybe it wasn’t him.

  But nobody took a shot at Cody or Hickok in Philadelphia, and from there they took the train to Boston.

  Clint was sitting in a passenger car when Hannah came along and sat next to him.