by J. T. Edson
Once more the old man paused, taking a drink. Then his head fell on to his hands, the whiskey suddenly catching and affecting him. His eyes lifted toward Elwin.
“She has destroyed one man, Elwin the Juggler. Think of that before you listen to the siren song of Circe.”
With that his head fell forward again and a snore rocked him. Elwin reached out a hand to shake the old man but the bartender shook his head.
“Won’t do no good, friend. Who is he?”
“Lily Carlisle’s dresser,” Elwin replied. “She calls him Reuben. What was he on about?”
“Who knows what goes on in the mind of a drunk?” asked the bartender. “I’ve had them tell me their life stories by the hundred, some of them even tell two or three different stories.”
“But he wasn’t talking about himself.”
“You could be right at that,” Waco drawled. He glanced at the clock and yawned, although he never felt less like sleeping.
“We should be getting back,” Elwin gasped, suddenly recalling how he left his wife.
“Remember when I had my first,” the bartender remarked.
“I was worried near on sick about it for days. Then one night while I was serving bar the doctor came in, asked for four fingers neat, then told me to get out the cigars. It was as easy as that—”
“But Jan’s delicate—”
“She’s strong as a Texas bull pup,” Waco corrected. “And you know it.”
For all his light words Waco wondered how Elwin must feel, knowing the woman he loved and married was going through the hell of childbirth and that his own effort caused it. Waco felt a cold touch at his nerves, then relief as he decided it would never happen to him. He surely did not aim to get tangled with any gal, marry her, and watch her change until she looked as Janice had, or go through what Elwin was suffering now.
Elwin almost threw the chair over in his eagerness to rise. The two young men made for the door and the bartender cleared away the glasses, cast a look at the sleeping man, and walked behind the bar. He leaned his elbows on the polished surface and shook his head.
“I reckon I know who Circe is, old-timer,” he mused. “And who the Great Rube is too.”
At the Creed Hotel Elwin raced upstairs and tapped on his room door. It was opened by the doctor’s wife and she stepped out, closing it behind her.
“Is she all right?” Elwin gasped. “Is she going to be all right, what—”
“Hold hard, son,” replied the woman. “First off, she’s all right. The baby’s not here yet, in fact it won’t be here until tomorrow most likely.” She paused and held up a hand. “Now, don’t go into a tizzy, it’s not the first time I’ve seen it happen, nor likely to be the last.”
“But-but—”
“There’s no buts about it,” the woman answered. “Your wife’s all right and that young feller in there knows what he’s doing.”
“Can I see her?”
“Not right now. She’s sleeping and we don’t want her disturbing. You’d best go and have some sleep yourself.”
A powerful hand caught Elwin’s arm, turning him and leading him toward the door of Waco’s room. The young Texan grinned as he steered Elwin inside.
“You make yourself to home in there,” he ordered.
Elwin thought he would never sleep but his head barely touched the pillow before he was asleep. Waco undressed and turned in to the other bed of the room. He lay awake for a time but sleep came at last.
The sound of water splashing woke Waco. He sat up in bed and found Doc washing in the basin by the door. Waco rolled from bed and pulled on his trousers and socks, then crossed and took the soap from Doc.
“Was everything all right?” he asked.
Doc’s eyes met Waco’s. “As right as can be expected. That’s a tolerable hefty button she’s toting. Too big for my liking.”
“You mean there’s some danger?”
“Nope, I mean it’s not going to be easy on her.”
At that moment Elwin woke and sat up. He bounded from the bed and darted across the room.
“Doc,” he gasped. “How is she?”
“Sat in there drinking coffee and looking purty as a June bug,” Doc replied. “And afore you ask, no, she ain’t had it, nor likely to until this afternoon. I’ll stay on with her unless the town’s doctors get back, which from all I hear ain’t likely. Let you see her when you’re tidied up a mite. Don’t want you going in there looking like you been sleeping in your clothes, even if you have.”
A clean-shaven, tidy-looking husband was taken in to see his wife. Janice lay in the bed, face pale but smiling as she kissed him. The doctor’s wife withdrew and left them together. It took some doing but Janice managed to soothe her husband and Elwin left the room feeling ready to deal with the world, to take care of everything and everybody single-handed.
He went to the dining room with Waco and found to his amazement that they’d slept late and soon he would need to appear for the first show at the theater. He did not mind; the later he arrived the less chance there was of meeting Lily Carlisle, and Elwin did not think his company would be welcome after the previous night.
“I’d sure like to stay and see the show,” Waco remarked as they left the hotel. “But I want to see the sheriff on some business for Cap’n Bert.”
“I’ll see you after,” Elwin replied.
Never had Elwin given such a performance. He was inspired and the crowd roared their approval. His juggling was faultless but the comic patter he filled in with as backing for his act swelled to heights he had never shown before.
Lily Carlisle sat in her dressing room and listened. At each fresh outburst of acclaim her hands clenched and her lips grew tighter. The two young men, dressed in their leopard-skin leotards and tights, stood at the back of the room and waited for the explosion they knew would surely come. Reuben, the old dresser, moved around, being cursed every time he tried to help and getting cursed even more if he did nothing.
“How can I go on after that?” she screamed when a particularly loud burst of laughter and applause sounded.
“You could follow anything and top anybody, Lily,” Reuben replied.
It was the wrong thing to do, for it brought her attention to him. She came to her feet. Her hand swung around to slap his face and spin him across the room.
“I had him!” she screamed. “Last night I had him eating out of the palm of my hand. I could have broken him. Now listen. He’s greater than ever.”
A knock came on the door and a youthful voice called, “One minute, Miss Carlisle.”
Lily swept by Elwin with her lips drawn into a tight line as she ignored him and stalked onto the stage to begin her act. The orchestra in the small pit before the stage gave careful attention to their music. This was in some measure a tribute to a great performer but mostly because Lily’s vile temper would be poured out upon the head of the conductor and any man who dropped a sour note.
For all the fact that Lily was onstage the audience was restless, still laughing and repeating Elwin’s better jokes to each other. It was the situation that often came when a serious act followed a comic one, especially a comedy act as brilliant as Elwin’s inspired efforts. Her first number went by with no great feeling for or against, and although the audience quietened down after it, Lily knew they were not solidly behind her, hanging on to her every note in the manner to which she was accustomed.
Theaters of the west had not yet discarded the old tradition and switched over to the regulated lines of seats that were becoming the fashion in the east. Instead the audience sat around tables of various sizes, or stood along the walls or at the large bar that showed through an alcove, with a fair-sized bar room to it. The stage was large enough to present quality acts with numerous props, the orchestra pit being separated from the audience by a small barricade. In front of this sat the master of ceremonies, who almost always seemed to be large, well-dressed, and jovial men with booming voices that carried to every corner of t
he room, a quick wit to make flashing and sometimes crushing replies to comments from the audience, and an ability to consume good quantities of liquid refreshment without it having any visible effect on them.
All this Lily saw as she went through her act mechanically, having done it so many times she only found difficulty when she started to think about what she was doing. Rage seethed in her mind, hate consuming her behind that smiling face and the rich tones of her voice. She wanted revenge on the young juggler, to smash him into the ground, to squash him like a bug. Then she would be the star of the bill, for no other player on the circuit had that magical quality showed by Elwin and she would reign supreme once more.
A party at a table right up front caught her eye. They did not look like the sort of people who would occupy the place of honor in the house, especially a house like the Bisbee Bella Union. Six men and a girl sat at the table, five of the men in cowhand dress, unshaven and hard looking. The sixth man was tall, wide-shouldered, and handsome in a reckless kind of way. His expensive Stetson hat lay on the table before him, his black hair was short and very curly, while his cheeks were the dark blue of a man with a heavy-growing beard. He wore a gambler’s cutaway coat, frilly fronted shirt, light gray trousers. Yet there was no indoor pallor to his skin; his face held a tan of many hours under the sun. Instead of town shoes he wore high-heeled, fancy-stitched cowhand boots and around his waist was a gunbelt. Once when he moved she saw he had matched ivory-handled Colts in the holsters. Clearly he was a man of importance. That showed in his having a front seat and in the way the men with him or seated at the surrounding tables waited for his reaction before showing any sign. If he laughed at Lily’s remarks between songs, the men around laughed, if he applauded they seemed to try and outdo each other in their efforts to applaud. The party at his table received prompt attention from the waiters, who served them with best whiskey at the dark-haired man’s slightest nod.
Lily glanced at the girl who sat by the man. Her tawny hair looked wild and untouched by the hands of a hairdresser. It framed a tanned beautiful face that looked as wild and free as the range country. She wore a light blue shirt-waister that matched her eyes and clung to the rich full swell of her breasts. The top buttons were unfastened, just a trifle lower than might be decorous, showing the valley between her round bosom. The shirt-waister ended tucked into a pair of blue jeans that looked as if she’d been molded into them, while beaded Indian moccasins graced her feet. Lily felt disturbed as she saw the girl and their eyes met. One thing Lily Carlisle could not stand was another beautiful woman being near her. The chorus girls were bad enough, but to have such a beautiful creature in the audience hit Lily far worse.
The act came to an end almost without Lily being aware of it. She left the stage and then held out her hands for the two young men to lead her back out again. Sinking into a graceful curtsy, she acknowledged the applause then returned to the wings.
“Charles,” she hissed, catching sight of the stage manager as he tried to get away. “Come here.”
The man drew in a deep breath and walked toward Lily, clearly steeling himself for a succession of complaints. “Yes, Lily?”
“Who’s that man out front, at the best table?”
“They call him Graham.”
Something in the stage manager’s tone told Lily he held something back about the man called Graham. Ignoring the bustle as the cast of the show prepared to go out for the finale, she hissed: “Who is he?”
Seeing the sudden anger flare into Lily’s eyes, the stage manager gave a nervous gulp. He knew better than to try to evade a question when Lily looked like that. It would only lead to a scene in the wings or after the show, and he didn’t feel he could cope with any more of Lily’s tantrums.
“His real name’s Brocious, they call him Curly Bill.”
Then Lily remembered. The show had been playing Tombstone a few weeks ago and the man came in, swaggering at the head of a bunch of tough-looking cowhands with guns bouncing on their hips. Up until that night the Earp brothers had been on hand each night to keep order in the theater and bask in Lily’s reflected glory, grabbing some valuable newspaper space in the process. Yet on this night the Earps were conspicuous only by their absence. In fact rumor was strong in the Tombstone bars that a sudden and urgent business called the Earp brothers and their satellites out of town shortly before the arrival of Curly Bill Brocious, Johnny Ringo, and their Galeyville rustlers.
Lily also remembered how Curly Bill removed his hat in a low bow to her, apologized for interrupting her act, then ordered everyone in the theater to enjoy themselves. Never since the days of her greatest fame had her reception been so enthusiastic at the end of an act. Her anger against the latecomers had died a trifle and died even further when she received a diamond bracelet neatly wrapped and accompanied by a note of apology neatly written and perfectly phrased in a manner she found hard to attribute to Curly Bill. Actually the note had been Curly Bill’s only in that he placed it with the bracelet he bought. Curly’s partner, Johnny Ringo, that coldly mysterious, deadly killer, wrote it, for in his past he had been well educated in the social graces.
Snapping her fingers a moment before she made her grand final entrance, Lily brought a stagehand to her.
“Go and tell Mr. Graham I will take champagne with him in the bar in fifteen minutes,” she ordered.
The stagehand hurried away to deliver the message. The stage manager and Lily’s two young men heard the order and wondered at it. Lily was smiling as she went forward to take Elwin’s hand and allowed him, as always, to lead her to the center of the stage. Behind her the two young men, coming out to take their final bows, exchanged looks. They knew their Lily very well. When her face held that particular smile, somebody usually got hurt.
“Elwin,” Lily whispered. “Come to my dressing room before you go home to your darling little wife. I feel I must make amends to her for last night. I honestly didn’t know of her condition.”
Elwin felt as if a weight had been lifted from his head. He wanted to keep in Lily’s good graces and thought she might still be offended at his departure the previous night. It seemed that Lily had come through like the good trouper she was.
“Thanks, Lily,” he managed to get out as he took her forward and waved to the audience, keeping them applauding Lily.
Then the curtains closed and Lily moved back. It always took Elwin at least half an hour to remove his makeup, change, and pack away his gear. Lily wore her stage dress, but it would be more than suitable for meeting Curly Bill Brocious and preparing the ground for Elwin’s downfall.
“Ah, my dear Mr. Graham!”
Lily came into the bar room in all her regal splendor, sweeping down toward the large round table at which Curly Bill and his men sat. Lily frowned as she saw the girl also sat at the table.
Bill came to his feet at the approach of the woman, landing a kick across the shins of the nearest man, who, not so well versed in social graces, remained seated. The others all got to their feet, looking as embarrassed as shambling, awkward schoolboys as they removed their hats.
“Howdy, Miss Carlisle,” greeted Curly Bill, retaining some of his usual easy familiarity in the presence of greatness. “You were great today, just great. Wasn’t she, Tioga?”
“Yeah,” replied the tawny-haired girl, meeting Lily’s eyes without flinching. “Great.”
The warmth flickered for an instant on Lily’s face, the corners of her mouth dropped, and then the stage smile returned. She felt uncomfortable and looked away from the girl, unable to meet her mocking and coldly inquiring gaze. Something warned Lily that in the party at the table, Tioga, if that was her name, was not fooled.
Quickly Curly Bill drew out a chair for Lily, allowing her to sit at his right side, while the girl, Tioga, sat at the left. He raised a hand, which brought up waiters with glasses and a bucket containing champagne.
In less than five minutes Lily had the men eating out of her hand but did not address a word to Ti
oga, yet she felt the girl’s eyes watching her in the same critical manner. The girl lounged back in her seat with the relaxed grace of a cougar on a limb. Her hazel eyes never left Lily’s face and the star knew Tioga read her like a book, knew that under normal circumstances she would never have spoken to the likes of Curly Bill, and wanted to learn what the meeting was leading up to.
“Lord, Miss Lily,” howled one of the men, sitting next to the star and restraining himself just in time from giving her a friendly slap on the shoulder as he and the rest stopped roaring with immoderate mirth at a faintly humorous story she told. “You’re the living wonder.”
Lily’s eyes went to the clock behind the bar, estimating how long she had to drive home the iron before Elwin’s arrival. The men were eating out of her hand, although the girl remained as quizzical as ever. She swung the talk to her show, saw her two assistants standing by the alcove door watching for Elwin, as she ordered, ready to ease him into the bar if he tried to pass.
“The jealousy behind this life makes me think it’s not worthwhile,” she said with a heartrending sigh, which made the men feel like they should do something about everything that troubled her. “It’s a terribly hard life for a poor, defenseless woman, Mr. Graham. Alone in a world of petty spite and- and—”
Lily stopped with a sniff and dabbed at her eyes with a tiny silk handkerchief. Curly Bill was instantly the gallant knight in shining armor, ready to come to the fair lady’s aid.
“How’d you mean, ma’am?”
“It’s nothing, nothing. I suppose I shouldn’t mind being kept off the stage for ten minutes while that-that-well, that juggler went overtime with his act.”
“The dirty rat!” one of the cowhands growled.
“Oh, he’s young,” Lily replied in the tone of a Christian martyr excusing the lions for eating her. “But it gets longer and longer every show.”
“Sounds like some kind of a range hawg,” Curly Bill growled. “Should know a sight better’n treat a sure-enough lady like you mean.”
