She Wore It Tied-Down

by r. William Rogers

“The latter would be pretty accurate,” she said.

  “Say what?”

  “Nevermind.” She turned away and headed for the passed-out figure. The fat man’s grumbled rumblings reached her ears. She smiled at his ignorance.

  Reaching the table, she looked down at the laid out figure. Repulsed, she reached out and shook him by the shoulder.

  He stirred, but didn’t awaken.

  She shook him again, a bit harder.

  This time it had somewhat the desired effect and Hank Byers began to grumble his way into consciousness.

  She decided to hurry him along and shook him again, even harder.

  He forced his head up from the table and strained to narrow his obviously blurred vision in an attempt to make out who had interrupted his sleep. “What the? Wha...what’dya want?” he finally slurred.

  “Some information,” she said flatly, and lowered herself into the chair opposite him.

  “Gimme a drink first.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen. Looks to me like you’ve had more’n your share already.”

  “Shows what you know. If you want any information outta me, it’s gonna cost ya the price of a drink or two.”

  She looked at the bartender and motioned. “Bring him his usual!” she said loudly. She turned her attention back to Byers. “It’s coming. Now...about that information. You told Nestor the barber about three men who were bragging about having done things to a woman up north of here.”

  He wrinkled his brow questioningly as he forced himself to try to recollect. “Yeah...now that cha mention it, I do ’member something along them lines.”

  “Well, that’s certainly a start.”

  The barkeep set a mostly empty bottle onto the tabletop with a thump. “Here it is. That’ll be six bits for all what’s left in there.”

  She stuck a finger into her shirt pocket and hooked a silver dollar. “If you can manage to come up with a reasonably clean glass you can keep the change.” She tossed it onto the table.

  He snatched it up before it came to a complete stop.

  “Don’t need no glass,” Byers said and wrapped a fist around the bottleneck. He then gnawed out the cork, spit it onto the floor, and put the bottle to his lips.

  She winced as she watched him take a few disgustingly deep swallows. She returned her gaze to the barkeep. “Go on back to the bar and take the extra two bits with you. Now get outta here.”

  He flipped the oversized coin into the air with his thumb, caught it with a tightly-balled fist, and grinned. This was the biggest tip he could remember ever having earned. “Thanks,” he said and waddled away.

  By the time she had returned her attention to Byers, the whiskey seemed to’ve already had an amazing effect on him; his eyes were no longer clouded over and he was sitting up straight...more or less.

  “Now, what can I do fer ya, Missy? Oh yeah...you was askin’ about them three fellas the other day.”

  “Yesterday, to be exact,” she informed him.

  “Whatever. All I know is what they said.”

  “Which is?”

  “That they shot some fella and took advantage of his daughter. Said they figgered they’d head south. Maybe even all the way down ta Juarez.”

  “Mexico?”

  “Course, Mexico.”

  Remembering Nate’s advice about being absolutely sure about something or someone you were after, she asked, “Did you hear any names?”

  He became thoughtful. “Yeah, as a matter a fact. I remember the old man callin’ one of ’em Walt.”

  Her face lit up. “Are you sure?”

  “Course I’m sure. That was my daddy’s name. Surely I’d recognize by own daddy’s name when I heard it.”

  “They say anything else that might be of an interest?”

  “Interest ta who?”

  “Who do you think? Me, of course. It was my father they shot and killed.”

  “Oh...then that’d make you the one who was—”

  “Yeah...now you got anything else that might help me find them?” She rose.

  His eyes wandered to the pearl handled Colt. “You figgerin’ on gunnin’ ’em, are ya?” He tilted his head slightly toward the gun.

  “That’s exactly what I’m figuring on.”

  “Well now...that puts a whole different light on things. Fact is, you might wanna go over to the cafe and talk ta that Nigra woman, old what’sername.”

  “Lida?”

  “Yeah, her. I heard ’em talkin’ about how she’d got uppity and they’d had ta smack her around a time or two. She mighta heard somethin’ that’d be of a help to ya as well. Leastwise it probably wouldn’t hurt none to try, anyways.”

  “Thanks.” She turned to leave, then turned back around to face him again. He had already reached for the bottle. “I’m heading for the cafe. I’ll buy you breakfast if you’re of a mind.” She arched an eyebrow.

  He hoisted the bottle. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he said with a sly grin. “I always make it a point ta never eat on an empty stomach.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said and lightly touched a fingertip to the brim of her hat. “Much obliged.”

  She made the short walk across the street to the cafe, while all the while wondering at the senseless desires of some men to just waste away their lives inside a whiskey bottle. Coming to the conclusion that it was their choice and she wasn’t about to waste her time feeling sorry for them, she turned the knob and pushed the door open amidst the tinkling of the bell that hung from the top of the jamb.

  The place was empty except for the lone figure seated at the table closest to the kitchen. Lida sat slumped over with her face buried in her hands. She looked up at the sound of the bell.

  Even from there, and despite Lida’s natural coloring, Dolly could easily make out the bruises on her face. She did nothing to try to hide them as Dolly approached.

  She stood and dabbed at her eyes with the bottom edge of her apron. “Land sakes, child...I ain’t seen you in a coon’s age. Where you been keepin’ yerself, girl?”

  Dolly had reached Lida and touched a hand briefly to the side of the woman’s wounded face. “I’ve been out at Mister Johnny’s apple farm,” she said softly. “Looks like those three men need killing worse’n ever.”

  “You know about them three, do ya?”

  “Way more’n I care to admit. They’re the same one’s that did those things to me.”

  “I ain’t surprised none, child. They’s bad men, through ’n through,” she said, with a squinting hatred as she touched the side of her face near the badly discolored area under her left eye. “It’s like...it’s like they take a powerful pleasure just hurtin’ folks...’specially womenfolk.”

  Dolly nodded knowingly, her lips pressed tightly together in dogged consternation. “That’s why I’ve spent all this time out at Mister Johnny’s farm.” She patted the Colt. “I’ve been learning how to use this pistol. I’m going to find them fellas and kill ’em.”

  “Oh, child...they’s dangerous men. You sure yer up to it? You sure yer knowin’ what yer fixin’ ta chew off?”

  Dolly smiled crookedly. “Yeah, I’m sure,” she replied confidently.

  They spent the next five minutes or so with Lida telling her not much more than she already knew. She, too, said that they had indicated that they’d be working their way down toward Juarez.

  After saying their goodbyes, Dolly recrossed the street to the front of the Rusty Nickel, and after untying her buckskin and the dun, mounted and headed for the mercantile she remembered passing on the way into town.

  The gent behind the counter looked up from his ledger book at the first sound of the tinkling bell that effectively announced her arrival. His eyes narrowed at the sight of a young woman wearing a gun in the fashion of a gunfighter. “Mornin’, Miss,” he said pleasantly and folded the book closed. He tucked the pencil behind his ear. “What can I do for you this fine morning?”

  “I need some supplies...enough for a week or so on the
trail. I’m also in the market for some different clothes...black if you have anything along those lines that’s in my size.”

  Chapter 9

  After fording the Arkansas, she reined up and hipped around. The buckskin heaved under her. She could barely make out the tops of a few of the buildings that were all that remained as proof of Manzanola’s existence. She moved her gaze eastward, imagining where Nate’s apple farm might be. She then looked in the direction she judged the cemetery to be, the one that held her father. She sighed heavily but refused to let the tears appear. She remained steadfast in her vow to never show those kinds of emotions ever again. She had to remain strong, stronger than she had ever been in her entire young life. She removed her newly acquired black, flat-brimmed hat and wiped her brow against the sleeve of her coat.

  “You rest easy, Daddy,” she said above a quivering chin. “I know you wouldn’t approve of what I’m setting out to do.” She paused to collect herself before continuing, “But what you don’t realize is that they killed me, too, sure as shootin’. When they took you away from me, and then my...they took away everything that meant anything to me. So you just rest easy, Daddy. I’m meaning to avenge the both of us.”

  She replaced the hat, patting it down firmly onto her head, and turned around to the front. She rubbed the gelding affectionately along his neck as she gazed out at what lay ahead. As best she had been able to find out, Juarez was somewhere down around El Paso, on the west edge of Texas, and that meant she had a long ride ahead of her.

  “Well, big fella...you ready to do what needs doin’?”

  He bobbed his head and pawed at the soft dirt.

  “Good...because so’m I,” she said resolutely, and nudged him lightly with the heels of her boots.

  Chapter 10

  Dolly continued to ride southward until well after the shadows had lengthened across the prairie floor and dusk had closed in around her. She had not seen a single soul the entire time. She reined up along the banks of a slow-running stream that was barely bigger than a trickle.

  She was dog-tired and gladly dismounted. Although exhausted, she wouldn’t allow herself to give in to the fatigue until after she had tended the horses, built a cook fire, and prepared a hot meal of bacon and beans. She then made short work of cleaning the tin plate in the stream, and after piling the fire high with sticks, curled up in her blanket with the saddle as a headrest.

  Despite her exhaustion, sleep wouldn’t come. Her mind whirled as she lay on her side and stared into the blaze. She imagined the faces of the three men in the flickering flames. She thought of her father and remembered the last camp they had shared. She was again saddened. Then anger crept into it as the faces in the flames leered at her, refusing to disappear. She closed her eyes and they finally faded.

  She rolled over away from the flames and forced herself to think of pleasanter things: Nate, the good times she’d shared with her father, the J Bar R—she wondered how it was fairing without her. Finally, with the gentle sounds of the night all around her, she began to feel drowsy as the seemingly zillions of stars overhead slowly faded. She closed her eyes as the woeful howl of a coyote again reminded her of her loneliness and sleep mercifully overtook her.

  *

  She shivered under the blanket and opened her eyes. She had slept past the false dawn. She sat up and rubbed her upper arms briskly. Feeling a bit better, she wiggled out from under the blanket and set about rekindling the fire before busying herself with fixing something to eat.

  Once on the trail she quickly became absorbed with the solitude of being alone with the horses. The rhythmic plodding of the hooves against the dry, hardened ground was pleasing to her ears and she reveled in its soothing effects as well as the beauty of the gently rolling prairie grassland that was all around her.

  She rode steadily for the remainder of the day, stopping only briefly for a bite to eat and a much-needed opportunity to rub the circulation back into the area on the fleshy side of her hip pockets. As the last rays of sunlight disappeared from the grassy plains of southern Colorado, she sat astride the buckskin atop a bald butte and eyed the good-sized river and the generous showing of cottonwoods that clung to life along its length.

  Coming to a decision, she nudged the buckskin with her knees and headed down the slope toward the small scattering of buildings that lay nestled just beyond the river. After all, it was entirely possible that the men she sought had made a stop in the town and she could therefore gain some much-needed information about them.

  The ford was a shallow one and she made it without even getting the souls of her boots wet. As she rode slowly down the single street that made up the biggest portion of the town, she took in her surroundings. There was a blacksmith shop and stable on the outskirts with a couple of broken down nags standing forlornly in an adjacent corral with their noses nearly touching the ground. For all she knew, they could have been asleep.

  As she continued on into town she saw a small hotel and an even smaller mercantile that looked to contain a telegraph office. There were also a couple of saloons and a few other buildings that she couldn’t tell what they were. Each of the buildings was false-fronted with the exception of the blacksmith shop and the mercantile. Her eye picked up a sign of sorts that was just what she’d hoped to find.

  She reined up at the rail in front of the weatherworn plank with its scrawled message announcing to the world that this was the:

  Timpas Jail

  &

  Sheriff’s Office

  She dismounted stiffly.

  “You a gunfighter?” a voice said from the shadows that had settled in under the overhanging roof.

  She draped the buckskin’s rein over the rail before looking up. The figure took a couple of steps forward on the elevated sidewalk.

  “Only if the need shows itself,” she offered flatly. “But I’d be more inclined to describe myself as a woman with a mission. I’m not here to cause any trouble, Sheriff. I’m just looking for some men who did me wrong. I’m sure they’re not in your town, but they might have been here sometime yesterday. All I’m looking for is some answers, then I’ll be on my way.”

  “In that case...come on inside and take a load off,” he invited and headed for the door that was almost directly behind him. He pushed it open, sending a pale yellow glow spreading onto the porch.

  She climbed the scant two steps and followed him into his office. It wasn’t much to look at. But then again when you figure that its inhabitants were usually mostly no-accounts and drunks, it was certainly more than adequate.

  Decorating the jailhouse to their liking was no doubt the furthest thing toward the bottom of the sheriff’s list of priorities. A small desk with the customary swivel chair behind it and a table with two straight-backed chairs was all there was, unless you counted the wanted posters that adorned the left wall. Straight ahead were two small cells, neither of which was big enough to cuss a cat out in without getting hair in your teeth. Each showed a threadbare blanket folded somewhat neatly across the end of a thin, disgustingly stained mattress. Each bunk had a similarly stained pillow to match.

  “Looks like it’s got all the comforts,” Dolly said matter of factly, and retrieved one of the chairs. She carried it over by the desk where he had already taken a seat in the swivel chair.

  “Suits the needs of the town,” he said simply, and rocking back in the chair, stacked his boots on the desktop. “So...what kinda information you looking for?”

  She saw his gaze flick to her holster, then return to her face just as quickly. “I’m trailing three men...an older worthless piece of lowlife and his two sons, who are equally as useless. They’d most likely be of a boisterous nature and apt to cause trouble at the drop of a hat. Anyone who fits that description been here either yesterday or today?”

  He grinned. “Sure...Timpas is jammed clean to the eyeballs with fellas just like them. I’m afraid you’ll hafta do better’n that.”

  She decided to lay it all out...well,
some of it anyway. “These three are cowards that killed my father. They’d be of a mind to brag about doing it, too.”

  “Was one of ’em named Jake?”

  Her heart jumped. “Yes...yes he was. His brother is named Walt.” She moved forward onto the edge of the chair. “Does that mean that they were here?”

  “There were three fellas that met that description here yesterday. They had a couple of drinks over at the Silver Dollar, and darned near got themselves involved in a three on one gunfight before I managed to run ’em outta town.”

  “Anyone know where they might be headed?”

  “Don’t know. But you might wanna ask around.”

  She rose. “Where’s the Silver Dollar?”

  He gestured toward her holster. “You keep that thing in that tied down rig. We ain’t got no use for gunnies in Timpas...no matter how pretty or how young they appear to be.”

  She smiled disarmingly. “Promise,” she said pleasantly, “And thanks for the information. Now...where’s the Silver Dollar?”

  Sheriff Bill Tyson stood in the doorway as he watched her go. He figured something more than just the killing of her father was driving her. She couldn’t be more than sixteen...seventeen tops, yet she smelled like a gunfighter from head to toe, replete with the completely black outfit and low slung, studded, black holster. He also hadn’t missed the notches that were carved into the butt of the pearl handled Colt. It wasn’t unusual for a young fella to lose his senses and opt for the gunnie way of life at an early age...but a pretty female?

  He shook his head as he continued to watch her ride away. He returned to his desk, and after pulling a short stack of papers out of the top drawer, began rummaging through the latest delivery of wanted posters.

  She found the Silver Dollar easy enough and tied up at the rail. Frequenting these types of places was getting to be a habit that she certainly wasn’t anywhere near growing fond of. She adjusted the holster that had moved a bit off kilter when she’d dismounted. After sucking in a breath of tenacity, she climbed the steps and stood peering over the top of the batwings. It was almost as if she had never left Manzanola and the Rusty Nickel, except this place had a few more people in it.