The bar along the left wall appeared to be almost an exact copy of the one back in Manzanola…but just a bit less ornate was all. A few punchers occupied it with their backs to the room. Each of them stood slumped forward with a foot planted firmly on the brass rail that ran the length about six inches off the sawdust-strewn floor. A piano in the back was being beaten unmercifully by a decrepit old soul that had to be at least ninety if he were a day.
She shifted her gaze.
A few of the tables held customers as well, with a couple of painted barmaids plying their trade from the laps of the two luckiest of the customers, although the validity of that assessment would depend entirely on the eye of the beholder.
She pushed through the doors and entered.
The ear-splitting pounding on the honkytonk piano ceased abruptly, giving cause for the rest of the room to grow quite as well. Every face turned her way. She discretely pulled in a deep breath of courage and allowed it to leak out ever so slowly.
“I’m looking for information about three men that were in here yesterday, two brothers and their worthless father!” she announced boldly.
One of the men at the bar faced her squarely, a sarcastic crooked grin spread across his unshaven face. “You figgerin’ on gunnin’ ’em, honey?” he asked, and flicked a hand, indicating the Peacemaker. “That’s a mighty big hogleg for such a pretty little gal to be totin’.”
She eyed him coldly as she unhooked the leather thong that held the Peacemaker securely in the holster. “All I’m wanting is a little information. If I have to shoot three or four of you fellas to get it...then...well, it’s your call. She crouched slightly with her open palm poised just above the pearl handle. Her blue eyes intensified but never left the man at the bar.
“Ah, hell,” he said, with a dismissing wave. “I reckon it’s just the whiskey talkin’. I ain’t about ta go up against no gunfighter...female or otherwise.”
She allowed the tension to drain. “Does that mean you have something to say that I might wanna hear?”
“You wanna drink? I’m buyin’.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. Just some information will do.” She glanced around the room. “Is that burning steak I smell?”
The bartender wadded his towel and threw it down somewhere behind the bar. “Doggone it! Now look what cha made me do!” He hurried the length of the bar and made a hasty exit through the doorless portal at the far end.
There was a pass-thru opening in the wall that gave her a glimpse of white smoke in the kitchen area as she heard him cussing and rattling the offending skillet. She returned her attention to the puncher.
“Well...?”
He turned to face the bar and picked up his drink.
She crossed the space between them and sided up to him just as he poured it down the inside of his neck.
He placed the glass down on the bar top, wiped a sleeve across the grimace on his face, and looked at her. “There were three fellas in here, alright...just like ya said. Don’t know for sure if they’s the same ones yer lookin’ for, but if they was, I’m hopin’ you find them and put ’em clean outta their misery.”
“You have trouble with them, did you?”
“Not so much me in particular...just folks in general is all. Them two ladies over yonder...” he gestured, “they’re the ones you outta be talking to.”
“Much obliged,” she said and touched a finger to the front edge of her hat. “Believe that’s just what I’ll do.”
She headed for the table where the nearest of the two was perched seductively on a cowpuncher’s lap, nibbling on his ear or whispering something into it. Dolly couldn’t be sure which, and cleared her throat, “Ahhhmmm.” The effort had little to no effect. She tried again, louder, “Ahhhmmm!” This time the woman looked up.
“You got something on yer mind?” she asked, obviously perturbed that her precious moment with the cowhand had been so rudely interrupted.
“I’m looking for some information. That fella over at the bar,” she gestured with a flick of her wrist, “said you and your friend might have a thing or two to say that could help me out.”
“Well, we ain’t...so beat it!”
Dolly’s eyes narrowed. “If you’ll excuse me...I’m not asking...I’m telling,” she said icily.
To the tart’s credit, she realized that she had already pushed this young woman just about as far as she dared. She unfolded herself from the gent’s lap and stood, smoothing the front of her dress with both hands. She then beckoned to her friend, “Stella!” she hollered to the other barmaid who had just risen with her customer and had begun leading him toward the stairway that led to the row of rooms along the far side of the balcony. “C’mon over here. This...this...” she tilted her head toward Dolly then smoothed a curl back into place that had fallen, “whatever it is, wants to have a talk with us.”
“Can’t it wait? I’m right in the middle of—”
“Just get on over here and let’s get this over with.”
Dolly watched with obvious displeasure as the woman gave the man a kiss that, judging from the enthusiasm with which it was delivered, was most likely wet. She then whispered something into his ear and reaching around, gave him a suggestive squeeze on his backside.
He grinned mischievously, gave her a pat or two of his own in response, and took a seat at the table nearest the foot of the staircase while she headed for where her friend awaited. “Hurry back, honey,” he called after her.
“Sorry to interrupt your...your...whatever you call that,” Dolly said as she waved nonchalantly in the general direction of the cowpoke who awaited with marked impatience.
“That? Oh, that’s just business,” Stella said. “So, what’s so important?”
“My name’s Dolly and I’m in need of some information that I’m told the two of you might be able to supply.”
“Like what?” Stella said as she reluctantly pulled her attention away from her perspective customer.
“How about we find a spot at a table?” Dolly suggested, and glanced around.
“Whatever plows your furrow.”
Dolly retrieved a chair and moved it adjacent to the nearby table that already had two. She sat, and pulling her hat, placed it on the table. “I’m looking for three fellas that I have reason to believe you two are acquainted with.”
“How intimately?” Stella asked and grinned wickedly.
“Probably not that well,” Dolly responded. “These three are a couple of brothers and their no-account father. They were in here yesterday sometime...near as I can find out. They were most likely of a bragging nature, and probably on the abusive side as well.”
“Yeah...now that cha mention it,” Stella offered and looked across the table at the other woman. “You remember them three, Mavis?” she asked. “You know...the old man was wantin’ to get his boys into our beds for free?”
“Boy, do I? I’ve never been treated so rudely in all my life...and that’s surely saying something.” Mavis turned her attention toward Dolly. “Why are you looking for them three? They get fresh with you?”
Dolly’s jaw tightened. “Let’s just say I’ve got a little score to settle,” she said coldly.
Stella and Mavis both could see the sudden sadness that had appeared in Dolly’s eyes.
“It appears to be more than just a little score to settle,” Mavis said, with genuine sympathy. “You wanna talk about it?”
“It’s just that...that...they killed my father and…and did things.”
“Things to you? Against your will?” Stella asked and placed a comforting hand atop Dolly’s. “That ain’t right. That ain’t right atall. If a woman wants to give herself willingly, that’s one thing. But for a despicable piece of horse manure to do it on his own…well…that’s a whole different matter altogether. What is it you wanna know about them lowlifes?”
Chapter 11
Dolly had taken a room at the fleabag of a hotel and was now seated on the edge of the bed. Stella and Mav
is had been a big help. During the ten minutes or so that she had kept them from pursuing their livelihood, they’d cooperated fully and answered every question she’d asked. It was plain to see that they were completely in favor of her gunning the three men and were willing to give up a few bucks in earnings to help in any way possible.
As it turned out, the bartender was the only one who’d had a problem with them taking unnecessary time out from plying their trade. He had approached the table and had gruffly ordered them back to work, saying something to the effect that the drinks weren’t just gonna sell themselves and the customers needed tending to.
Dolly smiled as she remembered giving him an icy look and letting him know, in no uncertain terms, that not every female was afraid of him and willing to do his bidding at the drop of a hat. After eyeing her closely, he’d made the smart decision and had backed off, telling the two whores that they had about one minute to get back to work.
By that time Dolly had already gotten about as much information as she was apt to and had ended the conversation with the barmaids, but not before staring down the fat slob of a barkeep, sending him back to the relative safety of being behind the bar.
She had remained at the table and watched the two barmaids as they’d taken up right about where they’d left off, with Mavis resuming her seat on the one fella’s lap, and Stella climbing the stairs with the other, arm in arm. It grated on her that some women chose to make a living that way, but then again, who was she to judge?
She shifted her position on the edge of the bed and again went over in her mind the information she’d been given. It had turned out that the three had been extremely talkative with the barmaids and had made it clear to Mavis and Stella that they’d lost their jobs out at the Circle T sometime back, something about a run-in with the boss’s daughter—which, of course came as no surprise. After having spent a few days up north just kinda wandering around without any meaningful purpose to speak of, they had made plans to head on down El Paso way and maybe even cross the border into Juarez where the women weren’t near as uppity. But what was of even more of an interest was the fact that one of them—they’d thought that it had been Walt, as far as they could recollect—had indicated a desire to stop off in Trinidad for a day or two to rest up before heading over Raton Pass and into the New Mexico Territory.
That little bit of news set real well with Dolly, giving her cause to figure that that’d give her plenty of time to enjoy the luxury of a bath and room for the night and still have plenty of time to catch up.
She propped a pillow against the headboard and lay back with her fingers laced together behind her neck. With her boots biding their time on the floor beside the bed, and her eyes closed, she relaxed every muscle in her body and began to enjoy the respite from the hard day’s ride.
Suddenly, her eyes flew open as the intrusion of a single gunshot filled the room through the partially opened window. She hastily swung her legs over the side and sprang to her feet. No sooner had she reached the window then another shot rang out, followed closely by a woman’s scream. It all appeared to have come from just across the street where the Silver Dollar was. She hurried back to the bed, sat on the edge, and hastily pulled on her boots.
She buckled the gunbelt as she made her way down the steep stairway. Reaching the bottom, she took the time necessary to carefully knot the leather thong around her thigh. Remembering Nate’s advice, she didn’t rush this part. Satisfied, she then hurried across the lobby and out the front door, pulling her hat a bit lower in the front to better shadow her eyes.
She stood looking over the tops of the batwings with the acrid smell of gunpowder assaulting her nostrils. She felt a slight urge to sneeze, but after pinching her nostrils together for a second or two, the sensation subsided.
The scene was one of disarray with most of the customers huddled on one side of the room; a few remained on the door side, lining the area along the front windows. Mavis was kneeling beside a seemingly lifeless body that lay partially under the same table they had sat at. At the bar was a lone man, even the barkeep was keeping his distance. Dolly took note of his holster. It was painfully obvious that he was a gunnie.
Her attention was suddenly drawn to the sounds of someone approaching from behind her. She turned to see the sheriff climbing the steps.
“You involved in this?” he asked sternly.
“Not yet.”
“Good...stay the hell out of it!”
He brushed past her and through the swinging doors. She followed after him, while being mindful of leaving a comfortable gap between them. Once inside she moved aside, stepping back against the wall as he addressed the room.
“What went on here?”
The tension in the room was about as thick as two day old gravy. No one spoke up. Dolly looked around. Judging from what she saw, no one seemed inclined to speak up, either.
Someone unseen off to her left cleared his throat as if to speak, but that’s as far as it went.
Finally, Mavis broke the near silence as she pointed an accusing finger at the man that remained bellied up to the bar with his back to the room. “He shot this man down in cold blood!”
The man slowly turned around, leaving his elbows propped against the edge of the bar behind him as he faced the room.
Even from where she stood, Dolly could see that his eyes were a cold and lifeless gray color.
He spoke in a lifeless monotone. “That’s a lie. It was a fair fight. He went for his gun, same as me.”
Dolly immediately decided that the tone in his words exactly matched the color of his eyes. She glanced at the dead man. His gun was still in its holster.
“Looks to me like he didn’t have much of a chance,” Sheriff Tyson said, gesturing toward the poor unfortunate soul. “Peers like he didn’t even come close to clearin’ leather.”
She watched as the gunman’s demeanor changed right before her eyes. He grinned wickedly. “That ain’t my fault,” he replied, adding a bit of a lilt to his words. “If he was fool enough to go for his shooter without knowin’ what he was up against...well, that’s just too bad for him.” The grin widened.
“You goaded him into doing it!” Mavis said as she rose. The fire in her eyes said that if she’d have had a pistol on her hip she would most likely have pulled it right about then. She instead again pointed the accusing finger. “He wasn’t a threat to you! You were just looking for someone to belittle until they’d had their fill!”
“That right?” the sheriff asked.
The insidious grin remained. “So what if it is? Life’s chocked full of ups ’n downs. What’re you gonna do about it, Marshal?” He took a step away from the bar, freeing his gunhand. The grin disappeared. “You ain’t figuring on makin’ the same mistake...are you?”
Dolly saw the sheriff swallow and could also see that he wasn’t at all relishing having to face this gunfighter. She stepped away from the wall, sure of herself, but not overly so. “Maybe not him,” she heard herself saying, coldly, “but I am.” The gunnie turned toward her as she unhooked the strip of leather that held the Peacemaker securely in its holster.
“Well, well. What do we have here? Peers like a feisty little filly what fancies herself a man.” The grin reappeared, but this time it appeared forced; he obviously wasn’t about to chance the mistake of taking her lightly. Whether she was a girl or a man or somewhere in between, he’d been around enough to not underestimate anyone who was wearing it tied down. “You feelin’ the need to buy inta this, are ya?”
“Only if you’re fool enough to give the sheriff here a hard time.” Her words continued to come out cold and calculating. She was obviously unafraid. Her left hand remained rock steady, with the palm poised just above the pearl handle. Her eyes were also steady, and vigilant. She crouched slightly, ready, yet fully relaxed.
Sheriff Bill Tyson was no fool. Had he been he would have been dead long ago. “You might wanna think about what it is yer getting yerself into, gunfighter. I’ve
seen this little lady fill her hand a time or two,” he lied. “I ain’t never seen you slap leather, but one thing I do know is that by the time you see if you’ve got what it takes to best her, I’ll have my own .45 out and that’ll be that...if you get my drift? But I’m bettin’ I won’t even be needed.”
The silence was complete as the steely-eyed gunnie first looked at Dolly then quickly shifted his gaze back to the sheriff. “I ain’t goin’ to jail,” he said simply. “If he was fool enough to—”
“I ain’t askin’ you to go to jail,” Sheriff Tyson said. “In fact, I ain’t askin’ nothing. What I’m sayin’ is that you got somewhere between ten and fifteen seconds to make a decision. You can head for the door and ride clean outta my town without lookin’ back, or you can make yer play and see what comes of it. If you decide to make a play...well, you need to do it sometime before them fifteen seconds is up. Cuz if you make the mistake of waiting too long, well, then as you so aptly put it just awhile ago...if yer fool enough to go for your gun without knowin’ what you’re up against...well, that’s just too bad for you.”
Sheriff Tyson unhooked the leather thong from around the hammer of his six-gun. “I’m hopin’ you can count all the way up to fifteen, because the countin’ starts right now, and I ain’t sayin’ the numbers out loud neither. The way I figger it is that from here on out yer on yer own. So...what’ll it be?”
The deathly silence lasted barely a few seconds while the gunnie made a hurried decision. He then reached for the shot glass behind him. He found it without taking his eyes off Dolly, slugged down the contents without so much as a grimace, tossed the glass over his shoulder, landing it somewhere behind the bar without breaking it, and wiped a sleeve across his mouth. “Someday we’ll meet again, little girl,” he said menacingly, and left without another word.
A collective sigh could be heard, Dolly’s was mixed right in there with the rest of them.
She Wore It Tied-Down Page 7
