“Thanks,” Sheriff Tyson said as he turned to face her. “I appreciate what cha did, but I want you outta my town as well.”
Dolly touched a fingertip to the brim of her flat-crowned hat. “You’re welcome,” she said and after smiling at Mavis, turned and pushed her way out through the batwings.
Once out on the boardwalk she looked down the street. The gunfighter was already a few doors down, moving his horse at a fast walk and not looking back. She stepped out into the street and crossed to the hotel. She figured she’d paid a dollar ’n a half for the room and wasn’t about to throw away good money. Besides that, a night’s sleep in a feather bed was just what the doctor had ordered, and not to mention she wasn’t feeling real fond about leaving town right on the tail feathers of the man she’d just faced down.
And then there were the beneficial aspects of a hot bath to be taken into consideration,
*
Laying in bed nearly an hour later, sleep wouldn’t come. She felt a strange sense of accomplishment. In a way it scared her to think that she could find any measure of delight in facing the possibility of death square in the eye and coming away unscathed. But then again...maybe she hadn’t been anywhere near being bested by that gunfighter, or death either for that matter. Maybe she’d have beaten him in a straight-up draw.
The realization that there was a distinct possibility that she could have taken him fascinated her, but the whole thing had still been scary just the same.
She was finally able to fall asleep, but not before reliving the whole intriguing episode a few more times. The last time she saw the confrontation in her mind’s eye, they made their play, just him against her without the sheriff even being anywhere around, and she had won hands down. She fell asleep with a satisfied smile on her face.
Chapter 12
She was pulled rudely awake by the sound of a wagon creaking along the street below. She yawned, stretched hard enough to crack her toes, and pulled the spread up under her chin to fend off the morning crispness. As the sounds of a new day sifted in through the still open, curtain less window, she came to the unfavorable realization that it was time to roll out and get back to the task of taking care of business.
She made short work of dressing and gathering her things. Once downstairs, she left her belongings piled in a corner of the lobby and strolled to the same little hole in the wall cafe she had eaten at the evening before. She hungrily scarfed down a plate of bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes, while savoring the eye opening flavor of freshly boiled coffee between bites. After having finished the favorable meal, she appreciatively tossed a nickel tip onto the table, along with the price of the meal, and headed for the livery to pick up the buckskin and dun.
She expertly saddled the buckskin and cinched the pack frame onto the back of the dun. She then climbed aboard and returned to the hotel where she retrieved her belongings and secured everything onto the pack frame. Finally, she covered the load completely with a canvas tarp to protect it from whatever might come along.
After crisscrossing the whole thing with a stout length of rope, she again mounted and headed for the western edge of town where she would turn south toward Trinidad. Along the way she passed the Silver Dollar. She smiled gratefully and waved her appreciation to the robe clad figures of Mavis and Stella who were standing on the porch smoking a couple of cigars.
Sheriff Bill Tyson appeared on the porch of his office and she threw him a two-fingered salute, returning the one he’d just given her. She smiled, feeling pretty good about life in general and what she was undertaking in particular. She nudged the buckskin with gentle heels and reined him around to the south as they cleared the last of the false-fronted buildings.
The mare followed dutifully, probably feeling good about having just spent the night in a hay-filled stall as well as having been afforded the luxury of a feedbag of oats to chew at leisurely.
They continued southwesterly, following the Timpas River while keeping it on their right. Although she greatly enjoyed the surrounding countryside, with all its scrub oak, prickly pear, and yuccas keeping the buckskin and dun on their toes...so to speak, she was nonetheless thankful when she happened on a stage road that made progress all that much easier.
Shortly after midday, the river moved off to the south and she was left with only the stage road to follow. She hauled up, dismounted, and ate a makeshift meal of jerky while she rubbed the circulation back into her well-numbed backside.
Just as she was about to hit the saddle again, the unmistakable rattling of an approaching stage reached her ears. She held securely onto both bridles as the conveyance rounded the corner, appearing just ahead of a cloud of brown dust.
Seeing her standing beside the roadway, the driver hauled back and jammed a booted foot against the brake handle. The coach slid to a stop and she coughed as the dust cloud caught up and settled around them.
“Howdy, little lady,” the grizzled old-timer said from his perch atop the seat beside the slightly younger but equally as grizzled shotgunner. “Whoa, now Bess...Jacob,” he said and pulled even harder against the handfuls of reins. “Danged fool knotheads don’t have the foggiest notion when they’s well off,” he said, and spit a squirt of amber juice that splashed off the rump of the nearest of the heavily breathing, six-up team.
The bay ignored the splash of tobacco juice; no doubt having long since grown used to such treatment.
“Hello, yourself,” Dolly offered, and jerked downward on the bridle of the excited dun mare. “Settle down now,” she said sternly, and gave yet another slight yank.
“Where ya headed?” the shotgun rider asked. He was nearly a copy of the driver. Both were haggard looking and weather beaten. No doubt from countless hours of bouncing along the stage roads without the benefit of the shade that riding inside would afford.
“Well, right now...that way,” she said pointing.
“Meanin’ Hole In Rock?” the driver asked. He pulled his raggedy, shapeless, tan hat and used his other sleeve to smear the dirt and dust across his brow.
“Maybe, maybe not. I would think that that would depend on just what Hole In Rock was, and whether or not it’s on my way.”
The shotgunner answered, “It’s the next waystation, and if yer figgerin’ on stayin’ on this here road...I’d say it’s danged sure on yer way, alright enough.”
Dolly smiled, realizing that there was no call for her to be difficult with these fellas. “Well, in that case, you two mind if I was to tag along behind? Lord knows I could surely use the company.”
“Not atall,” the driver offered. “In fact, if you was of a mind, I’d be obliged if you was ta tie-up them two horses to the boot an’ find yerself a cozy place inside outta the sun.”
The possibility of that even remotely becoming a reality certainly appealed to Dolly. “Don’t mind if I do,” she said appreciatively, and pulled both of her horses toward the back of the stage. She then made short work of tying them securely and walked around to the side. Looking up, she asked, “You sure it’s okay to ride inside? I’d be much obliged to just sit right up there on top behind you fellas?”
“You just go right on ahead and crawl inside. They’s always room for one more,” the driver assured her, while waving lazily toward the door.
Dolly didn’t have to be told again. She had a long hard ride ahead of her if she was ever going to make it all the way to Juarez. Any break in sitting the buckskin was a welcome one. She pulled the door open and stepped onto the metal rung that served as a step.
There were already three passengers seated on the sparsely padded benches: an older, gray haired gent with a young, well-dressed woman seated next to him, and across from the gent sat a fella of most likely about twenty or so. She pulled herself the rest of the way inside and settled into the seat next to him.
He turned his back to her, being more inclined to look out the side window than anywhere else.
Dolly figured that that was his way of not wanting to be sociable and
stayed as far away from him as he obviously wanted to from her. She hooked her elbow outside the coach window and used it to pull herself into the corner. She then smiled cordially to the older gent and what was most likely his daughter.
The coach lurched forward amidst the encouragement of the driver. Dolly repositioned her hat down over her eyes before scrunching down into the corner for an anticipated few winks.
Chapter 13
The next thing she knew, she was being jostled awake, causing her hat to fall and allowing the sun to smack her dead center. She reached to the floor and retrieved it. Glancing sideways, she saw that the man seated next to her was looking her way.
“You a gunfighter?” he asked, right out of the blue.
“I get by,” she said informatively, and positioned the hat where it belonged.
“You’re a gunfighter?” the young woman across the way asked from under widened eyes. “Have you killed men?”
Dolly only smiled in response.
“Where are you headed?” her father asked.
Dolly figured that what she was about and where she was headed was really nobody’s business but her own, but elected to answer anyway, “I’m going to El Paso...and maybe Juarez,” she added, not feeling the need to say any more.
“For heaven’s sake...why would anyone want to go to a smelly Mexican place like Juarez?” the girl asked.
Her father gave her a scornful look.
Dolly figured this was about as good a time as any to put the bigoted Miss Holier’nthou in her place. “I’m figuring on killing someone.” She smiled pleasantly at her. “Three someones, in fact. Anything else you’d like to know?”
The young lady was visibly shaken. “I-I...eh...no. Eh...no. Eh...th-thank you,” she added, and turned to gaze out the window as she struggled, with obvious difficulty, to swallow her consternation.
“Sounds like a tall order,” the man seated next to Dolly said. “You got a name?” he asked. He stuck out his hand. “Mine’s Kid Blakely.”
Dolly accepted the offering, albeit somewhat reluctantly. As she clasped the hand, she caught sight of the holster he wore on his left thigh...it was tied down. She was slightly taken aback, but found her tongue quickly. “Dor-Dorothy...my name’s Dorothy.”
He smiled. “Nice to meet a fellow student of the game when it ain’t over the end of a smokin’ barrel.”
His smile was indeed a pleasant one. She took note that he was also very handsome. His hair was a bit too long and probably hadn’t seen a comb since God only knew when. But the rest of him, clothes and the like, was...well, presentable was the word she finally settled on. His eyes were of a hazel hue that went real good with his extremely light brown hair—that was not unlike the color of her own.
He appeared to be slender, with a face to match that ended at the bottom with a strong chin that was dotted with a dimple right in the middle of it. From the smile, she judged his teeth to be even and reasonably white as well. He was obviously someone who cared about his appearance...unless of course you counted the hair. He had what looked to be about a two day’s growth of beard, but she had the distinct feeling that he’d get shed of that at the first opportunity.
“You from around here?” she asked.
“Nah. I been spendin’ time out east a here...Dodge City to be exact.”
“What brings you to Colorado?”
His eyes narrowed questioningly. “Just the usual. Got into a run-in or two an’ decided for a more sociable climate...if ya get my drift?”
Dolly nodded knowingly, as she wondered exactly what he meant. She then remembered back to her talks with Nate. “Yeah, things tend to mount up on fellas who’re in our line,” she offered, hoping he’d let the subject drop.
She could’ve not even bothered with that thought as the sound of gunfire filled the air between them. “What the...?” she said, and craned her neck out the window. She quickly pulled it back inside as the stage began to slow. “Looks like a robbery,” she said calmly.
Kid Blakely had already been rummaging in the carpetbag that rested on the floor between his feet. He quickly found what he was looking for and tossed a red-and-blue flannel shirt to her. “Put that on. If they don’t know right off that we’re gunmen, they might take a notion to relax and that’s when we’ll take ’em.”
Dolly hastily pushed her arms through the sleeve holes and settled the garment down around her, making sure that it hid her holster effectively while he did the same with a lightweight jacket of sorts that he had pulled from the bag as well.
“Wait for my play,” he said softly, out of the corner of his mouth, as the stage rocked to a stop.
Dolly glanced at the little Miss Priss seated across from her. She appeared ashen-faced and probably right near fainting, judging from the paleness of her complexion. Her father wasn’t doing much better.
“Alright! Ever’body out!”
Dolly held the latch down and swung the door outward. She was especially mindful to keep her left side turned toward the stage as she stepped carefully to the ground. She raised her hands in resignation as she waited for the others to exit the stage and join her.
There were three men seated on three excited horses. One of the robbers jumped down and pointed his pistol up at the driver and shotgun guard who remained in their customary place atop the stage. “Toss that strongbox down here old man!” he ordered, and waved the barrel threateningly. “An’ bein’ quick about it would be yer only option...in case you might be bein’ of an undecided frame a mind,” he added.
The guard reached under the seat and came out with a small locked box that he tossed over the side. It bounced and rolled, coming to rest on its side. “That’s it...that’s all there is,” the shotgun guard said. “Take it an’ git!”
“Not so fast, old fella,” one of the mounted robbers said. “From the looks of that gold watch chain I’d be inclined toward sayin’ that that fella over there looks like he might be a bit on the plush side of things.” He waved the business end of his six-gun toward the gray haired gent and started to dismount.
Dolly flicked a glance at Kid Blakely; he gave her the high sign by nodding almost imperceptibly. She returned it. With only one robber now on horseback and the other two on the ground and not paying any attention to the rest of the passengers, it looked to be about as good a time as any to show their hand. Dolly leisurely pulled the shirttail back, exposing her tied down holster. Kid Blakely did the same while the girl fainted dead away. Her father caught her just in the nick of time to save her from hitting the ground and possibly sustaining a serious injury.
The single robber who remained atop his horse was the first to realize what was going on. “What the hell?” he said as a look of bewilderment flashed across his face, then almost immediately turned to one of realization. “Wes...these two are—”
Dolly slapped leather, taking out the rider in one swift pointing of her finger and fanning of the hammer. She heard another shot just a split second after hers. By then she had already pulled the Peacemaker around to the last of the outlaws.
Silence settled in quickly until the bay with the tobacco juice dotted rump passed gas.
“That’d be about as fair a way a puttin’ it as any, Bessie,” the driver said.
The bay raised her tail and after arching it a bit sideways excreted her final feelings in the matter in the dusty roadway.
The driver and guard climbed down and went about retrieving the cashbox and stacking the bodies of the three would-be robbers on the top of the coach. Dolly had long since replaced her pistol and was helping the gent tend to his daughter.
Kid Blakely stood transfixed, looking at the side of his six-gun with a puzzled expression narrowing the area between his eyes. He finally put the pistol away, but the troubled look remained.
Once the gent’s daughter had been brought around, the cashbox had been returned to its rightful place on the floorboards under the driver’s seat, and the three dead robbers had been secured onto the roof
of the coach, they all returned to their seats. In no time at all they were on their way again with three more horses tied on behind, and Kid Blakely sitting in silence studying Dolly.
“Where’d you learn to draw like that?” he finally asked.
“Around,” she said off-handedly.
“You might be of a mind to sluff it off as no-account, Dorothy...but yer just about as fast as anyone I ever seen. Back there in the road, I made my play first and you still shaded me. That’s mighty fast, girl...mighty fast.”
She smiled disarmingly. “Would you believe I was taught by an old apple farmer?”
“Be that as it may...whoever it was did a tolerable job of it.”
“It’s true. An oldtimer by the name of Nate Sharpton taught me.”
Kid Blakely’s brow furrowed as he tapped thoughtfully at the dimple. “Sharpton...Sharpton...” Suddenly his eyes lit up in recognition. “You mean to say you was taught by Johnny A?”
“What’dya mean...Johnny A?” Dolly asked. “Who’s Johnny A?”
“The way I heard tell, he took that as a short way of sayin’ Johnny Appleseed after folks took to callin’ him that.”
“Some folks say Johnny Appleseed was a myth,” the old gent across the way said. “And I’m of a mind that they’re—”
Kid Blakely interrupted him, “This Johnny Appleseed was real enough, alright. Legend has it that he could plant a fella quicker’n that seed-plantin’ fella with the pot turned backwards on his head could ever plant one of them apple trees of his.” He looked squarely at Dolly. “Legend has it that he gunned eighteen men...an’ ever’ single one of ’em in a fair draw from what I heard.”
“Twelve,” she said simply, and after deciding to leave it at that, leaned her head back against the interior of the coach. She again positioned her hat down over her eyes.
Hoping, by her display of indifference to throw the others off the track, she was in all reality in turmoil. Her stomach ached, but she elected to not rub it.
She’d just killed two men. The fact that they were outlaws helped some, but they were dead just the same, and she had been the one dishing out the justice. However, the one thing that bothered her most was the undeniable fact that during the confrontation she had remained calm and hadn’t even given a second thought to what she was doing.
She Wore It Tied-Down Page 8
