Her fight with her innards was mercifully interrupted as Kid Blakely said, “You go by Dorothy all the time, do ya?”
She hooked the end of her thumb under the brim of the hat and held it up off her eyes, and while looking out of the corners, said simply, “Nope.” She let the hat fall back down over her eyes.
*
They arrived at the Hole In Rock waystation just as dusk threatened to settle in for the night. Of course, Dolly and The Kid were instant heroes of sorts, especially with the stationmaster’s twelve-year-old helper, Tommy, who it turned out was also his son.
The stage had arrived pretty much right on time, despite the inconveniences of nearly being robbed, and not to mention the time and effort necessary to stack and tie the deadmen onto the top and secure their horse to the boot in back.
To everyone’s delight the evening meal was already all spread out on the table and just waiting to be eaten. To the two weather beaten company men’s surprise, it was even a notch or two above being stone cold for a change.
Dolly was famished, but still took the time needed to care for her horses before joining the others at the table. After hooking her hat on the peg provided just inside the door, she sat in the empty chair and without letting on that she was doing it, said a brief grace before reaching for the still half filled platter of fried chicken.
She glanced at Kid Blakely. It was obvious to her that he’d been eyeing her closely. She returned her attention to the meal.
“I’m of a mind that a gal what gives first preference to her horses, has an unselfish nature about her,” he said and forked in a mouthful of green beans. He waved the fork, as if to say something else, but the mouthful was sufficient enough to instead keep him chewing for a while longer.
“I’m of a mind that someone who takes it upon themselves to kill people is someone who should be ashamed of herself,” Miss Priss said, and brushed a wayward lock of hair back into place from where it had fallen. It fell again. She left it there.
“Maybe you should remember your breeding, Margaret, and apologize,” her father said sternly.
She bowed her head submissively. “I-I’m sorry, dear,” she said.
Dolly jerked her head around to look straight at Margaret. “Dear? Then that means you’re not—”
“She’s my wife,” the gent said, looking at Dolly. “It’s a long story...don’t ask.”
Dolly could only grin her superiority. Whatever she had turned herself into was way more moral than marrying a rich old coot that could easily be three or even four times her own age.
To her credit, Margaret clammed up and began showing an amazing amount of intense interest in the food on her plate.
Tommy was a kid with way more than his share of brains for someone his age. He asked poignant questions about what had gone on during the robbery attempt. Dolly was careful to play down her part in the whole thing, not at all caring for chancing glamorizing her role in it in any way.
With the meal finished, and Tommy clearing the dishes while his pa went about harnessing a fresh team and hooking it up to the stage, Dolly and Kid Blakely had a few minutes together before the stage would be ready to resume its journey to Trinidad.
“You said earlier that your name’s Dorothy,” he said as they stood together watching the stationmaster lead the team to the coach. “You also said there was somethin’ else you went by. What might that be?”
She looked at him, easily making out his handsome features in the silvery moonlight. “My father...” Her throat tightened and she felt a sudden urge to cry, but managed to keep it bottled up inside. “My father...before he was murdered...liked to call me Dolly. I-I guess that’s what I prefer.”
“His dyin’ have somethin’ to do with why you decided to learn to shoot the way you do?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“No, not really. It’s just that...it’s just that a woman as pretty as you wouldn’t be out here all by her lonesome without a real good reason. I’d be a knothead if I didn’t think there might be a connection.”
She smiled pleasantly, feeling renewed justification for what she’d set about doing. “Well...you can rest assured that at least in this case you’re definitely not a knothead.” A wave of emotion came over her as she continued to look into his eyes. She knew she could easily be drawn to this man, then as her better senses kicked in, she said, “The stage will be ready to leave in a bit. I’d better get my things together.” She forced her gaze away from his, as his expression grew troubled.
“Does that mean you’re not going along the rest of the way to Trinidad?”
She detected what she figured was a bit of despondency in his tone. “Yeah,” she said, trying to appear disinterested. “I’ve got other things to tend to along the way,” she lied.
The stationmaster had finished hooking the fresh team to the stage. “Okay, folks! All them what’s of a mind...the stage is ready ta head on out!”
Dolly was sorely tempted to change her mind, but managed to remain steadfast. She stuck out her hand. “You have yourself a good trip, Kid,” she said. “And thanks for the help back there with them three robbers.”
He took her hand in his and opened his mouth to speak, but she hastily pulled away, spun on the balls of her feet and headed for the corral where she’d left her horses.
She then did her best to immerse herself in the task of loading the supplies onto the mare and throwing the saddle onto the back of the buckskin, stopping only briefly to glance in The Kid’s direction as he boarded the stage, and again when the contraption pulled out.
She tore her attention away from the still-loose cinch and allowed a lingering wave in the general direction of his unseen figure, as the rear of the stage disappeared from view behind a stand of cottonwoods that extended nearly to the edge of the road.
She then finished up the task of saddling the buckskin. Finally, ready to go, she led the two horses to the front of the station, joining Tommy and his pa just as they were fixing to head on into the house.
“Thanks for your hospitality,” she said and held a hand out to the stationmaster.
“You take care a yerself, little lady,” he said. “It ain’t everyone that Tommy here takes to. I’m of a mind that there’s way more to you than meets the eye.”
She smiled gratefully. “Thanks...I appreciate that.” She reached down and playfully ruffled the boy’s hair. “You take real good care of your father, here,” she said. “I lost mine a while back, and you can take it from me when I say that life can get all tangled without him.” She smiled at the stationmaster and nodded slightly. “Keep an eye out for Indians,” she said and turned toward the horses.
She pulled herself up, and after saying her goodbyes, tipped her hat respectfully and rode out in the same direction the stage had taken.
Chapter 14
Dolly managed to keep the buckskin pointed in the right direction for what she deemed was about an hour or so, judging as best she could from the amount of progress the moon had made. A few clouds had moved in, obscuring it from time to time and plunging her into near darkness, periodically.
She had continued in this manner for the better part of another thirty minutes or so until, to her chagrin, the clouds had moved in solidly and her fatigue got the better of her. She reined up next to a scattering of boulders that were interspersed with a few piñons and bordered by an even fewer number of junipers.
Because of the near total darkness, she elected to leave the mare loaded and the buckskin saddled. She did, however, fumble around until she had them both hobbled for safekeeping, as well as piece of mind. Only then did she unroll her bedroll and crawl inside. Knowing this to be Comanche country, and despite the night chill, she elected to forego the comforts of even a small fire.
She slept soundly and was up just as first light was making its appearance in the eastern sky. She was not surprised to see that the clouds had pretty much disappeared. Anxious to get on the trail, she settled for gnawing on some jerk
y as she hastily loaded up the bedroll and resumed her journey.
She remained diligent, hoping to make as much headway as quickly as possible. She realistically expected to reach Trinidad sometime the next day. With that in mind, she continued throughout the day, stopping only to inquire at the next waystation about the progress of the stage. It had stopped for the night and had resumed its journey early that morning.
She again rode until well after dark. Finally, albeit reluctantly, opting to give in to the fatigue, she again made camp a good ways off the stage road amongst a jumble of rocks and stunted trees.
She was awakened sometime during the wee hours by the muffled, plodding sounds of passing horses. She quickly pulled her boots on, hoping a scorpion or some other critter hadn’t decided to use one of them for a sleeping place. She then headed for a looking spot in hopes of being able to make out who had interrupted her sleep.
Peering over the top of the boulder nearest the road, she was dismayed to see a group of about ten or twelve Indians riding back the way she had came. They were leading three ponies with what appeared to be a body draped across each of them.
She swallowed dryly, hoping against hope that her own horses wouldn’t give her away. Her hand went to the pearl handled Colt while her thoughts went to Tommy and his father back at Hole In Rock. Reasoning that they’d done alright this far, and that the odds were that the Indians would more than likely leave them alone anyway—especially since they’d obviously just lost a few of their own—she watched them fade into the night and returned to her blankets.
She lay there gazing up into the trees while wondering what had again made her decide against the usual fire, and thankful that the horses hadn’t made a sound. It wouldn’t have taken much convincing to get her to believing that someone or something was surely watching out for her.
She was eventually able to resume her sleep, but it took a while.
Chapter 15
With her heart throbbing incessantly against the veins in her neck, she sat the buckskin with tears of remorse streaming down her cheeks.
The stage lay on its side. Each of the six horses had had its belly slashed savagely; entrails and blood was everywhere.
She swung down and walked stiffly to the body of the driver. An arrow protruded from his chest; he had been scalped. Her stomach turned over and she looked away, retching violently.
Once she had regained control, her thoughts went to The Kid; he was nowhere to be seen. Her gaze picked up the form of the shotgun guard lying in a heap just beyond the farthest of the horses. From the looks of things, he was in the same shape as the driver...minus the obvious arrow.
The bodies of the three would-be robbers were lying atop some nearby bushes just off the side of the road. She could see that their hair was still in place. She then rightfully reasoned that these particular Indians probably hadn’t had a liking for taking the hair of an enemy they’d not had a hand in killing.
Her next priority was to have a look inside the coach itself. She sure as heck didn’t have a liking for that, figuring she pretty much knew what that would present. Nevertheless, she had to be sure, and resigned herself. Reluctantly she approached the overturned coach until she was able to lean over and see inside. She pulled back and grimaced. She gathered herself, and again leaning over, took another look.
Margaret lay sprawled atop her husband. He’d been scalped, she hadn’t.
Dolly turned away from the grisly sight and this time her retching proved productive and she lost what little she’d eaten that day. After having rid herself of every foul tasting morsel, she vowed to lay off jerky for awhile and pulled the stringy goop from her lower lip. She flung it aside and wiped her fingers against her pantleg.
She glanced around the immediate area, trying to locate The Kid’s body. She realized that she hadn’t even bothered to ask him his given name. Somehow it seemed wholly inappropriate to inscribe Kid Blakely or even The Kid on his marker, but that’s what it was looking like it would have to be.
Her thoughts were becoming jumbled, and without her even being completely aware of it either. The intrusion had begun as a far-off muffled sound, and had grown progressively more prominent in an almost unnerving fashion. Finally, its significance found its way to the front tip edge of her brain and she was almost startled to realize that the whole thing was the result of someone making faint gurgling sounds while calling softly for help. Looking around, she zeroed in on a spot behind the bushes where the robbers had landed and quickly headed in that direction.
Just beyond the bushes she was dismayed to locate The Kid as he lay with his back propped against a rock and the feathered end of an arrow sticking out of his neck. Seeing him that way was almost more than she could endure, but at least he was alive.
There was a goodly amount of blood and she cringed, but knew that any attempt at puking would be a waste of time; there was nothing left inside her. Unable to completely control her reflexes she retched once and swallowed what little bit of bile had managed to work its way up into the back of her throat. All the while that this was going on The Kid was looking at her from behind pain filled, downturned eyes.
She felt a little guilty that the only thing that came to mind right then was the fact that his hair was still badly mussed, but at least he still had it. She knelt in front of him and reaching out made a vain attempt to comb it with her fingers.
She finally brought the hand to his cheek. “Not my favorite way to spend a leisurely morning,” she was finally able to come up with as she looked at him through moist eyes.
He winced then jerked violently as a pain shot through him. She felt a sense of dread that he would die right there in front of her. Right about then he gurgled, closed his eyes, and went limp.
She feared the worst, but experienced a surge of relief as an eyelash flickered; assuring her that he had only fainted.
Her being of a levelheaded nature just naturally got her started in the right direction. She seized the opportunity, and grasping the wooden arrow shaft tightly, carefully snapped it between straining, white-knuckled fingers. She then shivered as she pulled it out of his neck. She was pleased to note that there wasn’t much blood to speak of.
He remained unconscious so she rose hastily and ran to her mare. Reaching her provisions, she tried desperately to untie the rope that secured the pack. Finally, after making enough headway to work an opening big enough, she reached under the tarp.
She then began pulling items out, letting them fall to the ground as she searched frantically for what little medical supplies she’d thought to purchase back at the mercantile in Timpas. Finally coming out with what she was looking for, she clutched it to her chest and ran back to him, sliding to a stop on her knees in front of him.
To her relief he had remained unconscious.
She began caring for him as best she could. She was thankful that the wound was off to one side, and with the lack of blood was most likely not life threatening. However, that didn’t make the whole thing any easier to deal with.
She hastily applied an effective compress and wrapped his neck just securely enough to hold the bandage in place. Steadfast in the belief that she hadn’t hampered his breathing anymore than was absolutely necessary, she sat back, pulled her knees up under her chin, and buried her head in her arms while she decided what her next move would be once he came around.
A low moan reached her and she looked up. She allowed a weak smile to greet the two slits that had previously been his intriguing hazel eyes. She scooted over to him and again attempted to smooth his tangled hair.
“S-sure am glad you weren’t on the s-stage,” he said feebly.
She pressed a finger lightly against his lips. “Shhhh,” she urged. “Time to talk later, after you feel better.”
He must have been a whole lot tougher than she’d first figured because he held a hand out toward her and said, resolutely, “Give me a hand.”
“You aren’t getting up!”
“Sez you
. In case you ain’t noticed, there’s a whole bunch of dead folks just a short ways from here. People in Trinidad need to know about that. There’s a band of murderin’ Comanches on the loose around here and that means someone needs to tell ’em that as well...that’d be us.”
A question popped into her head, and after mulling it over a time or two, she elected to try for an answer. “I can understand why those three robbers weren’t scalped...beings we were the ones who done them in, but why wasn’t Margaret scalped like the others?”
He remained silent, a cloud of remorse shrouding his face. “I was afraid you’d ask that,” he said dejectedly, and sucked in as much of a breath as his wound would allow. “She wasn’t scalped for the same reason them others weren’t. The Comanches didn’t kill her...I-I did.”
The words hit her like a blacksmith’s hammer. Incredulous, she recoiled away from them and looked into his saddened expression. “What...what are you saying?”
“I-I...them Comanches had overrun the stage, upending it in the process. The old gent was killed right about the time it went over...probably broke his neck as best I can figger. Anyway...after the driver and guard were done in, them heathens killed the horses and decided it was high time they had a look into the confines of the coach where me ’n Margaret was hiding. Well...to make a short story even shorter, I started throwin’ lead, taking out three of ’em in a big quick hurry whilst I was trying my best to tug Margaret outta that stage...while all the while she was screamin’ an’ hollerin’ for me to not let them heathens get their hands on her.
“She must’ve decided that she didn’t want no part of being out in the open and pulled herself clean outta my grasp. She fell back down inside just when it was lookin’ like we was about to make good our escape.”
She Wore It Tied-Down Page 9
