Dolly thought she knew the rest of the story, but remained silent as he continued. His voice grew softer with each successive word, “Well, after I looked back down inside there and saw the terror that had taken ahold a her, I...I opted for her pleadin’ last wish and shot her through the head rather than let them redskins take her captive.”
Dolly felt absolutely terrible and sagged all the way onto her backside. She knew that he was having a difficult time dealing with what he had done, but she also knew that if she’d had the same sort of opportunities surrounding her that fateful day that now seemed so long ago, she would have wished for the same kind of end rather than go through what she’d been forced to endure. “I understand what you did and I don’t hold it against you,” she offered softly.
“What? But how could you not?” he asked almost pathetically. “I killed her in cold blood...sure as God made little green apples.”
She reached out and lightly placed her fingertips to his cheek, touching a tear that had appeared. “You may have taken her life, but you gave her something that was much dearer to her.”
He looked into her eyes, questioningly. “What’re you talkin’ about? What could’ve possibly meant more to her than—?”
She pressed a handful of fingertips against his lips, cutting off the words. “You let her keep her dignity and self respect,” she said softly.
His puzzlement deepened as he watched her push her way to her feet. She reached down to him, offering the previously asked for helping hand. “C’mon, gunfighter, let’s see if you’re in any shape to make the ride into Trinidad.”
Neither of them was too high on the idea of leaving the bodies strewn all around, but The Kid’s wound dictated their priorities. Although they didn’t feel that he would die from it, it was still mighty painful and could probably take a turn for the worse at the drop of a hat. They were unwilling to risk that and figured the best thing they could do would be to get him to town and a doc before that happened.
She let him have the buckskin, saddle and all, while she opted for riding behind the pack frame on the dun. She allowed him to set the pace. They rode slow and easy. With still a couple of hours of daylight left, they topped a rise and found themselves just beyond the edge of Trinidad.
They hauled up.
“Looks harmless enough,” he said, while holding a protective hand against his bandage. Blood shown between his fingers.
“Looks like you’re bleeding,” she commented.
“That’s been known to happen when a fella takes a Comanche arrow or two. Luckily I only took one.” He grinned crookedly. “I’m sorry...it’s just that—”
“Think nothing of it,” she countered. “Heck...I’m amazed that you’ve made it this far,” she added, with feigned sarcasm. Her grin matched his.
“Okay! Okay! I get your point!” He gestured with his other hand toward the layout of weatherworn, unpainted buildings. “What say we head on down there and get this hangnail looked at?”
Chapter 16
Dolly had seen enough drovers in her time to know that this was a cattle town, and from the looks of things she didn’t need anyone to tell her that it was gonna be a Saturday night to boot. Despite it still being daylight, hell raising was already going on everywhere she looked.
As they passed the sounds of a honkytonk piano that was being subjected to the usual amount of abuse, a shot rang out, giving the dun cause to sidestep and rear in protest. Dolly was nearly unseated but managed a grace saving grasp of the pack frame just in time to remain astride the animal.
An obviously intoxicated cowhand stumbled out through the set of batwings immediately to their left, pulling one of the doors off its hinges in the process. He fell onto the boardwalk, rolled down the steps into the street, and wound up nearly under the dun’s hooves. He must have somehow realized his predicament because he hastily righted himself into an unsteady standing position and without thinking, awkwardly made a reach for his pistol.
Dolly reacted instinctively and placing a booted foot against his chest, gave him enough of a shove to send him sprawling again. He came up cussing a blue streak, but to his credit managed enough of a clearing of his mind and vision to save his worthless hide.
He found himself squinting into the business end of a hogleg. He wasn’t real sure, but he was of a mind that it was a female on the other end of it. Waving a dismissive hand, he mumbled something about being sorry, and after turning, headed for the same saloon he’d just vacated.
Of course him being a ways past the brink of pie-eyed gave him cause to stumble as he tried the first of the three steps. The resulting collision between his face and the post that was doing its part in supporting the overhanging porch, took enough of a toll to render him about as unconscious as a cinch strap that’d been hanging in a tack room for about three and a half weeks. He settled into a heap in the corner right where the steps and the wooden sidewalk came together.
“Probably saved his fool life,” she said, and slipped the Colt back down into its holster.
“Hard way ta go about getting yer life saved though,” The Kid offered. “Almost believe I’d just as soon be dead as in the shape he’s in.”
“I take it from that that you don’t drink?”
“You got that right. Never have and never will. I’ve always been of a mind that a fella needs a clear head to face whatever might come his way...especially if it shows up in an unsuspecting fashion.”
She smiled warmly, again giving in a shade more to her notions about him. “Well...c’mon then, gunfighter. Let’s go see if we can come up with a sawbones, or better yet, an arrow hole fixer.”
They made the ride up the narrow street while somehow managing to dodge the drunken cowhands that periodically crisscrossed the street in front of them.
Pulling up in front of the jailhouse, they were confronted by a figure seated on the porch. “Looks like ya got yerself a bit of a problem with yer neck there,” he said while pointing at the bandage.
“There’s only two things I want outta you,” Kid Blakely said. “One is directions to where the nearest sawbones is located, and the other is for you to get together a bunch of sober hands to ride about five miles north of here and pick up what remains of the stage.”
“What? The stage was hit?” He bolted from the chair.
Dolly told the deputy briefly, what had gone on. Once she figured he had it all straight, she managed to pry from him directions to the doc’s office, despite the lawman being visibly shaken and barely able to function on a coherent basis.
They reined around and left the little pipsqueak of a deputy to go about the business of finding the sheriff and dealing with his anxieties.
They reined up in front of the somewhat-white shingle, replete with all its peeling paint, as it hung crookedly from a tree limb and announced that they had indeed found the place of business of:
Dr. Jonathan Smiley -
Toothaches & other critical
ailments tended to.
She swung down and hurried to the side of The Kid’s mare. He was already trying his best to get down, but wasn’t being any too successful in his efforts. She gave him a hand, amazed that he’d done as well as he had. She assisted him up the walkway and onto the porch. She reached a fist to the door just as it opened.
A rotund, white haired gent stood behind a smile that was nearly as wide as he was. “Saw ya comin’ up the walk with this fella leanin’ heavy on ya for support. Figgered he might be in need.” He stepped aside, gesturing with an inviting palm toward the interior. “Get him on in here so’s I can see what’s ailin’ him.”
“He was shot in the neck with an arrow,” she said, electing to take all the guesswork right out of the diagnosis.
“Bet that must really hurt,” he offered, and took The Kid by an elbow.
The doc escorted The Kid into a room behind the first door to the left where he settled him on the edge of a small table that was covered with a sheet that had undoubtedly seen whiter
days.
The Kid sat perched silently, cocking his head a bit sidewards as he and Dolly watched the smiley Doc Smiley pick up a small metal handle with a blade on the end of it.
The Kid drew back instinctively as the doc headed for his neck with the knife, or whatever it was. “What’re you gonna do with that?” he asked apprehensively.
“I’m gonna cut them bandages off so’s I can have me a gander at that arrow hole.” He again headed for the wound with the sharp-looking instrument.
Despite what had appeared to them to be obvious deficiencies in the fat little man’s abilities, Doc Smiley turned out to know exactly what he was doing and made short work of fixing The Kid’s neck and giving him a dose of something to dull the pain, something he called laudanum. He also gave him a small brown bottle that he said contained enough of the liquid to keep things on an even keel for quite a spell if the need for it arose.
They left the office, with The Kid a few dollars poorer, but feeling pretty good about life in general and his neck in particular.
“Had my doubts right as first,” he said as he patted an exploring palm lightly against the freshly applied bandage that the doc had taped on rather than wound around his neck as before.
“What’s your name, anyways?” she asked, right out of the blue.
“What? Oh...eh...that. Yeah...well, you got a problem with callin’ me Kid?”
“Well, no, it’s not that...exactly. It’s just that back there at the stage I was thinking.”
“About what?”
“About what I’d put on your marker if I’d found you dead, that’s what.”
He grew thoughtful, or concerned, or something, she really couldn’t tell. In any case, he arched an eyebrow and squinted the other eye at her. “Okay...I’ll tell you, but if you say a word to anyone, living or dead, I’ll deny I ever even knowd ya. Deal?”
She grinned playfully. “Deal,” she agreed, and stuck out a hand to seal the bargain.
He took ahold of it and while looking down at his feet, mumbled something that was completely unintelligible.
She released the hand. “What...what’d you say?” She hooked a knuckle under his chin and lifted.
They looked into one another’s eyes.
“Now, try that again. And this time try real hard to remember to speak clearly. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it wasn’t proper to—?”
“Horatio!” he blurted.
She suppressed a grin...well, most of it anyway, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t right there on the inside just the same...and threatening to bust out at any second.
He must have figured that, because he feigned anger. “Don’t you be laughin’ at me!” he ordered from behind a threatening finger. “It ain’t my fault what possesses some folks to name their children the way they do.”
She had the distinct feeling that he was almost double dog daring her to say something derogatory. She bit her lip. “Why...that’s an absolutely lovely name,” she cooed, catching him completely off guard. “But...but, how about I continue to call you Kid or Kid Blakely, or better yet...how about Mister Blakely?” She arched an eyebrow inquisitively.
“Kid will do just fine, thank you very much. So what about you? What’s your last name?”
“Randolph.”
“Dorothy Randolph,” he repeated thoughtfully, as he tapped his dimple lightly.
“But I don’t mind reminding you that I prefer being called Dolly to most anything else. So...now that that’s all settled, what say we go see if that neck of yours can handle a meal without letting the coffee leak out all over the table?”
He grinned. “I’m buyin’,” he offered and reached for her hand.
“Suits me.”
The first thing they did was to take the horses to the livery at the far end of the street. Once the animals were taken care of, they strolled to the mostly glass fronted cafe they had noticed on the way into town. They found seats with their backs against the far wall.
Right at first she hadn’t understood why he’d insisted on those particular ones. However, as she remembered Nate’s account of how a gunnie could never give in to the conveniences that’d make life more pleasurable instead of safer, she wordlessly took the offered seat, making darned sure to keep her holster free of any obstacles that might hamper her if something untoward were to suddenly show itself. She also unhooked the leather retaining strip from over the hammer.
They ordered a couple of bowls of stew, mainly because not only was it the special of the day but it was already cooked and ready to go. They ate in dead silence right at first, but once the uneasiness of being sociable with one another had been left by the wayside, they gradually opened up and very much enjoyed one another’s company.
He asked about the men she was after, and she willingly told him just enough to get his ire up to a point where it nearly matched hers. She did, however, see no point in telling him all of it and instead focused on how callously they had murdered her father.
“So, what’d you and yer father do before this all came about?”
“We had a ranch,” she said softly.
“Cattle, sheep, what?”
“Cattle. He had a cattle ranch in Las Animas. That’s in the Arkansas Valley.”
He kept his words soft, almost tender, “I know right where it is. I’ve been through there a time or two.”
“I guess it’s all mine now,” she said sadly. She then sucked in a deep breath and looked into his eyes. “You ever have a desire to live up there?” she asked, but not really knowing why she wanted to know.
“Nah. Although there are things to be said for settlin’ down. It’s just that...well, a fella’s gotta play out the hand he was dealt.”
He’d grown almost despondent.
She tentatively placed her hand atop his on the table. “Only if you’re of a stubborn nature and unwilling to ask for a fresh one, or even a fresh whole new deck if that’s what might keep your winning interests peaked.”
He furrowed his brow. “You’re new to all this gunfightin’ business, ain’t cha?”
“Does it show that much?”
“Yeah...I’m afraid so.” He smiled pleasantly. “Not that that’s all bad, mind ya.”
“Rest assured that I’ll do what’s necessary to avenge my father.”
“Never was any doubt about that. Speakin’ a that...didn’t you say them fellas could most likely be right here in Trinidad?”
“That’s what I heard.” She rose. “So whyn’t you pay for all this,” she indicated the empty bowls that sat on the crumb strewn table, “and let’s go find us a place to stay?”
They strolled to the hotel that was right next door to the cafe. They registered, using their given names with each paying his own two dollars. Dolly inquired about a bath and was told that they kept a tub in the back room and that it would be ready whenever she was. She figured on spending about an hour or so asking around about the trio she sought, and then, after adding in the time needed to retrieve her belongings from where she’d left them at the livery, it would probably be the better part of an hour and a half before she’d expect to feel the relaxing comforts of a hot bath. Once the arrangements were made with the clerk to have the tub hot and ready to go at right around seven-thirty, she turned toward the door.
The Kid placed a hand on her arm. “Where you goin’?” he asked.
“Just gonna have a look around town. Might even be that I’ll get lucky and finish this whole business tonight.”
“In that case I’m goin’ with ya,” he said flatly.
“This has nothing to do with you,” she insisted, but kinda halfheartedly.
“It’s a free country.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
They spent the next hour or so checking out each of the four saloons that at some time during the night would entertain everyone who was anyone in Trinidad. That is to say...everyone who was of a mind to kick up his heels on a Saturday night away from babysitting the doggi
es, as well as anyone who might be of a nature to either get drunk or would just plain feel the need to hopscotch the town looking for trouble.
Of course, each time the two gunnies wandered into an establishment, they drew way more than just a mild interest from the patrons. But as luck would have it, no one was of a mind to die that evening and they were left alone.
With all four establishments having been looked at without so much as an inkling that the men she was after had been there, Dolly and The Kid resigned themselves and finished the tour of the town by picking her things up from the livery.
Her first evening in Trinidad wound down with all the comforts of a soothing hot bath doing its levelheaded best to chase away every unpleasant memory of what it had taken to get this far. The only things that remained vivid in her mind were the permanently implanted images of the faces of the three men who had started this whole mess in the first place.
Chapter 17
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so completely relaxed and refreshed. She had slept well past six o’clock and had enjoyed it so much herself that she hadn’t had the heart to deprive The Kid by awakening him.
With the very real possibility looming large that the three men might not even have stopped off in Trinidad, she realized that she would most likely have need of some additional money if she were forced to traipse all over God only knew where in her efforts to run them down. With that in mind, she went to the cafe and had breakfast while she lollygagged until time for the bank to finally open.
She then made arrangements for five-hundred dollars to be wired to her from her own bank in Las Animas. The bank manager, a portly gentleman by the name of Wilson, or Wilcox, or something like that, had assured her that the funds would be made available sometime the very next afternoon. Although she didn’t fully understand why it should take so long, she resigned herself to just being thankful that the money would be made available at all.
She then returned to the cafe, knowing that sooner or later The Kid would show up there. When she arrived, she was pleased to see that he was already seated at their usual table against the back wall. She could also see that he had just finished taking a slug from the bottle of painkiller the doc had given him.
She Wore It Tied-Down Page 10
