She Wore It Tied-Down

by r. William Rogers

  “No, wait! That ain’t fair!” he said. “I ain’t quite got my—”

  She pulled the door closed behind her as she stepped into the hall and began working her way into the coat.

  He appeared, partly out of breath. “That wasn’t fair,” he repeated.

  “Poor baby,” she said, with feigned sympathy. “C’mon, let’s go.”

  When they arrived at the cafe, it hadn’t even opened for business yet. They sat on the edge of the raised wooden sidewalk and small talked until the unshaven cook and redheaded waitress showed about ten minutes later. They all went inside and in no time at all the smell of freshly brewed coffee was wafting its way around the room.

  After breakfast they decided to try the bank. Approaching from a few doors down the street, they could see that it too was just being opened for the morning’s business. Reaching it, she tried the door. It had been relocked behind the manager as he’d entered just a few moments before. She rapped lightly on the glass upper half of the door. In a few seconds the green shade went up and the smiling mustached face of the manager greeted her.

  After a few more moments, during which the door was unlocked, it opened. “Good morning, Miss Randolph,” he greeted her warmly. “Your money arrived yesterday afternoon. You must certainly have connections on that end for a transaction of that nature to be completed so expediently.” He moved aside, holding the door wide.

  *

  Once Dolly had the money tucked safely away in her front pants pocket, she wasn’t about to delay any longer than was absolutely necessary. They picked up the buckskin and dun at the livery, buying a bay mare in the process, as well as a saddle for the dun. They then saddled the buckskin and dun, relegating the pack frame to the bay. The next order of business was to stop off at the mercantile where they stocked up on enough provisions to last the two of them a week, and then some.

  Their final task was to let the sheriff know that they would return at a later date to collect the reward money. Once that had been taken care of, they rode out of town, turning south toward the Colorado/New Mexico border and just beyond that, Raton Pass.

  During her long sleepless night she had again assured herself that not only did she want Wayne along in her quest, but needed him there as well. They exchanged smiles as they headed the horses into what had suddenly turned to a chilly, brisk, southwest wind that smelled strongly of snow.

  *

  The weather continued to deteriorate as they painstakingly continued to work their way southward into the pine covered hills, climbing steadily. They’d had enough foresight to purchase ponchos and heavier clothing before leaving Trinidad. They had long since broken those conveniences out and had donned them for protection against the elements.

  As darkness threatened to overtake them, they made camp on a steep sided mountain just as the first of the snowflakes began to fly.

  They’d been fortunate to have found a rock overhang that was out of the wind, and with a life-giving fire reflecting its warmth off the rock face, they used the tarp that usually covered the supplies on the pack frame to erect a lean-to of sorts. She then prepared a satisfying meal of beans, bacon, and biscuits, which they ate hungrily while washing it all down with the contents of a pot of boiled coffee. They then cleaned the dishes, using mostly dirt and grass to wipe them out with before turning in. They were both quickly fast asleep, dog tired from the long ride and their lack of a restful sleep the night before.

  She awoke only once, sometime during the wee hours, and piled a generous amount of dry sticks onto the fire that by that time had become nothing more than a bed of orange coals. While the coals smoldered, and finally burst into flames, she lay on her side with her head propped on her forearm. She was engrossed in watching Wayne as he slept peacefully, while snoring softly. She smiled as he brushed at something unseen that must have been tickling him under his nose. She had certainly known men who were both less handsome as well as less considerate. She rightfully came to the conclusion that she could certainly do worse for herself...if only he wasn’t a gunfighter.

  With the realization gnawing at her innards that that was about as unfair as anything she could have come up with, she found herself wishing that she’d never been forced into this kind of lifestyle. She then sighed heavily and willed her eyelids to close.

  *

  While the storm continued to rage, they remained snuggled against the rock face for most of the morning, enjoying the gut warming effects of another pot of hot coffee while unwilling to brave the possible consequences of the storm until they had a better idea of that they were up against.

  After just a few hours, the weather began to break and they packed up the camp, eager to get back on the trail.

  They rode steadily, keeping to the ridges as much as possible where the snow hadn’t accumulated any more than an inch or two. The gullies and ravines, however, were a different story altogether, presenting a picture of deep drifts that were best avoided at most any cost.

  It took the remainder of that day and most of the next to complete the journey over the pass, during which time they enjoyed the warming effects of the sunshine as it melted nearly every trace that the storm had laid down. They also reveled in each other’s company, growing more content in their blossoming relationship.

  As dusk descended upon them, they sat looking down at the deceivingly peaceful town that Wayne knew to be Raton. “Been here one other time,” he said and extended his hand informatively. “Just to the other side of that hill over there is where the Santa Fe Trail skirts the town. There’s a river over yonder where folks stop to water their stock before continuing on the trail down to Santa Fe, which is still a couple of days ride thataway.” He motioned toward the southwest. “From there it’s pretty much a straight shot to the south ta Las Cruces and eventually El Paso.”

  “How far is it?”

  “It’s a mighty long ways,” he said, as he swung down. He started to loosen the cinch from around the dun. “How far ain’t the biggest concern, though.”

  “Why’s that?” she asked as she too had dismounted and had begun loosening the cinch on the buckskin to give him a well-deserved blow, as well.

  “Well...I ain’t never been south of Santa Fe, but I heard tell there’s Apaches, an’ desert, and just hard times in general. Ever since I heard that, I’ve been of a mind to stay the heck outta there. The fella what told me about the ride was pretty plain that if the Injuns didn’t get cha the desert would.”

  “Any way around it...the desert, I mean?”

  “Sure, there’s always a way around things if yer of a mind to use ’em. To the east is the Llano Estacado...it’s a kinda high plains area of rock-shelf plateaus that’s got just about as many Injuns as the way across the desert does. It ain’t got much water either.”

  “What about skirting it around to the west?”

  “Higher mountains an’ more Injuns.”

  She began tightening the cinch. “Well then...in that case, I’d say the best thing we could do would be to get to Santa Fe first, then make our decision.”

  “Sounds good to me. Heck...could be that we’ll catch them fellas before there’s even any need to fret over it.”

  They descended the slope into Raton and reined up in front of a dinky little false-fronted building that according to the lettering was a place to get a bite to eat. It turned out to be alright, and they gorged themselves on beef stew with cornbread for sopping in it. The coffee was pretty bad, but at least it was hot.

  At her insistence, they put the horses up at the livery, rented a couple of rooms at a hotel that boasted of having five rooms, four of which were vacant, and enjoyed the luxury of hot baths at a bathhouse that was conveniently located right next door to the hotel.

  After finishing up with their baths and changing into clean clothes, they met at the front of the bathhouse and decided to ask around about the men they were after. They then took their dirty clothes up to their rooms, and taking the most obvious path, headed for the
honkytonk piano, the bouncy strands of which escaped into the street from the lighted doorway directly across from the hotel.

  To her surprise, the piano player didn’t miss a single beat when they entered.

  The place was busy, but far from crowded. That suited them just fine and they were able to easily lay claim to a vacant table against the back wall. Neither of them was prone to drinking liquor and that drew the attention of the fella seated by himself at the next table.

  “You two ain’t drinkin’?” he asked and held his half-empty glass up for them to see. “Beer ain’t all that good, but it’s better’n non atall.”

  “Kinda depends on yer way a lookin’ at it,” Wayne said and looked past the man, scanning the rest of the room. Not seeing anything that might present a threat, he returned his attention to the fella. “You from around here?”

  “Originally, but I been outta town for a spell. Just got back.”

  “How long ya been back?”

  “Day or so.”

  “You see three brothers along with their pa shufflin’ around town durin’ that time? These particular fellas would be of a nasty disposition and most likely prone to giving decent folks fits...mainly the lady folks, from my understandin’. One of ’em’s named Jake and one of ’em’s named Walt.”

  The fella’s brow wrinkled slightly, then just as quickly straightened itself out again. “Eh...no, no I ain’t.”

  Something about his reaction, as well as the general appearance of the look in his eyes, puzzled Dolly. Never having been anyone to beat around the bush, she asked, bluntly, “You seem a bit troubled. Does that mean you know something about those men and are choosing to lie about it?”

  He fidgeted in his chair. “Eh...no. Why...eh, why would I lie?”

  “Good question,” she answered. “Are they still in town?”

  “No…eh...I mean...how would I know?” He tipped his glass up, draining it completely. “I...eh...I need another drink,” he said with what could have been taken as a bit of apprehension, and rose.

  They watched him go, crossing the room to the bar where the barkeep accepted his glass and began refilling it. Looking at her, Wayne said simply, “He knows something.”

  “That’s pretty obvious,” she said, and again turned her attention to the now-approaching man. “Keep on your toes,” she urged out of the corner of her mouth.

  Something didn’t seem quite right to her. Something about the look in his eyes had demanded her attention. Suddenly, it dawned on her when he was only about two tables away...his holster was empty and he carried the glass in his left hand. She remembered that he had downed the contents previously with his right. That meant...

  She didn’t waste another instant as she sprang to her feet, and just as he was pulling his six-gun from around behind him, she slapped leather, putting the bullet squarely between his eyes.

  The force of the slug pushed him savagely onto the table immediately behind him. It capsized, depositing him in a heap on the floor. The glass of beer hit the floor and shattered.

  “What the…?” Wayne exclaimed, as he jumped to his feet while his pistol jumped into his hand. He looked at Dolly with unbelieving eyes. “How’dya know?” he asked as the blood had already began forming a pool under the head of the facedown figure.

  “Two things. One was that his holster was empty and he carried the glass in his left hand with the right partially hidden behind his back.”

  “And the other?”

  “His eyes were a dead giveaway. Right at first I wasn’t completely sure, but it finally came to me that they were exactly the same as the three that did what they’d done to me.” She crossed to where the dead man lay, the gun still clutched tightly in his hand. She kicked it away, and reaching down, rolled him onto his back. “He’s the third brother,” she said flatly, and allowed the Peacemaker to find its way into the holster on her thigh.

  They looked up in time to see a short, stocky, middle-aged gent pushing his way through the batwings. The badge on his chest said he was someone to be reckoned with.

  “It was a fair fight, Sheriff,” the barkeep said as the lawman had already pulled his pistol and now held it leveled at Dolly and Wayne. “That is if you don’t count the fact that Simon already had his gun drawed ahead a time and had it hid behind his back before the lady pulled down on him. Fastest draw I ever did see,” he said, with a hint of marvel tingeing the words.

  The sheriff crossed the room to where the body lay and looked down into the lifeless eyes of Simon Jacobs. “Cain’t say as I’m sorry ta see him go,” he said and put his six-gun away. “Him and his no-account, troublesome brothers have been invitin’ a bullet ever since they was born. I’m just a bit surprised it took this long for someone to accommodate him, is all.”

  “And not to mention their pa as well,” Dolly added.

  Sheriff Wainwright looked at her, sizing her up from head to toe in the process. “You know the Jacobs bunch, do ya?” he asked.

  “Way more’n I care to,” she replied honestly. “If you’re of a mind, I’d like to meet with you over at your office and lay it all out for you.”

  “Sounds like a plan ta be admired,” he said and turned toward the line of onlookers. “Couple a you fellas haul this scum outta here and dump him over to the undertaker’s place. Just leave him on the porch. Sylvester’ll find him in the mornin’ when he opens up for business.” Turning back to face the two gunfighters, he said simply, “Follow me.” and spun on the balls of his feet.

  After Dolly had finished telling the sheriff the whole story behind her reasons for shooting Simon Jacobs, she was pleased to learn that his brothers and pa had indeed been in town that very morning, but as far as he knew they’d already left, heading south.

  There was no love lost between the sheriff and the Jacobs family and he was more than happy to supply any information she had a hankering to know. It turned out that Simon had lived right there in Raton for about the past year and a half, during which time he’d been a thorn in the side of just about every decent man, woman, or child within complaining distance.

  The rest of the Jacobs clan had left a few months back after a run-in that had involved the fourteen year old daughter of the rancher they’d been working for.

  As it turned out, Simon had been in town drunk at the time and hadn’t been involved in the ruckus.

  As far as the sheriff knew they had headed up north for parts unknown, but he’d later heard that they had lit somewhere along the Arkansas River. He’d been glad to have gotten shed of them and figured he’d heard the last of them until just a while back when Simon had ridden out after telling his cronies over at the Emporium that he had gotten word that they’d become involved in a situation and needed him to bring them some money.

  Sheriff Wainwright proved sympathetic to Dolly’s plight, and in fact had little problem with the reality of her feeling compelled to kill them at the first chance. He was, however, of no help when it came to giving her, or Wayne, any information that would help them know exactly where the remaining members of the Jacobs clan were. About the best he could come up with was the name of a fella that was about as close to Simon Jacobs as anyone could be, crippled-up little fella by the name of Dexter who was the everyday swamper over to the Emporium. He would be there first thing in the morning to clean up after the previous night’s business.

  With that bit of encouragement tucked firmly away for safekeeping, they expressed their thanks to the sheriff and returned to their rooms over at the hotel.

  Chapter 20

  Dolly and Wayne were fully awake and waiting in a couple of the chairs on the porch as Dexter approached, limping badly from what the sheriff had said had been a nasty accident with a runaway wagon when he’d been not much more than about ten or eleven years old.

  He unlocked the padlock while glancing furtively at what looked to him to be the very first female type gunfighter he had ever laid eyes on. While he pulled the door open, both gunfighters stood, facing him.
He swallowed dryly. “What’dya want?” he asked nervously.

  “Some information,” Dolly said coldly.

  “About what? I ain’t got nothin’ that’d be of interest to a couple a gunfighters. You are gunfighters...ain’t cha?”

  “The sheriff says you’re friends with the Jacobs bunch...Simon Jacobs to be exact,” Dolly said as Wayne placed a hand on Dexter’s back, wordlessly ushering him inside.

  Once inside, Dexter closed the door and reluctantly joined them at the same table they had occupied the night before. “I ain’t real good friends with him,” he admitted defensively. “He gave me a bit of money once in a while. You know...times when I was down ’n out. But I ain’t never been real good friends with him.”

  “You know his brothers, Jake and Walt?” Wayne asked.

  “Yeah, I know ’em. They was just here in town...yesterday in fact.”

  “Are they still around?” Dolly asked hopefully.

  “Nope. Far as I know they rode out with their pa, Lucas. Simon said they’d got themselves in a scrape up in Colorado and had to shoot a fella in self defense. He said they was figgerin’ on headin’ down to Juarez ’til things settled down some. Said they was gonna make tracks ta Santa Fe then maybe cross the Chupadera Mesa to Bingham. Didn’t say what their plans was after that, but it just stands ta reason that if they was headin’ to Juarez by way of Santa Fe they’d hafta work their way not only across the Mesa, but the Sierra Oscura as well, and then on down ta Tularosa before reaching Alamogordo and finally El Paso. Why you askin’?”

  “Because I’ve got something for them,” Dolly said flatly. After placing both palms on the tabletop, she pushed her way up.

  “Mind if I was ta ask what that might be?”

  “Don’t mind at all. Same thing I gave Simon last night...a bullet in each of their murdering heads.”

  They left the swamper with his mouth hanging open and more than one unanswered question rattling around inside his head.