She Wore It Tied-Down

by r. William Rogers

  “You a gunfighter?” Wayne asked.

  “I’d rather think of myself as a gun for hire,” he replied coldly.

  “That why you dusted that fella?” Dolly asked.

  “Yeah...as a matter a fact, it is. I was hired to find him and his two boys.”

  Dolly’s interest was immediately peaked. “Why...if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I do mind, but I’ll tell ya anyways. Him and his two sons took advantage of a rancher’s daughter up in Colorado Territory a while back. They skedaddled before the local law could bring ’em in. I just happened to be in the neighborhood and heard about it. That’s when I offered my services.”

  “Who hired you?” she asked.

  “I ain’t at liberty ta say.”

  Willing to accept that, she rose and without a word went to the body. She knelt and rolled him over. A satisfied smile graced her face as she looked into the lifeless stare of Lucas Jacobs. She elected to leave the eyes open, having decided that he needed to continue to see the error of his ways. She looked up at the gunnie. “Thanks,” she said simply, and rose.

  “You knew him, did ya?”

  Chapter 24

  They got back on the trail bright and early the next morning after struggling through some hard cooked eggs, crispy-crinkled bacon, and mildly burnt toast at a dirty little cave of a cafe that probably shouldn’t have been allowed to be an eating place at all. But the coffee was good and that pretty much trumped everything else...leastways it did a tolerable job of helping them to successfully choke down the rest of the meal before they got back in their saddles.

  They headed south across the white mounds of sand that stretched endlessly before them. They had spent a measure of time talking with the gunnie who had finished off Lucas. It turned out he was a likeable sort named Two Gun Dawson. He had said that he was more than just a little bit familiar with this part of the country.

  Seems like he’d been raised-up in a little one-horse wide spot in the trail about two stone throws north of Las Cruces—place by the name of Rincon. Right about the time he had turned the corner between thirteen and fourteen he had been forced into leaving shortly after having killed a man. He wasn’t up to bragging about the occurrence, in fact, to his credit, he was reluctant to even say diddly about it at all. Nonetheless, they were finally able to drag enough outta him to piece together what had happened.

  The whole thing had stemmed from a disagreement over a questionable poker hand. Some folks had been of the opinion that his pa had cheated. But true or not, that didn’t give a fella the right to gun another fella down in cold blood. No, sir, no right atall was the way Billy Dawson had seen it. He had fetched his pa’s shooter from the cupboard and had gone after the gambler fella what had done the shooting. He’d then evened the score by ambushing the man out in front of the feed store from behind a wagon that’d been loaded with sacks of grain.

  Ever since that fateful day, Billy Dawson had seen the need to be a loner by nature, and clung to that way of thinking to this very day. Because of that, he declined their offer to join them in their quest to find the remaining two Jacobs brothers. The fact that he had heard that the pair were now headed to Las Cruces rather than Juarez, as previously planned, also had a hand in his decision to go it all by his lonesome. He was figuring that he could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, and take a couple of hours to look in on his ma whom he’d not seen for somewhere between six and seven years now.

  Respecting his ways, they had said their goodbyes to Two Gun Billy Dawson and rode out. Of course, they had continued to wonder where he kept the other one...the gun, I mean.

  They started out pretty much dead south, intending to veer off to the southeast as the terrain permitted, thereby skirting the vast majority of the dunes as they worked their way across the Malpais and eventually to Tularosa.

  Dawson, in contrast, figured he’d hang out in Bingham until after the reward money that’d been posted for Lucas Jacobs caught up to him. Once he had collected on it, he’d then head for Las Cruces by a more southerly route that would take him straight across the most savage part of the desert, the Sierra Oscura. That route would then eventually take him to the San Andres Mountains, that legend held, only fools and Mescaleros had any business being anywhere near...let alone right smack dab in the middle of.

  *

  What with the sand raising havoc with the horse’s footing, it was indeed slow going just like Dawson had said it would be. He’d also told them that it was right near fifty miles to Tularosa, but that it’d take the better part of five full days before they’d complete the crossing. He’d also let them know that if they were to get in a pinch, they could always head a fuzz more to the east and with luck could run into either Oscura or even Three Rivers. But he certainly advised against that, saying both towns were a haven for unsavory types and that neither had a lawman...the last he’d heard anyways.

  The first couple of days went without incident. Oh, there were the usual inconveniences one might expect, things like blowing sand and an occasional mounted figure or two off in the distance. But luck continued to ride with them and they easily kept themselves away from the Apaches.

  Toward the end of the third day, and with the sky an intense blue that contrasted starkly with the brilliant white sand that was all around them, was when things started to happen.

  The pack mare had been being a pain in the backside for most of the day and had been showing a mind of her own that was definitely favoring stopping and resting way more than either Dolly or Wayne figured was the best way of getting across the desert.

  “C’mon you lop-eared nag,” Wayne said and gave a stern yank on the lead. “I’ve about got all I want outta you.” Just as Wayne was about to lose what little patience he had left with the knotheaded mare, a shadow spread over them.

  They looked to the west. It was as if a light brownish colored curtain had been lowered along the entire horizon. Above it was the blue sky, but down low there was nothing except a rolling, tumbling onslaught that was fast-approaching them.

  “What is that?” Dolly asked anxiously.

  He grabbed for his own hip pocket even as he spoke, “It’s a sandstorm! Get yer neckerchief out and tie it around your nose ’n mouth!”

  That right there was the opportunity the pack mare must have been waiting for. She reared mightily, stripping the lead through his hand. The heat caused by the friction prompted him to release what little bit of hold he had on it. She bolted and headed out to the east, opting for the easier downhill way. He let her go.

  Deciding instead to take care of first things first, he tied the neckerchief around the lower part of his face, dismounted, and looked at Dolly while satisfying himself in the knowing that she had done the same. He then did the best he could in his attempt to turtle down into the top of his coat before kneeling and hunching over in the sand.

  Dolly was of a mind to do the same, thankful that despite the deceiving blue sky, it had been cold enough to warrant wearing her coat. She pulled her head in and pinched the front together just as the swirling, driving sandstorm laid into them.

  They huddled together, holding onto their reins for dear life, fully realizing that without the horses they would be food for the buzzards.

  The storm continued to slam into them, leaving its gritty remnants in every place possible. They had sand in their ears and grit in their eyes. It was inside their clothes, and even places where they didn’t even know they had places. They huddled even closer together, placing their faces as low as possible in a vain attempt to escape the onslaught, while all the while clutching desperately to the reins of the protesting buckskin and dun.

  They remained that way, while somehow managing to avoid being stepped on by the agitated animals, until finally, the wind decreased just as quickly as it had begun, then ceased altogether as the storm moved away to the east, taking the intrusive brown curtain with it.

  They turned over, resting on their butts in the sand.


  Dolly could see that the buckskin hadn’t dealt with the storm well at all. The dun wasn’t having much better luck either. Dolly rose. “Looks like these two could use some help,” she said and pulled her canteen from where it had been looped over the saddlehorn.

  They set about dumping water into their hats, and offering it to the animals.

  They then soaked their neckerchiefs and went about doing a passable job of wiping out the mouths and eyes of the animals before cleaning themselves up as well.

  “So what now?” she asked. “Peers to me like we have a serious problem.”

  “That’d be an understatement,” he said. “Along with that pack mare hightailin’ it outta here went just about every reasonable chance we had of making it to Tularosa.”

  “Yeah...but that still leaves us the option of trying for one of them other towns Dawson told us about.” She pointed. “My guess would be that way.”

  He sighed heavily. “Well then...we best get started. With any luck we might manage to get ourselves outta this fix sometime tomorrow.”

  Chapter 25

  They sat atop the horses, taking in the sparse scattering of buildings. They had ridden down the last trace of sand dunes barely a half hour before and now found themselves on a ridge that was infested with oversized yucca.

  “Sure don’t look like much to me,” Wayne said, matter of factly.

  “Appearances might be deceiving,” she replied. “Especially if we take to heart what Dawson had to say. You up to going down there and seeing if we can come up with another horse and enough supplies to make it to Tularosa?”

  “Reckon so. Can’t see no other way.”

  They worked the horses carefully through the yucca patch until they were well past the obstacles and nearing level, open ground. They then kicked them into a trot, anxious to get back to whatever little bit of civilization the town might have to offer.

  The sign on the very first building they came to informed anyone with an interest that they had beds for a price and baths as well, for a nickel extra; ten cents if they elected to forego the bed. With the raspy effects of the sand still grating on them in just about every possible nook and cranny, they reined up and swung down.

  “Looks like just what the doctor ordered,” he said, while grinning thankfully, and pointing at the advertisement about the bath. “I’m right on the verge of bein’ rubbed about as raw as a newborn jackrabbit with a serious case of the poison oak itch. If I had to make a guess I’d say there’s about a bushel ’n a half of sand in this neck wound and not leaving it feelin’ none too good in the process.” He rested a comforting palm against the area of the wound.

  “Well then, let’s go see if that sign knows what it’s talking about.” She held an inviting palm out toward the steps. “After you.”

  The first thing that struck them as they entered, was the sound of a woman’s laughter coming from somewhere in the back of the place. It was followed quickly by a squeal of delight and then laughter again.

  “Sounds like someone might be enjoying herself,” Wayne said as they stopped just short of a cubbyhole-sized alcove, that was fronted by a wooden counter that was only about five or six feet in length.

  The bespeckled fella behind it looked up from his magazine. His eyes grew noticeably larger, magnified even more by the thick lenses. He seemed almost transfixed by the gun on Dolly’s thigh. “I...eh...you a gunfighter?” he finally asked, after plopping the book onto the countertop. He then tapped it with a jabbing fingertip. “Sez in this here book that honest ta goodness female gunfighters are mighty scarce.” He looked at Wayne, then Wayne’s gun as well. “Peers like two bonafide gunfighters standing right here together...right in front of me... an’ with one of ’em bein’ a female type ta boot. What’dya figger the odds against that to be?”

  “Slim to none would be my guess,” Wayne informed him. “We’re lookin’ for two baths and a couple of rooms. What’dya figger the odds of findin’ them would be?”

  The pipsqueak of a fella pulled his black horn-rimmed glasses from his face, while tugging at his shirttail with his other hand. After breathing a fog onto the lenses, he began cleaning them absent-mindedly while he spoke, “The baths ain’t a problem; the water’s only been used once or twice.”

  Dolly squinted and cringed.

  “The rooms will be a bit more of a challenge, though.” He waved leisurely at their surroundings. “In case you didn’t know, this place is a massage house of sorts. There’s five rooms upstairs that’re rented on a hourly basis.” He replaced his glasses. “If ya get my drift?”

  “How much for all night?” Wayne asked.

  The clerk appeared shocked. “Don’t rightly know. Nobody’s ever—”

  Wayne seized the opportunity, “We’ll give you five dollars apiece for two of ’em.”

  The fella grinned. “You just rented yerselves a couple of rooms for the night.”

  “How much for fresh clean water in a couple of them tubs?” Dolly asked.

  Seeing another golden opportunity, the clerk responded eagerly, “Twenty-five cents...each.”

  “Get it done,” Dolly said flatly, and rested her hand on the pearl handle of the Peacemaker.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  *

  After feeding and bedding the horses at the livery stable, piling their belongings in their rooms, which, by the way, smelled strongly of things that Dolly decided she’d rather not even know about, they lavished in the tubs of fresh hot water that were well worth the two bits each. She was pleased to discover that hers had even been scented with something that smelled of a lavenderish nature, she decided. Once the water had grown cold enough to no longer hold much comfort for her, she got out. She then leisurely dressed in her change of clothes, brushed her hair out as best she could, tied it back with a strip of rawhide, gathered up her dirty clothes, and headed for the area that served as a lobby where Wayne would no doubt already be waiting for her.

  His eyes lit up as soon as he saw her. “Dang...if a fella didn’t know no better, he’d think you were the girl next door.”

  She smiled sweetly. “I am the girl next door,” she informed him. She then patted the holster. “This is only temporary.”

  “Sure do hope so,” he said. “You don’t belong out here tryin’ to find fellas an’ kill ’em.”

  “That, Sir, is not even a choice,” she said, through a bit of a sigh. Smiling pleasantly, she quickly changed the subject, “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna take these things up to my room.”

  He watched her start up the stairs. “I can only hope,” he repeated softly. His thoughts were interrupted as the front door burst open and two men barged in.

  “Heard there was a couple a gunnies in here!” one of them boomed, looking first at Wayne then at Dolly who had stopped at the first sound of the men entering.

  Wayne glanced at the clerk who in turn decided he had more pressing things to tend to and placed his full attention on something of sudden importance along the back wall of cubbyholes.

  Both of the men wore their irons low slung and tied down. The one who had done the talking looked vaguely familiar to Wayne.

  “Don’t I know you?” Wayne asked.

  The man frowned, giving his best shot at recollection an even chance. “Yeah...you do look a mite familiar. Seems like I seen you somewheres before, as well.” The light of recognition suddenly lit up his face. “Yer that fella what pulled down on Pete Wilson up north in Dodge about a month or so back.” He pointed at Wayne. “Yer Kid Blakely.”

  “You seen that, did ya?” Wayne asked. “You know then that it was a fair fight?”

  “Yeah, it was a fair fight alright enough. But fair ain’t the issue here.” The fella took a quick glance at Dolly then returned his full attention to Wayne. “From watchin’ ya pull yer iron that day, I’m thinkin’ I can take ya.” A confident smirk spread across his face.

  Wayne could hear Dolly easing her way down the stairs, but he wasn’t about to take his e
yes off the man in front of him…either of them in fact. “I ain’t here lookin’ for no trouble, but if you’re of a mind to be stupid we can settle this man to man,” Wayne informed him.

  When the two gunslingers slowly began moving away from each other it was pretty plain that they were both figuring on taking a part in it.

  “Or man to woman,” Dolly said, as she sided up to Wayne and unhooked the leather retainer that kept the Peacemaker securely in the holster. She tucked the end of it out of the way between the holster and her thigh.

  “Don’t know as I’d enjoy killin’ a female,” the gunfighter who had remained silent until then said. “But then again—”

  “Now that’s something you won’t be needing to trouble yourself about,” Dolly assured him softly. “You won’t even clear leather,” she added flatly. She crouched slightly, already fully committed.

  “Now ya got me plumb scared clean outta my wits.” He unhooked the leather piece from the hammer on his own six-gun.

  “I reckon it’s yer play,” Wayne said to the other man.

  The gunfighter tilted his head in Dolly’s direction. “She really gonna have a part in this?”

  “Peers like,” Wayne said.

  “Count on it,” Dolly said, just above a whisper, unwilling to take her gaze from her opponent’s eyes. Nate had made it painstakingly clear to her that the first indication of a gunnie’s intent to draw would show itself there. She also remembered him saying that more than one fella had died from the misfortune of having watched a fella’s gunhand by mistake. She successfully fought off the urge to look down at his hand.

  An unwavering confidence shown on his face as he held his gaze steady on hers. From that, she figured he was a seasoned gunfighter.

  “What’s yer name?” he asked. “Mine’s—”