A Bad Place To Be

by John Hansen

  “It was self-defense, Sheriff,” said Josh. “As you can see, I been shot and there’s plenty of witnesses here that’ll tell you that I had my back turned when it happened.”

  “That so,” said the sheriff as he eyed Josh’s wound. A man dressed more like a cowboy than a miner stepped forward. “That’s a fact, Sheriff. I seen the whole thing. It was more plain than a fresh brand that the Swede was lookin’ fer trouble when he went over to this here fellar’s table and tried to horn in.”

  From the crowd there were several shouts of “that’s right” and one dissenting “all he wanted was a dance.” It was an informal referendum that the sheriff was quick to acknowledge. It wasn’t what the sheriff had wanted to hear as he felt that Josh could potentially upset the balance of things in Bear Creek. He’d just as soon give Josh a necktie party, but clearly the public sentiment for that wasn’t there.

  Conspicuously absent in the discussion was the bartender—a fact that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Josh. He’d seen what had happened and he knew of the Swede’s past behavior. Why wasn’t he speaking up unless he’d just as soon see Josh go to jail?

  Turning to Josh, the sheriff said: “Well, Morrow, appears you’re in the clear this time but let’s not make this a habit. Next time things might not go your way. In fact, just a friendly suggestion, you might want to consider movin’ on.”

  Josh could tell by the look on the sheriff’s face that he was irritated having to let him go. This baffled Josh somewhat, as the facts concerning the shooting were pretty clear-cut. The sheriff had no reason to be suspicious of him unless he thought Josh would interfere with some other agenda of the sheriff’s. “I’m free to go?” said Josh.

  The sheriff sighed with disgust. “You are for now.”

  Josh turned to the girl. The look on her face was beyond sadness; it was more like hurt, embarrassment, and shame all vying to win out. It was because of her, she reasoned, that the Swede was dead; not that she was very sorry about that, but it had brought pain and trouble to someone else, who for a brief time was treating her with respect, like a lady, and not a would-be whore. She wouldn’t blame him if he just walked out—she was trouble. Josh could see the wheels of anticipation and uncertainty turning furiously in the girl’s eyes. “You comin’?” he asked.

  For a brief second there was a look of hesitancy in the girl’s eyes as she re-processed in her mind the echo of Josh’s words. Had he really asked her to go with him? Ironically, for something that she wanted so bad to happen, it was difficult for her to speak. There were lots of eyes upon her, waiting to see what “the little hussy” was going to do. The room had become quiet to hear the sheriff’s decision, and now it had been awarded a bonus event. The girl could not look at the crowd; she felt naked before them and their judgment of her. But, once again in her life, desperation overcame pride. She nodded her head and whispered, “Yes.”

  Outside the night air was free of the tobacco smoke, and Josh and the girl were enveloped by the darkness save for the occasional shaft of light from a building. “We need to get you to a doctor?” said the girl as she looked up at Josh.

  Josh shook his head. “It looks worse than it really is. The bullet just grazed me. I think it’ll clean up okay and heal on its own.”

  “Are you sure?” asked the girl in a concerned tone.

  Josh laughed. “I fought Comanches for five years. I saw my share of bullet wounds, some of ‘em on me, so I think I got a pretty fair idea which ones need doctor’n and which ones don’t.”

  The girl sighed in exasperation. “Well if you say so but sounds just like a stubborn man to me.”

  Josh smiled, although in the darkness it was doubtful if the girl could see it. She seemed to have a wholesomeness about her. There was something about her speech and mannerisms that said she was from good people. From Josh’s perspective, her saloon-girl attire was definitely out of character. “You know, ma’am, it seems like we been through a lot in the last thirty minutes and I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s Sarah, Sarah MaGinty,” she said.

  “Josh Morrow, pleased to meet you.”

  There was an awkward pause between them, precipitated by the obvious question at hand: what was to become of Sarah? Josh had very mixed feelings about getting involved with her any more than he already had. But what was he to do with her—just leave her standing on the street? She wasn’t welcome back in the Gold Strike saloon and whorehouse. On the other hand, it wasn’t his job to look out for her.

  Sarah broke the silence. She knew that it had been too good to be true that a knight in shining armor would rescue her from the Gold Strike, but it had felt good, if only for little while, to believe that it had actually happened. “Well, I guess this is where we go our separate ways,” she said in a halting voice.

  Josh was caught off-guard. He’d expected Sarah to be more presumptuous, even though he thought she was basically a good person. “You got any place to go?” he asked rhetorically.

  Sarah reasoned that she could lie and say yes, but what would that get her—pride? Pride didn’t ease the hunger in your belly or keep the rain off your head. But there would be expectations; was she prepared to meet them? Looking up at Josh, she said: “You know I don’t.”

  “Well, I got a room at the hotel. You’re welcome to spend the night there,” said Josh. And then he added: “There’ll be no foolin’ around.”

  Sarah would not have believed most men about not fooling around, but Josh seemed different. “I accept your hospitality, Mr. Morrow.” There was a sense of relief in her voice. Her dilemma of being penniless and homeless was solved for at least tonight.

  There were no fancy accommodations in Bear Creek, and Josh’s room was no exception. It had one bed with a straw mattress that was barely big enough for two people, but not comfortably. A small dresser with a pitcher of water and washbasin was situated along the wall to the left of the door. A mirror hung above it. Beyond the bed on the opposite side of the room was a window that looked down on the street. A wooden chair was situated next to it such that a person could have a relaxing drink while watching the comings and goings on Bear Creek’s main street. At the head of the bed on the side closest to the door was a small night table. It had a coal oil lantern sitting on it. As Josh and Sarah entered the room, Josh left the door open long enough to allow light from the hallway to illuminate a shadowy path to the lantern in the room. He struck a match and lit the lamp. Its pale yellow light projected distorted caricatures of him and Sarah on the wall opposite them. In the far corner of the room, on the floor, were Josh’s saddle, bedroll, rifle, and saddlebags. He’d brought them to the hotel for safekeeping rather than leave them at the livery stable with Thunder.

  Josh swung the door shut and locked it on his way to his saddlebags. “Have a chair,” he said to Sarah without looking at her. “I’m just going to clean this wound up a bit and call it a night.”

  “Let me help you,” said Sarah. “It’s the least I can do.”

  Josh was about to decline her offer of help but then thought better of it, as it would allow Sarah to reciprocate for the kindness that he was extending to her. “OK, just a second,” he said as he rummaged through his saddlebags. “Here,” said Josh, holding up a white cotton undershirt and handing it to her. “We can use this.”

  Sarah took the shirt and then watched with some embarrassment as Josh took off his blood-stained shirt. She couldn’t help but stare at his muscular chest and arms. Beneath the fine black hair on his chest and stomach, she could see scars suggesting that he had experienced wounds of this nature at least twice before. The bloody rag concealing his current wound had fallen to the floor, revealing a shallow furrow about four inches long in the flesh on his left side. The wound oozed a little fresh blood but it had mostly stopped bleeding. Sarah poured some water in the washbasin and soaked a piece of the clean shirt in it. “Hold still,” she said firmly as she dabbed at the dried blood. She felt goose bumps and her heart pounded being so close to
this man who had just walked into her life barely an hour ago and who had killed for her.

  “Am I gonna live?” teased Josh.

  Josh’s words made Sarah feel more at ease. Continuing the playful repartee she replied: “That depends on if you keep squirming around like a schoolgirl.”

  Josh laughed. “Here,” said Sarah, handing a fold of cloth to Josh. “Hold this on your wound while I tie it in place.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Josh in an exaggerated tone of respect.

  Sarah tore a long strip of shirt and extended it around Josh’s midsection and over the bandage that he was holding to his side. In the process, her face brushed against his chest as she struggled to reach around him with the cloth. This closeness not only heightened her excitement but it allowed, ironically, her to feel good about herself; she was helping another person. Her mind and body were awash in emotion and physical sensations, for in the short time that she had known Josh they had likely violated societal norms by her coming to his room, and now on a personal level she had transcended that personal space reserved for select individuals.

  Sarah tied the bandage in place. “Well, that’s about the extent of my doctor abilities,” she said.

  “Looks good,” said Josh. “I appreciate it.” And, true to his word, he turned and knelt down to take the bedroll from his saddle. “I’ll just spread my blankets on the floor over here. You can take the bed,” he said over his shoulder.

  Sarah wasn’t really surprised as much as she was a bit taken aback by Josh’s actions. Deep within her there was a part of her that had hoped he wouldn’t be the total gentleman. “Are you sure?” she asked. “You’re injured. You’ll rest better on the bed.”

  Josh had taken off his boots, and except for a shirt, crawled between his two blankets clothed. He’d bunched up his slicker for a pillow. “If ya’ll don’t mind, blow out the lantern when you’re settled,” he said in deference to her admonition of hospitality. And then he added as he closed his eyes: “Good night.” His behavior had been almost mechanical; it had to be. Sarah was a pretty girl and he was after all a man, but the evening had been a calamity thus far and, Josh reasoned, there was no point possibly adding to that.

  It may have been because she was exhausted from her relatively sleepless, stressful nights at the Gold Strike, but Sarah slept soundly. If not for some ravens perched in a ponderosa pine outside her window, she might have slept longer, but their incessant babble had finally lured her from the depths of a good dream. It had been of Boston where she and her husband had known happiness. As she lay there feeling the warmth of the sunshine coming in through the open window and smelling the freshness of the morning air as a gentle breeze teased the curtains, she was struck with a sudden awareness that she was alone. Instantly, she sat upright to confirm her feeling. It was true—Josh’s stuff was gone. A sick, empty feeling came over her. She had thought he was different. Her eyes were welling up with tears when the door opened.

  “Thought you was gonna sleep all day,” said Josh.

  A wave of feel-good emotion swept over Sarah. Relief did not adequately describe her feelings in seeing Josh return. “I thought you were gone,” she said and then added: “for good.”

  Josh paused. A serious look came to his face. “Thought about it,” he said. “Got up with the chickens this morning so I had plenty ah time to think. Drank enough coffee to make a dead man jittery, but the long and the short of it is I just couldn’t bring myself to leave you high and dry.”

  They weren’t exactly the words that Sarah had hoped to hear, but they were better than the deafening silence, save for the ravens, of the room just a moment before. A single tear had emerged from her left eye and was beginning the journey down her cheek, leaving little doubt that she was crying. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, Josh. I really do, it’s just that I’m so tired of being at the mercy of other people’s pity.”

  “This ain’t pity,” said Josh as he set some boots, a hat, and a bundle wrapped in brown paper on the bed. “You’re gonna pay me back some day.”

  Sarah’s attention was diverted to the items on the bed. “What’s this?” she asked, somewhat mystified.

  “Well, ya’ll can’t wear that saloon-girl gitup out on the trail,” replied Josh. “As soon as you get changed and maybe some breakfast, we’re gonna part company with Bear Creek.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Sarah.

  “I got some business to attend to south of here, and when that’s done we’ll head for the Salmon River country. There’s a ranch there that’s been lookin’ for a reliable cook. It’d be respectable work and you’d get room, board, and wages. Give you a stake in life.”

  Sarah was not ungrateful. It may have been more that she was not a spontaneous person and that she had an innate fear of the unknown that had been made worse ever since she had left San Francisco to participate in her husband’s adventure in the Bear Creek goldfields. In any event, she replied: “What will you do?”

  This was not the response that Josh had expected. Gratitude was more along the lines of what he was thinking, but he indulged her. “I don’t know. I quit a job in that country to come here and help my friend work his gold claim. Like your husband, he’s been murdered and now there’s no claim to work. All this get-rich-quick in the goldfield doesn’t seem to come to any good end for a lot of folks. I reckon I’d be better off workin’ a ranch back over in that Salmon River country, if I can get on.”

  Sarah looked relieved. She picked up the package and felt its heft as if she were a little kid at Christmas. She looked at Josh. “Thank you,” she said warmly. “I’ll get changed.”

  “I’ll be downstairs,” replied Josh.

  Josh hoped that he wasn’t making a mistake taking on this relative stranger. Initially her hard-luck story had struck a chord with him, but then with the Swede entering the picture it seemed there was no turning back, that his commitment to the girl only deepened. His out-of-pocket costs for trail clothes and a horse with the necessary tack had been considerable. These were purchases he really couldn’t afford, for at the time, he was living off of his savings from his time in the army, and that was supposed to go towards buying a ranch. Josh’s second-guessing himself had reached a near frenetic pace when suddenly there stood Sarah in the doorway of the hotel, dressed in the clothes that he had given her. At first glance she looked like a teenage boy. She’d pulled her dark hair up under the slouch hat and washed all the makeup from her face. It gave her a look of innocence and natural beauty that, up to this point, Josh hadn’t seen.

  The cotton shirt and pants that she wore were a little oversized, further disguising her shapely body such that from a distance, she would likely be mistaken for a boy.

  Sarah paused a short distance from Josh. Her attire was definitely foreign to her, and she appeared embarrassed and in need of approval.

  Josh smiled broadly. “Best-lookin’ trail hand I ever saw,” he said lightheartedly.

  Sarah frowned. “I’ll bet.”

  Chapter Four

  By the time that Josh and Sarah had breakfast, purchased some supplies at the mercantile, and retrieved Thunder and the horse that Josh had bought for Sarah, it was close to noon. This was more than ample time for the residents of Bear Creek to recount the events of the previous night at the Gold Strike and form opinions as to the correctness of what had taken place. As if this hadn’t been enough to prime the gossip mill, you now had the Swede’s killer and his recently acquired harlot girlfriend, dressed like a man, parading around town like they were respectable folks. Except for the matronly lady who ran the restaurant, what few other ladies that resided in Bear Creek wouldn’t even walk on the same side of the street as Josh and Sarah. And so it was that when they departed Bear Creek, the sun was high overhead and the little town was abuzz with the unfolding scandal. All eyes seemed to be upon them as they slowly rode out of town, especially Sarah. She wasn’t riding side-saddle as was the expectation for ladies on horseback, but instead sa
t astride as a man would.

  From the sheriff’s office, Hollis and his two deputies could be seen lounging on the front porch. Their attention was focused on Josh and Sarah. “Lookie here,” said the sheriff to his deputies in a sarcastic tone. “Here comes the Texan and his whore girlfriend.” Being the paid lackeys that they were, the deputies laughed. But then the bigger deputy said, almost as a compliment, albeit a lascivious one, “She don’t dress down all that bad,” suggesting that even without the skimpy saloon-girl dress her feminine features were obvious. This prompted a snicker from the other deputy but not the sheriff. He had a dislike of Josh that seemed to be rooted in a thinly disguised fear. Conversely, the deputies exhibited a bravado that was spawned from ignorance that the badges they wore made them immune from any retribution by the people that they were sworn to serve and protect.

  As Josh and Sarah’s horses passed directly in front of the sheriff’s office, Hollis called out to Josh: “Glad to see you’re takin’ my advice and gittin’ outta town.”

  Josh had little respect for the sheriff. There was simply too much robbing and killing going on in the area that the sheriff and his deputies just couldn’t seem to ever solve. Josh looked over at the sheriff somewhat smugly: “Yup, Sheriff. I had enough ah Bear Creek.”

  “You know,” began the sheriff coyly. “You coulda disarmed the Swede after you knocked him out, thataway he wouldn’t-ah been able to shoot’ya and you wouldn’t have needed to kill him.”

  “I suppose,” replied Josh, and then added: “At least not then, anyway.”

  The sheriff scowled. “You know, Tex,” slurred the sheriff in a mocking tone, “you got a smart mouth and I don’t like people with a smart mouth.”

  Josh wanted so badly to respond with, “So what?” but he could see that the situation was about to go to hell in a hand basket and so he said, “Sorry, Sheriff, didn’t mean to rile ya.” It galled Josh to apologize to Hollis, but he was holding the trump cards.