“Yes, remember the Alamo and all that crap!” she screamed, and then she slapped him hard. She turned and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door.
He sighed, staring after her. He had never loved a woman so much as he loved this one, and she could not, would not understand. He hobbled to the closed door. “Lark, I’m goin’ down to the sheriff’s office now to wait for Snake. You be on that noon train out of here.”
There was no answer, only angry sobbing.
“I just want you to know, Lark, that if I don’t make it, my last thought will be of you.”
“You’re loco. You know that? I hate you!”
He sighed and hobbled over to the table. He paused, and after a moment, picked up his gold-rimmed spectacles and dropped them in his pocket. Maybe while he was sitting in his office waiting, he might try to read the Bible that lay on the desk there.
He went outside. As the Cheyenne would say, it was a good day to die. It would be warm and windless with a clear sky the color of that dress Lark wore the first time he saw her. Jimmy. He must write some kind of note for Jimmy to find that would make the boy proud and teach him what courage meant. Not that Larado was any great role model.
The streets were deserted, but inside the bank already, he could see the banker moving about. That puzzled Larado. Hadn’t Dixie warned him about not opening today? Maybe he was just moving the money out of his safe to hide in case Snake made it that far. There was no chance the posse could get here before Snake did, so that meant Larado would have to handle it. He smiled, thinking of the trio from back East. This wasn’t the way it was done in the dime novels, a crippled-up, half-blind sheriff going to a showdown against a tough outlaw. Well, he’d do the best he could, but his mind was in turmoil, wondering if Lark didn’t make sense. He was a fool to be so noble.
He paused out on the wooden sidewalk and took a long, deep breath. It was going to be a hot day, a Texas kind of a day. He knew he would not be around to see the sun set, but he was okay with that. Larado had only gone to school a couple of years, but now an old poem that a teacher had once read to the class came to mind:…I could not love thee dear so much, loved I not honor more…. Lark. He only wished she understood.
He went to his office, sat down at his cluttered desk, and looked through some wanted posters. It was going to be a long morning. He glanced up at the big clock that hung on his office wall. It ticked loudly in the silence. Almost nine o’clock. He pulled the pocket watch out of his vest and checked to see if the big clock might be wrong. It wasn’t.
If Snake came by horseback, he could be here earlier or later than noon. It was also possible that he’d think better of it and not come at all. After all, it made good sense to get across the border, with a hangman’s noose waiting for him if he was recaptured. The trio of buffoons might not know what they were talking about.
He wrote a note to Jimmy, explaining about why he had made this decision. If Larado never saw him again, he wanted the boy to believe in Texas and her heroes. It meant something to Larado to have the child and the town know that he had died doing what he thought was right—just like Bowie, Crockett, and Travis. Others might laugh about the Alamo, but Texans lived by its legends. There was a reason the Lone Star flag had a crimson stripe—it represented the blood-soaked ground Texans had died defending.
About ten o’clock, a handful of the elderly men in the town came into his office. There was Bill from the telegraph office, the two old Civil War veterans, and Doc. “Sheriff, we come to help.”
He looked them over. Two of them had hands that shook so bad, they probably couldn’t hit a barn door with a shotgun. Of the two old veterans, one only had one leg, and the other was blind in one eye. Doc was pretty frail, and he was the only doctor within a hundred miles. They couldn’t risk losing him. Between them, they were carrying outdated weapons. One of them even carried a musket. “Thanks, men, you’re true Texans, and I’m really obliged for your offer, but I think I can handle this.”
“But we want to help,” said Bill.
Snake would kill them all without blinking an eye, and Larado couldn’t have that on his conscience. “Tell you what,” he said, “if I don’t come out of this showdown, you’ll be the last line of defense against this hombre until the posse gets back.”
Bill leaned closer. “What you want us to do, Sheriff?”
“I want you to hang on to your weapons and stay indoors. If he gets me, you four will have to go it alone.”
They looked at each other, nodding. It made sense.
“All right,” Bill said. “I wired the Rangers like you told me. They wired back that they’ll try to get some men here in time.”
“Everything will be fine, then,” Larado assured them with a confidence he did not feel. “You know the old saying: one riot, one Ranger. I can handle this ’til they get here.” He stood and herded the old codgers toward the door.
“We didn’t want to desert our sheriff,” one said as they stood in the doorway.
“And you’re not,” Larado assured them. “You just be in your homes and ready in case Snake Hudson gets me. You’ll have to deal with him ’til the posse arrives.”
They went out reluctantly. Larado stood in the doorway and watched them limp off down the street. From the saloon blared laughter and the strains of drunken singing: “…as I walked out on the streets of Laredo, as I walked out in Laredo one day….”
Judging from the horses tied out front, there were a lot of hombres in that saloon, drinking to Saturday and no doubt, to Larado’s death. The only men in town that could help him were the ones in the saloon, and he knew they wouldn’t turn a hand to save a lawman. It was sort of ironic, him playing the hero when he was a wanted man himself. Well, maybe that would never come out. He didn’t want this town, especially Jimmy or Paco, to think badly of him.
The clock ticked so loudly, he felt it could be heard all up and down the street, ticking away the hours and minutes of his life. He must not think of that, or he would be too afraid to do what—as a man—he knew he must do.
He returned to his desk, put on his spectacles, and opened his Bible. Any other time he’d have been worried that someone might see him in his eyeglasses, but there was no one on the streets. Everyone was behind locked doors, awaiting the arrival of Snake Hudson.
He had never been a religious man, but the feel of the worn black book comforted him somehow. He stared up at the loudly ticking clock. It was almost eleven o’clock. My, don’t time fly when you’re havin’ fun? he thought ruefully.
Lark was probably packed by now. Had she taken the buggy, or was she waiting for the train? A thought crossed his mind—he had an hour to change his mind, just in case Snake came in on the train. One hour to make a choice between Lark and life, or being shot down in the dirt of a west Texas town. He wavered, remembering the taste of her lips, the ecstasy he had known only in her arms. Yep, it was tempting. He stared out into the hot summer day, thinking about his choices. He ought to write Lark a note explaining everything and telling her how much he loved her. He wrote a couple of lines, then ran out of words. Besides, what good would it do if she’d left town and never read them? He crumpled the paper and tossed it away.
He was wavering, thinking about dying. Life was sweet, and he didn’t want it to end yet—he’d had so little of it. Right now he was not so afraid of dying, since that was a foregone conclusion. What worried him was dying badly, maybe shot in the back because at the last moment he tried to run and took the bullet like a coward.
He flipped through the worn pages, looking for a clue or something that would make him not so afraid. Even with his thick glasses, he squinted at the fine print…. for if God be with me, who dares stand against me…?
He laughed and closed the Bible, taking off his spectacles and putting them in his shirt pocket. God wouldn’t be with a saddle tramp who had never done a right thing in his whole life. Yes, he’d done one right thing: he’d loved a woman, really loved her, with no thought for anything
but protecting her and cherishing her. And for doing the right thing, she was deserting him.
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. Mesmerized, he watched the clock hands move forward.
Over at the bank, Dixie watched old Barclay sort through his money and close the safe. Damn, she’d hoped he might turn his back and give her a chance to load her purse up with greenbacks, but that wasn’t to be.
He cleared his throat. “I don’t understand it,” he grumbled. “There’s hardly anyone on the streets, and it’s Saturday. I was expecting a lot of business today.”
“Who knows?” She hadn’t warned him. In fact, she’d be delighted if he got killed. She’d hoped she might figure a way to get some of that money before she caught that noon train, but he’d been too watchful for her. Oh well, Abner Snootley had plenty of money. They’d make do with his. She yawned. “I reckon I’ll go back up to the apartment. What do you want for dinner?”
“Steak,” he said. “And then I want you under me.”
She sighed. “Let’s not.”
“You know better than that, you slut,” he snapped. “That’s what I keep you for, remember? That, and to keep your mouth shut.”
“Sure.” She went out, cursing silently. That bastard had put his clammy hands on her for the last time. She’d be gone on the noon train—her bags were already packed and waiting. That fat bank would be too good a lure for Snake to resist. She hoped Snake killed Barclay as he robbed it.
Dixie went upstairs and checked her valise. She had a few nice pieces of jewelry, but she had counted on cleaning out the bank safe, and now she wasn’t going to be able to do it. Oh well, she’d meet Abner Snootley on the train, sleep with him a night or two until he was off guard, then she’d steal everything he’d taken from that thriving general store of his. Larado. She smiled, thinking of him. Hell, there was one last thing Dixie could do for him and his lady. Dixie had never done a good deed in her whole desperate life. Yet now she sat down with a pen and paper and wrote:
To the sheriff of Buck Shot, Oklahoma Territory.
Dear Bob:
I’m writing to tell you you’ve been chasing the wrong hombre. Snake Hudson and Wilbur Barclay were the ones who actually robbed the bank. Larado and Lark had nothing to do with it. In fact, Barclay killed his own teller because the man saw Barclay switching the bank bags. Barclay’s been paying me these last few months to keep my mouth shut, but Larado’s too decent a guy, and I’m ashamed. I swear on the Confederate flag that this is true.
Thanks for the good times,
Dixie.
She reread it with a smile. Yep, it felt good to do something decent for a change. Now she addressed an envelope and put a stamp on it. She’d drop it at the post office as she sneaked away to take the train.
The banker had stared after Dixie as she headed upstairs. He was damned tired of the slut, but she was still good in bed. She knew too much about him for him to do anything but kill her. He hadn’t figured out how to do that yet without arousing suspicion—maybe he’d push her down the stairs tonight after he’d had his fill of her. Yes, that might work. She stepped on the hem of her lacy pink nightie, fell all the way down the stairs, and landed on the marble hallway. The woman he wanted next was that tall black-haired beauty who belonged to the sheriff. Well, money could buy anything, maybe even her.
At his home, Abner Snootley packed a few personal items in a carpetbag and walked down to the general store. The streets were deserted, except he could hear the drunken crowd at the saloon celebrating Saturday. He’d heard that an outlaw was coming into town for a showdown with the sheriff. Some of the old geezers were organizing to try to help the lawman, but of course, Abner wasn’t interested. He didn’t give a damn what happened to Lawrence Witherspoon or even this town. Thank God that banker’s wife had plenty of money, because there wasn’t more than ten dollars in the store cash register. He smiled, picturing Bertha’s homely face when she came in and discovered he had fled and left her with a bankrupt store. Instead of shopping, his snooty wife would have to get out and get a job. Well, she deserved that. He glanced up at the clock. Eleven-thirty. In a few minutes he would mosey down to the station, going through the alley so he wouldn’t arouse suspicion.
Lark had sat on her bed, sobbing until her eyes were swollen and red. She heard a noise and jumped up, running into the parlor. “Larado? I knew you’d change your mind….”
She realized then that it was only the horses moving around out in the stable. Maybe if Lark went to his office and begged Larado, tried to reason with him, he might change his mind and go with her. It made no sense to get himself killed going up a deadly gunfighter. She shook her head. He had changed over the last few hours.
Well, she didn’t have to stay here and witness it. Damn him, anyway. Lark had loved him like she had never known she could love a man, and this was how he repaid her. She looked at the clock. Past eleven-thirty. She went into the parlor and looked out. The hot street looked lonely and deserted. Everyone was inside, waiting for the inevitable duel.
“Damn you, Larado,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “If you cared about me, you wouldn’t stay here and die, making me run all alone. Well, I reckon there’s nothing to do but get myself to the station.”
She double-checked her two small bags to see if she’d forgotten anything. His still sat empty on the floor, his things still in the bureau drawers. The shirt he’d worn last night lay crumpled on the floor, and she leaned over and picked it up, holding it to her and hugging it as she wished she could embrace him. The shirt reminded her of him. It smelled of fragrant bay rum hair tonic, tobacco, and horses. He’d probably never wear it again. With a shuddering sigh, she hung it over a chair, smoothing the wrinkles from it. “Damn you, Larado,” she said. “Damn you for being so noble. I reckon after all, you’re a better person than I am, and a Texan to the core.”
Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard the faraway whistle of the train drifting with the wind across the prairie. It was time to go. He’d made his decision, and now it was time to make hers. She wiped her eyes and reached for her purse. If Snake Hudson was on that train, she didn’t want to know it. When she climbed aboard, she’d never look back—and maybe she’d never know if her love had survived the gunfight or not. Well, it was his choice. She got her bags and looked around the small house one last time. She’d spent two nights of passion in this bed with Larado, and she might be carrying his child. What would she tell his son? Your father died a hero, or your father died a damned fool?
She heard the distant whistle of the train again. It would be here in less than ten minutes. She’d better go. She grabbed her luggage, stuck her chin out resolutely, went out the back door, and headed to the station.
Larado sat with his face in his hands, listening to the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall and the faraway whistle, now echoing through the hot July air. He’d pray, if he knew how. He hoped that Lark made it to the train okay, and that maybe later, she’d understand. It crossed his mind than he could still go out the back door, and by hobbling fast, make that train. If he came in from the far side, Snake might get off without knowing Larado was getting on.
The whistle sounded again. It couldn’t be time yet, could it? Time moved so fast, yet so slow when a man knew he was going to die. He looked up at the clock, watching its hands move. Then he pulled the big watch out of his vest and checked. Yep, it was almost noon. He glanced toward the gun rack in the corner. There were rifles there, but he’d never been good with a rifle. Hell, as bad as his eyesight was, he wasn’t much better with a six-gun. He decided he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He’d do what he could to protect this town—his town. After that, it was up to the little group of old geezers who hadn’t done much shooting since the Civil War.
The whistle screamed again, sounding closer now. The train would be roaring into the station in less than five minutes.…Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, fo
r Thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff comfort me….
He pulled out his Colt and whirled the chamber, making sure it was loaded. He might never get a shot off, knowing how fast a draw Snake was, but Larado wasn’t going to sit in his office and be hunted down like a fearful deer. He’d at least go on his feet like a man. The train whistled, and whistled again. He could hear it chugging now as it came toward town. He put on his Stetson, put his Colt in his holster, and reached for his crutch. It was almost high noon and time for the showdown.
The Bloggett brothers staggered out of the saloon. “I think I hear the train,” Clem burped.
They listened, all of them more than a little drunk. “Yep, it’s the train. Let’s go meet our partner down at the end of the street.”
“Let’s.”
They staggered down the deserted street as they heard the train hissing and chugging toward town. One of them pulled out his watch. “Right on time.”
“You think Snake will remember us?” Slim puffed.
“Course he will. We’re gonna form a gang, rob the bank, and grab some pretty women.”
“Eat some barbecue,” Clem suggested.
“Can’t,” Lem belched. “Barbecue gives me gas.”
“Let’s go meet the train,” Slim puffed.
“Yippee ti yi yo, get along little doggies,” Clem said.
“Now what in the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know—I read it in a cowboy story.”
“It don’t make no sense. Why would cowboys be singing about dogs?”
“Well, they sing in the dime novels.”
“Shut up and walk faster, the train’ll be in before we get there.”
Pulling their big Stetsons tighter against the wind, the trio walked in their painful heeled boots to the station. The train was just arriving.
Snake Hudson peered out the dirty window of the first coach as the train slowed.
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