by Bill Brooks
Jane was a raw-boned tall girl with hair the color of an autumn sunset. The first time Billy met her he asked Wild Bill on the sly if the two of them had ever shared any intimacies. Wild Bill’s reputation as a ladies’ man was well known.
Wild Bill scratched his jaw and said, “I guess that wouldn’t be a thing I’d talk about if I had.” But more than once on the hunt, Billy had seen Wild Bill saunter over to Jane’s tent and pay her a visit as Billy and the others sat around entertaining Alexy.
“’Lo the cabin,” Billy called when he rode up.
There was a trickle of black smoke rising from the chimney. Steam rose off Stinking Creek just beyond a stand of willows, where it ran dark as indigo along the snowy banks. Billy saw a hog hanging upside down by its back legs from a tripod, its belly split open from chest to nuts, its flesh nearly as white as the snow, except where the hog had been bled out and the snow beneath it had been turned pink. A kettle of boiling water hung over a fire.
The cabin door opened finally and the old man stood there with a long army musket in his grip, squinting against the glare of the sun-struck snow.
“It’s me, Billy Cody,” Billy called.
Then Jane appeared and she placed her hands on the musket’s barrel so he’d lower it down and not accidentally or otherwise shoot someone.
“Glory be,” Silas said.
Billy had brought gifts, of course, and took them now from his saddlebags: a tin of horehound candy and a bottle of Simmons’ Liver Regulator for Silas, and for Jane a lovely red parasol.
Well, they sat and talked awhile, then Billy got down to business, saying how he wanted to hire Jane to cook for his new hunting party, to which she quickly agreed.
“Is that scamp Wild Bill going to be in the party?” Silas asked.
“No, Wild Bill got killed,” Billy said. “A drunk shot him cold.”
“Well, it’s good…I mean, that he won’t be there. I don’t trust him with my child.”
“You’ll not have to worry about him, Mr. Nebraska.”
“You’ll see she ain’t molested by no-account galoots?”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
“Good, good. Now let me have a spoonful of this liver regulator. I haven’t been feeling myself lately.”
Jane walked Bill outside to his horse.
“He gets a little worse in the head every year,” she said.
“I’ll send a man to check on him every few days while we’re gone if it will make you feel better,” Billy said.
“It will.”
Billy started to mount by putting one foot in the stirrup. He felt Jane’s hand on his backside.
“I surely am looking forward to some new scenery, Billy,” she said.
He looked at her without removing either his foot from the stirrup or her hand from his hindquarters.
“I mean, a girl needs to get the attention of a feller every now and then,” she said with a wink.
Billy eased himself on up into the fine Mexican silver saddle that had been a gift from Tecumseh Sherman.
“Now, Jane, you know how a bunch of men out alone in the West can get without their wives or gal friends present to keep an eye on them.”
“I know, Billy. But a plain girl like me sure don’t mind the attention when it’s paid to her, you can understand that, can’t you?”
“I’ll do my best to keep my bargain with your pa. But I reckon you’re a grown woman of legal age and can do what you want…”
She looked up at him with her moss green eyes.
“I’d not be opposed to handsome feller like you paying me some never mind, Billy…”
Billy had trouble clearing his throat. It was a mighty tempting offer, to be sure, but he could see real quick how any action on his part might blow the whole shebang out of the water. First, there was Lulu to contend with. If she even thought he had amorous designs on another woman she’d turn into a hellion, probably divorce him and ruin him financially. Then too there was Jane’s papa. He was crazy enough to shoot them both. No, best he just stick to the plan and avoid any distractions of the feminine variety.
“Well…er, Jane. It’s mighty flattering you’d find a feller my age to your liking, with you so young and lovely…I don’t quite know what to say, but I’ll cogitate on it…”
She smiled. She had big teeth, but straight.
Billy turned his horse away from the cabin and back in the direction of North Platte. The sun was starting to set low in the sky and he knew he’d probably not arrive back home until after dark. He could always stay the night at the cabin, of course, but that might lead to trouble. No, he better just push on home and keep his mind on the business at hand.
He had ridden about halfway in that country seeing nothing but the glittering snow and copses of trees black and bare, and occasionally a crow or a whooping crane went flying overhead. Crows always raised a racket, whereas cranes flew silent, except for the whoomph of their large wings. He paused by a small spring and dismounted and let Buckskin Joe drink his fill. He realized in that moment the utter silence that surrounded him. He felt shrunk down to nothing being out there alone in that vast country.
Why, it’s like I’m the only living soul in the world, he thought.
Silent as death, he thought.
The only sounds were of his breathing and the crunch of his boots in the snow when he walked around to keep his feet from getting overly cold.
He saw something protruding from the snow and bent to pick it up and when he did the air cracked like it was being split in two and a piece of bark flew out of a nearby cottonwood tree. He knew the sound of a rifle shot when he heard one and instinct made him fall flat down into the snow.
He lay there several long seconds, then scurried to pull his rifle from its scabbard—it was that fancy Winchester repeater Custer had given him—and he swung it around to cover the ground in every direction. His heart was thumping in his ears.
Could be a stray Indian, he told himself.
Could be somebody out hunting and just missed badly.
“Hey!” he called out. “What you shooting at?”
He waited for an answering call, but nothing came.
“Hey!” he shouted again.
Silence.
He saw how low the sun was beginning to sink. Come dark, he’d be a shadow moving over the snow. He didn’t like the thought, but figured he didn’t have any choice. He stood up, then dropped to his knees, figuring to draw fire from whoever might be out there.
Nothing.
“Well, whoever it is is gone now,” he said to the horse with a voice not all that convincing.
He figured he was only an hour from North Platte, but it seemed like a hell of a lot longer than that by the time he finally saw the first lights of the town twinkling in the distance.
He slipped into bed next to Lousia after he had himself three, four quick shots of whiskey. It helped relieve him some of the shivers and jitters. He wasn’t sure how much of his shivers and jitters was from the cold and how much was from nearly getting his melon shattered by a bullet.
Had to be a accident, he told himself as he snuggled up to his substantial wife.
She did not move but he could tell that she wasn’t sleeping.
“You asleep?” he asked.
She was as silent as the snow.
“I rode all day to Stinking Creek and back,” he said.
She did not move.
“I went to hire Jane Nebraska to cook for the hunting party, just in case you was wondering where I’ve been.”
She sighed.
“You know I ain’t got nothing for her, right?”
The house creaked, the boards shrinking with the cold.
“I mean, maybe I ain’t the best husband in the world, but you know I’d never be unfaithful to you, right?”
“Go to sleep,” she said.
“Well, at least that’s something,” he said.
“Go to sleep…”
“I almost got shot tod
ay, in case you care.”
She didn’t say anything at first. Then, without turning to face him or offer any sort of comfort, she said, “It is probably a sign.”
“A sign of what?”
“That you should settle down and forget about hunting parties and Wild West combinations and being a showman and all the rest…”
“A sign from the Almighty, you mean?”
“It is very possible. You scoff at such things, you always have, but someday your vanity will come home to roost…”
He had no will to argue with her. The long ride had exhausted him. Instead, he fell asleep and dreamt of running buffalo and a beautiful woman who turned into a shadow of someone following him. He ran, but he could not outrun the shadow. He awoke with his nightshirt soaked in sweat.
Threes, he thought. Death comes in threes. First it was Georgie, then Wild Bill. I’m next. All of us killed in the same year, the same season of our regret.
He crawled out of bed, his limbs shaking, and went to the window and looked out at the snow that lay like a blanket of silver in the yard. He stood for a long time looking, then he saw three shadows together, and he knew what the shadows meant.
He closed his eyes, hoping they would go away, but when he opened them again, the shadows were still there.
He went to the bed and shook Louisa awake.
“What, what!” she said in a voice near hysteria.
“Come and look,” he said.
He led her by the hand to the window.
“They’re out there,” he said.
She looked.
“Who’s out there?”
“You see them, don’t you?”
“Who?”
Swallowing down his fear he looked again.
“Jesus God, I saw them, Louisa…”
“The liquor has stole your brains. I knew that it would someday.”
Grumpily she went back to the bed and crawled under the covers.
He stood there trembling.
I ain’t afraid of death, he told himself. I ain’t afraid… But in truth, he knew he was too young to die, too unwilling to leave behind his three little daughters to the cruel world.
It was a bad sign seeing them ghosts. It was twice he’d seen them now in the last two nights running. He knew the next time he’d see them it would be in another world. How close had that bullet come today to making him a ghost? It was a warning, Louisa was right. Something was trying to warn him before it was too late.
He thought all the rest of the night on it and by morning had made a decision.
Chapter 3
Saturdays they held dances in the plaza. John Sears could hear the music from his cell, could hear the guitars and trumpets. He could hear the laughter of the senoritas too. The old jailer, Ramon, brought him a tray of grub—beans, a little pork, a few tortillas.
“I bet you’d like to be out there dancing instead of having to wet-nurse me, eh?” he said to Ramon.
Ramon shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ll go later.”
“Listen,” John said. “I decided you can have my spurs after they…you know.”
“You want something to smoke after you eat?”
“That would be decent of you.”
“I’ll get you some tobacco and paper and matches.”
“They’re good spurs,” John said. “I bought them in Texas. You ever been to Texas?”
Ramon shook his head.
“I never been nowhere but here.”
John took the tray and sat on his bunk and ate while Ramon watched him for a few moments before turning and going out the door that led to the front of the jail.
John could hear the clapping of the women dancers, the boot heels of the men clicking on the plaza stones. It caused him to lose some of his appetite. He finished eating and lay back and closed his eyes and threw his arm over them and tried to think about something other than where he was or how he’d ended up here.
Teddy Blue stepped off the evening train—a chuffing black locomotive and three passenger cars. There weren’t many others getting off, but several getting on for the trip back down to Albuquerque.
He saw the plaza and the dancers under the lights they’d hung in the low branches of cottonwood trees. The music from the bandstand rose and fell like a rush of wind. It was a cool evening. The sky was blue black, shot through with stars.
Las Vegas looked like some of the villages he and John had visited down in Mexico.
Teddy asked a man squatting on his heels listening to the music and drinking from a small clay olla where the jail was. The man looked up at him, pieces of light caught in his dark eyes. He showed a few yellow teeth when he spoke.
“It is over there, my friend.” The man pointed with a stubby brown finger across the plaza toward a small adobe building. “Next to the undertaker’s.” The man turned his attention back to the dancers.
Teddy crossed the plaza and pushed at the wooden door. A thin man in heavy cotton clothes looked away from the window. He had a big pistol riding high on his hip and was hatless.
“I’ve come to see John Sears,” Teddy said, taking the badge from his coat pocket and showing it to the man.
“I’m with the Pinkertons. I’m also John’s lawyer.”
“I was thinking about going over to the dance,” the man said.
“Don’t let me stop you.”
“Oh, you think maybe I’ll go over there and then you’ll let your friend out of the jail, is that it?”
“I’m not here to break anybody out.”
“Open your coat.”
Teddy did as he was asked. The man looked at the Birdseye Colt hanging from the shoulder holster. Teddy released it and handed it butt-first to the man.
“Shake them legs, mister.”
“Why?”
“See if anything falls out, like another gun or something.”
After he was satisfied Teddy wasn’t armed any further, Ramon led him back to the cells.
John was lying there with one arm flung over his face.
“I’m surprised you’re not out dancing,” Teddy said.
John lowered his arm, sat up.
“You made it, old son.”
“I came soon as I got your letter.”
They stood eyeing each other, then John stuck his hand through the bars and Teddy shook it and said, “I sure hate to see you this way.”
“You and me both.”
Satisfied the two men weren’t going to try to break the jail, Ramon turned and headed for the door, then paused when it got to it and said to Teddy, “It locks from the other side. It’s the only way out, in case you were wondering,” then went out and closed the door and slid the bolt shut.
“My boss sent a telegram on your behalf,” Teddy said.
“Won’t do any good.”
“Might.”
“Hell, I reckon not this time around.”
“You want to tell me about it, why you’re in here?”
“I guess I owe you that much.”
Teddy reached into his pocket and took out the makings for a shuck and handed them through to John, who deftly rolled himself a smoke, then struck one of the matches off the bars. He cupped the flame in his hand out of old habit because of the way the wind blew steady on the prairies.
John took a deep draw and then exhaled the smoke and said, “That tastes damn good. You remember that time we had them whores in that big tank of water last time we were together?”
Teddy nodded, waited.
“I shot a woman, is the reason I’m in here,” John said forlornly. “It wasn’t something I was planning.”
Teddy listened until John finished telling him the story.
“I know it don’t look good,” John said. “How could it?”
“They give you a fair trial?”
“Fair enough, I reckon.”
“I guess I could try and talk to the judge.”
“You’d be wasting your time.”
“When
did they set the date, John?”
“This Saturday. Morning’s when they said. I reckon I’d just soon it be then as anytime. Morning’s a good time, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe if you’d gotten here in time for the trial you might have been able to do something, but I doubt it.”
“Saturday’s just two days off, John.”
“I’m trying not to think too hard on it.”
“I meant it doesn’t give me much time.”
“You’d be a damn fool if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“I know it.”
“Let it go, old son. No point in you—”
“I can’t let them hang you.”
“The local law is a bad hombre, Teddy. He kills men because he likes to.”
“I figure he must be pretty tough to have you caged up.”
John tried handing him the makings back but Teddy told him to keep them.
“I never took up the habit, but I knew you had it so I came prepared the best I could.”
“I don’t want you to do nothing,” John said. “I guess I deserve what they’re going to give me.”
“Where’s your boots?”
“They took them.”
“Why?”
“Figured if I broke out, I couldn’t get too far barefoot.”
“I guess they never heard of anybody stealing a horse.”
John laughed.
“I guess they never did.”
Teddy went to the door and knocked and Ramon opened it from the other side after sliding back the bolt.
“I’ll take my gun back now,” Teddy said. Ramon took it off the desk and handed it to him.
“I guess I’ll go over to that dance,” Teddy said.
Ramon eyed him suspiciously.
“Where’s your boss at?” Teddy asked, sliding the Colt into the shoulder rig, then dropping his coat over it.
Ramon looked at the clock on the wall above the gun rack.
“Probably eating his supper.”
“He have a regular place?”
