by J. T. Edson
While this was happening, Brackley had declared the Englishwoman the winner of the bout. Due to the prospect of further action being forthcoming shortly, disregarding the fact that it had been promised and would have happened anyway, there was some applause from the audience. Satisfied he had removed the danger of trouble, as Lady Lavinia and her second took their departure, Brackley had requested that ‘all gentlemen present’ showed their appreciation for a very gallant loser by contributing to a collection to be taken in her behalf. Leaving this to Pulbright and the as yet uninvolved female members of the Troupe, who had been watching the bout from the rear of the crowd, he had hurried to the changing room to which the girl had been returned. Watched by the clearly anxious red head, who had bluntly refused a suggestion that she went to take a rest, Becky already had been laid on the table in the center—its top padded with the clothing of all the occupants—and the doctor was continuing his ministrations. Before she had regained consciousness, ‘Duchess Molly of Connemara, Ireland’, had brought in the results of the collection. Having delivered it to Brackley, who saw it was a larger sum than usual, she had gathered up her costume and left to change in the other back room for her bout with ‘Dona Conchita Alvarez of Madrid, Spain’. Just after the door was closed, much to the relief of Lady Lavinia and the burly, white haired manager, the girl had started to stir and asked the incoherent question.
‘Wha—? Why—?’ Becky gasped, again trying to rise, and this time, on receipt of a confirmatory nod from the local medical man, she was allowed to sit up supported by Brackley’s hand on her back. Shaking her head, which caused it to throb still more, she continued with no greater coherency, ‘How—Wha—?’
‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ the doctor asked, as the girl’s words came to an inconclusive halt and he presented his open right hand before her gaze.
‘Wh—What?’ Becky responded, puzzled by the question.
‘Try to tell the doctor, duck! ’ Lady Lavinia requested in a worried tone, knowing the purpose of the test.
‘Three and your thumb,’ Becky obliged, making an effort to focus her gaze and thoughts upon supplying the information.
‘That’s good, my dear,’ Plunkett said reassuringly. Big, heavily built, prosperous looking and hearty, he exuded an aura of confidence and possessed an ability in his profession which made him liked and respected throughout St. Joseph. Having satisfied himself that the vision of his patient was not impaired, knowing such a fall as had rendered her unconscious occasionally caused a loss of memory, he continued, ‘Do you know who you are and where you’re at?’
‘Who I a—?’ the girl began. About to give the information, her wits resumed their normal functioning and she recollected enough to warn her against supplying her real name. ‘I—I’m “Becky Ingraham”.’
‘What have you just been doing?’
‘Wrestling with Lady Lavinia there.’
‘Where do you come from?’
‘Bra—Surbiton,’ Becky began and hurriedly corrected. Then other remembrances of her recent activities flooded back, including the one she realized was in part responsible for the mishap which was causing her present interrogation. Gazing around the room, she asked in a strained voice, ‘Where are Shipley and Archer?’
‘Who?’ the doctor asked.
‘Two of—’ the girl commenced, then revised what, just in time, she realized would be information she should not divulge. Mentally cursing herself for having behaved in a way which brought her to their attention, she elaborated truthfully as far as it went, ‘They’re two men I used to see around Surbiton.’
‘Have they followed you here?’ Brackley asked, guessing the reason for the alteration.
‘Ye—’ Becky started, again preventing herself from completing what she realized was an ill-advised admission. ‘I wouldn’t say followed, but I’m sure they recognized me and I wouldn’t want people in Surbiton—!’
‘Is she all right, doctor?’ Lady Lavinia asked, concluding that the girl was becoming disturbed by the way in which the conversation had developed.
‘Well, Your Ladyship,’ Plunkett replied, looking at the red head with a twinkle in his eye. Before settling in St. Joseph, he had met enough genuine members of the British upper class to feel sure she did not originate from it. However, he liked what he had seen of her during their short acquaintance and, despite having seen the flaw in the girl’s amended comments he accepted the reason for the intervention. ‘I don’t reckon she’s up to taking you for the best of three falls right away, but there’s nothing wrong a good night’s rest won’t put right, even though she’ll be—in medical terms—as stiff and sore as hell comes morning.’
‘I’m ever so sorry we can’t have another two falls right off, duck,’ Lady Lavinia claimed, beaming in a mixture of relief and delight at the girl. ‘In fact, unless it’s being run over by a couple of horses and carts with heavy loads, there’s nothing I’d like better. But, seeing as we can’t and unless the doctor says different, what about you and me getting cleaned up and dressed?’
‘You’ve prescribed the very treatment I would advise, Your Ladyship,’ Plunkett asserted, noticing Becky had managed a weak smile. Satisfied he was correct in his diagnosis and sure the girl was in good hands, he turned his attention to Brackley. ‘Well, Pug, I reckon the bar’s done enough business to keep Will Flanagan happy. So how’s about you going out and getting the next bout started?’
‘You’ve prescribed the very treatment I would advise, Doctor,’ the manager of the Troupe declared. ‘Look after Miss Ingraham, please, Annie, while I get the show going again.’ Turning his gaze to the girl, who was now sitting without needing support, albeit still showing signs of suffering and exhaustion, he went on, ‘By the way, young lady, I reckon you’ll be pleased when you see how much was collected from your supporters out there.’
~*~
‘Now ain’t this a piece of luck, Milt?’
‘Luck nothing, Bernie. Seeing’s we’d dogged her from the saloon and this ain’t where she’s staying, I telled you’s, happen we waited a spell, she’d come out for us!’
Looking at the speakers as they moved towards her, Becky Ingraham realized she had compounded the error made when she sought out Pug Brackley in her desire to obtain more money for continuing her flight!
After they had collected their clothing, the girl had been taken by Lady Lavinia from the Journey West Saloon to the small boarding house not far away in which the members of the Troupe were staying. On the way, acting upon whispered instructions from her employer, the red head had suggested that Becky joined their party. Despite it being a way of life which, she felt sure, would not have met with her mother’s approval, she had considered accepting. However, remembering she had been found by Milton Shipley and Bernard Archer, she had formed such a liking for her companion and the burly retired wrestling champion in particular that she considered it was unfair to let the friendly people of the Troupe become involved any deeper in her very serious personal problems.
Instead of refusing outright, or explaining the situation, Becky had promised to think the offer over. Before any more could be said, she was shown and had used the douche bath with which the Troupe had equipped one of the rooming house’s outbuildings. Refreshed by the shower of cold water, she had dressed while the red head was taking one. However, she had not waited until Lady Lavinia was finished. Satisfied that the red head and Brackley did not know where to find her, although regretful of behaving in such an ungrateful fashion after all their kindness, she had set out with the intention of returning to her temporary accommodation.
The interruption had come shortly after the girl had passed through the picket fence surrounding the darkened and, except for Lady Lavinia in the outbuilding, what she had been told was the unoccupied boarding house!
While speaking, the men were eyeing Becky with malicious satisfaction!
Wishing there were other people nearby, the girl was staring at them in return!
There was sufficient light from a full moon for the girl to be able carry out her scrutiny with reasonable clarity. The pair struck her as being just as unprepossessing as they always did when she had seen them around Surbiton. Both were tall, lean and had unshaven features which gave an accurate indication of their vicious natures. Clad in cheap and equally grubby riding clothes, each carried a Colt Model of 1849 Pocket Pistol—a five shot revolver in spite of the name—tucked into the waistband of his breeches. Rumor had it they were skilled in handling the weapons, which they were said never to hesitate to use when this was required by a situation.
‘Keep away from me!’ Becky commanded, convinced the most unsavory reputation they had acquired was well deserved.
‘What’ll you do happen we don’t?’ Shipley challenged. ‘Rough us up like you done with Bobby Clay ’n’ his lil ole loving boy friend that night in the schoolhouse?’
‘Mr. Clay wouldn’t be any too pleased to hear you talk like that about his son,’ the girl warned.
‘We ain’t worried none about that!’ Archer asserted, darting a grin at his companion and reaching across with his right hand to lay it on the butt of his Colt. ‘’Cause we don’t aim to tell him’s we have and you won’t be able to snitch on us neither, what we’ve been told to do with you.’
‘Don’t go a-scaring the gal that ways, Bernie,’ Shipley ordered, also fingering his weapon. Although a glance around failed to locate anybody nearby, he wanted to avoid causing a commotion which would bring people to investigate and he continued with his attempt to remove any misgivings aroused by the incautious comment of his companion. ‘We’n’s’ve been deputized by the town constable to fetch her back to Surbiton to stand trial is all.’ His gaze swung to Becky and he went on in what he hoped would be a convincing tone, ‘So, happen you don’t give us no fuss ’n’ come along quiet-like, you’ll not get hurt no ways.’
‘I don’t believe you!’ Becky stated.
‘It don’t make no never mind to us’n’s whether you do or not,’ Archer declared, lacking his companion’s grasp of the situation. ‘’Cause you’re coming regardless,’
Listening to the remark from the shorter and more uncouth of the pair, and realizing it nullified Shipley’s declaration, Becky felt frightened. However, the fear did not prevent her from realizing the ramifications of her predicament. Taken into account with what Archer had said and considering the circumstances, she began to suspect that Robert Clay did not want her returning to stand trial in Surbiton. Instead, he had given them orders to find and kill her.
In spite of the deduction, the girl found herself upon the horns of a dilemma!
On the surface, in view of the supposition, the obvious course was to scream as loudly as possible for help!
Even as the thought came, Becky saw the serious objections to carrying it out!
Should she attract such attention, the girl felt sure Shipley had the means to support his claim of having been deputized by the town constable. Clay possessed sufficient influence in Surbiton to have this done. It might also carry enough weight in St. Joseph to make the local authorities discount her belief that she was to be murdered and not merely taken back to stand trial.
Before Becky could decide what action to take, there was an interruption!
‘Are these fellers bothering you, ma’am?’ inquired a masculine voice which was also Missourian in timbre, yet less harsh and repelling than the tones of the hard cases from Surbiton.
Instantly, the girl and the men accosting her swung their attention to where the speaker was striding purposefully from the mouth of a nearby alley!
Something over six foot in height, looking to be in his late ’teens, the newcomer had wide shoulders and a clearly powerful physique. His clean-shaven face was good looking, apart from having a somewhat large and curved nose above a short chin. However, these did not give any suggestion of weakness to his expression. Rather his demeanor was one of grim determination. Clad in a wide brimmed and round topped black hat, a collar-less white shirt and a not too expensive brown swallowtail coat, he had the legs of his yellowish-brown Nankeen trousers tucked into knee length black riding boots.
‘Get the hell out of here, you duck-bill faced son-of-a- bitch!’ Archer snarled, never being of a discerning nature and, ignoring external suggestions to the contrary, drawing the conclusion that the interloper was merely a country dwelling youngster paying a visit to what he regarded as a very large city and seeking to impress the girl with supposed gallantry and courage.
‘I asked the lady a question,’ the newcomer pointed out, his voice becoming cold and hard as he shoved open his coat to show two Colt Model of 1851 Navy Belt Pistol revolvers carried in a black silk sash about his waist with their butts turned forward. ‘And I don’t take it kind to be called what you called me.’
More intelligent than his companion, Shipley saw how the latest development could be turned to their advantage. Despite what he had told her, the orders they had received were to kill the girl when they found her. While having no moral scruples against doing so, he possessed a greater awareness than Archer of the dangers involved. Should they be caught in the act, justice would be swift and deadly final. However, as there did not appear to be any witnesses in the vicinity to deny an explanation that they had come to the rescue on seeing the young man molesting the girl and he had shot her before they were able to kill him, the intervention offered solution.
‘Sounds like you’ve got tangled with a tough one here, Bernie,’ Shipley commented, deciding to put his conclusions into effect. ‘He for sure talks that way.’
‘Talks easy, Milt,’ Archer answered, eyeing the young man in disdain. ‘It’s doing’s counts!’
‘Back off, ma’am! ’ the newcomer said quietly, standing in a seemingly relaxed fashion although the girl sensed he was as tense as a spring under compression.
‘Watch out, Milt!’ Shipley shouted. ‘He’s pulling a gun!’
With the excuse supplied, both hard cases grabbed at the revolvers they wore!
Even though Shipley’s declaration was premature, the young man acted upon it with promptitude. Turning palms out, his hands flashed to and wrapped about the butts of the two Colts. Moving with the speed which implied considerable practice, he twisted them from the silk sash. Not until the seven and a half inch octagonal barrels were clear and beginning to turn away from his body did he start to draw back the hammers with his thumbs and slip his forefingers into the trigger guards. x Nevertheless, even though the revolvers were longer than those carried by the pair, he was the only one to get off a shot. What was more, despite the speed with which he was moving, he selected the antagonist who was the more dangerous and acted upon his conclusion.
A sudden appreciation of his peril brought shock to Shipley’s face. Instead of concentrating upon Archer as the instigator of the trouble, giving him an opportunity to carry out his scheme no matter what happened to his companion, the young man’s gaze was on him. Even as the realization of what this meant came to the taller hard case, flame ripped from the muzzle of the right hand Navy Colt. Any further thoughts were ended by a .36 caliber round ball of soft lead driving between his eyes and killing him instantly. Twirled around, his hand released the revolver it had just extricated and his body toppled to the ground.
Amazed by the deadly speed his intended victim was showing, Archer could not prevent himself from freezing momentarily. Nor was he allowed to resume his draw. Cocking the discharged Colt deftly, the young man fired the other before the move was completed. In spite of this, the shot proved as effective as its predecessor. Taken in the left breast by a bullet which reached and tore apart his heart, the second hard case followed his companion and landed lifeless a moment later.
A gasp of horror burst from Becky. Although it was the first time she had seen human beings killed, she neither fainted nor went into hysterics. Nevertheless, she could not prevent herself from turning away. Hearing footsteps approaching, she concluded the attention she had wishe
d to avoid had been attracted. It was with mixed emotions that she saw it was only Lady Lavinia, Brackley and Doctor Plunkett hurrying towards her.
‘What’s happened?’ the retired champion wrestler demanded, skidding to a halt.
‘These pair was mean mouthing and frightening the young lady here,’ replied the rescuer, nodding at his victims then swinging his gaze to the girl. ‘They tried to throw down on me when I cut in.’
‘They didn’t show good sense in that,’ Plunkett claimed. ‘You’re James Butler Hickok from over to La Salle County, Illinois, aren’t you?’
‘That’s me, sir,’ confirmed the young man. ‘I’ve been back there visiting with kin ’n’ was heading for Kansas again when I saw the lady needed help.’
‘Thanks for giving it, sir,’ Brackley said, then looked at the girl. ‘Are they the pair who you asked about, Miss Ingraham?’
‘Yes,’ Becky confessed, sensing the burly man wanted to help her.
‘Have they been sent to take you back to Surbiton?’ Brackley demanded, even though his tone was gentle.
‘They said they had,’ Becky replied. ‘But, from remarks they made, I’m sure they really meant to kill me.’
‘Why’d they want to do that?’ Brackley inquired.
‘I killed a man there,’ the girl explained.
‘Did he need killing?’ the former wrestler asked, glancing around as there were sounds indicating others were coming to investigate the shooting.
‘He was attacking me,’ Becky replied. ‘But, because of how it happened, Mr. Cla—his father—doesn’t want me taken back to stand trial.’
