“What do you say, ladies?” Dyson went on with a wheedling note in his voice. “If you agree, you’re going to be responsible for making several hundred men very happy. Not many women can do that simply by saying yes.”
Another cheer went up from the crowd.
Bo turned in the saddle to look at the women peering out through the opening at the front of the wagon. He shook his head and said, “You don’t have to do this. We’ll turn right around and go back to El Paso, and you can get a train back to Iowa.”
“Go back without husbands?” Luella said. “That would be humiliating!”
“Yeah, it kind of would,” Rose agreed. “I don’t like being tricked like that . . . but I guess their motives weren’t all bad.”
Beth nodded and added, “And it really is a little romantic, like Luella said.”
“I think it was a craven, cowardly thing to do,” Cecilia snapped.
With a weary sigh, Jean said, “But we just got here, and despite what Mr. Creel said, we can’t just turn around and go home right away. We’ll have to wait until the morning to leave, at the very least . . . if we do leave.”
“That’s right!” Dyson said. “We have rooms for you in the Territorial House, the finest hotel in Silverhill. At least spend the night and think about it. Then, if you really don’t want to stay, no one is going to force you to do so.” He nodded and went on smugly, “But I believe that once you consider how all these men feel about you, you’re going to want to stay and give them a fair chance to win you over.”
Dyson was a persuasive varmint, Bo had to give him that. He was appealing to the ladies’ sense of fair play, and it appeared as if this tactic might succeed, judging from the expressions on the faces of Beth, Rose, and Luella. Cecilia and Jean still looked opposed to the idea, but they seemed to be wavering, at least on the point of it being too late in the day to start back now.
“I suppose we’re going to have to spend the night,” Cecilia said. “What do you think, Mr. Creel? Mr. Morton?”
“This team could really use a few days of rest after the haul over here from El Paso,” Scratch said.
“But we can get a new team,” Bo said, “and start back first thing in the morning.”
Shouts of “No!” rang out from the crowd.
Cecilia took a deep breath and nodded. “We can decide that in the morning,” she said. “For now, like it or not—and I don’t like it, Mr. Dyson—you can go ahead and have someone show us to the hotel.”
Dyson bent low in a bow and swept an arm dramatically in front of him.
“I’ll do that myself, Miss Spaulding,” he said. “It’ll be my honor!”
CHAPTER 24
The crowd moved back like snow melting in the hot sun as Forbes Dyson’s gun wolves stepped down from the boardwalk and moved among them.
Dyson followed, a king surrounded by royal guards, and gestured for Bo, Scratch, and the ladies to follow him.
“Just swing that wagon around, friend,” he told Scratch. “My men will see that you have room.”
Bo and Scratch exchanged a grim glance; then Scratch lifted the reins and got the team moving again. He circled across the broad street as Dyson led the way toward another of Silverhill’s actual two-story buildings, this one an adobe structure in the Spanish style, with a red tile roof.
Rance Plummer said, “I reckon we’ll be seein’ you around town, Creel. Hope you don’t hold it against me that I didn’t tell you exactly what you’d be runnin’ into when you got here.”
“Those cowboys of yours might have mutinied if you’d said or done anything to make the ladies turn back before we got here.”
Plummer chuckled and nodded, saying, “Yeah, they sure might have. They’ve plumb got their hearts set on winnin’ those contests and gettin’ ’em some good-lookin’ young brides. Of course, the odds are against ’em, and the gals might not agree to come back to the ranch, anyway.”
“Scratch and I aren’t letting anyone take those ladies off somewhere against their will.”
“If anybody tried to do that, I’d be right there beside you, backin’ your play.”
“Against your own men?”
“If they pulled somethin’ as lowdown rotten as that, damn right I would.”
Bo believed the man. He nodded and said, “I’m glad to hear that, Plummer. I’d better catch up with the wagon now.”
Plummer lifted a hand in farewell and followed his men, who were drifting on horseback toward the other hitch rails in front of the Silver King. If Bo knew cowboys—and he did—they were bent on lubricating their tonsils in the saloon.
Now that the ladies had agreed to spend the night in Silverhill, at least, the crowd was breaking up to an extent. Some of the men still followed the wagon toward the hotel, obviously intent on getting the best look possible at the five young women, but others wandered away. Bo was able to weave his way through the remainder and caught up with the wagon as Scratch brought it to a halt in front of the Territorial House.
Dyson’s men took up positions on the hotel’s gallery and stood there looking around, as if making sure no one came too close. Dyson himself waited beside the team while Scratch climbed down from the box and went to the back of the wagon to lower the tailgate. Bo dismounted, looped his horse’s reins around a hitch rail, and joined his old friend in helping the ladies get out of the wagon.
When they were all on the ground, Dyson held out a hand to usher them into the hotel.
“Right this way, ladies,” he invited them with a suave smile.
With varying degrees of reluctance, they walked into the hotel ahead of Dyson.
The saloon owner looked back at Bo and Scratch and said, “You can leave your horses and the team where they are. My men will take care of them. We have a good livery stable here in town.”
Bo nodded. He didn’t want to come right out and thank the man, not after Dyson had come up with that wild scheme to get the ladies here.
He and Scratch walked into the hotel behind Dyson. The Territorial House’s lobby was shady and cool behind thick adobe walls. Heavy, comfortable-looking chairs were scattered around, some with potted plants beside them. Brightly colored woven Navajo rugs decorated the polished hardwood floor. The registration desk was straight ahead, with the entrance to a dining room off to the left.
The young women were gathered in front of the desk, where a clerk with spectacles was stationed. He greeted them with a smile as slick as the pomade on his hair and said, “Welcome to Silverhill, ladies. Speaking for the staff of the Territorial House, let me say what an honor it is to have you staying here with us.”
“Just sign them in and give them their keys, Peavey,” Dyson said. “I’m sure the ladies are tired and would like to rest and freshen up.”
“That’s certainly true,” Jean said. She took off her hat and fanned herself with it. “I swear, I believe I’ve accumulated at least a pound of dust on my person in the past week. Would it be possible to have a bath?”
“All of us,” Luella put in quickly. “We’d all like to have a bath.”
“But not at the same time, in the same tub,” Rose said.
The clerk cleared his throat and said, “We, ah, have only two tubs available, but I’ll have them sent up to two of the rooms right away, and I’ll let the maids know to start heating water immediately. Which of you ladies would like to go first?”
Cecilia said, “Jean and Luella spoke up about it first. Have the tubs taken to their rooms.”
For a second Rose looked like she wanted to argue about that, but then she shrugged her shoulders in acceptance of Cecilia’s decision.
The clerk assigned the ladies to rooms on the second floor. A couple of Navajo men who worked in the hotel brought their bags in and carried them upstairs. The clerk called a middle-aged Navajo maid in a starched apron and told her to show the guests to their rooms.
As they started up the stairs, Dyson told them, “I’ll call for you ladies in a couple of hours, and then you’
ll have dinner with me at Harbinson’s Restaurant. It’s the finest food Silverhill has to offer.”
Cecilia turned and frowned down at him. “I don’t recall any of us accepting a dinner invitation from you, Mr. Dyson,” she said.
He smiled and spread his hands. “You have to eat, don’t you? Please, join me. I can explain everything that’s going to happen over the next few days, so you’ll have all the information you need to decide if you want to take part. I’m certainly hoping you will.”
Cecilia looked at the others.
Beth said, “He’s right. We have to eat.”
“You say this restaurant is a good one?” Rose asked.
“The best in town,” Dyson assured her.
Cecilia said, “That might not be saying much, considering that this is a mining boomtown. Still, I suppose we can give it a try.”
“I’m very glad to hear that,” Dyson said. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Mr. Creel and Mr. Morton will accompany us,” Cecilia said sharply.
Dyson didn’t look quite as pleased about that, but he nodded.
“Of course.” He glanced at Bo and Scratch and added, “They’ll be more than welcome.”
Somehow, Bo couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that.
* * *
The hotel clerk didn’t look nearly as pleased to deal with a couple of dusty old saddle bums, but he gave them rooms on the second floor, as well.
“I hope you, ah, gentlemen won’t be wanting baths anytime soon,” he sniffed.
“As long as there’s a washbasin in the room, we’ll make do,” Bo said. He held up the key the man had slid across the desk to him. “How close are these rooms to the ones where you put the ladies?”
“They’re at the other end of the hall.”
“Do you have anything closer?”
“You’re lucky I had anything available at all,” the clerk said. “We’ve been holding the rooms for the young ladies, of course, but as I’m sure you noticed when you came into town, Silverhill is a bit crowded these days.”
When they reached the second floor, he looked up and down the hallway, with its carpet runner and doors on both sides. After locating the rooms that the ladies occupied, he pointed past them to a window at that end of the corridor. An armchair sat under it.
“Tonight we’ll drag that chair down here and take turns sitting up in it.”
“To keep watch over the girls, you mean?” Scratch asked.
“That’s right.”
Scratch fingered his chin and said, “You know, we only signed on to get ’em here safe and sound, and they’re here, each in one piece. Some fellas would consider that their job was over at this point.”
“With everything that we’ve found out since we came into town, do you feel like our job is over?” Bo asked.
“Well . . . no, not really,” Scratch admitted. “I’ve kinda got in the habit of lookin’ after those gals, and it seems to me like they might still need some lookin’ after.”
“I feel the same way.” Bo paused, then added, “Besides, we’re not exactly those ‘some fellas’ you were talking about.”
“We dang sure ain’t!” Scratch said. “We’re a couple of ornery ol’ sidewinders.”
“And proud of it,” Bo said.
* * *
A short time later, Bo had just finished washing some of the trail dust off his face with a rag dipped in water he’d poured from a pitcher into a basin on the side table in his room, when somebody rapped on the door.
Out of cautious habit, he rested his hand on the butt of his gun as he went over to the door, called, “Who is it?” and took a quick step to the side in case somebody opened up with a rifle or shotgun through the panel.
“Brought your belongings up, mister,” a man’s voice said. “The stable sent ’em over.”
Bo didn’t recognize the voice, but what the man said sounded reasonable. He kept his hand on his gun and used his other hand to open the door.
One of the Navajo porters trudged into the room, carrying Bo’s saddle in his left hand and the Winchester in his right. Bo’s saddlebags were slung over his shoulder. He dropped the saddle in a corner and handed the rifle to Bo.
“Obliged to you,” Bo said. “Just put the saddlebags on the table.”
The man did so, then said, “So you’re one of the fellas who brought those brides into town.”
“That’s right.”
“Big doin’s. The biggest. Don’t reckon Silverhill has ever seen the like.”
“The town hasn’t been here that long. It makes sense nothing like this would have happened before.” Curious, Bo added, “The mission was here first, wasn’t it?”
The man nodded and said, “Yeah. The Spanish built it more than a hundred years ago. They figured on taming my people.”
Bo recalled stories he had heard about violent Indian uprisings against the priests and the Spanish soldiers and said, “That didn’t work out so well for them, did it?”
“No. It took the Americans and their army to do that. I’m not complaining, though. At least I’ve got a decent job.”
Despite those words, the man’s voice held a slightly bitter note. The Navajo were a proud people who had not accepted “civilizing” easily.
Bo handed the man a silver dollar and said, “I appreciate your help. One more question?”
“Sure, mister.”
“What do you think about Forbes Dyson and this fandango he’s putting on?”
The porter shrugged and said, “Dyson’s a big man in these parts. Got big plans. A man would be wise not to cross him, especially if Bouma’s around.”
Bo frowned and said, “Boomer?”
“No, Bouma,” the Navajo replied with a shake of his head. “That’s his name. Jack Bouma. He’s the boss of that crew of gunmen Dyson has working for him.”
“Dangerous man with a gun, eh?”
“Mister, you don’t want to find out. But I’ll say this. There’s a cemetery up by the old mission, and business is as brisk there as anywhere else in town.”
CHAPTER 25
After they had washed up, Bo and Scratch waited in the hotel lobby for the ladies to come down. While they were there, Forbes Dyson strode in as confidently as if he owned the place, accompanied by a lantern-jawed man in a red shirt, a black leather vest, and a black hat with a tightly curled brim. Bo recalled seeing him among the group of gunmen who had been with Dyson earlier.
Dyson wore a black hat, too, with a flat crown and a silver band. He nodded curtly to Bo and Scratch and said, “The ladies haven’t come down yet?”
“No,” Bo said. “When you came in just now and had the door open, I noticed that there’s a crowd gathering outside again.”
“You can’t blame those men for wanting to catch a glimpse of such beauty. The ladies are probably the loveliest women who have ever set foot in Silverhill.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Bo agreed. He looked over at Dyson’s companion, who was regarding him with a cool, enigmatic stare. “Who’s this?”
“An associate of mine,” Dyson said. “Jack Bouma.”
“Howdy,” Scratch said with a nod.
Bouma had a toothpick between his lips. He shifted it from one side of his mouth to the other but didn’t say anything in response to Scratch’s greeting.
“Talkative sort, ain’t he?” Scratch asked.
“Jack speaks up when he needs to,” Dyson said.
Bo had a pretty good idea what the saloon owner meant by that. Bouma did his talking with a gun.
“He’s coming to dinner with us?” Bo asked.
“Not exactly. But he’ll be around.”
Bouma nodded slowly to confirm that. He was Dyson’s bodyguard, Bo realized, in addition to bossing the crew of gun wolves.
Before the conversation, such as it was, could continue, Dyson glanced toward the staircase, and a smile appeared on his face. Bo turned his head to look in the same direction and saw Jean and Luella de
scending the stairs. Both wore stylish gowns now, and Bo had to admit they were sights to take a man’s breath away.
Scratch grabbed his hat off his head and grinned at them. Bo removed his hat, too, as did Forbes Dyson. Jack Bouma grunted almost inaudibly and strolled over to one of the armchairs, where he sat down, cocked his right ankle on his left knee, and proceeded to worry at his teeth with that sliver of wood.
Bouma was too cold-blooded to even greet the ladies politely, Bo thought.
Neither man actually broke into a run, but it was still a close race to see who reached the foot of the stairs first, Scratch or Dyson. The saloon owner edged out the silver-haired Texan and bent low in another bow.
“Ladies,” he said, “you both look stunning.”
Bo couldn’t argue with that. He had followed Scratch and Dyson over to the staircase, although he hadn’t got in such a hurry about it.
“Miss Jean,” Scratch said. “Miss Luella. The two of you look mighty nice.”
Jean said, “It helped getting all that trail dust off, didn’t it?”
“It sure did,” Scratch agreed. “Not that you didn’t look fine before, I mean, trail dust and all.”
“We know what you mean, Mr. Morton,” Jean assured him.
“I told you, you can just call me Scratch.”
“Even though you’re old enough to be our grandfather?” Luella teased him.
“I’m still young where it counts.” Scratch patted his chest with his free hand. “In here.”
Dyson said, “What about the other ladies?”
“They should be down soon,” Jean said. “It takes a while to heat up enough water between each bath.”
“We should sit down and get comfortable while we wait for them,” Dyson suggested. He held out a hand. “Right this way, ladies.”
He guided them over to a corner of the lobby, where three armchairs were arranged in a semicircle. Dyson waited until Jean and Luella had sat down and then took the third chair himself. Bo noted that Dyson had made sure there was no place for him and Scratch to sit. A glance over at Scratch told Bo that his old friend had noticed the same thing.
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