Billy beamed. “When do we start, teacher? Now?”
“I’m working, you chucklehead. Come back about sunset and we’ll sit out back and I’ll read to you from Ben-Hur and then let you read to me. How does that sound?”
“Like all my wishes have come true.” Billy opened the jar and popped another gumdrop into his mouth.
“That will be five cents,” Sally said.
“Five cents, nothin’.” Billy pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and peeled several off. “Here’s thirty dollars.” He shoved the money into her hand.
Sally blinked. “Are you insane? All you had were two pieces of candy.”
“The rest is a tip.”
“No, no, no.” Sally shoved the money at him but he stepped back. “I can’t accept this. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Says who?”
“What would my parents think? What would—” Sally stopped.
“How will anyone find out if we don’t tell them?” Billy jangled toward the door. “Sunset it is.”
“Hold up,” Sally said.
Billy swung around, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt, the pearl grips to his Colt glittering in the sunlight streaming in the doorway. “For you, my lovely, anything.”
“You’ll behave? You won’t take liberties or do anything to make me regret my decision?”
“I’ve never taken a liberty with a woman in my life,” Billy said. “But I’m not a boy, neither.” Whistling, he bent his boots to the saloon.
Dingus was at the bar. Ben Towers was huddled with Susie Metzger at a table. The rest of the gang were off with Black Jack, laying claim to cattle that belonged to someone else.
“Hey, kid!” Dingus hollered. “How’s your store filly?”
“Drinks for everyone, on me!” Billy said, and whooped. “Does that answer your question?”
“Ain’t love grand?” Dingus said.
Shasta Cunningham was the only one who frowned.
“You better watch yourself, kid,” Belle James cautioned him. “Those prim and proper types have a way of changin’ a gent.”
Billy did not favor either of them with a reply. Marching to the table where Shasta and Susie sat, he grabbed Shasta’s wrist. “Come with me.” He hustled her toward the hall at the rear.
“Again?” Shasta said, without resisting. “Why is it every time you go see her, you want to bed me?”
“I’m not here to listen to you nag.” Billy came to one of the special rooms Black Jack had set up. Formerly a storeroom, it now contained a bed and a small table with a pitcher of water. He closed and bolted the door.
Shasta was a downcast statue.
“What are you waitin’ for? An engraved invite? Shuck those clothes.”
“Has it ever sunk in how much I love you?”
Billy began undoing his belt buckle. “Has it ever sunk in how much I don’t care? You’re a whore, damn it. You do it with everybody. So quit actin’ like I’m something special.”
Shasta slowly undid a button, saying softly, “To me you are.”
Chapter Ten
The prairie lay quiet under the mantle of night. Other than the occasional yip of coyotes the only sound was the sigh of the wind and the thud of hooves as five punchers from the Circle C neared their destination.
Lin Cooley rose in his stirrups and spied lights in the distance. “Half an hour more and we’ll be there,” he announced.
“I can’t wait.” A red bandanna was around Randy Quin’s throat, his clothes were as clean as if they were brand new, and his boots were shined to a sheen. “It’s been over a month this time. Six whole weeks, in fact.”
“It ain’t like Nowhere is a stone’s throw from the Coldwater,” Kip Langtree said. His straw-colored hair poked from under his hat, giving him an untamed look that befit his wild and woolly eighteen years.
“Some of us have more cause than others,” said Moses Sikes, his teeth white against his black face.
Amos Finch, the fifth cowhand and by far the oldest of the entire Circle C outfit, spoke up. “You snotnoses and your romances. I’ve been in love more times than I have fingers. You ain’t about to catch me all cow-eyed.”
Randy shifted in his saddle. “This ain’t no romance, you old coot. Tonight is the night I ask her.”
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t hold my breath,” Amos said. “Human beings ain’t supposed to go around lookin’ purple.”
The guffaws caused Randy’s jaw muscles to twitch.
“You can hardly blame them, pard,” Lin Cooley said.
“No, he can’t,” Amos said. “If willpower were oatmeal, Randy would have it comin’ out his ears.”
“Now, now,” Moses said. “He can’t help not being able to make up his mind. I heard he fell on his head when he dropped out of the womb and he’s been tryin’ to scrape his brains back together ever since.”
More guffaws caused more tweaking of Randy’s jaw. “You can all go to hell,” he declared.
“I’ll remember that when I’m buyin’ drinks for everyone,” Amos said.
“The way you carry on,” Randy grumbled, “you’d think being in love was dumb.”
Amos brought his horse up next to Quin’s. “It ain’t that at all, pup. We’re just jealous. There ain’t one of us but wishes we were in your boots. Human nature being what it is, since that won’t happen, we’ll settle for makin’ your life miserable.”
“That’s a fine how-do-you-do,” Randy said.
“It’s not personal. It’s life. I’ve been over the range and back more than a few times and I’ve learned a few things. We are who we are and we do what we do and that’s that.”
Randy wouldn’t let it go. “Well, friends shouldn’t poke fun because a man is head over spurs for a girl.”
“But then we’d miss out on a heap of belly laughs. And laughter is one of the best tonics this dreary life has to offer.”
“Why, Amos, you old faker, you,” Lin Cooley commented. “You never let on that you could think.”
That ended their conversation for a while. Hats were adjusted and belts were hitched and they regarded the glittering lights in eager anticipation. But when they were a hundred yards out, Lin Cooley reined up and the rest followed suit.
“Do my old ears hear what I think they hear?” Amos asked.
Clear as crystal on the cool night air came the high, tinny notes of a piano, and bursts of raucous mirth.
“Maybe we came to the wrong town by mistake,” Moses said.
“It’s the right one,” Randy responded. “I can see Old Man Taylor sittin’ in his rockin’ chair out front of the livery.”
“Can you imagine Dub springin’ for a piano?” Kip Langtree marveled. “He must of struck it rich.”
“What I’m wondering about,” Lin Cooley said, “are all those horses at the hitch rails.”
Nowhere had become somewhere. More mounts than any of them had ever seen in the town at any one time filled the hitch rails on both sides of the street, with surplus animals tied to overhang posts and the windmill. Every window glowed with light and people were moving about on the boardwalks.
Moses said, “So much for a quiet night of drinkin’ and poker.”
“Fine by me!” Kip perked up. “I’m a curly wolf from the Washita and I love to howl!”
On they rode, a wariness in their posture that had not been evident before. Cooley had his eyes on the saloon; Randy was only interested in the general store.
“I see Joe Elliot’s sorrel yonder,” Kip Langtree said.
“A lot of the Bar J boys are here,” Amos observed, “along with cayuses from other outfits.”
The saloon door had been replaced by batwings which now opened, and out staggered a booze-blind cowhand pawing a slightly overweight woman in a too-tight red dress who smacked one of his hands and said, “The groping comes later. You promised me a piece of pecan pie first and I aim to hold you to it.” Her elbow locked in his, she steered him toward the restaurant.
; “A dove, by God!” Amos exclaimed in breathless astonishment. “Here?”
The merry laughter of another pealed inside.
“So that’s the attraction!” Kip exclaimed. “We’d best get in there, boys, and lay our claim before they’re all taken.” He started to climb down.
“First we put up our animals at the stable,” Cooley said. “Then you can paint your tonsils all you want.”
For once Old Man Taylor wasn’t whittling. His hands were folded in his lap, and he gloomily nodded as they came to a stop. “Howdy, boys. Welcome to Sodom. Or is it Gomorrah? I never can get the two straight.”
“What in blazes has happened here?” Amos Finch asked. “I just saw a female critter with Toby Gill of the Bar J.”
“That’s right. You boys haven’t been to town in a coon’s age. There have been some changes. Mighty big changes. But I expect you’ll find that out for yourselves soon enough.”
Cooley held out his reins. “Can you put up our horses for the night as usual?”
“Would that I could,” Taylor said. “I’m plumb full inside. But there’s room in the corral if you don’t mind them being outdoors. Strip them and put them in yourself. I’m too depressed to move.”
All but Lin Cooley hurried to take the suggestion. The Circle C’s ramrod hunkered beside the rocking chair. “What’s the matter? Has there been trouble?”
“Depends on your definition,” Old Man Taylor answered. “No one’s been planted yet, if that’s what you’re thinking. But it’s only a matter of time. You and your boys be careful. A longhair by the name of Shelton has taken things over, lock, stock and barrel.”
“How’s that possible?”
“He’s got a passel of gun tippers with him. As snake-eyed a bunch as you’ll ever come across. That they haven’t curled anyone up yet can’t be for lack of meanness.” Taylor paused. “There’s one in particular you should be on the lookout for. A cat-eyed gent with nickel-plated pistols slung low.”
“This cat have a handle to go with his whiskers?”
“He hasn’t let it be known but I’ve a hunch it’s Longley.”
“Ike Longley?”
Old Man Taylor nodded. “I mentioned it to Paul, figuring Paul would arrest him, but nothing ever came of it.” Taylor glanced toward the jail, the only dark building in town. “It’s a shame.”
Cooley unfurled his long legs. “They say Longley has fourteen to his credit, not countin’ Mexicans and Indians.”
“He’s no one to trifle with. And he’s only one of many. There are wolves on the loose and they have sharp teeth.”
Cooley led his horse to the rear of the stable and met his friends coming the other way. “Wait for me,” he said.
“Not on your life.” Randy was practically skipping. “If I don’t see Sally soon, I’ll bust.”
Kip Langtree smacked his lips. “And I can’t go another minute without a beer. My throat is so dry, it’s a desert.”
“Me, I want to make the acquaintance of one of those doves,” Amos Finch said. “Maybe both if my money holds out.”
“You reckon they do charity?” Moses asked.
Cooley stripped his horse and hurried to catch up but they were out of sight when he reached the street. He passed Bar J punchers and men he knew from other spreads a lot farther away. At the batwings he paused and was wreathed in a drifting cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke. When it thinned, he shouldered his way inside.
The saloon was crammed. Customers were shoulder to shoulder, wall to wall. Every chair at every table was filled. Men lined the bar from end to end and spilled around the corners. Dub Wheeton was filling glasses as fast as he could but one man couldn’t keep up with demand, which explained why he had hired a helper for the first time since he owned the place—a kid of fifteen, the son of Robert Renfro, the town barber. Poker and faro games were in full swing, the clink of chips constantly in the background.
Cooley headed for the bar, nodding to cowpokes he knew. For every one he recognized there were four or five he didn’t. He noticed others, too, men who clearly weren’t punchers, hard cases whose faces bore the stamp of violent natures: a pair of twins over by the north wall, their clothes as grimy and greasy as they were; another with a floppy hat who wore a constant cockeyed grin and fingered a long knife at his hip.
Two women were working the room, a redhead who flounced about in wanton glory, teasing and enticing and never objecting if a customer happened to smack her fanny, and a skinny girl who was having a rough time of it. She appeared tired and sad and if anyone slapped her backside, she would glare.
A lusty howl diverted Cooley to a table where Joe Elliot was raking in the pot and being his usual humble self about winning.
“Wahoo! That’ll teach you tinhorns to play cards with your betters! The night’s still young and I’m two hundred ahead!” Joe spotted Cooley and beckoned. “Lin, you handsome devil! Wait for one of these sheep to vacate a chair and join us! It’s easy pickin’s tonight.”
“No thanks,” Cooley said. “If I go broke, it won’t be by linin’ someone else’s pocket.”
“You’re no fun. What’s money for, if not whiskey, women and cards?” Joe piled his chips and grinned at the other players, who weren’t nearly as pleased by his winnings.
Cooley reached the bar. He had to holler to get Dub’s attention, and as his drink was poured, he commented, “I thought maybe I’d wound up in Dallas by mistake.”
Dub mopped his sweaty forehead. “I’m about worn to a frazzle. I almost miss the old days.” He had more to say but a bellow down the bar required his attention.
Careful not to be jostled, Cooley raised the glass to his lips and sipped. Perfume tingled his nose and slender fingers pulled at his sleeve, and he turned to find the redhead attached to his arm. “How do you do, ma’am?”
“Aren’t you polite? I’m Susie. Susie Metzger. I saw you come in and thought we should get better acquainted.”
“I bet you say that to all the cow crowd.”
“Be nice,” Susie said, and squeezed in closer, her breasts nearly oozing up out of her dress. “I’m only doing what I’m paid to do.”
“You’d be wastin’ your time,” Lin informed her. “I’m not lookin’ to cuddle, just to drink.”
“I haven’t asked you to take me into a back room, have I?” Susie challenged. “I could go for a Virginia fancy, if you’ll buy me one. The boss doesn’t mind me standin’ still for a minute or two if he sees me drinkin’.”
Lin did as she wanted and the Renfro boy brought it to her.
“Mmmmm. You can’t imagine how good these taste after you’ve been on your feet for hours.” Susie surveyed the bedlam. “Each weekend has been wilder than the last. Another month, and every Saturday night will be a party from dark until dawn.”
“Some folks might not like that.”
“Once an avalanche starts, there’s no stopping it,” Susie said, appraising him. “So who are you and where are you from?”
“Lin Cooley of the Circle C.”
The redhead gave a start but instantly recovered her composure and drained her glass in a long swig. “A pleasure meetin’ you, ramrod. Maybe we’ll talk more sometime. Right now I have to mingle.” The crowd swallowed her.
Lin hadn’t mentioned he was the Circle C’s ramrod. Something strange was going on, he thought, and he marked her meanderings as she drifted from customer to customer and table to table until she came to one and whispered in the ear of a man wearing a wide-brimmed black hat and a pair of nickel-plated Remingtons.
Longley looked up, and Lin met his gaze.
Just then there was a thunderous oath and the thud of a fist striking a table, and Joe Elliot reared with one hand on his six-shooter and the other pointed accusingly at a player with a zigzag scar across his left cheek. “I saw that, you four-flusher! You dealt the last card from the bottom!”
The man with the scar had the deck in front of him, and the most chips besides Elliot. His clothes were not punc
her clothes and he wore a revolver slantwise across his hip. “You’re mistaken, cowboy.”
“Like hell! You’re a damned cheat!”
Bar J hands were moving to back Joe Elliot. Longley and the twins and the man with the floppy hat were on the move, too—to back the player with the scar, who picked up the deck and said, “You’re welcome to redeal the hand yourself if you’d like. Just to prove I’m honest.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Joe snapped, “ex cept that you’re a weasel. Now on your feet!”
Men were pressing toward the walls to give them room.
“I won’t tell you again!” Joe Elliot bawled, and poised his hand to draw.
Chapter Eleven
Randy Quin floated on air the last ten feet to the general store. It had been so long since he saw Sally, he tingled with pure pleasure. But her parents were the only ones there, and from the look of things were about to close up. “Mr. Palmer, Mrs Palmer.” He removed his hat. “It’s a pleasure seein’ you again.”
George and Helen looked at one another, and George said, “Randall! This is a surprise. Where have you been keeping yourself?”
“Where else? The Circle C.” Randy stared at the door to their living quarters. “How have things been?”
“Hectic,” George said. “Busier than you would believe. Business has never been better in all the time we’ve been here.”
“That’s nice. You’ve always said you wanted more.” Randy moved toward the door. “Mind if I step on back and see Sally?”
Helen Palmer was there before him. “I’d rather you didn’t. The place is a mess. Let me fetch her.” She ducked through the doorway and closed the door after her.
George was rubbing his palms together and rising up and down on the balls of his feet. “It’s a shame you had to stay away so long.”
“It couldn’t be helped,” Randy said. “Mr. Storm wanted all the strays accounted for. We had to cover the whole ranch, and you know how big it is.”
“You’re a good worker,” George said. “No matter what else, no one can ever say you don’t pull your weight.”
“I do my part.”
Then, for no reason that Randy could fathom, George Palmer commented, “Where women are concerned, there’s no predicting.” George had the CLOSED sign and was moving to the front door. “A man can never take them for granted. He might as well swim in quicksand.”
Ralph Compton Nowhere, TX Page 8