“Got no intention of doin’ that,” Kirby said. “But travelin’ like we are, you don’t always find a place where you can get it.”
“I understand.” The man took four boxes from a case, then opened one of the boxes. “As you can see there are fifty bullets in each little box. Four times fifty is two hundred.”
“Open all four boxes,” Emmett said.
“Do you really think that is necessary?”
“Open all four boxes,” Emmett said again.
The man started to put one of the boxes back in the case, but Emmett reached out to grab his wrist. “What’s wrong with that box?”
“To tell the truth, it felt a little light to me, so I . . .”
Before he could finish his statement, Emmett opened the box. It was only about half full. “A little light, you said?”
“Yes. You did notice that I was putting it back,” the clerk said self-righteously. He put four boxes on the counter and opened them. “Two dollars.”
Satisfied that the boxes were full, Kirby paid for the ammunition, and he and Emmett went back outside.
“How’d you know he was plannin’ to cheat me, Pa?”
Emmett put his finger alongside his nose. “I smelled it.”
“You smelled it?” Kirby asked incredulously.
“You don’t actually smell it,” Emmett explained. “It’s just something that you say when you have a feelin’ that somethin’ ain’t quite right. And I had a feelin’ that somethin’ wasn’t quite right.”
“How do you learn to have them feelin’s?”
“It’s not somethin’ you learn. It’s somethin’ that just sort of comes to you as you get older. I expect it’ll come over you, too, eventually.”
Looking around, they spotted the Lone Star Hotel.
“What do you say we spend the night in a bed instead of on the ground?” Emmett asked.
“Sounds good to me,” Kirby agreed.
After checking into the hotel and boarding their horses, they walked up the wide, sunbaked street, hurrying from the shade of one building to the next, taking every opportunity to get out of the sun. After walking a few blocks, they were drenched with sweat, and the cool interior of the Yellow Dog Saloon beckoned them.
Pushing their way through the bat wing doors, they stepped inside and stood in the dark for a moment or two until their eyes adjusted to the dim light. Unlike the rather coarse establishment in Baxter Springs, this place was rather elegant. Made of burnished mahogany, the bar had a highly polished brass foot rail. Crisp, clean white towels hung from hooks on the customers’ side of the bar, spaced every four feet. A mirror behind the bar was flanked on each side by a small statue of a nude woman set back in a special niche. A row of whiskey bottles sat in front of the mirror, reflected in the glass so that the row of bottles seemed to be two deep. A bartender with pomaded black hair and a waxed handlebar moustache stood behind the bar. A towel was draped across his shoulders, and his arms were folded across his chest.
“Is the beer cool?” Emmett asked.
“It’s cooler than horse piss,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice.
Emmett chuckled. “Good enough. We’ll have a couple.”
The bartender drew the beers and set them in front of Kirby and Emmett.
Kirby picked up the beer and took a drink.
“What do you think?” Emmett asked. “Is the second one better?”
“Yes, sir. It’s a lot better.”
“It’s good to be able to enjoy a beer now ’n again but, what with you just startin’ out to drink, I need to tell you to be careful about drinkin’.”
“Careful? What do you mean? Why do I have to be careful?”
“I say that ’cause some folks start to likin’ their liquor too much, ’n the next thing they know, ’bout the only important things in their life is the next drink ’n where it’s comin’ from. I sure don’t want to see that happen to you.”
“I don’t neither. I promise you, I will take care.” Kirby turned to look around the place. Nearly every table was occupied.
One of the tables was near enough to where they were standing that Emmett could quite easily listen in on the conversation that was taking place between three men.
“Her name is Lil. Fancy Lil,” one of the men was saying. “She works down at the Palace Princess Emporium.”
“That ain’t her real name, is it, Doc?”
“I’m sure that Fancy is not a part of her sobriquet, though Lil might be. Young ladies who find themselves in such occupations, however, rarely use their real names.”
“She must be somethin’,” said the man in a blue shirt. “I heard that iffen you want to choose her, it’s goin’ to cost you a hunnert dollars. Maybe even more.”
The man with a bushy mustache shook his head. “There ain’t no woman worth a hunnert dollars.”
“Oh, believe me, this young lady is,” replied the one called Doc.
Bushy Mustache couldn’t believe it. “Doc, don’t tell me you spend a hunnert dollars on her.”
“I have not, but only because I don’t have a hundred dollars to spare. But if I did, I would do so without a moment’s hesitation.”
“The Palace Princess Emporium. That’s Chicago Sue’s place, ain’t it?” Blue Shirt asked.
“Yes.”
“Yeah, well, mayhaps that’s why I ain’t never seen this here Fancy Lil that you’re talking about. I ain’t never been to Chicago Sue’s establishment. They ain’t any of them at Chicago Sue’s place that’s cheap.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t complain. Those at the Palace Princess Emporium are different,” Doc said.
“What do you mean, different? They’s same as saloon girls, ain’t they?”
“No, they are ladies that entertain.”
“Does it cost money to be entertained?” Bushy Mustache wanted to know.
“Yes.”
Blue Shirt wasn’t convinced. “And, does that entertainment include sleepin’ with ’em?”
“Yes.”
Blue Shirt crossed his arms. “If a woman will go to bed with you for money, she’s same as a saloon girl, no matter how much it costs.”
“I’m sure that as dissipation takes its toll, some of the young ladies who work there will slip down the scale until you can rightly throw them in with saloon girls, but not now. And you certainly can’t say that for Fancy Lil. Anyone who can command one hundred dollars for her services is certainly more than a common saloon girl.”
Bushy Mustache didn’t believe it. “This Fancy Lil must be some kind of woman.”
“She is,” Doc replied. “Perhaps Christopher Marlowe expressed it best.”
“Christopher Marlowe? Hmm, I don’t think I know him.”
“That wouldn’t be likely, since he died almost two hundred years ago,” Doc said.
Bushy Mustache was more confused than ever. “What? Then how could he say anything about Fancy Lil?”
“He was actually speaking of Helen of Troy, but it could have been Fancy Lil.” Doc cleared his throat, then, in dramatic fashion, said the words, Was this the face that launch’d a thousand ships . . . And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? . . . Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.”
His table mates were stunned.
Bushy Mustache grinned. “Doc, you’re the smartest man I’ve ever knowed. You must be. Hell, I don’t understand half of what you say.”
“I have established the idea that this lady, Fancy Lil, is a person of rare beauty, haven’t I?”
“Oh, yeah, you’ve done that all right. Only I’ll never get to see her. A hunnert dollars? I ain’t never had that much money at one time in my whole life.”
“It doesn’t cost a hundred dollars just to see her. For five dollars, you can visit the parlor of the Palace Princess Emporium, enjoy food, drink, and conversation with beautiful women and a convivial atmosphere,” Doc pointed out.
“Five dollars? But that don’t get you no woman, does it?”
“Only in
friendly conversation.”
Blue Shirt looked at Bushy Mustache. “Will Fancy Lil be there?”
“She often is, when she isn’t otherwise engaged.”
“You mean with someone?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmph. If it cost one hunnert dollars to be with her, I can’t imagine she’s with someone all that much.”
“She is very selective,” Doc replied.
Kirby had been listening intently to the conversation. He turned to Emmett, who was staring into his glass. “You know what, Pa? I’d like to see this woman they’re talkin’ about.”
“Why?”
“You heard what Doc said. That she is the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Wouldn’t you like to see such a woman?”
“Boy, what do you know about such things? Have you ever been to such a place?” Emmett’s question was pointed, but not challenging.
Kirby had never been, but he had seen one . . . once. It had been pointed out by Elmer Gleason. He couldn’t share that information with his father, though, without sharing that he had ridden with Asa Briggs.
“No, sir, I ain’t never been to one. But I know what one is. Some of the other boys in school was talkin’ ’bout ’em one day.” That was true. The subject had come up, but none of the boys who’d been discussing it knew exactly what went on there.
“Yeah, I reckon there are some things you can learn at school that ain’t really all that good.”
Kirby chuckled. “I never heard that till I was in the seventh grade. And remember, I wanted to quit soon as I finished the fifth grade.”
Emmett chuckled, then took another drink. “Well now, ain’t you glad I made you stay?”
At that moment, the back door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered, bearded man wearing a badge stepped through the door and looked around. For a long moment, he scrutinized Kirby and Emmett, obviously aware that they were new in town, then continued his perusal of the room until he saw a man who caught his attention.
“You,” he said, pointing. “We got a telegram sayin’ you was comin’ to Dallas. I didn’t think you was actually that dumb, Cox.”
The man stood up slowly, then turned to face the lawman. “Yeah? Why shouldn’t I come to Dallas? Am I supposed to be afraid of some piss-ant deputy?”
The situation had the look of an impending gunfight. The others at the table stood up and moved out of the way. All other conversation within the saloon ceased.
“Unbuckle your gun belt,” the lawman said, making a motion with the gun he was holding. “And do it slow and easy, so’s I don’t get the idea you’re tryin’ anything.”
Cox shook his head no. “I don’t think so, Deputy. I think me an’ you’s goin’ to have to settle this thing, right here and right now.”
Kirby had heard stories about deadly gunfights between men, but not in all the time he had been riding with Briggs had he ever seen one. The shooting he had experienced was from a distance, and it was always one group of men against another group. He had never seen a one-on-one confrontation.
“Are you crazy, Cox?” the deputy asked. “I’ve already got you covered.”
“Do you now?” Cox asked with a mysterious smile on his face.
Kirby was watching intently, wondering why the man called Cox didn’t seem to be worrying about the gun that was pointing toward him. When he saw a man standing up in the corner, aiming his pistol at the lawman, he shouted, “Deputy, look out! There’s a gun behind you!”
The man in the corner turned the pistol toward the Jensens.
Kirby acted instinctively. Dropping his beer, he pulled his pistol and fired just as the man in the corner pulled the trigger on his own gun. The would-be assailant’s bullet hit the mirror behind the bar, and it fell with a crash, leaving nothing but a few jagged shards hanging in place to reflect twisting images of the dramatic scene.
Just like in all of his practicing, Kirby’s bullet had gone true . . . only his target had been a man . . . who dropped his weapon and grabbed his neck. His eyes rolled up in his head and he fell backward.
The two gunshots had riveted everyone’s attention to that exchange. Cox took the opportunity to go for his own gun. Suddenly, the saloon was filled with the roar of another gunshot as he fired at the deputy, whose attention had also been diverted by the gunplay between Kirby and the man in the corner. Cox’s bullet struck the deputy in the back of the head.
Making a fatal mistake, Cox swung his pistol toward Kirby.
Emmett’s bullet caught Cox in the center of his chest, and he went down. He sat on the floor, leaning back against the table, his gun lying on the floor beside him. “Who . . . who the hell are you?” he asked, gasping out the question. “What did you get involved for?”
“It seemed the thing to do,” Emmett said.
One more gasp, and Cox was dead.
CHAPTER 9
“What’s goin’ on in here?” asked a loud authoritative voice. “Who’s doin’ all the shootin’?”
Holding smoking guns, Kirby and his pa turned toward the sound of the voice to see a man standing just inside the open door. With the brightness of the light behind him, he could be seen in silhouette only.
“Get out of the light,” Emmett said, his voice a low growl.
“You don’t tell me what to do, I—”
Click. Emmett pulled the hammer back and his pistol made a deadly metallic sound as the sear engaged the cylinder. “I said get out of the light,” he repeated.
The figure moved out of the light. Kirby and Emmett could see that he was wearing a badge and put their pistols away.
“Marshal, I’m glad you come,” said one of the men who had been sitting with Cox. “These here fellas just killed your deputy. Then they killed Haggart, ’n Cox, too, ’n they done it all in cold blood.”
“That ain’t true,” Emmett said.
“Julius McCoy wasn’t just my deputy, he was also my friend and my sister’s husband. I think you two had better come down to the jail with me till I get to the bottom of this.”
Although Kirby had already holstered his pistol, it suddenly appeared in his hand again, the draw so fast that it caught everyone in the saloon by surprise. He didn’t shoot at the end of his draw. “I don’t think we want to do that, Marshal. If you want to get to the bottom of this, you can find out what happened by askin’ these people right here. I’m sure some of ’em must be honest.”
Emmett had his gun out, as well, and was covering everyone else in the saloon.
“All right,” the marshal said. “Let me hear what you have to say.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with killing your deputy, but I did kill that one.” Kirby pointed to the man lying back in the corner.
“What did you shoot him for?” the marshal asked.
“He had a gun pointed at your deputy’s back and was about to shoot him.”
“Who killed the other two?”
“I killed that one,” Emmett admitted, pointing toward Cox’s body. “Unfortunately, not before he killed your deputy.”
The marshal looked around until he noticed the man who had been speaking so eloquently about a woman named Fancy Lil. “Doc Dunaway, did you see what happened here?”
“I did indeed.” Dr. Dunaway pointed to Kirby and Emmett. “These two men are telling the truth, Marshal. Deputy McCoy was trying to arrest Cox, when that unfortunate gentleman”—he pointed to the body lying back in the far corner—“declared his intention of interrupting the operation by pointing a pistol at McCoy. He was about to shoot, but the boy shouted a warning. At that, he turned his weapon toward those two and fired. The broken mirror behind the bar should be all the evidence you need to validate that. It was a misguided move of the part of the would-be assassin, because the young man drew his pistol and returned fire. It was quite a long shot, too.
“While all that was in progress, Cox killed the deputy when McCoy wasn’t payin’ attention and then he swung his gun around toward these two. By then, the older gen
tleman had his own pistol out. He shot Cox. If I am asked to testify in court, I will say, emphatically, that he had every right to do so.”
“That’s true. Ever’thing Doc said is true. That’s the feller that’s lyin’.” Blue Shirt pointed to the man who had been sitting at the table with Cox—the one who had accused Kirby and Emmett of killing all three men.
“I, uh, just told what I thought I seen,” the man said nervously.
Dr. Dunaway’s testimony opened the floodgate. Nearly everyone else in the saloon began telling their own stories of the incident, and though there were a few slight variations in the telling, one theme was consistent throughout—all but one of the shootings were entirely justified.
The marshal let out a big sigh and waved his hand dismissively. “I reckon you two can put them guns away. What with ever’one in here tellin’ the same story, there won’t be no need in arrestin’ you. But you might want to come down to my office tomorrow, anyway.”
“Why would we want to do that?” Emmett asked.
“Because there’s a five-hundred-dollar reward out for Cox, and I expect you’ll be wantin’ to stick around long enough to collect it.” The marshal looked over toward the other dead man. “I don’t know nothin’ about him, but there may be paper on him as well.”
Emmett nodded. “I reckon that’s reason enough to stay around for a couple days.”
“What’s your name?” the marshal asked.
“I’m Emmett Jensen. This is my son, Kirby.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard the names before. Are you new in town?”
“We just arrived today,” Emmett said.
“Just passing through, are you?”
“Sort of. Actually, I’m looking for some friends of mine. Wiley Potter, Keith Stratton, and Josh Richards. Perhaps you have run across them.”
The marshal shook his head. “Nope. ’Fraid I’ve never heard of ’em.”
“What about Angus Shardeen?” Kirby asked.
The marshal’s eyes narrowed. “Would he be a friend as well?”
Kirby shook his head. “Not hardly. I’ve got a score to settle with him.”
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