by Clay More
Then all he was aware of was Rosalind, sobbing beside him.
"Oh, God! Take me away from this, mister. I want my - !" she moaned, pressing herself against his chest. "Please take me away from this miserable life."
Predictably, when gunshots sounded out in the darkness there was a slow build up of commotion. No one rushed to investigate, for fear of catching a stray bullet, but gradually the curious edged along the boardwalk until the source of the shooting was located. Then the muttering and mumbling became louder as rumor and slow seepage of fact merged into one another, and a crowd began to form around the entrance to the alley.
"Anyone hurt?" cried one voice.
"Dunno," yelled another. "Bring some light."
There was a snort, and then a dismissive voice reported, "It’s just a guy and a whore."
Jake was standing with his arm about Rosalind’s shoulders. She was trembling like a little girl and he snapped in the direction of the last anonymous speaker. "Whoever said that had better keep his mouth shut afore I shove a cake of soap in it. This lady has had a bad shock – after a couple of the low life in this town tried to jump us." He worked his aching shoulder like a windmill and advanced on the crowd, which parted before him.
"Hold up there!" called a voice that Jake recognized as belonging to Sheriff Slim Parfitt. "If there’s been gunplay in Silver City I want to know who’s been doing it."
Jake and Rosalind had moved into the circle of light tossed out by one of the boardwalk lanterns. "I fired, Sheriff – at a couple of cowardly curs who tried to sandbag us as we walked past that alley."
The sheriff eyed Jake narrowly. "What were you doing out here with this – lady? She’s one of the girls from the Busted Flush, ain’t she?"
"My name is Rosalind," the girl returned with some spirit. "And yes, I do work at the saloon for Miss Carmen. What of it? It is a good house, as you well know."
"I didn’t say it wasn’t," returned the sheriff, dismissively. Turning his attention to Jake he shook his head. "You seem to attract trouble, mister. I don’t like that in my town."
Jake shrugged. "Then if I were you – Sheriff – I’d start doing a proper sheriff job and clear the low-life out of this town." And before the lawman could argue, he jabbed a finger towards him and demanded: "Did you take care of Miss Horrocks?"
Slim Parfitt frowned. "I introduced her to Nat Tooking, the C & SW Cattle Company agent, but it all looked above board to me. The herd had been bought and paid for. Last I saw of her she was headed back for the hotel."
Jake nodded and moved off. "I’ll leave you to apprehend those dogs. Excuse us now, I have to see this lady gets home safe and sound."
As they walked away from the fast dispersing crowd Rosalind held fast to Jake’s arm. "Don’t leave me, will you, mister. I'm scared those two might come back."
Jake patted the hand on his arm. He recognized that this was not the play of a saloon girl anxious to hook a cowboy. She was terrified, and he suspected that she knew who the attackers were.
Carmen de Menendez rushed over from the bar when Jake brought Rosalind in through the bat-wing doors of the saloon. "My God! Is Rosalind hurt?" she asked, her face full of concern. "I heard those shots, but I didn’t think – "
"I am okay, Miss Carmen," Rosalind said with a tremulous smile. "Mr. Scudder here saved me from – " she bit her lip, and then went on, " - from two horrible animals. It was so dark; I didn’t see who they were."
"I think she needs to lie down and rest a while," Jake said.
Rosalind tightened her grip on his arm and looked up pleadingly. "W . . . would you stay with me a while, Mr. Scudder?"
"Of course I will," Jake replied. Then to Carmen de Menendez, "If that’s all right with you, ma’am."
The saloon owner nodded understandingly. "Of course. She’s shocked, like you say. Go up and I’ll have some drinks sent up."
Jake was all too aware of the knowing looks that were being exchanged all around as he helped Rosalind up the stairs, and he ignored them. Once inside her room, however, she moved away from him and sat on the edge of her bed, at the edge of the circle of light thrown out from the oil lamp by her bedside. She looked up, a half-smile on her trembling lips.
"I really am grateful, Mr. Scudder," she said, as she began to unfasten the front of her dress.
Jake waved a hand and shook his head. "Just keep your clothes on, Rosalind. Like I said, I just want to talk to you. You don’t need to thank me – and certainly not that way." He looked about the spartanly furnished room and sat down on the solitary chair in front of her dressing table.
She looked crestfallen, hurt. "But I – "
They were interrupted by a tap on the door. Jake crossed the room and threw open the door to find a young man with finely chiseled Apache features standing with a tray upon which were a bottle and a couple of glasses.
"Brandy for you and the young lady," he announced, his expression totally impassive.
Casting a look at Rosalind, Jake took the tray and nodded. "I think a little drink would do her some good." He fished in his pocket and produced a few coins. "What is your name, my friend?"
"Nantan," replied the other, accepting the coins without obvious enthusiasm. Then with a nod, he said, "Thank you, sir."
"What does it mean?" Jake persisted.
"In your language, he who speaks." And with another nod he turned on his heel and left.
Jake closed the door with his foot and crossed the room to the dressing table, where he poured two glasses of brandy. "His name seems a bit of a joke," he said with a grin. "He seems kind of disinterested in everything, rather as if he’d prefer to be asleep."
Rosalind smiled. "Nantan? Yes, he’s a strange one. He came into town about six months ago. He does any job that anyone will pay him to do. And you are right, I have never seen him smile or show any emotion." She accepted the glass and drained it in one swallow, shaking her head as the liquid hit her stomach.
"You did need that, didn’t you," Jake said, sipping his brandy. "Now tell me the truth, Rosalind. You went to pains to tell Carmen de Menendez that it was too dark to see those jaspers who attacked us." He stared at her with penetrating eyes. "But you knew them, didn’t you?"
Rosalind dropped her head to avoid his regard. "They – are – horrible," she replied slowly, emphasizing each word. "They are evil, Mr. Scudder. They are violent – to women!"
"The curs!" Jake exclaimed. He held all women in the highest regard and felt disgust for those who did not. He swallowed his own brandy and topped up their glasses again.
Rosalind smiled and sipped her drink, then turned and nodded at the bed. "Wouldn’t you like to be more comfortable – Jake?"
Scudder reached over and patted the back of her hand. "Rosalind, I still do not believe that you are as old as you say. And I do not think that your way of life is doing you any good. I do not want to sleep with you. In fact, I would like to stake you some money so that you can get away from here."
Rosalind’s eyes lit up for a moment. Then the light faded. "I have had men say things like that before. All of the girls have, but nothing ever happens."
"How long have you worked here, Rosalind?"
"A year. Miss Carmen is a good boss. She has been kind to me."
Jake swallowed some more brandy then yawned, suddenly feeling quite weary. "And what about those men? You told me they were violent to women. Do you know anything else about them?" He blinked and rubbed his eyes.
Rosalind yawned as well, then took another drink. "I declare you are making me feel sleepy, Jake," she said coquettishly. "They come and go. They have been in town before, then left for months. Cattlemen, they claim to be, but I think – "
"What do you think, Rosalind?"
"I think they – could be thieves," she replied, stifling another yawn. "Rustlers, maybe."
Her eyes rolled upwards and she suddenly fell backwards on the bed, her brandy glass tumbling from her hand and rolling across the floor.
J
ake felt his head begin to swim and he rose unsteadily to his feet. "I – kind of – feel groggy – too!" he murmured, staring suspiciously at his own half empty glass. Then he staggered forward and collapsed on the bed beside Rosalind.
* * *
Nantan had done his job and then reported back to the cellar where he had been told to meet his boss.
"Did they seem suspicious about anything?" the boss demanded.
The impassive Nantan shook his head.
"And did you wait outside like I told you to?"
Nantan nodded again. "I heard them talking. He asked a lot of questions and she answered. I could not make out all of her answers, except for one."
"Go on!"
"She said she thought they were rustlers."
"Anything else?"
"No, they fell asleep."
The boss laughed. "How do you know that?"
"There was the noise of them falling on the bed, then nothing more. Normally those beds make many spring noises, but not this time."
"You are a prize, Nantan!" And several dollars passed from palm to palm.
* * *
Elly had wept for a while and then pulled herself together, as was her way. She realized that things were looking bad for the Rocking H, but if she was to salvage anything from all this, it would be up to her. And that meant that she had to think straight.
"Where is Jake?" she asked herself again and again. And when he still hadn’t appeared two hours later she lay down on the bed and tried to work out her next move. Almost mercifully she fell into slumber. A slumber from which she was rudely awakened by the noise of two shots from somewhere not too far off.
She was awake instantly, her immediate concern being that the shots could have something to do with Jake Scudder. But then her reasoning mind took over and she realized that in a railhead town like Silver City, such shooting in the evening was probably related to some cowboy letting off steam, or to some gambler celebrating a win at the tables. Either way it was unlikely to have anything to do with Scudder. And so thinking she dosed off again, fully expecting Jake Scudder to appear at some point and waken her in the process.
She managed to fall into a deep sleep this time and was only dimly aware of a light tap at the door. After a few moments it was repeated by a louder and more persistent knocking.
"Who . . . who is it?"
"Scudder," came the reply.
Elly rubbed her eyes as she slid off her bed and crossed to the door. "Where have you been?" she asked as she undid the lock. "I have been waiting for hours."
She opened the door a few inches, then was surprised when it was forcefully pushed open.
"What the - ?" she began.
The black figure of Rubal Cage grinned at her. "Actually, Scudder couldn’t make it – so he sent me."
Elly’s mouth opened as if to emit a scream. But it never left her lips, for at that moment Rubal Cage’s fist flashed up and caught her on the point of the chin, lifting her off the floor and propelling her backwards into the room, where she fell with a dull thud.
"Come on, you two," Cage snapped as he entered the room.
When all three of them were inside, standing around the unconscious figure of Elly Horrocks, Hog Fleming kicked the door closed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jake woke with a thundering headache as a shaft of light from the new dawn shone through the gap in the cheap curtains. His tongue felt as though it was stuck to the roof of his mouth and he felt slightly nauseated. He was lying face down on the bed beside the form of a girl whose bosom gently rose and fell mere inches from his face.
"Rosalind," he said softly, more to himself than to her, as he raised his head to gather his senses. He pushed himself up from the bed, stretching and working his shoulders to ease his aching muscles.
At the sound of her name, Rosalind awoke with a start. "Wh . . . what happened?" she asked in some confusion. "Weren’t we drinking –?"
Jake had picked up the errant glass that had rolled across the floor and stood sniffing it. "We were drinking drugged brandy," he replied, his jaw setting in a look of grim determination. "And I am going to find out who was responsible."
Rosalind’s eyes opened wide with alarm. "Not Nantan?"
Jake shook his head. "He delivered it, but it was sent up by your boss, Carmen de Menendez."
Rosalind gave an emphatic shake of her head. "Miss Carmen wouldn’t do anything like that."
Jake poured water from the washing pitcher into the large porcelain bowl on the dressing stand then sluiced it over his face. He sniffed the pitcher to ensure that it too was not drugged and then took a hefty swig to clean his mouth.
"I reckon that at this moment the main question is, why were we drugged?"
"You don’t think it could have been those two men?"
"That is possible, Rosalind," Jake replied. He felt concerned for her, since she had clearly had a bad shock the night before. "Now you can see why I think you need to get away from this way of life. It's not healthy."
Rosalind bit her lower lip. "But I can't get away from it. I have no money."
"I told you that I would stake you," he returned. He pulled out a wad of notes from his back pocket and peeled a number off. "This should be enough to buy a train ticket for as far as you want to go. I have some business to sort out first, then I’ll come back later today and put you on a train myself."
Rosalind stared incredulously at the money. "You’ll do that for me? But I have not done anything for you."
Jake gave her a wry smile. "Rosalind, I think it's time you showed some faith in the human race. Not everyone you meet is going to want something from you. I want you to look at this money as your second chance. Take it."
And he reached for the door while Rosalind continued to stare in disbelief at the money. "I will be ready, Jake."
He nodded then left.
"I will never know how to thank you, Jake Scudder," Rosalind whispered as she stared at the closed door.
* * *
Elly had woken during the night with a painful jaw and a splitting headache, from when her head had hit the bedroom floor and snuffed out her consciousness. For a moment she could not understand why her head was hanging down with her arms dangling on each side. Then she realized that she was in motion, being jolted up and down. She was unable to move either her hands or her feet and she realized that she had been slung over Trixie’s saddle, and that her hands and feet were tied and a linking loop was knotted under Trixie’s belly.
"Gah!" she exclaimed angrily. "Who the hell did this?"
She was greeted by a chorus of laughter from what she perceived to be three men riding alongside her.
"The girl can cuss," said one voice.
"Maybe we got ourselves a whore and not a lady," sneered another.
"Sure isn’t going to matter which, anyhow," growled a third.
Elly felt a sharp pain on her bottom, accompanied by the sound of a smack from the flat of the third voice’s hand. Then the three men guffawed again.
"You will pay for that – all three of you!" Elly hissed defiantly. "What do you want? Money?"
"Maybe a little more than money," returned the third voice.
"You wouldn’t dare!" Elly snapped, although she felt far less sure of herself than she sounded.
"We’ll see," said the first voice. "It will be sun-up soon. Time for my two friends here to have a bit of a rest and maybe feed you some breakfast. As for me – I will see you after I attend to some business – in maybe a day or so."
The horses had all stopped and Elly heard the men whispering to one another as the sun began to rise over the cactus and red-boulder strewn dessert. She strained her ears to hear what was being said.
"Take her to the cabin to the west of Rattlesnake Pass," said the leader. "Wait a day then bring her along and meet me. Just remember what I told you, and don’t let anyone get near you. If they do – kill them!"
Raising her head as much as she was able, Elly saw the leade
r spur his horse into what she recognized to be Rattlesnake Pass.
"Come on then, lady," said the second voice. "I don’t know about you, but I could sure eat some breakfast – first!"
* * *
Jake mounted the steps of the Silver City Classic Hotel three at a time and tapped on Elly’s door. He waited for a few seconds, which he thought was respectful, and then knocked again, louder this time. "Elly! Elly, I need to talk to you," he called through the door.
He heard somebody grumble from a neighboring room, but heard not a stir from Elly’s room. He tried the handle and found it locked.
"What is the noise all about?" came a voice from behind him, and he spun around, his hand hovering above the handle of his Remington.
Joe Holland, the lame night-porter, disheveled and bleary-eyed from half a bottle of rye whiskey staggered back a pace with his hands above his head. "Don’t shoot, mister. I’m just the night porter." Then he blinked and recognized Jake from the evening before. "That isn’t your room, Mr. Scudder. Your room is down the hall. That is the lady’s room." And as soon as he said it a lascivious look flashed across his face.
Jake spied the hotel master key dangling from his belt. "I know that, you darned fool!" he said, impatiently. "I have a bad feeling – get that door open before I break it in!"
"I can’t," Holland replied. "Every guest’s room is private, so long as they have paid. It’s hotel policy."
Jake’s hand curled over the handle of the Remington. "I just changed hotel policy. Now open that door. Pronto!"
Joe Holland’s head bobbed up and down with alacrity as he tremulously shoved the key in the lock and opened the door with as much haste as he could muster.
"S-sorry, ma’am. I was made to –" he mumbled as he stood at the door. "Why, it's empty!" he gasped. "She's gone, Mr. Scudder."