by Bill Brooks
She began to shake. He took hold of her, held her frail body until she calmed.
“My God…my God.”
“It gets worse,” he said. “The man he shot is a relative of Sheriff Carr.”
She tried to stifle a sob but was unsuccessful. He held her tighter still, then led her to a settee and eased her onto it.
“If he comes back tonight, put him in my room and tell him to keep his mouth shut until I can get back here.”
She looked at Teddy, her cheeks stained wet. “Why are you doing this?”
“I don’t know.”
But he did know. It was because of her.
Chapter 12
Charley rejoined Bill, said, “That young lady knows how to turn a man’s thoughts from violence.”
Bill seemed not to be listening. Charley thought maybe he was drunk, for when Bill got drunk he grew quiet, detached.
“You oughter give her a go, Billy. I mean I know you love Agnes and all, but how long can a man last on this raw frontier without some female flesh?”
Bill stood suddenly, adjusted his pancake hat and strung the curls out of his coat collar so they fell over his shoulders, then adjusted his twin Navy Colts inside the red sash around his waist and walked out.
Charley thought it best to dog him to make sure his back was being watched. And just where the hell was that feller Blue at anyways? Wasn’t he supposed to be guarding Bill?
Charley stayed several paces behind Bill, walking casual just in case Bill got wind of somebody following him and turned and shot, as had been his reputation—to fire first and ask who it was later, sorry to say for dear old Mike Williams. Bill may not be able to see worth a shit, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get lucky. Even a blind dog finds a bone now and again.
Charley followed him up the street, which was less rowdy now because of the late hour, with most of the miners and dregs of Cheyenne society either dead drunk or bedded down with crib girls in their tents or wagons. That was exactly where Charley felt he ought to be at this late hour.
Charley followed Bill about two blocks when he saw Jeff Carr with several deputies come down the walk in Bill’s direction and stop before him. Charley walked up close enough to overhear their conversation.
“Bill Hickok,” Jeff Carr said. “If I see you on these streets tomorrow, I’m running you out of town.”
Bill stood steady as a porch post. “State your reason,” he said.
Charley could see Jeff Carr’s was a tense crowd, the deputies flanking him all well-armed and ornery-looking cusses.
“Vagrancy,” Carr stated.
“You must have been bit by a rabid dog and it’s made you mad in the brains,” Bill said.
“We’ll see who’s mad in the head if you’re still cavorting come the sunrise.”
“If I leave Cheyenne, you’ll be going with me,” Bill said, and brushed aside the knot of lawmen. Charley was sure there’d be gunplay—that Jeff would do something rash and fatal, like pull his gun on Bill. Charley knew Bill well enough to know that he was thinking the same thing and was probably prepared to turn and kill them all. But Bill was the sort that would never show his concern until it was critical. He would only show them his back and let them do with their lives what they would.
Jeff Carr must have known it too, or at least sensed it, and instead of making a bad move, he grumbled to his boys, “Let’s go find that goddamn kid.”
Charley stepped lightly the rest of the way as he trailed after Bill, sticking mostly to the shadows. He followed Bill to the chink’s—a nondescript house on the edge of town where the Oriental folks gathered. Charley knew it was a dope den. In the windows hung red lanterns that just plain looked spooky.
Shit, Charley thought. I’ll have to sit out here in this bone-rattling cold until he comes out and heads back to camp.
The chink attended to Bill with great care, for even the Chinese population of Cheyenne was aware of Bill’s notoriety. They admired him as well because of his long hair, which he sometimes allowed one of the girls to braid into a queue, something the chink personally admired, who wore one too, as a show of submission to the Manchus who ruled his native China. Only Bill didn’t know anything about Manchus and did not much care what the girls did with his hair once he was in the grips of what the chink called the “Sweet Desire.”
Lying on the pallet, Bill felt as though he were floating through space, that whatever had kept him tethered to the earth had been cut, and it was a very pleasant feeling. It was more pleasant than drunkenness. It was more pleasant than being with a woman—even Squirrel Tooth Alice, who was about the most pleasurable woman he’d ever known. It was more pleasant than riding a horse across the prairies at a gallop with the wind streaming through his hair. It was more pleasant, he concluded, than heaven itself.
The only bad part was afterward. For after he left the chink’s, he felt at loose ends, not wholly together for several hours. It was like walking through mud, and his head hurt, though his eyes felt better. He would always make his way back to his and Charley’s camp, climb into the tent and rest and try to get reconnected to the earth. It was a paltry feeling that made him feel human and vulnerable. But while in the arms of the Sweet Desire, he felt invincible.
Charley shivered, huddled in his coat and watched the stars and wished he had a cocktail to at least warm his insides. An hour, maybe two or three, passed before he saw Bill emerge from the dope den. He stood for several minutes as though uncertain which way to go, then Charley saw him head toward their camp and felt a great deal of relief. The streets were all but empty now. Which was good for the both of them.
They were perhaps a city block from camp—Charley could see the white tents and canvas of the wagons—when there was suddenly two gunshots close together. Pop! Bang! Bill staggered and Charley thought him shot for sure. The shots had come from behind.
Charley had trouble pulling all that gun Ned Buntline had given him from its holster and swore a silent vow that he’d go and buy himself a regular Peacemaker Colt first thing in the morning, if he lived that long, and toss the Ned Buntline Special in a water barrel.
Then for several seconds nothing happened and it was as silent as though the sound of guns being shot never happened. Charley wondered if it had or if he was so tired and sleepy he’d dreamt it.
He looked again at Bill, who was now moving off toward the camp, seemingly unharmed and unshot.
Then a shadow from the rear came forward, and Charley aimed the long barrel toward it and said, “You best stop right there if you don’t want your lights shot out!”
“It’s me,” the voice said. Teddy Blue stepped into the light fallen from a saloon window.
“What the hell!”
“Hank Rain,” Teddy said. “He was following you.”
“You shot him?”
“I might have, I’m not sure.”
Charley was at a loss as to what to do exactly, go and look and see if he could find Hank Rain’s body or follow Bill to camp.
“Back there,” Teddy said with a nod of his head.
Charley saw him examining the sleeve of his coat. “He get you?”
“No, came close, though. You best go on with your pard back to camp. I’ll look around and see if I can find a blood trail or if he’s lain down somewhere up in that alley.”
Charley look around. Bill was nearing the camp, his hat full of moonlight.
“You sure?”
“Go ahead.”
Charley went without asking Teddy what he’d been doing out that time of night.
If he had asked, Teddy would have told him that it had just been good luck on his part because he wasn’t dogging Hickok but instead looking for William Bonney. He’d even thought at first that the figure he’d seen lingering in the shadows was the kid, until the man stepped forward enough into the light that Teddy could see the blanket coat and realized there was only one reason he was lurking.
He’d called to him softly. But men like Hank Rain d
idn’t hold conversations in dark places when they had their mind on other work, and so he’d fired once and gotten fire returned. Teddy hoped he’d hit something inside that blanket coat besides cotton.
He’d seen Charley turn, pulling that big silly-looking revolver, and thought he had better identify himself before Charley did something like get lucky.
Teddy drifted back to the place where he’d spotted Hank Rain, and looked for signs of blood or a body but saw nothing. Farther in the alley it was too dark to see anything. Shit, he thought, I’m not very damn good at this business. The only sense of safety he felt was that Hank Rain probably didn’t know who it was shot at him, and that gave Teddy some advantage in case they ran into each other again. The downside was, there was nothing he could take to Sheriff Carr in the way of charges—it would just be one man’s word against another. If Hank Rain was still of earthly bonds, Teddy knew he would have to deal with him again, of that much he was certain. A hungry wolf never stays hungry longer than he can help it.
He went back to the boardinghouse, found the light still on in the parlor, and found Kathleen Bonney still up, her pretty Irish face drawn with worry.
“I couldn’t find him,” Teddy said. “Did he come back here?”
“No. But Jeff Carr and some deputies came looking for him.”
“For the charge of murder?”
“He didn’t say. He just said William had shot a man.”
“That’s good news, then.”
“Why do you say so?”
“Because the only ones who know he did is William and the man he shot, and it sure wasn’t William who told Carr he shot his cousin, so it had to be the cousin.”
Her eyes widened with hope. “Then perhaps…”
“Doesn’t mean, however, that the cousin hasn’t since died.”
He saw her hopeful face crumple.
“Not to worry yet,” he said. “Best get some rest. I’ll find out what I can come morning.”
She rose, and suddenly he wanted to go to her and hold her again, but it wasn’t the time or place, so he went to his room and took off his coat and boots and the shoulder holster. He removed the Lightning and ejected the spent shell, replacing it with a fresh load. He then reset the hammer down on an empty chamber like old John Sears had taught him, reclined on the bed and closed his eyes.
He lay there a long time thinking about the kid, and about her.
Chapter 13
Teddy awoke to the knocking at the door.
“Come in,” he said.
The door opened and she was there looking pale and more tired than before.
“Did he come back?”
“No,” she said.
“You want to come in?”
She glanced nervously about. “It might not look right if I did.”
“I’ll get dressed and meet you in the kitchen.”
She had them each a cup of coffee waiting when he got there.
“I’m sorry you’re involved in this,” she said.
“Don’t be.”
“I went to see Sheriff Carr. He said the man William shot was his cousin Henry and that he would survive but that he would never talk again—that the bullet ruined his voice box.”
“There’s something you need to know, Kathleen. William told me the trouble was over a woman who works down at the Gold Room…”
“A prostitute?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes fell to the contents of her cup. “I guess I didn’t realize that William’s a young man now, not a boy any longer.”
“She was this other man’s girlfriend apparently. I don’t know what happened exactly, but the way William made it sound, it was self-defense.”
She shook her head sadly. “What chance does he stand against the law in this town, considering the circumstances?”
“Probably slim to none.”
Teddy could see that it was snowing again, could see it silently collide with the window’s glass panes.
“I should have gone to New Mexico,” she said.
He thought of old John Sears, who was probably down in that country now, or dead. “What’s in New Mexico?”
“Nothing really. But my doctor advised me to go. You see, I’m a consumptive.”
He’d heard her coughing at night, but figured it was nothing more than a cold.
“I was saving money to go,” she said.
“What about your business here?”
“I just rent the house. I can do the same in New Mexico.”
“Maybe you should start to make some plans for getting down to that country…take William with you.”
“I’d like that very much, Mr. Blue. If only I could find him and leave with him before Jeff Carr and his men find him.”
“Let me do some checking around. Why don’t you start making plans to clear out of here in a day or two.”
Their eyes met again and something unspoken passed between them—somehow they both knew that had the circumstances been different, there would have been untold possibilities.
“Do you have enough for such a trip?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He nodded ruefully and set his cup aside, then shucked himself into his coat and hat and went out into the falling snow.
He had not gone far when he ran into Charley Utter.
“It looks like one of them glass balls you can buy in San Francisco,” he said, looking up at the snow.
“What, the weather?”
“She’s pretty when she snows, but mighty damn problematic for a man who wants to get into the wind. I’m thinking me and Bill need to clear out of here and head to Deadwood soon. Last night was a bad omen in my book.”
“If there is someone intent on killing your pard,” Teddy said, “what makes you think they wouldn’t follow you to Deadwood?”
“I figure once we get to Deadwood, everyone will be too distracted by the gold and riches to want to waste their time on assassination. I figure once there, Bill won’t bother nobody and nobody will bother him.”
“Where is he now?”
“Asleep in the tent. Once he’s gone to see the chink, he’ll sleep for up to ten hours straight.”
“I’m looking for somebody,” Teddy said. “I could use an extra pair of eyes.”
“Sure.”
Teddy told him the situation with the kid and Sheriff Carr.
“Well, I never cared much for that sucker,” Charley said. “He always acted a little pompous for my tastes, and Bill sure as hell don’t care for him. He told Bill last night if he saw him on the streets today he’d arrest him for vagrancy.”
“I need to find this kid and get him the hell out of Cheyenne.”
“Hells bells, I’ll keep my eye peeled for him.”
“By the way, it was a fight over that gal you went upstairs with in the Gold Room the other evening.”
Charley’s eyes filled with bliss at the thought of the girl.
“Lilly’s the best dove in Cheyenne,” he said. “I reckon if you’re going to shoot a man in the windpipe over a gal, she’d be the one you’d do it for.”
“I’m on my way over there now to talk to her.”
“She has a way of distracting a man from his problems,” Charley said.
“You see that kid, come let me know, okay?”
Charley nodded, still feeling fresh from his morning bath and hungry as a yellow dog.
Teddy found the Gold Room quiet that time of morning. One of the bartenders was asleep on one of the billiard tables and another in a chair. He shook snow off his hat and went over to a man swamping out the place—a fellow with long skinny arms and a long skinny neck who looked a little like a wild turkey when he stood in the light, blinking his eyes.
“I’m looking for Lilly, one of the girls that works here,” Teddy said.
“They don’t do no work before noon generally,” the man said. “They’re all asleep like everybody else…”
Teddy took a silver dollar and placed it in the man�
��s vest pocket.
“Which is her crib?”
The man looked up toward the railing that encircled the second floor.
“Third curtain on the left off the stairs.”
Teddy took the stairs two at a time, and when he got to it, pulled the curtain back slow. She was asleep on the narrow bed, a bare shoulder peeking from beneath the several blankets, her hair a black nest. The crib smelled of sweat and cheap toilet water and despair.
He eased inside, knelt by the bed and gently shook her awake.
She didn’t act startled when she opened her eyes. Her breath was sour.
“Well, go ahead and shuck off your drawers,” she said sleepily, rubbing her eyes. “I just have to go make water first.”
“I’m not here for that,” he said.
She blinked, stifled a yawn.
“I’m here to find out if you know where William is.”
Suddenly she was more awake. “It wasn’t his fault,” she said.
“I don’t care anything about that, I just need to find him before Jeff Carr or one of his deputies does.”
“You going to hurt him?”
“No, I’m a friend of his mother’s.”
She looked doubtful.
“Tell me,” he said.
“I’ll show you…”
He watched as she threw off the blankets, un–ashamed of her nakedness, and dressed quickly into pants and a heavy shirt, coat and cap. She was about the size of the kid, and like he had mentioned, just a year older. Teddy did not divert his gaze but felt he should have.
She led him down the stairs, out the back door and down an alley flowing with slops and human waste in places with snow falling and collecting, making it seem more pristine than it really was. They came out the far end of the alley and crossed the street to a large tent at the edge of an encampment of tents. A stovepipe poking through the canvas roof spewed black smoke and soot. Lilly walked to the flap and called in. The flap was thrown back by a large woman wearing an eye patch.
The woman cast her good eye on him.