Cody glared at Clint, and then Hannah.
“I didn’t say a thing,” she said. “I swear.”
“Don’t give the lady a hard time, Cody,” Hickok said. “She was real nice.”
“Well, that’s good,” Cody said. “Come on, Bill. Let’s talk to those reporters.”
The two legends walked away, leaving Clint and Hannah alone. The other people had drifted away as well.
“Come on,” Clint said, “let’s get a drink.”
“All right.”
There was a bar set up in a corner, and the bartender was pouring champagne. Clint grabbed two glasses and gave one to Hannah.
“So, the Gunsmith, huh?”
“That’s me.”
She sipped her drink and said, “It’s been an exciting night for me, and now I’ve got an appointment with Buffalo Bill Cody tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“You think he’ll hire me?”
“If you’re any good. But do you want to be in a Wild West Show?”
“I want to be in any show,” she said. “Does he have any women in the show?”
“I don’t know,” Clint said. “He didn’t used to, but he might by now.”
“Oh well,” she said. “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow. Thanks for introducing me, Clint.”
“You’re welcome.”
She finished her drink and put down the empty glass, then looked around.
“Looks like folks are leaving,” she said. “Would you like to escort me back to my hotel?”
“Sure I would, Hannah,” Clint said, setting his glass aside. “Come on.”
“Shouldn’t we say good-bye?”
“Cody and Hickok will be busy with reporters for a while,” Clint said. “We’ll see them tomorrow.”
“That’s right,” she said. “We will.”
She slipped her arm in his and they left.
FORTY-ONE
Hannah was staying in a midsized hotel downtown, while Clint was staying in a more expensive hotel in midtown called the Biltmore.
They took a cab to Hannah’s hotel and he walked her into the lobby, which wasn’t the cleanest in Manhattan.
“You’re staying here?” he asked.
“It’s what I could afford,” she said. “Why, where are you staying?”
“The Biltmore.”
“Wow. Fancy.”
“I tell you what,” he said. “Pack your things and I’ll take you there.”
“We just met, Clint,” she said. “And you’re asking me to move in with you?”
“Not with me,” he said. “I’ll get you your own room.”
“And what do I have to do for that?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “That’ll be up to Cody.”
“You’re acting like Cody is definitely going to hire me.”
“I think he will,” Clint said. “In fact, I’ll bet on it.”
“How much?”
“A week,” Clint said. “If Cody doesn’t hire you and pay for your room, I’ll pay for it for a week.”
“Okay,” she said. “You’re on.”
“You need help packing?” he asked.
“I’ve got one bag,” she said. “I’ll be down in five minutes.”
Clint waited in the lobby until she returned with a carpetbag. He took it from her, and they went outside and caught another cab, this time to the Biltmore.
Clint checked her in, accepted her key from the clerk, and walked her to her room.
“Oh my God,” she said, “this is the biggest room I’ve ever seen.”
It was a good-sized room, furnished in expensive reds and greens. She sat on the bed and bounced, and for a moment looked like a little girl—until he got a quick peak beneath her skirt at her flashing thighs.
“Well, I’m glad you like the room,” he said. “I’ll come by and get you tomorrow when I find out where Cody wants to see you.”
“I appreciate that,” she said. “I was wondering where our meeting was going to take place.”
“Probably here over breakfast,” Clint said.
She walked with him to the door and said, “I can’t thank you enough for this. I guess I really got lucky when I sat next to you.”
“We’ll see,” Clint said. “Good night.”
“Good night, Clint.”
He stepped out into the hall, went to his own room on a different floor. He hoped Hannah was at least a good actress who could coach Hickok a bit.
He doubted that Cody and Hickok were back in their rooms, so he thought he’d leave it ’til morning to connect with Cody on what he wanted to do with Hannah.
* * *
The next morning Clint got dressed and walked to Cody’s room. He had only knocked on the door twice when Cody opened it, looking fresh and fit.
“Good mornin’,” Cody said. “Where’s Miss Wilson?”
“I got her a room here,” Clint said, “anticipating that you’d be hiring her.”
“And did you anticipate what I’d be havin’ her do?” Cody asked.
“Well, I assume coaching Hickok.”
“Hopefully she’s a good actress.”
“Even if she’s not,” Clint said, “she’s got to be better than Bill.”
“Don’t say that to him.”
“He knows he was bad.”
“But he also knows he stole the show,” Cody said. “The reporters loved him!”
“That figures.”
“Are you ready for breakfast?” Cody asked.
“I am, but I told Hannah I’d find out when you wanted to see her.”
“Now,” Cody said. “Bring her to breakfast. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“We’ll be there,” Clint said. The restaurant in the Biltmore was excellent, and he knew Cody and the other performers were taking most of their meals there.
They parted company and Clint went to see if Hannah was awake.
She answered her door even faster than Cody did. Clint had the feeling she’d been standing just on the other side, waiting.
“Finally,” she said. “I’ve been up for hours. Where does Cody want me? And when?”
“Right now,” Clint said. “At breakfast.”
“Then let’s go.” She stepped into the hall, pulling her door closed, and tried to start off down the hall.
“Some advice first.”
“Oh, good, I can probably use it.”
“When you’re talking to Cody, be honest,” Clint said. “He’ll know if you’re just telling him things you think he wants to hear.”
“I see.”
“He’s not a man you can fool.”
“It sounds like you’ve tried.”
“I never tried,” he said. “I knew better right from the beginning. And now you do.”
“Okay. Can we go now?”
“We can go,” Clint said. “Just remember what I said. Just tell him the truth.”
“I will, I will,” Hannah said. “I’m not about to lie to a man who’s going to give me a job.”
“Okay, then,” he said. “Now we can go.”
FORTY-TWO
When Clint and Hannah entered the dining room, he saw Cody sitting at a table with his good friend, Texas Jack Omohundro. Texas Jack had been friends with Cody for a long time, and was his right-hand man.
“Ah, here they are,” Cody said. “Good mornin’, Miss Wilson.”
“Good morning, Colonel Cody,” she said, sitting as Clint held her chair.
Omohundro stood and Cody said, “This is my good friend Texas Jack.”
“I know who Mr. Omohundro is,” she said. “It’s a pleasure.”
“
The pleasure is mine, ma’am,” Texas Jack said. He shook hands with Clint, whom he had not seen the night before. “Good to see ya, Clint.”
“You, too, Jack.”
Clint and Jack stood, and a waiter appeared immediately to take their orders.
“Where’s Mr. Hickok this morning?” she asked when the waiter walked away.
“Bill, uh, had a few drinks last night after the show,” Texas Jack said.
Cody leaned in and said, “That means he’s sleepin’ it off.”
“Oh? Is that acceptable behavior?” she asked.
“It is for Bill,” Cody said. “I’d fire anybody else who got drunk the day of a show.”
“Why is it different for him?” she asked.
“Because he’s Wild Bill Hickok,” Cody said.
“I see.”
“Now, little lady, let’s talk about you,” Cody said. “What have you done onstage?”
Hannah quickly ran down her experience, which seemed limited to a theater group in her hometown of Cleveland, Ohio. But at least she had been onstage somewhere, Clint thought. That made her twice as experienced as Hickok.
“I think you and I will go to the theater today and run through some lines,” Cody said. “Once I’m satisfied about your abilities, I’ll be able to place you in the show. Meanwhile, we’ll get you a room—”
“I already did that,” Clint chimed in.
“Oh, that’s right,” Cody said. “Okay, well, I’ll talk to the management and make sure they know that your room goes on my bill.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cody.”
“What about you, Clint?” Cody asked.
“What about me?”
“Want me to pay for your room?”
“What would I have to do?”
“Nothin’ much,” Cody said.
“Just appear onstage with Bill,” Jack said.
“And keep him from shootin’ any more lights out,” Cody said.
“Oh, no,” Clint said, “I’ll pay for my own room, thanks. You’re not going to put makeup on my face and words in my mouth.”
“You’re the only one who can control him,” Cody reasoned.
“He’s your friend, too,” Clint said. “You control him. I’m not going onstage.”
“Are you scared?” Hannah asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Clint said, “scared that I’ll make a total fool of myself.”
“You don’t have to be on stage to do that,” Cody pointed out.
“Maybe not,” Clint said, “but being onstage would just make sure a lot of people saw it. No, sir, not me.”
“Well, I wouldn’t just pay for your room,” Cody said. “I’d pay you a good salary.”
“I repeat, Cody,” Clint said. “No!”
“Okay, okay,” Cody said, “don’t get yourself all riled up.”
The waiter came with their plates and laid them out. They all fell quiet until he was finished serving.
Once he was gone, Cody said, “Jack, after breakfast you’ll have to wake Hickok up.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re my right-hand man.”
“Yeah, well, Hickok might just shoot that hand off if I wake him before he’s ready.”
“He doesn’t have to leave his room,” Cody said. “Just make sure he knows I need him sober for tonight’s show.”
Texas Jack continued to grumble all through breakfast about getting his hand—or his head—shot off, but Clint knew he’d perform the task.
After breakfast, Cody said, “Clint, you want to come to the theater with me and Hannah?” She had told Cody during breakfast to call her by her given name, and not “Miss Wilson.”
“No, that’s okay,” Clint said. “I’ll stop by tonight and watch the show.”
They split up in the lobby, and as Cody walked Hannah to the front door, Clint heard him say, “Have you ever thought about changing your name?”
FORTY-THREE
When Clint got to the theater that night, there was a ticket waiting for him at the box office. He found his way to his seat, and this time instead of sitting next to a lovely woman like Hannah, he was seated between a fat man and a fat woman.
He watched the show and was surprised to see Hannah onstage already, in the role of a damsel in distress.
When Hickok came on to do his part and tell his stories—drinking either cold tea or whiskey, Clint didn’t know which—he didn’t seem to be having as much trouble with the lights, or with his lines. Clint didn’t know if Cody had had Hannah work with him yet. If she had, she had worked wonders. Or perhaps Hickok was just getting comfortable with being onstage.
After the show, Clint once again went backstage, and once again there was a crush of well-wishers and newspapermen.
He found Cody and stood alongside him, holding a glass of champagne.
“What happened with Bill?” Clint asked.
“It was your girl,” Cody said. “I ran some lines with her this afternoon, and she was very good. Very natural. I had her talk with Hickok, to give him some advice, and he was very receptive.”
“Well, he was better,” Clint said. “Not natural, but better.”
“And he didn’t shoot a light out.”
“Maybe the audience was disappointed by that,” Clint said. “I mean, it got out that he did that last night, right?”
“Oh yes, it was in the newspapers.”
Clint was going to talk about it more, but suddenly Cody was in demand.
“I’m buying dinner at the Biltmore tonight,” Cody said, “and I convinced Hickok to come. Be there.”
“I will.”
“See you at eight.”
Clint couldn’t locate Hannah in the crowd, but figured he’d see her at dinner at eight as well. He set aside his glass and found his way through the mass of humanity to an exit, and took his leave.
Outside it was cooler—it was, after all, winter—and there were a lot fewer people. He stood by the stage entrance for a while, until people began to file out, then moved out to the street.
He was considering waiting for Cody, Hickok, Texas Jack, and Hannah to come out the stage exit, but decided to simply meet them at the restaurant in the Biltmore. The crowd had spilled out onto the street, so it was going to be difficult to find a cab right in front of the theater. He decided to walk to the corner and get one on Sixth Avenue. But as he started to walk away, he heard it.
A shot.
Suddenly, people were yelling, women were screaming, and they were running.
Clint turned and hurried back to the theater. With people scurrying about in a panic, it was difficult to get through, but he finally made it to the front, where he found Cody sitting on the ground, holding his arm. Around him were Hickok and Texas Jack, both with guns in their hands, and Hannah.
“What happened?” Clint asked.
“A shot,” Hickok said. “Just one, but it hit Bill.”
“Winged me,” Cody said. “Didn’t even go in. I’m fine. Jack, give me a hand up.”
Texas Jack reached down and hauled Cody to his feet.
“Do we want the police?” Jack asked Cody.
“No,” Cody said, “get us a cab so we can get to the Biltmore.”
“Okay.”
“Keep Hannah with you, for safety.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack went off in search of a cab, with a protective arm around Hannah.
“Who’d you get mad at you, Cody?” Clint asked.
“He didn’t get nobody mad at him, Clint,” Hickok said. “That shot was meant for me.”
FORTY-FOUR
They went to dinner without Cody even seeing a doctor.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t have a doctor look at tha
t?” Hannah asked at the restaurant.
“I’ve had worse than this many times, Hannah,” Cody said. “I’m fine. It’s stopped bleeding.”
“Bill,” Clint said to Hickok, “you want to tell us why you think that shot was meant for you, not Cody?”
“I was standing in that spot just a second before the shot,” Hickok said. “In fact, Cody bumped into me, pushing me out of the way of the shot.”
They all looked at Cody.
“Well, I sure didn’t push him out of the way on purpose,” Cody said. “I like Bill, but not enough to take a bullet for him.”
Clint knew that was a lie. Cody would take a bullet for Hickok, Texas Jack, or Clint in a second, but he let it go.
“It was an accident,” Cody ended.
“It was,” Hannah offered. “I saw Colonel Cody trip on someone’s foot.”
“If he hadn’t tripped,” Hickok said, “I’d be carrying that bullet, or I’d be dead.”
“Okay,” Clint said, “so who in New York wants you dead?”
“I don’t know,” Hickok said. “If we were out West, I’d have a better idea, but I didn’t tell anyone I was coming to New York to join Cody’s show.”
“Maybe it was somebody who saw the show last night,” Texas Jack offered.
“Cody, who owned the light that Hickok shot out? The theater?”
“No,” Cody said, “it was owned by a private contractor. But I already made arrangements to pay for the damage. I don’t think it has anything to do with that.”
“Maybe not . . .” Clint said.
“Let’s order,” Hickok said. “Gettin’ shot at makes me hungry.”
“Gettin’ shot makes me hungry,” Cody said.
“Well, I find this all very frightening,” Hannah said, “but I have to admit, I’m hungry, too.”
Cody waved for a waiter, accidentally using his injured arm, which made him wince.
“Cody,” Texas Jack said, “after we eat, I’m gonna bring a doctor to your room.”
“Don’t nursemaid me, Jack.”
“I ain’t nursemaidin’ you,” Jack said, “I’m just protecting my interest in your show.”
“Right.”
The waiter came with their dinners.
“Do you eat all your meals here?” Hannah asked. Clint thought she might have been trying to lighten the mood.
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