“Good. You can see if somebody’s coming in, though. If they do, we’ll have to knock ’em over the head and lock ’em in that cell.”
Logan kept a careful watch, and finally he turned to see Novak sitting at the desk going through the contents of the drawer. He felt Logan’s gaze and tossed the papers back, saying, “Guess it’s time to go. If you see anybody, don’t run. It’s dark enough that we shouldn’t be recognized. We’re just a couple of guys going down to the saloon for a drink. We go to the station and head off down the siding. When the train stops, we get on top or find an empty car. Come on.”
The two left the jail, and had not gone ten steps before they encountered two men coming right at them. They both pulled their hats down, and as the two men passed, one of them said, “Howdy.”
“Hey,” Novak grunted. “Cold, ain’t it?”
The men did not react, and when they were twenty feet away, Logan suddenly turned and grinned at his friend. “You’re a cool one, Sam. I was about ready to slam into those two.”
“No need for that. Come on.”
They made their way to the station, moved down the siding, and huddled behind two freight cars off on the siding. The train pulled in right on time, and without any difficulty they found an empty boxcar. When the train pulled out, Logan let out a deep breath. He reached over and slapped the younger man on the shoulder, saying, “Well, we’re even for the help I gave you, Sam. But I’d still like for us to go double harness for a while.”
Sam hesitated, then said, “Suits me, but first look at this.” He reached into his pocket, took out a folded paper, and handed it to his young friend. Logan opened it and said, “I can’t see anything.” Sam reached into his pocket, obtained a match, and struck it on the side of the boxcar. By the wavering, flickering light the words jumped out, Wanted for murder, Cody Rogers. $5,000 reward. Contact Sheriff Rider, War Paint, Wyoming.
There was a moment of tension, and Sam Novak wondered if he had done the right thing. Then he said, “You want to tell me about it, Cody?”
Cody felt a warmth rush through him. He knew that five thousand dollars looked as big as the moon to this young man, on the bum as he was, and he said evenly, “You didn’t turn me in. You got a hidden bank account somewhere?”
Novak shrugged his shoulders. “Sit down, let’s talk about it. How’d you get into this?”
For the next fifteen minutes Cody told his story to Novak, and finally he said, “I’m heading out to Indian Territory.”
“Worst thing you could do,” Sam said. “You’ll get caught sure.”
“How do you figure that? Nobody but federal marshals can go in there.”
“And every man they see there,” Novak nodded, “is an outlaw. They know that, Jim—their job is hunting outlaws. They’d pick you up on suspicion and take you in, then they’d see one of these flyers. You’d be caught sure.”
Cody sighed. He was tired, his eyes were gritty, and in a voice edged with weariness, he sighed, “I don’t know what to do, Sam.”
“I know what to do. Hit the big city.”
“What! No, I want to stay away from people.”
“Bad idea. Out here where there aren’t many people you’re real visible. But in some city where there’s a bunch of people, who’s going to notice one more young fellow like you? Let me tell you how we’re going to do it. They don’t care much about men wanted in Wyoming back east. We’ll go there and get some kind of a job that keeps us on the move. Construction maybe.”
He went on talking, and after a while, Cody finally said, “Well, it’ll beat what I’m doing now. It might work.”
“Okay, we’ll do it then,” Novak nodded.
Cody stared at him strangely and said, “Somehow, maybe I’ll make this up to you, Sam, but I don’t know how. I guess I’ll be on the run the rest of my life.”
The train rattled over a bridge, and then the clattering ceased. The wind whistled by, and the two sat there huddled under the blanket, making plans for the future.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Buffalo Bill Takes a Fall
By the end of her first tour with Bill Cody’s Wild West Show, Laurie had learned that show business was not nearly as glamorous as she had anticipated. Show life was the unloading at an empty place. It was the packing up and moving on when you were so tired you could hardly walk. It meant listening all night to the clicking of rails, the wail of the train whistle, the big, dark, unknown country passing by. It was the band playing, horses prancing, people lining the streets of a strange city. Then there was the hot, midday confusion of the grounds, the sweaty canvas men lying in the shade of their wagons, with the steers bawling from the corral, and the cook clanging his skillet with an iron spoon.
Show life, she had learned, was rain drumming on the tent roof while you stood on a bale of straw to change a costume. It was the teamsters lashing the draft horses while the wagon sank hub deep in straw-strewn mud. It was cowboys sitting on a wagon in the sunset, picking their teeth with stems of hay, talking about the outfits back in Texas or Montana. And it was homesickness. The aching mind and heart and muscle kindled the desire for a quiet fireside and the circle of lamplight on a checkered tablecloth. It was a homesickness that hurt worse than any physical ailment Laurie had ever had.
She discovered that writing was a panacea for her loneliness, and during the cobwebby hours of the morning, she poured her thoughts into page after page of her journal. She began work on a novel, but the pressures of show business did not allow her the long periods of time necessary for such a task.
One afternoon as the parade began to line up, she swung into the saddle, feeling the high spirits of Star as he pranced sideways, and thought, I hate so much of this, and yet I would miss it if I were to leave.
At that moment she glanced down at the spur on her right boot. The ruby sparkled as the sun broke from behind a cloud, and she thought of the day her father had given it to her. A lump rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard at the memory. She never wore it without thinking of him. She wore the jeweled spur only for parades, never when she was performing her stunts. Now the sight of it brought back the memory of her father’s face that day when the two of them had stood at the station and said their goodbyes before she left for college. Those days of wanting to be a writer seemed like a distant memory now. Suddenly, the sound of the band striking up stirred her from her reverie, and she hurried to get in place for the parade.
As the parade filed out toward the town, Buffalo Bill rode at the head of the line, doffing his hat to the loud cheers. Finally, in rolled the bandwagon with its six white horses stepping lightly to the strains of “Oh Susanna, Don’t You Cry For Me.” Not far behind, with a clatter on the stones, came Chief White Eagle and fifteen tawny warriors, and later in the parade Running Bear led his Sioux on their painted ponies. The Mexican vaqueros rode with jangling spurs and buckskin strings bouncing above the bright serapes tied behind their saddles. Their faces were dark under the wide sombreros, and their buckskin jackets were laced with white leather. The street was full of cowboys, long-horned steers, and Indians. The parade ended with a Deadwood Mail Stage, dented with bullets from the desperadoes of the Black Hills, drawn by six black horses.
The parade wound through town and then made its way back to the lot where they were staying. Immediately Laurie dismounted and saw to it that Star was bedded in clean rye straw. She glanced over to where the buffalo were browsing on mounds of dry timothy. Steers grazed over their hay-strewn corral, with a cowboy playing a mouth organ from the top rail. Beyond the cook tent and the bunk tent, opposite the clusters of the tepees of the Indians, rose two A-tents. One of these was for Buffalo Bill Cody and his partner, Nate Salsbury. The other tent was for Laurie and a young woman named Leona Aimes. Leona was a pretty blond woman with a sultry kind of beauty that men admired. She was a trick shot artist and had been with the Wild West Show for only two months. Laurie got along with Leona very well, although there was a wildness in her roommate that
troubled her. Leona made trouble among the cowboys of the show, causing them constantly to be caught up in some kind of fist fight. If it were not for the drawing power of her act, Colonel Cody would have let her go long ago.
Or maybe he wouldn’t, Laurie thought as she moved toward the flap of the tent. I wouldn’t be surprised but what he’s tried to start something with her. He sure tries hard with everything in skirts that I can see.
Disgust washed over her as she thought of how disappointed and disillusioned she had been to find out that Buffalo Bill was a lecher and a womanizer. He had a wife and children who never traveled with him, and the members of the troop had learned to ignore his escapades with young women.
She walked back to her tent, which she had made as neat and homelike as possible. A pair of curtains framed the opening, and inside were two folding cots, canvas chairs, a steamer table, two wardrobe trunks, a gun trunk for Leona, a collapsible tub, and clean towels on a folding rack. The earth floor was covered by a bright green Axminster rug. Quickly, Laurie changed out of her show outfit, put on a rather plain, tan divided skirt with blouse to match, and grabbing a hat and pulling it over her curls, left to go to town.
She had gotten only as far as the outside perimeter of the showgrounds when she was greeted by Con Groner. “Hey, you going to town, Laurie?”
“I guess so, Con. Wanna come along?”
“Sure, let’s let these folks see what a good-looking couple looks like.”
He fell into step with her, and Laurie gave him a quick glance. She was impressed by Groner, who had been a sheriff in the West. He had broken up Doc Middleton’s gang, captured six members, and foiled their plot with followers of Jesse James to hold up a Union Pacific train at Garnet Station six miles east of North Platte. He had been a lawman for several years and was also an excellent horseman. The show’s publicity, written by Salsbury, credited him with catching “ . . . over fifty murderers and more than that number of horse thieves, cattle cutters, burglars, and outlaws.”
He was, Laurie discovered, a very lonely man, who at the age of twenty-eight, had never married. Groner was no more than average height, and he had blond hair and light blue eyes. He had been a scout, as had Buffalo Bill Cody, for the army. He was also highly intelligent, Laurie discovered, and commented on it as they walked along.
“Groner, you sure had a way of outfoxing outlaws.”
“Well, Miss Laurie,” he said, “you gotta be a little smarter than a crook to catch ’em.” He grinned at her. “My daddy always told me you had to be a little bit smarter than a mule to train a mule. I guess that’s what I was—just a little bit smarter than the crooks.”
As they moved along the street, they spoke of the show that was to come and of the dates that had been booked in the future. They spent the better part of an hour browsing in the stores and walking along the streets. Finally they stopped to have the noon meal at a cafe.
As they seated themselves, Groner said, “We get good grub with the show, but I like to shove my feet under a real table every now and then.” When the waiter came, they ordered steak and potatoes. As they waited, and all during the meal, the ex-lawman carried on an easy conversation.
“Ought to have a better show than ever next year,” Groner said as he put three large spoonfuls of sugar into his black coffee. “From what I hear, Colonel Cody’s just about gonna double it.”
“I don’t know about that,” Laurie said. She hesitated, not sure if she should voice her doubts, but then said, “I don’t know—I’m pretty tired, and to tell the truth, I’m just not cut out for show business.”
He stared at her with his light blue eyes and shook his head abruptly. “Not cut out for it? Why you’ve got the best act in the whole show, girl,” he said. “Certainly you’re cut out for it.”
“Oh, it’s been fun, and I still enjoy a lot of it, but it’s confining, too. Nobody knows what hard work it is to keep a show moving, unless they’ve actually been in one.” She saw that her words had disturbed him, and knew instinctively that he was more interested in her than she had supposed. Quickly, she said, “Don’t say anything about this, Con. I may change my mind.”
“Never you mind, Miss Laurie, I won’t say a thing,” Con assured her.
Having finished their meal, the two of them rose and sauntered slowly back through the town. They got to the tent only half an hour before the afternoon show.
“I better go get ready,” she said.
“All right, Laurie,” Con nodded. “I’ll saddle Star for you.”
“Thank you, Con. That would be nice.”
Laurie went at once to her tent to change into her show outfit and found Leona already there, studying her face in the mirror. She looked around and said, “Where have you been, Laurie? In town looking over the crop of men?”
“Oh, Con and I went in for a little while,” Laurie shrugged. She began to change, and all the time Leona carried on a conversation, paying little heed to her answers.
When Laurie had her costume on, she stopped and looked at herself in the small mirror. It was only eight inches by ten inches, and she could not see much beyond her hat and the top of her blouse. But Leona looked at her and admired the trim figure in the red divided skirt, the fringed, tan jacket, and the small, narrow-brimmed hat with the low crown that she fastened to her head by a leather string. Sitting down she put on an unusual pair of spurs. They were carefully crafted from silver and a blue stone winked from the twin stones as she slipped them on. They had been a gift from Colonel Cody and she was pleased with them. He’d said, “A star needs a little glitter, Laurie, and these ought to do it.”
“These cowboys sure would go for you,” she spoke up, “if you’d just give them a chance.”
“I haven’t got time for that,” Laurie smiled.
“What have you got to do that’s more important than men?” Leona grinned rashly and laughed at herself. “Well, you know that about me already, don’t you, Laurie?” She straightened up suddenly and said, “There’s your cue.”
Quickly Laurie ran to the horse lot and mounted Star. Con handed her Star’s reins, then turned and opened the flap that led to the arena. Laurie heard the voice of the ringside announcer calling out, “ . . . and now, Buffalo Bill Cody and the greatest Wild West stars ever collected!”
There was thunderous applause as Cody went out, took his bow, and made a small speech to the audience. Finally, she heard him say, “Ladies and gentlemen, we present to you the foremost woman trick rider in the world in an exhibition of skill—Miss Laurie Winslow and her wonder horse, Star.”
Even as he was saying the last words, Laurie had kicked Star into action. The lively animal hit the track at a dead run and a splattering of applause went up from the crowd. Laurie threw her hand up to acknowledge it, and at once began her routine.
She had worked on this routine constantly since coming with the show, and was now more out of the saddle than on it. Sometimes she would slip off, let her feet hit the ground, and then the momentum would kick her up in the air. She would twist at the top of the arc and come down on the other side. She had learned to do this so easily that she could do it as many as fifteen or twenty times, and with each repetition the applause grew louder. She brought a gasp and a roar from the crowd when she did the fall away, where she fell over backward, her head only inches from the steel-clad hooves. They had never failed to be a hit, and she pulled Star up and had him rear up on his hind legs as she pulled her hat off and waved to the crowd.
As Cody and Salsbury watched, the frontiersman said, “You know, Nate, that was a lucky day for us when we ran onto that young lady. She’s pretty and smart, and can she ever ride that hoss of hers!”
“We ought to give her more money, Bill,” Salsbury said. This was unusual for him, for he usually kept a tight hand on the purse strings. Catching Cody’s look of surprise, he shrugged, saying, “If she quit, it would leave a big gap.”
“She won’t leave,” Bill Cody grinned. “She’s got show busine
ss in her blood after this tour.”
Salsbury suddenly said, “What’s that?” He watched as Johnny Baker, the Cowboy Kid, attached a series of balloons at intervals of twenty feet along one side of the track.
Bill grinned at him. “Little trick. Thought it’d add some spice to the act. Watch this, Nate.”
Laurie wheeled Star around, galloped him to the end of the track, and wheeled around again. She was not at all certain about how this would turn out, although it had worked well enough in practice. Cody had come to her and asked her to try it, and the two of them had worked hard on the trick. She heard the announcer saying, “And now, an exhibition of exceptional marksmanship and horseback riding. Miss Laurie Winslow!”
As he called out her name, Laurie kicked Star into a violent run. When Star approached the first balloon, she grabbed a special strap that she had added to the saddle far down on the right side. She threw herself down, drawing the pistol from her holster at the same time, so that she was suspended beneath the barrel of the racing horse. The first balloon appeared; she aimed at it, pulled the trigger, and was relieved to see it burst. She passed five more balloons, and a shot exploded each one of them.
When she pulled herself back into her saddle, the crowd was standing up on its feet, applauding wildly. She took her bows and had Star bow down on one front leg, doubling the other up. Then, with a flourish, Laurie turned and galloped out.
As soon as she was out of the tent, she was greeted by Con Groner, who said with admiration, “Well, I never saw that little trick before.”
“Oh, it’s something Mr. Cody wanted us to do.”
Con gave her a strange glance. “I think you’d better walk carefully around Mr. Cody.”
Laurie looked at him and nodded. “I know, Con. That’s one reason I’m unhappy here.”
“That old goat. I ought to bust his head,” Groner said grimly, and at that moment looked just about mad enough to do it.
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