by J. Roberts
“I am.”
“Well, get started.”
“But . . . Hunter’s not back with the fish.”
“So start making the vegetables,” she said. “Do I have to tell you everything?”
“Sorry,” Randy said. “I’ll get on it.”
He went into the house. She only ever allowed a man in the house for two reasons—to cook, or to have sex with. In either case, they had to get out afterward.
With Randy in the house cutting vegetables, Pearl remained outside. Del and Tate were still arguing, so she walked over to one of the tents and entered. Neither man noticed her. They both had their hands around a bottle of whiskey, and were pulling back and forth.
She marched up to them and yelled, “Hey!”
They both stopped talking and pulling and looked at her. She took the bottle of whiskey from them and said, “Get to town and pick up some supplies.”
“Like what?” Del asked.
“What about the bottle?” Tate asked.
“The bottle is mine,” she said.
“What are ya gonna do with it?” Del asked, licking his lips.
“Take it down by the river and smash it,” she said. “As the last bottle in camp, it’s a menace.”
“Hey!” Del shouted.
“No!” Tate said, aghast.
“Then you guys will have nothing to fight over.”
She turned to leave.
“Wait!” Tate yelled.
She turned. Tate and Del were both staring at her. The men were a study in contrast. Aside from being the same age, twenty-eight, Tate was tall and thick, Del was short and slender.
“Give it to Del,” Tate said.
“What?” Pearl asked.
“Give the bottle to Del,” he said again. “I’ll wait until we go to town and get some more.”
Pearl looked at Del, who was staring at the bottle. Suddenly, the smaller man seemed to deflate.
“No, it’s okay,” he said. “Give it to Tate.”
She stared at both of them, then said, “I’ll keep it for later. You two get mounted up and ride into Whitfield. We need supplies. That’s the most important thing.”
“Play,” Del said.
“Sure,” Tate said.
She left the tent, wondering if the two men had just made some kind of progress. Maybe they’d argue less, after this. They did their jobs well, but when there was no job at hand, they were usually at each other’s throats. She’d been wondering if she should replace one or both of them.
Ralph Tate and Del Weeks mounted up and rode out of camp.
“She didn’t have no call to smash that bottle,” Del complained.
“I know it,” Tate said, “but she’s Pearl, ya know? She does what she wants to do.”
“What I wanna do is get us some whiskey,” Del said.
“Well,” Tate said, “Briartown’s closer than Whitfield.”
“You wanna go to Briartown?” Del asked. “But she said to get the supplies in Whitfield.”
“How’s she gonna know where we got our supplies?” Tate asked.
“Next time she goes in, maybe somebody’ll say somethin’ to her,” Del said. “You know, like maybe ‘ya ain’t been here in a while’ or somethin’.”
Tate thought a moment before he came up with an answer.
“Well, we could go to Briartown first, have some whiskey, maybe a whore, and then go to Whitfield for the supplies. Whataya think?”
“We could do that,” Del said happily. “Who would it hurt?”
“Nobody, that’s who.”
They rode along in silence for a while, then Del said, “Wait.”
“What?”
“What are we gonna tell her when she asks why it took us so long to get back?”
“I’ll think of somethin’,” Tate said. “I gotta get me a whore, and some whiskey.”
“We could say one of the horses was lame.”
“Okay,” Tate said. “Let’s say that. Now shut up and let’s ride.”
“Okay,” Del said, “let’s ride. I gotta get me a whore, too.”
While Pearl took some of her men to bed, she had never been with Del or Tate that way. Which suited them. They wouldn’t have wanted to have to satisfy their boss in bed. Both men were used to being with whores and had no idea how to satisfy a woman.
And they didn’t care to learn.
TWELVE
Clint and Marshal Eads rode into Briartown a week after leaving Fort Smith. Since they were splitting the watch on the trail each night, they had only had a little time to talk together, some at night and some the next morning. And Clint did most of the talking, trying to teach Alice Eads what she needed to know to be a good deputy.
She was smart, and she listened, but he still didn’t think a badge should have been pinned on her until after she had learned these lessons.
It was also obvious that she had not spent a lot of time in the saddle, and by the time they rode into town, she was exhausted.
The town was small and run down, had certainly seen better days. Clint reined in his horse in front of the only hotel and said, “Go in and get yourself a room. I’ll take the horses over to the livery.”
“I can come with you—”
“That’s okay,” he said. “It only takes one of us to see to the horses.”
“Should I get you a room?”
“No, I’ll do that myself.”
She dismounted.
“Take your rifle and saddlebags.”
“Okay.”
“And take off the badge, put it in your pocket,” he added.
“Why?”
“No point in announcing that you’re the law,” he said. “Not yet anyway.”
“But shouldn’t we—”
“Just do it, Alice,” he said. “I’ll be along shortly.”
“Okay.”
He watched her remove the badge, put it in her pocket, and then walk into the saloon before he took the horses to the livery.
At the livery, Del and Tate were just grabbing their saddlebags and rifles when Clint walked in, leading two horses. They had no idea who he was, although they did pause to admire Eclipse.
“Nice-lookin’ horse, mister,” Tate said.
“Thanks.”
They left, and Clint turned and watched. They were trail-hardened men with worn guns and run-down boot heels. The simple fact that they had arrived in town the same time he had would cause him to keep an eye out for them.
“That really is a mighty fine-lookin’ animal, mister,” the livery man said. He had to be in his seventies, his hands dotted not only with scars from years of dodging the gnashing teeth of ornery horses, but also with dark age spots.
“Thanks. You know those two fellas?”
“No, sir,” the man said. “Never saw them before.”
“I need to put these two up overnight,” Clint said, handing the man the reins.
“Take good care of ’em,” the man promised.
Clint went into his pocket for money but the man said, “You can pay me when ya pick ’em up.”
“Thanks.”
He started to leave, then turned back.
“You tell those two the same thing?”
“No, sir,” the man said, “made them pay up front.”
“Are you a good judge of character?” Clint asked.
The man grinned, showing just a few teeth, and those were yellow.
“Why d’ya think I made them jaspers pay up front?” he asked.
“Thanks.”
Clint walked to the hotel, saw the other two men walking in front of him. He should have asked how long they were leaving their horses.
He was normally this careful simply because of who he was, but now that he was riding for Judge Parker, with a deputy marshal, he had to be even more careful. The word could have gone out from Fort Smith that he was tracking Pearl Starr and her gang.
The two men walked past the hotel. He thought about following them, but decided n
ot to. Maybe they were just two sodbusters in town for a drink. He decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, and turned into the hotel.
He was surprised to find Alice Eads waiting for him in the lobby.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did you get a room?”
“The idiot behind the desk doesn’t want to give me one,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I’m a woman alone,” she said, “and I’m wearing a gun.”
“Is that what he said?”
“He said he couldn’t give me a room,” she replied. “The rest is my guess.”
“Okay, come on,” Clint said, “I’ll get us two rooms.”
They walked to the desk.
“I wanted to show him my badge, but you told me not to.”
“You did right,” Clint said. “I’ll talk to him and get two rooms. Why don’t you sit over there and wait.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to get this done with as little trouble as possible,” he said, “and you’re mad.”
“I’m not going to make any trouble,” she said, “but you’re right, I am mad.”
“Then go sit over there . . . please?”
She fumed a moment, then said, “All right.”
He approached the front desk. The clerk craned his neck to see around him.
“Is she with you, sir?”
“She is,” Clint said. “Why wouldn’t you give her a room?”
“She’s a woman alone, sir.”
“And?”
The clerk leaned in and whispered, “They’re trouble.” Then his voice got even lower. “And she’s carryin’ a gun.”
“Well, I’ll vouch for her,” Clint said. “Give me two rooms, please.”
“Sign the register, please.”
He signed Alice Eads, then signed his own name. The clerk turned the book around, read it, and then gaped at Clint.
“And you thought she was trouble,” he said to the man.
THIRTEEN
“I think you made a mistake,” Hunter said to Pearl as he undressed.
“You think I should’ve asked one of the others to my bed?” she teased.
“I don’t mean that,” he said, peeling off his shirt to reveal a powerful chest. “I mean sending those two idiots to town alone.”
“You’re probably right,” she said, “but I wanted them out of camp.”
When he was naked, he approached the bed and looked down at her. She was a slender girl, with small breasts and slim hips. He wondered why she excited him so. Was it simply who her mother was?
She reached out and stroked his shaft, which was semi-hard at that point. As she ran her fingers along it, that changed and it got harder, and bigger. His penis fascinated her and it had been some time since she had taken any of the others to her bed.
“The others are talkin’, you know,” he said as if reading her mind.
“About what?”
“You know what I mean.”
She lay back and put her hands behind her head. Her small round breasts went taut, the brown nipples hardening.
“Let them talk.”
“They’re sayin’ I might be your Sam Starr.”
“That’s disrespectful, since they think Sam was my father.” Jim Reed was her father, but he died young and her mother married Sam.
“I can make them stop talkin’, if you want,” he said.
She reached out, took his hand, and pulled.
“Right now I want you to stop talkin’ and come to bed,” she said.
He smiled and got into bed with her. He ran his big, rough hands over her body and she closed her eyes and sighed. His middle finger seemed as huge as a penis as it entered her, making her wet.
“Mmm,” she said, “I’d rather have your finger inside me than any other man’s cock.”
“Is that a fact?”
He started to slide the finger in and out, in and out until she started moving her hips with it. He kissed her mouth, her neck, and nibbled on her breasts as his breathing became raged and she began to ride his finger harder and harder.
With this power he had over her, he should have been able to take over the gang, but he only had it when they were in bed. When they were up and dressed and among the others, she was hard as nails. He probably could have taken over anyway, but then there was Belle Starr. Pearl’s mother was still out there somewhere, and Hunter wasn’t sure he wanted to cross swords with her.
Not yet anyway.
FOURTEEN
Clint and Alice left their gear in their rooms and then went in search of a hot meal.
“When can I show that idiot clerk my badge?” she asked him.
“I’ll let you know,” he said. “Maybe never.”
“I want to make him eat it.”
“Forget about him,” he said. “How are you going to do your duty as a deputy marshal if you let every peckerwood bother you? Don’t forget, you might be wearing a badge, but you’re still a woman.”
“What does that mean?” she demanded.
“It means a lot of men are going to give you a hard time,” he said.
“Until they see my badge, you mean.”
“I mean maybe even more after they see your badge,” he said. “Don’t start thinking a tin star is some kind of shield, Alice. Sometimes it’s more of a target than anything else.”
“I thought lawmen—and women—were supposed to be respected,” she said.
“They are,” he said, “but that doesn’t make it so. If that’s why you wanted to put on a badge, you’re going to be very disappointed. If you want respect, you’re going to have to earn it as a person, not as a symbol of the law.”
They walked in silence for a half a block or so and then she said, “I suppose that’s fair.”
“You bet it’s fair,” he said.
They found a small café and went inside. Something was burning in the kitchen, but Clint didn’t want to walk all over town looking for another place.
“Doesn’t smell very encouraging,” she said as they sat.
“Order something safe.”
“Like what?”
“A steak,” he said. “Even if a steak is burned, it’s still edible.”
A man wearing a dirty apron and a scowl came over and asked them what they wanted.
“Steak,” Clint said.
“Got no steak.”
“What do you have?” Clint asked.
“Beef stew.”
“Okay,” Clint said, “we’ll have two beef stews.”
“Comin’ up.”
“You got coffee?”
“Sure we got coffee,” the man said. “What kinda restaurant don’t got coffee?”
“Is it any good?”
“It’s hot,” the man said.
“Okay,” Clint said dubiously, “bring two coffees.”
“Comin’ up.”
“What are we going to do after we eat?” Alice asked.
“We’ll go see the local law, see what he knows about Pearl Starr.”
“If this is the area where her mother used to live, do you think the people here would give up her daughter?”
“Maybe not,” Clint said, “but I hope the lawman will feel a little different. Of course, he might be crooked, so we’ll have to wait and see.”
“How will we know?”
“I’ll feel it.”
“You can do that? How?”
“Takes many years to build up that kind of sense about people,” Clint said.
“And you trust it? That feeling, I mean?”
“Every time,” Clint said. “For instance, I got a bad feeling about these two men at the livery, got there just before I did.”
“What did they do?”
“Nothing,” Clint said, “but they will.”
“Shouldn’t we check on them?”
“Whatever they’re going to do, it might have no connection to Pearl Starr. But if they do it today, we’ll know about it.”
“How?”
As the waiter came back with the coffee, Clint said, “The whole town will know.”
“That was some horse,” Tate said.
“What horse?”
“The one that fella just brought into the livery,” Tate said. “Big one.”
“Oh, yeah . . . where’s that damn whorehouse?” Del complained. He was hoping they could get a woman and a bottle of whiskey at the same time.
“Sure would like to have a horse like that,” Tate went on.
“Whoa, wait a minute,” Del said. He stopped walking and put his hand on Tate’s arm to hold him back. “We ain’t stealin’ no horse.”
“I didn’t say—”
“We’re gonna have a hard enough time explainin’ ourselves to Pearl when we get back,” Del said. “If we come back with that horse—”
“I know, I know—”
“—and besides, if she sees that horse, she’ll just take it for herself.”
“You’re right about that.”
“Let’s get us some whiskey, a woman, and then those supplies and get outta here. We still gotta get across the river to Whitfield.”
“I said okay,” Tate said, “I heard ya!”
“Yeah, but I want you to really hear me, Tate,” Del said. “We don’t need no trouble, and tryin’ ta steal a horse—especially a horse like that—is trouble.”
“Okay.”
They started walking again, and after a few steps, Tate said, “Sure would like to have a horse like that, though.”
“Yeah, I know,” Del said, “I know.”
“Wonder who that fella was?”
“That don’t matter,” Del said, “’cause we ain’t gonna steal his horse.”
FIFTEEN
The beef was burned, the vegetables tasteless, but the coffee was hot and strong—too strong for Alice, who asked for water, but exactly the way Clint liked it.
“Tastes like your trail coffee,” she complained, shaking her head.
“I make the best trail coffee of anybody I ever rode with,” he said.
“Must be why you ride alone so much.”
Clint enjoyed the stew because he was hungry. Alice consumed some of the vegetables, but picked at the meat until Clint asked if she was going to finish it.