by Lou Cameron
“Cross the street,” Stringer said, “head for the tracks, and you can’t miss it. Tell Miss Ramona you’re pals of mine, and she won’t charge you more than a dollar each for a place to flop during the heat of the day.”
They said they’d do that. So they all shook and parted friendly. As Stringer was about to remount the front steps of the old Jersey Lily, he spied Roy, Junior and young Sam coming up the street with their buckboard of beer and such. So he waited, and as they drew near, pointed to the pinto he’d come back on. “I fear I lost the roan and saddle I borrowed off your father. Do you reckon this pony and somewhat fancier rig would serve as a fair swap?”
“Sure,” Roy, Junior said. “That’s a Vadelia saddle, and I see you saved the Winchester as well. What’s been going on here? Have we missed anything?”
Stringer didn’t feel up to the whole tale, now that it was warming up, and he’d just told it, in any case. “Ask your sisters,” he said. “They were there. I’ll be by again to pay my respects before I leave. Right now I got some writing to do. By hand. I’m sure glad I didn’t have my typewriter in the kit bag I lost down Mexico way.”
They drove around to the back. Stringer moseyed down to the hotel where, to his disgust, he saw the lady behind the desk was a fat old gal with a moustache. But she told him he could have a room upstairs for a dollar, anyway.
He gave her an extra two bits for some writing materials and went on up. He shucked his jacket, shirt, and gun rig to get cool and comfortable as he composed his deposition at a corner table, leaving out the dirty parts. It took less time that way. He read it over, saw he’d included all he knew that incriminated old Cedric, and set the one-page document aside to have old Bean notarize later, when he was ready to leave.
The overnight ride across the Chihuahua desert had left him a mite weary, now that all the excitement was over. He checked the time, saw he had close to five hours to work with, and so he flopped across the bed in his jeans and Justins to catch a few winks during the worse heat of the day.
He actually got some sleep, albeit not much, before he awoke with a start to find little Ramona on top of him, unbuttoning his jeans. She’d already climbed out of her own blouse and Mex skirts. He yawned fondly up at the pretty little mestiza and said, “Howdy. I see a man has no secrets from a lady with her own pass key.”
When she saw he was awake, Ramona bent forward to press her perky naked breast to his bare chest. “Oh, I was so afraid you had found another, when I heard you were back in town and you did not rush to my side.”
He took her in his arms, trying to wake up all the way, as he soothed, “Come on, you know you’re the only gal in town I’ve ever kissed.” Which was the simple truth when one studied on it. So that meant he had to kiss her, and between one thing and another, he completely lost track of the time until, just as she was getting on top again, he heard a not too distant train whistle moaning. “Thunderation!” he moaned, “l think you just made me miss my train!”
But when Ramona said he’d made her very happy and that now she wanted to make him happy, too, he laughed and said, “Oh, well, there’ll always be another train. But Lord knows when there’ll be someone sweet as you.” He added, “Fess up, querida. Were you out to make me miss that train, deliberate?”
She laughed too. “Si. I mean to hold you prisoner at least one more night. In a moment I shall go fetch some food and drink for us. But first make me happy again.”
That was easy. She sure was a hot-natured little thing. But as she sat up to slip into her duds, sated for the moment, Stringer said, “Hold on. Before it gets too dark out I’d best go back up to the Jersey Lily and ask Judge Bean to notarize a paper for me. It shouldn’t take long.”
She pouted. “Do you think that muy blanco Laura Bean is prettier than me?”
Stringer laughed incredulously. “Hell, she’s just a kid.” He didn’t think Ramona would understand if he added that as a matter of fact young Laura was shaping up to be a real looker. He explained, instead, about the paper he’d prepared for Laura’s father to seal and sign. So, mollified, Ramona told him to hurry, lest the tamales she meant to cook for him cooled off.
He doubted there was any worry Ramona would cool off. He’d forgotten how hot she could get, in the company of other hot tamales, more recent.
It made him feel sort of smug and shitty at the same time as he legged it up to the Jersey Lily in the gathering dusk. He was fair-minded enough to admit that the love ‘em and leave ‘em ways of his tumble weed existence could leave nice gals feeling used and abused. On the other hand, neither Pam/Mary-Ann nor horny old Belle had seemed to worry about his feelings as they’d gone on their merry widow and soon-to-be-widow way like old chums. Men and women both deserved something better than one another. But what else was left, that wasn’t even more confusing?
At the Jersey Lily he found the front dark, despite the early hour. The door wasn’t locked, however. So he opened it and went inside. “Anybody home?” he called out.
Little Zulema came out from the back, ashen-faced, to sob at Stringer, “Oh, I hoped it would be the boys, with a doctor. Our papacito has taken a turn for the worse, we fear.”
Stringer followed her back. “When did he relapse? What doctor are you talking about? I thought there wasn’t any here in Langtry.”
“There isn’t,” she said. “My brother Roy thinks there could be a doctor in Pumpville. Sam rode for Comstock, in case they had one there. The fever came back sometime this afternoon. We did not know this until we tried to rouse him for his supper.”
They joined Laura in the old man’s room. Stringer didn’t have to feel Roy Bean’s flushed brow to know he was running a temperature indeed, and both settlements Zulema had mentioned were a good hard ride, both ways. He asked Laura if they had any aspirin powders out front. She nodded but said, “They don’t seem to help. He just keeps getting hotter, and he is breathing so funny now.”
Stringer removed his hat, knelt by the bed, and put his ear to the old man’s chest. It sounded as if a mess of bats were drowning in a cave. He straightened up soberly. “Yep. That’s pneumonia for sure. It’s too hot, this late in a West Texas spring, but he’s got it anyway.”
He saw how stricken both girls looked. “It’s nobody’s fault,” he quickly added. “You did your best to keep him in bed and off the tequila. It’s up to the Good Lord now. He’s a tough old bird, but he’s pretty old. There’s nothing you or me or modern medicine can do for his condition.”
“His face is so red and hot,” Laura sobbed. “Maybe if I got some ice…”
Stringer shook his head. “Don’t you dare. It looks like this is the crisis doctors talk about. His fever is at war with the bugs. They can only take so much. But he can only get so hot. I learned a lot about fevers, covering the war down Cuba way. If this one breaks in time, he’ll likely make it. If it don’t, well, what can I say?”
Zulema sobbed. “Papacito can’t die. He’s been here forever, like the desert. He and the desert were here before there was a town, or us, or anything.”
Stringer didn’t answer. How did one tell a kid that grown-ups weren’t really immortal? Laura, made of sterner stuff, or at least a mite older, sighed. “We can only wait and see. It is in the hands of God. Was there something you desire from the shop, Señor MacKail?”
Stringer started to shake his head. Then, since he knew any distraction might help, he explained he’d come to have his deposition notarized. “I can do it for you,” Laura said. “I know where Papacito keeps his notary seal, and how to work it.”
“Me too,” Little Zulema said. “He often lets us play with it. Sam once made a belt embossed with Papacito’s seal.”
Laura rose, asking for the deposition. Stringer took it from his jacket and handed it to her. She left the room with it, all too obviously anxious to have something to do. On the bed the old man coughed dryly and muttered, “Agua, agua por favor!”
Zulema lit out for some water as Stringer sat on the edge of
the bed, to hold the old man’s hot hand. “Take it easy, Your Honor. Zulema’s fetching you a drink.”
“She’s a sweet little gal,” Bean muttered. “Looks a lot like her false-hearted mother. But I loves her anyway.”
Stringer didn’t know how to answer that, so he didn’t try. He heard the swish of skirts behind him, and assuming it was one of the Bean girls, said, “I forgot to ask if there was a minister or priest here in Langtry. If there is—” Then he saw it was Ramona.
She whispered, in Spanish, “What is taking place here? I was worried when you failed to return, querido.”
Before Stringer could answer, the old man on the bed picked up on her soft Spanish voice and croaked, “Is that you, Ginny? I always hoped you’d come back, cuss your pretty hide.”
Ramona blinked at Stringer. “Ginny?” she whispered, “Quien es Ginny?”
“His wife,” Stringer whispered. “Answer him. He’s dying.”
Ramona just looked confused as Stringer rose from the bed, sat her down in his place, and said, “Here she is, Your Honor. I reckon no gal can stay away from you, you sly old cuss.”
Ramona stared up at Stringer, wide-eyed, as the old man reached feebly out to her. “I can’t see you. Ginny,” he muttered, “My eyes ain’t what they used to be. Are you still pretty as ever, you cruel-hearted but adorable old gal?”
Ramona, bless her, managed to murmur, “Si, I think so,” as she slowly, if not fully, grasped the situation.
At least she didn’t fight him when the old man fumbled for her hand, held it in both of his, and sighed, “You never should have left me to rear our children all alone, Ginny. I done my best. You can see how nice they all turnt out. But there’s been many a time I wished the girls had a mother to talk to about she-male notions.”
Ramona gulped. “Oh?” she replied.
It inspired Bean to tell her, “We all missed you, Ginny. I was mad as hell at first. I run around like a maniac, swearing I’d kill that rascal as stole you from me. I even tried to fall in love with another woman. I reckon you’ve heard about me and Miss Langtry, huh? I sure hope it made you jealous.”
Ramona glanced at Stringer, who nodded. “Si, muy jealous,” she replied, for Ramona, like everyone else, knew about the old man’s long distance romance with Lillie Langtry. Her native wit was now coming to her rescue, even as she tried to grasp what on earth Stringer and her own jealousy had gotten her into.
By this time both Laura and Zulema had come back. It took them less time to grasp the meaning of their dying father’s delirium. Zulema could only stand there with the glass of ice water. Laura silently handed the stamped and improperly but convincingly initialed deposition to Stringer as old Bean croaked, “Well, what do you think of our kids, Ginny?”
“Que linda,” Ramona said softly, “and the boys are handsome as well, no?” Then she, as well as the Bean girls, began to cry. “Damned A,” Bean muttered. “They takes after me. You thought I was good-looking when we married up, old gal. How come you run off on me like that?”
“Perhaps because I was young and foolish,” Ramona murmured. “Do you forgive me, husband?”
He grinned as boyishly as a man who looked like Santa Claus could. “Sure,” he said. “No hard feelings, seeing you’ve come to your senses at last. Now that we’re all together again, we’ll just live happily ever after, right?”
“Si, por siempre y siempre, querido,” she said, and leaned down to kiss his feverish cheek as he heaved a long contented sigh.
There was a long silence in the crowded little room. Then Laura Bean said, soberly, “God bless you, Ramona Sepulvada y Morales.”
“I fear he is dead,” Ramona whispered.
“I know,” Laura replied. “That is for why I blessed you.”
THE END
YOU CAN FIND ALL OF LOU CAMERON’S STRINGER SERIES AVAILABLE AS EBOOKS:
STRINGER (#1)
STRINGER ON DEAD MAN’S RANGE (#2)
STRINGER ON THE ASSASSIN’S TRAIL (#3)
STRINGER AND THE HANGMAN’S RODEO (#4)
STRINGER AND THE WILD BUNCH (#5)
STRINGER AND THE HANGING JUDGE (#6)
STRINGER IN TOMBSTONE (#7)
STRINGER AND THE DEADLY FLOOD (#8)
STRINGER AND THE LOST TRIBE (#9)
STRINGER AND THE OIL WELL INDIANS (#10)
STRINGER AND THE BORDER WAR (#11)
STRINGER ON THE MOJAVE (#12)
STRINGER ON PIKES PEAK (#13)
STRINGER AND THE HELL-BOUND HERD (#14)
STRINGER IN A TEXAS SHOOTOUT (#15)