She Wore It Tied-Down

by r. William Rogers

  “Keep it to yourself,” she interrupted steadfastly. “Never have had a liking for knowing the names of the men I’ve killed. Johnny A always told me that when a fella—”

  His expression had changed to one of concern and bewilderment. “You know Johnny Appleseed, do ya? From what I heard tell he was the fastest that ever lived. Thought he died a while back.”

  “Not hardly,” Wayne said. “He’s the fella what taught her. From what I hear she’s as fast as he ever was...maybe even a shade faster.”

  The gunnie was noticeably shaken. His eyes wavered. His brow furrowed. He was obviously nowhere near as confident as he had been just a scant few seconds before. “Well now, that bein’ the case...maybe I ain’t feelin’ the urge to find out right this minute.”

  “Now you’re showing some sense,” Dolly said, as she felt an urge to let the tension begin to drain, but she rightly realized that maybe that wasn’t such a good idea...not just yet, anyway. She looked at the other fella. “How about you? You still think you need to die today?”

  He continued his gaze on her for a few more moments, then glanced at Wayne, then again looked at Dolly. “Maybe not,” he mumbled and turned on his heels.

  The other gunnie followed him out the door.

  Wayne looked at her. “Thanks,” he said. “Probably coulda took the both of ’em myownself, though.”

  She smiled pleasantly. “Sometimes it’s better to not have to find those things out...one way or the other.”

  With the standoff no longer a distraction, she completed the task of taking her things up to the room. Their next order of business was to get a bite to eat at the local greasy spoon, during which time they engaged the only other patron in the place in conversation. From him they were fortunate to get a line on a gent who it was felt had an extra mare that he might be willing to part with. It turned out that the fella lived in a rickety little shack right along the southern outskirts of town.

  Exhausted from their trip, Dolly and Wayne set their priorities, and after thanking the fella, paid for their meal and went to their rooms for what had long since become another much needed night of rest and recuperation. The events of the past few days had taken their toll and they were asleep almost before their heads hit the pillows.

  Chapter 26

  Despite her exhaustion, Dolly awoke repeatedly throughout the night, tossing and turning each time. Her mind was plagued with images of the two remaining members of the Jacobs clan. Whether she closed her eyes or left them open made no difference, the leering faces remained. The only one that wasn’t leering anymore was Lucas’. She was at least thankful for that much.

  Silvery shafts of moonlight slanted through the open window, finding their way between the inadequate curtains that she had found surprisingly frilly under the circumstances. It was not an unpleasant amenity to the otherwise practical drabness of the room.

  She eyed a crack in the dimly lit ceiling, half expecting it to open up and either Walt or Jake, or both, to fall out and attack her. She rolled over and closed her eyes.

  Just when she was thinking that it was high time she quit being so paranoid, a faint sound outside the door sat her bolt upright in the bed. Remembering Nate’s teaching about never allowing herself to be taken off guard, she pulled the Peacemaker from the holster that hung handily on the bedpost.

  She could hear the doorknob turning slowly. She sucked in a deep breath and silently slid from the bed, opting instead for a spot in the far corner of the room. She swallowed dryly and trained the Peacemaker on the knob.

  The door creaked as it was being tentatively pushed into the room. Light from an unseen lamp cast a pale orange glow into the room, framing the dark shadow of a figure in the doorway. Dolly’s pillows remained atop the bed where she had unsuccessfully tried to get them to help her resume her sleep. The bedclothes covered them well enough to make the mound resemble a body of sorts and she watched in horror as the ominous figure pulled off three shots in rapid succession, sending the pillows jumping as they took the hits.

  Instinctively she fanned off a shot of her own.

  The figure grunted and fell backward into the wall that lined the opposite side of the hallway. He groaned painfully, and attempted feebly to get to his feet before sinking back down into a heap.

  She rose, but remained in the corner, wondering what could have prompted the fella to try to kill her. The creaking sounds of a door opening reached into her mind, slowly working its way into her almost trancelike stupor.

  Wayne suddenly appeared in the hallway and knelt beside the assailant. He looked up at her. “You alright?” he asked soberly.

  Suddenly, she was aware of her bedtime attire and reached for a handful of bedclothes with which to cover her nightshirt. She held the spread up protectively in front of her and tossed the Peacemaker onto the bed. She then wrapped the spread around her and went out into the hallway.

  The face was one she had never seen before. She judged it to be pretty much ugly clear to the bone. She certainly would have remembered if she had ever seen that face before. “Is he dead?” she asked. “I...I tried to just wing him.”

  “No…leastways not yet. Bullet took him in the shoulder, but unless he gets to a doc…well, you never can tell.”

  The gunman stirred and opened his eyes a slit.

  Dolly knelt. “Why’d you try to kill me?”

  The man worked at focusing his vision. Finally, he must have gotten the effort right because he forced a wane smile before saying, “Mighty fine lookin’ female ta be a gunfighter,” he said. “Fella what hired me never told me you was purty.” He coughed and winced.

  “Who was that?” Wayne asked.

  “Who was what?”

  “The fella who hired you,” Dolly said. “Why did someone hire you to try to kill me?”

  “Don’t know no reasons. All I know is that a fella give me five dollars ta be on the lookout for a female gunfighter and ta gun ya if ya showed. Either one of ya got a spare drink on ya?”

  “I’m fresh out,” Dolly said. “Who was this fella? He have a name?”

  “Yeah...the other fella with him...turns out they was brothers, called him Walt. They said you gunned their pa and was out to get them.” His brow furrowed. “Never did say what you was after ’em for, though. Just figgered I’d let that sleepin’ dog lie. Fella wants ta give me five dollars for just one little shootin’, well...I figger he’s got his reasons. You sure ya ain’t got a bottle handy?”

  “How long ago did they hire you?” Dolly asked.

  “Yesterday afternoon. Just before they rode out.”

  Dolly rose. “You talk with him,” she said to Wayne. “I’m gonna get dressed.”

  “You two need to find some place else to stay,” the pipsqueak of a clerk said as she turned and found herself face to face with him. “I’ll give you half your money back, but you two need to find someplace else to settle for the rest of the night.”

  “Suits me,” she said simply, and pushed past him and into the room. She closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed softly. Unwilling to give in, she sucked in a breath of tenacity and used the bedspread to wipe away the tears before setting about dressing herself and getting her things together.

  It turned out that the fella who had tried to kill her had been a gunman in his early years, but had since been relegated to town drunk. Wayne felt he wasn’t above doing whatever was necessary to acquire the price of a bottle of rotgut.

  After being convinced that there would be no chance of getting help for his gunshot shoulder until after he’d answered all of Wayne’s questions, the fella had opened up and told them that the pair of brothers had plied him with free whiskey until he’d agreed to take on the job. When asked why he hadn’t just taken the money and let the rest of it fall by the wayside, the fella became almost indignant, saying that wouldn’t have been the honorable thing to do.

  They left the wounded man laying where he’d fallen, not
much caring one way or the other if the clerk got any doctoring help for him or not. They then toted their belongings to the livery and huddled together for warmth in the haystack that was just inside the door at the back.

  As it turned out, during their drinking episode with the hired gun, the Jacobs brothers had let it slip that they were still of a mind to make it to Juarez. But as a means of throwing their pursuers off, they figured on cutting across the desert to Las Cruces by way of the San Andres Mountains, instead of taking the easier route to Three Rivers, Tularosa, Alamogordo, and eventually El Paso.

  So, with their plan of action all laid out, Dolly and Wayne pulled a warm covering of hay over them and were eventually able to doze off with the smell of horse manure playing havoc with an otherwise relatively comfortable place to spend the remainder of the wee hours of the crispy morning.

  Chapter 27

  They made the short ride to the shack on the outskirts of town. Reaching the modest weather beaten cabin, they dismounted just as an elderly, stoop shouldered, white haired figure shuffled his way outside to greet them.

  “Howdy! You two got a purpose fer stoppin’ off here or ya just got yerselves lost?” he asked, and spit a squirt of amber tobacco juice that settled into an elongated puddle about three inches in front of his left boot. “Cuz iff’n yer lost, I ain’t in the bizness of...but iff’n yer of a purpose, you might wanna be a statin’ it ’n git on about yer own bizness.” He spit again and using a finger, hooked the chaw from his cheek and pulled it out, bouncing it off the boot. “Danged nasty habit, if ya asked me,” he admitted and began digging into his shirt pocket for his plug.

  “Someone said you might have a spare mare you’d be willin’ to part with...for a fair price that is,” Wayne added.

  “That all yer here for? Just in need of a horse?” He eyed them suspiciously, finally settling his gaze on their shootin’-irons. “Usually when a couple a gunnies takes a notion ta visit someone it’s cuz they got something more serious in mind. Leastways that’s the way it was back in the old days.” He wrenched off a chaw, returning the plug to his shirt pocket.

  “You know about the ways of gunfighters, do you?” Dolly asked, with mild amusement. Somehow she just couldn’t picture the old fossil as ever having had anything even approaching an interest in guns.

  “Make yer jokes if yer of a mind,” he said as a seriousness appeared across his features. “But back in the old days when me ’n Johnny A rode together—”

  He suddenly had Dolly’s full attention. “That wouldn’t be Johnny Appleseed, would it?”

  The old gent grinned widely. “It surely would...me ’n Nate spent a number of our best years together. I even introduced him to the female he finally decided to settle down with.”

  “That’d be Daisy, wouldn’t it?” Dolly asked, and smiled pleasantly, as she remembered the flowers that lined the walkway at the rear of Nate’s cottage.

  The oldtimer suddenly appeared bewildered. “What’dya know about Nate ’n Daisy?” he asked, from under the washboard of wrinkles that had laid claim to his forehead.

  “Just that he’s a very special friend of mine and taught me how to use this thing.” She pulled the pearl handled Peacemaker and turned it around before offering it butt-first to him. “Does this look at all familiar to you?” she asked.

  He reached for the six-gun and turned it over in his hands. “Well now, I’ll be hornswoggled...this is surely Nate’s hog-leg, alright enough. Carved that notch right there myownself.” He touched the handle with a fingertip, feeling the indentation with his fingernail as he continued, “Never was partial ta carvin’ into the pretty whiteness of the grip, but Nate insisted. Said he had a need fer rememberin’ that first fella he’d kilt. Well, one thing led to another and…and, well as you kin easily see there’s seven more notches lined up right alongside that first one.” He hefted the Colt a couple of times before handing it back to Dolly, albeit almost reluctantly. “You two et breakfast yet?” he asked as he watched her put the gun away.

  “Eh…no we haven’t as a matter of fact,” Wayne said, remembering that he was indeed hungry.

  “Good.” He pushed the door open and held an inviting palm out toward it. “In that case, the both of ya need ta climb down so’s I kin rustle up a plate a eggs ’n bacon while we decide on a price for that broken down piece a crow bait I’m hopin’ ta stick the two of ya with.”

  Dolly and Wayne grinned at one another and dismounted.

  *

  Dolly was in no hurry to leave, despite the business that was pressing hard against her need to find the Jacobs brothers. She enjoyed the old man’s company as he cooked and told them of the “Good old days.” He was especially distressed to hear that Daisy had passed, but was pleased to learn that Nate was still alive and kicking and able to farm his apples with the best of them.

  All too soon, the deal was struck for the purchase of the mare, that it turned out was far from being a “Broken down piece a crow bait.” and they rode out having acquired the mare for a song...and a mighty short one at that.

  They returned to town, easily finding the mercantile where they purchased what they felt would be needed to make the crossing to Las Cruses. Taking the old man’s advice to heart, they had even purchased a few extra items such as knives, and cloth, and colorful beads to use for appeasing the Apaches if the need showed itself.

  Once everything was tied onto the back of the newly acquired mare, they set out to the southwest with Dolly wondering why she had not thought to ask the old gent his name. She dismissed it though, realizing that Nate would certainly know who he was. Good friends are never forgotten, she decided as she glanced across at Wayne. She was certainly making a few of her own, she realized. “That hangnail still bothering you?” she asked.

  He pulled his hand away from the arrow wound. “A little,” he admitted.

  “You got anymore of that pain medicine?”

  “Yep. But I’m figgerin’ on saving as much of it as I can. Never can tell when somethin’ more demanding might show itself and there’d be a real need for what’s left.” He patted his neck lightly. “’Sides...this thing’s mostly healed good enough now to be just a nuisance of sorts.”

  *

  They rode steadily, almost glad that they had lost the previous mare. This one was certainly of a much better frame of mind, probably used to the sand and desert environment was their best assumption. They worked their way over ridges, and down and around mounds of the sun bleached sand that displayed a stark beauty in a naked manner of sameness. From time to time they would come to sparse little oasis’ of vegetation, but mostly, they just rode through the sand.

  The second day out found them climbing steadily. They could see a towering crest of jagged peaks ahead that was more than likely the San Andres range, but from the way it never seemed to get any closer, they figured that it was still a day or two away.

  They made camp that night amidst a gathering of brush and stunted trees that, judging from the cracked remains of the dry waterhole that they clung to life around, had been without any satisfying measure of moisture for a good while.

  They used their knives and stripped what branches they could, allowing them the limited comforts of a small warming fire as the night settled around them into an eerie silence. The absence of normal sounds had been something that she hoped she would never have a need to get used to. There weren’t any coyotes, or owls, or birds of any kind that she could see or hear. She in no way envied them that were forced to spend any length of time out here in this God-forsaken part of the country. She fell asleep hoping that tomorrow they would somehow reach the tree-shrouded mountains that had been beckoning to them for nearly the entire day.

  Chapter 28

  The next day proved to be an exact copy of the one before. They continued doggedly toward the peaks, the difference being that they were starting to realize some headway as far as making out individual features of the rocks and vegetation was concerned. It was decided that they
would surely reach them sometime the next day.

  They again found a scattering of sparse vegetation and made camp, while again opting for the luxury of a fire over which to cook their food as well as to ward off the bone chilling nighttime temperatures. This waterhole was as dried up and cracked as the one the night before, leaving them immeasurably thankful for the extra canteens they had thought to buy and fill before departing Oscura.

  Once the evening meal had been prepared and eaten, and with the sun having long since dipped behind the crest to the west, they settled in to watching the mesmerizing effects of the small blaze, while comparing notes about how much better it would be once they made the mountains the next day.

  “When do you think we’ll reach the mountains?” Dolly asked as she poked at the coals with a stick.

  “Sometime about midday would be my guess,” Wayne said, then chucked a couple more pieces of limbs onto the fire, sending a scattering of orange sparks skyward. He watched them disappear. “Might even be—”

  Suddenly, the serenity of the dusk was interrupted by the sound of a braying donkey. They were instantly on their guard.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “A donkey, you idiot,” she said, with way more levity than she felt.

  They scrambled for cover behind the nearest of the scraggily bushes.

  A tension filled half minute dragged by before two figures appeared on horseback, leading a couple of heavily laden donkeys.

  “Hello in the camp!” one of them hollered, after the pair had halted a respectable distance from the campfire. “Cann we mosey on in an’ get a piece a that fire?”

  Dolly and Wayne looked at one another.

  She nodded, albeit reluctantly, as she was remembering that last time strangers had entered her and her father’s camp. “Watch yourself,” she warned in a hoarse whisper, as she and Wayne got to their feet. Although she was willing to replace the Peacemaker in its holster, she wasn’t feeling nearly at ease enough to hook the leather strip over the hammer.