Doc turned to Paco. “Some of you men carry him up to my office, and I’ll see if I can splint it. He ought to be good as new in a few weeks.”
“A few weeks?” Larado roared. “I can’t be down a few weeks. We’ve got a posse.”
“I’ll lead it,” Paco said. “I’m a good shot—maybe not as good as you, boss, but I’ll do the best I can.”
“I won’t be left behind,” Larado insisted.
“Oh, yes, you will.” Doc turned and looked toward Lark.
She nodded. “Do what you can with the stubborn coot, Doc, and have the boys carry him to the house. I can close the shop for the day.”
With Larado still protesting, four men carried him down to Doc’s office where the old sawbones ripped his pants, splinted the leg, and had the men take Larado to the house. Later, he watched glumly from the settee as the posse rode past the window. “If this ain’t a sorry state of affairs.”
“Oh, shut up, and I’ll fix you some chicken soup.”
“I don’t want chicken soup. I want a big bowl of chili, hot peppers, and a cold beer.”
“Knowing the way I cook, you’d eat my chili?”
“Why not?” he snapped. “Nothing worse could happen to me today, so I reckon your cookin’ won’t kill me.”
“Thanks a lot. You’re lucky, you know that? At least the posse won’t find out you’re half blind and can’t shoot well enough to hit a bull in the ass with a bass fiddle.”
“I’m the sheriff. I’m supposed to be leadin’ the posse.”
She looked at him a long moment. “You know, I think you’re beginning to take this sheriff thing seriously.”
He scowled at her. “I reckon I am. For a minute I almost forgot I’m nothin’ but a saddle tramp.”
She started to say something, shrugged, and went into the kitchen.
“Hey, sweetie,” he called, “since we’re back together—”
“We aren’t back together,” she snapped, looking around the door at him. “I was the only one available to look after you. What I’d like to do is what folks usually do to a horse with a broken leg—shoot you.”
“Yeah, and you’d enjoy doin’ it, too, wouldn’t you?”
She grinned. “Don’t tempt me, cowboy.”
Snake Hudson rode northwest on his stolen horse. He camped overnight, then started out again toward the town of Rusty Spur. “Just you wait, Larado,” he promised as he rode. “I want to see you sweat and beg before I shoot you down, you double-crossin’ sonovabitch.”
Suppose the sheriff of Rusty Spur turned out not to be Larado? Snake grinned. Then he’d kill the lawman just for the fun of it.
After a couple of days, his stolen horse went lame. Now he was afoot, and there was nothing a cowpoke hated as much as being afoot. Snake began to walk, swearing at every step in the July heat. Somewhere up ahead he heard a noise that sounded like a cross between a man moaning and a cat being tortured. Injuns? He didn’t give a damn about who was being tortured, but maybe he could steal a horse. Cautiously he dismounted and sneaked closer. Three white men sat around a camp fire.
One of them plunked on a guitar and they all sang: “…Oh, come sit by my side ere you leave me, do not hasten to bid me adieu, just remember the Red River Valley and the one who loved you so trueeee….”
Snake winced at the sound. It reminded him of coyotes howling. He ought to shoot them hombres to stop their damned noise. Except he hated to waste the bullets.
At that point one of the three attempted to yodel, and it was so bad that even their ugly horses laid their ears back and whinnied in disgust.
Again he was tempted to kill the singers and put them out of their misery. No, maybe he’d wait. He could use some rest. Later, he’d kill the men and steal their supplies. He put his hand to his mouth and yelled, “Hallo the camp!”
“Hallo yourself!” yelled a man with a strange accent. It was definitely not a Texas drawl.
Snake was cautious as he peeked through the sagebrush. “Can I come in and set a spell?”
“You can come in and visit, if that’s what you mean,” said another man with the same strange accent.
Snake strode close enough to take a good look and grinned. There were three of them, and they looked as out of place as a pimple on Lillian Russell’s beautiful face. “I’m lost and hungry,” he yelled. “You got any coffee?”
“We got tea.” One stood up. He was short and round, with the same features as the other two.
“Tea? Cowboys don’t drink tea.” Snake snorted as he walked into camp.
“They don’t? Couldn’t prove it by us.”
Snake looked over the three greenhorns and relaxed. “You all Yankees?”
“Yeah. Why does everyone in this part of the country talk slow and say y’all?”
“’Cause this is Texas,” Snake said. “God’s country.”
“Oh,” said the short, fat one. “We’re the Bloggett brothers from New Jersey. Welcome, stranger, you can have a bite with us. We’re Clem, Lem, and Slim.”
“Let me guess,” Snake said, “you must be Slim.”
He nodded. “Would you like a bagel?”
“What in the hell is that?”
“Something we eat back East.”
Snake snorted in disgust. “Ain’t you got no real he-man cowboy food like chili and tortillas?”
The three looked at each other with their big, bushy eyebrows raised, then shook their heads.
“It gives Lem gas,” the fat one explained.
He ought to kill all three of them just because they annoyed him, Snake thought. But on the other hand, they were amusing, and he was tired. He squatted by the fire, rubbing his hands together. “What the hell are three greenhorns from New Jersey doing down here in Texas?”
“I’m Clem, pleased to meet you.” The thin one stood up and offered his hand, which Snake ignored. “We owned a broom factory in Newark, but we’ve been reading Ned Buntline’s books about the Old West.”
Slim nodded. “We want to be rootin’, tootin’ cowpokes.”
“Well, you look like damn fools.” Snake looked them over. They wore Stetsons too large for them, brand-new denims, fancy boots, and the furry chaps of the high plains country. He reached to pour himself a cup from the big pot. He shuddered when he tasted the tea. “If you’re gonna learn to be Texans, you got to learn to drink strong coffee and good whiskey.”
Lem said, “We don’t much care for either.”
Snake laughed. “You’ll never make it as cowboys.”
“We got pistols.” Slim stood up and showed off the new six-gun in his fancy holster.
“Can you shoot it?”
They all looked embarrassed and shook their heads.
“Fine cowboys you are.” Snake spat to one side. “Texas babies cut their teeth on a gun barrel.”
“Maybe you could teach us?” Clem’s voice was hopeful.
“Reckon not. I’m in a hurry.”
“Who are you and where you going, stranger?” Lem asked.
“The first thing you’d better learn if you’re gonna stay alive in this state is not to ask questions,” Snake snapped, tossing the rest of the tea into the fire. “I got to hunt down a fella.”
All three men’s eyes widened. “You a lawman?”
“Hell, no, I ain’t no lawman, I’m a gunfighter.”
All three sighed loudly. “Did you know Billy the Kid?”
Snake shook his head. “He wasn’t so much anyways. He got shot.”
They looked at each other and then at him. “We been looking for someone to teach us about being a gunfighter. See? We’re wearing our guns tied low and practicing our quick draw.”
“You got your holsters tied low enough to pull your pants down,” Snake guffawed. “Real gunmen don’t wear their pistols like that.”
“Now how should we know? We ain’t never met a real gunfighter before,” Slim said. “Could we ride along with you? We keep getting lost.”
“Hell, no. I’m
on my way to kill me a sheriff, and I don’t want to drag along no greenhorns. You got anything to eat? Maybe some beans?”
They shook their heads.
“Gives Lem gas,” Slim said.
“You seen any posses?” Snake asked.
“Bunch of men passed us this morning, said they was looking for escaped convicts.”
“Is that a fact?” Snake rolled a cigarette and lit it with a branch from the campfire.
“Said they was from the town of Rusty Spur. That’s a funny name for a town, so I remembered it.” Clem said.
“Sheriff with them? Tall, handsome, dark young hombre?”
Slim shook his head. “Said the sheriff was hurt, so they left him behind.”
Snake grinned without mirth. “I’ll just bet the bastard was. Too yellow to come lookin’ for me and feared I’m gonna find him for double-crossin’ me.”
“You gonna shoot him?” Clem looked hopeful.
“’Course I’m gonna shoot him,” Snake assured him. “I’m gonna shoot him down in the street like a dog if’n I get the chance.”
“We’d like to be gunfighters,” Lem said wishfully. “They all seem so romantic in the dime novels.”
“Tell you what you can do,” Snake grinned. “You can ride into Rusty Spur and tell him I’m comin’ in for a showdown.”
“What’s a showdown?” asked the thin brother.
Snake sighed audibly. “We meet in the middle of the street and try to kill each other.”
“Why?” Clem asked.
“Don’t you remember from the dime novels?” Snake said. “’Cause a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
“You can’t be no gunfighter,” Lem, the one with gas, challenged. “’Cause you don’t got cold, gray eyes. In the stories, gunfighters always got cold, gray eyes.”
Snake frowned. “I’ll show you who’s got cold, gray eyes. How ’bout if I shoot yours out?”
The three looked at him, mouths open. “We—we ain’t got cold, gray eyes.”
“It don’t matter none.” Snake shrugged.
“If you’re a gunfighter, have you got notches in your gun?” Slim asked.
Snake snorted in disgust. “Now why would anyone do a fool thing like that?”
“So you can keep up with how many men you’ve killed,” Lem said.
“I can count,” Snake said, “and I don’t see no need to carve up a good Colt.”
The three half-wits had a quick, whispered conference.
Clem asked, “If you’re gonna shoot a sheriff, can we go along and be your sidekicks?”
“What in the hell is a sidekick?”
Slim pushed back the too-big Stetson, revealing a balding head. “You know, like your partners.”
“If’n I was to want partners, it wouldn’t be three little Yankee brothers who couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with directions writ on the heel.”
“What?”
“Never mind. I tell you what I’ll do,” Snake said. “I’ll let you be my partners if you’ll ride into Rusty Spur and tell the sheriff I’m comin’.”
“That’s better than the dime novels,” the three agreed, nodding eagerly. “We’ll do it.” The three stood up, wearing their new Western clothes and wooly chaps.
“By the way, my horse gave out. You got any money?”
“You can have one of ours,” Clem volunteered. “And we got a little money. We was going to buy train tickets back to Newark when we got tired of the wide-open spaces.”
Snake looked over the tired old nags tied to the nearby bushes. “Some horse trader seen you galoots comin’. Them’s the sorriest nags I ever did see. A self-respectin’ hound wouldn’t eat ’em, and I damned sure wouldn’t be caught dead ridin’ one of ’em. Now give me your money.”
They hesitated, looking at each other.
“Damn it, I said give me your money.”
“Then how we gonna get back to Newark?” Slim quavered.
“Maybe I’ll let you help me rob the bank, shoot all the men, and kiss all the purty women,” Snake said. “You can share the loot.”
“Is that the same as money?”
Snake sighed. If he didn’t need them, he’d kill them. He took the crumpled dollars out of their soft, pink hands. “I might even take the train in.” He laughed, thinking. “Just imagine him all sweaty and scared, knowin’ I’m comin’ in on the train for a showdown at high noon.”
“What we don’t understand,” Lem said, “is why gunfights are always on Main Street. Don’t they have no other streets in these Western towns?”
“Reckon not,” Snake said, counting the money.
“And why is it always at high noon?” Clem asked.
“So everyone can watch the shootout durin’ their dinner hour without missin’ any of the action,” Snake said.
The three looked at each other, awestruck. “Makes sense, don’t it?”
“You three ask too damned many questions,” Snake complained. “Get on into Rusty Spur and deliver my message. When I get there, I’ll buy you three a drink.”
“In a real Wild West saloon?”
“Yep, in a sure ‘nuff Texas saloon. You can watch me shoot the sheriff, rob the bank, and kiss the pretty girls.”
The three nodded. “He’s a Texan, all right, that’s how they do it in the dime novels.”
They got up and began putting saddles on their horses. It took them a while.
“Fer Gawd’s sake,” Snake complained, “just go bareback.”
“Hurts our butts,” Clem said.
“I’ll hurt your butts if you don’t scat,” Snake said. He watched in disgust as they attempted to mount their old nags. “Lord,” he grumbled, “you’d never make it if you had to vamoose pronto.”
“What?”
“Just go!” Snake snapped.
“We’ll see you in town, partner,” Lem said. “There’s some bagels in the knapsack if you’re hungry.”
And they rode out singing, “…oh, bury me not on the lone prairieeee…”
Somewhere, a coyote howled in protest.
Snake watched them ride out at a dead walk. “I woulda shot them, but they were too amusin’,” he said to himself. He grinned thinking how startled Larado would look when he got the message that Snake was coming for him. “That double-crossin’ thief. Wonder what he did with all that bank money? Did he spend it on liquor, cards, and women, or did he just waste it? He couldn’t have any left or he wouldn’t be workin’ as a sheriff.”
Well, he might not get his share of the loot, but he’d get the pleasure of killing Larado. Then, like he’d told the Bloggett brothers, he’d rob the bank and kiss all the pretty women. If they were pretty enough, he’d do more than that. Later, just for fun, he’d shoot the Bloggett brothers. Snake dug in the knapsack for some grub, wondering what a bagel was. After he got a little shut-eye and some food, he’d steal another horse, ride to a railroad station, and catch a train.
High noon on Main Street. Yep, it was the code of the West.
Chapter Eighteen
As the evening progressed, Lark had to move Larado off the settee and into the bedroom to make him more comfortable. He put his arm around her shoulders and hopped along as she helped him. She helped him off with his shirt, but there was no way she could get his pants off because of the splints. He’d have to sleep in those. Now he lay grinning on the bed, looking up at her. “We’ve had some fun on this mattress,” he said.
“Land’s sake, don’t men ever think of anything else, even with their legs broke?”
“Whiskey, and cards, and horses,” he answered.
“I swear, I should have had them take you to the hotel,” she snapped.
“What would everyone think?”
“They’d have thought I was a terrible wife,” she complained, “but I reckon all those women who find you so charming would have been fighting each other for a chance to look after you—especially Dixie.”
“I ain’t interested in her. I’m interested
in you.”
“You’re such a liar. I can’t believe a word you say.”
“I’m a Texan—what do you expect?”
She leaned over and fluffed his pillow. “Go to sleep, you arrogant rascal.”
He caught her hand. “Ain’t there no way I can make it up to you?”
“Be honest with me for a change.” She tried to pull away from him, but he hung on to her hand.
“Lark, sweetie, since you think everything I say is a lie, you wouldn’t believe me if I did tell you the truth.”
“Stop it, Larado,” she snapped. “You won’t charm me this time.”
He let go of her hand, looking depressed. “You’re really gonna leave me, is that it?”
“I already have,” she reminded him. “I’ve just let you move back in because of your bum leg. You aren’t staying.”
He sat up on the edge of the bed. “Then maybe I’d better go ahead and move over to the hotel.” He stood up with great difficulty, tried to take a step and stumbled.
Without thinking, Lark slipped under his arm, steadying him. “Take it easy,” she said. “You end up in the floor, there’s hardly a man left in town to help get you up.”
He had his arm around her shoulders, his face inches from hers. “Ain’t you the softhearted one?”
“Don’t you try to charm me, you rascal. I know you could talk a cow out of her calf, but you aren’t changing my mind.”
He sighed. “I know I’m a bad hombre, but you’re the only woman who ever made me want to stay instead of just driftin’ on.”
Their faces were only inches apart. His dark eyes were so earnest, his mouth so downturned and vulnerable. She almost melted, then remembered and shook her head. “Get back in that bed before I take you up on your offer and let you limp all the way down to the hotel.”
“You’re a hard woman, sweetie.”
“And don’t you forget it. Here’s a crutch Doc left for you. Go sit in the kitchen and I’ll cook you some food.”
He put the crutch under his arm and limped toward the kitchen. “That oughta finish off a sick man,” he muttered.
“What did you say?”
“I said I’m really lookin’ forward to dinner.”
“If you’d wear your spectacles you wouldn’t have tripped and fallen,” she scolded. She followed him into the kitchen and sliced off some of the crusty bread Mrs. Bottoms had sent over. Then she got out the skillet to scramble some eggs.
Georgina Gentry - To Tease a Texan Page 26