Dance With A Gunfighter

by JoMarie Lodge

  He swung his legs off the bed and peered over his shoulder. In the first light of morning he could see the mounds of blankets on the floor. She still slept. Such a little thing, the blankets covering her...just like in his dream. He shuddered and stood up, then ran his hands across his face, rubbing his eyes, needing to wipe away the nightmare.

  His head felt like a horse stampede had run over it, and his eyes were gritty. Last night in the Copper Queen Saloon, a broncobuster from Tucson had recognized him and decided cowpunching was too much work--that being a hired gun was a way to make big bucks. He decided that challenging McLowry--and winning--was the way to build his reputation overnight. But instead of standing and drawing, McLowry had turned his back on the cowboy and walked out of the saloon. Jeers and insults rang in his ears. Walking away like that wasn’t easy to do, and someday, if he was in the wrong mood, or just feeling mean, it might be impossible. He was sick of gunfighting, and he wasn’t about to let some mule skinner make him kill or be killed for no good reason. He left the Copper Queen and went two blocks over to the Mining Star. There, he had to get shit-faced before he was able to squelch the desire to march right back to the first saloon and let that weaselly slimeball get exactly what he had coming to him.

  All that booze was probably the reason that old memories had come back to haunt him. Hell, if he’d known how bad his sleep was going to be, he would have stayed the entire night with the brunette who had gotten his attention by rubbing her leg against his at the Mining Star. She was the type who could have chased away his nightmares. Instead, she had chased him out of her bed.

  After they’d made love, she had gone and gotten all clingy on him, as if she was more than a whore and he was more than a has-been gunfighter who had gone soft and possibly yellow, to hear the boys at the Copper Queen tell it. He wasn’t in the mood for her games. He got up, got dressed and walked out.

  Now, he reached for his shirt and trousers, and put them on. Then he gazed over at Gabe again. He wondered what kind of madness had overtaken him that he had fancied himself the protector of a girl like her. It was a full-time job to take care of himself and more than half the time he wondered why he bothered.

  He didn’t know beans about girls or women or how to take care of them. And at twenty, Gabe was no child. The dancehall girl he was with last night probably wasn’t any older. Not in years, anyway. He must be as loco as the old desert rats who wander around talking to rocks to have gotten himself into this mess. But if he had sent Gabe on her way and she had come across Will Tanner or the other men she was after....

  Tanner. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying not to think about the man, who he was, or what he as capable of.

  His head throbbed as he slowly rose to his feet. Without turning to look at Gabe again, he stumbled from the room to find the outside facilities.

  o0o

  Gabe heard the door close behind him and let loose the breath she had been holding.

  His tossing and turning had awakened her. When he cried out, it was all she could do to stop herself from crossing the room to his side, to take his hand and offer comfort. But he was a stranger. A man in bed. It would have been wrong.

  Even though she didn’t know a lot about what went on between men and women--her father had always been too embarrassed to broach the subject with his only daughter--one couldn’t grow up on a cattle ranch without picking up a good idea of what it was all about.

  She had squeezed her eyes shut as he tossed back the covers and got out of bed, but not before catching a glimpse of his broad shoulders and chest. He was surprisingly muscular for a man who, when dressed, gave the appearance of being lean.

  Her face burned at such improper thoughts. Clutching the blanket to her neck, she stared at the ceiling.

  The hall floorboards creaked and footsteps approached the room. She rolled again onto her side and shut her eyes tight, making sure the blanket still covered her. Last night she had folded the blanket in half, lengthwise, so that she could lie on top of one-half of it, while covering herself with the other half.

  The hotel room door opened, then shut. McLowry walked softly across the room.

  She peeked. He removed the shirt he had worn last night and tossed it aside. Then he squatted on the floor by his saddlebags, his back to her. His back was broad and browned by the sun, but she winced when she saw the puckered skin around two scars just below his shoulder blades.

  Someone had shot him in the back. A wave of anger and fear for him washed over her. But then, she remembered his job--a gun for hire. Death for a price. She pulled the covers tighter.

  Clean shirt in hand, McLowry stood. She shut her eyes, breathing deeply as if asleep.

  "Morning, Gabe," he drawled. The lilting tone to his voice told her she had been caught. She stretched her arms wide and opened her eyes. "Oh, Jess. Good morning. You’re up early."

  He picked up his comb and adjusted the round mirror on a tin stand on the dresser. "It’s not that early, sleepy head."

  The comb rippled through gold-colored hair that slid perfectly into place. His hair looked silken and soft, not at all like the crazy ringlets of her boring brown locks. Snapping her gaze away, she reached for neatly folded trousers and a shirt, and kept the blanket over her as she dressed.

  She was sure she heard a chuckle.

  "I guess I had to catch up on some sleep," she said, feeling decidedly awkward. This was no way to put on clothes. "Out on the desert I kept being afraid a snake or a scorpion or something would sneak up on me at night."

  "You’re on a fool’s mission, Gabe." The joking quality was gone from his voice. "Give it up before you get killed. Snakes aren’t the danger out there--men are. You’ve been lucky, but luck doesn’t last forever."

  She resurfaced from the bedclothes and reached for her boots. "You’re wasting your breath, Jess. I told you, I’ll manage."

  "I’ll make a deal with you." He shrugged on his brown leather vest. "I’ll ride along with you back to Jackson City. After that, if you want to travel, you’re on your own. But at least you’ll be back where you’ve got a home and people who care about you."

  Disappointment filled her. She stood up and stomped her boots into place, then put her hands on her hips and faced him. "I thought you understood."

  "I do understand, and that’s the problem. I understand that when violence touches your life, it’s never the same. I understand that if you kill, even if it’s for vengeance or justice, you become a killer. To do this thing, Gabe, you would have to change so completely, you wouldn’t recognize yourself."

  His harsh words chilled her. "I’ll do what I must," she said, her gaze steady. "I’m not going back, Jess, but I do thank you for trying to help. You’re very kind."

  "You’re no judge of character, either." Picking up his bandanna, he tied it around his neck.

  As she watched him finish dressing, her irritation vanished. "Yesterday, I didn’t see any of the men I’m looking for here in Bisbee," she said. "I guess they missed their buddy’s hanging. But if you’re serious about heading north, I’ll go with you as far as Tombstone. They say silver mines are popping up there like weeds in a cow pasture."

  "Tombstone!" McLowry looked at her as if she were crazy. "That’s no place for you. It’s lawless. The men there are willing to do whatever it takes to get rich quick."

  "Exactly," she said. "Men like Tanner. I’m told he follows silver and gold strikes. Tombstone has silver mines."

  "There are a lot of silver mines in this territory."

  "If the four men I’m looking for aren’t in Tombstone now, someone there might have an idea where I can find them."

  He took a step toward her. "The men there are dangerous loners you need to stay away from."

  She fixed her eyes on him. "There’s plenty back home would put you in that category."

  "We’ll ride together, Gabe, right through Tombstone to Jackson City."

  She went to the door to leave the room for the facilities. Before goin
g, though, she glanced back over her shoulder at him. "Don’t bet on it, McLowry."

  Chapter 6

  The morning chill hung in the air when Gabe and Jess started out the next morning. McLowry wore an old, tan serape, and Gabe a used denim jacket that had been given to her in Jackson City. Her few clothes were all hand-me-downs since she had lost all her own possessions in the fire.

  They took the mountain pass out of Bisbee. Beyond the Mule Mountains a high desert plateau covered with creosote brush, jojoba and ocotillo stretched north to Tombstone. Open, rolling land, empty and treeless lay under highest sky McLowry had ever seen. They had to ride near the Dragoon Mountains, one of the places where bands of renegade Apaches hid to avoid being captured and sent to the hated San Carlos reservation. The Apache leader, Victorio, held the area from southeastern Arizona to west Texas in terror with his raiding and killing.

  McLowry didn’t like to talk as he rode. There was too much need for careful listening to the surroundings. The slightest unnatural sound could mean danger, and he would rather hear the warning than the noise of some woman yapping his ear off. One thing about Gabe, though, she didn’t yap.

  They reached Tombstone that afternoon. The town was in the midst of one of the biggest booms McLowry had ever seen. He remembered when the area was called Goose Flats. Then, in late ‘78, the Contention silver mine opened and by the following March, the town called Tombstone was born.

  The place crawled with people, mostly men. Building was going on all around and the din from hammers nearly drowned out shouts, catcalls and music from the saloons. Whole sides of buildings that had been parts of boomtowns gone bust were stacked in the streets and were being raised and nailed together again. Tents and shanties stood where solid buildings hadn’t yet been erected.

  Tombstone was as rough a place as McLowry had ever seen, and he had been everywhere from Deadwood to Durango. Those places had their good points and their bad. Tombstone was different. It didn’t have any good points.

  Gabe’s head swiveled continuously as they rode through town. She had thought they were on Main Street when she first saw some business establishments, but the street was called Fremont. By the time they reached Fourth, the number of streets that made up the town amazed her. They were all laid in a square grid, lined with shops, hotels and saloons. She had never seen so many saloons.

  But when they reached Allen, which served as the main street in town, her mouth dropped open. There were a few more hotels, but the number of saloons was not to be believed. Lord, she couldn’t imagine shipping in enough whiskey to keep all those businesses stocked.

  Garbage and filth filled the streets and more than once she had to move fast to miss being hit by a bucket of slop tossed from a restaurant or boarding house. The stench took her breath away.

  Men and a few women bustled about the streets, and many of the men were drunk or close to it. Two fistfights happened within two blocks. The saloons appeared full, and loud music from pianos and hurdy-gurdies blended and separated as she rode along the street, the cacophony of sound strange and disjointed, as if fiddlers at a dance had all decided to play a different tune.

  McLowry stopped at the Occidental Hotel. Gabe grabbed her saddlebags and followed him inside. The lobby was stark and plain.

  "Two rooms," he said to the clerk, slapping his money on the barren counter.

  "But--" Gabe was going to say that sharing a room hadn’t been so bad, but she shut her mouth quickly when she saw the look he gave her.

  As Jess signed the register, the clerk handed him two keys.

  "I’ll not let you throw your money away on me, McLowry." She turned to the clerk, whose eyes were wide at the mention of McLowry’s name, and asked how much her room was. She carefully counted out the dollars, and paid him, then snatched up her own key.

  Ignoring McLowry’s gaze, she marched up the stairs and down the dark hallway to the room number shown on the key.

  She heard his footsteps behind her. The hotel they had used in Bisbee looked like a French king’s palace compared to the Occidental. She reached the door to her room just as he did his. She unlocked her door. "Good-day, McLowry. Perhaps we’ll see each other again before you leave town." She entered the room and shut the door behind her before he had a chance to reply.

  The room was as bare and miserable a sight as she had ever seen. The walls had no plasterboard covering the open studs, the ceiling was equally bare, and the floors were pine planks. Nothing covered the windows. A muslin sheet and rough army blanket made up the bedding. Atop the commode stand sat a chipped white pitcher and bowl. Both were dry.

  By the bed stood a short, square little table with a blackened coal-oil lamp and tin of matches. She shook her head at her foolish disappointment in the room. What did she care about comfort when her mission was vengeance?

  An hour or so later, McLowry knocked on Gabe’s door to ask if she would like to join him for supper. There was no answer. He knocked a couple more times in case she was asleep.

  When he jimmied the lock open, the room was empty.

  The thought of Gabe wandering around Tombstone looking for Will Tanner and his men filled McLowry with dread. It wouldn’t surprise him, actually, if Tanner were here somewhere. Tanner would gravitate to Tombstone like a bear to honey. McLowry hurried down to the front desk.

  "Did you see my, uh, cousin go out?" he asked the clerk.

  The clerk twisted his thick lips into a smirk, but quickly dropped it as McLowry’s expression hardened. "I saw her, mister. She left about fifteen, twenty minutes ago."

  McLowry stood on the boardwalk and surveyed the street. He didn’t see her. Maybe she had gone to ask the marshal if any of the four men she sought had been seen in town. He was walking in the direction of the marshal’s office when he heard a ruckus coming from a couple of doors up ahead.

  A barkeep gripped Gabe by the arm, dragged her out of the Crystal Palace Saloon and chucked her into the dusty street. Her hat fell off and she stumbled, but she didn’t fall. The barkeep stood with his toes on the edge of the boardwalk, looking down at her as he brushed off his hands. He was a small man, not much taller than Gabe was.

  She marched right back to him again, even though the boardwalk gave him a few inches over her.

  McLowry tilted back his hat, leaned one shoulder against a post, and watched.

  "You have no call to keep me out of there!" she yelled.

  Some cowboys stood in the door of the saloon and peered out, laughing, spitting and hooting, while passers-by stopped in their tracks to watch. Others rushed to windows and doorways of businesses up and down Allen Street.

  The barkeep pushed her back then waggled his finger at her nose. "We got no place for your type around all them men."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She put her hands on her hips.

  His mouth grew pinched as his gaze flickered over her trousers and flannel shirt. "Even if you was the type for a saloon, you ain’t dressed proper!"

  "I’m not dressed proper? What do you call proper around here? That?" A dance-hall woman stood outside the saloon beside the window. She wore a tight, low-cut, red dress.

  "Leave me out of this, sweetie." The woman put her nose in the air as one hand rested on her hip and the other patted her platinum blond curls. "You couldn’t wear this dress, anyway. You ain’t got nothin’ to hold it up with."

  The cowboys howled. McLowry groaned inwardly.

  Gabe’s shoulders heaved. She looked ready to burst from holding her temper as her gaze jumped from the dance hall girl back to the barkeep. She addressed the man in a tight, controlled voice. "I simply want to talk with you about some men."

  He pointed his thumb at her as he glanced back at the cowboys. "Talk’s the only thing this gal would ever do with a man," he said to his appreciative audience.

  The cowboys stomped their feet and roared with laughter.

  Gabe jumped onto the boardwalk beside him. "I’ll show you what I do with smart-mouthed good-for-no
things!"

  "Hold it!" he cried. She hurled herself against him, giving him a push that knocked him off the boardwalk, into the street and onto his backside.

  "Watch out, Sanders," a cowboy called. "She might beat you up."

  Shaking with fury, Sanders got to his feet. "I’ll teach you some manners, you filthy-mouthed brat!"

  "You wouldn’t know how!" she replied, leaping off the boardwalk, her arm reared back to slug him.

  McLowry ran toward her. She thought she was a lot tougher than she really was.

  "You need to cool down that temper, gal!" The barkeep ignored her blows as he picked her up and swung her like a sack of potatoes over the water trough. She reached up, grabbing his hair with one hand while trying to break his hold with the other.

  As he dropped her into the water, his hairpiece sailed from his head to land in the water with her. His head was bald and pink as a newborn piglet.

  The whole street erupted in laughter. Sanders blushed from his collar to the top of his very exposed pate as he reached into the trough, lifted out the soggy hairpiece and stormed back into the saloon, not looking at anyone as he went.

  "You hurt?" McLowry bent over the trough, his hands on the sides of it.

  Gabe struggled to sit up. Her eyes were teary, though he couldn’t tell if it was from anger, or the dirty water in the trough.

  He reached for her elbow.

  "Go away!" She coughed up water, barely managing to get the words out.

  He didn’t. Instead he slipped his hands into the water and took her by the waist and lifted her out. Water sheeted off her, first back into the trough, then all over the dust-laden street as he stood her on her feet in front of him.

  She looked scrawny and mad as a wet cat.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  Her head was bowed so as not to have to look at him or anyone else. Stubbornly, she pursed her lips.

  He grinned. She must be going through hell, he thought, wanting to cry, die of embarrassment, and spit nails from anger all at the same time. He’d had a moment or two of his own like that.