In the more recent encounter with Bob Shaw, somebody, perhaps in an attempt to prevent further bloodshed, started out in search of a Deputy City Marshal, and finding him, hurried him to the scene of the impending conflict.
When the deputy arrived, he observed Shaw near the bar with a huge pistol in his hand and a hogshead of blood in his eye, ready to relieve Frank Lovejoy of his existence in this world and send him to those shades where troubles come not, and six-shooters are unknown. Not wishing to hurt Shaw, but anxious to quiet matters and quell the disturbance, the marshal ordered him to give up his gun. Shaw refused to deliver and told the deputy to keep away from him. The deputy then gently tapped belligerent Shaw upon the head with his shooting iron, merely to convince him of the vanities of this frail world. The aforesaid reminder upon the head, however, failed to have the desired effect, and, instead of dropping, as any man of fine sensibilities would have done, Shaw turned his battery upon the officer and let him have it in the right breast. The ball, striking a rib and passing around, came out under the right shoulder blade, paralyzing’ his right arm so that it was useless, so far as handling a gun was concerned. The deputy fell, and Mr. Lovejoy, perhaps moved by the affront of an attack upon an officer of the law, discharged his pistol, which until that moment had remained in his holster, in the direction of Shaw. The ball, thus energized, struck Shaw with devastating effect, as he quickly expired from the wound.
“Hello, Tom,” Mo said, coming into the lobby just as Tom finished reading the newspaper article. “Are you ready to show our young friend here a good time?”
Tom chuckled. “I’m not sure what my position will be here,” he said. “I don’t know if I am to have a good time with the two of you, or keep you from having such a good time that you get into trouble.”
“We aren’t looking to get into trouble,” Mo said. “But lots of times when you are looking to have fun, well trouble just seems to have a way of finding you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Tom said.
“There’s Clay,” Mo said. “I wonder who those people are who are with him ...”
Clay Ramsey, who had just come into the hotel with four other men, saw Tom, Mo, and Dalton, and he held up his hand.
“Just a minute,” he called to them. “I want you to meet these men. They are the ones delivered the herd to us, and they’ll be making the drive south with us.”
Clay introduced them and there were greetings all around.
“Where is Dusty?” Clay asked.
“He’s up in the room asleep,” Tom answered. “He said he would join you for dinner, but until then he is going to get as much sleep as he can.”
Clay laughed. “He is smarter than all of us,” he said. “Tom, how about telling him we are going to dinner now? Oh, and you boys are invited as well.”
“We don’t need to eat,” Mo interrupted quickly. “We can always get pickled pigs’ feet and boiled eggs at just about any bar.”
“You will still have time to visit the saloons,” Smoke said. “But this is a dinner you don’t want to miss.”
“What’s so special about it?” Mo asked.
“We’ll be having Angus beef,” Smoke said. “We thought you might want to get a taste of what you will be working with.”
At dinner, the chef rolled a table on wheels up to the dining table. On the table was a huge piece of beef, its enticing aroma getting the attention of everyone in the dining room.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Duff said. “This is the top blade roast. ‘I believe that you will find it quite tasty.”
The chef carved the meat, then served generous portions to all. Smoke, Falcon, Matt, Tom, and Mo asked for seconds.
“Mo, aren’t you the one who said that you could eat pigs’ feet and such?” Clay teased.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know we were going to be eating anything this good. You sure this is beef? I’ve never tasted beef like this before.”
“’Tis Angus beef you are eating,” Duff said. “There’s no finer beef anywhere in the world.”
“Pa’s goin’ to be pleased with this, that’s for sure,” Dalton said.
Desert was hot apple pie, topped off by a slice of melted cheese. When the bite was eaten, Mo pushed away from the table.
“I’ve really enjoyed the supper,” he said. “I don’t know as I have ever eaten this good, but this is our first night in Dodge, and I don’t aim to waste it. So if you good folks will excuse me, I’m going take in some of the sights. Tom, Dalton? You fellas comin’ with me.”
“I am,” Dalton said.
“I’ll come as well,” Tom said.
“Would you mind if I came along?” Matt asked.
“We don’t mind at all,” Tom said. “You are very welcome to come.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Matt said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As Matt, Tom, Mo, and Dalton left the restaurant to take in the sights of the town, Duff, Falcon, Smoke and Sally, and Clay and Maria continued to visit over coffee around the dining table.
“I hope they do not get into any trouble,” Maria said. “Dalton is ...”
“The boss’s son,” Clay interrupted.
“Sí. But he is also—how do you say—persona enredadora?”
“Mischief maker,” Clay translated for her.
“Sí, mischief maker. Evil, no. Mischief, yes.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Clay said. “Tom will look out for him.”
“Tell me,” Dusty asked. “How is it that you fellas managed to avoid the great freeze and die-out?”
“I didn’t avoid it,” Smoke said. “Like all the other ranchers around me, I lost a lot of cows. That’s why I’m running Angus now. I had to replace my herd anyway, so I figured, why not? I knew that Duff was running Black Angus and had avoided the freeze out, so I got in contact with him and I did the same thing that Big Ben is doing now. I got some cows from Duff.”
“What kept you from freezing out?” Clay asked.
“My ranch, Sky Meadow, is in the Chugwater Valley,” Duff explained. “I am surrounded by mountain ranges that protect me from the worst of winter’s blows. I was very fortunate. While everyone else was losing cattle, my herd was increasing.”
“Why did Big Ben decide to get into Angus?” Smoke asked. “I know there was no big freeze-out down in Texas.”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know how he got interested in Angus. After the price on Longhorns crashed, I thought for sure he would switch over to Herefords as all the ranchers are. But he’s been reading a lot about them lately,” Clay said. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if he chose Angus because he would be the only one in Tarrant County raising them. Big Ben is nothing if he is not a trailblazer.”
All the time they had been talking, Falcon had been studying Dusty McNally.
“Dusty McNally,” Falcon finally said. “Haven’t you and I met before?”
“You’ve got a good memory,” Dusty said. “Easy enough for me to remember you, you’re a famous man and you don’t forget meeting famous men. But I’m not famous, so I don’t know how it is that you remember me.”
“It was in Tombstone, wasn’t it?”
Dusty smiled. “Yes, sir, it was.”
“It was outside the Bird Cage Theater. As I recall, you put a load of buckshot into the belly of a man by the name of Otis Jefferson, as Jefferson was about to shoot me in the back.”
Dusty smiled. “Yes, sir, I did do that,” he said.
“It’s not hard to remember someone who once saved your life,” Falcon said. “I’m glad that you will be with us.”
The men continued their discussion over cigars, and in order to avoid the cigar smoke, Sally and Maria excused themselves. They walked out into the lobby, then found two large overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace.
“Oh, I’m glad you suggested we leave,” Maria said. “The cigar smoke was beginning to make me nauseous.”
“Is that the only thing that was making you nauseous?”
Sally asked.
“What do you mean?”
Sally smiled, and leaned a bit closer to Maria. “Maria, are you pregnant?”
“Why do you ask that?” Maria asked, anxiously.
“Let’s just say that it is something I suspect, woman to woman. No, let me adjust that. It isn’t something I suspect, it is something I know. You are pregnant, aren’t you?”
Maria blushed, then looked around. “Yes,” she said. “But Clay and I have told no one.”
“When are you due?”
“In January, I think.”
“You are due in January, and you came on this drive? Maria, have you ever been on a cattle drive before? They are not easy. I find it hard to believe that Clay would let you come along, this close to delivery.”
“I begged him to bring me,” Maria said. “I did not want to take the chance of having this baby at home without him there. He thinks the baby is not due until February. Please do not tell him otherwise.”
“Maria, I know you are young and this is all very frightening to you,” Sally said. “But it was a very foolish thing for you to do. You have no business being here.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Maria replied. “Yes, I am sure you are right. So, I will go back home now. I will leave tomorrow.”
Sally laughed. “You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?”
“Si, Senora,” Maria said.
“I believe Clay said you had come along to cook,” Sally said.
“Si. I cook and I drive the chuck wagon.”
“Then this is what we will do. On the way down to Texas I will drive the chuck wagon and I will cook,” Sally offered.
“Please, I do want to pull my own weight,” Maria said.
“As long as the weight you pull does no harm to you or the baby,” Sally promised.
“You are a good woman, Senora Jensen.”
“My name is Sally.”
“You are a good woman, Sally,” Maria corrected with a broad smile.
“And we won’t tell anyone else that you are pregnant,” Sally said. “But Maria, you must promise me, at the first pain, at the very first sign of trouble of any kind, you will tell me immediately.”
“I will.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Si, Sally, it is a promise.”
Rebecca had intended to return to Fort Worth right after Janie died, but when she came to tell Oscar, he was so inconsolable with grief that she decided she would stay just a little longer. And because she was still in Dodge, she was still working at the Lucky Chance Saloon.
Tonight, she was walking through the saloon, stopping at the various tables to chat with the customers.
“Becca, I want you to know how sorry all of us are about your Mama dying,” one of the customers said. “She was a good woman.”
Rebecca put her hand on the customer’s shoulder. “Thank you, Lonnie,” she said. “I appreciate that.”
Other customers were expressing their own condolences from time to time, but Rebecca, knowing that she had to change the mood—for Oscar if for no other reason—began smiling and joking with the customers until soon the mood had lifted.
Frank Lovejoy was at one of the tables, and as Rebecca stepped up to that table, smiling at the men there, Lovejoy unexpectedly stuck his hand up under her skirt then reached all the way up to grab her by the backside.
“You’re right, Doyle,” Lovejoy said. “It does feel just like Asa’s bald head.”
Doyle and the other men at the table laughed.
“Stop that!” Rebecca said loudly, stepping away from the table as quickly as she could.
“Look who is getting all huffy now,” Lovejoy said.
“Mr. Lovejoy, you got no right grabbing her like that,” Candy said. “She’s not like the rest of us.”
“The hell she ain’t. Ever’ body knows it’s only going to be a matter of time until she starts whorin’ just like her mama did,” Lovejoy said. He looked back at Rebecca. “Honey, if you’d let ole’ Frank be first, I could show you what it’s supposed to be like.”
“Hell, Frank,” Doyle said. “What makes you think you would be first?”
Again the men at the table laughed.
With her cheeks burning, Rebecca retreated to the bar and she stood there with her back to the bar, looking at the table where Lovejoy and the others were engaged in animated conversation interspersed with ribald laughter.
“Are you all right?” Stan asked. Stan was the bartender.
“I can’t believe he would do something like that and not one person at that table would say a thing to him,” Rebecca said.
“Why, Miss Becca, I’m sure you know how it is. All those men work out at Back Trail for Frank’s father. They aren’t going to say anything against him. Too bad Frank isn’t more like his brother.”
“I don’t care if his father has all the money in the world, that doesn’t give him the right to act like a lout. Well, I just won’t make the mistake of going near him again.”
“Miss Becca,” Lonnie called. “How about if you come over here and play a game of poker with us.”
“All right,” she said. “But no crying if I win.”
There were sixteen saloons in Dodge City, and because Mo and Dalton had announced their intention to visit every one of them, Matt and Tom had no choice but to follow along. The two older men were being very restrained with their drinking, but Mo and Dalton were not, and by the time they stepped into the Lucky Chance, which was only their fifth saloon of the night, Mo and Dalton were already unsteady on their feet.
“Whoa, hold it there, partner,” Matt said, reaching out to grab hold of Dalton to keep him from falling when they pushed in through the bat-wing doors.
“This is the first time I’ve ever been durnk,” Dalton said.
“Durnk?” Mo said, and he laughed. “Are you durnk?”
“I guess I am a little,” Dalton said. “You won’t tell Pa I got durnk—uh—drunk, will you?” Dalton laughed. “I said durnk, didn’t I? I said durnk and I meant to say... ,” Dalton stopped in mid-sentence and stared at one of the tables in the middle of the room. It wasn’t the table that got his attention as much as it was the woman sitting at the table.
“What the hell?” Dalton asked. He started across the room toward the table.
“What is it?” Matt asked. “What has he seen?”
“It isn’t what, it’s who,” Tom said.
Tom watched as Dalton approached Rebecca. He could not have been more shocked if he had seen his own mother sitting at that table. What was Rebecca doing here? He knew that she had run away from home to avoid him. But was becoming a prostitute in a place like this really the answer?
He had never heard the exact reason why Rebecca left, he knew only that it had come on the same night that he had told her that he couldn’t love her. What an idiot he had been not to have accepted the love she had so innocently given. He did love her, he loved her as he thought he would never be able to love anyone again after Martha, but he had spurned her. Had he driven her to this? Even in the gaudy dress she was wearing now, she was beautiful. But what had she done to her hair? It was much shorter than he remembered.
Tom stepped up to the bar and ordered a whiskey, whereas at the other saloons he had been drinking only beer.
“Who is that woman?” Matt asked. “What’s this all about?”
“That woman is his sister,” Tom said as he tossed the whiskey down.
“Rebecca!” Dalton said, shouting the word so loudly that it stopped most of the other conversation in the saloon.
Recognizing Dalton’s voice, Rebecca gasped, then turned around. “Dalton! What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same thing,” Dalton replied.
“Please, Dalton, it’s not what you think,” Rebecca said.
“It’s not what I think? What am I supposed to think when I see my sister in a place like this—dressed,” he held his hand out then made a dismissive move with
it, “like you are dressed.”
“Sonny, you need to go on about your business and let her be,” Lovejoy said, standing then. “Your sister is a whore, and she don’t need your interference.”
“I am not a whore!” Rebecca said, resolutely.
Lovejoy walked over to Rebecca and put his arm around her, pulling her up against his side as he faced Dalton. “Go on, Sonny. Can’t you see you aren’t wanted here?” Lovejoy asked.
“Let me go!” Rebecca said, twisting away from him. Lovejoy reached for her again, but this time Dalton stepped up to him and pushed him away.
“Leave my sister alone!” he said.
“Well, now,” Lovejoy said. He smiled, but rather than displaying joy or humor, the smile merely stretched his lips and tightened the skin on his face so that it looked just like the skull, in the black “Jolly Roger” flag that pirates once flew.
“You’ve sort of moved this one up a peg or two, haven’t you, sonny? If you had just gone on and minded your own business like I told you to, nothing more would have happened. But that wasn’t good enough for you, was it? Well, I see that you are wearing a gun. How about we settle this now? Draw.”
“What?” Dalton asked. “Are you crazy? What do you mean, draw? I’m not getting into a gunfight with you.”
“You already have, and I’m goin’ to kill you for it,” Lovejoy said. “Draw.”
“If you want my friend you’re going to have to come through me!” Mo shouted.
Without another word, or even the hint that he had heard Mo, Lovejoy drew his pistol. Mo was quick, and he prided himself on his fast draw and marksmanship, but his reflexes had been greatly slowed by the whiskey, and he hadn’t expected Lovejoy to draw against him without the slightest recognition. By the time he realized Lovejoy was drawing, it was too late. To Mo it looked as if his pistol had just magically appeared in his hand. Mo managed to draw his pistol, but not fast enough. Reflexively, he pulled the trigger on his own pistol, firing a slug into the floor, even as he was falling face down.
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