by Sarah Dreher
Dot shrugged. “You know it, and I know it. All the town knows is, he arrived wearing a gun, no horse, no family, and he’s pretty tight-lipped about what went before.”
“But Billy’s a…”
“Child,” Blue Mary cut her off. “Just a child.”
“It’s our friend Hayes who’s behind the talk, mostly. You know how he is.”
Blue Mary nodded. “Did you know his wife’s become a Suffragist?”
Cherry and Lolly broke into peals of laughter. “Glory be,” said Dot. “There’s a God after all.”
Blue Mary turned sober. “Dorothy, how long can you protect Billy?”
“I don’t know. I’m doing the best I can.”
“No one doubts that,” Blue Mary said. “Stoner might be able to help, too.”
Dot brushed a damp curl from her forehead with the back of her hand and looked over at Stoner. “You think so?”
“If I could find out who really did it…”
“Well,” said Dot, “not meaning to doubt your abilities, but—for once in my life— I’ll welcome the U.S. Marshall. If he ever gets here.” She plunged her hands back into the dish water. “Trouble is, you know durn well the first thing he’ll do is arrest Billy.”
“But...”
“Now, don’t worry,” Blue Mary said. “By the time he arrives, you’ll probably have the whole thing taken care of.”
Dot glanced over at Stoner. “Thing I’m worried about...what if folks decide to take matters into their own hands first?”
Billy kicked the door open and strode into the room. She swung one leg over the bench, straddling it, and began to gnaw on a turkey leg.
It was one of the cutest things Stoner had ever seen.
“Cowboy says they’re bringin’ a herd through Tabor,” Billy said. “Campin’ by the West Fork. Be in town Saturday night.”
Dot sighed. “Well, if that doesn’t beat the devil. Hope I have enough rot-gut whisky to bring us through the crisis.”
“Shoot,” said Cherry. “I was getting used to having my evenings to myself.”
Lolly grimaced. “I guess it’s better than buffalo skinners, but...”
“Buffalo skinners!” Cherry rolled her eyes skyward. “Don’t even talk to me about buffalo skinners.”
“Hey, Dot,” Billy said gruffly. “Gonna need me over the next couple days?”
“Not particularly. You have important business elsewhere?”
Billy pulled her hat down over her eyebrows, not quite hiding the blush that spread across her face. “Thought I might show Stoner around.”
Lolly giggled.
“In that case,” Dot said, and shot Lolly a withering glance, “you might as well borrow the wagon.” She looked hard in Billy’s direction, then turned to Stoner. “I feel the need of some air. Come with me.”
“Sure.” She got up and took Dot’s shawl from the peg beside the door and slid it around the woman’s shoulders.
“Thank you,” Dot said. “Where’s that thing of yours?”
Stoner retrieved her vest and pulled it on.
Dot fingered the edge. “That is the damnedest stuff. What’d you say it was?”
“Rayon and Thinsulate, I think.”
Dot shook her head slowly, as if at a loss in a world that had moved too fast for her to keep up. “Long as it does what it’s supposed to, I guess.” She stepped out into the sunshine.
Stoner followed.
“Trouble with having your own little house,” Dot said, slipping her arm through Stoner’s, “is there’s no privacy. Now, if we were at the saloon, we wouldn’t have to come out in the cold to talk.”
“That’s okay.” Stoner drew in a deep breath of cold, dry, fresh air. As she exhaled, she felt as if she were blowing her sickness away. “You have wonderful air out here.”
Dot gave a sharp laugh. “You wouldn’t say that come spring. Smell of manure hangs mighty heavy.”
They walked for a little while in silence, listening to the crack of dried and frozen weeds underfoot.
“Are you feeling a little more settled?” Dot asked.
“I suppose so.”
“Guess our ways are hard to get used to.”
“Well,” Stoner said, “it’s... I don’t know...disturbing. Not being able to get home and all.”
Dot gave her arm a sympathetic squeeze. “Homesick?”
Stoner nodded.
“I used to get homesick something fierce when I was a kid,” Dot said. “Probably still would if I let myself.” She thought for a moment. “Well, not exactly homesick, considering this is my home and a durn sight better than the one I left. Sometimes I try and put it all together, wondering how I could be nostalgic for a place I distinctly recall not even liking very much. I suspect it has to do with memory prettying things up, like some kind of cheap, sentimental artist. Suppose?”
“I suppose.”
“Sometimes it comes to me that this homesick business is just another kind of loneliness.” She glanced over at Stoner. “The kind of loneliness that’s like a wind blowing through the chimney of your heart. Know what I mean?”
Stoner nodded. “I never found a cure for that.”
“Neither did I,” Dot said. “Maybe there isn’t one.”
“Maybe.”
“If there’s any such thing as Heaven, it must be where you don’t feel lonely.” Dot laughed. “Hard to imagine, though.”
They walked for a while. The ground beneath her feet was hard, but not like the dead hardness of sidewalks. This ground had a feeling of sleeping life to it. Slow and old, but life. When earth is made into concrete, she thought, something goes out of it—the way a bluejay’s feathers lose their vibrancy when it dies.
“What are you pondering so hard?” Dot asked.
“Life and death.”
“A lot of both out here.”
“Yes. Dot, is it always so violent? I mean, all the talk of killing, people carrying guns...”
Dot nodded. “You could say so. You have killings back in Boston, don’t you?”
She had to admit they did.
“The only difference is,” Dot said, “out here we generally don’t kill anyone we don’t know. ‘Cept those of us who are paid to.”
They walked a while longer.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” Dot said at last. “I hope you’ll keep it in mind that you’re a stranger to me. I wouldn’t want you to be insulted.”
“I won’t be.”
“It’s about Billy.”
“Okay.”
“Ordinarily I don’t have much good to say about men. Wouldn’t spit on the best part of ’em. Far as I’m concerned, they’re a necessary evil, and sometimes I’m not sure just how necessary. But now and then you meet one who’s different—one that thinks about what they’re doing and how the world’s going, one that sees beyond drinking himself into oblivion and how much blood he can spill and who he’s gonna poke his bell-clapper into next.”
“I know,” Stoner said. “I’ve met a few.”
“Well, something tells me Billy could be that kind of man. Oh, I know he tries to act tough, and God help you if you try and separate him from that six-shooter. But he’s been through hard times, and he’s still young. If he’s treated right he might grow up decent.”
Stoner tried to think of something of an inconsequential and noncommittal nature to say. She couldn’t.
“Any hoo,” Dot went on, “it’s easy to see he’s got an infatuation with you, and how you handle him could have a lot to do with the kind of man he becomes. Do you understand?”
“Of course I do.” Billy? Infatuated? With me?
“You don’t mind me talking to you straight like this?”
“Not at all.” Billy?
“And I can count on you to handle that young heart with care?”
“Yes, you can.” Infatuated?
Dot squeezed her arm. “I knew you were a good sort first time I met you.”
Stoner looked at her. “Dot, t
he first time you met me, you pulled out a gun and shot at me.”
“Doesn’t mean I didn’t like you.”
“All I can say is, ” Stoner said with a laugh, “I’m glad you didn’t like me a lot.”
Dot laughed along with her. Then she turned serious. “I expect you’ll be moving along one of these days.”
“I expect I will.”
“If I know the boy, he’ll want to go with you.”
“I’m sorry,” Stoner said, and she really was sorry. “I don’t think I can take him.”
Dot gave a huge sigh. “I figured not.”
“If you’re right…”
“I’m right. I know men and women.”
Excuse me, Stoner thought, but sometimes you don’t exactly know the difference. “... I don’t know how to leave him behind without hurting him.”
“Lordy,” Dot said sadly as she watched a hawk circle overhead, “neither do I.”
≈ ≈ ≈
It bothered Cullum, that close brush with death. Not the chance of dying. He’d been prepared for that from the minute he took up bounty hunting in a serious way. No, what really bothered him was the way that train bogged down right where he needed it.
A thousand miles of track and it stopped right there. Right over his head.
It spooked him.
If he’d been a religious man, he might have figured the Good Lord had saved him for something special. But he wasn’t religious, just due for some good luck after a run of bad.
Still, it made him uneasy, nearly dying like that, and then being saved—well, it felt kind of like a warning. Like maybe he should rethink this job he was doing.
≈ ≈ ≈
The day had barely gotten underway when Billy arrived to pick her up. It looked as if she’d scrubbed the wagon seats. There was new hay in the back, and a picnic basket, and a bucket of oats for the mule.
“Hey!” Billy said brightly.
“Hey, yourself.” Stoner climbed up into the wagon. “Nice day.”
“Truly is.” She tapped the reins against the mule. “Any place in particular you want to go, or should we just ride?”
“Riding sounds nice. Though I wouldn’t mind taking a look at that place that burned the other day.”
Billy swept her hat off in a mock bow. “I’m at your service, Ma’am.” She looked her up and down rather openly. “I’m glad Blue Mary hasn’t teased you into one of those goldurned skirts of hers. Wouldn’t look right.”
“Wouldn’t feel right, either.” Stoner laughed. “It’s a good thing I was born in the Twentieth Century. I’d never get used to the dress codes.”
The wagon juggled and jiggled over low frost heaves, tossing her from side to side.
“You okay?” Billy asked.
“Sure. But they should put seat belts on these things.”
“Seat belts?”
“Something to tie you in.”
Billy laughed. “Sounds like a great idea to me. Though it’d be a little awkward if you had to get out in a hurry.”
“Yes,” Stoner said. “They haven’t really solved that one yet.”
The wind was blowing down from the Rockies, picking up speed and strength when it hit the flatlands. It smelled of melted snow and prairie grass dust. But the air and sun felt good against her skin. Being cooped up, no matter how quaint and charming Blue Mary’s cabin, had made her feel all pulled into herself.
“Things are kind of funny, where you come from, aren’t they?” Billy asked.
“Kind of. I guess it depends on your point of view.” She studied the woman’s profile, so much like Gwen’s in its softness and strength.
I have to stop this, she told herself sharply. Billy is Billy, no matter how much she reminds me of Gwen, and it’s not fair to compare them.
Billy glanced over at her. “I guess this wasn’t such a good idea. Too much wind and not enough scenery.”
“It’s fine,” Stoner said, and meant it. She was glad to be here. Not just to get out of the house, but glad to be with Billy.
“Where’s your coat?”
“I didn’t think I’d need it. I gave it away.”
“That was kind of foolish,” Billy said.
“I guess so.”
“You’ve been pretty sick, you know.”
“I know. So have you.”
“I’m used to it.” She was silent for a few turns of the wagon wheels. “Maybe you should get that blanket out of the back.”
Stoner had to laugh. “I’ll be fine, Billy. Don’t be such a Mother Hen.”
“Well, I worry about you.”
“Don’t.”
“Someone has to,” Billy said. “You don’t worry half enough about yourself.”
“What about you?” Stoner said. “You have a lot more to worry about than I do.”
The woman sighed. “I wanted to worry about someone else for a change.”
Billy pulled the mule to a stop. They looked out over an expanse of prairie. “Doesn’t look like much right now, does it?” she asked.
“Nothing does in November.”
“It’s pretty in the spring and summer, with the paint brush and larkspur and buttercups. Blue Mary says you can find all kinds of things out here even now—things like burrowing owls and prairie dogs, roots and seeds and stuff you can eat. But I never have. Guess I lack her touch.” She smiled. “Saw an eagle once, though. Just flying around and around over a patch of bluestem grass. And all of a sudden it dove right at the ground, like it wanted to crack its head open or something. But it came back up with a snake in its claws.” She laughed with delight. “Boy, that was something to see.”
So was Billy, Stoner thought. With her face silhouetted against the pale blue sky, the wind pushing her hair around, the collar of her denim jacket brushing her cheek, the reins resting in her strong and gentle hands. She might have come from Tennessee, but she belonged here, among the grasses and the endless sky.
“Do you like it here?” Stoner asked.
Billy nodded.
“Do you want to stay? In Tabor?”
“Not much point in talking about that, is there? I have to move along come spring.” She hesitated. “Maybe sooner than that.”
“Why?”
“Someone set fire to the livery stable last night.”
“Did it burn down?”
Billy shook her head. “They caught it in time. There’s an old stray dog hangs around there at night. Must have seen it or smelled it and started barking.”
“The night I got here,” Stoner said, “I thought I heard someone striking a match down there. Remember? You were there, weren’t you?”
Billy fell silent.
Stoner wondered what she was thinking.
“I didn’t do it, Stoner,” she said in a low voice. “I didn’t set any of those fires. Honest.”
“I didn’t mean that. I never thought you did.”
“Lots of folks do.”
“Lots of folks think lots of things. That doesn’t make them true.” She took Billy’s hand. “If you could stay in Tabor, what would you do?”
“Learn to read and write. Maybe start up a ranch. Maybe farm a little. I might even be able to teach school, once we had enough kids to start a school. Tabor might be a big city some day.”
“I doubt it,” Stoner said, remembering what Blue Mary had told her. “But you could still do the things you want.”
Billy played with her fingers. “That’s sweet of you to say. But there’s no point in dreaming. If I don’t get hung for murder, I’ll probably get hung for burning.”
“In the first place,” Stoner said firmly, “it was self-defense, not murder. And if we could find out who started the fires...”
“Sure,” Billy said ironically. “There’s a real good chance of that.”
“There might be.”
Billy looked dubious.
“I mean it,” Stoner said. “I’ve done this kind of thing before.”
“No kidding?” Billy
gave a low whistle. “This travel agent business is more complicated than I thought.”
≈ ≈ ≈
Part of a stone fireplace still stood where the house used to be, and the windmill turned lazily, uselessly in the breeze. Other than that, the remains of the house and barn were little more than heaps of charred wood.
Stoner looked the place over.
She walked a circle around the cinders, starting at the outside and working her way in.
Billy leaned against the wagon and watched her. “Wish you’d let me help,” she said.
Stoner looked up. The wind blew a wisp of hair into her eyes. “You can, soon. I want to get a general overview first.” She studied the ground. “Did anyone say which burned first, the house or the barn?”
“Does that make a difference.”
“Maybe. If the house went first, it could have been an accident. A spark from the fireplace or stove or something. But if it started in the barn...” She thought for a second. “Of course, it could have been an animal knocking over a lamp, like Mrs. O’Leary’s cow.”
“Whose cow?”
Stoner brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Never mind.” She turned her attention to the barn. “Would there be anything inflammable stored in there?”
“Not unless you were a damn fool.”
“The people who lived here, were they damn fools?”
“Not that I heard,” Billy said. “Dot would’ve said.”
“I’m sure she would have.” She really didn’t have the slightest idea what she was looking for. Mostly, she wanted to give Billy hope—hope that she might change her life if she took charge of it, hope that there were people who cared about her. And if, along the way, they happened to find out who was burning Tabor—well, that would be a bonus.
She picked up a handful of ashes and sniffed. The kerosene odor was unmistakable. She signaled Billy to her side. “What does this smell like?”
Billy bent over the charred wood. “Coal oil.”
It was a start. She looked around. The blackened remains of what looked like a tin watering can lay at the edge of the burn area. Stoner picked it up. “What’s this used for?”
Billy took it. “When they store the coal oil out back in drums...” She pointed to a metal container some distance from the house. “They carry it in this. To fill the lamps and stove, if they have that kind of stove.”