Gasher Creek Part 45

That got his attention. Jack said, "What?"

"Come with me. I won't speak of it here."

Samson lifted his head. Water dripped off his muzzle and plunked back into the trough. He sniffed at Liza, his ears perking forward.

"All right," Jack said.

He still didn't trust her, but he'd hear her out. After what she'd said, he had no choice.

Taking Samson with him, he followed her past the town limits and out into the long gra.s.s. He kept waiting for the sound of a gunshot, but Liza stayed close to him as she walked, something she wouldn't do if a rifle were trained at his head. She didn't speak again until they'd put a safe distance between themselves and the town.

"Here," she said.

Jack dropped the reins. Samson stopped and nibbled on the gra.s.s.

She turned and faced him, her eyes turning white in the sunlight. "So, you're above snakes," she said. "Everyone figured you'd wandered into the Badlands and died."

Jack looked around, trying to see a shadow, a glint of metal, anything to indicate an ambush.

"I told you, there ain't no one with me," she said. "I'm in hiding. See my hair? Why would I dye my hair if I was after you?"

"To lure me into a trap."

"And how would I know you'd be here?"

Jack didn't have an answer for that. "Still," he said, "you could be in cahoots with the sheriff."

"He ain't after you."

"Then who sent Smith to hunt me?"

"Cole?" she said. She hugged her arms. "You've seen Cole?"

Jack nodded. "He's dead."

She caught her breath. Her eyes grew gla.s.sy, but she didn't cry. "I figured as much," she said, her voice hitching. "When he didn't come back, I ... good. The son of a b.i.t.c.h deserved it. Did you kill him?"

"No," Jack said. "I just saw it."

She nodded. "Good." Wavering a little, she sat down in the gra.s.s. "Good."

"Well, if Tracker didn't send him, then who did-Hank?"

Liza stared at her lap.

"Liza?"

"What."

"Did Hank send him?"

"No," she said. "Hank's also dead."

"Dead?" Jack said. He thought back to their fight. They'd both been blind and flailing around in the dark. Hank had cracked him on the jaw, twice, and then slammed his head into the ground. Jack fought back with no more than a handful of thistles and a single kick. Had the kick broken his neck? His legs were strong, but they weren't mule strong.

As if reading his thoughts, Liza said, "You didn't do it. Andy and Cole did."

Jack sat down beside her. "Andy," he said. "You sure?"

Cole, he could believe. If someone accused Cole of robbing old ladies and poisoning children, he'd accept it without question. But Andy? "That doesn't make sense," he said. "Andy wouldn't hurt anyone, least of all his pa."

Liza reached out and grabbed his wrist. Tears spilled down her cheeks and dripped off her chin as she said, "Jack, you listen to me. You listen real hard."

Chapter Forty-Four.

Liza hated Jane, the useless girl. She was sick again and hold up in her room with a fever. Doc Ansen gave her a little laudanum but that would only make her sleep, and a sleeping wh.o.r.e was no use to anyone. Hank couldn't make any money off her (not that he made much with her stuttering like a chipmunk), and she couldn't help the other girls on a busy night, which was practically every night. With Delilah helping at the bar, the humping was left to herself, Sally, and Agnes. Three girls and an endless parade of men.

Liza was spent. It was late evening, and she was sore between the legs. Her ribs were tender, her belly bruised. Her skin was soaked in old sweat and thick as leather. She needed a bath, but there was no time. The Ram was full as a tick and throbbing with noise: the click of checks on the faro tables, the growls and shouts of men losing their claims, the sc.r.a.pe of chair legs, the rumble and tap of Foster on the piano. The air was foggy with smoke from the penny cigars that Hank sold at the bar. Liza hated those most of all. They smelled like burnt hair.

Making her rounds, she served her drinks and winked at the boys, fended off their gropes with playful slaps and tried not to spill any liquor. She started to feel good despite herself, bouncing a little as Foster pounded out Camptown Races. After all, she was wearing her new canary yellow dress, a bit of frill at the shoulders. The cowboys didn't notice, but why would they? Folks at a theatre don't much notice the curtains either. Of course, they noticed the bits they fancied. She'd already been pinched, spanked, her hair pulled, her foot stepped on. One man buried his nose into her neck and refused to stop sniffing until Hank made him pay for it.

The other girls didn't fare much better. Agnes was still recovering from a black eye, so she shied away from the bigger rushers. Still, it didn't stop her from being poked and teased. Sally always fared the worst. She was yanked onto more laps than any other girl. At that moment, she was bouncing on the knee of a tall skinny man with a long skinny beard. She smiled, but it wasn't touching her eyes. She looked exhausted. Her long red hair hung limp on her shoulders. She'd already been up twice as much as Liza. The boys couldn't get enough of her.

As Liza turned back toward the bar, she decided to check on Andy and Jack. They sat at a corner table playing poker. Or at least Andy was. Jack's cards lay on the table. His head lay on the cards. Empty gla.s.ses surrounded his head.

Slipping between two tables (and trying not to wince as someone slapped her bottom), she made her way over and said, "Hey boys." She twirled. "Don't I look dandy tonight?"

Jack lifted his head, looked at her with one open eye, and said, "Dan."

"Why, thank you Jack," she said. "More drinks, Andy?"

"No," Andy said. "It's almost time."

"Yes," Jack said, reaching out a shaky hand for one of the empty gla.s.ses. "Time to drink!" He tipped it over his lips and tried to lick a drop as it rolled down the gla.s.s.

"Oh, one more won't hurt," she said. "The boy's just drowning his ache over Sally. You got stripped down in front of the whole town, you'd be a mess, too."

"Fine," Andy said, "only don't stand here, it looks suspicious. My pa is watching."

Liza turned. "No he ain't."

"Just," Andy snapped. He lowered his voice. "Just do as I say."

His leg bounced. He glanced furtively around the room.

"Grand," she said, and headed to the bar. Across the room, the bearded man followed Sally upstairs. If he was younger, it might have stalled their plan, but he wouldn't take long. He'd be in and done like a trip to the outhouse.

Liza reached the bar and ordered a whiskey for Jack. Hank was busy gabbing with Earl Reddle, so Delilah poured it for her. Leaning over the bar, she said, "How's our lamb faring?"

"He's drunk," Liza said. "Could bleed whiskey."

"A shame," Delilah said, and winked. A devil's wink, as her ma used to say.

Liza frowned at her and took the gla.s.s. She stared into its dark, amber liquid and felt bad for Jack. He was getting the s.h.i.t end of the stick and no doubt. It was for the best-she knew it was-but she wouldn't wink about it.

"Girls," Hank bellowed from the other end of the bar. "Get on with yourselves. Delilah, fetch Earl a rum. Liza, get your toes up."

Liza nodded, but there wasn't time for any of that now. She'd play deaf to the boys until Sally came back down. Cole needed her, and that was enough to incur the wrath of Hank. She wouldn't fail her Starbit.

Starbit. A poet's name, like that Romeo boy from the traveling theatre show. And Cole was a poet, with feelings like a woman. The letters he wrote gave her chills. At night, she'd lie in bed and read them and re-read them, then close her eyes and dream of a cabin beyond the town limits. She saw herself visiting with Caroline Tracker during the day (gossiping over the washboard), and preparing supper for Cole at night (chicken and potatoes and maybe even pie). Sometimes she saw children in her dream, and sometimes she didn't. But children didn't matter to her, not really. What mattered was a home and a bed and a man she could call her own.

Of course, she'd never share her dream with anyone. The other girls would only tease her. Delilah was liable to smack her for being foolish. But what was so foolish about it? She could do it. She could become a respectable woman. The other girls would hate her when she left, seething with jealousy and calling her all sorts of names. But names never bothered her. The proper ladies in town might give her the stink eye, but they'd forget in time. Everyone forgets everything eventually.

Liza looked upstairs. She could almost see her love waiting like a snake in a boot. He was so brave. He didn't want any part of this nasty business, she was sure of it. He was doing it for her so they could finally be together. Sometimes you have to do terrible things for love.

After all, Romeo was a killer, too.

The long bearded man appeared at the top of the stairs, hitching a suspender over his shoulder and looking infinitely pleased with himself. Sally slipped past him, combing her hair with her fingers. Reaching the bottom, she coyly rebuffed a rancher and hurried down the back hallway to the wash room.

Andy was watching now, waiting for her to come back. Liza's heart beat faster. Her hands trembled. Almost time. She hoped her nerves wouldn't get the better of her. Over at the piano, Foster started playing Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair. Liza smiled, thankful for the distraction. It was a lovely song, even though it always made her feel sad.

Moving her lips to the words, she whispered: "Flitting like the dreams that have cheered us and gone. Now the nodding wild flowers may wither on the sh.o.r.e. While her gentle fingers will cull them no more. Oh! I sigh for Jeanie with the light brown hair, floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air."

A gla.s.s shattered.

In the corner of the room, Jack was on the floor, sobbing. Andy knelt beside him, saying something she couldn't hear over the music.

"What the h.e.l.l's wrong with him?" Hank growled.

"Drank too much I reckon," Delilah said, shaking her head. "What a shame."

Sally appeared out of the back hallway. She leaned an elbow on the bar and scanned the room, looking for her next hump.

Delilah looked at Liza.

Liza looked at Andy.

Andy nodded.

"Sally," Liza said. "Come help me with Jack."

Seeing Jack, Sally stiffened and said, "I'll not touch him."

"But he's making a fool of himself."

"I don't care," she said. "Besides, if I go near him, he'll only blubber and make an even bigger scene."

"He won't."

"Oh?" she said. "He hasn't been following you like a lost pup for the last six months. He hasn't been trying to keep you from your tricks. Did you know he's been telling fellas I have the cough?"

"He's just trying to protect you."

"He's off his crown!" Sally exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "Thinks I'm his sister. Well I'm not his kin, and I don't care."

Liza fumbled for something to say, an argument that would persuade her, but she couldn't think of anything. If she didn't come up with something soon, everything would be ruined and Cole would be upset with her.

"Please?" she said to Sally.

"Go dunk your bucket."

Hank slammed his fists on the bar. Gla.s.ses clicked and spilled. Earl Reddle fell off his stool. "You," Hank said to Sally. "And you," he said to Liza. "Get that roostered son of a b.i.t.c.h out of here. I don't care how you do it, just do it quick."

Sally sighed. "For Heaven's sake," she said, and marched over to the table. Liza followed. They reached the table as Andy was pulling Jack's arm over his shoulder. Jack, for his part, was wiping his cheeks with a red ace card.

"We're here to help," Sally said.

"Good," Andy grunted.

Jack looked up and smiled at Liza. Then he saw Sally and started crying again.

"You see?" she said. "I told you this would happen. Off. His. Crown."

With Andy under one arm and the two women under the other, they managed to drag Jack toward the stairs, his boots sc.r.a.ping across the floorboards. He wept and sniffed. He whimpered. Foster covered it up with a rousing chorus of Paddy Works on the Erie.

They reached the stairs and managed to heft him up a few steps before Sally lost her grip. Jack slumped onto a step. Chuckling, he said, "Where'd those stairs get to?"

"Oh, shut up," she said.

Regrouping, they continued their ascent. "Up, up, step lively Jack," she said.

"I think he's out," Liza said.

"He's still crying," Andy said.

"I'll give him something to cry about," Sally said.

They lifted, and paused. Lifted, and paused. Liza tried to ignore the pain in her shoulders by concentrating on the steps beneath her. She never realized how scratched they were. Sally dealt with her ordeal by growling and cursing. Andy panted like a dog.

"Almost there," he said.

With one last heave, Jack flopped over the top.