A Lone Star Christmas (9 page)

Read A Lone Star Christmas Online

Authors: William W. Johnstone

BOOK: A Lone Star Christmas
4.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“Stewart, go out and kill us a lamb for supper.”
“Yes, sir!” Stewart said, pulling his pistol and riding out toward the flock of sheep grazing peacefully nearby.
“
Monsieur, non!
” Gaston cried out.
“Do I have your attention yet, Gaston?” Cornett asked. “If you take your sheep on out of here, it will just end with us having lamb for supper. If you don't, then we'll kill as many as we can. And since cowboys hate sheep, I expect we can kill a hell of a lot of them. And if killin' the sheep don't make you move, well, we might just start havin' to kill a couple of you. Do you understand what I'm saying?”
Even as Cornett was explaining the situation to Gaston, they heard the sound of a gunshot, then Stewart's triumphant yell. Looking over toward the flock, Rebecca saw one of the sheep fall over onto its side, its legs sticking straight out.
“
Oui, monsieur
, I understand.”
“Do we need to kill any more of your animals?” Cornett asked.
“Non, monsier,
please do not kill any more. We will move the flock.”
Cornett smiled. “I thought we might be able to come to some sort of an agreement. How much is that one lamb worth?”
“Nine dollars,
monsieur
,” Gaston said.
Cornett took out a ten-dollar bill and gave it to Gaston. “Here,” he said. “This is for the lamb we killed, with an extra dollar for your trouble. Now please, move the rest of them as quickly as you can.”
Bailey did an excellent job with the lamb, and that night the cowboys enjoyed the best meal they had eaten so far.
“Damn. If I had known that sheep tasted this good, I might 'a become a sheep herder myself,” Stewart said as he gnawed the meat away from a small bone.
“Ha! Can you see Stewart wearin' one of them funny-lookin' little hats and that jacket?” one of the other cowboys asked.
“What's the hat got to do with it?” Another cowboy wanted to know.
“Well hell, you seen it, didn't you? All three of them fellers was wearin' those funny hats. You have to wear one of them funny hats to be a sheep herder. That's the law.”
“That ain't the law,” Stewart insisted.
“Yes it is. If you are goin' to herd sheep, you've got to wear one of them hats and that jacket.”
As the others laughed and teased Stewart about the funny hat and jacket he would have to wear, Rebecca walked over to Cornett, who was sitting on the ground, leaning back against the wheel of the chuck wagon.
“That was a very good thing you did,” she said.
“What was?”
“Finding a way to resolve this issue without resorting to killing.”
“Hell, boy, did you really think I'd kill the sheep herders?”
“I don't know,” Rebecca said. “I suppose that I was afraid you might.”
Cornett had just taken a bite of meat. He chewed on it for a moment, then sucked his fingers and stared up at Rebecca before he answered. He stared at her for such long time that she became self-conscious. Had he recognized her?
“Yeah, well, that's just what I wanted Gaston to think too,” Cornett said. “If I scared him as much as I scared you, then I guess I did my job.”
Rebecca's laugh was one of relief.
“I wonder what those people are,” Cornett said. “They aren't Mexicans, and they damn sure aren't Americans. They was speakin' French, but it don't seem likely that there would be any Frenchmen over here herdin' sheep.”
“I believe they were Basque,” Rebecca said.
“They were what?”
“Basque,” Rebecca repeated. “It's a group of people who originated in the Pyrenees between France and Spain.”
“How do know that?”
“I read about it,” Rebecca said. “The Basque have a long history of tending sheep, and a lot of them have come to America for that purpose.”
“Carmody, you are a most interesting young man,” Cornett said.
Dodge City, Kansas, August 22
It took them forty-two days to reach Dodge City, and Cornett held them just south of the Arkansas River for two days before taking the herd into town. It was another two days before the herd was loaded onto the train and the cowboys were paid out.
Though everyone had missed a lot of sleep while on the trail, the cowboys were more eager to “have fun” than they were to catch up on their sleep. The first stop for most of them was a barbershop, where they had their hair trimmed and got professional shaves. Then they bought new clothes, took baths, dressed, and headed for the nearest saloon, dance hall, gambling establishment or whorehouse.
“Come on, Carmody, let's go get a haircut and shave, then find us some friendly women,” Carter invited. “Well, in your case, I guess you're too young to need a shave. But you ain't too young to have yourself some fun.”
“Thank you, but I'd rather get a hotel room and catch up on my sleep,” Rebecca said.
“Sleep? Hell, why waste time sleepin'? You're goin' to die one of these days, then you can sleep forever. Come on. I'll bet you ain't ever even had a woman, have you?”
“I'd rather not, thank you just the same.”
“Leave the boy alone, Stewart,” Cornett said to the others. “When we start back he'll still have his pay, and the only thing the rest of you will have will be bruised heads, hangovers, and a couple of cases of the clap.”
 
At the Dodge House Rebecca got a room, then asked for a key to the washroom.
“The men's washroom is the one in front,” the desk clerk said as he handed the key to Rebecca.
For a moment, Rebecca hesitated. Should she take a key to the men's room? She would have to, or she would be found out. On the other hand, what if another man came into the washroom while she was there?
“I, uh, am a very private person,” Rebecca said. “How private are the washrooms?”
“Sonny, once you go inside and lock the door, there ain't nobody else goin' to be comin' in on you, if that's what you're worryin' about,” the clerk said.
Rebecca smiled in relief. “Thank you,” she said.
 
Half an hour later, Rebecca let herself settle down into a tub full of hot water. It was the first real bath she had had since leaving home, and the sensation was delightful. After washing thoroughly, she just lay in the water for several moments, enjoying it.
Suddenly her moments of reverie were terminated by loud knocking outside.
“How long you goin' to be in there, mister?” an insistent voice called from outside.
“I'm sorry,” Rebecca called back. “I'll be right out.”
Rebecca got out of the tub, and drying herself as quickly as she could, put her clothes on over a body that was still half wet. Then, wrapping the towel around her head, she left the washroom and hurried down the hall toward her own room without making eye contact with the person who had hurried her so.
During the cattle drive up to Dodge, she had managed to keep one pair of denims and one shirt relatively clean, and that was what she put on now. She did not want to waste any money on buying any more men's clothing, but neither did she want to buy women's clothing, at least not until all the Rocking H cowboys were gone.
August 25
The Rocking H stayed in Dodge for at least two more days with the cowboys boisterous and noisy, sometimes riding at full gallop up and down Front Street, screaming at the top of their lungs, and often augmenting their huzzahs by firing their pistols into the air. Although every ounce of Rebecca's being wanted to go look up her mother, she thought it best not to do so until the others left. And, since she had no intention of “rousting the town” with them, she spent all of her time in the hotel, leaving her room only to go downstairs to take her meals.
Finally, on the morning of the 25th of August, Cornett knocked on the door to her room.
“Carmody? Ron, you in there?”
Recognizing his voice, Rebecca put on her hat, then opened the door. “I'm here,” she said.
“We're starting back,” he said. “We'll be gathering out in front of the Wright-Beverly and Company General Store in about fifteen more minutes.”
“All right, thanks,” Rebecca said.
Rebecca closed the door and walked back over to look down onto Front Street from her hotel room window. She could see Julius Jackson standing with Parker and a couple of the others who had made the trip up. She had not yet told Cornett that she wasn't going back, and thought about just not telling him, but was afraid he would come looking for her. So, she decided she would go down to the front of the store to tell him she wouldn't be going back, and to tell everyone else goodbye.
When she got to the store she saw Cornett coming up the walk with Stewart. A deputy marshal was with them.
“I want to thank you, Deputy, for releasing Stewart to me,” Cornett said.
“Well, it wasn't nothin' but drunk and disorderly, so the marshal said I could let him go when you folks started back,” the deputy said.
“I didn't appreciate spendin' the night in jail,” Stewart complained. “I didn't appreciate it none at all.”
“Son, you ought to be thankful you did wind up in jail,” the deputy said. “The way you was goin', you could'a wound up in big trouble.”
“I was just tryin' to have a little fun, is all,” Stewart said.
“Get on your horse, Stewart,” Cornett said. Then, seeing Rebecca standing on the porch, Cornett said, “Boy, you haven't even saddled your horse yet.”
“I'll not be going back with you, Mr. Cornett,” Rebecca said. “I'm going to stay here in Dodge.”
“You sure you won't be goin' back with us, boy?” Cornett asked. “You were a good hand. I could talk Mr. Hannah into takin' you on full time if you wanted.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Rebecca said. “But I have an older brother who lives here, and he's asked me to come move in with him.”
“All right, if that's what you want,” Cornett said. He extended his hand. “If you are ever down our way again and looking for a job, look me up.”
“Thanks,” Rebecca said.
“Dodge ain't as much fun if you live here all the time,” one of the cowboys said.
“Hell, that don't make no difference to Carmody,” Stewart said. “He didn't leave his hotel room the whole time he was here.”
“You men be careful on your way back,” Rebecca said, waving goodbye to them as they started back south.
“Carmody,” Stewart called. “If you are going to stay in Dodge, you'd better buy yourself a gun. There's some bad people up here.”
“I'll consider it,” Rebecca replied.
“Yee, hah!” Stewart shouted, and firing their guns into the air, the riders of the Rocking H left the town at a gallop.
C
HAPTER
S
EVEN
Rebecca had not visited the Lucky Chance or any other saloon since arriving in town, but that afternoon she decided that she would go to the Lucky Chance and meet her mother for the first time. She debated as to whether or not she should change into more appropriate garb before she went, but decided that if she went dressed as she is now, she would draw less attention than she would if she went in a dress.
As she got there, she saw a crowd gathering in front of the saloon, and she hurried forward to see what was going on. There were two soldiers standing out in the street in front of the saloon, and another man standing on the saloon porch looking down at the two soldiers. This was a civilian, dressed all in black, with a low-crown black hat, ringed with a silver hatband. He was also wearing a pistol, hanging low in a silver-studded holster. He had close-set, dark beady eyes, and a face that was so drawn it looked as if the skin was stretched over the skull itself, with no cushioning flesh. He was smoking a long, slender cheroot and he took it out; then, as he expelled a long stream of smoke, flipped the cheroot away.
“You soldier boys picked the wrong man to call a cheat,” the man in black said.
“You dealt an ace from the bottom of the deck, Mister,” one of the soldiers said. “What else would you call someone who does that but a cheat?”
“This is what I want you two soldier boys to do. I want you to say, ‘Mr. Lovejoy, we're sorry we called you a cheat. But we are sore losers and lyin' bastards. ' You do that, and I might let you live.”
“Frank, look at their holsters,” a bystander said. “They're army holsters. Both of 'em has got the flap down over their pistols.”
“That's right. Makin' them draw wouldn't be fair, would it?” Lovejoy said. “All right, let's make this fair. You two boys draw your pistols and hold them down by your side. I'll leave my gun in my holster. When you see me start my draw, why you can raise your pistols up and shoot.”
“What? You're saying draw our pistols first?”
“That's what I'm saying.”
“Don't do it, Ernie,” one of the soldiers said. “There's somethin' fishy about this.”
“Everyone here heard him, Jimmy,” Ernie said. “He said we could raise our guns and shoot him soon as we see him startin' his draw. And the way I figure it, we're in too deep now. This here feller ain't goin' to let us go without a fight.”
“I don't feel good about it,” Jimmy said.
“It's our only chance,” Ernie said, opening the flap over his pistol then pulling it, slowly deliberately, so as not to startle Lovejoy. Jimmy pulled his pistol as well.
“You boys ready?” Lovejoy said. “Remember, as soon as you see me start my draw, you can raise your guns and shoot.”
Ernie and Jimmy stood there with their pistols in their hands, staring at Lovejoy.
What happened next caught everyone by surprise. In a move as quick as the wink of an eye, Lovejoy drew his pistol and fired twice. Both soldiers went down without so much as a twitch of their gun hands.
Rebecca watched in horror as the drama played out before her. She looked back at the gunman and saw him standing there, holding his still-smoking pistol as he looked at the bodies of the two soldiers that were sprawled out in the street. The look on the gunman's face was one of Satanic glee. He had actually enjoyed the shooting.
“I ain't never seen nothin' like that before in my life!” someone said loudly.
“I'll bet there ain't nobody in all of Kansas who can shoot like that,” another said.
“All of Kansas. Not even in all of the country,” still another said.
“You folks come on back inside,” Lovejoy said, finally putting his pistol back in his holster. “I'll buy a round of drinks.”
Nearly everyone who had witnessed the shooting rushed through doors into the Lucky Chance Saloon to take advantage of the free drinks. Rebecca walked out into the street and stared down into the faces of the two dead soldiers. They were both very young, and she wondered about them. Did they have family somewhere, thinking about them? If they did, at this very moment, these two young men would still be alive to them. They would have no idea that their brother, or son, was now lying dead in the dirt and among the horse apples of Front Street in Dodge City, Kansas. Rebecca found the thought that their families, wherever they were, still believed them alive at this moment, to be very disturbing, and she turned away to fight against the tears that had welled so quickly.
When she did so, she saw two women standing on the front porch of Wright's store, both wearing long, gray dresses and cotton bonnets which they had tied down over their ears. They were looking on with as much horror as Rebecca felt, and she wondered if they, like she, had been inadvertent witnesses to the shooting.
She heard loud, boisterous talk coming from inside the saloon, and for a moment she almost changed her mind about going in. But, she had come this far to meet her mother, and she wasn't going to back away now. Gathering herself as best she could, she pushed through the bat-wing doors and went into the saloon.
It wasn't until that very moment that she realized she had never been in a saloon before, and she felt very self-conscious. What would the others think when they saw a woman come in here?
Then she realized that the others wouldn't see a woman. She had passed herself off as a young man for over a month now, spending twenty-four hours a day with a crew of trail cowboys. And in all that time, not one person had ever suspected her to be anything other than what she presented herself to be.
Most of the saloon patrons were standing at the bar, gathered around the gunman, who was obviously enjoying the accolades being heaped upon him.
There was only one person who was not gathering slavishly around Frank Lovejoy, and he stood at the far end of the bar as if putting as much distance between himself and the others as possible.
“Come on, Billy, come on down here and join the rest of us,” someone called. “Didn't you see what your brother just done?”
“I saw him kill a couple of soldiers,” Billy said.
“It ain't like he didn't give 'em a chance. He let 'em stand there with their guns already in their hands,” someone said, retelling the story to those who, because they had seen it, needed no retelling.
“He pushed the fight,” Billy said. “He didn't have to push the fight.”
“Pay no attention to my little brother, boys,” Frank said. “If it ever comes to a time where he actually has to discover what he is made of, it will like as not be all feathers and shit,” he said.
The others laughed.
“Come on, Billy. I would think you would be proud of your brother.”
“Why should I be proud of him? Should I be proud because he killed two young men who were serving in the army, protecting the rest of us? No, thank you. That isn't something I care to celebrate.”
“I think Frank is right. Forget about Billy. What do you boys think about what we just saw? I mean Frank commenced his draw, even after them two soldier boys already had their guns in their hands. All they had to do was raise up their hands and shoot, but they couldn't do it in time. When we tell folks that, they ain't goin' to believe it. But it just all goes to show how fast Frank Lovejoy really is!”
“I ain't never seen nothin' like it,” another said.
“They had their guns in their hands. Can you believe that?”
 
The accolades dismayed Rebecca, and she found an empty table as far away from the bar as she could. Looking toward the back of the bar, she saw three young women who were dressed rather seductively, and she wondered who and what they were.
Whoever they were, they were obviously as disgusted with the tributes and homage being paid to Frank Lovejoy as was Rebecca herself, because their faces reflected their disapproval. Then one of the young women, seeing Rebecca, came over to the table where she was sitting. Putting her hands down on the table, she leaned forward to show as much décolletage as she could, and Rebecca was surprised by it, until she realized that the young woman thought she was a man.
“Hello, honey,” the young woman said. “You are new here, aren't you? I don't believe I've seen you in here before. Come up with one of the trail herds, did you?”
“Yes,” Rebecca answered. “I got here a couple of days ago.”
“And you're just now getting around to visiting us here at the Lucky Chance? Well now, my feelings are hurt.” The young woman effected a pout, and Rebecca smiled.
“What's your name?” Rebecca asked.
“My name is Candy,” the young woman said with a flirtatious smile. “So anytime you come in here and you want a girl to have a drink with you, you just ask for Candy. Unless I'm with Billy Lovejoy. Billy is my beau. That's him standing over there.” She pointed to the young man who was isolated from those who were gathered around Frank Lovejoy. “He and Frank are brothers, but believe me, they aren't anything alike.”
“I would certainly hope not,” Rebecca said.
“Honey, you haven't told me your name yet,” Candy said.
Rebecca chuckled. “You are going to be awfully embarrassed when you find out who I am,” she said.
The young woman looked puzzled. “Well now, honey, who are you?” she said. “I know you are young, but ...”
“Is there someone here named Janie Davenport?” Rebecca asked.
“Janie Davenport?” Candy answered. “Yes, she is here. She owns the place. That is, she and her husband own the place.”
“Would you please tell her I would like to see her?”
“Miss Janie doesn't do any entertaining, if you know what I mean.”
“That's all right. I think she'll see me, when she finds out who I am.”
“Well that's just it, honey. You haven't told me your name yet.”
“My name is ...” she started to say Rebecca, but remembered that in the letter her mother had referred to her as ‘Becca.”
“My name is Becca,” she said.
“Becca?” Candy said. “All right, Mr. Becca, I'll tell her.”
Rebecca took off her hat, then let what hair she had left after having cut it, fall to her shoulders.
“And it's not Mister,” she said. “It's Miss.”
“What?” the bargirl gasped.
Rebecca laughed again. “I told you were going to be embarrassed.”
Candy left, and less than a minute later returned with a woman. Rebecca had never seen her mother in her entire life, not even a picture. And other than her father saying, rather vaguely, that “She was pretty,” she had never even heard her mother described. But she could tell by the anxious expression on the face of the middle-aged woman, who was now hurrying across the saloon floor toward her table, that this was her mother.
“Becca?” The woman said, hesitantly, hopefully. “Are you my Becca?”
“Yes, Mama,” Rebecca said. “I am your Becca.”
When the two women embraced, Rebecca did not believe she had ever been squeezed quite so hard.
“What—what are you doing here?” Janie asked.
“I came to visit you, Mama,” Rebecca said, the word ‘Mama' sounding strange to her. “Didn't you ask me to?”
“Oh, child,” she said. “Oh, my darling, child. Yes, I did ask, and I hoped and prayed with all my heart that you would do it. But I never thought, I just never thought ...”
Janie was unable to complete her sentence.
 
That same day, Rebecca moved in with her mother and stepfather. They had an apartment over the saloon that Oscar Davenport owned. Oscar hung a curtain to separate the alcove from the parlor, and that became Rebecca's bedroom. The alcove was little larger than the bed itself and sometimes, when she felt that it was a little too close, she would think of her spacious bedroom back home and wonder if she had made a mistake.
No. She hadn't made a mistake. It had not been, and was not her intention to permanently absent herself from Live Oaks. This was a temporary arrangement, so she was certain she would be able to stay here for a while.
Shortly after she made her living arrangements, which included working for her mother and Oscar, Rebecca sat down to write two letters, one to Tom and one to her father.
Dear Tom,
No, I have not dropped off the face of the earth. You won't be able to respond to this letter, because I am not including my return address. I am not sure you would want to respond to me, anyway.
I am mailing this letter to you in care of Live Oaks, in hopes that you are still in the employ of my father. I am sorry that I told you I loved you on the night of the July 4
th
celebration. I am not sorry that I love you, but telling you seems to have caused you some discomfort, and that I did not want to do.
I will say nothing more, other than that, while you are much in my thoughts, I do not expect to be in yours.
Fondly,
Rebecca

Other books

Underneath It All by Erica Mena
The Lacey Confession by Richard Greener
Adios Angel by Mark Reps
MOSAICS: A Thriller by E.E. Giorgi
Crimen en Holanda by Georges Simenon