Between Hell and Texas (18 page)

“No one can replace Rosa,” she whispered.

Dawson stiffened. “How did you know that name? I never told you her name.”

“Yes, you did, Crayton,” Suzzette said. “You told me her name a dozen times…while you slept and I held your face to my breasts and took care of you. You called her name throughout the night.” She sighed. “So, you see, I knew I was up against a lot, trying to win you over.”

“I’m sorry, Suzzette,” he whispered, drawing her even closer against him. “I don’t know what makes life play itself out the way it does. I just wish I had more to say in how things happen.”

Another silence passed, then Suzzette whispered, “Are you going to have any more trouble with Henry Snead or any of Lematte’s men?”

“I hope not,” said Dawson. “What happened with Snead is something I couldn’t afford to let pass. Lematte’s men came snooping around where I’m staying. I had to put a stop to it before it got out of hand. I hope that will be the end of things.”

“I hope so too,” said Suzzette. She moved back enough to look up into his eyes. “If I hear anything from Lematte or his deputies, I’ll tell you right away.”

“Thanks,” said Dawson. “But I’m hoping you won’t be here much longer.” He considered something for a moment, then asked, “Will you be all right here for a couple of days?”

She smiled. “I’ll be all right here for a while. Don’t worry about me. I’m good at looking out for myself.”

“I know,” said Dawson, “But I’m going to find you a place, somewhere for you to rest and take it easy until after the baby’s born. Then maybe you can go get some other kind of work. Maybe even go back east if you have to, where nobody knows how you made your living.”

“Somewhere where I’ll be
respectable?
” Suzzette asked with a tired smile.

“Somewhere where you and your child can live in peace is all I meant,” Dawson said.

“I know what you meant, Crayton,” said Suzzette, “and I appreciate it.”

“I’ll be back for you, Suzzette,” he said. “I promise.”

“I believe you,” she replied. “I’ll be waiting.”

At the bar Gains Bouchard and his men looked up from their whiskey in surprise, seeing Cray Dawson come down the stairs only a few minutes after he’d followed Suzzette up, hand-in-hand, into her room. “Looks like Cray Dawson must be a man with lots on his mind if he can’t settle in with that little dove for the rest of the evening,” Sandy Edelman commented quietly to Gains Bouchard.

Shooting a guarded glance along the bar at Stanley Grubs, Jimmie Turner, and Mike Cassidy, Bouchard replied privately to his foreman, “Keep your comments to yourself, Sandy. You know how these boys can get started teasing a man and not know when to let up.”

Arriving at the bar, Dawson saw the questioning looks on the drovers’ faces, but he offered them no explanation. Before any of the drovers could make a
remark, Bouchard shoved a whiskey bottle along the bar in front of him and said, “Here, fill you a glass from a Double D bottle.”

“Obliged,” said Dawson. He motioned for the bartender to set him up a shot glass. Then he filled it from the bottle and took a drink. “I appreciate you boys riding herd on Lematte’s deputies out there.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Bouchard, a grin forming beneath his thick mustache. “I’d give a twenty-dollar gold piece to see the whole thing over again.” He looked Dawson up and down with close appraisal. “Although, I have to say, you do look plumb tuckered out.” He nodded at the whiskey glass in Dawson’s hand. “Better drink up, get some energy back.”

Smiling, Sandy Edelman cut in, “Yeah, in case any more of the sheriff’s deputies decide to take you on.”

Dawson sipped his whiskey. “I’m hoping that’ll be all I hear out of that bunch. I don’t want any trouble with them.”

Bouchard winced. “For a man who doesn’t want trouble, you sure manage to keep a bunch of it on your trail.”

“This thing with Snead couldn’t be helped,” said Dawson. “The longer I put it off, the more of these thugs I would have had to deal with.”

Bouchard looked at Edelman, then back at Dawson. Lowering his voice he said, “It might interest you to know that the town councilmen are looking for somebody to stand up against Lematte and run him and his men out of town.”

Dawson nodded. “That figures. They vote this man in, now they can’t wait until the next election to vote him out. They want to go against
their own
laws.”

“I know what you mean,” said Bouchard. “I get
the same bad taste in my mouth from it. They asked me to do something, but I turned them down. After them seeing what happened out there today between you and Deputy Snead, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if our
honorable
councilmen come sneaking around, asking you for help.”

“Well, they can ask all they want,” said Dawson. “But if they’re not going to abide by their own law, I’m not going to strap on a gun for them.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Bouchard, raising his glass toward Dawson in a short salute, “coming from a man with a big gun reputation. Usually a man gets known as a gunman, he begins to think of himself as above the law.”

“Not me,” Dawson said. He finished his drink and looked along the bar at the other drovers, who stood watching him. “I thank all of you for being out there today.”

The drovers nodded as one. “Don’t mention it,” said Edelman.

Dawson set his glass on the bar, then said privately to Gains Bouchard, “The woman I went upstairs with?”

“Yeah, what about her?” Bouchard asked.

“Do me a favor…pass the word around for everybody to leave her alone?”

“Leave her alone?” Bouchard mused. “Dawson, you are asking one hell of a lot. Everybody here has been interested in her ever since the two of you climbed the stairs together.”

“Will you do this for me?” Dawson asked.

Bouchard grinned, then asked, “What’s wrong, Crayton, have you gone and fell head over heels for that young fancy woman?”

“No,” said Dawson, “it’s not like that at all. But I have my reasons. Will you help out?”

“All right,” said Bouchard, “I’ll try to keep my boys away from her. But I have to do it my own way.”

“Thanks,” said Dawson. “Looks like I owe you twice for today.”

Bouchard grinned again. “You don’t owe me nothing, Crayton Dawson; you never did.”

Dawson left the saloon with a touch of his hat brim, taking a quick glance up at the door to Suzzette’s room. Once he’d left the saloon, Gains Bouchard stood leaning on an elbow, looking across the saloon in contemplation as he worked on a lump of chewing tobacco in his jaw. Down the bar, Mike Cassidy tossed back the rest of his drink and said, “Boys, it’s time I get up them stairs and take up where Dawson left off. If you smell smoke that’ll just be wallpaper burning.”

Cassidy stepped back from the bar and started toward the stairs. But as he passed Gains Bouchard, he felt a big hand snatch him by the back of his shirt and pull him back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Hell, you heard me, Boss!” said Cassidy. “I’m going upstairs and dust my shirttail!”

“No you ain’t,” said Bouchard flatly. “Go back over there and have another drink.”

“Whoa, hold on now, Boss,” said Cassidy, getting an edge to him. “I’ll ride to hell and back for you and never bat an eye over it…but you don’t tell me who I can and can’t bed myself down with.”

Without raising his voice, Gains Bouchard said matter-of-factly, still leaning on his elbow, “Dawson
just told me he’s in love with that woman. Why don’t you pick yourself somebody else?”

Cassidy let out a breath of disappointment. “Well, damn it, Boss. I was all set to fall in love with her myself.”

“Do us all a favor, Cassidy,” said Bouchard. “Dawson’s been one of us for a long time.”

“Ah—hell, I know it,” said Cassidy grudgingly. He looked all around the bar until he spotted Miami Jones standing near a gaming table with a hand on her hip. She gave him a seductive smile. “Well now, one door shuts, another always opens.” Giving the other drovers a look, he said, “I reckon I’ll just have to
fall in love
in a different direction.”

Cray Dawson managed to leave the Silver Seven Saloon unseen and slip into an alley. He walked along the backs of buildings to the end of the block and turned toward a tall, white clapboard boarding house sitting back off the main street in the shaded canopy of two live oaks. At the rear of the large house, he opened a gate in the white picket fence and went to the back door. A young white housemaid let him in and led him to a cool, darkened parlor and introduced him to the proprietor, Miss Lillian Hankins.

“You’re from here, aren’t you, Mister Dawson?” Miss Hankins asked once the introductions were made. She eyed him up and down, Dawson standing with his hat in his hand. Her eyes went to the Colt on his hip. “I believe I heard somewhere that you are renowned for your ability with a handgun?”

“That is true, Miss Hankins,” said Dawson. “But I am not a gunman, or a rounder of any sort…I’m a drover by trade.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, the look on her face suggesting that being a drover made him no better in her estimation. “No offense, Mister Dawson, but the fact is, I have a hard, fast rule against letting rooms and board to drovers.”

“Well, you see, ma’am,” said Dawson, “the room wouldn’t be for me. No, I’m looking for temporary room and board for a young woman I know.” He already realized how difficult this was going to be. “I wanted to find out what it would cost to put her up here for say…eight to ten months?”

“Eight to ten months, eh?” Miss Hankins eyed him skeptically. “Do I look like I’m just a newcomer to this business, Mister Dawson?” she asked.

“Ma’am?” said Dawson.

“This young woman is in trouble I take it. And if I was to guess, I’d say that you’re the one responsible.” She tossed a hand. “My goodness, young man, do you realize how many times a year somebody stands right there where you’re standing, asking me the same thing, if I have room for some poor young woman carrying their child?”

“Ma’am, it’s not like that,” said Dawson. “The fact is, this woman is, well…” He let his words trail for a moment. “The fact is she’s a saloon gal…a working girl as they say.”

“Oh, one of those poor
soiled doves
out to change and make a new life for herself,” said Hankins with a sharp twist to her voice. “I should have guessed.” She stared at him coldly and murmured under her breath, “A gunman and his swollen harlot.” She shook her head. “What’s coming next to my door?”

“I apologize for taking your time, Ma’am,” said Dawson, controlling his anger, as he saw that this was getting him nowhere. He excused himself and walked to the rear door. No sooner than he was gone, Miss Hankins called the young housemaid in and said, “Beverly, do you know this man?”

“Oh, no, Ma’am!” said the startled maid. “He’s
from around here in Somos Santos! I recognize him…but no Ma’am, I don’t know him, not at all.”

“I hope you’re not lying to me, Beverly!” said Miss Hankins, giving her a dark stare. “Do you know which saloon gal he’s been fooling with? Have you seen the two of them together any time?”

“No, Ma’am! I never go near the saloon! I don’t know any of those women! I’m a good girl, Miss Hankins! I swear to you I am!”

“You better stay that way, Beverly, unless you want to go back to that Nebraska orphanage and work there until the whole world thinks you’re simple-minded.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Beverly with a crushed expression on her face. “Is there anything else, Ma’am?”

“Yes,” said Miss Hankins, “I want you to go tell the sheriff I’d like to see him. I want him to know that one of his whores is big in the belly.” She chuckled under her breath in contemplation, then said quickly before the young maid could leave the room, “No, wait, this will keep for now. Go on about your work. I’ll tell the good sheriff tonight.”

“Yes, Ma’am, will that be all?” Beverly asked, her voice a bit shaky.

Miss Hankins stood up and plucked at the seat of her long gingham dress. “Yes, that will be all for now,” she said absently. Craning her neck, she looked out the window and saw Cray Dawson walking along the side of the street toward the mercantile store. “How dare he, thinking I would allow the likes of a saloon gal staying here among decent folks…”

Outside on the street, Dawson kept his head ducked slightly to avoid bringing attention to himself. At a hitch pole out front of the mercantile store,
he spun the horse’s reins, stepped onto the boardwalk and walked inside. Behind the counter Mort Able grinned and rubbed his long hands together. “My oh my, Crayton! That was the most excitement I’ve had in years!”

Dawson stopped and snapped his fingers, remembering the ax handle he’d borrowed. “Mort, I’m sorry. I didn’t bring your handle back like I said I would.”

“That’s all right, Crayton, I picked it up myself after you wore it out on that deputy.” He grinned broadly. “I’m going to hang onto it, bloodstain and all; call it a
keepsake
.”

“I’m glad you’re happy with it, Mort.” Dawson offered a slight smile. “Now I have to ask you, how’s my credit here for a few weeks?”

“As good as it is for a few months, far as I’m concerned, Crayton,” Mort Able said, gesturing with a hand toward a feed sack filled with the items he’d gathered that were on the list Dawson had left with him.