Further Adventures of James Butler Hickok (9781101601853) (6 page)

EIGHTEEN

Clint left the jail and went back to his hotel. He needed a bath and a change of clothes. He told the clerk to get the bath ready, went up to his room to collect the clothes, then went back down.

He soaked in the tub for a while, getting the smell of the jail cell off his body, then got dressed and strapped on his gun. He went back to his room to leave the dirty clothes, but when he got there, he saw that the door was ajar. He tucked the clothes under his left arm, drew his gun with his right, and opened the door with his foot.

“The clerk said you were in the bath,” the woman said. “I thought I'd wait here.”

“Why leave the door ajar?”

“I wanted to warn you,” she said. “I didn't want you to come in with your gun blazing.”

Clint closed the door, dropped the bundle of clothes on a chair, and holstered the gun. Then he looked at the woman.

Her name was Katherine McCoy, and she was Kathy's mother. Clint figured her to be about thirty-eight, and if she was any indication, Kathy was going to be even more beautiful when she got older.

“Mrs. McCoy, you shouldn't be here—”

“Come on, Clint,” she said, “you think I don't know that you bring my daughter here?”

“How long have you known?”

“Since the day she came home with straw in her hair.”

“Oh, that.”

Katherine was sitting on the bed, and now she scooted back and drew her legs up so that her skirt fell away to reveal them.

“Do you think my daughter is beautiful, Clint?”

“Well, yeah, I do—”

“And me?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Do you think I'm beautiful?”

“Mrs. McCoy—”

“Katherine,” she said. “Call me Katherine.”

“Katherine,” Clint said, “I'm pretty sure you know you're a beautiful woman.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “but I'd like to know that a younger man still thinks I'm beautiful.”

“I think you're very beautiful.”

“And I think you're a very handsome young man,” she said. “Why don't you come over here and sit beside me?'

Clint wanted to protest, wanted to put her out of his room, but she actually was very beautiful, and suddenly he was thinking about only one thing.

He sat next to her, but before she could say a word, he kissed her.

“Oh,” she said, pulling her head back to look at him. For a moment he thought she was going to protest, but suddenly she appeared to decide to stop playing games. She kissed him, hard, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, and then they were rolling about on the bed, pulling each other's clothes off.

Mother and daughter had the same pale skin, the same downy pubic patch, but Katherine had more womanly curves than Kathy did. Her breasts and hips and butt were larger, they filled his hands—and on top of that, she was much more experienced.

She got Clint onto his back and swooped down onto his cock with her mouth. While Kathy was tentative, sucking him for the first time, Katherine had obviously done this before.

“Oh God,” she said, “look at this young, hard cock.” She sucked him all the way in, then let him slide wetly free. “And you are so sweet!”

She went back to sucking him . . .

* * * 

“Why don't you just give him back the watch?” Susannah Moore said to Dave Tutt.

“I won it fair and square.”

They were seated in the kitchen of her house, eating a lunch she had prepared for them.

“He puts a lot of store in that watch,” she said.

“I know he does.”

She stared at him across the table.

“And that's why you're keeping it, right? To upset him?”

“Look,” Tutt said, “he's the one who threw it into the pot.”

“This is going to end badly, Dave,” she said.

“If it ends badly,” Tutt told her, “it won't be about the watch, it'll be about you.”

“I don't want any fighting about me, Dave Tutt,” she said.

“Don't worry, Susannah,” Tutt said. “Don't worry.”

NINETEEN

Clint let Katherine
ooh
and
ahhh
and suck his cock until he couldn't stand it anymore, and before he could ejaculate into her mouth, he pulled her off.

“What are you doing, you sweet boy?” she asked. “Is this what you do with my daughter?”

“I don't want to talk about your daughter,” he growled. He flipped her onto her back and buried his face in her bush. God, she even smelled and tasted like her daughter.

This was the first time Clint had been with a mother and a daughter, and he found it exciting. Especially since Kathy could have shown up at any moment and knocked on the door. He wondered what Katherine would do if that happened. Hide under the bed? Go out the window? What if her husband—Kathy's father—had been in the hall, knocking on the door? Then he'd have to go out the window.

He worked her into a frenzy with his mouth, lips, and tongue, then mounted her. Mother and daughter had probably never discussed being with a man, but apparently they liked to do the same things.

Clint liked them, too.

* * * 

Later they lay together on the bed, her head on his shoulder.

“Have you been with many women older than you?” she asked.

“Some.”

“Many married women?”

“Not many,” he said. “I try not to.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“Well,” he said, “what am I supposed to do now?”

“About what?”

“About Kathy.”

“Oh, you can go on seeing Kathy. I'm not looking to get between you two.”

He looked down at her; she looked up at him.

“Then what was this about?”

“I told you,” she said, “a woman needs to be told sometimes that she's still beautiful, and still desirable.”

“Your husband doesn't tell you that?”

“Oh no,” she said. “He doesn't tell me, and he doesn't touch me.”

“Why not?”

“He's not interested.”

“Then he's a fool.”

He kissed her then, tenderly.

“Well,” she said, patting his stomach, “I better get going.”

“So soon?”

“I forgot how soon a young man revives,” she said.

“I don't think you'd have any trouble keeping up with me.”

“Well,” she said, “my husband may not want to make love to me, or tell me I'm beautiful, but he will wonder where I am.”

“And where does he think you are?”

“Dress shopping.”

She stood up and he watched as she got dressed. It was something he would enjoy for years to come, watching women get dressed. After . . .

She walked to the bed fully dressed, leaned over, and kissed him.

“Keep treating my Kathy well,” she said. “There's no reason she needs to know about this.”

“I agree.”

“Good-bye, Clint.”

He watched her walk out the door, wondered when he'd get the chance to do something like that again.

* * * 

Hickok was sitting at a table in the Old Southern, drinking and stewing about Dave Tutt, and his watch.

“Bill?” somebody asked. “You wanna play some poker?”

Hickok looked up, then over at the table that was being set up for a game. He looked at the players, knew they'd be no competition for him.

“Not interested.”

“Not interested . . . in poker?” the man asked.

“You heard what I said, didn't you?”

“Sure, Bill, sure,” the man said. “Sorry to bother you.”

The man walked back to the table, shaking his head and telling the men what Hickok had said. They were all aghast. When had Wild Bill Hickok ever turned down a game of poker?

Something must have really been bothering him.

Hickok was thinking about the watch, but then he started thinking about Susannah Moore.

“Walt,” he yelled, “another beer.”

“Comin' up . . . Mr. Hickok,” the bartender said.

TWENTY

Clint considered finding Hickok and thanking him, but then recalled the way the man had treated him when he'd simply tried to introduce himself.

On the other hand, how many other people had tried the same thing? There were probably a lot of people who wanted to meet Wild Bill Hickok.

And why thank him? He did his civic duty by telling the sheriff what he had seen.

Pleasantly exhausted from his time with Katherine, and refreshed after being released from jail, Clint decided to go for a walk. After all, he'd been looking at the people and the square for two days from a jail cell window. Time to get some fresh air.

* * * 

“They let him out,” Paul McQueen said, walking into the Straight Flush Saloon.

“Who?” his friend, Buck Williams, asked.

“That fella who gunned Leo and them others,” McQueen said. “They let him out.”

“You sure?” Eddie Gant asked.

“He's on the street.”

The three friends exchanged a look.

“We gonna let him get away with comin' into our town and killin' our friends?” Gant asked.

“No,” McQueen said, “we ain't—but we already know he can take three men with a gun.”

“That means we need more,” Williams said. “A lot more.”

“So what do we do?” McQueen asked.

“You,” Williams said, “keep an eye on him.” He pointed to Gant. “You find Levi.”

“Levi?” Gant shivered. “I don't mind tellin' you, he scares me.”

“Yeah, well,” Williams said, “just tell 'im I wanna see him here. Don't do anythin' to get him mad at you.”

“I won't,” Gant said.

He and McQueen both headed for the door.

Williams sat back and poured himself another drink from the bottle. Wild Bill Hickok was in town. Maybe there was some way they could get Hickok to take care of the stranger for them. But then, Levi should be able to do that. Levi Rawson fancied himself a fast gun—faster than Hickok even. Now that would be an interesting showdown, but Hickok was having his own problem with Dave Tutt. That was coming to a head, too.

There was going to be a lot more lead flying in Springfield, probably before the week was done.

TWENTY-ONE

Clint walked around Springfield, breathing in the air. It was no fun being locked in a cell for two days. He didn't know how convicts did it in prison. The air smelled so sweet to him, he wondered what it was like for them when they got out after five, ten, even twenty years inside?

He crossed the street, decided to stop into a small saloon there, which he hadn't yet been to in Springfield.

He also wanted to see if the man behind him would follow him in, or wait outside.

* * * 

Dave Tutt was fuming. The word had come to him that Wild Bill Hickok had said he had better not see Tutt wearing the Waltham watch in public. Tutt decided it was time to resolve the issues between himself and Hickok, and the watch was as good a way as any to make it happen. He put on a vest, and tucked the watch into the pocket so that the chain was plainly visible.

“Where are you going?” Susannah asked as he walked through the living room.

“Out.”

“What's that?”

He turned to face her.

“You're wearing the watch?”

“Why not?” he asked. “I won it. It's mine. Why shouldn't I wear it?”

“Because you might as well draw a bull's-eye on your chest.”

“If Hickok wants to try me, I'm ready,” he said.

“You really think you can outshoot Wild Bill Hickok?” she asked.

“Why not? It ain't like he's a god or somethin'. Or do you think he is?”

“No, of course not,” Susannah said.

“Maybe you're worried I'll kill him,” Tutt offered. “Maybe 'cause you still love him?”

“I don't love Bill Hickok, Dave,” she said. “I'm with you. Don't go out there and kill him, or get killed, out of jealousy.”

“Don't worry,” Tutt said, “I won't.”

He started for the door. She grabbed his arm and said, “Dave!”

He shook her off and said, “I'll be back in time for supper.”

He went out the door.

* * * 

Hickok sat in the Straight Flush Saloon, an empty beer mug in his hand. He was wondering if he should have another or go out and get some air. But he knew that if he saw Dave Tutt in the street, and he was wearing his watch, something bad would happen.

On the other hand, if he stayed inside, people might start to think he was afraid to walk the streets. He couldn't have that. At the first sign of weakness, gunnies would be coming from all over to take their shot at Wild Bill Hickok.

So he decided against the beer, and for the walk.

* * * 

Levi Rawson entered the saloon and joined Buck Williams at his table. Rawson wore a blue shirt, a vest, a black hat, and black leather gloves to match.

“Heard you wanted to see me.”

“You hear about Leo Worthy?”

“Some stranger came to town and gunned down him and his friends,” Levi said. “Why should I care about that?”

“Well, they say he was pretty fast, gunned down all three of 'em before they could clear leather.”

Levi looked interested.

“Is that a fact?”

“I know some said they never saw anythin' so fast.”

“What about Hickok?”

“He's playin' poker and drinkin' beer,” Williams said. “And pretty soon him and Dave Tutt are gonna slap leather. You don't wanna get in the middle of that.”

Levi didn't respond.

“I got some help for ya,” Williams said. “We don't want him to get away with this, Levi. We can't have his kind comin' in here and shootin' our people.”

“His kind?”

“A gunman.”

“You mean, like me?”

“You live here,” Williams said. “That's different.”

“What's this Jasper's name?”

“Clint Adams. Ever hear of him?”

“No,” Levi said, “but that don't matter.”

“You take 'im,” Williams said, “and maybe Hickok could be next.”

“Yeah,” Levi said, “maybe.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Williams giving Levi time to think.

“You want a beer?” he asked.

“Where is this Adams now?”

“Gant is tailin' him.”

“Gant?”

“Yeah,” Williams said, “him and McQueen will back your play.”

“And what about you?”

“Me, too,” Williams said. “I wouldn't miss it.”

“Then let's go and find him, and get it done,” Levi said.

“Now?”

“Right now,” Levi said, getting to his feet. “Why waste any time?”

“Yeah, okay,” Williams said. He finished his beer, stood up. “Let's go.”

“McQueen's outside,” Levi said.

When they got outside, McQueen straightened up from the post he'd been leaning against.

“Where's Gant?” Williams asked.

“Keeping an eye on Adams.”

“Where?”

“How am I supposed to know?” McQueen complained. “I was gettin' Levi.”

“Take it easy,” Levi said. “We'll find 'im. Let's check the saloons.”

“Good idea,” Williams said, looking at McQueen. “We'll check the saloons.”

Levi took the lead, and the others followed.