The wake for Cyril Baker was in full swing by the time I arrived at the Last-Dance Saloon. The atmosphere was more like a drunken party than a funeral. The piano player was banging away at a lively tune, the girls were dancing in a froth of bare ankles and scarlet skirts, Aunt Hilda was standing drinks all round.
It was only just noon and she was already knocking back the Coffin Juice. Her cheeks were flushed and she had a hectic glitter in her eyes.
Waldo was talking to Red’s girl, whose name, it turned out, was Candy. Candy, for pity’s sake. She might as well have called herself Strawberry Tart or Lemon Sherbet. Waldo was drinking beer with a manly air. Rachel and Isaac both looked a bit uncomfortable, nursing their lemonades in another corner of the bar. I noticed a handsome young cowboy was leaning over Rachel, smiling. Her face, however, was set.
As soon as she saw me, she made an excuse and left him. Isaac followed her.
“Thank goodness you rescued me,” she hissed. “That cowboy hasn’t had a bath for a month. He stank!”
“He was talking about what a good life the frontier wife has,” Isaac grinned.
“I can just see you knee-deep in cowboy babies, all wearing ten-gallon hats,” I said, smiling at Rachel. She didn’t smile back but changed the subject:
“We need to get your aunt out of here. She’s tipsy. She’s going to make a fool of herself.”
“Before lunch!” Isaac said, as if that was especially scandalous.
“She’s old enough to look after herself,” I replied. “Anyway, I know from experience that no one can handle alcohol like Aunt Hilda. She must have some sort of well inside her where it all goes.”
Waldo caught sight of us at that moment. With a sort of smirk he bent down and whispered something in Candy’s ear. She was tossing her red curls and smiling up at Waldo, just as if he was a big piece of strawberry pie. I felt uneasy. Boy had made it clear that I had misjudged Waldo. Not that I cared, but he was being an idiot. Red Dobie looked none too happy about him being so friendly to his girl. After all, the saloon keeper had given away his favorite horse just so the silly girl could have the biggest diamond in the Wild West.
Well, I could have warned him. There was only one Carlito.
Aunt Hilda caught sight of me. “Come over here, Kit,” she bellowed, beckoning me vigorously.
I made my way through the noise, the smoke, the miners, cowboys, gunslingers and handfuls of saloon girls to Aunt Hilda. Didn’t anyone do any work in Chloride City? I had several knocks by the time I’d barged through to her.
She introduced me to Red. “My niece, Kit.”
“We’ve already met,” I reminded her.
“One of the finest girls in England. Brave, loyal to a fault. Not much to look at, I know, but then nor am I.”
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar. I was sunburnt, unwashed and my hair was wild.
“Aunt Hilda, have you gone mad?” I snapped. I kept a straight face, but inside I was hurt. I may not be a beauty like Rachel, but I am not unpleasing-looking.
“I mean, she’s fine-looking, of course, as any niece of mine would be—just not a mimsy-wimsy beauty type. Why, Kit can fire a gun better than any man. She’s a credit to me.”
“I’m sure she is,” Red Dobie said, his eyes twinkling.
“Where is this going, Aunt?” I inquired coldly. “Have you discussed the arrangements for tomorrow? We really should be getting on, you know.”
“Slow down. I’ve been talking all that over with Red here. Provisions, water, directions.”
“We’ll do everything to help, ma’am,” Red said.
“Red is being remarkably helpful,” Aunt Hilda said, gazing at him flirtatiously. “Anyone would think he was keen to see the last of us.”
“Not me, ma’am,” Red protested, but I was sure he would be—especially Waldo, and Aunt Hilda was being a right nuisance too.
“Could we take lunch in your room?” I suggested to Aunt Hilda. “We could plan our trip over it and then buy the necessary provisions in the afternoon.”
Was it my imagination or was Aunt Hilda becoming a little sweet on Red Dobie? Or maybe she just wanted to sink her hooks into her investment in the Last-Dance Saloon. Either way, it was a relief to get her up to the bedroom, and for the steaming urn of soup to arrive. None too soon, for, unusually, I was starving.
The soup was thin and had pig’s trotters floating in it. Revolting. I had no time to fuss, for as soon as we sat down to eat at the little round table by the window Waldo stood up again.
“I have an announcement to make,” he said. “This will come as no surprise to some of you. Others, I hope, will regret what I have to say.”
“Oh, do sit down,” Aunt Hilda said. “This delicious soup will get cold if we have to listen to you jabbering.”
“No. I must speak my mind. I have decided not to join you on your trip to the Grand Canyon. I will take the first available stagecoach back to San Francisco.” He paused. When he spoke again, there was a catch to his voice. “I will not rejoin you on the journey back to England. I intend to telegraph my mother and tell her I am staying on in America.” He raised his blond head proudly. “I will seek my fortune out here.”
There was a shocked silence. Rachel threw me an uneasy glance, but didn’t say anything. Then Isaac began to protest:
“We’re a team, Waldo. I have the ideas and you do the fighting. Why would you want to leave? We work brilliantly together.” His voice rose. “I don’t understand why you would abandon us.”
“Ask Kit,” Waldo said.
I was looking at the floor and didn’t raise my eyes to meet his.
“Go on, ask her.”
“Kit?” Isaac said.
“Look, this is all stuff and nonsense,” Aunt Hilda interrupted. “A silly tiff. You’re not leaving us, Waldo. I won’t allow it.”
I cleared my throat. “I’m truly sorry, Waldo,” I said. “I misjudged you. You did not betray the Apaches—I had the wrong idea—but if you want to leave you must do as you please.”
Waldo gave a nasty laugh. “That’s just like you, Kit. You say you’re sorry but in the same breath you take it away. You say I must leave.”
I hadn’t said that, but I resisted pointing it out. Instead I forced contrite words out. “Please stay. I would prefer it.”
“Prefer it?” Waldo rose from the table. “Too little, too late. I’m sick and tired of you throwing your weight around. Treating me like the dirt under your heel … I’m sorry, I’m very fond of you, Kit, but I just can’t abide it any longer.”
Rachel’s low voice broke into this exchange. “This is between the two of you,” she said. “I must say, I think you’re being silly and melodramatic, Waldo.” She turned to me. “Kit, what I don’t understand is this: how do you know that Waldo didn’t betray the Apaches?”
I explained about meeting Boy after the funeral, and how she had told me that the Apaches were safe, that Waldo had known they were moving camp. My words caused a sensation, for the others marveled at the daring of the Apache maiden to come within shooting distance of Chloride. I think Waldo was perhaps a little upset that his sensational statement had been upstaged.
“So,” I said, “I was wrong. I flew off the handle. I should have known better. Waldo, please forgive me and come with us.”
I looked him in the eye as I said this. The most humbling apology I have ever had to make to him. He looked at me, and his eyes were distant, hooded by his frowning brows.
“I’ve been really upset.”
“I know.”
“I can’t decide now. I’ll think about it and let you know tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, stop being such a girl,” Aunt Hilda butted in. “We can’t do without you. For one thing, Kit’s father already thinks you let her down in China. He would never forgive you if you jumped ship now. For another, this is no pleasure trip we’re setting out on. It is a life-and-death matter for my niece. If you leave us now, you’re abandoning Kit and betraying the rest of us. So, it’s settled. You’re coming with us.”
That for Aunt Hilda was that. But from the look on Waldo’s face I wouldn’t bet on her getting her way.