“Bodie Cowley, by hell!” Bo Jackson said with a big grin. “Way out here in this godforsaken place. Wonders will never cease, girl, not as long as old Bo has eyes to see.”
“Who is Bodie Cowley?” Marianne asked, watching Jackson wash up in the town’s water trough.
“Who’s Bodie Cowley?” Jackson echoed. “Bodie, girl, is somebody I knew a long time ago. Him and me were close—we rode together. Him and his brother and the Carson boys. I was with them when they cut down the Backenberks. You should’ve seen me then, girl. I was a man ... all man. I had a dozen women like you chasin’ after me, acceptin’ my handouts, doin’ anythin’ I asked ’em to, and I asked for plenty.”
Jackson chuckled as he wiped himself down. There was the spark of misadventure in his eyes and she couldn’t forget how he had tricked the men in her hometown and had stolen her away. He had cunning and courage, she granted him that.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marianne said petulantly. “All those names.”
“Just names, girl, far as you’re concerned, but there was a time when the shutters would go up in any town we happened to pass through. Bodie was a real hell-raiser, tough as teak and mean as hell. Had all of us scared of him, so you can imagine what effect he had on other people.”
Bo Jackson put on a clean shirt, dusted down his pants and even put a comb through his hair. Marianne watched him closely, feeling safe now that she was in a town. Here she wouldn’t have to put up with his bullying ways. If he got mean, which she had learned he could do in a blink if he didn’t get what he wanted, then she’d scream. She was half-tempted to scream now, to put a dampener on his excitement. She owed him at least that much.
Jackson turned to her, suddenly serious now, and said; “I’ve got to go visit my old friend. By the looks of him, he’s fallen on both feet. I seen how them towners tipped their hats to him when he walked the streets, not like in the old days, scared to their bootheels. Now he struts ’round with a kind of respect. Who knows? Maybe he’s got this town eatin’ outta his hat. If he has, well, maybe we’ve reached the end of the trail. We might even get ourselves a place for a while, get hitched, rear some young ’uns. I always wanted kids of my own, somebody to carry on my fine name.”
Marianne looked blankly at him. The thought of bringing little Bo Jacksons into this world repulsed her. Being tied down to this man turned her stomach, but she knew better than to show her feelings. Life had taught her to give nothing away.
“Will you be gone long?” Marianne asked.
“Hard to say. Bodie might be a busy feller. He’ll see me, for sure, but maybe I’ll have to go back later, when it’s dark. No tellin’ what goes here and I sure ain’t gonna mess things up for him. You stay inside and tidy yourself up—get your dirty clothes out and wash ’em. We might have to put on some finery in this town if we’re to rub shoulders with Bodie and the high-an’-mighty.”
Jackson was so excited, he brushed his clothes down again. He was at the door of the big double room when Marianne asked;
“Aren’t you gonna leave me any money?”
Jackson’s stare thinned and his mouth tightened. “What do you want money for, girl? You’ve got everythin’ you need here, haven’t you?”
Marianne smoothed down her tattered skirt and ran her slender hands up and down her round, firm thighs in a way she knew excited him. A smile played at the edge of her pretty mouth and she tossed her long, dark hair back.
“If Mr. Bodie Cowley is such a big man and you’re so keen to make a good impression on him with all your washing and duding up, then wouldn’t it be sensible if I looked better in something that wasn’t found on the trail? A new dress and some ribbons wouldn’t hurt none.”
Jackson scowled, then his mind started working feverishly, weighing the advantage of having a woman like Marianne on his arm. As he remembered, Bodie Cowley had never let a woman clutter up his life, but he had an eye for a comely figure, no mistake.
“Mightn’t do any harm,” Jackson grumbled, and fetched some money from his pocket. He tossed it to her and opened the door before he said sourly;
“Just mind how you go about spendin’ it. Find a shop, get what you want, then come back here on the double. Don’t let any men ogle you or don’t go struttin’ ’round ’em or I’ll beat the hide off you when I get back. I’m just as much a man in town as I am out on the prairie, you should know.”
Marianne didn’t bother to answer him. She was down on the floor picking up the money and counting it. When the door closed, she spat at it, then she rose, gave a little giggle and tossed the money onto the bed.
By the time Jackson’s footsteps died on the boards outside, she had her blouse off. She went to the cabinet and studied herself in the mirror. She knew she was a beautiful and desirable woman, and in this town, she was going to make somebody other than Bo Jackson sit up and take notice ...
Bo Jackson walked slowly down the street, missing nothing. He liked the look of this town. It was orderly, the townspeople seemed content, and it seemed peaceful and quiet. After so many months of being on the trail, he decided he could do worse than stay awhile and kick up his heels, even if it meant taking the risk of exposing Marianne to comforts other than what he provided.
He had never fooled himself into believing he had the girl hog-tied to him. He pushed thoughts of her from his mind. Bodie Cowley was in town and looking like he was prospering. That was all that mattered.
Turning into the main street, he licked his fingers and then slicked down his hair again. He eyed a couple of matronly women discussing the weather outside a store. When they looked his way, he touched a hand to his rutted brow in a salute of greeting. The women studied him suspiciously before they disappeared into the store.
Jackson chuckled and muttered, “Fat cows. Nothin’ left to show but droopy udders.”
He strode determinedly on, satisfied that nothing was going to spoil his good spirits this fine day. His gaze searched the store and office fronts, looking for Cowley’s name above the door. He doubted if he would find it, but Cowley looked so much the town gentleman that he could have invested in a respectable business.
Jackson chuckled again at the thought of Bodie Cowley being respectable—that would be like Billy the Kid going straight. That would surely be something to take back to the Platte River settlements.
Finally, reaching the saloon without getting a clue to his old friend’s whereabouts, Jackson decided that quenching his thirst wouldn’t be a bad idea. He went through the batwings and was glad to find the place wasn’t crowded. A small group of townsmen at the bar were the only customers worrying the bald-headed barkeep. He went up to Hollis and spun a golden eagle on the counter to catch the barman’s attention.
When Hollis dropped a hand on the coin to stop it spinning, Jackson ordered a double rye. Then he invited Hollis to join him, and the barkeep poured himself one. He tossed the drink down, muttered his thanks and was moving away when Jackson said; “Know where I can find Bodie Cowley?”
Hollis frowned. “Bodie Cowley? You got the name right, stranger?”
“Sure have.”
“No Bodie Cowley in this town or I’d know him, mister. We got a Jude Cowley, but no Bodie.”
Jackson held the glass to his pinched mouth, letting the information run through his mind. His gaze clouded, but only for a moment. Then he threw down his rye and said;
“Yeah, Jude. Guess I got it wrong. Know where I can find him?”
“You a friend of his?”
“Business acquaintance,” Jackson said.
Hollis let his gaze run down Jackson’s clothes and it was obvious that he wasn’t impressed.
“I been covering a lot of territory for Mr. Cowley,” Jackson went on. “I meet a lot of people and I always get their names mixed up.” He gave a short laugh and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m tired, too, near too tired to think straight. Where’d you say I’d find him? Got to report and then get some shut-eye.”
Hollis went on cleaning his counter for a time, still regarding Jackson curiously. But when a townsman called for drinks, he mumbled, “Top of town, in an office building with a red front. You should find him there.”
“Obliged,” Jackson said, and to show he was in no particular hurry, he pushed more money forward.
The barkeep served him before he went off to tend to the other customers. When he looked back, the empty glass was on the counter and Bo Jackson had gone. Hollis scratched his head, let out a heavy sigh, then shrugged.
Jude Cowley sure had him puzzled, with the types he rubbed shoulders with. But then, Hollis allowed, if it really came down to cases, maybe the man was a lot like himself. A man wasn’t always able to choose his company. In fact, sometimes it was the other way around. He put Bo Jackson out of his mind and went back to wiping the bar.
Bo Jackson stood in the shade of the porch overhang. So it was Jude Cowley now ... not Bodie. He let his mind tack back to the Backenberks affair, the shoot-out in the corral, Jude Cowley going down. Then they’d had to run and there was no time to bury the dead—the two Carson boys, Latimer, Cody Younger and Jude Cowley. Only he and Bodie had survived the chaos, then they’d split up south of Twin Forks. He had seen Bodie only once after that, guarding a gold shipment which he figured had less chance of reaching its destination than a snowball had of rolling through hell. At the time he had other things on his mind, so he hadn’t bothered meeting up with Bodie again.
Looking up and down the street now, a nagging thought began to take root in his head. There was something about this that he didn’t like. Sure, Jude was dead and Bodie was here. But Bodie had been the wanted man, not Jude.
Jackson’s mouth gaped open and he clicked his fingers in a sudden realization of the truth. Then a grin split his thin mouth. He took another careful look up and down the street and then he strode along the boardwalk. Soon he found the office building with the red-painted front. The front door stood invitingly open. His mind was dwelling on the prospects of a bright future and he was beginning to feel happy when a man spoke from the alley just ahead.
“Howdy, Bo.”
Jackson gave a start. Then he saw Bodie Cowley.
“Bodie,” he said.
“Jude,” Cowley corrected him. “Saw you come in. Didn’t have time to say howdy. Too busy.”
“Jude it is,” Jackson said, and looked furtively about him before he grinned. He noticed that Cowley wore a glove on his right hand. His left was arched up over his holster, just like in the old days. The fastest left-handed gun west of the Platte, they’d said, and Bo Jackson had seen the claim proved on more than one occasion.
“Got a drink inside, old-timer,” Cowley said. “Hell, it’s been a long time. Come in and tell me what you’ve been up to.”
Cowley was friendly and that in itself warned Bo Jackson that something wasn’t quite right here. He had not traveled the frontier since the age of twelve without learning the ways of rattlesnakes and coyotes. He could smell trouble quicker than any man he knew. Yet in his mind, he hoped that Cowley might have changed.
“Sure, Jude, sure. Hell, it has been a long time.”
“Too long,” Cowley said. “I looked for you a couple times, but you seemed to disappear into thin air.”
“That’s my way,” Jackson said.
Cowley walked into the office and Jackson heard the clink of glass against glass. He checked the street again before entering, when Cowley said;
“Close the door, Bo, so we can talk in private.”
Jackson hesitated.
“I don’t want anybody listening in,” Cowley said. “I’ve had my fill of that lately. I want to hear what you’ve been doing. Been back to the Platte?”
Jackson reluctantly closed the door and crossed to the wide, paper-cluttered desk. He expected Cowley to put away his private papers, but Cowley ignored them. He began to feel more relaxed, more at home. He accepted a drink and lifted it in a silent toast to the past and drank.
“Do you know a feller named Halliday?” Cowley asked.
“Halliday?” Jackson said, then he shrugged.
Halliday had struck him as a real hellbent troublemaker, shot up and all, likely on the run. Getting tangled up with him again might not be the smartest thing to do, he told himself. But Cowley knew he had called out to Halliday, so he said;
“Ran into him back along the trail. We shared a night camp.”
“That all?”
“Sure, Bodie ... I mean, Jude. Why?”
“No reason. What about the girl? She’s a real stunner, the little I saw of her.”
Bodie was asking too many questions, Jackson told himself, and that was not like the Bodie he remembered. Something was wrong here. Feeling sweat run cold down his scrawny neck, he said;
“Picked her up on the trail. She wanted a ride to the nearest town. I was comin’ this way and she wasn’t the worst company I’ve teamed up with.”
Cowley grinned. But there was something sinister and threatening lurking behind his eyes, something that chilled Bo Jackson to the bone.
“Seems a real quiet town,” Jackson muttered, giving Cowley the opening to invite him to stay or let him go. “Nothing much here for me, I guess, huh?”
“Certainly not for a man of your talents, Bo,” Cowley said as he came from behind the desk and flipped the flap of his town coat back to display the gun butt on his left hip. Jackson felt more sweat break out on his brow. All he wanted to do was get out of here and get gone.
“Bo,” Cowley said, “you look nervous. That ain’t like you.”
“I’m fine, Bodie—a little tired, is all. Got to get some rest and then I’ll be on my way. This is too small a town for me.”
“Too small for both of us, Bo. Twice now you’ve called me Bodie and I keep reminding you that my name is Jude. Bodie is long dead and buried.”
“Sure, Jude. Sure. Ain’t nobody gonna hear me speak about Bodie Cowley again. I’ll just finish my drink and get goin’.”
When Cowley drew his gun, Jackson lowered his glass. Sweat ran in rivers down his face now. He cursed under his breath. He’d been a damned fool. Cowley was settled here, top of the heap, and mighty sure of himself. Whatever he said would likely be accepted as the truth by the townsfolk. He could shoot him, make up some fanciful story, and nobody would be the wiser.
Jackson decided to take his chances another way. He pretended to finish his drink, but at the last moment, he hurled the glass at Cowley.
To get out of this town, fast, was the only thought in his head as he scrambled toward the back door. He wrenched it open and was going through the doorway when Cowley calmly pulled the trigger.
Jackson took another three steps before he knew he’d been shot. His feet went from under him and he hit the ground and rolled. Pain shot up his back and he felt his strength pouring out into the dust. But he kept rolling toward a fence and pulled himself upright. He caught sight of Cowley in the doorway, taking careful aim at him again.
Jackson was over the fence when he heard another gunshot. He doubled over in pain but managed to stay on his feet. He struggled to the mouth of an alley but it turned out to be a dead end. With sweat pouring down his face, he scrambled over a fence and fell into a well-tended yard. Hearing voices behind him, he looked up and saw a mob gathering.
Bodie Cowley was there, directing men to look in every direction.
Jackson slipped through a hole in a fence and cursed himself. He had known this town wouldn’t be any good for him—had known it from the beginning.
He rested a moment with the smell of decay strong in the air. When somebody shouted his name, it reminded him of the call of a buzzard. He lay still and summoned up what remaining strength he had, doubled back and hid in the grass. It was not long before somebody shouted Cowley’s name. When a lot of talk broke out near the barn, he crawled back to Cowley’s yard and made his way down a back street. The sun was full on his face as he pulled his shirt tight about his back in a bid to stop the flow of blood. He picked his way along the street, keeping to the grass to hide any droplets of blood. When he reached the old rooming house, he went in by the back door.
He found that the door to his room was locked. He was cursing Marianne when she suddenly appeared, ashen-faced and shaking.
“I saw them,” she said. “What happened?”
“Get me inside,” was all he could say. “Quick, dammit!”
Marianne opened the door and he stumbled past her. He took two steps toward the bed and fell on his face. He felt her struggling to lift him up but he couldn’t help her.
Then came blackness and blessed relief.