CHAPTER 8
“I’m gonna need a couple of rooms,” Flint Yarborough informed Arthur Campbell. “And I want two of them rooms up there facin’ the street.”
“Yes, sir,” Arthur responded politely, not at all comfortable with the look of the man giving the orders, standing there with his rifle in hand. He tried not to make eye contact with Troy, who was obviously enjoying his return to town, as evidenced by the impish grin on his face. “How long will you be staying?” Arthur asked.
“Till I get ready to leave,” Yarborough replied, causing Troy to laugh.
“Let me see what rooms I have available,” Arthur said, stalling for a few moments while he tried to decide what to do.
The arrival of Troy Womack and his smirking friend placed the whole town in a particularly dire situation. Arthur had certainly never expected Womack to show up in Cheyenne ever again after he’d gunned down John Henry Black in front of the hotel. But Womack was back, big as life as if he had nothing to worry about—and with the sheriff still laid up in bed with the wounds that had almost killed him. Arthur was afraid to let the two outlaws know that Black was recovering in his room right there in the hotel.
To make matters worse, Red and Tiny walked in at that moment, having just left the general store.
My Lord, Arthur thought, there are four of them! He realized then that Yarborough’s request for two rooms was not for a private room for himself and one for Womack. That shot down his initial hope of convincing Yarborough to take only one room, thinking to separate that room as far as possible from John Henry’s room at the end of the hall. Arthur didn’t know what to do. He was given a few more minutes to think of something when the two other men grabbed Yarborough’s attention.
“I got somethin’ to tell you that’s gonna tickle you, I guarantee ya,” Red declared as he swaggered up to join them at the desk.
Yarborough turned halfway around to respond with a dubious expression.
It caused Red to grin confidently. “You remember that little gal you took a shine to in that saloon, The Cattleman’s, down in Ogallala?” He winked at Tiny, who was grinning as wide as he, for they knew that Yarborough had taken more than a casual interest in the young woman.
Yarborough paused to think a few moments before answering. “Yeah, I remember her. Can’t call her name right off. What about her?”
“Corina Burnett,” Red reminded him, knowing full well that Yarborough remembered her name. “I just saw her, right next door in the general store. Calls herself Carrie Green now.” He gave out a hearty chuckle when he saw the light of recall in Yarborough’s eyes.
“Well, I’ll be . . .” Yarborough muttered. Two years had dulled the flame of obsession he once had for the pretty young prostitute, but it had never gone out completely. “Corina Burnett. Are you sure? I’d sure like to see her again. Did she remember you?”
“She remembered me,” Red stated emphatically. “She played like she didn’t—tried to tell me she warn’t the same gal—but she didn’t fool me.”
“When we get through here,” Yarborough said, “we’ll go back and see if she’s the same gal. I got a thing or two I’d like to tell her.”
Speechless to this point, but equally amazed, although for a different reason, Troy Womack could scarcely believe the woman Malcolm and Travis had abducted was, in fact, a common dancehall prostitute. His initial reaction was one of anger when he heard her name, thinking his brothers had been taken for suckers. The whole time she had been held by his brothers, Travis said she had cried and screeched like a Sunday school teacher over her dead husband. If she had owned up to it, she could have hooked up with them, and maybe caused a hell of a lot less trouble. He tried to remember the two women driving the buckboard that night when he and Travis charged it. He’d gotten a good look at her face when Travis tried to pull her out of the seat, but the memory had been dulled by the image of Travis falling dead a moment later. Finally he spoke. “That’s the woman that caused Travis to get killed, only he didn’t know her name was really Corina whatever you said.”
“Well, I’ll be . . .” Yarborough started, getting even more stirred up. “Is that a fact?”
Troy nodded slowly.
“Well, I know I gotta get a look at this woman now,” Yarborough said. “See if she’s the same one.” He shook his head, amazed, still doubting the possibility. “Damned if she ain’t a real sidewinder, ain’t she?”
As aghast as any of them, Arthur Campbell found himself stunned by the new portrayal of the seemingly innocent young widow of Robert Green. So astonished was he that he had to remind himself of the problem he had yet to solve regarding the recuperating sheriff in the room upstairs at the end of the hall. It might be impossible to keep the four outlaws from finding out the sheriff was lying helpless only a few doors away from their rooms.
Although he preferred not to rent his two best rooms to the rowdy four facing him, Arthur could think of no other option. “Well, if you gentlemen are going to the store right now, I’ll make sure your rooms are ready for you. I’ll rent you my two best rooms upstairs, right up front where you can look out the windows and see everything that’s going on in the street below. How’s that?”
“You ain’t got nothin’ better?” Yarborough countered.
“No, sir,” Arthur replied, thinking he had already answered that question.
“Then I’ll take ’em,” Yarborough came back. “That’s what I want. We’ll go upstairs and look ’em over.” He turned to Red and said, “Then we’ll go see that gal you think is Corina. It’s been about two years or more since we was in Ogallala. You mighta seen somebody that just looks like Corina.”
Red just laughed, sure of what he had seen.
* * *
Already in a state of total dismay, Douglas Green was alarmed to see the two men return to his store with two others. And one of them was the gunman who had shot Sheriff Black. His first thought was that he was about to be robbed, and he knew there was nothing he could do to prevent it. They obviously knew there was no sheriff to stop them. With no option other than to give them whatever they demanded, he stood silently watching, hoping he would at least be alive after they left. He was somewhat surprised when one of them asked a question.
“Where’s Corina?” Red asked, anxious for Yarborough to see her.
“C-Corina?” Green stuttered, still not used to the name. “Oh, Carrie . . . she’s not here.”
“She was here a few minutes ago,” Red insisted, and looked at Tiny for confirmation.
The simple giant nodded vigorously.
Red turned back to Douglas. “Hell, man, we was just in here. Where the hell did she go?” Remembering then, he asked, “Is she in the back room yonder?” He pointed to the storeroom door, for that was where she’d gone when she’d left the store.
“No, sir,” Douglas replied. “She ain’t in the back room. She’s gone, and I don’t expect she’ll be back.”
Red was rapidly losing his patience with the bumbling storekeeper. He reached over the counter, grabbed the front of Green’s shirt, and yanked the startled man halfway across the counter. “Well, where the hell did she go? And don’t tell me you don’t know, ’cause I’ll shoot a liar quicker ’n I’d shoot a snake.”
Douglas Green had never considered himself to be a coward, merely a peaceable man. At this moment, however, with the toes of his boots barely touching the floor, he could feel the bitter bile of cold fear creeping up into his throat, causing him to whimper pathetically. “Please,” he begged, “I swear I don’t know where she went. She’s gone for good. When we found out who she really was, we told her to get out. She’s gone, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”
“You kicked her out, huh?” Red released the terrified man’s shirt, letting him drop squarely onto his feet again. He drew his .44 and stuck the muzzle inches from Green’s face, aiming right at his nose. “I reckon her kind ain’t good enough for you. Is that right?”
“No, no,” Green pleaded. “She’s good enough. She just shouldn’t have lied to us!”
Red cocked the hammer back on his pistol. “I’m fixin’ to blow a hole through your head.”
It was too much for Green’s nervous system to handle. His knees failed him, causing him to drop to the floor, landing in a sitting position against the shelves behind the counter. His face frozen in terror, he stared up with wide-open eyes at the cocked handgun as Red leaned over the counter to keep it trained on him.
“Bam! Bam!” Red suddenly yelled, then roared with laughter when Green flinched in response. The outlaw released the hammer and holstered the weapon as Tiny and Yarborough joined in the laughter. Red turned to Tiny and said, “He thought he was a goner, didn’t he?”
“He sure as hell did,” Tiny replied, still chuckling at the frightened storekeeper. “That was a good one, Red. You had me fooled. I thought you was really gonna shoot him.”
Red laughed again, pleased with the entertainment he had provided.
“I reckon he thought so, too,” Yarborough said, “if them wet spots on his britches are what they look like.” No longer amused by his partner’s antics, he turned a serious eye toward the terrified storekeeper. “Now that the fun is over, suppose you tell me where Corina went. And don’t make no mistake about it. If I pull this .44 ridin’ on my hip, I aim to fire it.”
“Yes, sir,” Douglas pleaded pitifully. “I swear I won’t lie to you. I don’t know where Carrie, I mean, Corina was gonna go. She just went to the house with my wife to get her belongings. I don’t know if she’s still there, or where she would go after that.”
“Where’s your house?” Yarborough demanded. “That buildin’ out back?”
“Yes, sir,” Green replied. “Right across the yard. But please, don’t harm my wife.”
“Not if she behaves herself and don’t give me no trouble,” Yarborough said. “She just better answer my questions and she’ll be all right.”
“Don’t worry, old man,” Womack piped up. “I’ve seen her and there ain’t one of us that’ll wanna lay a hand on her.” He laughed, enjoying his attempt to make a joke.
* * *
Martha Green stood by the back door after she had watched her daughter-in-law disappear beyond the outhouse on her way to Leon Bloodworth’s stable. At least, that was the direction she had taken, carrying her pitiful belongings in her arms. Standing now, staring at the empty snow-covered alleyway behind the post office, Martha could still see the image of the distraught young woman in her mind’s eye. She wondered if she had been wrong in sending her away. It was a hard thing to do, but the woman was a prostitute, and had probably lied to trick Robert into marrying her. It made Martha angry to think that Robert had not told them about Carrie’s background—if he, in fact, knew.
She shook her head violently in an effort to drive away thoughts of guilt. She had done what had to be done. She told herself that it was not Douglas and her responsibility to take a common whore into their home because of their son’s foolish mistake. “She’ll no doubt light somewhere else,” Martha finally announced, trying to close the door on the issue, “and likely be better off than staying with Douglas and me.” With that, she closed the back door and went to the front of the house, intending to return to the store.
Passing the front window, she happened to see four men walking down the tiny path between the store and her house. The sight stopped her cold before she reached the door. Two of them were probably the men just in the store, the two who had identified Carrie. All four looked capable of doing any amount of harm. Why are they coming to my house, she wondered, immediately alarmed. Why would Douglas permit them to come to the house? Unless he couldn’t stop them, she thought. She went at once to the fireplace and took Douglas’s shotgun from over the mantel. After checking to make sure it was loaded, she stood facing the door, awaiting a knock. It never came, and she was startled when the door was flung open and the four, led by Flint Yarborough, strode into the parlor.
Recovering her wits, she calmly informed them, “Most civilized folks knock before they come busting in somebody’s house.”
“Whoa!” Yarborough yelped when confronted with the shotgun pointed at his midsection. “Take it easy with that thing, lady. Don’t go doin’ somethin’ that’ll wind up with you gettin’ yourself killed.”
“What are you doing busting in here? You’ve got no business in my house, so you’d best turn yourself right around and get outta here. Where’s my husband? Have you harmed him? ’Cause I’ll shoot you down like the mad dog you are.”
When Red and Tiny moved away from Yarborough to spread out a little, in case she pulled the trigger, she motioned them back. “You two just stand right where you are,” she commanded, then directed a threat at Yarborough. “There aren’t but two shots in this gun, but if one of them tries something, you’ll get the first load of buckshot.
Her warning stopped Red and Tiny in their tracks, but Yarborough held up his hand to stop them as well. It was plain to see that the skinny little woman wasn’t bluffing. “Hold on a minute, ma’am,” he said politely. “We didn’t come to do you no harm. You’re right. I reckon we’ve been away from civilized folk too long. We just wanna talk to Corina for a minute.”
“Is my husband all right?” Martha asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Yarborough answered. “We didn’t have no reason to harm your husband. He’s all right.”
“Just wet his pants a little bit,” Red couldn’t resist commenting. It brought an amused grunt from Tiny, while Troy took a step back in an effort to get behind Yarborough in case the angry woman cut loose with her double-barreled shotgun.
Ignoring Red’s attempt at humor, Yarborough continued. “Like I said, we didn’t come to cause trouble. I’m just wantin’ to see if she’s the same woman I knew a couple of years back, so how about callin’ her out here?”
“She’s gone from here,” Martha said, “and she ain’t coming back.”
Yarborough considered that for a moment. The feisty little woman was probably telling the truth, and he wasn’t quite sure why he was determined to see Corina. But he had taken quite a shine to the young girl and been plenty aggravated with her when she ran off and hid from him when he went looking for her. She deserved a little payback for treating him like that, he concluded.
He was going to have to see for himself if she was in the house or not. “We’ll just take a quick look to make sure she ain’t slipped back in the house without you knowin’ it.” He nodded to Tiny and took a step to the side.
“No, you don’t,” she charged and brought her shotgun to bear on him, taking her eyes off the huge man beside him. Caught in the unfamiliar action of cocking the hammers back on her weapon, she was not ready for the sudden move from Tiny.
Grabbing the shotgun by the barrel, he turned it straight up as she pulled both triggers, resulting in landing her on her backside and creating a gaping hole in the ceiling. The simpleminded giant stood over her, grinning down at her.
“Now, I expect you’d best just get up from there and go set yourself down on that sofa and behave yourself till we get done looking through the house,” Yarborough told her. “Troy, there, will keep you company while we look. Tiny, you stand by the door and set her husband down with her when he comes runnin’ to the house.” He looked back at Martha. “If he don’t come a-runnin’, I believe I’d run him off, if I was you.”
There was little doubt that she was helpless to resist the invasion of her home, so she got up from the floor and went to the sofa.
Yarborough watched her until she was settled, then said, “Come on, Red, let’s see if that little bird is hidin’ someplace. And best be careful. There might be another gun in the house.”
He and Red were looking in the kitchen when they heard Tiny welcoming Douglas at the front door.
“Well, I reckon maybe his missus might not run him off,” Red said with a chuckle. “He showed up.”
The search was thorough, but resulted in no sign of Corina. They checked a shed out back as well as the outhouse before concluding that Martha had spoken truthfully. Corina was gone.
“Who’s watchin’ the store?” Yarborough joked when he walked back into the parlor and saw Douglas seated beside his wife on the sofa. “Ain’t you afraid some outlaws might clean you out while you’re at home visitin’ with your wife?”
His three companions laughed at his joke.
When Douglas sat there meekly with no desire to reply, Yarborough said, “It’s a damn good thing you came a-runnin’ when you heard that shotgun go off. She said if you didn’t, you’d be sleepin’ on the back porch tonight.”
Tired of the entertainment enjoyed at their expense, Martha finally spoke. “All right. You’ve bullied us and had your fun. Your Corina ain’t here, so get out of my house. We’ve got to get back to the store.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Yarborough mocked, “just as soon as you tell me which way she went.”
“I told you I don’t know which way she went,” Martha retorted emphatically, even though she could have told them that Corina started out toward the stable. “And I don’t care which way she went,” she added.
“I believe you don’t,” Yarborough said. “Come on, boys. Let’s go.”
Douglas and Martha sat there for a few minutes after the four outlaws had filed out the front door.
“I guess I’d best get back to the store, in case they take a notion to go back and clean us out,” he said.
She nodded in response.
Ashamed of the humiliation he had been forced to endure, he attempted to apologize for his lack of backbone.
“Don’t be silly, Douglas,” she responded. “You couldn’t fight the four of them. They would have killed you, and then where would I be? With John Henry laid up in bed, the town is at the mercy of all the good-for-nothing outlaws that happen to drift through here. I just hope Arthur Campbell doesn’t let them know the sheriff’s laying helpless right there in the hotel. I’m afraid they might decide to finish him for good.”
* * *
Mary Lou Cagle paused just before opening the door when she heard the heavy tread of boots and the boisterous conversation outside in the hallway. She automatically looked back at the bed, where John Henry Black lay weak and defenseless. She placed her forefinger to her lips, lest he might start to say something. It had to be the four outlaws outside the door on their way to the two rooms at the front of the hall. Holding a tray with the sheriff’s supper dishes in one hand, she listened until she was sure there was no one else in the hall before slowly turning the knob and easing the door open. When she saw the empty hall, she took another quick look back at Black before stepping outside. Placing the tray on the floor at her feet, she quickly locked the door, picked up the tray again, and hurried down the back stairs.
“How’s he looking?” a concerned Maggie Whitehouse asked when Mary Lou came into the kitchen.
“Better,” Mary Lou answered. “At least he’s feeling a little more like eating now, a little more than yesterday, anyway. But he still ain’t ready to sit up for no longer than it takes me to feed him.”
“I hope that scum ain’t planning to stay in the hotel very long,” Maggie said. “I don’t know how long you can keep being a nurse to John Henry before they get wise to something going on in that room.”
Mary Lou could only respond with a shrug and a long sigh. She had been the one person Arthur Campbell thought of when a nurse was needed. It wasn’t the first time she had been called upon to take that role. That time had been voluntarily on her part, however, when she had watched over Cole after he had been shot. The thought brought an image to mind of a wounded mountain lion, tame under her care. A slight smile parted her lips as she compared that picture with the image he presented when he’d returned recently, a year later. With his long sandy hair in braids and dressed in animal hides, he looked more like a wild Indian, but he still created that special feeling inside her. Her smile suddenly gave way to a frown when she reminded herself that he had yet to declare his interest in her. Although she would never admit it, she had turned Gordon Luck down because she had made up her mind to wed Cole Bonner.
Maggie suspected as much, but Mary Lou would deny it until the knot was tied. And if they never married, she would take it to the grave with her. Her thoughts were interrupted when Maggie broke into her reverie.
“What in the world are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” Mary Lou replied. “Wondering if we were going to have those four coyotes coming in here to eat, I guess.”
“Is that so?” Maggie said. “Looked more to me like you were off someplace else in your mind. I asked you twice if you wanted me to clean up the dishes so you could take care of John Henry. And you ain’t answered yet.”
“No, I’ll help with the cleanup. John Henry oughta be all right for the night. He’s got his bedpan and water beside the bed. I’ll check on him before I go to bed.” Mary Lou paused, realizing Maggie had voiced concern about the four men. “Maybe, if we’re lucky, they’ll eat their meals at one of the saloons, like most of their kind.”
* * *
In fact, the four outlaws were intent upon checking the saloons as soon as they parked their saddlebags and war bags in the two hotel rooms.
“I’m bunkin’ with Flint,” Red announced before any of them entered a room.
Still too new to the gang to be particular about a roommate, Troy shrugged and carried his belongings into the room with Tiny, unaware of the sly wink Red aimed at Yarborough. He would find the reason for Red’s preference, however, when going to bed that night. Tiny, on the other hand, could not care less who bunked in with him, for he always fell fast asleep within minutes of closing his eyes. Consequently, he never suffered the problem of trying to sleep in a room resonating with the sound of a lovesick moose. As he had often explained, he had never stayed awake to hear how loud he snored.
With their gear stowed, they left the hotel to begin a search of the three saloons in town, looking for the man called Harley Branch. Starting with the Cowboy’s Rest, they worked their way down the street, having a drink in each place and questioning the bartender about Harley. The results were the same in all three, no one had seen Harley, and from the response they received, it appeared that no one had ever heard of the man.
Tossing his shot of whiskey back, Yarborough smacked his lips in loud appreciation of the fiery liquid. They had drunk their way down to the last of the three saloons, the Sundown, so named because it was on the western end of the short street. Troy suggested that it might be a good idea to go back to the stable.
“I reckon we could do that,” Yarborough said. “He’d likely know if Harley Branch was back in town.” Like his friends, Tiny and Red, Yarborough was rapidly losing interest in finding the man who had killed Troy’s brothers. He was fine with the idea of killing the man, but his main interest was in the possibility of looting the town of Cheyenne. It appeared to him that they had found themselves in the right place at the right time. And, so far, there appeared to be nobody to stop them, adding icing to the cake. To hell with Harley Branch, he thought, but as a last friendly gesture to Troy, he said, “All right. Let’s go to the stable.”
* * *
Faced again with the four dangerous-looking faces, Leon Bloodworth hoped his nervousness was not as apparent as he feared. “No, sir,” he responded politely. “As far as I know, Harley Branch has left here for good, and he didn’t say where he was headin’. He came in not long after you fellers rode by here, settled up with me, and left. I asked him where he was headin’, but he just said away from here.”
“Well, that about ties a knot in that piece of rope, I reckon,” Yarborough said, turning to Troy. “There ain’t any more we can do about him. Maybe we’ll run into him somewhere down the line.” He paused a moment, waiting to see if Troy had anything to say about that. When Troy simply shrugged as if accepting the missed opportunity for vengeance, Yarborough turned his attention back to Leon. “I don’t reckon you’ve seen hide nor hair of Corina Burnett, have you?” Seeing Leon’s startled look, he mistook it for confusion. “You might know her by Carrie. Does she keep a horse or maybe a buggy here?”
“Uh, no, sir,” Leon stammered. “Carrie ain‘t got no horses here.”
“She might be hid out with some of these other folks here,” Red suggested. “She’ll show up somewhere. This town ain’t big enough to hide in.”
“Reckon you’re right,” Yarborough said. “Anyway, what was your name?”
“Bloodworth, Leon Bloodworth.”
“Right, Leon,” Yarborough continued. “We’re gonna put these horses up with you. Water ’em good and feed ’em some grain. They ain’t had any in a while. We’re gonna stay a few days in town, so you just start us up a bill and we’ll settle up when we’re ready to leave.”
Leon hesitated, wondering if he should tell Yarborough that his usual policy was to collect his stable rent in advance when it came to new customers. He couldn’t bring himself to do it when he met the penetrating stare of Flint Yarborough, seeming to dare him to demand money. “Yes, sir,” Leon finally muttered. “I’ll take good care of ’em for ya.”
“Good,” Yarborough said. “We’ll just leave ’em with you and you can pull the saddles off and stow our gear in your tack room.” Feeling in complete control now, he turned and started walking back to the saloon. “Come on, boys. Let’s see what the town has to offer. We might wanna stay here permanent. They ain’t got no sheriff now. Maybe I’m the man for that job.” It was an idle comment, but the thought of taking over the town, like Big Steve Long had done in Laramie, had entered his mind. He could see that Cheyenne was already growing and could provide a lot of opportunity for a man like himself to get rich. If he did make a move like that, he’d have to be a little more careful about it than Long had, ending up with a rope around his neck.
The four unwelcome guests walked out of the stable. They left a shaken Leon Bloodworth watching them and wondering what they might do if they found out that John Henry Black was not dead.
* * *
Gordon Luck was not at the sawmill when Harley and Carrie got to the river. One of the young boys who worked for him told Harley that Gordon was repairing some benches in the church building. Harley thanked them and headed for the church, explaining to Carrie that Gordon was a preacher as well as a sawmill man. When they got to the church, they found evidence that Gordon had been working there—a couple of benches were upside down and braced underneath with new lumber—but he was not there.
Harley and Carrie walked back outside and stopped on the steps when they heard Gordon call from the house behind the church. Harley called back and in a few seconds they saw him walking to meet them.
“Harley,” Gordon called out, “I thought that was you. Who’s this you’ve brought with you?”
“This is Carrie Green,” Harley answered.
“Oh, yes, I shoulda guessed that,” Gordon replied. “I’ve been too busy at the sawmill to get into town for the past few days, but I heard you’d come to live with Douglas and Martha. I was powerful sorry to hear about your husband, and I was hopin’ I’d see you in church this comin’ Sunday.” He nodded toward the door of the church. “I’ve been busy fixin’ up some of the benches, so you won’t take a chance on landing on the floor.” He smiled broadly at Carrie, but was puzzled by the grim expressions on both their faces. He was somewhat surprised to find the young lady in Harley’s company to begin with, so he guessed there might be an explanation coming. “What brings you out this way today?” he asked, becoming more serious.
Harley glanced at Carrie, not sure how much of the story she was willing to divulge. “Well, in the first place, we came to tell you ’bout some bad trouble in town. I know you heard about the shoot-out that landed John Henry Black on his back in the hotel.”
Gordon nodded.
“Well,” Harley continued, “the feller that done it has come back to town, and he’s brung three gunmen with him.”
“Oh, my Lord . . .” Gordon started. “That ain’t good news. Have Arthur and the others got the vigilance committee together?”
“No, they ain’t,” Harley replied. “That’s why we stopped by to let you know what’s goin’ on. Tell you the truth, I don’t think anybody wants to tangle with these four fellers. They’re a mean bunch.”
“What about Cole Bonner?” Gordon asked. “From what I heard, he was the one that did most of the shootin’ when that one feller was killed.”
“Cole went after that Womack feller, but he ain’t come back. And since Womack is back in town with his three friends, I’m afraid Cole mighta run into an ambush and got himself killed.”
Gordon scratched his head while he considered the problem. Finally he asked, “So you’re tellin’ me that the town is in the hands of four outlaws and nobody’s gonna go up against ’em?”
“That’s what I’m tellin’ you,” Harley said. “I told Leon Bloodworth I’d tell you what’s goin’ on, in case you wanna see if you can get the vigilance committee together again. I thought about helpin’ if you did, but I’m obliged to take Carrie somewhere safe.” He turned to look Carrie in the eye. “And right now I’m thinkin’ about goin’ back to Medicine Bear’s village. I’d go somewhere to look for Cole, but I ain’t got any idea where to start.”
The indecision was apparent in Gordon’s eyes as he thought the situation over. He had responded to the call before to rid Cheyenne of outlaws. Like Arthur Campbell and Douglas Green, he was not eager to face up to four hardened killers again. He had done his part in helping to build a law-abiding town. Let someone else take a turn. “Are you plannin’ to take Mrs. Green, here, to that Crow camp?” He directed his next question to Carrie. “Is this all right with Douglas and Martha?”
Harley shrugged, hesitant to answer.
Carrie smiled at him and said, “Everybody’s gonna know soon enough, Harley.” Then to Gordon, she said, “It’s all right with Douglas and Martha. They asked me to leave, and not to come back, and I said I would.”
“Why in the world would they ask you to do that?” Gordon exclaimed.
“They had their reasons,” Carrie said and left it at that.
Gordon was astonished to think the Greens sent her away. “Maybe they’re concerned for your safety,” he suggested. There was an extended period of silence while he tried to determine what he should do. After he thought it over, he decided he’d let the town take care of itself. “I’ll defend my sawmill and my church, but the citizens of Cheyenne are gonna have to take care of their own.”
He looked at Carrie and shook his head as if apologizing. Then another idea struck him. “You don’t have to go with Harley to live in a Crow village, if you don’t want to. You can stay here at my house. I’ve got a spare room all fixed up to suit a lady. It was gonna be for me and my bride, but she changed her mind about marryin’ me, so nobody’s usin’ it. I don’t sleep in there, so it’s just like brand new.” In fact, he had closed the door to the room so as not to be reminded of it.
Harley looked at Carrie to judge her reaction to Gordon’s invitation. He could see that it had caused her to give it some thought. “Well, that might be more to your likin’ than goin’ back to an Injun village.” Thinking Gordon seemed sincere in the offer, Harley waited for a moment while Carrie considered the suggestion. “You would be far enough from town, so nobody would likely know you were here. ’Course, it’s up to you. You know Moon Shadow and Yellow Calf would welcome you for as long as you wanted to stay.” At least for as long as that little camp of old folks can make it before they’re forced to go to the reservation, he couldn’t help thinking. He was afraid that time would not be far off. The young men had gone and he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to supply the camp with meat. He was getting long in the tooth, himself.
Finally, Carrie spoke. “That’s a mighty generous offer and I thank you for it.” Shifting her gaze to Harley then, she went on. “It sounds like a wonderful opportunity for me, but Gordon doesn’t know the whole story. And he should hear it before he agrees to take me in.” Turning back to Gordon, she said, “I was a prostitute before I married Robert Green and that’s the reason I had to leave Cheyenne. Douglas and Martha found out and kicked me out of their home. I ain’t a prostitute anymore.”
Her forthright admission had the effect on Gordon that Harley expected. He was struck speechless for a long moment.
The sudden silence was interrupted by a comment from Harley. “That oughta give a preacher somethin’ to think about, I reckon.”
It gave Gordon plenty to think about, all right, but he tried to approach it with the forgiveness that a Christian should embrace. He questioned her on how she became a prostitute and she was quite frank with her answers. After hearing of her abandonment at a tender age, with no one to take care of her and no place to go, he found he did have some compassion for her plight. Since she assured him that she had sought forgiveness for her sins, and had traveled a sin-free path since meeting Robert, Gordon decided that the offer was still good.
“It ain’t like I’m askin’ you to marry me or anything else beyond just givin’ you a place to live,” he rationalized. “And since you ain’t a whore no more, ain’t nobody got any right to say anything about you rentin’ a room in the parsonage.”
“How much is the rent?” Carrie asked.
“Maybe you could help with the cookin’ and washin’,” Gordon said.
Both parties nodded their agreement and shook on it. Harley pulled the saddle off the sorrel and turned it out with Gordon’s horses. After he had parked her saddle in the barn, he went inside the house where Gordon was showing Carrie around. When he walked in, he overheard Carrie comment that it was obvious the kitchen could use a woman’s touch.
She’ll be running this house in a week’s time, he thought and smiled. “Well, I reckon I’d best decide what I’m gonna do,” he announced.
“Why don’t you stay here, too?” Gordon asked. His question brought a hopeful look to Carrie’s eye.
Harley shrugged. “I reckon I could at that,” he allowed. “I swear, I’d like to go look for Cole, but I’m blamed if I know where to start.” The thought of his friend lying wounded or dead on the cold unforgiving prairie was not an image that rested easy in his mind. After he considered it for a few minutes, he decided. “What the hell? I reckon I’ll stick around. I’ll sleep in the barn with my horses.”
Carrie nodded and smiled at him. She knew she would be a lot more comfortable with Harley there, at least until she became used to the arrangement. It didn’t strike her as a permanent solution to her problems, but for the time being, it sounded better to her than going back to live with the Indians.