Bloody Sunday (A John Stone Western--Book 11) Page 6

  “You were a warrior,” Hiding Bear said.

  “Long time ago.”

  Leticia wondered if the Shoshonis planned to cook her for dessert. Stone ground coffee beans between two rocks as the injuns watched closely. One tended the venison.

  “Where you headed?” Hiding Bear asked.

  “South.”

  Leticia smiled. “Do you know how far to the nearest town?”

  “Town?” Hiding Bear pinched his nose. “Town stink.”

  The other injuns nodded, muttering among themselves.

  “Your woman?” Hiding Bear asked Stone, gesticulating with his chin toward Leticia.

  “No.”

  “Your sister, then?”

  “Friend of mine.”

  Hiding Bear turned to her. “What is your name?”

  “Leticia.”

  She admired the woven wooly fabric that showed beneath their long buckskin coats. They had large angular noses and dark skin. She couldn’t understand why they didn’t kill Stone and rape her to death.

  “Whiskey?” asked Hiding Bear.

  Stone shook his head. Hiding Bear appeared disappointed. He relayed the answer to the other injuns, who frowned. Another warrior edged closer to Stone. “My name Five Feathers. How much for the girl?”

  “White girls marry who they want.”

  The injuns didn’t appear to think much of American mating habits. Five Feathers cut venison and passed a chunk to Leticia, but it was hot, and she dropped it to the snow. Five Feathers shook his head. Clumsy woman, but so pretty.

  Hiding Bear chanted as the Shoshonis ate with their hands. Leticia bit into a pancake, but had no idea what she swallowed. Hope it’s not mashed grasshoppers.

  Five Feathers pointed to Hiding Bear. “Buhagant,” he said.

  Stone and Leticia looked at each other. They had no idea what he was trying to convey. Five Feathers said it in English. “Holy man.”

  Stone gazed at Hiding Bear with new interest as Hiding Bear held up a chunk of pancake to Leticia. “Nuts, seeds, meat, berries. You like?”

  “Very good.”

  “You are old enough to marry.” Hiding Bear turned toward John Stone. “Why you not marry her?”

  Stone pulled the picture of Marie from his shirt pocket. “Ever see this woman?”

  The injuns stared at the picture. Five Feathers touched his finger to the isinglass. “What is this thing?”

  “The picture of my woman.”

  Hiding Bear shrugged. “Is she sick? She has no blood.”

  Leticia reached for the picture and gazed at it critically. Pale vapid bitch. She handed it to Stone, and he returned it to his shirt pocket. Silently they finished the meal, smoked more tobacco, and Leticia wasn’t sure she wanted to sleep with injuns close by. The last cup of coffee was drunk, and all the venison gone.

  “We will leave now,” Hiding Bear said. “We have long distance to go.” He arose with his warriors and faced Stone. “Do you wonder why we have not killed you? Coyote asked me to spare you, I do not know why. Perhaps one day he will tell you himself.”

  ‘Take the rest of the tobacco.” He tossed Hiding Bear the leather pouch.

  “Thank you, John Stone. And let me give you something.” The medicine man removed a leather necklace with a single bone disk, and passed it to Stone. “For luck.”

  Stone draped it around his neck as Hiding Bear made a strange series of movements with his right hand, then walked away. Now Stone had an Apache knife, a Sioux knife, and a Shoshoni necklace. The warriors mounted their horses and rode into the snow-laden forest. Soon they were gone, but their hoofbeats still could be heard.

  “How much do you think he would’ve paid for me?” Leticia asked.

  “A few horses.”

  “That’s all?”

  “If you had to work like a squaw, it’d kill you. Wash the coffeepot, while I take care of the horses.”

  She knelt beside the fire and emptied coffee grounds into a snowdrift, while thinking about Shoshonis. Their venison was delicious, but the real show was John Stone communicating with them.

  He’d been completely at home with men whose idea of a good time was filling a white man with arrows and raping white women. But this bunch didn’t seem so bad. They treated John Stone as though he were a fellow warrior. But surely I’m worth more than three horses.

  Stone sat with his back to a tree, puffing a cigarette. A few months ago, in Kansas, he became friendly with some Sioux braves. A chief’s son invited Stone to live with their tribe in the Black Hills, but Stone decided to resume his search for Marie.

  Now he felt a longing to live the exotic injun life, far from the civilized world. Too many people knew about John Stone the gunfighter. If I go to Texas, some glory hound’ll shoot me for the newspaper publicity.

  Leticia sat beside the fire, poking embers with a stick. “Don’t you think I’m worth more than three horses?”

  He unrolled his blankets and prepared his bed. “Maybe four horses.”

  “Seems like an awfully low figure. I would’ve thought at least fifty horses.”

  “For fifty horses, a man could get five daughters of famous chiefs. I bet you don’t even know how to gut a buffalo. By the way, there’s been a change in plans. I’ve decided to head for the Black Hills. You can come with me until we reach the next town.”

  She thought he’d gone bonkers. “I hope this isn’t your idea of a joke. It was my understanding we’re headed for Texas.”

  “If you want to go back home, I’ll take you. Think it over and tell me in the morning. Happy dreams.” He rolled over and covered his head with his blankets.

  She placed her hands on her hips and was about to say something, but had no idea what. Sputtering, she paced back and forth. She couldn’t understand why she was angry. “Don’t you think I should have something to say about where we’re going?”

  He didn’t reply, and she glared at him lying on the ground, his face covered with his newly patched Confederate cavalry hat. He thinks I’m an idiot because I don’t know how to gut a buffalo. Angrily, she walked toward him. He heard her coming and glanced over his shoulder. She kicked him squarely in the hindquarters, causing him to cry out in sudden pain and surprise.

  “I hate you,” she hissed.

  ~*~

  Dawn light filled the valley. Stone threw an empty can of beans on the snow. “Shoot it.”

  “What for?”

  “Thought I should check your skill with that gun you carry around.”

  She tried to remember what Boettcher taught her. Yanking the gun, she thumbed the hammer and took aim, her tiny pink tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth. The gun fired, and snow exploded a few feet from the can.

  “Not bad,” Stone said. “But don’t take so long. Draw, aim, fire. One two three. Try it again.”

  She holstered her gun, paused, then drew and fired. The can, undisturbed by her effort, caught a morning ray of the sun. “It’s too far away,” she said. “Nobody could hit it at this distance.”

  If she had to describe what happened next, it’d be impossible. One moment Stone listened to her, the next, he fired at the can. It flew into the air, dented from the impact of the bullet.

  “You’re a gunfighter,” she said. “It’s easy for you.”

  “I wasn’t born with a gun in my hand. The faster you draw, the better you’ll be able to save your life, and maybe mine. Let me show you.”

  She holstered her gun. He moved behind her and placed his hand on hers. Their bodies touched. “Now draw slowly,” he said.

  She pulled the gun out of her holster, and he guided her movements. “Just bring it straight up your opponent’s body, and when you reach his belt line, pull the trigger.”

  “I know how to shoot,” she said. “See that tree over there?” She faced off against it, spread her legs gunfighter style, and raised her gun without any wasted movement, just the way he showed her. She pulled the trigger, and the gunshot explosion echoed through the forest
. A chip of bark flew away from the tree. With a swagger, she blew the curl of smoke from the barrel of her Remington. “How’s that, cowboy?”

  “Don’t ever go anywhere without a gun. Now saddle up and let’s get going.”

  She spread the blanket on Lulu’s back, then placed the saddle on top. John Stone’s body felt good, she thought. Hope he gives me some more shooting lessons. Meanwhile, he climbed onto Warpaint and wheeled him around. Muggs bounded through melting snowdrifts, leading the way to the Black Hills.

  Chapter Six

  Five days later, Stone spotted a faint cloud of smoke on the horizon. The trail had long since disappeared, and they rode across a plain where branded cattle grazed. Except for a few patches of slush, the snow was gone. Stone pulled back Warpaint’s reins, climbed down from the saddle, took out his map.

  “Lost?” Leticia asked.

  He unfolded the map, traced his finger along a line. A few small towns in the area.

  “Anything wrong?” She sat proudly in her saddle, face scrubbed, every hair combed and tied into a ponytail at the back of her head. “It’s rude to ignore another person.”

  “Don’t have time to explain everything to you.”

  “This isn’t the Army. I’m not one of your recruits.” She studied his wide back as she followed him toward the haze in the distance. Every day she fell in love with him a little more, and had no hope of receiving a return on her investment. No matter what happens, don’t throw yourself at him.

  ~*~

  The town was thirty-odd buildings and shacks scattered along a stretch of trail. It had no railroad service, but a small Army post was attached to its side like a tumorous growth.

  “Where’re we going to stay?” she asked.

  “This is the fork in the road,” he replied. “From here on, you go your way and I’ll go mine. I haven’t been with a woman for a long time, and it hasn’t been easy sleeping near you every night, and not being able to touch.”

  She nearly fell off her horse. Ahead, the town spread before her. A sign banged into the ground sat alongside the trail: WOODLAWN.

  “We make a good team,” Leticia said. “Maybe we ought to stay together.”

  John Stone desperately needed a cigarette, but he’d given his tobacco to the Shoshonis. “You don’t know anything about me, and besides, I’m engaged to someone else.”

  “For all you know, she’s already married.”

  A woman hung her wash in a backyard on the edge of town. Several mongrel alley dogs stepped forward to sniff Muggs. The second building on the left was a general store. “Think I’ll stop for some tobacco,” Stone said. “Got any idea where you’ll spend the night?”

  “I’ll find something.”

  He watched her ride away, a small figure on a big horse, her hat tilted like an old veteran of the trail, which in fact she was. He thought of the terrible calamities that could befall an unescorted young woman in a small frontier town, and prodded Warpaint to catch up with her.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she stared straight ahead like a trooper as he came abreast of her. “We can live in the same hotel until you find your way around,” he said gently.

  She turned to him and said coldly, “I can get along without you just fine. You’re not the only one who knows how to behave. If you persist in following me, I’ll call the sheriff and tell him you’re molesting me.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’ve never been away from home before.”

  She opened her mouth and screamed: “Haaalllppppp!”

  Every eye on the street turned toward her. Stone pulled back Warpaint’s reins, and the chestnut stallion turned around. Dozens of eyes glowered accusingly at Stone. He angled Warpaint toward the general store, feeling shame for something he didn’t do.

  A drunken cowboy walked unsteadily toward Leticia and removed his hat. “Help you, ma’am?”

  “Could you direct me to the sheriff’s office, please?”

  “Around the corner, to your right.”

  She felt his lewd eyes upon her as she touched her heels to Lulu’s ribs. They turned the corner and Lulu came to a stop before a sign: SHERIFF.

  Leticia tied Lulu to the rail and entered the office. Behind the desk, a tall, lanky string bean rose to his feet. He had straight black hair, a long, sad face, and a badge pinned to his shirt. Not much older than me, she realized. The sign on his desk read SHERIFF RALPH BARNES.

  “Help you, ma’am?”

  “Just arrived in town,” she explained, “and wondered if you could give me the name of a good inexpensive hotel.”

  He stared at her face, the massive hat on her small head, gun sticking out of her belt. “Ain’t but one hotel in town. Down the street. You say you come here by yerself?”

  “Didn’t say that at all, Sheriff Barnes. You got a school-marm in this town?”

  “No, ma’am. Mrs. Blodgett, the mayor’s wife, has been a-teachin’ the kids, but she ain’t a real schoolmarm.”

  “Where might I find her?”

  A shot rang out across the street. “Excuse me,” said the sheriff.

  He took down a shotgun from the wall. Across the street, a drunken cowboy staggered from side to side, aiming his gun in the air. The cowboy pulled his trigger, the street reverberated with the report of the gun, and everyone ran for cover except Barnes, who walked steadily toward him, aiming the shotgun at his belly. “I’ll have to ask for that gun, sir.”

  The cowboy turned to Barnes. “Get away from me, sonny Jim, before I put a hole in yer ass.”

  “You’re endangerin’ public safety and private property. You don’t pass me that gun – butt first, I’ll give you both barrels.”

  “You young puppy,” the cowboy sneered. “You don’t talk to me that way.”

  The cowboy whipped his gun toward Barnes, who pulled two triggers. The shotgun roared like a cannon, and a massive cloud of smoke billowed in the air. The cowboy lay in the middle of the street, riddled with red holes.

  “Would somebody call Dr. Horbach?” Barnes asked, picking up the cowboy’s gun. Then he returned calmly to his office. Leticia stared at him from the doorway, her jaw loose on its hinges.

  “You were sayin’?” Sheriff Barnes asked.

  ~*~

  Stone’s war instincts clicked on when he heard the shot, and he dived to the floor. A man in a derby stuck his head outside. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “Sheriff just shot somebody!” called a voice in the distance.

  Stone picked himself off the floor and brushed sawdust off his pants.

  “In the war?” asked the man behind the counter. “So was my son. Every time he hears a shot, he’s on the floor like you.”

  “Got any tobacco?”

  The merchant handed him a small white bag, and Stone rolled a cigarette. He took a deep inhale, the general store filled with black ink. “Good stuff,” he muttered.

  A familiar figure ran across the street, holding her ten-gallon hat on her head. “I just saw a man get shot! The sheriff gave him both barrels! My God!” She appeared in shock, eyes wide as saucers.

  He was glad to see her, and placed his arm around her shoulders. “You need a drink.” He shepherded Leticia next door to the Silver Spur Saloon, where a few men lined the bar and others sat at tables, the potbellied stove wearing a glowing red belt.

  “Two double shots,” Stone said, resting his foot on the corroded brass rail.

  Leticia looked around fearfully while the bartender filled two glasses. Stone flipped coins on the counter, then raised his glass and tossed whiskey down his throat. The old familiar bonfire took away chills in his soul. He motioned toward Leticia’s whiskey. “Drink up.”

  “I wouldn’t touch that stuff.”

  “Then I’ll have to drink it.”

  He raised her glass and flipped it back. His knees buckled momentarily, but he hung on to the bar. Leticia leaned toward the bartender and asked, “Is the hotel any good?”

  “Don’t take a room on the top floor, �
��cause the roof leaks. If they tell you it’s fixed, they’re lyin’.”

  Leticia dug her elbow into Stone’s ribs. “I heard about a job. Are you drunk?”

  Stone nearly fell over a chair as he made his way to the door. Muggs and the horses waited outside, not happy about his condition. Down the block he saw a sign for the stable.

  Stone and Leticia rode their horses through the big proscenium door, and a man shoveled horseshit into a wheelbarrow. “Help you, folks?”

  Stone and Leticia left their horses with him, and Stone slung both their saddlebags over his shoulder. Sun shone brightly on Main Street as Leticia led him around the corner to the hotel, a clapboard box with disheveled drunken soldiers lying on the bench in front.

  “Doesn’t look promising,” Stone muttered, trying to regain his senses from the sudden onslaught of tobacco and whiskey after so many days of abstinence. In the lobby a few men lounged on upholstered worn furniture with ragged spots showing. Leticia wrinkled her nose. A thoroughly filthy and disgusting place.

  “Help you, sir?” asked the room clerk, sitting at the desk, ignoring Leticia.

  “Room for the night,” Stone burped.

  “For two,” Leticia added.

  Stone turned to her, question marks in his eyes.

  “Cheaper this way,” she said.

  He wanted to protest, but money spoke louder. The clerk pushed the register forward, the ex-cavalry officer signed Mr. and Mrs. John Stone. Leticia turned toward the clerk. “What floor?”

  “Top.”

  “Sorry, but we don’t want it.”

  “All we have.”

  “The roof leaks, I’ve been told.”

  “We fixed it.”

  “I have it on the best authority that it still leaks.”

  The room clerk sneered. “Who’s your best authority?”