Note from JetBoy: This nine-chapter novel is a sequel of sorts to “Tears of the Sun,” by Purple Les, which introduced her character The Tequila Kid, a young lesbian who works for the Texas Rangers. It’s not absolutely necessary to have read that one first, but doing so will enhance your appreciation of this story. Be warned, however, that there are some spoilers in the new story that give away plot developments of the older one.
***
Thanks to JetBoy.
More than just my editor (to me and so many others), but my sounding board as well. Even, I dare say, a friend. I love that he can suggest that naming a lawman in my story Marshall Tucker might not be a good choice, as it’s already the name of a rock band. Who knew? Well, JetBoy did. We’ve made each other look at, discuss, and learn the oddest things from the history of the West, and I love doing that. The give and take we’ve exchanged over many different points in each chapter makes for a better story, I hope. I know it’s making me a better writer.
by Purple Les
For PoppaBear
The Tequila Kid sat in the saddle, idly rolling a cigarette. Button, her Appaloosa mare, waited patiently, enjoying the shade cast by the row of cottonwood trees where they’d stopped to rest. In the shadows, the horse’s coloring — white, with dark spots — made her difficult to perceive through the dappled sunlight.
The Kid’s eyes were fixed farther down the hill, on the well-traveled road that led to Knuckle Ridge. At the very foot of the hill, another row of cottonwoods stood proudly on the other side of the road. It left a line of shade for a small stretch before the road was fully exposed to the heat of the mid-morning sun.
“Well, girl,” The Kid murmured as she patted the horse’s neck, “I reckon this is as close to a home as I got for now. My Ranger pay should be waitin’ at the bank for me, and we’ll live easy for a spell. You’ll be restin’ up to the livery stable while we’re in Knuckle Ridge. And I’ll be stayin’ with Ann.” The Kid finished with a smile as she flicked a match head alive with her thumbnail, lighting her smoke.
***
Ann was the name that most folks knew her by, but her full moniker was Andromeda Henrietta Purdy. Ann’s parents had been rather advanced in years when they married, and even older when their daughter was born.
Andromeda’s mother had been a nurse, her father an astronomer. They’d come from Philadelphia to the West, seeking clear skies. Knuckle Ridge was where they settled on their way to Wyoming.
Knuckle Ridge got its name from the four fair-sized hills, clumped together so tightly that they resembled the knuckles on a fist. The town was located some seventy or so miles southwest of Austin. The railroad line had a spur that ran from the main track into town. The train came into town once a week, every Friday afternoon at three o’clock, and left every Saturday morning at seven or eight, depending on the amount of livestock or crops that were taken on. The only other transportation in or out was by horseback, or a stagecoach line that came through twice daily.
It was a peaceful town by any standard, clean and prosperous, ideal for Easterners like Franklin and Abigail Purdy, with a hill for Franklin to set up a telescope, so he could study the stars.
The main reason they chose to stay, however, was that Abigail found herself three months pregnant during their journey, and Knuckle Ridge seemed like a fine spot to raise a child.
When the baby arrived, the child was so beautiful that Franklin could think of no better name for her than Andromeda, after the spiral galaxy that was, to him, the loveliest sight in the heavens. Henrietta was for the midwife who had delivered the baby.
Andromeda grew up happy, healthy and bright, a girl who devoured books nearly as fast as she could lay hands on them. Despite her considerable intelligence, she was down to earth in most ways and kind and helpful to her neighbors.
Now twenty-eight, her parents had been dead for seven years. She had known the Tequila Kid for two.
At twenty, Ann had established a library in Knuckle Ridge that she ran. At twenty-four, she took in a ten-year-old orphan boy named Freddie, who was now fourteen. A handsome and pleasant lad, he slept in a spare room at the library, and helped Ann to run it. Freddie also worked for Smitty S. Jones, who owned the town’s newspaper, The Knuckle Ridge Clarion, that came out every two weeks. Between these two enterprises, Freddie had become very literate, a voracious reader like Ann.
Andromeda lived alone in her parents’ house. Her main pastime was hunting out dinosaur bones and fossils. She sold these to museums and universities around the world. The study of dinosaurs was a rapidly growing discipline, and scientists everywhere were clamoring for their remains. Andromeda’s biggest buyer was Edward Drinker Cope, who was consistently pleased by the large variety of fossils, footprints, and bones that Andromeda unearthed and shipped to him.
Andromeda loved roaming the hills and flatlands around Knuckle Ridge, seeking out these ancient relics. That was how she’d met The Tequila Kid.
Ann had been unearthing a large dinosaur skull, whisking the dust from around the piece with a soft-bristled brush when The Kid happened to ride up. Engrossed in her work, she failed to notice the approach of The Kid, who paused to watch, fascinated by the sight of the huge skull.
When The Kid’s horse gently nickered, Andromeda glanced upward. “Oh, hello there! I didn’t hear you ride up,” she said to the stranger, shading her bright hazel eyes from the sun glaring down from behind the rider.
The Kid dismounted from her big bay horse Buttercup, then squatted by the hole, looking down at this auburn-haired woman of medium build and height. The woman’s shape was a pleasure for The Kid to behold, and she felt a familiar stirring between her legs.
“You see,” Andromeda explained, “I’m excavating this dinosaur bone and didn’t hear you approach.”
The Kid responded with, “What’s a dinosaur?”
“Well, it’s a sort of a giant lizard, I suppose you could say. They used to roam the earth in vast quantities.” Frowning slightly, Andromeda studied the skull before her. “This is from the early Permian period, I’m guessing. It’s a very long time ago,” she added, noticing the totally mystified look on the pretty young face looking down at her. Still gazing with interest into those sky blue eyes staring at her, Andromeda continued. “You see, Texas used to be an ocean. It’s rich in fossilized sea life.”
“Shucks, now,” The Kid answered. “Miss, you might of been out in the sun too long.”
“If you don’t mind coming down here to help me, I could explain it to you better,” Andromeda was surprised to hear herself say.
The Kid slowly nodded. “All right. Just let me fix my horse over by yours, and I’ll be right down.”
While she tied up Buttercup near the other horse attached to a buckboard wagon, The Kid thought, She’s a real nice kind of pretty. Don’t understand what she’s talking about, but I sure do love listening to her. Can’t think of no better way to spend the rest of the day than in a hole with this gal.
Andromeda peered from the top of the hole, her interest growing as she watched this girl, who was dressed like a man and wearing guns.
The Kid walked back over and carefully climbed down into the hole with this equally fascinating woman. While Ann shared her knowledge, she had The Kid help her hoist up the gigantic skull and put it in her wagon.
After that, it seemed completely natural to bring The Kid home with her to clean up and join her for supper. The Kid was only too happy to accept, and rode Buttercup behind Andromeda’s wagon back into town.
Andromeda had barely paused to draw breath since The Kid rode up on her horse. And though she understood next to nothing that Ann was talking about, The Kid was spellbound by the flood of information that spilled from her lovely looking mouth. Actually, everything about Ann was lovely. She had lengthy auburn hair and large almond-shaped hazel eyes, framed by long dark eyelashes. Her nose was straight and narrow.
The Kid loved Andromeda’s smile, with a slight overbite and a small gap between her two front teeth, a tiny flaw that accented the rest of the young woman‘s features. It made The Kid think of a cute bunny rabbit.
At five feet four, Ann was shorter than The Kid. Her figure was strong, yet soft, ample and feminine, with generous breasts and a shapely ass.
That night, as they finished eating, Ann looked across the candlelit table at the younger woman. “I must say, you are wonderful company… the time has simply flown by. I don’t even believe I got your name, we’ve been talking so much.”
The Kid couldn’t help but smile. So far, just about the only words she’d spoken had been hours ago. The last thing she remembered saying to Andromeda was, ‘Thanks for offerin’ me your hospitality, ma’am. I’ll follow you back to your place on Buttercup, here.’
The Kid extended her hand and said, “I’m the Tequila Kid. My friends just call me Kid.”
Ann took the firm hand in her smaller one and said, “I’m Andromeda Purdy. My friends just call me Ann.” They both smiled and their eyes locked.
The Kid said, “I’m right pleased to meet you, Ann.” Neither woman released the other’s hand.
Still holding Ann’s hand, The Kid said, “I reckon I best find me a place to spend the night. Thanks for learnin’ me so much ‘bout those dinosaurs of yours.”
Ann gripped The Kid’s hand harder at the thought of her new friend leaving. “Why, I can’t let you wander into the night like that! You will spend the night here, most certainly.”
The Kid leaned toward Ann. “I don’t want to put you out none.” Their gaze remained unbroken.
“I have a very large bed,” Ann stated. “We could continue our conversation there.”
“Well, I reckon I’d like that just fine,” The Kid answered, smiling.
Moments later, The Kid followed Ann up the stairs to her bedroom.
“I have a nightgown you could borrow,” Ann suggested as she lit the oil lamp on her dresser.
“To be honest, if you don’t mind, I prefer to sleep with nothin’ on,” The Kid said.
Ann smiled. “I like to sleep nude on nights like this myself.”
“You mean warm nights?” The Kid asked, “Or nights when you got a girl to share your bed with?”
“I am almost ten years older than you, Kid,” Ann said, suddenly feeling shy. “I feel that I might be taking advantage of you here.”
The Kid began to undress. “I been with gals from age fifty-seven to seven. You can take as much advantage of me as you want, Ann.”
They both removed the last of their clothing and looked each other up and down. They moved closer, then gently kissed, pressing their naked bodies together as their hands began to explore.
Ann timidly asked, “You’ve really made love to a seven-year-old girl?”
Gently placing a hand on Ann’s sex, The Kid felt how wet her new partner was. “You like younger women? Around my age… or less, even?”
Ann let out a soft moan, nodding her head.
“Let’s lay down and talk about it,” The Kid suggested.
Talk they did, and much else besides. The Kid had more stories to share about her experiences with other females than Ann did. But Ann’s knowledge of lesbian lovemaking kept The Kid spellbound.
The two women, seemingly so different on the surface, became fast friends. They also became lovers. The Kid soon came to think of Knuckle Ridge as her home base. Though she’d cover the length and breadth of the territory for the Texas Rangers, Knuckle Ridge is where she always returned, at least until she was off again on another assignment. Ann was the reason she always came back.
Ann was happy with where she was and what she did. It didn’t bother her that The Kid was so often away on some mission for the law, as she always did return. Andromeda often felt as though The Kid had just left before she was back again, though the time in between was sometimes weeks or months.
Andromeda was like her late father, so caught up in her work that nearly everything else was just a distraction from her archeology and library. Still, she adored The Kid, and showered the young woman with love and passion whenever she was around.
***
“It’s only about ten miles to town, Button,” The Kid told her horse as she broke apart the butt of her smoked down cigarette. “We’ll have us a nice slow ride in. I’ll get you settled at the livery. Then I’ll get me a bath. I’ll put on some fresh duds and head over to Ann’s.
“You’ll like Ann. She’s sweet on horses. She’s got one that pulls her wagon, called Pegasus. Named after a flying horse, if that don’t beat all.”
The Kid’s thoughts were broken by a fast moving cloud of dust.
“Huh. The stage is sure comin’ in faster than normal,” The Kid mumbled, more to herself than to Button.
As the stagecoach came closer on the road below them, The Kid was alarmed to see that there was no driver. The team of horses pulling the stage was running wild!
Springing into action, she kicked her heels into Button’s haunches and yelled, “Hyah!”
The Kid had Button at full gallop down the hill at an angle, headed for the road. The horse had her neck stretched out in front, her black mane and tail flying out straight behind as she galloped fiercely.
Button hit the road twenty yards behind the speeding stagecoach, the mare’s hooves more off the ground than on as she thundered through the clouds of dust cast up by the horses and stagecoach ahead of her.
The Kid’s heart sank as she realized that in moments, the horses would be running off the road and into a strip of grass that lay mere feet before a steep drop off on the hill. Even if the horses managed to turn aside in time, the stage could go flying over the edge, pulling the horses down with it.
The Kid leaned forward, put a hand to her Appaloosa’s neck and urged, “Go, girl, go!”
Button’s response was to turn her ears back, thrust her nose out even further, and pick up speed. Soon, they began to gain on the stagecoach. When Button pulled even with the stage, The Kid looked over and saw passengers through the windows, holding each other tightly and screaming in terror.
Whipping the reins from side to side on Button’s shoulders, The Kid pulled up even to the team of horses, holding Button steady with the lead horse on the right.
They were all off the road now, hurtling forward through the grass. The stage bounced on the rough turf, threatening to flip over with each jolt. First the wheels on one side were off the ground, then the other. Them folks inside must be gettin’ shook up like dice in a cup, The Kid thought.
She urged Button on, and the Appaloosa gave her heart to the task, stretching her long legs almost straight out ahead. She managed to get just a little ahead of the lead horses, and The Kid kept her there.
With hooves thundering, The Kid could just see the edge of the cliff as she held onto the reins and saddle horn with one hand, easing her feet out of the stirrups. Slowly she got into a crouch, resting her free hand on the back of the saddle, then leapt off into space.
With legs spread and arms extended, her heart in her throat, The Kid just managed to land on the rump of the front lead horse. Frantically pulling herself forward, she fought to secure her position on the horse, snatching at the reins, then gripping them tightly.
She reached over to grab the reins of the other lead horse, nearly losing her balance and falling in the process — but somehow, she managed to hang on.
The Kid jerked hard at the reins as she urged the horse she sat on to slow down. “Whoa now, girl, whoa now.”
The team came to a slow stop and shook their heads with nostrils flaring, pawing the ground near the edge of the drop off. The Kid dismounted, calming the horses by talking softly and patting them. She slowly led the team back up to the road. As the wheels of the stagecoach turned, they sent chunks of turf and small rocks over the edge of the cliff before getting back onto solid ground.
When they reached the road, The Kid clambered up on the stage box and put the brake on. As she did, a groan came from the floor.
The Kid looked down and saw a large man in his twenties, a man she knew. Her face went white as she saw the gaping wound in his chest.
“Hey there, Bob,” The Kid murmured, kneeling by the man’s side. Though her heart was pounding wildly, she kept her voice low and soothing, hoping to keep him calm. “Get into a little scrape, did you?” Glancing around, she saw that Bob was alone. “Where’s Roy at?”
Bob coughed up some blood before saying, “Roy… Roy g-got his head shot off a ways back.”
The Kid winced. Shit. “You rest easy for a minute there, Bob. I won’t go far.”
Jumping down from the box, The Kid took hold of the stage door. The rough ride had caused it to stick, but she braced a boot against the side of the coach and yanked it open, the door pulling from the buckled frame with a splintering sound. The shaken passengers slowly began to emerge, and The Kid helped them down one by one. There was an elegantly-dressed lady, followed by a modestly dressed woman, a man in a fancy suit, and lastly a girl, about eleven or so.
“If you folks is all right, I got to take care of the driver up there. Mister, could you help me get him down?”
The man nodded brusquely. He was around thirty years old and looked like some kind of dandy, though the wild ride he’d just been on had taken a good bit of the starch out of his collar. He was taller than The Kid’s five feet nine inches and seemed to be very fit.
Climbing up to the stage box, the two of them managed to get Bob down to the ground without jostling him too much.
The Kid gave a sharp whistle, and Button came to her. Handing her canteen to the man, she said, “Give him some water. Just a few swallows, mind.” She rummaged in one of her saddle bags, taking out a few clean rags and her herb pouch.
“We need to be on our way,” the well-dressed woman demanded.
Slowly turning, The Kid looked her in the eye and murmured low, so the wounded man wouldn’t hear, “Fact is, we do. But these horses is lathered up and need to catch their breath. Meantime, I need to try to stop this leak in Bob’s chest. He’s apt to die otherwise.”
Everyone looked at the man on the ground, who was bleeding heavily, gasping for air.
“While I do that, why don’t you all take some water from that bag hanging there, and thank whoever you worship that you’re alive to do that much.” Turning back to Bob, The Kid brushed past the lady, giving her a slight nudge out of her way.
“Well now, I seen worse, Bob,” The Kid calmly lied as she hunkered down by the man. Taking hold of the blood-drenched shirt, she carefully ripped it away.
The well-dressed man turned away with a sickened look on his face as he saw the gaping hole in Bob’s chest.
The Kid sprinkled some herbs on the wound, put a rag over the hole, then wrapped the other rags around Bob’s chest. The bullet hadn’t gone through him, even though it had been fired at close range. The Kid put a different herb in Bob’s mouth and gave him some more water to wash it down.
The Kid and the dandy, the girl and the modestly dressed woman got Bob on to the floor of the stagecoach. The woman knelt on the floor and cradled Bob’s head in her lap, trying to comfort him. Taking a handkerchief from the pocket of her plain gingham dress, she mopped the sweat from the wounded man’s face.
Stepping out of the stage, The Kid said, “We’ll head into Knuckle Ridge now.”
Still standing on the ground the little girl looked sick to her stomach. She looked up at The Kid. “Please, Miss. May I ride up t-top with you? I…” She fell silent, unable to say more.
“Why, sure you can, little missy.” The Kid knew full well that this child shouldn’t be riding with a dying man.
The elegantly-dressed lady swept into the coach without a word. The man in the fancy suit followed, pausing to give The Kid a shaky bow.
The Kid closed the stage door, then lifted the girl up to the box. Reaching for Button’s reins, The Kid tied her horse to the back of the stage, then climbed up to join the girl. She took the brake off, then urged the horses forward, guiding them down the road at a safe but moderate pace.
The Kid glanced at the girl next to her. The child’s face was pale, no doubt in shock from what had happened, but she would have been fair anyway. She had soft blue eyes and dark hair and eyebrows. The girl’s long eyelashes were wet from the tears she’d shed.
She was dressed in what looked like black servant’s clothes with a matching bonnet on her head. Her face was narrow but pretty with high cheekbones and full red lips. A sprinkle of freckles across her small upturned nose offset the girl’s sorrowful expression.
“I’m the Tequila Kid. What’s your handle, pardner?”
The girl looked confused for a moment, then answered, “M-my name’s Gracie.”
Trying not to be rude, she kept stealing glances at The Kid, who was like no one she’d ever met before — a tall woman dressed like a man, packing a pair of six-shooters. Gracie decided that The Kid was pretty, with rusty red hair braided on both sides, bright blue eyes and a pleasant face. She wasn’t sure about the dark blue lines on and around the woman’s chin, though.
The Kid studied this pretty young girl with interest. “Pardon me for sayin’ so, Gracie, but you don’t sound like you’re from these parts.”
“No, Miss, I’m not.”
The Kid remained silent for a moment, then said, “Can you tell me anything ‘bout what happened?”
“Um… two men with their faces all c-covered rode up to the carriage and made it stop. They…” The child struggled with the words. “They shot both men on top… then d-dropped a metal box down from up there. I suppose they took that with them. Then something happened — I don’t know what it was, just that the, the horses, they started to run wild.” The young girl shivered. “I was t-terrified.”
“Mm.” The Kid clenched her jaw, trying to conceal her anger.
“But you saved our lives,” Gracie said. With a strained smile, she added, “I can’t thank you enough, Miss Kid.”
The Kid noticed that the girl’s hands were shaking. Holding the reins with one hand, she gave Gracie’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, then took the reins in both hands again.
They rode in silence for a while, until Gracie said, “We’re from Great Britain.”
“England, that is? Why, that’s a pretty far piece you traveled. You all from there, or just you and your ma?”
“I am the maid for Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton.” She stared down at her quivering hands, her voice low. “I have no parents or family. I serve my lady.”
“She the one dressed to the nines, told me to get a move on?”
“Yes, Miss Kid.”
“You know any of them others?”
“The gentleman is Count Cousiourac. He is French, and traveling with my lady. The other woman’s name is Molly, um… Molly Hardy, that’s it. She comes from Oklahoma.”
“What’s it mean, you’re the lady’s maid?”
“I take care of my lady’s needs, Miss. I look after her clothes and belongings. Serve her tea, take care of her baggage, do whatever she needs to have done.”
“Don’t seem like that leaves you much time for bein’ a little girl.”
Gracie frowned. “I am thirteen, not a little girl.”
The Kid took her eyes from the road to study her passenger. “You look more like ten to me.”
Gracie looked at The Kid, then back at the road. With a sigh, she said, “I will be twelve years old in four months.”
They rode on in silence. Soon The Kid saw Knuckle Ridge up ahead, and slowed the stage down as they reached the edge of the town. Bringing the horses to a stop in front of the doctor’s house, The Kid got the attention of some men standing nearby. “Give us a hand?” she called. “Got a man here who’s been shot.”
One of the men ran for the sheriff, while the others carefully unloaded Bob and carried him inside. Doctor Jed Johnson was out delivering a baby, but his wife and nurse Alice was there. She had them put Bob on the operating table and began to study his wound, then carefully cleaned it.
After making the patient as comfortable as she was able, Alice Johnson began to arrange the instruments so that her husband could extract the bullet as soon as he returned. One of the bystanders had gone to fetch him back.
Having done what she could for Bob, The Kid took the passengers and stage to the middle of town, where the coach station was. Sheriff Gus Masters was waiting for it. He helped the passengers out.
Uncertain what to do next, the passengers stood before the five-foot, six-inch Sheriff Masters. Clean-shaven and wearing a black suit and hat, his badge was visible on his shirt, a six-gun riding on his right hip. Aged thirty-eight, he’d been the law in Knuckle Ridge for twenty years. Though not much more than a boy when he first took the badge, Masters had proven himself time and again as a man to be reckoned with.
“Folks,” Sheriff Masters began, his almost black eyes looking each passenger up and down carefully as he spoke, “I’ll need to ask all of you some questions. First, though, I need to see the wounded man. Please settle yourselves in, and I’ll be back to talk to each of you directly.”
Sheriff Masters gave a nod to The Kid, then set out for the doctor’s house.
“The hotel is where?” Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton demanded, looking at no one.
“It’s over yonder,” The Kid said, pointing.
“Let’s go check in, Count Cousiourac,” Lady Jane said, before turning to the girl. “Gracie! Gather our baggage and bring it to the hotel. And don’t dawdle — I’ll need a change of clothes right away.”
“Yes, my lady,” Gracie said with a bow of her head and a small curtsy. The man and woman walked toward the hotel, and a large heavy set gray-haired man came barrelling out of the coach office.
“Kid! What the hell happened?”
“Easy there, Jack. There’s a woman and a girl here.”
“I beg your pardon, ladies,” Jack said, embarrassed, and bowed briefly to them. He then seized The Kid by the arm and walked her a few steps away.
Jack looked back for a moment and then, lowering his voice said, “Now tell me, damn it. What the hell happened?”
The Kid put her hand on Jack’s shoulder. “A holdup, I reckon. The stage was runnin’ wild, but I managed to stop it. Bob’s got a bad chest shot. He’s at the doc’s now with Masters. Bob told me Roy’s dead — got headshot and left behind. Looks like the bandits got away with the strongbox. The child says two men did the deed. I don’t know nothin’ else yet.”
Jack’s always red face went pale for a few moments. “Damnation! This is bad, Kid. Very bad.” Then his face turned even redder than normal.
Jack and The Kid turned as the young girl came up to them. “Begging your pardon, please, Miss Kid,” Gracie said as she bowed, then gave a brief curtsy. “My lady is wanting her luggage.”
“Sure, Gracie. I’ll get it down for you.” The Kid smiled at the girl, then looked at Jack. “Best have Freddie take care of the horses. I reckon you’ll want to see Bob while you can.”
“Thanks Kid. I’ll see you later.”
The Kid led Gracie back to the stagecoach, a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Climbing up on top of the wagon, she untied the baggage, then looked down. “Which bags is yours?”
The woman in the plain gingham dress spoke up. “Thank you kindly for your help, stranger. That carpetbag with the flowers is mine. That trunk belongs to the man. Everything else is the woman’s, I believe.”
Handing down the faded carpetbag, The Kid tipped the brim of her Stetson hat when the woman thanked her again.
The Kid lowered the heavy trunk far as she could, then let it fall to the ground with a thud. Then she dropped down the other half dozen pieces of luggage. As she climbed back down, Freddie came running up.
“Trouble, huh, Kid?” the red-headed orphan asked excitedly.
“Bad trouble, Freddie,” The Kid answered. “Can you take care of the horses? Curry ‘em and give ‘em some grain and water.”
“Sure thing, Kid,” Freddie answered as he began to unhitch the team.
“I’m Molly Hardy,” the woman said, “Thank you once more for everything. I was afraid we’d…” the woman’s voice suddenly choked off, then she regained her composure. “Might you know a good place to stay here?”
The Kid rubbed her tattooed chin for a moment as she looked at Molly. She saw a clean, modestly dressed woman about twenty-five years of age. Under her bonnet was chestnut brown hair. Her figure was average, a little on the lean side and she was maybe five foot five inches with brown eyes. Her face was unremarkable except for a small beauty mark by her lip. Not plain, not pretty, but easy to look at.
“Well, now,” The Kid began, “The Ridge Hotel is very good, but kinda pricey. There’s the Smith House, it’s cheap, but gets pretty loud and rough at times. I reckon if you’re watchin’ your budget and want to be around nice folks, your best bet is Donna Wilson’s boardin’ house, down that away.” She pointed down the street.
“Thank you, Miss… I don’t believe I got your name,” Molly said as she extended her hand.
The Kid took the hand in hers and said, “I’m the Tequila Kid. I reckon I can tell the sheriff that he can find you at the boardin’ house?”
“Yes, you can.”
“Need someone to help you with that bag?”
“No, thank you.” And with those words, Molly Hardy walked away.
The Kid turned to see Gracie trying to gather up all of Lady Wyeth-Boton’s baggage. The Kid picked up most of the suitcases while the girl struggled with the rest, and they walked together to the Ridge Hotel.
Pushing the lobby door open, The Kid held it for Gracie, who just managed to get the bags indoors before she dropped them where she stood, falling down on the largest one, where she lay catching her breath.
Setting down the rest of the suitcases, The Kid walked up to the front desk where a small dark-haired mustached man sat. “Howdy, Ed. There’s a trunk over to the stage office that needs to be fetched over for that Count fella who just signed in.”
“Hello, Kid. I’ve already got a boy haulin’ it over now.”
“All this stuff is for that Lady Jane gal. What room’s she in?”
“She’s in the adjoining suite to the Count’s. I’ll have it all brought up to her.”
The Kid nodded, then turned to Gracie saying, “I’ll be seein’ you,” as she helped the little girl to her feet.
Stepping into the street, The Kid saw the sheriff approaching. They met on the boardwalk and The Kid asked, “Get anything from Bob?”
Masters shook his head glumly. “Nothin’ at all, he’s out cold. The doc is back and workin’ on him. There’s a couple hours of daylight left, how’d you feel about ridin’ out there with me to find Roy?”
“Sure, if you got a fresh horse I could ride.”
As they walked to the livery stable together, The Kid told Sheriff Masters what she could. Button followed along behind, The Kid holding her reins.
The Kid gave the old stable hand Mac instructions to brush and curry her horse, and give her oats and water. Taking her gear off Button, she put it on one of the Sheriff’s horses. With that, the two of them rode out of town together, Masters holding the reins of a third horse to carry Roy’s body back.
They came to where The Kid had stopped the stage, then rode on another mile and a half until they found Roy’s corpse. The Kid studied the scene carefully, then they wrapped Roy’s remains in canvas and draped him over the horse.
“What d’ye think, Kid?” Masters asked as he studied the tracks left behind.
“Well, lookin’ as hard as I can, I only see there was one outlaw on horseback. But the girl and that Hardy woman said there was two of ‘em.” The Kid walked around, carefully observing the scene, trying to work out what had taken place there. “Listen, Gus, I’m gonna study on this in my head overnight,” she finally told Sheriff Masters, suspecting that she already knew the answer.
It was twilight when Masters and The Kid came riding back into town with Roy’s body. Along the way, they’d found the empty strongbox, but nothing else. The most puzzling thing was how the horse tracks of the outlaw led straight back to town.
They left Roy’s body at the doctor’s to see if he could add anything to what they knew. Doc Johnson told them that Bob was still hanging on, but there was a good chance he wouldn’t make it through the night.
After putting up their horses at the stable, Masters took The Kid to the Broken Horn saloon. They sat at a quiet corner table and ordered shots of whiskey.
“I reckon it’s kind of smart in a way, him ridin’ into town. His tracks got lost here with all the others. But then we know he’s here somewheres. Think we can find him, Gus?”
“Damn if I know, Kid.” Gus Masters answered, then downed his shot, staring at the empty glass. “Lots of strangers in town this week lookin’ for work, what with the cattle drive comin’ up. Reckon I’ll start prowlin’ the bars tonight, then talk to the passengers in the morning. It’s a little late to bother ‘em now. Care to join me?”
“Well, now, I’ll pass on the bars, but I’d like to speak with the passengers too. See you for breakfast?”
“Sure,” Masters answered. They walked out onto the street, then exchanged brief goodbyes.
Feeling too tired for a bath or a meal, The Kid walked to the livery stable to check on Button and pick up her saddlebags, bedroll and rifle. She took a moment to beat as much of the caked-on trail dust off herself with her hat as she could, then set off toward the outskirts of town. Ten minutes later, she came to a small two-story house. Trying as the day had been, her mood lifted at the familiar sight. There was still a light on, and The Kid knocked on the back door.
“Come in, it’s open,” The Kid heard Andromeda Purdy’s silver voice call out.
The Kid walked in and smiled at Ann, who was facing away from her, writing in a ledger at the kitchen table. As usual, the table was cluttered with small bones and rocks, most of them tagged. Without raising her head, Ann held up an index finger and said, “Just a moment, please.”
With a flourish of her pencil, Ann turned around. Seeing The Kid, she jumped from her chair and rushed into her lover’s arms, where they hugged for a long, lovely while.
“Come sit down, Kid. My oh my, I’m so happy you’re back.” They sat on the sofa in the parlor and Ann said, “I heard you were in town. I understand you’ve been very busy today. You know I went to the stable to bring dear Buttercup an apple, as I always do… and they told me you came in on another horse.” She looked questioningly at The Kid.
“I reckon I got a lot to tell you,” The Kid replied, dreading telling Ann the news she had about Buttercup, and all that went with it. Her horse had broken a leg while she’d been pursuing outlaws, and The Kid had been forced to put the animal out of her misery.
The Kid’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she began to sob against Ann’s shoulder. Her Stetson hat slipped off and fell to the floor.
Ann saw that The Kid’s hair was now parted on the side instead of the middle. In the new part Ann saw a nasty looking scar.
As The Kid sobbed Ann looked at the scar, and realized what must have happened to Buttercup. She softly said, “Oh, dear.”
Holding The Kid tightly in her arms, Andromeda began to weep, too.
On to Chapter Two!Knuckle Ridge, Chapter 2