Adventures of Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles (Cash Laramie & Gideon Miles Series) (2 page)

"You live alone?"

"Yes." She finished her work and looked up, "There, that should start working in a bit. I bet you're hungry. Let me get you some food."

Cash admired how Mary applied the salve and wondered how many times before she had done that. "How long have I been here?"

"Since yesterday afternoon." She stacked several pieces of wood in the stove and placed a pot on top. "Doc recommended a light meal to start you off. How does a little soup and bread sound?"

His stomach lurched at the thought of food. "That will be fine." He looked around the room, his eyes coming to rest on the side wall where twenty or more colorful butterflies of all sizes were pinned to a board and framed in glass.

Mary turned to find Cash looking at her collection, "I'm an amateur entomologist. I like to study insects and other invertebrates." She whirled back around to stir the soup, the cabin filling with a savory aroma. "My husband thought my collecting creepy and always threatened to throw it out."

"Husband? I thought you lived alone?" Cash asked, looking for boots in the corner, a tobacco pipe on the table or any other evidence that a man lived there but saw none.

"Oh, he left with another woman. The farm wasn't working out and he started spending more money on firewater and Calico Queens than paying our bills."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. He was no good." Her voice trailed off. She took a bowl from the cupboard and ladled some soup into it. Cash sat up in bed, and slowly slurped the broth.

Seeing the topic of her husband pained her, he changed the subject. "Where did the interest in collecting come from?"

"My father. Mother died giving birth so it was just me and him. Being poor, we couldn't afford much, but he saved up money for this," she grabbed a thick leather-bound book from the table. "Father and I would spend evenings studying the illustrations and check off the bugs we discovered. It was such a wonderful present because it was something we could do together." She lowered her head. "It broke his heart when I married and moved away. He died a few years later—I wasn't even there for him. And I left him for what? A no good two-timing mudsill." Her voice trembled slightly as she stood and walked to the window.

They sat in silence for a few moments while Cash spooned more soup into his mouth. Mary finally asked, "So who were the men that managed to dry gulch you?"

"I was escorting a prisoner named Larson to—"

"Black Jack Larson?"

The spoon stopped halfway between Cash's mouth and the bowl. "You know him?"

"He's a hero in these parts, our Jesse James you might say."

"Black Jack is a thief and a murderer who's due to stand trial," Cash said.

"Well, he gives a lot of money to the orphanage and poor in this area and that's more than I can say for that corrupt administration running the land."

"I see." Cash tore off a chunk of bread to dip in his soup. He was well aware how common folks felt about the thieves in Washington.

"How'd Larson get the drop on you?"

"He didn't, but his accomplices did. Jumped me from behind. One was a tenderfoot in a green bowler that I didn't get a good look at and the other polecat had a deep scar down the center of his face."

"A scar-faced man—you travel in some fascinating circles, Marshal Laramie." Mary walked over to a shelf removing a handcrafted wooden box with a glass panel on one side and a tin plate with countless tiny holes covering the top.

"Marshal, have you ever heard of the wind scorpion?"

"Please call me Cash." He finished off the soup and set the bowl and spoon aside. "I've heard of 'em but never seen one."

"It's a Solpugid, also called a sun spider, but it's neither a scorpion nor a spider, more of a cousin to both. It lives in arid habitats. We occasionally find them wandering around southern Wyoming." She set the box on the floor beside the bed and lifted the tin top, poking a twig into the makeshift house. "They are nocturnal, fierce hunters with voracious appetites and incredibly strong mandibles. And they are very fast."

Cash looked down at the black-and-tan creature with its slender body and multiple long legs. Beady eyes centered on the top of a large head stared straight up at him and large pincher-like jaws opened and closed tightly on the twig that Mary had thrust in front of it. "Is it venomous?"

"Not a drop. They might look malicious but they're really harmless to people and tend to shy away. But when confronted, they can become aggressive. Their bite can penetrate the flesh and be quite painful—" she paused and her gaze drifted to the window. "Take my word, you don't want one to retaliate."

Cash had the feeling Mary had ceased talking about the wind scorpion. She replaced the box on the shelf. "Sorry, don't mean to get all strange on you—"

Cash waved a hand. "No need to apologize. I appreciate your goodwill in nursing me back to health. If I may ask another favor of you, I need to procure a horse and gun. It would be much appreciated and I will gladly pay you."

"You're welcome to borrow Dusty but he's my only mount and I would be lost without 'em. There's a Black-Eyed Susan in the top drawer of the bureau."

"I can't ride off with your only horse."

"Please, marshal, I insist. I know you're good for it should anything happen to Dusty."

"Much obliged," Cash said and looked down at his feet. "I'll let these stubs rest the night and head out in the morning."

"But you'll miss Doc Bojay," Mary said.

"It'll have to be. I'm fine other than the soreness. The doc can't do much more for me. Tell him I appreciate the help and see that he gets this for his doctoring and the ointment." Cash handed Mary two bits from a notch on the inside of his belt. "Once I get to town, I'll send someone from the livery stable back with Dusty in tow."

He awoke to her sliding into bed with him, the breaking morning light shining through the windowpanes and stretching across the plank floorboards.

"I've been so alone," she whispered. Cash's startle gave way to pleasure. He forgot his lameness in the vigorous exercise that followed.

After, he stretched for the chair. Sensing what he wanted, Mary slid over his struggling hands and reached for the cheroot in his vest pocket. She got up and grabbed a lucifer from the cabinet above the stove, lit the cigar, and crawled back into the warmth they had created.

"Do you really have to leave so soon?" she asked, toying with the arrowhead that was laced around his neck.

"Afraid so." He blew a smoke ring that drifted aimlessly in the still air, fragrant with her scent. "I know it's hard for people to understand but Black Jack Larson is a murdering thief and justice needs to be served for the sake of the men he's killed. It may take longer to track him down now—but I will."

She sat on the edge of the bed and he admired her firm body.

"Something tells me you will." She paused and then leaned into him. "Was it ... I mean, was I good ... it's been so long." She reached for his cigar and took a puff. "You probably have some mighty beautiful women in Cheyenne."

"You were more than fine—you were incredible."

She exhaled and handed the cigar back to him. "That's nice of you to say." She smiled and traced a fingertip along his jaw line. "Larson as dangerous as you say?"

"Without a doubt."

"When you arrive in Vermillion, you may want to seek out Etta Price."

Cash wanted to ask who this Miss Etta Price was but decided against it.

They stayed in bed a few minutes more before he got up to wash and dress and then went out to saddle Dusty.

He walked back inside to say his goodbyes and found Mary feeding live crickets to the wind scorpion. "Watch out for his bite," Cash warned.

"This he is a she. You can tell by the large body compared to the leg size. She's really quite gentle, like a true lady. But be wary if you cross her, because hell hath no fury—"

"Like a woman scorned," Cash finished.

"Exactly." She handed over a shoulder-strapped canvas bag. "Here's some food for the trip and the rest of the salve for your feet. Be careful, Marshal With the Funny Name," she said kissing his lips.

"Thanks, and you take care, Lady With the Curious Hobby."

Cash stared down onto the backwater town of Vermillion. He mapped out the lay of the land, locating the livery on the opposite end from the hotel. He knew if Larson was there, he'd likely be at the hotel's saloon enjoying the bug juice and women.

Cash reached in both boots, pulling out four eagle coins he kept for emergencies. He guided Dusty off the hill and behind the livery where he dismounted to walk the steed around.

A rail-thin boy was near the doorway shoeing a horse.

"Son, do you know where the Alton spread is?"

"Yes, sir."

Cash pressed a coin into the kid's palm. "Drop this horse there and I'll need another ride before I leave town tonight."

"We have some of the finest horses and for a real good deal."

After settling on a Morgan, Cash asked, "Where can I find Etta Price?"

A broad grin crossed the youth's face. "You can find her working at the Conrad Straight Hotel and Saloon yonder." He pointed to the only brick and wood building at the end of the street.

"A whore?"

"And a mighty fine one."

"How would a youngster like you know?"

"Ms. Etta Price doesn't mind your age—as long as you pay the price," he said enjoying the play on her name.

Etta Price was easy to pick out. Not only was she the one blonde with the biggest bodice in the bunch, she was also the loudest.

Cash moseyed up to the bar and ordered a whisky. He kept a watchful eye on Etta and noticed that the other saloon girls periodically went upstairs with a cowpoke but she didn't. He summoned the madam.

"How much for the blonde whore?" Cash asked.

She let out a sharp cackle. "Mister, you're barking up the wrong tree. Etta's man, Ridley Joe, is in town and ain't nobody getting a piece till he rides out."

He slid a gold eagle along the counter and stopped it in front of her. "Just a drink and we can let the lady decide."

She took the coin, dropping it down her ample bosom. "Mister, she ain't no lady. But, what the hell, it's your funeral."

The madam sauntered over to Etta who scrutinized Cash. The blonde behemoth smiled and then strutted over to stand next to Cash, leaning against the bar's edge. "So I hear you be dropping gold coins. Look, Ridley Joe will be heading out soon and we can meet up. Lorelei or Misty can entertain you until then."

Just as she turned to walk away, Cash laid two more eagles on the bar. "I just stopped by the bank before heading over here and I sure wish to part with these. I can be pretty fast with the right motivation."

She swiped the sparkling ten dollar coins and glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner.

"Stud, for that much, I'm willing to take a beating. But Ridley Joe, he'll kill you for sure." With a nod of the head, she pointed Cash in the direction of the stairs, "C'mon."

He followed her as she sidled her way through the drunken patrons and then up the stairs. She stopped at the first door down the narrow hall and opened it, leading him inside.

"Ok mister you have five minutes—" Cash covered her mouth with the palm of his hand.

"I'm not going to hurt you but we are going to sit nice and quiet until Black Jack shows up." She stood wide-eyed. "You understand?"

She nodded her head. He let go and she screamed. He clamped his hand back in place and shoved her onto the bed. He yanked a handkerchief from his back pocket and wrapped it over her mouth. Finding a ball of twine on the dresser, he secured her hands and feet. "Alright, I have another idea. Let's take off these clothes."

Ridley Joe stormed into the bar, loped up the stairs, and into the room. A wide, toothy grin crossed his face. "Well, lookee here, what a pleasant surpr—" The lines in his forehead quickly creased. "Who hogtied you?"

Cash closed the door, clipped the back of Ridley Joe's head with the butt of the pistol, and punched the scar-face with his left fist as Ridley spun to fight. The owlhoot slumped to the floor on his ass, doubling over, his head propped up by the foot of the bed.

"You can have the bed-faggot, I'm through with her. I don't want any trouble." Blood trickled down as Ridley dropped his head, rubbing it like a dog licking its wounds. Etta's face scrunched up and tears formed.

"Look at me," Cash thundered at Ridley Joe who lifted his battered head, bumping it against the bed.

Recognition dawned on the man's face. "Why you're that marshal—"

"That you left for dead," Cash finished. "Now where's Black Jack Larson and that other son of a bitch?"

The answer rang out in a blast of shotgun fire that ripped apart the door leaving a wide gash. Cash dove to the floor. A second slug embedded itself in the headboard beside Etta as she screamed into the gag. Ridley rolled to his left, yanking his gun free, but Cash cleared leather first and opened a dark hole in the rapscallion's forehead. A third blast came through the shattered door and then a stream of small fire joined in the dance. Cash was safely to the side but he didn't want to explain to his boss how a whore he had tied to the bed had been killed. He laid out his own slug-infested volley and quickly untied Etta's hands and dragged her sideways off the bed.

His shots halted the exchange of lead and he could hear footsteps retreating down the stairs. He stood to leave when Etta pulled the handkerchief from her mouth.

"Go through the window here and you can reach them from the landing before they get to their horses."

"Why help me now?" Cash said.

She spit at Ridley Joe, "He would have given me up when you didn't." She smirked. "Besides, you paid for the time."

"Much obliged." He crawled out the window and onto the slanted roof. When Black Jack and his crony appeared fleeing the building, Cash whistled. They turned and raised their guns. His first shot hit the younger outlaw wielding a small pistol center frame and whose own bullet went wild. Cash threw himself onto the roof as Black Jack managed to get off a round from his shotgun. The buckshot shattered a hotel window.