Dorothy Garlock (42 page)

People craned their necks to see Della as she came down the walk to the saloon porch. She tilted her parasol to shield her face from the crowd and held the skirt of her white dress back to keep it from brushing against the rough boards of the building. She looked cool and innocent and beautiful. Mable, the fat woman from the restaurant, watched her, rolled her eyes in disgust, and fanned her sweating face with a turkey wing.

While the crowd waited for Della, Bessie pushed her way through the double doors of the saloon and came out to lean against a porch post. Her dress of kelly green satin made her hair look as red as a sunset and her skin as white as milk. Her hair was piled on the top of her head and a green satin rose was pinned to the side. Bessie knew she looked good. She watched Della Clayhill with a half sneer, half smile on her lips. She’d heard Colin stomp down the stairs last night, but not before she’d heard the squeaky bedsprings dance their song of love. The Piss-Queen had been thoroughly screwed by the railroader, Colin McCarthy, and she’d put up no fight a’tall.

Rosalee watched Della Clayhill step up on the porch of the saloon. She was stunningly poised and beautiful. Every head turned toward her, every eye focused on her lovely face, framed in silvery blond hair. A quietness settled over the crowd; men gawked, women gazed at her with envy.

Rosalee felt a slow dread begin to build in the pit of her stomach. Had she made a mistake when she insisted that Della tell what happened between her and Logan? Somehow, she had thought the crowd would know that she was lying. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Adam got up from the table and went to meet her. He took her arm and ushered her to the other side, away from where Logan stood, head up, dark eyes gazing out over the heads of the people gathered in front of the porch. He seemed to be unconcerned with his immediate surroundings.

Della closed her parasol and carefully snapped the holder in place before she looped the handle over her arm. She drew the bit of cloth from her sleeve and let it flutter in her hand.

“You don’t have to be afraid, honey. You just tell the folks what happened,” Adam coaxed.

“Oh, Papa—”

“Now, now, don’t cry.”

“Do I have to tell . . . it all?” Della let her voice drop to a murmur and the crowd leaned forward to try and catch the words.

“Tell just enough so we’ll know what happened.”

Della dabbed at her eyes with her scented handkerchief, took a deep sobbing breath, and visibly straightened her shoulders. She looked into the faces of the crowd. Almost a hundred pairs of eyes were looking at
her.
She was on stage and suddenly began to enjoy herself. She’d give the yokels something to talk about while she was getting even with Logan Horn. She glanced at him and then quickly away. He was ignoring her. Damn him! She would have given him everything, and he had turned her down for a silly nester’s daughter.

“I came to town to wait for you, Papa—”

“You’ll have to speak up, honey, so the folks can hear you,” Adam said gently.

Della cleared her throat and began again. “I came to town to wait for you, Papa. I thought I’d be here several days. I didn’t want to bother the Reverend Abernathy and his wife, so I took a room here.” She lifted her hands toward the building behind her. “Mr. Boline was kind enough to bring me my meals so I didn’t have to go down on the streets alone. It was so stuffy in that room and so . . . lonesome. I sat beside the window and watched for you.” She threw another frightened glance at Logan. “I saw the . . . Indian come out of the livery and sneak off behind the buildings. He must have . . . seen me in the window—” Her voice broke off pitifully and she dabbed at her eyes again.

Watching her, Rosalee was almost sure the crowd was convinced she was telling the truth. The sickness in the pit of her stomach grew more acute as she realized Della Clayhill was laying the foundation for her big lie. She was holding the attention of the people and they were drinking in every word. Mentally, Rosalee counted the ones here who would help Logan. How could seven or eight, she thought desperately, stand against thirty or forty armed men!

“I thought I should tell someone the Indian was in town, but I didn’t know who to tell, so I just waited for you, Papa. Then, well . . . there was so much noise downstairs I couldn’t sleep, so I sat by the window until almost midnight before I went to bed. A little later I heard someone come up the outside stairs. I never dreamed I was in . . . danger.” She clasped her hands tightly together and moved closer to Adam. “He came into my room. He just opened the door, came in and . . . threw himself down on . . . me. I didn’t have time to scream or anything—”

“It couldn’t have been Logan! He was with me at Mary’s!” Rosalee shoved her way to the porch and stood within a few feet of Della. “You’re lying if you say it was Logan,” she accused.

“Why would I lie?” Della asked pitifully. “I didn’t want to tell anything so embarrassing. I’m ashamed. I wanted to get out of town, but Papa thought the people of Junction City should know—”

“It wasn’t Logan,” Rosalee insisted venomously. “He was with me all night.”

“Didn’t you . . . sleep?” Della asked hesitantly.

“Not much!” Rosalee said proudly. “It was our wedding night.”

This brought some loud guffaws from the men.

“Have you heard enough, folks?” Adam’s booming voice carried over the murmur that rose from the crowd. “What would you do in my place? Would you want a man—redskin or not—to live after forcing himself on your daughter?”

“Noooo . . .” The shout was led by Shorty Banes and taken up by dozens of men in the crowd.

“She’s lying!” Rosalee shouted, her face red with anger. She turned on Adam Clayhill. “She’s lying so you can get rid of Logan and get the land he bought. That’s what you’ve been trying to do for weeks! You’re a vicious, mean man, Adam Clayhill!”

“And you’re trash!” Adam snarled. “No decent white woman would take up with a redskin buck.” He was losing his temper again, and Della intervened quickly before he ruined everything.

“I’m not lying!” she cried out. “He . . . came to my room and attacked me! What kind of town is this that would stand for an Indian to attack a white woman in her bed?”

Rosalee looked wildly around her. Case Malone was leaning casually against the building. His empty holster now held a gun. She couldn’t see Mr. McCloud or Cooper, but over the heads of the people she could see Josh and Minnie standing in the buggy. Rosalee put her hand in the pocket of her dress and her fingers closed around the butt of the pistol. She moved over to stand in front of Logan. She’d kill, if need be, to protect her man!

“I’ve heard enough!” Adam slammed his fist down on the table.

“Let’s hear the Indian’s side of it,” the man with the slashed face shouted. “Did you rape the woman?”

Logan looked down at the man coolly. “Why would any man want her when he’s got a woman like mine?”

Stung by the remark and not wanting her anger to show, Della turned away and began to sob. Adam put his arms around her, drew her head to his chest, and patted her back.

A prickling sense of fear ran up Rosalee’s spine and raised the small hairs on the nape of her neck. She leaned back against Logan and felt him nuzzle her hair with his lips.

“Stay steady, my love,” he whispered. “It isn’t over yet. Our time will come.”

There was a loud clapping of hands and a peal of feminine laughter rang out from the end of the porch.

“That’s the best show I’ve seen since a fat woman danced bare naked on the bar in Abilene!” Bessie’s loud voice reached every person on the street. “Your little gal sure puts on a good show, Mr. Clayhill. Did you screw the Indian before or after Colin McCarthy, honey?” she called sweetly. What the hell, she thought. It’s time I was moving on anyway. Old Clayhill can take his piddly job and shove it up his ass!

Heavy silence followed her words, and Adam turned to her with a murderous look on his face. “Shut yore filthy mouth,” he snarled.

“You want me to hush up and let her lie stand? I’ll not keep my mouth shut. I’d speak up for this man or any man that’s about to be hung for somethin’ he didn’t do.” Bessie turned to the men lined up in front of her and smiled. She knew she was popular with the men. “I’ve been square with you, boys. I told ya right off I wasn’t a whore, and not a one of you come to my room. I’m obliged to you for it. Speakin’ out like this’ll mean I’ll be movin’ on. Clayhill owns this town, lock, stock, and barrel. Well . . . maybe lock and stock, but not the barrel. Ain’t that so, Mable?”

“He don’t own my eatin’ place, and that’s the spittin’ truth! I ain’t beholden to nobody!” The fat lady fanned her face furiously with the dried turkey wing. Things were getting interesting. She made a mental note to give Bessie a free send-off meal.

“What you’re sayin’ ain’t got nothin’ to do with nothin’,” Shorty Banes yelled. “That half-breed needs hangin’ ’n ya know it.”

“Shorty’s right, folks—”

“I’m not done talkin’, Adam Clayhill,” Bessie said firmly. “Shorty ain’t right. He’s just sayin’ what he thinks’ll please you, and he’s got a grudge against the Indian ’cause he kicked him in the balls!” Bessie waited for the laughter to die down, then continued. “Last night, about midnight, Colin McCarthy, the railroader that’s been hangin’ around here off and on, went upstairs. You boys know that nobody goes upstairs in this saloon without an invite. He and this
poor, little innocent girl
must a had a rompin’ good time. I could hear the bedsprings squeakin’ all the way downstairs. Ain’t that right, Albert?” she asked the partly bald man in the front row. He bobbed his head up and down in agreement and tried to keep the silly grin off his face. “Albert Olson and I stood on the stairs and laughed about it. I even danced a jig to the rhythm.” There were horrified gasps from the women in the crowd and laughter from the men. “It sure didn’t sound to me like she was being
forced.
”

“You lying bitch,” Adam shouted over the laughter. “Where’s this McCarthy? We’ll hang him, too.”

“He rode out this mornin’. He got a bad case of clap and wanted to get down to Denver to get some medicine,” Bessie said matter-of-factly. “He did some braggin’ before he left.”

“He shore did,” the man with the slashed face spoke up. He grinned at Della, who suddenly recognized him as the man she had cut with the whip the day she arrived. “He said she was the best piece a ass he’d got this side of the Mississippi. Ole Colin gave ’er a good recommend, and I’m thinkin’ he give her the clap, too. I’d give ’er a try, but I ain’t got no need of the clap.”

Uncontrollable anger swept over Della, and unthinking, she swung on Bessie and blurted, “You sent that filthy, sore-infested varmint—” Della cut off her words, horrified at what she’d revealed.

Bessie laughed.

Adam blurted an oath.

Rosalee held her breath.

The crowd gaped in open-mouthed astonishment.

Adam collected himself first. “We’ll find the bastard and hang him with the Indian!”

“The Indian didn’t go up those stairs before or after midnight. I was goin’ up after Colin come down, but then he told me ’bout the clap.” The man looked at Della with icy blue eyes.

“Papa! He . . . forced me!” Della cried.

“I didn’t hear nobody hollerin’ for help,” Bessie said dryly. “Did you, Albert?” The bald man swung his head back and forth.

Adam stood stock-still. Della’s words had shaken him to the very roots. They had knocked all his illusions out of him. His lips beneath the white mustache thinned and his heart seemed to stop, then leaped into a mad gallop. Snatches of words raced through his brain. Sore-infested . . . squeaking bedsprings . . . best piece of ass . . . He knew how hot-blooded she was. It was true! He’d thought she was wholly his. “I love you, Adam!” she’d said. The goddamn lying little bitch! He stared unseeingly back at the people staring at him. A sudden, unprecedented fury tore through him. He turned, lifted a hamlike fist, and slapped Della with such force she staggered into Bessie.

“Ohh. . . . Papa—”

“There, there, girl,” Bessie said gleefully, and steadied her. “If the old man throws you out you might get on out at Mary’s. She runs a good clean whorehouse.”

“Get out of my sight,” Adam roared. “Get out of my house! Take your hot little ass down to Denver and stay there!” He sat down heavily in the chair beside the table. Humiliation was crushing him.

Della burst into real tears and stumbled down the walk toward the stage office. Adam had turned on her! He had actually slapped her in front of these people! The crowd opened up so she could pass through. Some of the people were stunned, but some of them enjoyed her humiliation.

“Uppity whore’s lorded it over all of us.”

“Serves ’er right.”

“The bitch had no time fer us. Always alookin’ down her nose, she was.”

“She got the clap! Hee, hee, hee.”

Della heard the hissed words, dropped her parasol, and began to run.

Rosalee was equally stunned. Things had suddenly been taken out of Clayhill’s hands. Della Clayhill had been discredited. She looked at the big, brassy saloon woman. Bessie grinned at her and winked. Rosalee smiled back.

Case came forward, slipped a knife between Logan’s bound hands, and cut the rope. Rosalee reached up and lifted the loop from her husband’s neck and then put her arms around him.

“Oh, darling. It’s over!”

“Not yet, it ain’t!” The hoarse, angry voice came from the street.

Logan put Rosalee firmly aside and faced Shorty Banes. The heavily built man stood on spread feet, his gun in his hand.

“Ain’t neither one a ya agoin’ ta git off!” His small, bright eyes flicked constantly from Logan to Case. The crowd behind Shorty scattered. “Don’t move!” he shouted to Case. “Don’t move a gawddamned muscle. Ya ruin’t my foot.”

Three things seem to happen simultaneously. Rosalee saw a flash of yellow behind Case, Shorty lurched forward to shoot, and Logan’s foot lashed out and struck his arm. The sound of the shot echoed down the street and dissolved in the far distance.

A woman screamed and Rosalee saw Odell’s small body lying in the dirt beside the steps. With a cry of anguish she ran to her sister and dropped down on her knees beside her. Bright red blood poured down from the side of the child’s head and splotched the new yellow dress.