The Long Trail Home (2 page)

“East.”

“Good. We won't trip over them later. Did you ever know a girl over at Fort Still named Ladosa? She's not much more than four foot eight.”

Kiowa raised his thick, black eyebrows. “Ladosa McKay is in Dry Fork?”

“How many other Ladosas do you know?”

“Maybe I'll wait, too,” Kiowa grinned. “She may be short, but she's fully growed elsewhere.”

Sam kept his eyes focused on the front door and the black Oklahoma night. “She's upstairs with a deputy U.S. marshal.”

Kiowa's hand slipped down to his holstered .44. Chairs scooted from the corner table, and two men jumped to their feet. All faced the bar; hands rested on pistol grips.

“You boys aren't gettin' much poker played,” Sam called out. “You seem to be a little nervous.”

“We're jist waitin' for you to make your move, Fortune,” a shallow-eyed man mumbled.

Fortune looked each of the men in the eyes. “Boys, all I'm here to do is eat a chop.”
There's not a one of 'em that would draw on me face-to-face.

“That there meat's a little spoiled.” The spokesman kept his left hand buried in the pocket of his jacket.

Fortune's face returned no expression. “A man has to take a few risks in life.”

“Ain't that the truth,” a short, red-haired man agreed. His right hand now clutched the grip of his revolver. His finger rested on the trigger of the barely holstered gun.

“Mister, that ain't a risk you want to take,” Kiowa informed him.

The men slowly pulled their hands away from their guns. The two that stood sat back down.

“Your chops is ready,” the bartender interrupted. Two tin pie dishes, piled with slabs of blackened meat and smothered in pinto beans with hunks of sourdough bread plopped on top, appeared before them. “You want a fork or a knife?” the cook asked.

“Both,” Kiowa instructed.

“Well, ain't you choosy?” He tossed the tinware on the counter. “That's four bits for the two suppers.”

Sam Fortune paid the money. “Think we'll eat out in the dark on the porch,” he announced. “That way we don't have to see how spoiled the meat is.”

“How do I know you ain't goin' to steal them plates?” the bartender protested.

“Why on earth would we do that?” Kiowa picked up his plate and walked to the door.

“Tell Ladosa I want to talk to her,” Fortune commanded as he scooted out into the night.

The men hiked across the dirt road, then sat on the boulders in the shadows, and faced the front of the saloon.

Kiowa took a big bite of beans and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How long before they sneak up the side of the building?”

“Not until Ladosa comes out,” Sam surmised. “They'll use her for a diversion.” He cut off a chunk of meat, stabbed it with the knife, and plopped it into his mouth. It tasted like fried fat and burnt toast.

“The longer we sit here, the harder it will be to steal a horse,” Kiowa stated. “They'll have someone at the window.”

Sam swallowed a wad of half-chewed meat and felt it rub all the way down his throat. “I don't aim to steal a deputy's horse.”

Kiowa mopped beans with sourdough bread. “We goin' to wait until he rides off?”

“The others will just fret and drink themselves into a stupor. Maybe we ought to wait until they all pass out.” Sam scooped beans into his mouth with his knife. They tasted crusty and smothered in hot spices.

“You know what's funny, amigo?” Kiowa laughed. “That deputy is goin' to come out here looking for us carrying a lantern tryin' to cut our trail—but he'll look for horse prints, and he won't find any. The amazin' Kiowa Fox is impossible to track on horseback, especially when he doesn't have a horse!”

For several minutes the only sounds were the scraping of tin pie plates and the smacking of lips.

“Here she comes!” Fortune pointed across the dirt road to the open door of the saloon. “In the black dress.”

“That ain't no dress,” Kiowa whispered.

“Sure it is.”

“There ain't enough of it to be a dress.”

Sam took a big bite of sourdough bread. “Well, it's Ladosa, all right.”

Kiowa scratched the back of his neck. “Ever'one includin' the angels in heaven can see that.”

They pulled back into the deep shadows of the boulders.

“Sammy?” the lady called out staring into the June night.

Fortune pointed to both sides of the Dry Fork Saloon, where men snuck in the shadows. Kiowa Fox scooped up a rock the size of a sweet potato and chunked it fifty feet to their left.

Four shots flared almost in unison.

“What are you doin'?” Ladosa screamed. “Sammy's a friend of mine!” She yanked a broken crate off the front porch and tossed it at the shadowy gunmen. Then she spun around and stomped back into the building.

Sam watched through the saloon door. Ladosa marched across the room and up the stairs. Several men entered the saloon from the back door, then all the lights dimmed to black.

“They're layin' in for a siege,” Kiowa whispered. “What are we goin' to do?”

“Finish our supper. We've got the advantage.”

“How do you figure that? They've got six men and two women.”

“Seven men,” Sam corrected.

“Are you countin' the dead one?”

“Yep, but we got the edge. We know where they are—but they don't know where we are.”

“You think they'll try to sneak out after us again?”

“Nope.” Sam picked his teeth with the fingernail of his little finger. “They've got no motivation. No reward's out on me. No warrants. And they don't know you.”

“Some of 'em jist want to be the one who shot Sam Fortune.”

“I don't know which is sadder, Kiowa, them or us.”

“I'll sneak up there and get us two horses.”

“Not until I talk to Ladosa.”

“She ran upstairs.”

“She'll come see me.”

“The old ‘Sammy charm'?”

“I just treat 'em decent, that's all.”

“She ain't a decent woman.”

“I figure that's for the Lord to decide, not me.” Fortune pointed to the side of the leaning building. “Over there! She's climbing down that escape ladder.”

“I don't see nothin',” Kiowa insisted.

“Neither do I,” Sam replied. “But, I hear the rustle of her petticoat.”

“She wasn't wearin' a petticoat.”

“She is now,” Fortune assured.

“Sammy, you're crazy.”

“Finish your supper. We'll be leavin' soon,” Sam whispered.

“On horseback?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“I ain't walkin' out on that Staked Plain,” Kiowa declared.

“Maybe we'll go north.”

“I ain't walkin' north either.”

Fortune sat his tin plate quietly on the boulders, then crept to the edge of the road. By crouching low on his haunches, he could spy the dark silhouette of Ladosa McKay.

“Sammy?” she whispered.

He scooted far to her right, then answered softly, “Don't walk to my voice, Ladosa, keep walkin' straight.”

She had crossed the road in the dark and was about to stumble into the boulders when he called out again, “Stay right there, darlin'. I'll come to you.”

She flinched but didn't say a word when he slipped his hand into hers. He tugged her back into the safety of the rocks.

He could not see her face, but he smelled her rose perfume and felt her dancing brown eyes on him.

“Sammy, who's with you?” she asked.

“You remember Kiowa?”

Her voice dropped to a soft murmur, “I thought he was dead.”

Kiowa's voice was low, lilting: “I am . . .”

“That ain't funny,” Ladosa complained.

“His death was just a vicious rumor,” Fortune added.

“Who would start a rumor like that?” she quizzed.

“Me,” Kiowa chuckled. “Bounty hunters don't go after dead men.”

“What are you two doin' here? Don't you know there's a deputy U.S. marshal in there?”

“Which one?” Kiowa queried.

“Roberts.”

“We're out here whisperin' because of S. D. Roberts?” Kiowa groaned. “He couldn't hit a buffalo with a shotgun at ten feet.”

Ladosa pressed her chest against Sam Fortune's arm, her hand still in his. “As long as you don't go near that saloon, they won't come after you. At least, not until daylight. They're all scared to death of the legendary Sam Fortune.”

“We'll be out of here by daylight.” Fortune released her fingers and stepped back. “How have you been, Ladosa? Why are you out here at the edge of the plains?”

“Sammy, how long has it been since you were in Fort Still?”

“Not since I got out of jail.”

“Well, it's bad. The Apaches and the Comanches were knifin' each other, and the soldiers stayed drunk most of the time. Then the Ratton Boys moved up, and it was like a civil war. I hitched a ride with a drummer and got out. This is as far as he made it.”

“What do you mean, ‘this is as far as he made it'?”

“He got shot in a poker game. I was stuck without a penny. Well, I do have one valise of clothes, two jack mules, and a wagon half full of General Marsh's Health Restorer. Now you know why I'm here, but I don't know why you're here.”

“We rode our horses down. We stopped to pick up a couple new ones,” Sam announced.

Ladosa clutched onto Fortune's arm. “There ain't any horses for sale around here.”

“That's OK,” Kiowa laughed; “we don't have any money.”

“If you steal that deputy's horse, he'll follow you for sure. Course, he might follow you, even if you don't steal the horses,” she warned.

Sam sat back on a boulder and pulled her closer. Her bare arms felt soft, smooth, and warm to his calloused hands. “I served my sentence. They can't arrest me in Indian Territory.”

“No one wants to arrest you, Sammy,” she clarified, “they want to shoot you. Pat Garrett, Bob Ford, Jack McCall—everyone knows the names of the men who kill famous gunfighters. They're lookin' for fame and some free drinks.”

“Sam Fortune doesn't rank up there with those.”

“Maybe not in the states, but you certainly do in the Territory. Ain't that so, Kiowa?”

Fox scraped his tin plate with his knife. “Ladosa's right, amigo.”

“You want to go for a ride, darlin'?” Sam invited.

“I thought you said you didn't have a horse?” she countered.

“We don't. But we can all ride in your wagon.”

With him sitting and her standing, their heads were about the same height, though she was still unseen in the darkness. “You want me to hitch up my wagon and take you somewhere?”

“If we don't steal a horse, they got no claim on following us. We could swing over to Texas and drive up to the Washita.”

“And then where?” She pulled away. “Once you two get horses, you'll leave me in some dump worse than Dry Fork.”

Sam reached out and felt a satin dress at her shoulders. He began to rub her neck and back. “There is no place worse than Dry Fork.”

She leaned into him. Her neck muscles relaxed.

“Where do you want to go, Ladosa darlin'?”

“Dodge City, Kansas.”

“We'll take you there,” Sam assured.

“No we won't! I'll get hung on sight in Dodge,” Kiowa protested.

“Then, we'll take you near Dodge City,” Fortune promised.

Excitement filled her voice, “Really?”

“Yep.”

She stepped toward the darkened saloon. “OK, I'll do it. Let me sneak back in and pack my things. My mules are in the corral behind the saloon, and the wagon is behind the privy. But I don't know how you two will hitch it up and ride out of here without them shootin' you.”

“I thought I'd tie 'em up first.” Fortune took a hold of her small hand.

“How are you goin' to do that?” she asked.

He tugged her close. “I'll sneak back in with you, darlin'.”

“You're crazy, Sam Fortune,” she said.

He pulled her fingers up to his lips and kissed them. “You've known that for a long, long time.”

Overpowering the aroma of dirt and grime in Ladosa's room was the waft of a recently extinguished vanilla candle, and the sweet sickening smell of rose perfume filled the room.

“Can you find your things in the dark?” he whispered.

“I spent most of my life in the dark. Besides, my valise has been my dresser ever since I arrived in Dry Fork.”

He cracked open her door and tried to eavesdrop on the hushed conversation in the room below. He felt Ladosa's hand touch his shoulder. “I'm ready,” she whispered.

“Darlin', when you get down, help Kiowa hitch up your mules to the wagon, but don't drive it around front until you see light come on in the saloon.”

“And the saddle horses?”

“Leave 'em at the rail for now. I want 'em to see that we didn't steal any horses.”

“Are you sure you can handle the deputy and five men?” she worried.

“Six, countin' the dead one on the faro table. Where's the big woman goin' to be?”

“Monique went to her room, locked the door, and took her laudanum as soon as the lanterns went out. She won't wake up until afternoon.”

“Monique? Her name's Monique?”

“Yeah. So what?”

“She doesn't look like a Monique, that's all.” He clutched her arm. “Before you go back down, call the deputy up here.”

Her lips were only an inch away from his. “You goin' to kill him?” she questioned.

“Of course not. I wouldn't have to go to all of this trouble to kill him. I'll just crease his head and let him sleep it off in your room.”