Trail of Golden Dreams (17 page)

She crumpled to
her knees and began to wail. Josie stepped out from behind Grey.  “She
don’t look much older than me,” she said, sadly.  “I have to do something
to help her.  She’s suffering terribly.  I can’t stand it.”

Grey flung his hat
off and threw it in the dirt.  “I told you, Josie.  I won’t let you
die.  We’re going now.”

“No!  You go
on if you want.  I’m going to do whatever I can for her.  I’ll catch
up to you.” 

“You’re as
stubborn as your damn mule,” he shouted. 

“Maybe I am!” she
retaliated, while watching him bend and grab his Stetson from the ground and
jam it back onto his head.  When he stomped toward Lightning, she made her
way toward the moaning woman.  Then she halted and turned around. 
“Grey!”

He looked over his
shoulder.  His dark eyes flashed with fury.  “What?”

“Don’t let Marshal
Kendall or that tracker kill you.”

Their eyes locked
on each other.  When he finally tore his gaze from her, he laid his
forehead against his stallion’s neck where it stayed for a few seconds. 
When he lifted his head and spoke again, he sounded so tired, some of her pity
shifted to him.  “Dammit, Josie.  I hope you know what you’re doing.”

A weak smile
lifted the corners of her mouth.  “I do, Grey.  Trust me.”  When
he swallowed, his Adam’s apple moved up and down.  Something in his posture
implied trusting another human was hard for him to do.  It didn’t come
easy for her either.  But whether he knew it or not, she was beginning to
learn how because of him. “Give the animals some grain and then go find another
bucket and bring it to me.  I’m taking her inside.”

When she reached
down and helped the young woman to her feet, she heard Grey mumble, “Alright,
bossy britches.”

* * * *

Josie sat next to
the bed in a hard chair and held a cool cloth to the woman’s forehead.  She
didn’t know what else to do for her, except make her comfortable.  She was
too far gone for medicine, even if there’d been a doctor in town.  Grey
had taken one look at the woman and told Josie she didn’t have long to suffer.

They were in a
room above the saloon, apparently where the woman had done business before she
got sick.  It was opulent, with red velvet curtains at the windows, an
Oriental rug on the floor, a brass bed against the wall, and a beautifully
carved wooden dresser in the corner.

Grey had carried a
bucket of water up, but after a few sips, the woman couldn’t drink more. The
angel of death was knocking on her door, but she seemed anxious to talk, even
though her throat was raw and her breathing was shallow.  Josie listened
while Grey stood off to the side with his arms crossed over his broad
chest. 

After delivering
the bucket of water as Josie had requested, he’d gone off to search the rest of
the buildings.  Upon returning, he’d informed her he’d found ten dead
people, including the man in the adobe house, who must have succumbed right
after they left him.  This woman was the last.

The woman spoke
softly.  “They call me Topaz, but my real name is Molly.”

“Those are both
real pretty names,” Josie told her.  She tried to guess her age, and
guessed her to be in her twenties, but it was hard to tell since she looked so
pale and drawn.  “How long have you been sick?”

“Four, maybe five
days,” Molly answered.  “Did Tom make it?”

Josie glanced at
Grey.  Neither knew who Tom was, of course, so Grey just shook his
head.  “No,” she told Molly.  “I’m sorry, but Tom passed away.”

A tear slid down
Molly’s cheek.  “Tom was good to me.” A mewing sound came from her
throat.  She closed her eyes, and her chest stopped rising and
falling.  Josie thought she’d died, but then her eyes rolled open
again.   “Does your man have a gun on him?” she asked.

“He’s not my man,
but he does have a gun.  Why do you ask?”

Her thin lips
pulled into a weak smile.  “I’m so tired.  I want this over with.”

Josie suddenly
realized what Molly was getting at.  She wanted Grey to kill her, to end
her misery.  She looked over at him.  The expression on his face was
stern.  He unfolded his arms and took a couple of steps forward. 

“I’m sorry about
your suffering, miss,” he said.  “But I’m not going to shoot you. 
Nature will take its course soon enough.”

“I’m not asking
you to shoot me, cowboy.  Give me your gun and I’ll do it myself.” 
Her arm flopped off the side of the bed and she opened her hand, like she
expected Grey to put the revolver in it.  Josie couldn’t believe what
she’d just heard.  The woman wanted to take her own life.

“No, ma’am,” Grey
said.  “I won’t let you kill yourself with my gun.  I don’t believe
in such things.”

Molly turned her
head and grinned at him.  “Are you a religious man, cowboy?”

The question must
have taken him aback, because Josie saw his brow wrinkle.  He cocked his
head and hesitated before answering. “Not particularly.  We all have to
suffer the consequences of our decisions.  That’s all I meant.”

“Do you think I
got what was coming to me, cowboy?” Molly asked him, fixing her sunken eyes on
him.  “Do I deserve to die a horrible death because I’m a whore?”

Josie’s neck ached
from tension and from moving her head back and forth between their verbal volleys. 
Molly was getting under Grey’s skin, she could tell.  He bit down on his
lip. 

“I never said
that, ma’am.  Only a handful of people deserve to die a terrible death, I
suppose.  I doubt you’re one of ‘em.”

Molly asked for
another drink of water and then said, “Do you think I’m going to Hell, cowboy?”

Grey sighed. 
Josie could see he was tiring of the talk, and of her calling him cowboy. 
“It’s not for me to judge,” he replied.  With that, he left the room, and
Josie heard his boots clomp down the stairs. 

“He’s probably
gone to get a drink of whiskey,” she explained to Molly, believing she’d think
Grey was rude.  “It’s been a rough few days.”  Josie didn’t even know
the woman, and she was a whore to boot, but she didn’t want Molly to think
poorly of Grey.

“If he’s not your
man, whose is he?” Molly wanted to know. 

Josie noticed her
eyes sparkled a little bit, like she was getting her second wind, but she knew
that couldn’t be so.  Maybe Molly just liked talking about men, since
she’d been a whore. Josie felt embarrassed speaking about Grey.  She felt
her face grow warm.

“I don’t think
he’s anyone’s man.  I don’t know who could put up with him, to be honest
with you.  He’s got a sour disposition at times.  And he likes things
done his way.”

“They all like
things done their way, honey,” Molly chuckled.  Her eyes went dreamy for a
moment, like she was thinking back to better times.  “I remember this one
client of mine. He was sitting right here on this bed, and I was pulling his
boots off.  He was a handsome fellow with deep green eyes and a trim
body.  I asked him, how do you like it, mister?  You know what he
told me?”

Josie shook her
head.  She had no idea how men liked it.  She wasn’t completely sure
of what Molly was talking about.

Molly chuckled. “He
said, without conversation.”

Josie didn’t
understand what was funny about that, but she didn’t want to hurt Molly’s
feelings, so she forced out a tiny laugh.  She wet the cloth in the bucket
of water again and repositioned it on Molly’s head.  When the woman’s eyes
shut for the second time, Josie wondered if she was still breathing. 
Suddenly, Molly snorted awake and stabbed a finger toward the floor.

“I have some money
hidden. It’s below this bed under the floorboard in a box.  Get it for
me.  Hurry.  I haven’t much time.  The golden chariot’s coming
for me.”

When Josie
hesitated, Molly begged, “Please!” so Josie jumped up from the chair and
crawled under the bed.  She knocked on the floor with her fist. 
“Which floorboard?” she asked.

“Fourth one from the
wall.  Four’s my lucky number.  It’s the board with no nails holding
it down.”

Josie crawled
deeper under the bed and found the loose floorboard.  She pried it up with
her fingers and sure enough, there was a metal box.  She hoisted it up and
shimmied out from under the bed and placed the box beside Molly.  “Here it
is.”

“Open it,” she
commanded.

Josie unlatched
the lid, and a pile of greenbacks stared up at her.

“Take the
money.  It’s yours,” Molly said.  She coughed and spittle dripped
from the corner of her mouth.

“I can’t,” Josie
said.  “It belongs to you.  I’m sure you worked hard for it.”

“I laid on my
back.  What’s hard about that?  Besides, I won’t need it where I’m
going.”  Her gaze delved into Josie’s before grabbing her hand and
squeezing it.  “Please.  It’s my way of thanking you for being with
me here at the end.”  A tear squeezed out from her eye. “Please,” she
pleaded again.

“Alright,” Josie
relented.  She removed the cash from the box and stuffed the greenbacks
into the pocket of her pants.  Her throat felt as dry as sawdust when she
said, “Thank you.”

“One more thing,”
Molly said.

“What’s that?”

“Over on my
dresser.  Go get that mirror.”

Josie found a gold
filigree hand mirror lying face down on the dresser.  She picked it up
carefully and took it to Molly, who said, “I want you to take it.  It’s my
most prized possession.  The man I loved gave it to me a long time ago.”

Josie
stared.  She didn’t know whores ever loved in that way.  She knew
they let men love on them, but she didn’t realize they ever fell in love. 
“Are you sure?” she asked.

Molly
nodded.  “I insist.”

“I never had a
fancy mirror before.” 

“Look into it.”

Josie turned it
over slowly and gazed into it, shocked at the face that looked back at her. It
was a dirty face, but it was the face of a grown up woman. 

“You’re very
pretty,” Molly told her.

“Oh, I’m not.”
Josie felt her cheeks flame.

“Yes, you
are.  All that black hair and those big blue eyes. You’ve got the
prettiest smile.  Men like brown-skinned girls, you know.  It’s a
good thing you’re not staying in this town.  You’d take all my business.”

Josie was still
staring into the mirror when she no longer heard Molly breathing.  She
held the mirror close to the woman’s mouth and saw no steam.  Mollie was
dead.

She found Grey
downstairs, sitting at the bar cradling a mug of beer.  “Molly’s dead,”
she informed him, taking a seat beside him.  He finished the drink and
twisted to face her.   He looked worn out and…what else? 
Scared?  Was that fear etched on his rugged face?  They’d gone
through so much together already.  What could he possibly be afraid of
now?

“That’s everyone
then.  The whole town’s dead,” he said.  “What’s that you’re
holding?”  He nodded at the mirror in her hand.

“Just something
that woman wanted me to have.”  He didn’t ask more, and she didn’t mention
the money lining her pocket.  “Are we going to leave now?”  She was
more than ready to move on, despite being hungry and tired.

“Yes.  Right
after we torch the place.”

Josie didn’t hide
her surprise.  “You mean set the town on fire?”

“Yes.  It
might be the kind of killing fever that lives on. If it is, cleansing by fire
is the only way to get rid of it.  I’ve been thinking, too, that maybe
it’ll also throw Kendall and King off our trail.  If they’re still
following us and they see the town go up in smoke, maybe they’ll think we went
up with it and they’ll give up and go home for good.”

“Alright,” she
agreed, thinking it made sense.  If it was a fever that lived on, both of
them might have it already.  They’d know in a few days.  Five, the
man had said, since the sick family came through.

They set free the
horses they’d seen in the corral to fend for themselves then torched the
buildings using grass hay and Grey’s matches.  With the buildings blazing,
they ran to their animals, which they’d moved to a clearing outside of
town.  They jumped into their saddles and sat for a moment watching the
flames lick the sky. 

Traveler pawed the
ground and brayed nervously.  “He doesn’t like fire,” Josie
explained.  Her voice choked as she remembered her little cabin that Slim
Jim Garrett had torched.

“That town must
have been cursed,” Grey surmised, shaking his head.  “Your mule’s eyes are
rolling around in his head.  Let’s push on.”  He clucked his tongue,
and they galloped away.

* * * *

With no sign of
the marshal and Reno King on their tail, Josie and Grey stopped to camp near
some large rocks for the night. He hunted for supper while she managed the fire
and heated a pot of coffee.  When he returned with two wild turkeys slung
over his shoulder, she wanted to jump into his arms with gratitude, because she
was starved.

Later, when their
stomachs were full, they sat in front of the fire, sharing coffee from the one
tin cup.  Grey’s striped blanket was draped over her shoulders. She felt
warm and her eyes were heavy, but her nerves twitched just the same. 
Every cell in her body seemed to be alive.  She sensed the same in
him.  He removed his hat and slid a hand through his disheveled
hair.  He looked so handsome under the pale of the moon, she
thought.  The stubble along his jaw had grown into a beard, and it looked
good on him.

Finally, he broke
the silence between them.  “Why did that whore give you a mirror?”

“Don’t call her
that, Grey.” Josie frowned at him.  “She was a woman, same as me.
Probably, Molly was earning a living the only way she knew how.  You
shouldn’t hold that against her.”

“You’re
right.  I apologize.”  He repeated the question.  “How come
Molly gave you her mirror?”

Though she was
relieved at how easily he’d conceded, Josie got an uncomfortable feeling. 
Why was he bringing this up?  What difference did it make to him whether
someone gave her a special gift?  Didn’t she deserve fine things?