Hour Glass Page 11
The huge man moved a little and rolled over to a sitting position, his shaky eyes on Jane. His lids were heavy with sleep and alcohol, and he looked at the barrels of our rifles like they were more amusing than threatening—a few flies buzzing against a horse maybe. With a long yawn, he stood up and crossed his arms over his chest.
“What’s this all about?”
“You beat up one of Dora’s girls.”
“So?”
“So, you ignorant wretch, you have until the count of five to get yer ass out of this room, pay the Madame, and apologize to Missy.”
Frank scratched his head and started laughing. It was the laughing more than anything else that made me and Jane ready our rifles. The unmistakable sound of a bullet being chambered forced that massive man to cease his laughing. But it wasn’t enough to wipe his smile away. At that moment, more than anything else, I wanted to shoot that smug look clean off his pock-marked face. Visions of shooting him and then beating him with my bare fist until there was nothing left of him but a mass of bloody meat taunted me.
I started breathing smoke behind my rifle when Dora laid a tender hand on my shoulder from behind. It was the sort that a mother would use, patient and kind. My pretend battle eased off my eyelids.
“Steady, kid. Wait for Jane,” she whispered to me and only me.
“One,” began Jane.
“I ain’t apologizin’ or payin’. That little whore wasn’t good enough to pay for. I can get better down in Chinatown for a dime.”
“Two.”
“You can count all you like, whore. I ain’t leaving this place ’til I’m good ’n’ ready, and I ain’t payin’ your whore friends neither.”
“Three.”
At the count of three, Jane pointed her rifle down at the man’s leg and fired. The giant crumpled onto the floorboards, hollering in pain. A bright bloom of red appeared on his left thigh. Meat and flecks of bone poked out from the skin into the air through a window of pant fabric. Frank looked at the wound with a shocked face. It would have been extremely comical if the rest of us hadn’t looked so surprised ourselves. We all gawked with open mouths, like fish caught from a river, in Jane’s direction. She moved closer to the wailing man and stood over him menacingly.
“You! You said the count of five!”
“Yeh, did I? I don’t recall. I never can remember such details while in the presence of cocksuckers. Now get yer sorry ass up before I give you a matching pair.”
Now the big man was frightened. Those drunken eyes of his were wide, and the faint smell of urine permeated the air nearest to him. I weren’t certain if it was from Jane’s recent nap at the necessary out back or if the Bear Man pissed himself. Frank stood quickly and unevenly, and Jane gave him room to do so. He hobbled and groaned in pain as he tried to put weight on his shot leg. His giant body crumpled to the floor again and again. It took him three tries to stand tall and stay that way. She didn’t even point the rifle at him anymore. It was held loosely by her side as she relied on the man’s terror to motivate him. I, on the other hand, refused to lower mine even an inch.
Frank went to grab his personal effects from the side table, and Jane drew her revolver from its holster with her other hand. The movement was so smooth and swift, it looked to be more out of habit than a thought-out command. The Bear Man froze and put his hands up, leaving his money, gun, and belt on the table. He growled in pain.
“That ain’t goin’ with you,” said Jane.
“You whores robbin’ me now?”
“You owe this establishment. That there is payment for yer shitty fuckin’ behavior.”
“You can’t do this.”
“Oh, I do believe I am the one with the fuckin’ gun, so yeah, I can. You best be grateful I ain’t takin’ more payment out of yer hide. Move it.”
Jane’s words were thick with sarcasm and hatred. With a sour glare, Frank Bellingham limped his way out of the now open doorway. He clutched his leg as he dragged it down the hallway and toward the staircase. The three of us followed behind him, me with my rifle trained on his back, and Jane with her revolver. Her rifle was balanced between her hand and her shoulder. Jane looked calm, as though that rifle were actually a fishing pole, and she was going for a leisurely stroll to the creek. I was so tense my neck hurt from the strain of it all.
“Should we just shoot him now?” I whispered to Jane. “He’s gonna just come back, ain’t he?”
“Shootin’ a man in the back in a coward’s game, kid. Don’t ever let me catch you playin’ that hand. Understood?”
“Yes’m.”
Frank made it to the staircase and tried to descend it one step at a time, careful to not put weight on his injured leg. After a few steps of overcompensating, he stepped wrong and slipped. The large man fell down the remainder of the stairs in a comical state of yelps and screams. Enough blood had been pouring from his wound that he left a little bit of himself here and there on the way down to the ground level. We followed behind him. Dora suppressed a laugh. Jane did not. Her cackling rang through the saloon like a bell on Sunday.
He pulled himself up, frothing at the mouth with rage. I couldn’t think to do anything but stand tall and keep the rifle trained on the giant man. Jane took to laughing out loud again at his comical misfortune, which, in turn, lured some of the girls out of hiding. When I glanced over, a handful of Dora’s girls were staring at the sight of a bleeding Frank Bellingham, angry and frothy in front of a laughing Calamity Jane.
“I am gonna get my pig sticker and come right back fer you,” threatened Frank in between clenched teeth.
Jane only smiled and trained her gun back on his face.
“No, you ain’t. As soon as you leave this here place, I’m goin’ to collect some of my biggest friends, including this lovely lady’s husband, and we’re gonna run you right outta town. Trees ’round these parts can bear some awful fruit from time to time. You best get movin’.”
The man’s vigor stayed but definitely lost its edge for the time being. Jane looked as cool as a block of ice, more comfortable than I had seen her since the Overland Stagecoach mail incident. This was her element. That was a plain fact.
Frank Bellingham turned and limped out of the saloon with his back turned to us. I had him in my sights the entire way. The thought of Missy’s battered face made my finger want to squeeze that trigger. The impulse to rid the world of that man cut deep into my bones, but Jane had said that was a coward’s game. Men with no honor shot men in the back, and I wouldn’t be thought of like that. I let that terrible man go, trailing a bloodied leg. I watched him push his way out of the door and disappear into the bright noon of the day. It was then that I let myself breathe once again and relax.
Dora put her hand on my shoulder and gently pried the gun from my hand. My arms ached from holding so tensely for so long. She patted my back, and one of the girls, I was too dazed to tell who, brought me some water.
I was the one who saw him come back in minutes later. Jane had her back turned to everyone. She had bellied up to the bar while Dora poured her a glass of fancy bourbon, on the house of course. He had threatened to go get his bayonet after all. We never knew if the blade he brandished had actually been his, retrieved from a saddlebag somewhere, or if it was one he stole from the first pedestrian he came across. Either way, Frank Bellingham blew into Diddlin’ Dora’s like a terribly quiet breeze brandishing a knife. He moved so swiftly, at first I thought it was a daydream, like some terrible vision after everything we’d been through.
When I blinked, he was still there, running straight for the back of Calamity Jane, my friend. The coward’s game. It was his game. Dora hadn’t seen him yet to warn her friend. She was looking down at the glasses she was filling with bourbon. My hand itched for the rifle but remembered Dora had taken it from me. The only thing I could do was warn her.
“Jane! Look out!”
Frank Bellingham collapsed dead on the floor of the saloon. Self-defense in the eyes of the law, what little there was in Deadwood. We hadn’t resorted to a coward’s game, even in the end. The only coward was the one leaking blood on the floor. I felt glad knowing that fact.
Jane puffed out a rib cage full of air and threw back a few fingers of bourbon. Some of the frantic girls ran back in to see what had happened. Ruthy screamed at the sight of the dead man in the saloon. Dora collected them all, like a gathering of chickens, and herded them back into the dining hall and away from the scene. Somewhere from outside, a group had formed and rushed into the saloon to see what had happened.
“What’s goin’ on?”
“This man attacked one of my girls and when asked to leave, attacked Jane here. She shot him in a fair fight. She’s a goddamned hero. Go get the deputy to clean up the body.”
Two of the men ran off to do just that, excited to do something important involving a murder. A gaggle of looky-loos stayed behind to gawk at the scene. Gossip started quickly as someone recognized the man and ran off to spread the word Frank Bellingham was dead. As far as I could tell, he wasn’t a popular type, so the news wasn’t likely to spread too far to anyone he knew. Only famous outlaws or infamous people like Wild Bill warranted a full blown gossip mill.
In all the commotion, I didn’t hear Jane sidle up beside me. She made her presence known with a pat on my back. I jumped in my own skin a little as I turned to her, wild-eyed. The sight of blood and death had been staining my vision. Facing a friend was a shock.
“Hold up. Easy now,” she cooed to me like I were a wild thing.
“Sorry. It’s just a lot of blood, and . . .”
“It’s okay, Jimmy Glass. It’s a bad day when you get used to the sight, lemme tell you.”
“You all right, Jane?”
“I’m as fine as ever. I came over to thank you. Now, I owe you one, kid. Just let me know how I can repay it, okay?”
I nodded to her numbly, not really considering the gravity of her words.
12
Our little section of the world was becoming a hotbed of news and happenings. No one much cared about the death of Frank Bellingham. The man had no family that spoke to him and no real friends to speak of, retribution was certainly not coming our way. This allowed all of us to breathe easier knowing the drama had passed. I certainly had drunk my fill of the famous lifestyle, and for the first time, I had an inkling of why Jane drank so much. So much attention threatened to be exhausting.
Joseph came home and fixed Missy’s door so the poor girl could recover in peace. Doc came around to see about her, and Jane or Dora would change her bandages, but other than that, she allowed no one to visit her. It was sad such a spark of a girl could fade so much so quickly. I wanted to visit her so many times, but fear kept me away. I was afraid of rejection and of making myself a pest to someone who had surely seen enough of men for the time being.
By the time I made my way back to our little storeroom, Hour had arranged the pennies in several lines starting with the cleanest, shiniest pennies to the ones that were nearly black with dirt. I had been gone longer than I planned so I came bearing gifts: a plate of mashed potatoes, some milk, and a bit of bread. She looked up at me when I set the tray near her. Her face seemed calm enough so I sat next to her.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Missy?” she asked. “She’s gone?”
“Gone? What do you mean gone?”
“Like Pa. She’s gone. I won’t see her.”
“No, Hour. She ain’t gone. She’s up in her room. Got beat up a bit, but she’s okay. And Pa ain’t gone neither. He’s here.”
“No. He’s not,” she said, looking around the room as if to emphasize his lack of presence.
“You’re right. He ain’t in here, but he ain’t dead. Pa’s down the road a piece. He’s in the pest tent gettin’ better, just like Missy’s in her room.”
“Like Mama?”
The question hit me in the chest. It was rare that Hour spoke of her mother. She had been so small when Cage passed.
“Yer mama died. You remember?”
“Yes. She’s gone. Pa’s gone.”
“No no, Hour,” I said reaching out for her hand. “Gone and dead are different here. You know that right? They ain’t the same.”
She shook her head slowly, and I didn’t know what to say. How could I explain a thing like this in a way that might work for her? What sort of story might a man weave to explain the way of death? Even if there was a way, my young mind wouldn’t be able to find the words. Maybe if she could see it for herself.
It was evening time before I got the nerve up to confront Jane about seeing my pa. After the craziness of the Frank Bellingham episode died down, I remembered her pledge to owe me a favor. I wanted to see my pa, and I wanted Hour to see him too.
Jane was drinking in the saloon at a table with a group of men asking her to tell the story of how she killed the Bear Man yet again. She waggled her empty glass, and one of the men took it from her. He sped away in earnest to bring her back a fresh one. A great bow of her head signaled her thanks as she began her telling her story where she had ended it.
“And then, I says to him, ‘One more word from you and I’ll make it a matchin’ pair!’”
Raucous laughter all around.
I snuck as quickly and quietly as I could to the side of her table, but she marked me on the spot. It wasn’t a total surprise. When Hour and I played quiet Injuns back home, I always lost.
“Fellas! This is my brave accomplice, Jimmy Glass! A drink fer Jimmy!”
More drunken cheers rang through the saloon, and someone handed me a shot of whiskey. I looked around at the surly men and the one tough woman in front of me and threw the stuff back as quickly as I could. That familiar burning hit my throat, but I managed to hide it in my face. Another round of cheers and several rough hands patted my back, making me almost cough the whiskey back up.
“He was with me at the stagecoach too. I can’t tell if’n he’s brave or just stupid to follow ’round the likes of Calamity Jane!”
More laughing and toasting and slapping of my back. My head was swirling with all the praise and booze and sudden camaraderie from strangers. I tried to stare straight forward and focus. Jane was so good at distracting me, but I needed to concentrate. I had to get Jane alone to talk about Pa. I couldn’t wait again or be sidetracked, no matter how much I enjoyed being considered her brave accomplice.
The opportunity presented itself when she excused herself to go outside for a bit of privacy. I knew where she was headed and could intercept her on her way back. The outhouse was in the alley. If I waited out front of the main doors to Diddlin’ Dora’s, I could get a moment alone with her. Jane was having too much fun to set down for the night just yet.
Jane left the saloon and headed the way I suspected, so I followed her outside and posted up against the wall. The night was a little brisk, a signal that fall was around the corner with winter trailing close behind it. A few cowpokes passed me, taking in the night air. They debated which whorehouse was the best in Deadwood, but came to no agreements. One liked Dora’s the best, but another praised the blondes at Molly Johnson’s.
When they were out of earshot, I spotted Jane sauntering back up the walkway and heading straight for me. She slowed when she saw who it was and what my face inevitably told her. I was upset and needed to talk.
“You look bothered, kid.”
“I am, Jane.”
“Is it abou
t Frank Bellingham? I won’t rope you into those stories if’n you don’t want the attention. It ain’t fer everybody.”
“No, it ain’t that.”
“Well, out with it, kid. I ain’t got all evenin’ to guess at yer feelings.”
She crossed her arms over her chest the way Dora did. Thing was, Jane’s bosom wasn’t nothing compared to Dora’s, and the stance looked mighty different.
“We are friends, ain’t we?”
She seemed taken aback by that but recovered quickly.
“Well, I reckon we are.”
“And you said you owed me a favor, right? For the help with Frank Bellingham.”
Her look turned crooked as she steadied herself for the unknown.
“Yeh, I did.”
“Then I want to cash in the favor. I want you to take me to see my pa.”
Jane breathed out a long sigh, and her shoulders relaxed. Her face looked as if a huge weight had been lifted. Relief relaxed her all over.
“Whew, kid. You gave me a right bad scare there. I thought you were gonna ask fer somethin’ crazy awful, the way you had yer face all screwed up.”
“You mean, you don’t mind takin’ me?”
“I’ll take you if’n that’s what you want. It ain’t a pretty sight though. Worse than you saw before.”
“Then why have you been duckin’ me when I asked?”
“Because I knew how hard it would be fer you to see it. Not to mention how Hour would take it. I didn’t want her to see that and lose all the ground she’s been coverin’ at Dora’s. She’s better, ain’t she?”
“Yes’m.”
“I just reckoned seein’ the likes of yer daddy right now would do more harm than good.”
“Jane, I get your side, but we gotta see him. He’s our pa.”
The tough-as-nails lady looked down at me and screwed her face into a chagrinned expression. I could tell the idea didn’t set proper with her, but she knew she had to let up. He was our pa after all. We had a right. Jane nodded to me, her hat bobbing with the motion.