The Circuit Rider (8 page)

L
ocated
directly across the street from the hotel, the Day’s End Saloon made itself an
easy choice for Bird Hitchcock.

She
left Mike Tower to his own devices, crossed the street, and entered the bar. The
reaction was one she was used to: heads raised to see the new man entering the
bar, then a double take when they realized she was a woman, followed by
silence.

It
all happened as expected.

The
last part of the entrance routine, however, was when the bar’s patrons glanced
down and saw her two guns, each fastened securely to a thigh with a rawhide
strip. They were serious guns, in a serious rig.

Rarely
did any comments about a woman coming into a saloon for a drink reach her ears.
They clearly knew she wasn’t a prostitute, and no one was about to ask.

Bird
went to the end of the bar, where the bartender was polishing glasses. He was a
stout man with a neatly pressed shirt and a huge handlebar mustache.

He
glanced up at her.

“Beer
and a whiskey,” she said. “Leave the bottle.”

She
watched him pour the whiskey into a shot glass and set the bottle on the bar. Then
he pulled a mug out from beneath the beer tap, filled it, and placed it in
front of her. Bird plunked down a few coins.

“To
your health,” she said to no one in particular, then raised the whiskey and
downed it.

Drinking
in town was so much better than on the open trail. Mainly because the fear of
running out of whiskey was gone. She’d had to carefully ration her liquor,
riding with Mike Tower, but now, judging by the rows of whiskey bottles and the
big mug of beer in front of her, it appeared there was enough in stock to
satisfy her thirst. For today.

She
poured another shot of whiskey from the bottle and glanced around the room.

It
was a long, narrow space, with the bar on one side and a row of tables and
chairs on the other. The walls were empty, save for one advertising poster
purporting the benefits of Dr. William Foggerty’s World-Famous Stomach Bitters.

Half
of the tables were occupied with small groups of men, and the last table was
directly to Bird’s right. There was no one behind her, which was the way she
liked it.

Two
men stood, glanced back at her, and left the bar.

It
was a reaction she was used to. Some ignorant individuals refused to drink in a
saloon with a woman if the woman in question wasn’t there to sell her sexual
services.

Bird
drank half of her beer, and the cold liquid tasted wonderful. She was hungry,
but the beer would fill her up until she was ready to eat. Or perhaps her
entire dinner would be in liquid form.

She
was in the process of filling her third shot when three men walked into the bar
and headed directly for her. Bird shifted slightly to her right so, if she had
to draw her gun, the bar wouldn’t be in the way. The shot of whiskey was in her
left hand; her right hung casually by her side.

“You
the woman who rode in with the preacher?” the first man said.

The
muted conversations taking place at the various tables now stopped as nearly
all heads turned toward the end of the bar.

Bird
held his gaze and downed her shot of whiskey without taking her eyes from him. He
was tall with a thin, cruel mouth. He had a pistol stuck in his waistband and a
double-barrel shotgun in his left hand.

“Never
interrupt a lady when she’s drinking,” Bird said. She refilled her shot glass
with whiskey. “Any sonofabitch knows that.”

“I’ll
keep that in mind,” the man said. “But right now I don’t see a lady, just a
drunken saddle tramp who rides with an outlaw disguised as a preacher.”

The
bartender glided to the end of the bar.

“Matthew,
I don’t want any trouble here,” he said to the man.

“About
time you paid attention to one of your customers getting harassed,” Bird said
to the bartender. “I believe you should pour me another beer on the house.” She
nudged the empty beer mug toward him.

“Don’t
ignore me,” the man who the bartender had referred to as Matthew said. “I got a
message for your scum of a partner.”

The
bartender set a fresh beer in front of Bird.

“He’s
going to hang for what he did,” the man said. “The men of Prosperity won’t
stand for some stranger molesting their women. And if you’re not careful,
you’ll be hanging right next to him.”

Bird
smiled at him. “I suggest you let me enjoy my complimentary beverage here,” she
said, raising the mug in a mock toast with her left hand. “Or I’ll shove that shotgun
so far up your ass your balls will get caught in the trigger guard.”

She
drank from her beer and let her right hand rest on the butt of her pistol.

“Matthew,”
the bartender said. “This isn’t the time or the place.” He looked from Matthew
to Bird, licking his top lip, where a bead of sweat had broken out.

The
man called Matthew looked down at her tied-down gun and then back up at her.

“Who
the hell are you?” he said.

“I
am a woman who loves her whiskey, and right now, you are interfering with a highly
romantic interlude.”

The
man turned on his heel and stormed out of the saloon.

She
shrugged her shoulders and drank the rest of her beer. It was her favorite
kind.

Free.

T
ower
got directions to the town’s doctor from the desk clerk. He stepped out of the
hotel’s front door onto the boardwalk and felt the afternoon’s sun on his face.
He absentmindedly touched the scratches on his cheek and neck.

He
turned left and walked along the boardwalk until he reached the end of the
street; then he crossed over and walked behind a leather goods store.

The
doctor’s office was a single-story house with a weathered front porch and a
rocking chair sitting empty next to the front door.

Tower
walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

It
opened to reveal a woman with dark hair shot through with gray, wearing a light-blue
dress and a world-weary expression.

“Yes?”
she said.

“Good
day, ma’am,” Mike Tower said. “The clerk over at the hotel said you had a
severely injured man here.”

The
woman appraised him, then shook her head.

“He
passed away an hour ago,” she said. “He’s with God and the undertaker now.” She
smoothed down the front of her apron. “I’m afraid I’ve never seen anything like
what was done to poor Mr. Smitty. I thought I’d seen it all.”

Tower
considered asking for more details but decided against it.

“I’ll
go see if the undertaker needs help with the final proceedings. Thank you.”

She
nodded and shut the door.

Tower
walked back the way he’d come, past the hotel, to the other end of town. The undertaker’s
shed was next to the livery, and since the door was open, Tower stepped inside.
A bald man with enormous forearms and hands was stacking wood. He glanced up.

“Help
you?” he said.

“My
name is Mike Tower, and I understand a man passed away earlier today. I was
checking to see if you need any help with the proceedings.”

The
man shook his head. “No, all taken care of. You might want to send a prayer up
to God for the young man, though. Those Indians tortured the hell out of him
before bashing his head in. Animals.”

The
bald man looked Tower up and down, his gaze hardening. “Speaking of which, I heard
about you,” he said.

Tower
nodded. “Figured you might have.”

He
walked out of the undertaker’s shed and into the street, where a small group of
men had gathered. They were heavily armed. One of them, a tall man with a
shotgun and an angry, pinched face, spoke for the others.

“There’s
the rapist right there,” he said.

Before
anyone else could speak, Sheriff Ectors stepped forward through the group.

“Afraid
you’re under arrest, Preacher,” he said. “For the rape of Susan Arliss.”

B
ird
leaned against the doorframe and gazed upon Mike Tower, confined in his cell. It
was a tiny jail with just the one cell, and on the other side of the door was
the office of Sheriff Ectors.

“I
can’t leave you alone for one minute, can I?” she said, shaking her head. “I
bet when you pictured this situation, you had me on the other side of the
bars.”

Tower
looked at her. She could see he was calm, even slightly amused by her words.

 “Usually
once a year I try to do a good deed,” Bird said. “Getting you out of here ought
to do it.”

Tower
stood and came to the front of the cell.

“Yes,
I don’t think this is what Father Johnstone had in mind when he sent me out. Preachers
are supposed to save people, not the other way around.”

“Look
on the bright side,” Bird said. “This isn’t too bad of a jail. I’ve been in a
lot worse.”

Tower
nodded.

“I
didn’t rape Susan Arliss,” he said.

Bird
rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ, I know that. You think I don’t know how to read
a man? If you were a rapist, you’d have a bullet hole in your head and be
buried back along the trail somewhere.”

“That’s
comforting,” Tower said.

“You’re
not evil,” Bird said. “Boring as hell, yes. But evil? No.”

Tower
put his hands around the bars of his cell. “Now what?” he said, as much to
himself as to Bird.

Before
Bird could answer, the sheriff spoke from the outer office.

“Visitin’
time is over, folks,” he said.

“I’ll
poke around, see what I can find out,” Bird said to Tower. “Try not to cause
any more trouble while I’m gone.”

She
left him there, then walked into the main room, where the sheriff stood leaning
against the edge of his desk. His arms were folded across his chest.

“Don’t
know I’ve ever seen anything quite like this,” he said. “A preacher accused of
rape, and the crime happened some time ago.”

“So
what are you going to do about it?” Bird responded. “I assume you’re getting
plenty of pressure from the menfolk around town.”

“I
put a request into the territorial marshal of Texas, where the original crime
happened — ”

“Supposedly
happened,” Bird interjected.

“I’m
waiting to hear back from them.”

“So
what can you tell me about this Susan Arliss?” Bird said.

The
sheriff shrugged his shoulders. “Not much to tell. She and her husband bought a
place out near Rifle Creek a couple months back, and she’s only been into town
a few times.” He cocked his head at Bird. “Why are you asking?”

“Just
like to know more about the woman who says the innocent man sitting in your
jail did something horrible to her way back when. Ordinarily, I would tend to
believe her. But I don’t think Mike Tower has it in him to do such a thing.”

“I
don’t need you out there stirring up trouble,” Sheriff Ectors said. “There’s
already plenty of that going on right now.”

Bird
smiled at him. “Wouldn’t want a little thing called the truth to get in the way
of that now, would we?”