This is the kind of town Dodge City is. A young, beautiful woman everyone knew has been shot and killed, but an innocent kiss on the mouth is what gets all the attention.
Margaret shakes her head in disgust, and they all look back at me.
“It were a mouth kiss,” I concede.
“And there was a second kiss, yes?” May Gray pipes up, causin’ me to wish she’d gone home a few minutes earlier.
I give her a frown in response.
“Was there a second kiss?” Art says. “We got a right to know what kind a’ shenanigans are takin’ place behind the walls of justice.”
“There was a second kiss,” I say. “But it were part of the same happiness expressed at gettin’ my leg irons off.”
“Just to be clear,” Claire says, “Two kisses flush on the mouth, one for each leg cuff?”
“I suppose you could put it that way,” I say.
Claire says, “To what shall we attribute the fornicating that took place afterward?”
“Excuse me?”
“It would appear you’d used up all your leg iron joy with the kisses.”
“Well, we did,” I say, tryin’ to figure out why it’s so much easier to kill women than reason with ’em.
“There was no fornication!” Margaret says, raisin’ her voice. Then says, “and I resent your insulting accusation. I invited Mr. Love into my home so I could soap the locks. End of story.”
“I think there’s more story to be had,” Claire says.
Margaret sighs. “What else can you possibly find to worry about regarding this incident?”
“Did Emmett agree to make you mayor before…or after the two of you went inside your house?”
“After.”
“So you kissed him on the mouth twice, went into the house, removed his leg irons, and his first thought upon being set free was to make you mayor?”
The small crowd in the saloon are harrumphin’ and callin’ out things like “what about that?” and “You expect us to believe that?”
I speak up to defend Margaret’s honor, but no one listens till I grab my rifle and rack a bullet into the chamber.
Claire yells, “Run, Alice!”
Alice Crapper yells back, “That weren’t funny the first time, Claire.”
I fire a warnin’ shot into the ceilin’. Then say, “Nothin’ happened between Margaret and me. While she was workin’ on my leg irons we spoke of what’s happened to Dodge. Margaret expressed ideas of what would help us turn this town into somethin’ special. I thought her ideas were good. Since I’m all that’s left of the town council, I decided to appoint her mayor. If we can move past this silly conversation, I’d like to give Lilly a proper burial.”
“What’ll become of her property?” Art says.
“The Hartmans have relatives all over Kansas,” I say. “I expect the farm will go to someone whose name is in Lilly’s Bible.”
“What if they want to claim her body?”
“I’ll be glad to let ’em dig it up and get it out of my kitchen.”
“While you’re off gallivantin’ around the country, lookin’ for Gentry, how’s Margaret gonna enforce the rules?” Tom says.
“She’s the mayor. She speaks for the town. If people refuse to abide by reasonable rules, she’ll tell me about it when I get back.”
“Then what’ll happen?”
“It’ll be the same as always. If someone breaks the law I take ’em into custody. If they resist, I kill ’em.”
The room goes sober, thinkin’ about Margaret’s power. I soften things by sayin’, “Listen, people. There won’t be any new rules while I’m gone ’cause there ain’t enough town for rules to matter. You should all relax about Margaret bein’ mayor. It’s not gonna change anythin’ around here except for the better.”
“A woman mayor?” Tom says. “We’ll be a laughin’ stock. And mark my words, Emmett. You give a woman an inch, she’ll take a mile. You make this one mayor, and before you know it, the others’ll demand the right to vote.”
30.
IT TAKES ME and Jim all night to bury Lilly in the jail hole in my kitchen. First we dismantle the lean-to, and throw the wood into the hole over her body. Then we fetch bucket after bucket of dirt from behind the saloon and dump it over her and the wood. In all, we put about four feet of dirt over her. That, plus the wood, should keep the varmints from diggin’ her out while I’m gone.
As we finish tampin’ down the dirt, I say, “I’m goin’ to Springfield.”
Jim says, “If Gentry ran off with David Wilkins, they’d go west, not east.”
“True, but it’s possible my rock-throwin’ friend might’ve helped her and the baby sneak out of town. If he did, they’d a’ gone to Springfield, where my friend Rose lives.”
“And if they didn’t?”
“Rose might have new information to share about Gentry that’ll keep me from wastin’ my time searchin’ the whole damn west with no more to go on than what I have.”
“You’re not takin’ the horses, are you?”
“I aim to.”
“But you said the mare won’t ride you easterly.”
“She won’t.”
“And the stallion?”
“I hope he will, but who knows?”
“You think the mare will follow you the whole way to Springfield?”
“Margaret? No, I reckon she’ll stay here in town.”
“Not the mayor, Emmett. The mare.”
“Huh?”
“The horse!”
“Oh. Well, I s’pect that mare would follow me to the bowels of hell.”
“Why would you make that poor horse walk 400 miles in the heat? I could take good care of her right here.”
“Scarlett’s a fine mare. I”ll offer her to my friend, Rose, in return for two horses and a wagon, so I can fetch Gentry and Scarlett Rose back.”
“You think Gentry named your baby after your friend, Rose?”
“I do. She’s the only Rose we know. She’s got a ranch full of horses in Springfield.”
“Maybe she’d sell me a few on credit to help me get back on my feet.”
“You been a good friend. I’ll bring it up.”
“I sure hope you’re right about Gentry bein’ there.”
“That’s where she and Scarlett Rose are, I s’pect.”
“Is Rose a horse thief?”
“No, of course not!”
“Then why would she accept a stolen horse?”
“I’m not sayin’ she will. But she’ll be able to tell if the horse’s owner is dead.”
“How the hell would she know that?”
“I can’t say. But I s’pect she’ll know, all the same. And if the owner’s dead, Rose’ll know what to do about it.”
“What about the stallion?” Jim says.
“I’ll try to ride him to Springfield. If he throws me, I’ll walk.”
Jim studies my face a minute. Then says, “What if Gentry ain’t there, Emmett?”
“Rose’ll tell me where to find her.”
“And if Rose ain’t there to say them words?”
“Her ranch hand, Roberto, will be there, and give me a horse that’ll travel in all directions.”
“What if the yanks or rebs have burned Rose’s house and barn and stolen all her horses?”
I give Jim a stern look. “You paint a bleak picture.”
He shrugs.
“It’s my way,” he says.
“Well, I hope that ain’t what I’ll find. But if it is, I’ll still have Scarlett and possibly the stallion.”
“You think she’ll ride you back to Dodge?”
“No, but I think she’ll bring me six miles north a’ Dodge. Then I’ll climb off and walk the rest of the way.”
“And she’ll follow you back to town?”
“That’s my guess.”
“Why would she do that?”
“It’s her way.”
31.
OVER THE NEXT four
hours I rest as best I can, then sip another cup of birch bark tea, pump enough water to fill the four canteens, saddle both horses, and climb on the stallion. He snorts, and waits for me to dig my heels in his flank. When I do, he starts walkin’. I turn to see what the mare’s doin’, and find she’s standin’ by the rail. I wonder if she knows I’ve untied her. No matter, it’s her choice to stay or go, and I won’t influence her either way. I face forward and let the stallion have his way, to see what he’ll do. My ribs are much improved, but I don’t want to chance takin’ a spill. He walks to the main trail and turns north.
I cuss and shake my head and brace myself in case he bucks. Then I try to turn him gently eastward. He stops in his tracks and refuses to move. I dig in my heels, but he stands still as a statue. For a long period of time I call him names I ain’t proud to know, then climb off his back, remove the rifle from the scabbard, and start walkin’ to Springfield.
I get a half mile southeast of Dodge before hearin’ a shufflin’ sound behind me. I turn to see Scarlett the mare, followed by Rudy the bear, followed by the stallion. We’re all walkin’ in single file, separated by no more than twenty feet, combined.
The further I walk, the madder I get. I’ve got two perfectly good horses that refuse to let me ride ’em in the same direction they’re willin’ to walk! More than once I stop and cuss the horses, and even their parents. I ain’t one to punish a horse, but I’ll admit to throwin’ my hat on the ground and kickin’ hell out of it at least once every mile. And every few miles I try gettin’ on one of the horses. Each time I do, they turn the opposite way and won’t allow me to turn ’em toward Springfield. Of course, that makes me madder than a hornet, and I start into cussin’ some more.
Rudy ain’t makin’ it any easier. Every time I holler at the horses he laughs his silly head off. The horses ain’t laughin’, but if I didn’t know better, I’d swear they’re smilin’.
32.
WE’RE WALKIN’ THE old Indian trail that leads direct to Springfield, so we’re not encounterin’ many people. We do see a few, but when they spy Rudy they give us a wide berth. As we pass ’em by they point and stare, and I wonder if these settlers are half as confused as I am angry.
As the day wears on, my pants get baggier and baggier, and I have to keep re-tyin’ my rope belt. Salty sweat’s runnin’ down my crotch and legs and though we’re walkin’ through grass that’s tamped down, it’s still thick enough to carry ticks and spiders and chiggers. I don’t feel these little beasties till they get to my hands and neck or my privates. Then I shake and hop around and slap ’em off me as best I can, while hollerin’ at the horses.
I’m an even-tempered man as long as others have nothin’ bad to say about Gentry, but I believe I’m angrier now than at any time in my entire life. Angrier now than when I’d been shot, captured, and forced to work on the Union railroad.
It just don’t make sense about these dang horses!
So I keep walkin’.
That night we camp by a stand of trees, where Rudy finds enough tubers to fill his belly.
Last time I traveled this trail, Kansas was goin’ through the worst drought in memory, and we nearly thirsted to death. This time there’s signs of water to be had when needed, so I know the rivers and ponds’ll have enough water to keep Rudy, me, and the horses goin’. As I remove the saddles and saddlebags, I feel bad for cussin’ the horses all day. At least they’ve kept me company. If Shrug and Jim had been walkin’ with me all this way I’d a’ been grateful for their presence. I wouldn’t cuss ’em for not lettin’ me ride on their backs.
So I apologize to ’em before fallin’ asleep.
Nevertheless, the next mornin’ the four of us fall into the same pattern of walkin’ to Springfield, and me tryin’ to ride the horses there, and them not lettin’ me, and me cussin’ and throwin’ my hat on the ground and kickin’ it, and Rudy laughin’, and me feelin’ bad about it each night and apologizin’, and so it goes, day after day. And the thing that makes me cuss the horses each day is the same thing that makes me apologize to ’em each night.
Gentry.
For it’s thoughts of seein’ her that make me so impatient each mornin’, and thoughts of bein’ with her that make me so forgivin’ each night.
On the ninth night, I can barely contain my enthusiasm. I’ve thought minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day about the look on Gentry’s face when she sees me after all this time. I think about what she’ll say, and what it’ll feel like to hold her in my arms again. I do realize there’s a strong possibility she ain’t in Springfield, but I don’t dwell on it, ’cause at the worst, I’ll see Rose, and she’ll have some smart advice to give me about findin’ Gentry, and I’ll spend a day or so with her, and then head out to find my woman.
And if it turns out she’s with another man and they’re happy and she don’t want to be with me?
That’s a thought I don’t want to think. And won’t, till I’m forced.
In the early mornin’ dawn of the tenth day, me, Scarlett, Rudy, and the stallion finally start climbin’ the ridge that overlooks Rose’s ranch. My heart’s poundin’ in my chest. I feel the strength of ten men coursin’ through my body. It’s all I can do not to run up the hill and down the other side, screamin’ like a mad man. But that might get me shot by the very woman I love, before I’m close enough for her to recognize me. I realize Gentry ain’t seen Rudy in six months, and might appear happier to see him than me. If that’s the case, I’ll be happy enough, just for havin’ made her happy.
Somethin’ else I’ve thought about every day is buildin’ up inside me: Not only am I moments away from seein’ Gentry, I’m about to meet my daughter!
Me, Scarlett, Rudy, and the stallion climb the last fifty yards to the top of the ridge. Then we stop to look, and I can’t believe what I see.
33.
JIM’S WORST THOUGHT is confirmed: Rose’s ranch has been burned to the ground. And there ain’t a man, woman, child, or horse on the property.
I close my eyes, and fall to my knees. At first, there’s nothin’ to think. I loved this ranch, and of course it was Rose’s dream place. I notice I’ve been rubbin’ my right arm without realizin’ it, and silently thank Rose for savin’ it at this very ranch a few years back. I came here for a drink of whiskey after a local sawbones, Doc Inman, wanted to cut off my infected arm. Rose didn’t give me the whiskey, though she was known for her generosity. Instead, she gave me birch bark tea, and two days later, I paid the doc a visit and thrashed him with the arm he wanted to cut off.
I’m heartbroken at the devastation I see at the bottom of the hill. If this war has got to Rose, the most powerful person I know, then the sufferin’ has no limits.
I fall on my back with my eyes still closed, and think about the breakfasts and suppers I’ve enjoyed at Rose’s ranch over the years. I brought all the whores and mail order brides here from Rolla, and Rose always welcomed ’em with food and clothes and kindness. It was here Rose created the poultice that changed Gentry’s face from pimply to perfect, and here, where her ranch hand, Roberto, faithfully worked for many years. This is also the one place my friend Shrug could always come and feel safe. He and Rose have an understandin’ about things others don’t appear to know. Rose calls ’em kindred spirits, though talk of any form of spirits besides whiskey makes me uneasy.
I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Then do it again.
I need to re-think my plan.
I knew there was a fair chance Gentry was somewhere else with our baby. But the idea of Rose bein’ gone, and her ranch burnt to the ground—never crossed my mind, despite what Jim Bigsby said about it bein’ a possibility.
Another deep breath.
Okay.
I think a minute. Rose’s ranch is a couple miles west of Springfield. Should I walk there and see if anyone has some useful information? Rose would never live in the town proper, so she ain’t likely to be there. Rose ain’t the kind to run, or abandon her property
without a fight, but the devastation to her ranch is so complete, my guess is, she and Roberto weren’t even here when the troops came through.
Rose knows things before they happen.
She probably saw in her brain this was gonna happen, just like she saw the massacre at Lawrence in her mind. I don’t know if that ever came to be, but I’ve never known Rose to be wrong about an event takin’ place. So she probably had time to pack up all her household possessions and livestock, and she and Hannah, and Roberto and his wife, and maybe Gentry and Scarlett Rose, and Shrug, all headed somewhere safe from the war, to build a new ranch.
If it happened like that, they won’t be in Springfield, nor would they have told anyone of their intentions to pack up and leave, for fear of bein’ bushwhacked on their journey.
When I open my eyes, I see both horses on their knees, waitin’ for me to climb on whichever back I choose.
I choose Scarlett. When I climb onto the saddle, she stands. She’s facin’ Springfield, and if that’s where she wants to go, I’ll be shocked, but I’ll let her take me there. I dig in my heels. She spins around and gallops down the hill, headin’ in the general direction of Dodge City, with Rudy and the stallion hot on our heels. To anyone who might be watchin’, we look like an angry bear is chasin’ us across the plains.
After a mile it’s clear our pace has created a hardship on Rudy, so I slow down to a walkin’ speed where we cover about four miles in each hour. And each hour I swap horses and rest Rudy, so everyone stays fresh.
The first day we do sixteen hours. After that, we travel eighteen hours a day. On the sixth night I’m ridin’ the stallion when he starts to angle in a direction that will take us north of Dodge. I try to rein him due west, but he’s havin’ none of it. I make him whoa, and thank both horses for the ride.
Then I start walkin’ the last six miles to Dodge, tryin’ to figure how in hell I’m supposed to find an English cattleman, knowin’ no more than his name and the fact he lives somewhere north, west, or south of Dodge City, Kansas.