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There were no women allowed in Devil's Hole.
That rule was left from Big Jim Santana's time. Heyes didn't cotton to all of Big Jim's notions, but when he took over the gang, this was one he kept. Big Jim's way of thinkin' was that women were more trouble than they were worth: if a few of the men had steady company and the rest didn't, it was bound to lead to jealousy and gunplay. And if most of the men had steady company and only a few didn't, it was a recipe for murder. Best to keep any dealings with saloon gals and soiled doves in town, where broken windows and broken hearts were somebody else's problem.
At first, a couple of the boys thought they might be able to buffalo Heyes into changing his mind, but he held his ground. Pointed out if he had to deal with cards and liquor and guns and stolen cash—and a passel of men too fond of all of 'em—he didn't need to be stirring any womenfolk into the mix. And with Kid Curry standing behind him, watching us with that cool gunman's smile of his, most everybody got second thoughts right suddenlike on anything as foolish as buffaloing Hannibal Heyes.
For myself, I always agreed with Big Jim—and Heyes—on that rule. The Good Word says a wise woman is to be prized above rubies, but then, I never did see any rubies in Devil's Hole neither.
So with Devil's Hole bein' what you'd call a bachelor establishment, when the boys got a hankering for female company they headed on over to Gila Bend or Black Bear Junction. Gila Bend was the supply town for some silver mines, and Black Bear Junction was on the Denver and Santa Fe rail line, so there were plenty of saloons and dancehalls and no shortage of sportin' gals willing to help the boys spend their money. And with the nearest lawman down in Copper Creek, a good day's ride away, there wasn't any reason to be hurrying.
Now Curry and Heyes never had any trouble finding women to pass the time with, and not just sportin' gals either. You might be surprised at how often one of them boys would be escorting a decent lady to a church social or riding out in a buckboard on a fine afternoon with a picnic basket. Not that either of them would take advantage: outlaws or not, them two had been brought up right by somebody. They knew how to flirt without ever steppin' over the line into making a girl think she'd been promised something.
Most of the other boys didn't have it come so easy, but they could get themselves some company if they tried. Even Wheat, who could be a proddy sunuvabitch without half puttin' his mind to it, would usually have some pretty little thing sittin' on his knee before the evening got too old. Underneath all that bluster, Wheat was a big man who liked the idea of taking a dainty woman under his sheltering wing.
But Kyle—poor ol' Kyle never had much luck. Now, truth be told, I can't blame the girls too much for that. For a man with a real fondness for a chaw of tobaccy, Kyle wasn't always mindful 'bout aiming for the spittoon. He never had more than a passing acquaintance with a barber shave or a haircut, and the bathhouse wasn't the first place he'd head for on a Saturday night.
Some folks said Kyle was simple—and said a lot worse, too, though not usually when Wheat was around. To my way of thinking, Kyle was that rare thing in this vale of tears: a good-hearted man. He liked to tease Heyes and Wheat by pretending to be a little slow, but the truth of it was, Kyle Murtry didn't have much of wrath and deceit in him. If it hadn't been for the war and the hard times that came after, he'd have been settled on a farm somewhere, tending his crops and raising a family and never given a minute's thought to setting dynamite or fanning a six-shooter.
But man proposes and the Lord disposes, and so young Kyle had fallen to riding the owlhoot trail with the likes of us.
On those days when the Devil's Hole gang went off hoorawing in town, things mostly fell out the same way. Curry and Heyes would scout the lay of the land, and then head on over to get a bath, while the rest of the boys went straight for the hash house. Once everybody had a good meal inside of them, we'd all mosey on to the saloon. Heyes would buy himself into a poker game, and the rest of us would go for the faro table or play some keno and drink our beer listening to the piano. At the Silver Slipper in Gila Bend, the saloon gals put on shows with singing and dancing that were always a treat to watch, what with none of them ladies wearing much except their corsets and a smile.
One by one the boys would pick themselves out somebody to take upstairs, until only Kyle would be left. (And often enough Heyes, whose one true love was always Lady Luck.) Kyle would try to make time with one girl or another, but if any other feller showed some interest, you can bet she'd be on his arm and up them stairs quicker'n you could pour a drink.
Think Kyle sometimes was mortified, but he never got riled up about it. He always made his manners, and never kicked up a fuss when some good-lookin' cowpoke cut in right under his nose and waltzed off with a gal Kyle been sparkin'.
I'm guessin' Kyle was lonely, but that's the lot of many a man out here, where the sweet comforts of home are few and far between. Sometimes he'd head out early, while the rest of us were still whooping it up. We'd get back to Devil's Hole, with our heads pounding and our mouths feeling like a dry buffalo wallow, and Kyle would be perched up at the look-out rocks, waving his hat to welcome us in. He'd sit and listen while we spun our tall tales about the money we'd spent and the girls we'd kissed, and smile a little, like he knew most of it was just hot air. Wheat would slap him on the back, and tell him he needed somebody to set him straight on how to handle fillies.
There'd be odd times instead of coming to town with us, he'd ride off into the hills by himself for a couple of days. Most of us paid no mind, though Kid Curry worried about him—he'd set aside some fried apple pies or biscuits and molasses for when Kyle came home. Reckon you could say it was Curry's way of bringin' out the fatted calf.
Heyes always said to just leave Kyle be, there was no sense in making him feel worse by letting on we felt sorry for him.
Things might have gone on that way, except a new gal came to work at the Silver Slipper, and Kyle fell head over heels.
Miss Tessie O'Sullivan wasn't any taller than Kyle, but she outweighed him by a good twenty pounds, and most of it was bosom. She had midnight black hair and sassy blue eyes, and showed off a good acre of cream-white skin when she was up there on stage. She had a right fine singin' voice, too, and it would have been sweeter yet sounding out Rock of Ages instead of Look At My Pretty Pink Garters.
That first night Kyle just sat and gawked at her all evening, eyes wide as a kid who's never even seen a candy store before. Hung round the saloon all the next day, havin' just enough short beers that nobody could run him off. As it happened, I was there when he finally got up the gumption to introduce himself to Miss Tessie. She gave him the kind of look a woman might give a wet dog, and named her price. You could just watch Kyle wilt down, like all the starch got washed right out of him.
Not that Miss Tessie didn't go upstairs with him—the lady had to make her living, after all, and Kyle's money was as good as anybody else's. But what Kyle wanted and what she had for sale were two far different things.
When we got back to Devil's Hole, Kyle was pretty quiet for a couple days. Took most of the shifts up at the lookout, and didn't have much to say 'round the dinner table at night. Cashed out of the poker game too, and that was a worryin' sign.
One evening I was setting out on the bunkhouse porch, having myself a quiet drink before bed, when Heyes and Curry came by and made themselves comfortable on the steps. Heyes was rambling about a plan for making off with a mine payroll, with Curry throwing in a grunt or asking a question every now and then that got Heyes waving his hands and talking even faster. I purt near nodded off listening—Heyes can have that effect sometimes—when Kyle came wandering round the corner and stopped at the bottom of the steps.
He tried to look like he just happened to be passing by, but the way he stood twisting his hat in his hands and shuffling his feet he wouldn't have fooled a blind schoolmarm.
"Evening, boys. Evening, Preacher.' He nodded in my direction, and I nodded back, but I could tell he barely saw me.
"Evening, Kyle. C'mon and set a spell." Curry sounded truly thankful. He'd just found somebody who could take over listening to Heyes for a while.
Heyes shut up in mid-word, and I could see him tilt his head sideways and take a long look at Kyle. He gave Curry a little elbow in the side, but Curry paid no mind, just shuffled over so Kyle could sit hisself down.
"Like to talk to you fellers for a minute," Kyle said, still twisting his hat. "If it ain't no trouble."
"Well sure!" Heyes got a big smile on his face. "We'll be glad to oblige, Kyle. What you been pondering on: cards? Guns? Safecracking?"
"Women." Kyle's voice was so low I could hardly hear him. "I mean, how to go 'bout courtin' and all."
Nobody said a word for a minute. Heyes had his poker face on, and I had a feelin' Kyle wouldn't be getting much in the way of help from him.
"Miss Tessie?" Curry finally asked.
"Uh-huh. See, Kid, you and Heyes always seem to know what to say, how to behave. Sure ain't short of company nohow. So I figure, maybe if you gave me some ideas, I'd know better how to declare myself to her."
"Kyle, no offense now," Heyes said slowly, "but Miss Tessie isn't—"
"She's a whore and I'm a train robber and there ain't no way 'round that." Kyle laughed a little, a hard dry sound that wasn't like him at all. "I'll prob'ly end up shot by some Bannerman agent, or guest of honor at a necktie party if'n my luck turns real bad. But I can't be thinkin' 'bout that all the time. Can't be thinkin' 'bout the kind of life she's had to make for herself neither."
"Look here," Heyes started out, but Curry broke in.
"Most women are partial to flowers," he said. "Roses, if'n you can get 'em, but pretty well any kind if you can say you picked them for her yourself. Tell her they remind you of her: her eyes, her smile, anything like that.
"Candy's good too, but none of them horehound drops or lemon jawbreakers Wheat likes. Women want something ladylike. Mrs. Holstead over to Copper Creek makes some right fine divinity; a little box of that might sit well with Miss Tessie."
Kyle was leaning forward, drinking in every word like Kid Curry was the prophet Isaiah. "Flowers," he murmured. "Candy. Anything else?"
"Well, you could take her for a stroll in the moonlight, or on a picnic. Nice basket of fried chicken and biscuits, a blanket under a shade tree on a sunny afternoon—can't go wrong with that."
"For Pete's sake, Kid!" Heyes snapped. "Next you'll be telling him to take her to a box social! Look here, Kyle. The way I see it, the only way you're gonna rope and brand a woman like Miss Tessie is by getting enough money to make her figure it's worthwhile to be a one man woman. And unless the gang takes out the Bank of Fort Worth that won't be happening any time soon. You're better off forgetting all about her. Not like she's the only saloon gal in riding distance."
"You finished?" Curry drawled out. There was an edge in his voice, and I knew why. Heyes liked women as well as the next man, but for him they were dessert; he could always push back from the table. For Heyes, the turn of the card or the planning of a raid were all it took to feed his hunger. Right then, Kid Curry understood Kyle a hell of a lot better than Heyes ever would, and it riled him that Heyes was making light of it all.
Heyes made a grumphing sound in his throat, pulled down his hat, and stomped off. Kyle looked after him, and then back at Curry.
"Maybe Heyes is right," he said wearily. "Ain't like I'll ever have enough saved up to satisfy a high-steppin' gal like her."
"Now, Kyle, don't be thinking like that." Curry put an arm around Kyle's shoulder. "Any woman likes to know a man thinks well of her. For more than just, you know, what money can buy. And don't you pay no mind to Heyes. He gets some right funny notions from them books of his. You let Miss Tessie know you think she's something special, and she'll come round."
Kyle tried.
He brought Miss Tessie flowers. He'd spend his whole ride to town hunting out patches of wildflowers and picking out the best of them. Once he waded right into Doc Dexter's fish-pond and brought her a whole armful of irises and water lilies.
Miss Tessie accepted them graciously, and went upstairs with a prospector who'd struck it lucky in the silver mines.
Kyle rode over to Copper Creek and brought back a box of Mrs. Holstead's divinity drops and brown sugar fudge. Miss Tessie shared it out with the rest of the girls, and went upstairs with a gambler from Carson City.
The next time we hit a train, Kyle got some right pretty turquoise earrings off a whiskey drummer. He wrapped them in a little blue silk handkerchief and brought them to Miss Tessie, proud as a tomcat rustling up a nice fat mouse.
Miss Tessie laughed. And went upstairs with the manager of the Gila Bend Commercial Bank.
Kyle didn't watch her go. He just stood there, looking down at the earrings she'd let fall on the sawdust by the bar. His face had gone real white, and I could see his hand shaking from clear over at the faro table. It weren't but a minute or two he stood like that but it seemed like a whole lot longer. If Kyle had been a different kind of man, there might've been some work for Doc Dexter that night.
Or the undertaker.
When Kyle walked out of the Silver Slipper he left the earrings there on the floor, and some drunk cowhand stepped on them not five minutes later, crushed them to splinters.
It was right painful to watch Kyle after that. On those days we'd head to town, he'd always start by sayin' he'd stay behind, do some chores or take care of the horses. But as the time to leave got closer, he'd get itchier and itchier; some days he'd change his mind—and his shirt—a half dozen times. Sometimes he'd even wave goodbye from the porch, smiling away like he had a mouth full of persimmon. But sure enough, ten minutes later, he'd come galloping after us, face all red and his hat on sideways.
It got so Heyes tried to stop going to Gila Bend at all, but the boys wouldn't go long with that nohow. Black Bear Junction just didn't have as much to offer, and, shamed as I am to say it, none of us boys had enough charity in us to put Kyle's misery over our good times. Some might even have got a laugh out of watching Kyle make a love-sick fool of himself over a fallen woman.
Not sure how long things could have gone on that way without somebody going plumb loco, but then Al Danner rode into Gila Bend and everything blew sky high.
Danner was a tall good-looking feller, pretty much the opposite of Kyle in every way. He dressed like one of them high-tone gamblers, duded up with a ruffled white shirt and a silk cravat. There was always a smell of bay rum 'round him, and Heyes spotted what he said was a real ruby in his cravat pin. He wore two guns tied down low, and everybody could see they'd had plenty of use.
And he was mean as a sidewinder with a burr stuck in his tail.
Danner was the kind as liked to run up the pot in a poker game, until some players would get over their heads and lose everything. He'd goad men into fights so he could out-draw them and make 'em crawl. And he treated the sportin' gals like dirt.
Being the devil's own, he was a good poker player and fast with a gun, so he never got the comeuppance he deserved. As a smart feller too, Danner never tried to tangle with either Hannibal Heyes or Kid Curry, though sometimes he'd watch them like a hungry dog looks at a beefsteak. You could tell he was just itching to call one of them out, but didn't quite have the gumption, and that made him even more ornery.
Between Kyle bein' all moon-calfed over Miss Tessie, and Danner parading round like he was king of the mountain, the Devil's Hole gang would have been a sight better off stayin' out of Gila Bend for a while. But pride is the downfall of every man, and Heyes had more than his share. He wasn't about to let anybody think Danner could buffalo him out of playing poker anywhere he damned well pleased, and if that meant trouble, well, Heyes always had enough confidence for any three men. I know Curry tried to talk sense into him, but when Heyes got his dander up, not even Curry could out-stubborn him.
It wasn't that Curry was worried about Danner as a gunfighter; anybody who'd watched him could see Danner didn't have a patch on Kid Curry's draw. But if Danner were to call out Heyes or one of the other boys, there wouldn't be much Curry could do.
It all came to a head in late summer. The weather was warm enough to make folks feel lazy, but not so hot as to make 'em snappish. We'd been in Gila Bend for about two days, the boys had pretty well had their fill of whiskey and gamblin', and I figured Heyes would round us up come morning to head home. So far, everything had been peaceful, and it 'peared we'd all get out of town without any trouble.
Should have remembered what the Good Word says 'bout putting the Lord God to the test.
A couple of prospectors rode in from the hills, loaded down with silver ore, and ready to make up for a long dry spell. Danner had laid low until then, but when he saw all that silver, he couldn't resist starting up a poker game, and before long the money was just a'washing back and forth across the table.
It was too much to expect that Heyes would stay out of a game that big. If looks could kill, Curry wouldn't have needed his six-gun—Heyes would have had a hole right between the eyes that minute. But Curry never said a word. His mouth tightened down hard, and he loosened his gun and followed Heyes into the saloon. I thought about it for a minute and then decided to mosey on after them. Never could tell what kind of trouble those two could get themselves into, and even the fastest gun alive couldn't stop a bullet from behind.
Kyle was already inside, looking pale and miserable. He and Wheat and Lobo were at the faro table, but nobody's heart was really in the game. Kyle kept looking over at the bar where Miss Tessie was sashaying up and down fetching drinks, and then looking away like his eyes hurt. Wheat was doing his best to distract him, but it weren't working hardly at all.
Heyes and Curry bought into the poker game, and for maybe half an hour everything went fine. Danner made a sideways remark or two, but nothing it cost anybody to let pass. Then one of the old miners in the game won a big pot, and with a curse Danner threw in his hand and went over to the bar. He called for a whiskey, still cussing and looking black as Old Nick. When Miss Tessie brought it over, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her up against him.
There's always some goings-on in saloons that ain't right decent, but Danner put his hands where they had no business going, least not out in the public bar with everybody watching. Miss Tessie tried to squirm loose of him, but he just laughed and started draggin' at her bustle like he was going to strip her nekkid right then and there. She squawked and pushed his hands away, and he laughed again and leaned in and whispered something to her that made her turn bright red.
I didn't hear what Danner said, but I didn't need to. Anything that could make a woman as worldly as Miss Tessie blush had to be something bad. If she'd just backed away from him and flounced off in a huff, it might have passed over. Danner would've bought another girl a drink, told a few more filthy jokes and either gone upstairs or back to the poker game.
Miss Tessie slapped his face.
Danner's mouth fell open, and for a second there he looked just as stunned as Kyle ever had. Then his face went twisted and ugly, and he hauled off and hit Miss Tessie hard enough he'd have knocked her clean off her feet if he hadn't had his other hand clawed into her shoulder. Her knees gave out and she slumped against the bar, blood running from her nose and the feathers in her hair flying every which way.
It all happened so fast none of us could rightly take it in.
Danner hauled her upright, his fist cocked back, ready for another punch.
"You take your hands off the lady."
For a second there, I didn't even recognize Kyle's voice. He sounded—well, hell, he almost sounded like Kid Curry. He stepped away from the faro table, pushing Wheat aside when he tried to catch his arm. Out alone in the middle of the floor, Kyle unsnapped the holster on his gun and faced Danner.
"Let her go," he said in that iron voice, and I felt a chill run down my backbone.
Danner didn't notice, or if he did, he wasn't much impressed. He gave Miss Tessie a little shove, and she sank down to her knees, her head drooping forward almost to the floor. The dripping blood made little dark circles in the sawdust underneath her.
Danner dusted his hands and made a big show of lookin' around the room.
"A lady? I don't see any ladies here, do you, boys?
"Well, I reckon that's all right," Kyle said very calmly. "I don't see a man here neither."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Curry push back his chair, and Heyes' hand whip out fast as a sidewinder to grab his arm. Curry froze; Heyes was holding him so hard his knuckles were white.
Feared as I was for Kyle, I knew what was in Heyes' mind. Kid Curry had got himself a right fine reputation as a shootist, but he wasn't a killer yet. A one-to-one throw-down over a woman was considered a fair fight, even if one of the people in it was Kyle Murtry. If Curry made it two to one, the price on his head would be for murder.
"Don't you dare, Kid," I heard Heyes mutter. "Don't you move."
"Lemme go, Heyes. I ain't watching him gun down Kyle."
But Heyes never budged.
Meanwhile, Danner had turned away from the bar and was looking Kyle up and down with a big fake smile on his face.
"So, another Don Quixote to champion Dulcinea?" he sneered.
Anybody could see that went right over Kyle's head; matter of fact, from the expressions on people's faces, I reckon only Heyes really understood what Danner had said.
"You best stand down, Danner," Heyes called out. "We don't cotton to men who beat up women in these parts."
Danner looked over at Heyes, and his smile got a lot nastier. "Talk is cheap, Mr. Heyes. You want to show your hand, be my guest. Neither you nor this little scarecrow seem like much of a challenge."
"This ain't Heyes' fight, it's mine." Under his tan, Kyle was pale, but his eyes were that same steady steel-blue Kid Curry's were before a fight. Reminded me of those stories in the Good Word about Gideon or David standing forth to smite the Philistines. Trouble was, I figured in Kyle's case a betting man would put his money on the Philistine, the Lord not being inclined to waste miracles on the likes of the Devil's Hole gang.
"If you insist."
Danner swung back to Kyle, sliding his fancy tailcoat back out of the way. In that moment he looked like a wolf on two legs, and I knew Kyle was dead.
"On the count of three?" he said silkily, and Kyle nodded.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw both Heyes and Curry twitch and then freeze. Whatever they knew or saw, it was too late to help Kyle.
Even if Danner hadn't cheated.
'Cause Danner didn't count. Didn't even try to. His hand flashed down for his gun even as he bellowed out, "Draw!"
Kyle did his best, but he was slow, slow, miles too slow. His gun hadn't cleared leather yet when Danner fired. Kyle jerked back, a bright splotch of blood high on his chest. He staggered sideways a step or two, his gun slipping out of his hand, and then his knees buckled and he keeled over.
Danner raised his gun and took careful aim, and I realized, same as everybody else, that Danner was gonna finish Kyle off. Curry wrenched away from Heyes and went for his gun. But before he reached it, there was a sound that put me in mind of a melon hitting a stone wall. Danner got a right peculiar look on his face and folded up like a lady's fan.
Behind him stood Miss Tessie, face still running with blood, the bung starter in her hand.
The whole room was dead still for a moment, and then Babel itself started up. Bleeding or not, it was Miss Tessie who reached Kyle first, slapping one of the towels from the bar over the hole in his chest and hollering for someone to fetch Doc Dexter. She was white as chalk under all the rouge and blood on her face but she held down that towel without a flinch even as Kyle's blood started to stain her fingers.
We all gathered round, feeling stunned and foolish and more than a little afraid. You'd think bein' outlaws and all, we'd be used to this, but the truth was, none of us had ever been shot before. Heyes, for all his loco ideas, wasn't a feller to play with his men's lives. Seeing Kyle, of all people, laid out like that was enough to make a man sick.
Wheat pushed through the crowd with another handful of towels and dropped to his knees on the other side of Miss Tessie.
"Get away from him," he growled, and gave her a shove. "You ain't fit to touch him."
I wouldn't have thought a live person could get any whiter, but Miss Tessie did. She lowered her eyes, but her hands didn't budge from pressing down the towel.
"Wheat." Heyes' voice was gentle. "Don't."
"He wouldn't be lying there if it wasn't for her." Wheat sounded tight and choked, a big hard man trying his best not to cry.
"You want to blame anybody, Danner's shoulders are big enough. C'mon, Wheat. Doc's coming. Let's not get in the way."
Curry and Heyes pulled Wheat upright. For a second he stood looking down at Kyle, and then his shoulders shook and his hands went up over his face. He stumbled away like a man gone blind.
By the time Doc Dexter reached us, the front of Kyle shirt was soaked with blood. Doc turned him on his side, and shook his head, swearing.
"Slug's still in there," he grumbled. "C'mon, boys, get him over to my office. Maybe I can dig it out 'fore he comes round."
Curry swiped all the glasses and cards off one of the side tables and we lifted Kyle up on it to carry him down the street. Miss Tessie stayed where she was on the floor. Once Doc got there, she'd started shaking hard enough all those cock-eyed feathers in her hair bobbed around like they were trying to fly off on their own. I don't think she could have stood up if she'd tried.
Poor Kyle never did have much luck. He came round just as we got him onto the table in Doc's office. It took four of us—me and Lobo and Heyes and Curry—to hold him down while Doc dug the bullet out of his shoulder. I tried to pray loud enough to drown out Kyle's little moans and screams, but it was still a godawful thing. Every one of us had blood splashed on him before it was over. Kyle hollered fit to bust when Doc rinsed the wound with carbolic, and then thank God passed out again. Doc whipped out the needle and thread and got him sewed up, and dosed him with enough laudanum to fell an ox.
"It's in God's hands now," he said, as he washed up. "The bullet didn't hit anything vital and Kyle's strong and healthy. If he doesn't fever up, he's got a good chance."
Doc poured us all a whiskey to settle our stomachs. Me and Lobo kept telling each other and Doc what had happened, talking over and around each other like we could change the way it came out if we just blathered about it enough. Heyes sat there with his eyes on Kyle, never taking so much as a sip of his whiskey. Curry watched Heyes.
We were all on edge enough that when somebody knocked at the door, there were four guns pointed at it fast as you could blink. If'n we'd had another whiskey in us, that door might've been shot full of holes.
Damn good thing none of us had had another whiskey, because when Doc opened the door, it was Miss Tessie on the other side. She'd washed the blood off her face and hands, and changed into a clean dress, but she still looked like nine miles of hard road. Her right eye was puffed shut and the whole side of her face was blue and swollen. Her nose was crooked and half her mouth looked raw as chopped steak.
She didn't spare a glance for any of us.
"Is he alive, doc?" She sounded like she was talking through a mouthful of corn mush.
"As well as can be expected," Doc Dexter answered. "'Pears to me you might need some tending yourself, Tess. You in much pain? Is your vision blurred? Your stomach upset?"
She shook her head slightly and winced. "Nothing time and a cold compress won't mend," she said. She tried to smile, and I could see fresh blood beading up on her mouth. "Danner ain't the first man thought I was too uppity for his liking."
"Well, let me set your nose at least. Men won't pay high dollar anymore if you look like you went a few rounds with John L. Sullivan."
"I appreciate it, doctor." Miss Tessie sort of crumpled into a chair, and cussed a blue streak while Doc straightened out her nose and probed around her eye. When he was satisfied she probably wouldn't go blind, he poured her a whiskey too, and she knocked it back in one swallow.
"That feels better," she said. She gave Curry and Heyes a sharp look. "If you boys want to vamoose, I'll sit with Kyle 'til he comes round."
You could have knocked us all over with a feather.
As usual, it was Heyes who got his voice back first.
"Now just a damn minute," he said. "Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but you haven't given Kyle the time of day in all these weeks. What brings you here now?'
Miss Tessie looked him up and down, bold as brass. "What's between me and Kyle ain't your concern."
"Far as I can see, the only thing between you and Kyle has been a few half-eagles on a Saturday night. That's not enough to make me feel real comfortable leaving you here alone with him."
"And where were you while Danner was whaling the tar out of me? Didn't see any of you big dangerous outlaws stepping up to stop him."
"That's right." Heyes nodded.
Miss Tessie drew in a sudden sharp breath. "You son of a bitch."
Heyes nodded again. "If I could have stopped Kyle without getting him killed, I would have."
"That part didn't work too well, did it?" she sneered, but I could see her mouth twisting, like only willpower kept her from crying.
Except when they're on the job, Heyes and Curry are usually peaceable easy-going fellers. It's easy to forget they've been tempered in the forge of war, and some of that tempering was harsh and unforgiving. Normally, Curry would have tried to get Heyes to ease off on a lady, but he was giving Miss Tessie the same hard look Heyes was.
"You've seen he's alive, now git." I'd seldom heard Heyes' voice so cold.
Miss Tessie opened her mouth, like she might argue, but Heyes and Curry both shook their heads. She eased up out of the chair, favoring her right side, and for the first time I could see how much of the graceful toughness that gave her so much of her charm had been beaten out of her. It was a damn shame, but one look at Kyle lying there so still was enough to remind me what it had cost.
"Heyes."
If it hadn't been so quiet, we wouldn't have heard the little murmur from the bed. Everybody turned to look down at Kyle. His eyes were cracked open a bit, all black and foggy from the laudanum.
"Kyle?" Heyes' face lit up. "Kyle, you with us?"
Kyle nodded a little, but he was looking past Heyes at Miss Tessie.
"Like for you to stay," he whispered. He turned to Heyes. "If'n that's alright by you." The hope in his voice was painful to hear.
"Kyle—"
There's not many folks who can say they've seen Hannibal Heyes at a loss for words. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and he glared at Curry, who just shrugged.
"How you feelin', Kyle?" Curry asked.
"Hurts." Kyle's eyes went back to Miss Tessie. "Sorry, ma'am. Reckon I weren't no help to you in the end." He tried to raise one hand, but it just trembled a little over the covers.
Miss Tessie brushed by Heyes like he weren't even there. "I'll stay as long as you want me to, Mr. Murtry," she said softly, and caught his hand in both of hers.
"Much obliged, ma'am."
"You hush now and rest," she said. "You'll be needing your strength back."
Kyle smiled a little, and closed his eyes. Doc pushed a chair over to the bedside and Miss Tessie settled herself down, Kyle's hand still in hers.
"Leave 'em be, Heyes," Doc said, with a warning look. "I'd rather not have Kyle getting upset right now if I can help it."
Heyes threw up his hands.
"All right, then." He pushed his hat back, and I could see him starting to think like a gang leader again, instead of an angry friend. "Kid, you and Lobo round up the boys and get back to Devil's Hole. Don't let the grass grow, neither. Somebody's bound to have headed over to Copper Creek for the sheriff. Preacher, you stay here and keep an eye on Kyle. Get him on his horse and out of town soon as he's fit to ride."
"Sure thing, Heyes," Lobo was still a tad green around the gills, but he nodded eagerly. "What are you gonna do?"
Heyes pulled off his gloves, and tucked them in his belt. "Danner should be conscious by now," he said, and headed for the door.
Curry grabbed him by the arm. "Heyes, you can't do it. Not in a fair fight."
Heyes' mouth twitched a little. "Who said anything about fair?"
Curry spun him around and put his back to the door. "You bushwack Danner and there's no going back, you know that, right? No matter what else we do, you and me'll be headed for a rope."
"He gunned Kyle down. One of my men," Heyes snarled. "Damnation, Kid, I can't let that go."
"Then I'll do it. Not like folks aren't already tellin' tales about men I killed that I never set eyes on."
Heyes shook his head. "I'm the leader of the gang. I can't ask no man to do something I won't do myself. It's my responsibility to look after the boys, and I didn't pay enough mind to Danner. Or to Kyle. And look where it got us."
Curry grabbed Heyes by the shoulders. "No. I won't let you do murder."
"Putting down a varmint ain't murder."
Watching them two try to stare each other down made me real glad that I wasn't close enough to either of them to feel obliged to interfere. If you just went by size and strength, Curry should have got his way, but Heyes had an iron will that wouldn't let him back down even when by rights he should have.
From out in the street came the sound of a shot, startlingly loud, and then a second.
We all looked at each other, wondering what in tarnation was going on now, and then Curry said real quiet-like,
"Heyes? Where's Wheat?"
By the time the sheriff came up from Copper Creek next day, it was all over but the shouting. Curry and Heyes had rounded up Wheat and the rest of the boys and high-tailed it out of town. Danner was laid out at the undertakers, and I'd bet good money more than a few folks came by just to make sure the sorry bastard was really dead. The only people left standing who had anything to do with the whole story were Kyle and Miss Tessie.
When the lawman rode back home he was mad as a hornytoad, but it weren't like he could arrest Kyle for losing a gunfight. And since Doc Dexter was willing to swear Miss Tessie been right in front of him while Danner was being helped through the pearly gates, the sheriff had to leave her be, much as he'd have liked to run her in just to make an example of her.
It took some time until Kyle was up and around. Miss Tessie fed him broth, sponged him down when he took a fever, and read to him from the newspaper. Once Kyle was feeling better they played checkers, or sometimes Miss Tessie would sing while Kyle played the jew's harp. It was her arm he leaned on to take his first walk around Doc's front porch. Watching the two of them, I was fairly certain no matter what Heyes or anybody else had to say about it, Kyle and Miss Tessie were going to reach an understanding.
I rode to town with Lobo to fetch Kyle home, so I saw how it all turned out. We'd got Kyle dressed and on his horse, and were riding out past the Silver Slipper when Miss Tessie came out on the boardwalk.
Kyle tipped his hat and pulled up, so me and Lobo had to do the same.
"Mr. Murtry," Miss Tessie said. "You're feeling well enough to leave?"
"Yes, ma'am." Kyle tipped his hat again. "And I'm much obliged to you for all the care you gave me while I was laid up."
"No trouble at all, Mr. Murtry." Miss Tessie smiled up at him, the first real and honest smile I'd seen on her. I won't say it made her look younger or prettier, like some would do in a book; fact is, it almost made her plainer. But it also made her look like the kind of woman Kyle Murtry would take a bullet for.
Kyle reached into his pocket, and then leaned down to her. His voice was clear enough to carry across the whole street as he said, "Miss Tessie, I'd be right honored for you to wear this ring as a sign of my intentions."
Miss Tessie looked at the ring he was holding out for a long minute, and everybody waited for her to laugh. Then she reached out, and took it from Kyle
"The honor's mine, Mr. Murty." He voice was as loud as his had been. "I'll be proud to wear your ring."
With us all gawking, she raised the ring and kissed it, and slipped into her bodice.
Next time we rode into town, first thing we all saw was Miss Tessie had that ring on a chain round her neck. The other girls said she wore it night and day, never took it off, even in the bathhouse. There's some who thought it was downright foolish, what with Miss Tessie still earning her living at the saloon, and Kyle riding the owlhoot trail, but nobody ever said so in front of Kyle.
A year or so after Heyes and Curry tried for the amnesty, Kyle one day up and said he'd give it a shot too. The rest of the gang laughed themselves silly, 'cause the thought of Kyle, of all people, trying to live on the straight and narrow was downright peculiar. Not like honest work and Kyle had ever had more than a noddin' acquaintance.
But be danged if'n he didn't do it. Just like Heyes and Curry, Kyle went to Lom Trevors and got him to write to the governor—Kyle not bein' what you'd call a man of letters. And to everybody's surprise, including Kyle's, he got it right off, on condition that he behave himself and keep out of trouble with the law. Course, with Kyle not being anywhere near as well known as Curry and Heyes, the price on him wasn't anywhere near as big, only two hundred dollars. And him not being the leader of the gang, or having a big reputation, the governor didn't really have much to lose one way or the other by giving him the amnesty.
So Kyle headed on down to Bisbee, and got himself a job with the mines there. Turned out the mine owners were always looking for somebody with a taste for using dynamite and not a lick of sense, which describes Kyle right down to the boot heels. Kyle might not have had much use for writing and ciphering, but he could judge space by eye like nobody else I ever saw, and he had some kind of instinct for how much dynamite to use, and where to place it, to get the most good out of it. Inside of six months they made him foreman for a whole mineshaft.
Before he left, Kyle went back to Gila Bend and had a talk with Miss Tessie. He asked her to wait for him, until he got himself settled and made enough money to build a proper house for her. Miss Tessie point-blank said no. Said she was going with him, and if they had to start out in a tent, it wouldn't be the worst place she'd ever slept.
When a woman's made up her mind to follow her man, it takes someone mighty foolish to get in her way. Kyle said if she was comin' with him, then he was making an honest woman out of her.
The whole gang went to town for the wedding and even I left the bottle behind long enough to perform the ceremony. Wheat was best man, and he took his duty seriously: he got Kyle a new hat, and dragged him to the bathhouse and the barbershop. Miss Tessie left off the powder and rouge, and wore a dress buttoned right up to the neck. After the ceremony, the girls from the Silver Slipper provided a little collation before we saw the happy couple off to the train station. The boys passed the hat before we all left Devil's Hole, and we sent them on their way to Bisbee with a enough of a nest-egg that they never did have to live in a tent.
And while I can truthfully say I've seen handsomer couples, I doubt I've seen many better suited.
The End