Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Red Annie.
“Don’t you be giving me that stupid look, mister. I said put it down.”
Caleb turned in time to see the bartender lower the coach gun that was pointed at his back. Near the door, the woman stood with her revolver cocked and ready. Looking at her hard, piercing eyes, no one could doubt that she was ready to kill. And she’d do it with no regret.
Caleb knew of five men for sure who had underestimated Red Annie’s ability and willingness to put a hole in them. The bartender was not such a fool.
“Lay that blunderbuss on the bar and step back,” she ordered.
He complied, raising his hands as he did so.
“Never mind that,” she barked. She waved her Colt Peacemaker at all the broken glass. “Pour two drinks, for me and him, if’n you can find one of them bottles that ain’t shot up.”
The bartender hesitated, casting an uncertain glance at Caleb.
“You heard her,” he ordered, sliding the man’s coach gun down the bar.
Red Annie O’ Neal was a tall woman, taller than most men, and as tough as buffalo hide.
She kept her fiery red hair cropped short and covered with a wide-brimmed hat the color of night.
Caleb guessed she’d once been fair skinned, but sun and wind and cold had weathered her face to a tawny gold, and wrinkles spiderwebbed from the corners of her gray eyes.
When she smiled, deep creases formed at the corners of her mouth.
She could be as intimidating as hell when she chose to be. When she was angry, those smile lines disappeared, and her eyes narrowed to slits. That’s what he and the bartender were looking at now.
For as long as Caleb had known her—about five years—he’d never seen her in anything except men’s clothes, with a brace of Colts strapped to her hips.
Right now, she was wearing buckskin trousers tucked into her boots and a jacket of elk skin that would keep out all kinds of weather.
More often than not, she was carrying a Winchester ’73, as well.
An important tool of her trade. She was known to knock back a few in a saloon now and again, but she could shoot a flea off a mule deer’s ass at two hundred yards.
She turned her gray eyes on him, and one of those creases formed at the corner of her mouth. “Good evening, Marlowe.”
Caleb nodded. “Red Annie.”
He turned to the bartender, who was wiping glistening shards off the bar before putting down two glasses.
The man had a round face with all his features jammed into the center, above a waxed moustache that spread out like curled wings.
He was bald as a baby’s behind on top with a thin fringe of stringy brown hair around the sides.
Over a brown wool vest, he wore a dingy apron and two garters up around his elbows to keep his sleeves from dragging.
They were pale green with black lace along the edges, and Caleb decided he must have stolen them from one of the whores working the bar.
“That ain’t too hospitable, shooting a customer in the back.”
The barkeep quickly poured out two brandies, avoiding Caleb’s eyes. “I weren’t going to shoot nobody in the back. Now, why would I want to kill a stranger who—”
“Hearing lies always makes my gun go off on its own,” Red Annie warned as she came to the bar. “I sincerely hope you don’t end up with a bullet hole right in the center of your forehead.”
“I ain’t lying, ma’am.” The bartender’s eyes widened as he looked down the barrel of her revolver. “I mean it, sir. I was ready to act on your side, if you needed it.”
Caleb exchanged a glance with Red Annie. They both knew he was lying.
The bystander who’d been shot had passed out, but he was still alive. He groaned as he came to, clutching his bleeding shoulder.
“Watch him,” he said to her, gesturing to the barkeep.
As he crouched next to the wounded fellow, two friends of the man approached, watching Caleb and Red Annie warily.
“He ain’t dead?” one asked.
“Don’t appear to be.” Caleb looked at the shoulder. The slug had passed through the meaty portion high on his right arm. “You got a doctor in this town?”
The men looked uneasily at each other before one answered. “There is a sawbones, but I don’t know that I’d call him a doctor.”
“Well, you better get your friend over to have him take a look.”
“Will he be able to drive his mules, ya think? This outfit don’t allow fer no lollygagging, mister.”
Caleb shrugged. “He appears to be a tough enough fella.”
The men helped the wounded teamster to his feet and led him, groaning, out the door. The rest of the Dry Bottom’s clientele were coming to life as well. Except for the dead men, who had become the center of attention for groups of gawkers.
Caleb noticed that the harmonica player and some of the patrons had slipped out.
Many had stayed, however, and were beginning to right the tables and chairs and gather up the scattered money and cards off the floor.
Others were dragging the carcasses of the dead out onto the street, where a crowd was forming.
Red Annie drank her brandy and slapped the glass onto the bar. She was glaring at the bartender. “You go out there and tell your assembled citizenry what happened. I’ll be listening, so you be sure to tell them it was six against one. And who drew first.”
As Caleb stood beside her, the barman nodded and scurried to the front door.
The first time he met Red Annie was at a stagecoach way station up in Wyoming.
He’d walked in on a fight between her and two fellas who apparently had taken exception to her wearing trousers and riding as a guard for Wells Fargo.
She had no trouble handling both of them.
Caleb had only stepped in when a third tried to get into the mix and jump her from behind.
Red Annie was one unique individual. She refused to be submissive to anyone, and she was not hesitant about putting people in their place when the moment called for it.
He’d seen her on occasion since then. About the time Caleb was wearing a star up in Greeley, she got herself a contract with the US Postal Service, working as a star route carrier.
As an independent contractor, she carried mail for them from town to town along established routes, using stagecoaches for the most part.
But where there was no stagecoach service, she carried the mail by horseback.
She was a woman who liked her life the way she lived it and was damn good at what she did. Stagecoach drivers liked having her along for her marksmanship, and road agents gave her a wide berth if they knew she was coming through.
After their first meeting, she decided that Caleb was worth being friendly with. When one of her routes included Elkhorn, she even went so far as to look him up for a drink when she passed through.
Caleb watched the cleaning up going on and drank his brandy. “Of all places, I never expected to run into a friend in Bonedale.”
“What can I say? It’s your lucky day.”
“I didn’t see you when I came in.”
She glanced around her. “I wasn’t in here when the shooting started, but I’ve been known to drink in worse shit holes.”
Red Annie said that loud enough for the bartender to hear. He’d come in from the street and was standing by the entrance, scratching his bald head and eyeing the destruction.
Caleb slapped his hand on the wood to get the proprietor’s attention.
“Two more?” the man asked, slipping around behind the bar. Broken glass crunched beneath his feet.
Caleb ignored the question. “I saw the deputy sneaking out your back door. What did he want?”
“He was searching for Mr. Starr, but he settled for talking to that first fella you gunned.”
“Is Starr around?”
The barkeep refilled the glasses. “I ain’t seen the man all day.”
“He comes in here often?”
“Mr. Starr ain’t one to drink with his employees.” He motioned to the job offer that lay in a whisky spill on the bar. “He occasionally comes over to the bar and asks me, personal-like, if anyone’s asked about his posting.”
The man’s eyes skimmed over the crowd left in the barroom, and Caleb sensed that Elijah Starr came in here more than the man was letting on.
“What’s upstairs?”
“Rooms to rent, sir. And each one comes with company.” He motioned to one of the women waiting to deal to some men who were starting to reassemble. He quickly looked up at Red Annie. “Of course…unless…unless you two are…” His stuttering trailed off.
“Why in blazes would you be wanting to stay in this fancy ass pigsty?” Red Annie asked Caleb, sending a killing look at the bartender. “I’d sooner get a room in Beelzebub’s boarding house.”
“You could try the hotel, ma’am.”
“Don’t you worry none about me,” she snapped.
Caleb pointed at the job flyer. “I’d like to talk to the man about these jobs he’s offering.”
“Are you interested?”
“Maybe.”
One of the saloon employees started spreading sawdust on the pools of blood on the floor.
Red Annie snorted mirthlessly. “Safe to say there’s six more openings?”
The barman smiled weakly and ran a hand over the top of his head. “I’ll be happy to tell Mr. Starr you’re interested when he comes by.”
He poured two more drinks for them. “These are on me.”
“So were the others,” she said.
She raised her glass to her lips, but Caleb left his.
“Thanks, Red. Gotta go.” Picking up the damp flyer, he nodded to her and started for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I wanna check on that hotel and see if Starr is staying there.”
She slid her glass across the bar. “I’ll go with you. I do hate drinking in a place where I’m the only one with any balls.”
The two of them went out onto the street. Six planks had been brought around and the bodies of the dead were stretched out on them. There was some pointing and murmuring as Caleb passed by.
The deputy was standing over the black-suited corpse, scowling fiercely in his bright green coat. When he spotted Caleb, he looked away and spat into the street.
Another time, another situation, he would have taken it up with the sleezy backstabber. But he had no time to be teaching anyone any lessons now.