looks like.”
“Tall, I guess. Leastways taller’n me and you by a bit. Narrow face, long nose.”
“Nothing to distinguish him from any number of hard men in this country?”
“His left eye ain’t right.”
“How so?”
“Don’t look in the same direction as the other. Kind of all cockeyed like.”
“What’s this whore’s name?”
“Belle, I think. I ain’t certain.”
Bloodworth pushed to his feet, grimacing just a bit as his bad leg argued with him some. “Obliged, boy.” He turned and began walking away.
“Hey! Hey, mister! Wait. You can’t leave me here like this.”
Bloodworth stopped and looked back. He smiled, without warmth. “Yes, I can.”
“But …”
“I told you there wasn’t anything I could do for you. You’re dyin’, boy. Can’t stop that.”
“You could put me under, save me some pain.”
“You hurtin’ that bad, are you?”
“Yes, dammit. You know that.”
Bloodworth nodded. “I do, yep. You got a gun there. You can help yourself.” He turned and walked away. As he mounted his horse, he heard a shot.
Chapter Nine
Wichita was another booming end of the trail cowtown, much like Dodge. And like the latter city, it had its own district across the tracks where cowboys, ruffians and whores spent their time. And it was where Bloodworth expected to find Ed Tucker. He left his horse at the livery, got himself a room in a hotel in the good part of town, refreshed himself and then filled his belly with chops and rutabagas, followed by apple cobbler.
He headed across the tracks and began going from saloon to saloon. He had a bare description of Tucker, but it should be enough. At least he hoped so.
He went from bar to bar, asking about a cockeyed man at each. But none of the barkeeps seemed willing to talk. With limited funds — he had left most of his recent bounty money back in Dodge when he had ridden out in such a hurry —Bloodworth couldn’t really grease the tongues of such men, so he was left at a loss for the most part.
He finally decided that continuing doing this would be foolish and simply a waste of his time. So he started making the rounds of brothels, starting with the poorer ones. But the madams, and the girls, were no more amenable to speaking than the barkeeps had been, whether he asked for the cockeyed man or a whore named Belle. They grew especially quiet when they realized he wasn’t planning to spend any money. Again, the lack of funds prevented it, even as he considered doing so for a fling with one of the girls. One time, however, he did notice—or thought he did—a slight reaction in one of the girls’ eyes, but he could not be sure. And with Belle seemingly a common name among the fallen ladies, he could never be sure one if any of them was the right one even if someone had decided to open her mouth.
With dawn not far off, he headed back to his hotel, disappointed and annoyed.
** ** ** ** **
Fortified by a decent late breakfast of bacon, fresh hen’s eggs and a half pot of coffee, he headed for the marshal’s office.
“What can I do for you?” Marshal Royce Hobbs asked, eyeing Bloodworth suspiciously.
“Lookin’ for a fellah. Thought maybe you could help.”
“What’s this fella supposed to have done?”
“Killed a woman and bad wounded a fellah during the holdup of a stage north of Dodge.”
“What’s your interest in it? You a bounty man? I don’t much cotton to such men.”
“Yes, I’m a bounty man. And I don’t cotton to sons a bitches killin’ people on my stage.”
“Your stage?” He raised an eyebrow at Bloodworth.
“I was ridin’ shotgun,” Bloodworth spat out.
“Reckon you wasn’t doin’ a very god job of it then.” There was almost a smirk on Hobbs’ face and in his voice.
“I got three of ’em. He’s the only one left.”
“What’s this bird’s name?”
“Ed Tucker.”
“Never heard of him.”
“You’re full of cowshit,
“Tall, I guess. Leastways taller’n me and you by a bit. Narrow face, long nose.”
“Nothing to distinguish him from any number of hard men in this country?”
“His left eye ain’t right.”
“How so?”
“Don’t look in the same direction as the other. Kind of all cockeyed like.”
“What’s this whore’s name?”
“Belle, I think. I ain’t certain.”
Bloodworth pushed to his feet, grimacing just a bit as his bad leg argued with him some. “Obliged, boy.” He turned and began walking away.
“Hey! Hey, mister! Wait. You can’t leave me here like this.”
Bloodworth stopped and looked back. He smiled, without warmth. “Yes, I can.”
“But …”
“I told you there wasn’t anything I could do for you. You’re dyin’, boy. Can’t stop that.”
“You could put me under, save me some pain.”
“You hurtin’ that bad, are you?”
“Yes, dammit. You know that.”
Bloodworth nodded. “I do, yep. You got a gun there. You can help yourself.” He turned and walked away. As he mounted his horse, he heard a shot.
Chapter Nine
Wichita was another booming end of the trail cowtown, much like Dodge. And like the latter city, it had its own district across the tracks where cowboys, ruffians and whores spent their time. And it was where Bloodworth expected to find Ed Tucker. He left his horse at the livery, got himself a room in a hotel in the good part of town, refreshed himself and then filled his belly with chops and rutabagas, followed by apple cobbler.
He headed across the tracks and began going from saloon to saloon. He had a bare description of Tucker, but it should be enough. At least he hoped so.
He went from bar to bar, asking about a cockeyed man at each. But none of the barkeeps seemed willing to talk. With limited funds — he had left most of his recent bounty money back in Dodge when he had ridden out in such a hurry —Bloodworth couldn’t really grease the tongues of such men, so he was left at a loss for the most part.
He finally decided that continuing doing this would be foolish and simply a waste of his time. So he started making the rounds of brothels, starting with the poorer ones. But the madams, and the girls, were no more amenable to speaking than the barkeeps had been, whether he asked for the cockeyed man or a whore named Belle. They grew especially quiet when they realized he wasn’t planning to spend any money. Again, the lack of funds prevented it, even as he considered doing so for a fling with one of the girls. One time, however, he did notice—or thought he did—a slight reaction in one of the girls’ eyes, but he could not be sure. And with Belle seemingly a common name among the fallen ladies, he could never be sure one if any of them was the right one even if someone had decided to open her mouth.
With dawn not far off, he headed back to his hotel, disappointed and annoyed.
** ** ** ** **
Fortified by a decent late breakfast of bacon, fresh hen’s eggs and a half pot of coffee, he headed for the marshal’s office.
“What can I do for you?” Marshal Royce Hobbs asked, eyeing Bloodworth suspiciously.
“Lookin’ for a fellah. Thought maybe you could help.”
“What’s this fella supposed to have done?”
“Killed a woman and bad wounded a fellah during the holdup of a stage north of Dodge.”
“What’s your interest in it? You a bounty man? I don’t much cotton to such men.”
“Yes, I’m a bounty man. And I don’t cotton to sons a bitches killin’ people on my stage.”
“Your stage?” He raised an eyebrow at Bloodworth.
“I was ridin’ shotgun,” Bloodworth spat out.
“Reckon you wasn’t doin’ a very god job of it then.” There was almost a smirk on Hobbs’ face and in his voice.
“I got three of ’em. He’s the only one left.”
“What’s this bird’s name?”
“Ed Tucker.”
“Never heard of him.”
“You’re full of cowshit,
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