by Purple Les
Morning came early, as it was Monday and the laundry was busy again. Mrs. Lee oversaw things there, as she always had, but now she had a staff to assist, including several former slaves.
The Kid had awakened, bathed and had breakfast. So had Arabella, who was wearing her boy clothes, as per The Kid’s instructions. May and June had eaten with them, but now were attending their lessons, as Mrs. Lee had them do every weekday. An elderly scholar from China taught the girls, in exchange for room and board.
The clothes in the bundle The Kid had given Mrs. Lee had been washed and pressed, and now The Tequila Kid was all but unrecognizable. She wore a black Victorian dress — modest, but not so much as to conceal her figure. She’d put her hair up after washing it thoroughly, then powdered her face, using extra powder on the chin to cover the tattoos.
The part she hated the most was wearing black women’s shoes, so tight that you had to use a tool to button up the sides. She spent a few minutes walking around in them, trying to make it look natural.
Her disguise was made complete with a fashionable black ladies hat, one with a heavy matching veil that hid her face, and a pair of elbow gloves, done in black silk.
She picked up a beaded ladies’ clutch, appraised herself in a mirror and finally nodded. “Guess that’ll do. “All right, Button, let’s go. You stay close to me, now.”
The Kid led Arabella by the hand through back alleys and past the outhouses and chicken coops and trash that was found behind the buildings on Main Street. They eventually emerged on Main Street, in the white part of town on the other side of the deadline. To all appearances, they looked like a young widow and her little boy.
They entered a general store. Arabella wandered around while the Kid went to the woman behind the counter.
Doing her best impression of a posh Boston accent, the Kid said, “Good morning. Could you help me, perhaps?”
The woman smiled at the young lady. “Why yes, ma’am, of course.”
“I’m from the east and am heading back home. I wanted to take a souvenir along. Is there anywhere I could purchase an Indian arrow?”
Shaking her head, the woman said, “I’m afraid not, ma’am.” Then she thought for a moment and said, “Well, there is Old Bill. He can carve almost anything. You can usually find him whittling in front of the dry goods store down the street.”
The Kid smiled beneath her veil. “Thank you, miss.”
As the Kid turned, Frank Sims came into the store. He tipped his hat gruffly toward The Kid, then sauntered over. “Mornin’, Miz Clark,” he said, “There’s a woman in town, I wonder if you happened to see her. She dresses like a man, got tattoos on her chin. Wears a pair of six-guns.”
Mrs. Clark laughed. “My goodness, no, Mr. Sims!”
“Maybe not in here, then… but around town?”
The woman shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not. I’d certainly recall someone like that. Is she… some kind of performer?”
“No, just someone I know. Thank you, good day.” With that, Sims turned to leave, tipping his hat once more to the Kid as he stalked out of the store.
Even if the clerk hadn’t used his name, The Kid would have known him to be Frank Sims. Charlie Redeye’s description matched the man perfectly, right down to his voice.
Looking around, The Kid realized that Arabella had vanished from sight. She felt a moment’s panic, but quickly found the girl — crouched behind a pickle barrel, gone pale white.
“What on earth’s the matter?” asked The Kid, hunkering down next to the trembling child. “You look like you seen a ghost.”
“Th-that man.” Arabella whispered. “Is he — is he gone?”
Glancing through the open door, The Kid saw Sims enter a nearby saloon. “He is,” she said. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Helping the girl to her feet, The Kid guided Arabella out of the general store and onto the boardwalk, then swiftly took her around the side and to the rear of the building. Luckily, no one else was there.
Kneeling before Arabella, The Kid took both of the child’s hands, gazing into her horror-struck eyes. “Who was that man, Button?” She already suspected what the answer would be.
“He… he was one of those Indians… the ones that k-killed Pa, and Ma, and m-my sister!” She burst into tears, sobbing helplessly. The Kid held Arabella to her as she cried.
Just like I thought, the Kid told herself. White men posing as Indians. Now, besides the other evidence, she had an eyewitness. But that’s got to stay a secret. I won’t risk Button’s life if I can help it.
“Listen, Button,” she said when the girl was finally cried out. “It’s good that you saw that man. Now I know who he is, I can make him pay for what he done. But till then, I need you to be brave, to help me do what it takes to bring him in.”
Arabella straightened up, sniffling. “All right,” she nodded. “My pa was a brave man… I guess I can be that way, too.” She wiped her eyes impatiently, took a steadying breath. “Okay, Kid. I’m ready.”
“You got more sand than most men I know, Button,” The Kid said. “Come on then, let’s get back to work.”
She and Arabella walked down Main Street to the dry goods store, where an old man sat on a three-legged stool, carefully whittling on a small piece of wood.
The Kid approached the man. “Mornin’, sir,” she said.
Glancing up, the man gave her a toothless smile, “Mornin’, ma’am,” he replied. “Sorry I ain’t wearin’ a hat, or I’d tip it to ye.”
“Would you be Old Bill?”
“I have to be, all right,” the old man cackled. “No one else would.”
The Kid smiled beneath her veil. “I’ve been told that you can whittle anything for a price.”
“Aye, that I can. Whatever ye can think of.”
“Have you made any arrows?”
He scratched his chin. “Not much call for that.” He paused to spit tobacco juice. “Tell ye what, though — I made a dozen or so arrows, just a while back. Wasn’t real Injun arrows, mind ye, but they was mighty good.”
“Could I see one of them?”
“Well, now. Truth is, I sold ‘em all. Feller named Sims, he had me make ‘em. I figgered that he wanted ‘em to sell hisself. Mebbe ye could look him up, see if he still has any.”
“Perhaps,” The Kid said. “In the meantime, would you make something for my son?”
“Oh, aye. What would ye like, sonny? A soldier? Or a gun? How ‘bout a horse? I got one started here.” He held up the piece of wood he’d been working on. “It’s near done.”
“Oh, yes. A horse, please!” Arabella said.
“One more thing, mister,” the Kid said. “Would you make me one of those arrows? Like the one you did for that gentleman — I’m sorry, you said his name was…?”
“Sims,” replied Old Bill. “Reckon I can, sure.”
“Can my boy wait here with you while I run an errand?” the Kid asked. “I’m sure he’d enjoy watching you work.”
“Why, sure,” Old Bill said. “So, that’s this horse”– he shaved a strip from the piece of wood — “and one Injun arrow. Be done with ‘em both in ‘bout an hour. Much obliged to ye, ma’am.”
“Thank you, kind sir,” The Kid replied, nodding her head.
Taking Arabella to one side, she bent down and whispered. “I need you to stay put for a little while, Button. I got to see some folks about that bad fella you saw. You’ll be safe here, but if anything does happen, just run on back to Mrs. Lee’s place. You ‘member where that is?”
“Uh-huh. You won’t be gone too long, will you, Kid?”
“Bout an hour, I’d say. Don’t forget, now — you’re s’posed to be callin’ me ‘Ma’, while I’m in these duds.” Patting the girl’s arm, she made her way into the street.
Three minutes later, The Kid entered the courthouse, where she gave a clerk the note from Polly. Moments later, she was introducing herself to Judge Claxton. He had the sheriff called to his office, and the three of them sat down together, laying plans.
Fifty minutes later, The Kid returned to the dry goods store just as Old Bill was making the final touches to his arrow. A moment later, he handed it to Arabella. “It ain’t quite done, mind ye. Don’t have the feathers to make the fletchin’, but other than that, it’s the same as I made for Sims.”
“Look, Ma!” Arabella cried, showing off the completed horse.
“It’s beautiful, honeybunch,” The Kid answered. “How much do I owe you, Bill? For the horse and this arrow.”
“Two bits if ye please, ma’am.” the grizzled old man answered, spitting out more tobacco juice.
The Kid handed him a dollar. Frowning, Old Bill said, “I ain’t got no change.”
“Please keep it, you’ve earned it.”
Old Bill smiled. “That’s right kind of ye, ma’am. Much obliged!”
They exchanged goodbyes, then Kid took Arabella to lunch at a cafe. Afterward they walked around Main Street, looking in windows and getting a good look at the town.
Just before two in the afternoon, they went to the courthouse and took a seat in the middle of five rows of benches. Over lunch, The Kid had explained a few details of her plan to Arabella. Now the girl was intensely interested, paying attention to everyone who entered.
A scattering of people joined them. Some came to bring matters before the judge, others were just passing the time of day. As the afternoon wore on, others came and went.
Some men took their hats off, some didn’t. A few smoked, or chewed tobacco. Judge Claxton was indifferent to the spectators, long as there was no drinking being done. Arabella noticed that the Kid had not removed her black ladies hat, so she left her own straw hat on.
Arabella had the arrow in her lap, wrapped in a piece of burlap to conceal it. She sat next to the Kid, toying with the wooden horse Old Bill had carved for her. They watched the judge handle cases from chicken thievery to public drunkenness to disputes between neighbors.
The Kid heard the bench behind her creak loudly, and looked back just enough to see that Frank Sims had come in and seated himself. Most of the crowd had already left, just a few bodies remaining in the courtroom. Two of these were the sheriff and his deputy.
It pleased The Kid to know that Sims had been turning Oak Creek upside down in pursuit of someone who been right under his nose twice that same day.
Judge Claxton banged his gavel and said, “Any more business to bring up before this court’s adjourned?”
The Kid detected it in the air before she saw him: the mingled scent of hair cologne and cigar smoke. Where’d I smell that before?
Then the source of the aroma came forward, a tall, well-dressed man who said, “Yes, your honor. I have some business matters to bring before the court.”
“Mr. Kingsley,” the judge said with a brief nod. “I see you have your lawyer with you. Please approach the bench and explain your business.”
The Kid was on edge in an instant. Kingsley. The man Polly warned me about. The one who means to take over Oak Creek. The one with four hired guns. She carefully watched as Kingsley doffed his hat and made his way up to the judge. He was clearly a man of means, done up to the nines in a charcoal-gray suit. He was accompanied by a lawyer, a thin bald man who looked as if he might keel over and die from old age at any moment.
As Kingsley quietly spoke to the judge, the Kid realized that his voice also seemed familiar. Then Kingsley’s lawyer said, “So you see, your honor, all the paperwork is in order. We just need them declared legally dead to conclude this contract.”
Then the recollection of that voice and smell came back to the Kid. The bank robber she’d taken the sacks of gold from back in Adobe Wells. Same scent, same voice. Her pulse began to race.
“Well, what sort of proof do you have that they are dead?” Judge Claxton asked.
The lawyer laid a newspaper on the desk, Putting his spectacles on, the judge quickly skimmed through the article indicated by the lawyer, then pushed it to one side. “Fine, the boy and grandmother are dead, I grant you that. What about the others?”
“I’m afraid the evidence of their demise is rather grisly, your honor — perhaps it should be reviewed privately in your chambers…?” the lawyer said.
The judge scowled. “No, it should not. If you’ve got the evidence, Finch, produce it now.” The lawyer drew close and whispered something to the judge, whose scowl grew deeper with every word. Finally, he exclaimed, “Scalps? How are we to know if they belong to the people in this claim, unless you’ve got the corpses to match?”
“Your honor,” Kingsley said. “These were given to me by a half-breed tracker named Charlie Redeye. He got them from the Indians who did the killings — at great risk of his own life, I might add. The sheriff of Adobe Wells has given us this signed document, stating that they belong to the Hodgekiss family. I also have these garments” — he took the tattered scraps of Button’s clothing from a burlap sack, placing them before the judge — “that belong to the little girl who escaped being scalped with the others. Mr. Redeye put his mark on this affidavit, swearing that he found her grave in the desert.”
The judge studied all the papers before him carefully, then asked, “Where is this Mr. Redeye? I’ll want his statement.”
“I don’t know, your honor. Mr. Sims and myself have spent all day searching for him.”
The sheriff stood. “Charlie Redeye was found shot dead this morning,” he said. There was a murmur in the courtroom. “We’ve yet to find who did the deed.” he added.
“I am most sorry to hear that.” Kingsley said. “He was a good man. Nonetheless, your honor, I’m very saddened to say that the entire Hodgekiss family is deceased, which leaves me the sole partner to the gold claim. Per the contract signed by Mike Hodgekiss and myself.”
“That’s a lie.”
There was a reaction in the courtroom as everyone looked around to see who had just spoken. Arabella was on her feet — fists clenched, cheeks flushed red, a fierce light in her eyes.
The Kid slowly slipped a hand into her bag, taking hold of the derringer as she looked back at Sims. Satisfied that the big man was keeping still, she decided to let this play out and let Arabella have the floor.
“Who said that?” the judge demanded, banging his gavel sharply.
Arabella clambered up on the bench so that she could be seen, then spoke again. “I said it, mister.”
Glancing back over her shoulder again, The Kid saw Frank Sims move to the door, blocking it. She turned to see Ramses Kingsley’s reaction — there was a thin smile on his lips, but the man’s eyes were ice cold.
Judge Claxton seemed completely bewildered. “You said it? Well, who in tarnation are you, boy?”
“I’m not a boy!” Arabella said, wrenching off her hat and shaking her long hair down. “I’m Mike Hodgekiss’s youngest daughter.” Now the courtroom was dead silent. “My name is Arabella Elizabeth Hodgekiss…”
The Kid looked around. Sims’ face had gone ashen, while Kingsley was taut with barely restrained fury.
Arabella hadn’t noticed Sims, but she stared straight at Kingsley, “…and I ain’t one bit dead.”
“You both come to my chambers.” the judge said, indicating Arabella and the Kid. “Kingsley, you and your mouthpiece, too. Pause for recess.” The crack of his gavel rang through the courtroom.
The bailiff escorted them through a door set behind the judge’s bench. Judge Claxton followed behind, pausing to speak briefly with the sheriff. Once he left the courtroom, the sheriff and deputy unholstered their guns and moved to either side of Frank Sims.
“You come with us, Sims. I got a warrant for your arrest,” the sheriff said.
“The hell you say! What’s the charge?” Sims blustered.
“Murder and robbery,” the sheriff answered. “Don’t make a fuss, Frank. Once Kingsley finds out, you might just get out on bail… if he’s willin’ to pay it, anyhow.” He gave a snort of laughter. “Oh, and I’ll also be relievin’ you of that there shootin’ iron, son,” he added, pointing to the pistol at Sims’ side.
Sims tightened his jaw as he stared at the drawn guns, then sighed. “Fine.” Slowly removing the gun from his belt, the big man presented his weapon to the sheriff, butt first. Then he allowed himself to be led from the courtroom and taken down the street to the jail.
*****
In the judge’s chamber, Kingsley paced to and fro as he said, “Your Honor, can this child prove who she says she is? How do we know that this isn’t some unscrupulous ruse, an attempt to steal this mine from its rightful owner? Mr. Redeye gave his word that Arabella Hodgekiss is dead.”
“Sit down, Kingsley,” Judge Claxton growled. “You’re stirrin’ up the dust in here.” He turned to Arabella, “Little girl, are you telling the truth?”
“I swear on my family’s grave.” Arabella solemnly said.
“Do you know the truth? Do you understand right from wrong?” Kingsley said to the child, no longer hiding his contempt.
“God and Jesus love those who speak the truth,” the child replied. “The truth sets you free. Lies make Jesus cry and fill your soul with sin.”
Kingsley was at a loss for words. “I…” He was glaring at the girl, but Arabella stood her ground.
Finch, the elderly attorney, hastened to calm his client. “Ramses…” he murmured, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder. Suddenly aware of how close he’d come to losing control, Kingsley seated himself. The judge seemed to be fighting an impulse to snicker.
“Your honor,” Finch began, turning back to the judge, “I’m sure that none of us would dispute this child’s wise words. Nonetheless, this is a court of law, and the law requires proof of some sort that she is, in fact, the daughter of Mike Hodgekiss.”
“True,” the judge said with a nod, then looked over to Arabella. “Well, child,” he said, his voice gentle, “have you some means of proving who you are?”
“Sir, I have this,” Arabella said, taking her family bible out of her coat. Bringing it forward, she handed the worn book to the judge. “Everything about my folks is in here. Ma put my name in it when I was born.”
Looking at The Kid, Kingsley’s eyes narrowed. “And who might you be — this child’s nursemaid?”
As Judge Claxton pored through the family history that was inscribed on the inside cover of the bible, he said without looking up, “You two haven’t met before? My, my. Kingsley, allow me to introduce you to the Tequila Kid.”
At first, Kingsley seemed to think the judge was joking. Then he went pale. As far as he knew, he’d already lost his stolen gold to The Kid — now she was ruining his chance of getting the gold mine as well.
Claxton was conversing quietly with Arabella, asking questions about the names and birthdates he saw in the bible. Thumbing through the volume, he found a folded piece of paper tucked inside, took it out and read what it had to say, a smile slowly appearing on his face.
“Well, Kingsley,” the judge said, “This is another contract between you and Mike Hodgekiss… dated later than the one you have. This contract supersedes that one.” The judge handed it to Kingsley’s lawyer. “What say you, Finch?”
Putting his spectacles on, the lawyer studied the document carefully, then said, “Well, now, Ramses, it appears that since the girl is alive and the sole descendent, the mine is hers. You are her partner. She gets eighty percent of the profit, with you receiving the remainder — after all taxes and expenses.”
Ramses Kingsley looked as if he had a bad taste in his mouth — but he was smiling, even if his eyes were colder than ever. “Very well.” Kingsley said, his voice gone smooth and even, “I suppose that my lawyer will be talking with you soon, Miss Hodgekiss.”
“You best have your lawyer speak with Arabella’s aunt. She’s the child’s legal guardian now,” the Kid said, taking off the ladies’ hat. The disguise had served its purpose, and she was impatient to be shut of it and back in her everyday clothes.
“That’s right,” said the judge, “Clementine DuMount is the girl’s aunt. Says so right here in this bible.” He glanced up at the lawyer. “Finch,” he said, his voice low and deadly serious, “you’re already on thin ice in my court. If I hear even a whisper about you botherin’ this here child. I’ll have your license.”
With that, Kingsley turned and stalked out of the judge’s chambers. “Er — we’ll be in touch,” the lawyer said, then hastened after his client.
Letting out a guffaw of laughter, Judge Claxton sat back in his chair. “By God, that was the first time I ever saw Ramses Kingsley get that flustered. Did my heart good.” He turned to Arabella. “Little lady, I’d like to shake your hand for standin’ up to that dirty cur.”
“Thank you, sir,” Arabella said, blushing adorably as she extended her hand to the judge.
“You deserve credit, too, Kid,” Claxton continued, looking over at The Kid. “Everything worked out just like we planned. Better, by God!” Pulling a watch from his vest pocket, he noted the time. “By now, I reckon Frank Sims is coolin’ his heels in a jail cell. When we adjourned to chambers, I let Sheriff Milligan know to hit Sims with that warrant we drew up.”
“Good,” The Kid said.
“Kid,” the judge said, shutting the watch with a snap and tucking it back in his vest. “You’d best take this child and get you gone. When Kingsley gets told that I’ve got his right-hand man locked up, he’ll be back — and madder than a wet hen, too.” He chuckled. “Wait ‘till he finds out just how high I’m settin’ Sims’ bail. Go on, now — guess how much!”
Pondering for a moment, The Kid shrugged. “Uh… five hundred?”
Another burst of laughter from the judge. “Nope… a thousand dollars, by God!”
The Kid whistled, long and low. “You sure do know how to kick a man when he’s down.”
The judge’s smile twisted into a grimace. “Some folks need to be kicked when they’re down, and believe you me, Ramses Kingsley is one of ‘em. I’m just glad to finally get a chance to make him sweat a little.” He fingered his watch again, but didn’t take it out. “Now get goin’, Kid. Take the back way. He’s gonna be stompin’ back in here any minute, and I don’t want this little lady to be here when that happens.”
“Judge Claxton, I’m mighty obliged to you.” The Kid picked up the fancy ladies hat, peered at it disdainfully and, with a sigh, placed it back on her head. “C’mon, Button,” she said.
Arabella followed The Kid to the door, then turned around to give the judge a big smile. “Thank you, sir,” she said.
Judge Claxton nodded. “The pleasure was all mine, little lady.”
Then they were gone. Settling back in his chair, Claxton took out his pipe and began to clean it, patiently waiting for Kingsley to show.
*****
The Kid’s next stop was at Doc Stone’s office. “Wait here for me,” she told Arabella when the doctor stuck his head into the waiting room. “I’ll only be a couple minutes.”
“Figured you’d be droppin’ by sometime,” Stone said as he escorted The Kid into the back, “though not wearin’ a dress, that’s for sure. You goin’ to some fancy ball tonight?”
“Didn’t want certain folks in town to know who I am just yet, that’s all,” The Kid replied.
“None of my business,” Stone said with a wink, leading her into a small room, dominated by a cloth-covered table. He whisked the cloth away, revealing the body of Charlie Redeye. “Here he is.”
“What can you tell me, Doc?”
Indicating the fatal wound with the stub of a pencil, Doc Stone said, “Shot once through the heart. Odd thing is, looks like he was shot from above. Maybe from an upstairs window.”
“Got his things?” The Kid asked. “I need to go through ‘em.”
The doctor produced a box in which he’d put Charlie’s personal belongings. The Kid saw Charlie’s medicine pouch. Most Native Americans carried one, as did The Kid herself. There was also an unsmoked cigar. Not much else. Three dollars in coin was all the money Charlie had.
The Kid held the three dollars out and said, “Can he be buried, Doc Stone?”
Doc Stone scratched behind his ear and said, “Well, I suppose so. Not in the white cemetery, but I can get him put in Boot Hill. You want a marker?”
“I reckon not. Is that enough money, Doc?”
“Depends. You want a pine box for him? Or just wrapped in canvas.”
“Canvas is fine.” She shook her head. “Charlie was a no-account son of a bitch, but I reckon he deserves to get planted in the ground, at least.”
The doctor rubbed his nose. “This’ll be enough.” He took the coins from the Kid’s hand.
The Kid put the medicine pouch and cigar into her bag, then left, saying, “Much obliged, Doc.”
*****
The next day, the Kid was glad to be back in her regular clothes and wearing her pistols again, while Arabella had given up her disguise for the blue gingham dress and bonnet that Annie Bloom had bought in Hellsfork for her.
After thanking and saying goodbye to Mrs. Lee, May and June, The Kid borrowed a horse and buggy from her old friend Pablo, pausing briefly to catch up on old times with the burly blacksmith. Once mounted, The Kid headed out to Clementine DuMount’s ranch, Arabella by her side.
As they reached the gates of the ranch, an older man on a horse rode up, blocking the buggy.
“Howdy,” he said, squinting hard at the Kid. “Is Mrs. DuMount expectin’ y’all?”
“Are you Slim Green?” Arabella asked.
The man looked her way for the first time, and his deeply lined face broke into a slow smile. “Arabella Hodgekiss? Why, land o’ Goshen! It’s been a spell. We thought you was dead, child.” His smile vanished, and he shook his head sadly. “I am sure sorry to have heard about that business. Your folks was mighty good people.”
“Thank you, Mr. Green.” Arabella gestured toward her companion. “This is my friend, the Tequila Kid. She saved my life.”
Green turned his friendly smile on The Kid, tipped his hat and said, “Pleased to make your ‘quaintance, ma’am… and many thanks for what you done for Arabella.” Climbing down from his horse, he shuffled over to the gates and opened them. “Follow me on up to the house. Child, your Aunt Clementine will be more excited than a cat in a roomful of rockin’ chairs when she lays her eyes on you!”
The old man climbed back into the saddle, and The Kid trailed behind as he led them up the road toward the DuMount house.
Clementine DuMount was on the front porch shaking out a rug when they drew near. Shielding her eyes from the late afternoon sun, she saw Slim leading a buggy with a little girl and what appeared to be a young man. Then she recognized Arabella. Dropping the rug, Clementine raced toward the buggy.
The Kid reigned the horse to a stop as Arabella jumped out and ran toward her aunt, calling, “Aunt Clem!” Clementine swept the ten-year-old up in her arms and spun her around. Arabella hugged the woman tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Clementine put Arabella down, then immediately went down on her knees and embraced the sobbing girl again, murmuring, “My poor, sweet child. We all thought we’d lost you.” Tears came to Clementine’s eyes as she drew away, gazing at her niece. “Oh, Arabella. My poor sister’s little girl. You’ve come home.”
They hugged for a while longer, then Clementine took notice of the buggy driver, who she’d first thought was a man, but was actually a tall woman dressed in men’s clothing. A white woman, who wore a pair of six-shooters and had tattoos on her chin. She put Clementine in mind of an Indian for some reason, even though she obviously wasn’t one.
Slim said, “Mrs, Clementine, this here is the Tequila Kid. Arabella says this woman saved her life.”
Clementine’s thoughts about this odd woman suddenly softened as Arabella said, wiping her tears away, “That’s for sure the truth, Aunt Clem. I would’ve died in the desert if it weren’t for The Kid.”
Clementine came over to the buggy and extended her hand. Smiling, she said, “We are forever in your debt, Miss Kid.”
The Kid took Clementine’s hand and held it for a moment, saying, “Shucks, ma’am, it was chance that brought me to her when she needed someone.”
“No,” Clementine said, “It was the providence of the Lord. We can never thank you enough. Slim, please show Miss Kid where she can put the horse and buggy. Then bring her back to the house, so she can meet the girls.”
As The Kid followed Slim off to the stable, Clementine took Arabella inside and cried, “Mimi! Susie! Come quickly!”
Two girls came running down the stairs, both of them squealing in surprise as they hastened to greet their cousin, embracing the overwhelmed little girl. It was a moment of mixed emotions — sadness for their lost relations, and joy for Arabella, that she was alive and safe after all.
The Kid hesitantly came to the door with a small valise. When she knocked, Clementine came to let her in. Arabella was busy fielding questions from her cousins.
Setting the valise down, The Kid said, “Mrs. DuMount, this here bag is all Arabella has. It’s not much, but more than when we started out together.”
“Thank you, Miss Kid. Please come in and meet my daughters.”
As The Kid hesitantly entered the front parlor, two girls eagerly approached her. Clementine put an arm over the shoulders of the smaller girl, twining the other around the waist of the older one.
The Kid studied the family with genuine interest. Clementine is downright beautiful. Full-figured, well-dressed without putting on airs. I love how she piles all that auburn hair up on top of her head. The bigger girl has her hair the same — she’s already as good-looking a woman as her mama. And that little one with the braids is cute as a baby bunny. Easy to see that they’re mother and daughters… and kin to Button.
“This is my oldest, Naomi,” Clementine said, proudly indicating the older girl, “Sweetheart, this is Miss Kid, the woman who saved Arabella’s life.” Naomi curtsied, and the Kid tipped her hat.
“Everyone just calls me Mimi. I hope you will, too.” Naomi said.
The Kid smiled. “Be glad to.” Naomi was almost as tall her mother and blossoming into a lovely woman with small, firm breasts and a nice curve to her hips. Gesturing the younger girl forward, Clementine said, “And this is Olivia Susan.”
Olivia also made a small curtsy. She looked to be just a little older than Arabella. She was adorable as could be — still girlish, but starting to bloom with hint of budding breasts.
“You can just call me Susie, like everyone else does. Thank you for saving my cousin,” Susie said, then suddenly moved forward to give the Kid a warm hug.
“It’s my pleasure to meet you folks. And there’s no need to call me ‘Miss Kid’ — just ‘Kid’ will do fine.” In spite of the family’s warm welcome, the quiet elegance of their home made The Kid all too conscious of the shabbiness of her clothing. “I reckon I’ll go get my own things out to the stable. I need to speak with Slim, anyhow.”
The girls looked at Clementine, who touched the Kid’s arm and said, “You’ll stay here in the house with us.”
The Kid looked at the floor for a moment and said, “Much obliged, ma’am, but I don’t want to put anyone out none. The stable’s more like what I’m used to.”
“I will take it as a personal insult if you spend a single night in that drafty old stable,” Clementine said, with a smile that was warm and genuine.
The Kid had to grin at that. “Well, then, I reckon I’ll accept your kind invitation, Mrs. DuMount.”
“And you can call me Clem.” Clementine said, looking at her girls. “Everyone else does.”
“All right.” the Kid said, still feeling a bit shy. “I do still need to speak with Slim, though. Pardon me, ma’am — uh, Clem, sorry. I’ll be right back.” Her cheeks were slightly flushed as she made her exit.
Catching up with Slim Green, The Kid spent a moment getting acquainted with the old hand, then asked him about the workings of the ranch. He explained that the ranch proper was a mile or so away. He and the other five hands stayed in a bunkhouse there. Slim assured The Kid that they were all fiercely loyal to the DuMounts.
“Pete DuMount was a mighty fine man,” Slim said. “Treated his men like they was family. When I busted my leg ridin’ a wild horse, he paid for the bonesetter outen his own pocket, even kept my wage comin’ while I was laid up. Damn few ranchers woulda done the same. As for Mrs. Clem… well, she’s as good a woman as I ever knowed. She’d be a catch for just about any man, and a few come sniffin’ around after Pete died. Weren’t interested in none of ‘em, though.”
“Listen, Slim,” The Kid said, “I got reason to think that Arabella could be in real danger. There’s a couple of bad men out there who’d like to see her dead… the same ones as killed her folks.”
Slim shook his head. “So they didn’t get scalped by Indians.” He gouged the ground angrily with the heel of his boot. “I ain’t surprised. Me and the boys all agreed — that story didn’t make no kinda sense.” He stared at The Kid. “Well, then, miss… what can we do to keep that child safe?”
The Kid nodded. “If you and your men could keep an eye out for strangers, that would be a big help. Also, can you spare a man to stand watch at night — maybe sound an alarm if there’s a need to?”
“That I can,” Slim replied. “We got us a big ol’ bell that you can hear right up to the house. Don’t worry, you’ll have your watchman. Anything more?”
“If any of the other womenfolk go to town, it’d be good to send a man along. Best to keep Arabella here, though.”
“Sounds like the smart play. But I gotta ask ya, miss… how long’ll we need to do this for? If we know who the killers are, can’t we put the law on ‘em?”
The Kid’s response was to take out her Texas Rangers badge and display it to the old cowhand. “The law’s already on ‘em, Slim. I just need a few days.”
He nodded, resolve in his eyes. “You got ‘em, miss.”
She extended her hand, and they shook. A good man, she told herself. Gettin’ up in years, but there’s still iron in that grip.
As the Kid and Slim exchanged goodbyes, Susie came dashing up. She said, “Ma told me I was to take you to the washhouse, so’s you could get cleaned up. She’s fixin’ chicken for dinner. Mimi’s gettin’ Arabella settled in and is helpin’ her get freshened up.” Susie took The Kid’s hand in hers and said, “Come with me!”
Now ain’t she the little charmer, The Kid thought. Taking off her hat, she said, “Sounds good. Lead the way, little lady.”
With a delighted giggle, Susie did just that.
On to Chapter Nine!