Further Adventures of James Butler Hickok (9781101601853) (13 page)

FORTY-SIX

Clint removed Hannah's underwear and took her in his arms. Her skin was creamy smooth, and fragrant. He pressed his lips to her shoulders, her neck, and then her breasts. She shuddered, and her flesh became dappled with goose bumps.

“I have a confession to make,” she murmured.

“Hmm?”

“I traded seats.”

“What?”

“I traded seats with a fat woman so I could sit next to you and meet you.”

He drew his head back and stared at her.

“Oh, I didn't know who you were,” she said. “I just thought you were . . . interesting, and you were. Are.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her hard.

“And now,” she said, starting to unbutton his shirt, “you have entirely too many clothes on.”

He stood still and allowed her to undress him. Then she took hold of his penis and led him to the bed.

“I'm not exactly inexperienced at this,” she said.

“I can see that,” he said, looking down at himself in her hand.

“But I'm not a whore either.”

“I never would have thought that.”

“If I was a whore,” she said, “I would have done this last night, when I wanted to.”

“That wouldn't have made you a whore either.”

“No?”

“No,” Clint said.

“What, then?”

“Well,” he said, “it would have made us both happy.”

She smiled and said, “We can make each other happy now.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

They made love eagerly, fell asleep, then woke and did it again, more slowly. Her nipples were extremely sensitive, and when he spent enough time on them with his mouth and teeth, she began to squirm. Then when he slid his hand down and touched her between her legs, she gasped and shuddered. Once he realized how truly sensitive she was, he was able to play her body like a musician plays a violin.

She lay in his arms later and said, “I've never known a man to be so gentle, so knowing. You've been with a lot of women, haven't you?”

“I've been with a few.”

“I'll bet,” she said. “A man like you, who loves women the way you do, I'm sure you can't keep them away from you. That must be what I felt when I saw you at the theater. I'm very glad I traded tickets with that fat woman.”

“I am, too,” he said, “or I might be in bed with her right now.”

She laughed, punched him playfully, then relaxed and fell asleep in his arms.

* * * 

He woke up the next morning early enough to slip from her bed and go to his own room to pack. He'd been in New York only a couple of days, and now he was headed to Philadelphia.

When he got to his room, he washed up, changed into fresh clothes, and then packed his bag. He missed being on horseback, and now that he'd agreed to go to Philadelphia, it would be even longer before he got back to Duke.

He sat for an hour, alone with his thoughts, before leaving his room and going to get Hannah.

She was dressed, looking lovely and refreshed when she opened her door.

“Let me take your bag,” he said. “We'll meet the others in the lobby.”

She put her arm through his and they went down.

* * * 

Cody, Texas Jack, and Hickok were in the lobby. Hickok looked like he'd spent a rough night, and he was complaining about not getting any food.

“Didn't Jack tell you we'd be eatin' breakfast on the train?” Cody asked.

“He did,” Hickok said, “but I'm hungry now.”

“Well then, you eat here and meet us at the station,” Cody said. “Don't miss the train.”

“I won't,” Hickok said. He looked at Clint. “You hungry?”

Clint looked at Cody, who nodded.

“Starving,” Clint said.

“Jack and me will see that Hannah gets to the train,” Cody said.

Hickok started for the dining room. Cody grabbed Clint's arm and said, “Don't let him miss that train.”

“I won't,” Clint promised.

He followed Hickok.

FORTY-SEVEN

“This was a mistake,” Hickok said.

“I told you to have steak instead of ham.”

“No, not the breakfast,” Hickok said. “The food is fine. I mean comin' here and bein' in Cody's show. It was a mistake.”

“You've only done two performances, Bill,” Clint said. “Give it time.”

“It was everythin' I could do not to shoot out that light again last night.”

“It's good that you didn't do it,” Clint said. “Each one of those lights costs Cody money.”

“It's his own damn fault,” Hickok said. “It was his idea for me to come here.”

“Maybe he needs your help, Bill.”

“How do you mean?”

“Maybe the show is in trouble, and he needs you to draw some people.”

“That ain't the way he put it when he sent me that telegram.”

“Well, Cody's proud,” Clint said. “He wouldn't just come out and ask for help, would he?”

“Well, if that's the case,” Hickok said, “why don't
you
get onstage?”

“Oh no, not me,” Clint said.

“Why not?” Hickok asked. “Because you see what a monkey I look like when I'm up there?”

“It's got nothing to do with the way you look up there,” Clint said. “It's just—well, me. I've got no desire to be a stage performer.”

“Well, I didn't either,” Hickok said, “but if Cody's show is in trouble like you say, it would sure help him to have you in it.”

“I'm not Wild Bill Hickok,” he said. “If you can't save his show, nobody can. Besides, I am helping him.”

“How?”

“By getting you to that train on time,” Clint said. “So eat up!”

* * * 

They made it to the platform just as the train was pulling out. They hopped on board and looked at each other. They knew if they had missed the train, they never would have heard the end of it from Cody.

They walked through the train, found Texas Jack and Hannah sitting in the dining car eating breakfast, and joined them.

“Just coffee,” Clint told the waiter.

“Me, too,” Hickok said.

“Where's Cody?” Clint asked.

Texas Jack looked up from his eggs and said, “Cody took his breakfast to his compartment. He's makin' some changes in the show for Philadelphia.”

“Then maybe he's writin' me out,” Hickok said.

“Nonsense,” Hannah said. “A few more sessions with me and you'll be perfect.”

“Is that so?” Hickok asked. “You either have a lot of confidence in me, or a lot of confidence in yourself, Miss Hannah.”

“Maybe both, Mr. Hickok,” she said.

After Clint had finished a cup of coffee, he said, “I better go and tell Cody we're here so he can stop worrying.”

“He's in compartment four, two cars on,” Texas Jack said.

“Any of the rest of us have compartments?” Clint asked.

“Bill's in five, Hannah's in six.”

“You don't have a compartment?” Hannah asked Jack.

“Don't need one,” Jack said. “I just need someplace to sit.”

“I'll be back,” Clint said.

When he got to compartment four, he knocked. Cody slid the door open and said, “Come on in.”

Clint entered, slid the door closed. Cody sat back down by the window.

“You made it,” he said. “Bill with you?”

“He is.”

“Have a seat.”

Clint sat on a bunk.

“I'm writing a bigger part for Hannah.”

“Why?”

Cody looked up from the work.

“What?”

“I said, why? Is she that good?”

“She has some talent,” Cody said, “but I want to keep her around to work with Bill. How did breakfast go?”

“He's thinking about leaving.”

Cody didn't look happy.

“Ah, damn. What will he do?”

“I don't know,” Clint said. “Go back west, I guess.”

“He'll get himself killed,” Cody said. “His eyes are bad, Clint, and getting worse. He's just gonna get himself killed.”

“Is that why you want him with the show?” Clint asked. “To save him?”

“What did you think?”

“I don't now,” Clint said. “I told him maybe the show was in trouble, and you needed him to save it.”

Cody thought about that, raised his eyebrows.

“That's good,” he said. “Let him think that. Let him think that he's helpin' me. Maybe that'll make him stay.”

Cody went back to writing. Clint got up and walked to the door.

“Cody.”

“Yes?”

“Has he seen an eye doctor?”

Cody looked a him.

“He won't,” he said. “I think he's afraid of what he might find out.”

“Maybe we can get him to see one,” Clint said.

“Yes,” Cody said, “yes, maybe between us, we can convince him.”

FORTY-EIGHT

Cody's show had two performances in Philadelphia. Clint watched them both from backstage, standing at enough of an angle so that the spotlights didn't spoil his vision of the audience.

Hannah was very good in her larger part. During the day she worked with Hickok, who became slightly less wooden in his performance, but the audiences didn't seem to care. After all, they were seeing Wild Bill Hickok. Maybe even word about his shooting out the spotlight had reached them. They could always hope.

The second night Clint was standing backstage with Texas Jack, watching Hickok onstage, when something occurred to him.

“Jack.”

“Yeah?”

“Did Cody arrange for that shot in New York?”

“Why would you ask a fool question like that?” Jack asked.

“He wants Bill to stay with the show.”

“And you think he'd take a bullet to make that happen?”

“If he thought it would keep Bill alive, maybe,” Clint said.

“And who would Cody trust to make a shot like that?” Jack asked. “In the dark, and in a crowd?”

Clint couldn't answer.

“I'll tell you,” Jack went on. “He'd trust three men—you, me, or Bill. And none of us took that shot, right?”

They were all on the street at the time, so Clint said, “Right.”

“There ya go.”

They watched a bit more of the show and then Clint spoke again.

“If he did arrange for that shot, would you tell me?” he asked.

Jack hesitated a moment, then said, “No.”

“That's what I thought.”

But Jack had made a valid point. Who else would Buffalo Bill Cody trust to make a shot like that? So maybe it wasn't him.

But nobody took a shot at Cody or Hickok in Philadelphia, and from there they took the train to Boston.

Clint was sitting in a passenger car when Hannah came along and sat next to him.

“I expected you to visit my compartment on our way to Philadelphia,” she said.

“Somebody might have seen,” he said. “That wouldn't be good for your reputation.”

“Same thing on this trip?”

“Yes.”

“What about at the hotel?”

“Cody asked me to make sure nobody shoots any of his actors,” Clint said.

“Doesn't that include me?”

“It does.”

She put her hand on his arm.

“Couldn't you keep me safe while you're in my bed?”

“Oh yeah, I could do that,” he said with a smile. “You'd be safe.”

She squeezed his arm.

* * * 

They rode in silence for a while, and then Hickok joined them.

“Are you ready to run some lines, Bill?” she asked.

“Not right now, Miss Hannah,” he said. “I just wanted to talk to Clint for a few minutes.”

“I can take a hint,” she said. She stood up, said, “Gentlemen,” and left them alone.

“What's on your mind, Bill?”

“I'm leavin' the show, Clint.”

“When?”

“After Rochester.”

“Why?”

Hickok took out a telegram and handed it to Clint. It was from General Phil Sheridan, requesting that Hickok join him at Fort Laramie.

Clint handed it back.

“You going to scout with those eyes, Bill?”

“My eyes are fine,” Hickok said, putting the telegram back in his pocket, “as long as nobody's shinin' a light in 'em.”

“When will you tell Cody?”

“In Rochester, after the performance,” Hickok said. “That is, if you don't tell him first.”

“I won't,” Clint said. “It's not my business, Bill, it's yours.”

“That's what I thought,” Hickok said. “Thanks. Well, now maybe you'll have some second thoughts.”

“About what?”

“Joinin' the show after I leave.”

Clint was about to reply when Hickok tipped his hat down over his eyes.

FORTY-NINE

They did two performances in Boston without incident. Hickok didn't shoot out any lights, and nobody took a shot at him or Cody.

They had only one performance in Rochester, New York.

“The theater manager said we have a sellout,” Cody said at breakfast the morning of the show.

“Don't you always?” Clint asked.

“Pretty much.”

“Then I guess your show's doin' pretty good,” Hickok said to Cody.

“We're doin' fine,” Cody said.

“Then maybe it's time I tell you somethin',” Hickok said.

That got the attention of everyone at the table—Cody, Texas Jack, Hannah, and Clint.

“What's on your mind, Bill?”

“I'll be leavin' the show when we get back to Manhattan,” Hickok said. “Phil Sheridan needs me at Fort Laramie.”

“Sheridan's a good man,” Cody said.

“Yeah, he is.”

“Is this somethin' I can talk you out of?” Cody asked.

“I don't think so.”

“We're doin' well, Bill,” Cody said. “I could give you more money, if that's it.”

“The money ain't important to me, Cody,” Hickok said. “It never was.”

“I know that, Bill,” Cody said. “I just hate to lose you.”

“Don't worry,” Hickok said. “I'll do my best for you tonight.”

“I ain't worried, Bill.”

“I'm gonna go and make arrangements for a train,” Hickok said, standing. “I'll be leavin' tomorrow.”

Hickok left, and they sat in silence for a while.

“Can't you stop him?” Hannah asked.

“You can't stop Hickok when he makes up his mind, ma'am,” Texas Jack said.

“But . . . he's getting so good.”

The men laughed, and Cody said, “No, he ain't.”

“Does this mean—do I still have a job?” she asked.

“Of course you do, Hannah,” Cody said. “Don't worry about that. I hired you because you have talent.”

She was relieved.

“Let's finish up, people,” Cody said. “Jack, we got work to do.”

“To replace Hickok?” Hannah asked.

“Yes,” Texas Jack said.

“What about Clint?” Hannah asked.

“I already asked Clint,” Cody said. “He's not interested.”

She turned to Clint and put her hand on his arm.

“You wouldn't like to be onstage with me?” she asked.

“It's not that,” he said. “I don't want to be onstage, period. And if Hickok's leaving, then so am I. We don't have to worry about somebody taking a shot at him.”

“What about Colonel Cody?” Hannah asked. “He's the one who was shot.”

“The bullet wasn't meant for him,” Clint said. “Besides, he and Texas Jack can take care of themselves. Isn't that right, Cody?”

“It's right,” Cody said.

Clint stood up and said, “I'll see you all at the theater tonight.”

He went to make his own arrangements for a train out of New York. It was about time . . .