Diamond Buckow (19 page)

The force of the blow brought the nearly unconscious bar patron to his toes. While he seemed to suspend there, Diamond's straight right from the shoulder smashed his nose and dropped him to the floor.

Diamond finally saw the now unmoving form, and stared. The man's head hung down over the first step, and the rest of the stairs were crowded with onlookers. Whirling around, Diamond sought a means of escape at the other end of the hall behind him. He found the way blocked with the girls and their customers.

A gravelly voice said, “That was a right good job.”

Diamond glanced up sharply, and took in the stained white bartender's apron and its owner's half-admiring grin.

The saloon man nodded toward the sprawled fight victim. “George there's had it coming for a long time. But the best thing for you to do is be gone when he comes to, so he won't be tempted to shoot you.”

He and Diamond exchanged a brief look before the bartender turned away to herd the rest of his patrons back down the stairway. Diamond went to have a final word with Rebekah, but he couldn't find her with the others in the hall.

Of course not, he realized bitterly. She'd never get involved like that, not even for her own brother.

He strode to her door and flung it open. Rebekah was brushing her long hair before the cracked dresser mirror. In the kerosene lamplight she was nonchalant as always. Her mouth flew open to speak, but he beat her to it.

“I'll stop in tomorrow. See if you can find out what happened to my friend. Remember, his name is Jake Strickland.”

“Why, of course, Brother,” she drawled, with a smirk he'd have liked to slap off her face.

“Didn't I promise? But don't come 'til at least midafternoon. I ain't an early riser, as you probably know.”

He said no more as he closed the door behind him. Out in the narrow hall he looked first one way and then the other.

Well, there was no hope for it, Diamond concluded. Only way out was to go back through the busy tavern room downstairs. But he could see the man he'd beaten being helped to his feet by a fellow he'd briefly noticed before at the bar.

Not wanting another confrontation, he looked around for a place to wait. Just one door was open the length of the hallway. Diamond looked in to find the abused girl, who he figured must have taken another room after hers next to Rebekah's was torn apart in the melee.

“I'm sorry,” he said. He really
did
feel sorry, but he saw no way to help her.

She watched Diamond as he reached out to touch, gently, the unbruised side of her face. She didn't move or speak, and he had nothing more to say. He left abruptly and went downstairs and out of the saloon unchallenged.

Diamond spent the rest of the night walking the streets of Dodge. A series of uncontrolled thoughts teemed through his brain. He mulled first over the little soiled dove. Her bloody face, tangle of dark hair, and ripped clothing. Somehow, he knew she didn't stand a fair chance at life. Other people had done her in, just like they had him; her prostitute's sentence was at least as bad as his being hanged.

Next there was Jake, one more example to Diamond of the world's unfairness. Strickland was an outcast just because he'd tried to help another human being. And he, Diamond, was an outlaw under his real name, for trying to collect money actually owed him.

He agonized. Was what he did so much different from the way Wide Loop Thompson became such a large rancher? Anyhow, Diamond saw pretty much now how the game was played. Victory didn't necessarily go to the strongest, although he knew the importance of that strength.

But it looked even more like the man who won just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Well, if opportunity ever knocked, he'd be ready, Diamond resolved. He'd find a way to throw the door wide open without letting his self-respect escape at the same time.

A faint suggestion of light in the eastern sky made him stop walking and look around. As Diamond pondered the start of another day, an old man came along. He unlocked a door under a sign that proclaimed merely, “EATS.” The lighting of the restaurant lamps turned on Diamond's hunger and he went in.

* * *

His meal finished, Diamond wandered the streets. He considered how safe he might be, spending time in Dodge City, and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd ridden into Dodge with Glenn Saltwell's trail crew. But he remembered he hadn't felt comfortable then, either.

Diamond could again hear Nancy Blough's words. No one'd know him with his beard. If he kept it trimmed, she thought he'd look like a different man.

He now found himself in front of Henderson's General Store. Dare he test his new appearance? After all, he'd been trying to keep the face hair decent. He pushed the door open. Everything looked almost like it did when he used to stop to see Sarah Ainsworth.

Mr. Henderson stood in the same place behind the counter, and might even have been wearing the same clothes.

“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”

“Well, you know, it's coming on to winter.” Diamond forced a casual smile. “I'll need a coupla new shirts and a heavy jacket. Oh, yes, and gloves.”

The proprietor rubbed his hands together. “Right this way. I have a good selection. A few new short fleece-lined saddle coats you'll have to see to believe, and, I'm sure, the best price west of Saint Louie.”

Diamond grinned for real this time. Some things never changed, he thought—nor people, neither. He followed the store owner between the counters piled high with a wide variety of merchandise.

When Diamond entered the saloon where Rebekah worked, he was wearing a whole new outfit. In the light of day the place had lost any glitter or semblance of polish. The room was unoccupied except for a barman and the table at the back, closest to the stairway to the upper floor.

Three working girls sat eating what looked like a very late breakfast. Without their war paint, they all looked plain. But he had to give the devil his due. Had to admit his sister suffered the least when the sun came out.

Diamond ignored the bartender. The man was holding up his hand, trying to show he wasn't yet open for business.

Diamond crossed to the table. “Hello, Rebekah.”

She looked up. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Want me to throw him out, Becky?” the barkeep asked.

Diamond dipped his left side and swung around to face the man. One hand went to the butt of his sixgun while he held the other ready in front of him.

His sister barked out a laugh. “Better not, Joe. This here's Mr. Diamond. You see what he did to that bully—George-Something-Or-Other? The night man said it was all one-sided. George landed one blow, then this gentleman did all the rest.”

The man called Joe stepped back to look Diamond over.

“George deserved whatever he got,” the bartender asserted. “But that don't cut no ice with me. Give you fair warning, though. I heard George's jaw was broken. Before the doc taped it shut, he swore to kill you soon's he could find you.”

“Thanks,” Diamond said, with ice in his response. “But if he doesn't throw lead any better'n he does his fists, he'd best get a head start while my back is turned.”

The small group stared at him and he stared back. Then he looked down at his sister.

“You got what I want?”

She spoke sharply to the girls at her table. “You two are done eating. Take your coffee someplace else, I want to talk privately with Mr. Diamond. Joe, give this gentleman a cup of coffee.”

Both the soiled doves left, giving Rebekah a murderous glare. Joe turned away to do her bidding while Diamond slid into one of the still-warm chairs.

“Do all the girls here hate you, Sis?”

Rebekah shrugged. “Damned if I know, or care. If they don't like me, it's jealousy over how much money I can make in a night. And that's their problem, not mine.”

A cup of strong, hot brew appeared in front of Diamond, sparing him a nasty retort. He didn't care for his sister any more now than he had as a kid. And he sure as hell didn't pity her for a hopeless victim like the thin, beat-up little whore he'd met last night.

Rebekah spoke without preamble. “The fellow you're lookin' for—he's working as a night man at a rundown stable on the east end of town. He's sleeping days up one of the side streets, the last house. Hands who've lost their wages go there to get a cot for little or nothin'. It's kind of funny, no bar, no girls, just a place to sleep.”

“Yeah, I know,” Diamond said wryly. “I think in the past I've slept there a time or two myself. But what's the name of the stable? I stabled my horse last night and didn't see anybody around at all.”

“Damned if I know.”

The reply and shrug seemed to be Rebekah's stock answer. It annoyed the hell out of her brother.

“Anyway, it's the worst one in town. Maybe it hasn't even got a name.”

Diamond shot her a disgusted look. “All right. If I miss him one place, I'll find him at the other.”

He was halfway to the batwings when she called after him. “Oh, Mr. Diamond. Watch out for backshooters with broken jaws. Remember what happened to your father.”

He wheeled to face her, his sudden pallor proof she'd scored at getting the desired reaction. Diamond knew he had to leave in a hurry, lest his temptation to strangle the bitch be overpowering. Her strident crow's laugh followed him out of the saloon.

He decided to try the sleeping place first. The old man at the desk told him Jake Strickland had just left, that he usually spent several hours in a cheap watering hole, The Bucket, before going to his stable job come ten o'clock night. Diamond thanked the man and started out to find his friend.

The Bucket was small and dingy. Strickland leaned against the plank bar, about halfway down. He talked to nobody, just stared into his drink. Diamond stepped to one side where he could see the man well, and wondered how to approach him.

He did and didn't want the former ranching man to know him. Because if Jake didn't recognize him, how could Diamond help him? On the other hand, if recognized, how the hell safe could Diamond hope to be?

He shook off the latter fear and watched his friend. Jake had let himself go, all right. No longer the top hand in dress or manner, his clothes were filthy and in need of repair. He hadn't shaved in days.

Strickland drained the glass in front of him and thumped it down on the solid wood.

“Another, please, Whitey.”

The snowy-haired bartender came and stood facing him. “Sorry, Jake. You know I'd like to, but I can't. You just plain owe too much.”

Diamond shoved in beside Strickland and dropped a gold eagle on the plank.

“I'll pay for the one he just drank. Set him up again and bring me a beer.”

When Whitey moved away, Diamond looked at Jake, who was in turn scrutinizing him.

“Who are you?” Strickland queried. “Nobody just up and buys me a pair of drinks these days. You want something off me?”

Diamond looked long into the overcreased wrinkles, the bleary film on the gray-green eyes.

“Knew you once,” he said softly. “You were different then. Just wondered what brought you to this state.”

Strickland obviously had not lost all his fire. His voice was full of thunder and lightning.

“Lies, dirty lies—somebody's branded me so bad I can't get any kind of riding job. Used to be a top hand, but now because of all the lies I'm stuck working nights in a half-assed stable.”

The drinks came. Diamond sipped his while Jake raised his glass in a bitter mock toast.

Setting his beer down again, the younger man asked, “You got a horse, Jake?”

Strickland looked at him. “I know I know you, cowboy. I just can't remember no more, that's all.”

“Jake, do you own a horse?” Diamond persisted. “We can talk over past times later.”

Thompson's former man gave out a loud sigh. “Yeah. There's an old scrawny wreck with the P.P. brand behind the so-called stable where I spend my nights—from the ranch I used to work on, one nobody else'd have. But what's the difference? Ain't nobody'd hire me, horse or not.”

A thought struck Diamond. “If that nag'll get you out of town, I'll give you a job.”

Jake tried to blink away the whiskey blur from his eyes. “You got a ranch of your own?”

Diamond wondered if that little flash was enough to tell him Strickland was still capable of a comeback. He damned well better be, Diamond suddenly was fit to bank on it.

But Jake seemed to slip back right before his eyes. “Hell, it doesn't even make a never-mind. Soon's you hear the rumors, you'll change your tune.”

He turned to the barman. “One more, please.”

Whitey glanced at Diamond, who slowly shook his head.

“Sorry, Jake. I know you can't pay, and this here gent's already gone for two. Listen, why don't you try your friend's offer? What you got to lose? It'll do you good to get out of town, away from lies and whiskey.”

Diamond jumped in, talking low. “Rumors couldn't be worse than what's been said about me of late. My place is 'way down along the Colorado line. I hardly ever see a rider passing through, much less hear gossip. We'll head out right away, not give anybody time to tell the lies you've been jawing over.”

Strickland tried to smile.

“You'd do that for me? Why?”

Diamond looked quickly about, saw they were alone. Whitey had gone to pour for another customer at the far end of the long narrow bar. With a swift motion, he lifted his bandanna to let Jake see the chain of diamonds scarred into his throat.

“Once you tied a hanging rope that saved my life, Jake. Now I want you to come help me run my ranch. Fair's fair, wouldn't you say?”

Strickland went sober in an instant, his voice mercifully quiet but ragged with memory.