Lonesome Dove (60 page)

64

JAKE SPENT MOST of his days in a place called Bill’s Saloon, a little clapboard place on the Trinity River bluffs. It was a two-story building. The whores took the top story and the gamblers and cowboys used the bottom. From the top floor there were usually cattle in sight trailing north, small herds and large. Once in a while a foreman came in for liquor and met Jake. When they found out he had been north to Montana, some tried to hire him, but Jake just laughed at them. The week after he left, the Hat Creek herd had been a good week. He couldn’t draw a bad card, and by the time the week was over he had a stake enough to last him a month or two.

“I believe I’ll just stay,” he told the foreman. “I like the view.”

He also liked a long-legged whore named Sally Skull—at least that was what she called herself. She ran the whoring establishment for Bill Sloan, who owned the saloon. There were five girls but only three rooms, and with the herds coming through in such numbers the cowboys were in the place practically all the time. Sally had alarm clocks outside the rooms—she gave each man twenty minutes, after which the big alarm clocks went off with a sound like a firebell. When that happened, Sally would throw the door open and watch while the cowboys got dressed. Sally was skinny but tall, with short black hair. She was taller than all but a few of the cowboys, and the sight of her standing there unnerved most of the men so much they could hardly button their buttons. The majority of them were just boys, anyway, and not used to whorehouse customs and alarm clocks.

One or two of the bolder ones complained, but Sally was unimpressed and uncompromising.

“If you can’t squirt your squirt in twenty minutes, you need a doctor, not a whore,” she said.

Sally drank hard from the time she woke up until the time she passed out. She kept one of the three rooms for her own exclusive use—the one with a little porch off it. When Jake got tired of card playing he would come and sit with his feet propped up on the porch rail and watch the wagons move up and down the streets of Fort Worth. Once Sally had the alarm clocks set she would come in for a few minutes herself, with a whiskey glass, and help him watch. He had hit it off with her at once, and she let him sleep in her bed, but the bed and the privileges that went with it cost him ten dollars a day—a sum he readily agreed to, since he was on a winning streak. Once he had got his first ten dollars’ worth, he felt free to discuss the arrangements.

“What if we don’t do nothing but sleep?” he asked. “Is it still ten dollars?”

“Yep,” Sally said.

“I can buy a dern bed for the night a sight cheaper than that,” Jake pointed out.

“If it’s got me in it, it ain’t just a bed,” Sally said. “Besides, you get to sit on the balcony all you want to, unless one of my good sweethearts is in town.”

It turned out that Sally Skull had quite a number of good sweethearts, some of them so rank that Jake didn’t see how she could stand them. She didn’t mind mule skinners or buffalo hunters; in fact, she seemed to prefer them.

“Hell, I’m the only one of your customers that’s taken a bath this year,” Jake complained. “You could take up with bankers and lawyers, and the sheets wouldn’t stink so.”

“I like ’em muddy and bloody,” Sally said. “I ain’t nice, this ain’t a nice place, and it ain’t a nice life. I’d take a hog to bed if I could find one that walked on two legs.”

Jake had seen hogs that kept cleaner than some of the men Sally Skull took upstairs, but something about her raw behavior stirred him, and he stayed with her and paid the daily ten dollars. The cowboys that came through were very poor cardplayers, so he could usually make his fee back in an hour. He tried other whores in other saloons, skinny ones and fat ones, but with them a time came when he would remember Lorena and immediately lose interest. Lorena was the most beautiful woman he had ever known, and her beauty grew in his memory. He thought of her often with a pang, but also with anger, for in his view it was entirely her own fault that she had been stolen. Whatever was happening to her, it was her punishment for stubbornness. She could easily have been living with him in a decent hotel in Austin or Fort Worth.

Sally Skull had bad teeth and a thin body with no particular beauties. Her long legs were skinny as a bird’s, and she had nothing that could match Lorena’s fine bosom. If anyone said a wrong word to her they got a tongue-lashing that would make the coarsest man blush. If one of her girls got too sweet on a cowboy, which could always happen in her profession, Sal promptly got rid of her, shoving her out the back door of the saloon into the dusty street. “Don’t get in love around me,” she would say. “Go do it in the alley if you want to give it away.” Once she fired three girls in one day for lazing around with the boys. For the next week she serviced most of the customers herself.

Jake decided he was crazy for taking up with Sally—she lived too raw for him. Besides the drinking and the men, she also took powders of various kinds, which she bought from a druggist. She would take the powders and lay beside him wide-eyed, not saying a word for hours. Still, he would be awakened at dawn when she pulled the cork out of the whiskey bottle she kept by the bed. After a few swigs to wake herself up, she would always want him, no matter that she had serviced twenty cowboys the night before. Sally flared with the first light—he couldn’t think what he liked about her, yet he couldn’t deny her, either. She made a hundred dollars a day, or more, but spent most of it on her powders or on dresses, most of which she only wore once or twice.

When the Hat Creek outfit passed through, some of the men came in and said hello to Jake, but he froze them out. It was their fault that Lorena was lost, and he had no more use for them. But tales about him were told, and they soon got back to Sally Skull.

“Why’d you let that Indian get your whore?” she asked him bluntly.

“He was a tricky bandit,” Jake said. “For all I know she may have liked him. She never liked me much.”

Sally Skull had green eyes, which dilated when she took her powders. She looked at him like a mean cat that was about to pounce on a lizard. Though it was barely sunup they had already been at it, and the grimy sheets were a puddle of sweat.

“She never would mind,” Jake said, wishing the Hat Creek outfit had kept their mouths shut.

“I wouldn’t mind you either, Jake,” Sally said. “I wish I could trade places with her.”

“You what?” he asked, mightily startled.

“I’ve went with a nigger but never an Indian,” she said. “I’d like to try one.”

The news about the nigger was a shock to Jake. He knew Sal was wild, but hadn’t supposed she was
that
wild. The look on her face frightened him a little.

“You know something else? I paid that nigger,” she said. “I give him ten dollars to turn whore and then he never got to spend it.”

“Why not?” Jake asked.

“He bragged and they hung him from a tree,” Sally said. “Wrong thing to brag about in Georgia. Some of them wanted to hang me but they didn’t have the guts to hang a woman. I just got run out of town.”

That night there was trouble. A young foreman gave Sally some lip when she tried to rush him off, and she shot him in the shoulder with a derringer she kept under her pillow. He wasn’t hurt much, but he complained, and the sheriff took Sally to jail and kept her. Jake tried to bail her out but the sheriff wouldn’t take his money. “Leave her sit,” he said. Only Sally did more than sit. She bribed one of the deputies into bringing her some powders. She looked a mess, but somehow it was the mess about her that men couldn’t resist. Jake couldn’t, himself—somehow she could bring him to it despite her teeth and her oniony smells and the rest. She brought the deputy to it, too, and then tried to grab his gun and break jail, although if she had waited, the sheriff would have let her out in a day or two. Somehow, in fighting over the one gun, she and the deputy managed to shoot each other fatally. They died together on the cell floor in a pool of blood, both half naked.

The deputy had nine children, and his death caused an uproar against whores and gamblers, so much so that Jake thought it prudent to leave town. He searched Sally’s room before he left and found six hundred dollars in a hatbox; since Sally was dead and buried, he took it. The whores who were left were so scared that they hired a buggy and came with him over to Dallas, where they soon found work in another saloon.

In Dallas Jake won some money from a soldier who reported that he had met a deputy sheriff from Arkansas. The deputy was looking for the sheriff, and the sheriff was looking for a man who had killed his brother. The soldier had forgotten all the names and Jake didn’t mention that he was the man being sought. The information made him nervous, though. The sheriff from Arkansas was evidently in Texas somewhere, and might show up any time.

While he was pondering what his next move might be, a hard-looking crew showed up in the saloon where he was playing. It consisted of three brothers—the Suggs brothers. Dan Suggs was the oldest and most talkative. The younger two, Ed and Roy, were sullen and restless, always watching the doors to see who might be coming in. Dan had no interest in doors, or any apparent concern other than a need to have his whiskey glass filled rather often. All three were scraggly-bearded men.

“Didn’t you ranger?” Dan asked, when he heard Jake’s name.

“I rangered some,” Jake said.

“You run with Call and McCrae, didn’t you?” Dan said. “I’ve never met Call or McCrae but I’ve heard they’re hard men.”

It irked Jake a little that those two had such reputations. It seemed to him that he had done about as much as they had, in the rangering days. After all, he was the man who had shot one of the most famous bandits on the border.

While they talked and played cards a little, Roy Suggs kept spitting tobacco on the barroom floor. It irked Ralph, the man who owned the bar. He brought over a spittoon and put it by Roy’s chair, but Roy Suggs looked at him with a cold eye and continued to spit on the floor.

“Roy will spit where he pleases,” Dan said, with a mean grin.

“Spoon, how’d you like to be a regulator?” he asked a little later. “I recall from stories I’ve heard that you can shoot a gun.”

“What is a regulator?” Jake asked. “I’ve not heard the term.”

“Folks up in Kansas are getting tired of these Texas cattle tramping in constantly,” Dan said. “They want this trail-driving business regulated.”

“Regulated how?”

“Well, taxed,” Dan said. “People can’t go on driving cattle just anywhere. If they want to cross certain rivers at certain crossings, they’ve got to pay for the privilege. If they won’t pay in cash, then they’ve got to pay in cattle.”

“Is it the law in Kansas, or what?” Jake asked.

“It ain’t, but some folks think it ought to be,” Dan said.

“Us folks, mainly,” Roy said, spitting.

“I see,” Jake said. “If Call and Gus try to take some cattle across one of them rivers you’re regulating, then you stop ’em and tell them they have to pay? Is that how the scheme works?”

“That’s it,” Dan said.

“I’d like to see you tell Woodrow Call he has to pay you money to drive cattle across a river,” Jake said. “I ain’t a friend of the man—he’s recently treated me poorly. But unless there’s a law and you can show it to him, you won’t be collecting no double eagles.”

“Then he’ll have to suffer the consequences,” Dan said.

Jake laughed. “The consequences of that would be that somebody would have to dig your grave,” he said. “If Call didn’t shoot you, Gus would. They ain’t used to taking orders from you regulators.”

“By God, then they’ll learn,” Roy Suggs said.

“Maybe, but you won’t teach them,” Jake said. “You’d be sitting dead in your saddle if you tried it.” Though he was annoyed with Call and Gus, it amused him that three scraggly bandits thought they could beat them.

Dan Suggs was not pleased with the conversation, either. “I thought you might be a man with some gumption,” he said. “I see I was wrong.”

“I can supply enough gumption,” Jake said. “But I don’t ride with inexperienced men. If you think you can ride up to Call and McCrae and collect money from ’em with a few threats, then you’re too inexperienced for me.”

Dan was silent for a bit. “Well, they’re just one bunch,” he said. “There are plenty of other herds on the trail.”

“That’s right,” Jake said. “If I was you I’d try to regulate some of the ones that ain’t been led by Texas Rangers.”

Roy and Ed looked at him hostilely. They didn’t like hearing it suggested that they weren’t up to the job. But Dan Suggs was a cooler man. After they’d played some cards and worked through a bottle of whiskey he admitted that the regulating scheme was something he’d just thought up.

“My notion was that most cowboys can’t fight,” Dan said. “Hell, they’re just boys. Them settlers up there can’t fight, neither. A lot of them might pay us to keep the beeves out of their corn patches.”

“They might, but it sounds like you’re speculating,” Jake said. “Before I leave this here easy life to go and get shot at I’d like a little better prospect to think about.”

“How about robbing banks, if the regulating don’t work out?” Dan asked bluntly. “You got any objections to robbing banks?”

“It would depend on the bank,” Jake said. “I wouldn’t enjoy it if there was too much law stacked up against me. I’d think you’d want to pick small towns.”

They talked for several hours, Roy Suggs resolutely spitting tobacco on the floor. Dan Suggs pointed out that all the money seemed to be in Kansas. If they went up there and weren’t too particular about what they did they ought to be able to latch onto some of it.

Jake found the Suggs brothers unattractive. They all had cold, mean eyes, and no great affection even for one another. Roy and Ed almost got into a gunfight over a hand of cards. He offered to get them whores, for he had stayed friendly with several of the girls who had come over from Fort Worth, but the Suggs brothers weren’t interested. Drinking and card playing appealed to them more.

Had it not been for the threat of July Johnson somewhere around, he would have let the Suggs brothers head for Kansas without him. He was comfortable where he was, and had no appetite for hard riding and gunfighting. But Dallas wasn’t far from Fort Smith, and July Johnson might arrive any time. That was an uncomfortable thought, so uncomfortable that three days later Jake found himself riding north with the three Suggs boys and a tall black man they called Frog Lip. Jake equipped himself with a new rifle before they left. He had made the Suggs brothers no promises, and as soon as he found a nice saloon in Kansas, he meant to let them go their way.