Cat House

By Jack Bessie

Wyoming in 1873 was a wild place, and it got worse when a conniving rich rancher conspired to take the local whorehouse from the Madame, Miss Kitty. Sheriff Brent Hendricks, her frequent bedmate, is forced to choose between the law and his favorite female. In addition to the normal doings of scruffy desperados and rustlers, a strike by Kitty’s whores threatens to ignite a war! Can Brent spare Kitty a tragic end? You’ll be dying to see what frontier justice and two dozen naughty whores can do!

A steamy look at life on the frontier, as an amazing collection of humans struggle to get by and find life and love in a dusty and dubious town. The hard life of the women stuck being whores, while dreaming of finding that one special man who will carry them away from their present fate, will give you a reason to understand that life now days isn’t so bad! This is a deep and touching story of life, romance and the trials of existing in the old west!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jack Bessie
• Release date: Sep 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781940592176

Jack Bessie

Jack Bessie is a child of the corn belt, who grew up shy and rather isolated, chasing critters and working on the neighbor’s farm. An avid reader from an early age, he was obsessed with learning, especially science. He hated English, which is a superb irony, considering how many millions of words of prose he has written in his later life; it would appear that God does indeed have a fine sense of humor or at least a fondness for satire and irony!Jack’s college experience was fanatical and obsessive, involving ridiculously intense bouts of reading and self motivated study, interspersed with much drinking and the chasing of women. He devoted a large portion of his study to psychology and communications, dropping out without a degree, but with an astoundingly wide and deep education. He also accumulated a pregnant wife along the way. The chasing of women was productive at least!Jack’s work history is as interesting as his college journey. He’s been a hospital orderly, janitor, research assis-tant, draftsman, cook, plumber, electrician, home builder, and master cabinet maker, the trade his father plied. One of the high points of his work life involved being fired from two different but equally lousy jobs in the same day!Jack and his second wife raised five biological chil-dren, and then were crazy enough to adopt six more. He’s never been noted for moderation. They are now content to herd their cats, Beatnik, Funky Kitty, and Lucifer.Honestly, Jack hasn’t gotten any less excessive, as you might notice from reading his writing. His life has given him an endless panoply of things to make fun of and to think deeply about, which he endeavors to share with his readers and fans. The author of ten novels, and a million words of humor and insight, Jack is always writing, and has no plans to ever retire.Jack also designs games, and teaches novel writing, and is once again serving as a judge for the Global eBook awards! There’s no dust on him from sitting around!

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Jack Bessie is the creator of the website, Jack Bessie’s Duct Tape for the Soul https://www.jackofwords.com It is filled with all sorts of insightful, funny, crazy and profoundly motivating stuff!

In addition, Jack has a Tumblr Blog: Words of Bessie http://jackofwords.tumblr.com/

He’s also on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jackofwords

And on Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/jackbessie/

And he posts short stories free on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/search/jack%20Bessie

Besides his daily blog posting page that features Bessie-isms and Quoteables, you’ll discover a bunch of other pages filled with crazy and amusing features. And of course, there’s a whole section devoted to all his other books, with links to see samples and to buy them. (Authors are wicked opportunists!)

You’ll also find a Free Book Page where you can get two different free digital copies of his books each month: https://www.jackofwords.com/free-books/

All of his contact info & e-mail addresses etc. are there too He even gives you material in the Archives, for all you over busy or tardy ones. Jack and his staff are a pretty zany bunch, and you should find something that makes you laugh, giggle, cry or want to hang him. Check it out! It’s free, and worthy of being under your favorites!

Come for a nice tour, and a chance to get to know him!

A Thought

We get pretty excited about the wild west, having been plied with a million Westerns, good or bad. Like most of our history, there’s a lot of wishful thinking and pure imagination that’s found its way into what we assume to be history. Much if it is self-serving, if not downright lies.

Still, we like the story of the tough as nails cowboy who battled the land, Indians, weather, varmints and desperados, to tame the new lands, and bring civilization to the godless wilderness! That it was greed and a lot of dubious enterprise that actually got the task done isn’t something we want to hear!

We’ve turned the old west into a morality stage, where heroes battle villains to win the hand of some sweet lady. That the west began as a male filled, decadent, hard drinking and gamboling cesspool, the only ladies being whores desperate to make a living, where outlaws and rustlers were either shot dead on sight, or were hung by angry ranchers, guilt or innocence being nice to know in theory, but not all that important to establish in practice, isn’t something most people care to know.

The truth is that it was more the efforts of the whores at first, and then the arrival of women from back east, mail order brides desperate for a husband and a new life that won the west, along with a new breed of Sheriff, given a mandate to shoot or hang an unlimited number of undesirables, that civilized the west.

This is a story filled with whores and a Sheriff doing what they can to make life in their town more decent. You’d be wise to sit down, if you believe the Hollywood version of the wild west: it was a whole lot wilder and sexier than you’ve imagined!

Jack

1

Catherine Malone was walking down the dusty wooden walkway in front of the Miller’s Ridge general store, when she had the misfortune to pass the most annoying and disagreeable woman in town, that being the Judge’s wife, Ruth. Determined to be as outwardly nice as possible, just to aggravate the woman, she smiled fully and greeted her.

Good morning Mrs. Rupert! she offered.

The woman avoided looking at her, sticking her nose in the air, and muttered, "I don’t speak with whores!" emphasizing the word to convey as much disdain as possible.

Well I try to be polite, even to obnoxious bitches! Catherine called after her. She was offended at being so labeled, since technically she was not a whore. Catherine, known more commonly as Miss Kitty, was the Madame, who owned and operated the sole house of ill repute in town, that being Madame Kitty’s. That it was also, like most similar establishments elsewhere, a saloon and a dubious eatery, seemed quite important to her sense of enterprise.

That was a bit wicked! Kitty heard, and turned to find the Sheriff grinning slyly at her, gesturing at the back of the Judge’s wife.

That nasty woman called me a—a whore! Kitty declared indignantly. The lawman, Brent Hendricks, pulled his Stetson down, and hid his face, trying to conceal his wide smile. Kitty managed to give his shin a firm kick, to register her displeasure. That she was wearing a bustier that barely covered her ample bottom, and which displayed her stockings and garters quite handily, might have caused any casual observer to mistake her for one of her working girls.

Damn it! Brent sighed, emerging from behind his hat, shaking his head. He resisted the urge to bend over and rub his shin, not eager to give Kitty an even better shot at him. That they were fond of each other did little to subdue Kitty’s manner or strong and independent ways.

Serves you right! A lady expects not to be made fun of! she insisted, utterly oblivious to her naughty appearance. That she dressed like her whores, she considered simply good for business, and in fact, so well was she regarded by the town's men folk, that likely in a disaster, she would be everyone’s first choice to rescue. This did little to make the more proper women revere her. Kitty was not much inclined to care being well pleased with her business and way of life.

So what did she do to set you off, Brent wondered, besides calling you a whore?

That’s more than enough! I get so tired of her sanctimonious snottiness! She acts like she's the Virgin Mary, so perfect, so holy—so full of shit! the angry Madame declared, her dark brown eyes wide.

You'd be inclined to dispute that? Brent teased, offering Kitty his arm, intending to walk her to her place of business, and grab a bite to eat. That no one, except the Judge's wife, would consider it odd to see the Sheriff escorting the scantily clad Madame was a testament to the raw nature of their frontier town.

Kitty looked at him, a wicked grin showing.

Our Miss Proper One acted the whore, and was plowed thoroughly by more than one horny young man when she was barely fifteen! Her father pawned the pregnant little tart off on dear Mr. Rupert in exchange for a dozen head of cattle, and fifty dollars. That bitchy snob has been stuffed with more cock than a stray dog in heat! But then she got a case of Jesus, and turned into a an old time puritan! Kitty declared, a smug look of delight showing unabashedly.

"How is it that you might know such a tale?' Brent wondered, having heard no hint of such delightful gossip.

Kitty gave him a naughty smirk. My girls hear more confessions than the preacher does! Seriously! Sooner or later they get a man to tell them all the dirt. Wives would be well advised to get their man naked and half way to paradise, before asking him anything important! she laughed.

Remind me not to answer questions if I should happen to find myself in your bed! Brent sighed.

Good luck with that! Sheriff, are you hiding something from me? Kitty demanded, suddenly curious. Brent suddenly regretted teasing Kitty, her intuition and quick wit hard to evade.

Now why would you think that? he sighed.

Because you're a man—they have a decided tendency to be evasive and downright ornery about being honest with a woman—especially regarding their feelings!

You're accusing me of being a man? Brent replied, and burst into laughter. The look Kitty gave him made him calm down quickly. Kitty jerked on his arm, turning him to face her. They were passing between the general store and the bank building, in an alley where few might notice them. Kitty stepped up close, where her breasts were touching him, and put her finger on his chin.

You're quite male—I've had your organ in my hand more than once, as you well know! But just having a dick doesn't make a male be a man!

Brent had slipped his arms around Kitty, and was holding her butt with his hands.

Then what does? he asked, curious to see what she might say.

Not being afraid to say what he feels! A real man can say, I love you, to a woman, and not fall down like he just stepped on a rattlesnake! she suggested, sounding rather critical.

I'll keep that in mind! Brent suggested. This garnered him a stern look, before Kitty leaned in to kiss him. As she was fond of doing, she gave him a kiss that would have scandalized the average woman, at least any not plying the trade as a whore. When they were again walking, Brent managed to slip his hand down, and pat Kitty's soft and wide bottom.

Why do I suspect that you need some attention? You're sounding rather bitchy! he wondered as they crossed the street and went up the steps into Madame Kitty's.

Maybe I do—I'll see if I can find someone to take care of that! she snipped, giving him and angry look, before sticking her nose in the air and walking off. Brent merely grinned, delighted by her as always.

The sheriff was a regular at Kitty's place, likely spending more time there than at the jail, where his official office was located. Most of the time the jail held a noisy drunk or two, any real criminals being swiftly hung or sent off to the territorial prison. Brent accomplished more policing of the townsfolk here, where most of the men congregated, than he would have anywhere else. A casual bit of eavesdropping yielded the who, what and where to many crimes, and what he didn't hear about directly, the whores did, being inclined to share their insight with him or Miss Kitty, which was almost the same as telling him.

Brent took his normal seat, back to the wall, where he could see the main entrance, greeting any and all of the handful hanging around. One of the whores, a short and cutely chubby blond named Carol moved close, wiggling her ass with great deliberation, currently taking a turn as a waitress, the whoring being slow this early in the day.

Well, if it isn't our sexy sheriff! she gushed, grinning and looking like she'd be willing to be had on the table, if Brent might be so inclined. All of Kitty's girls adored him, and even though they knew Kitty and he were quite friendly, not a one would have said no to the chance to get him alone and sweaty. Kitty herself was to blame for their interest, having gushed a bit too honestly about Brent's abilities in bed.

So, how's Miss Carol today?

Willing—I suppose you'd rather eat than be naughty? she sighed.

You never lack for optimism, do you? he laughed, delighted as always by the young women who staffed the whore house.

Now sheriff! A whore that ain't got confidence or optimism is doomed to be a hungry one! It takes a lot more effort to get a man to be willing to part with his hard earned money than it does to get naked and play! she assured him. You want your usual? she added, not missing a beat. Brent confirmed that he did, and Carol went wiggling off, peeking over her shoulder to make sure he was watching her ass. Seeing that he was, and was smiling delightedly, she kept on going, passing through a door into the kitchen.

Before Carol returned with his ham and eggs, a couple of other patrons stood up, tipped their hats to those present, and headed towards the door. One happened to glance his way, and seeing Brent, he gestured for his companion to wait, and moseyed over, to speak with him.

Morning, Sheriff! Deke Harris offered, tipping his hat. You hear anything about what varmint took my cattle? The man owned a small ranch about five miles north of town.

I've got some suspicions, but not enough to hang anyone. What's your brand look like? Brent asked.

It's a double bar over an H—anyone seen that? Deke wondered.

Not that I've heard, but if I see any one that's been changed by rebranding, it will help me to know what yours was. I'll keep looking. I did send a letter to that cattle buyer over in Dryfus—told him to be looking for anything suspicious. He's an honest man, and won't knowingly buy or sell stolen critters!

Be nice if there were more honest ones around, wouldn't it? Deke suggested, shaking his head. Carol returned with Brent's breakfast, and a cup of coffee, and Deke took his leave, after Brent promised to keep him informed.

What's his problem—he seems unhappy? Carol wondered, watching the men leave.

Someone rustled a dozen head of his cattle, Brent sighed. You girls hear anything, I'd be much obliged to be aware of it!

Sure thing—you know we'd do anything for you! she whispered, sounding both sincere and suggestive at the same time.

I'm sure you would! Brent teased. Carol went off but soon returned, there being nothing to require her attention. Kitty soon appeared, frowning, looking at Carol questioningly.

Where's Tina? the Madame asked Carol.

She's still in her room—she's got a sick youngster! Do you want me to get one of the other girls up?

Kitty considered this a bit, before shaking her head. Carol decided to make herself scarce, as Kitty pulled out a chair, intending to sit down. Brent was busy with his meal, but he looked at her, curious to know what she was thinking.

This business would be a lot easier to operate, if the girls didn't get pregnant occasionally! she moaned.

Pussy does seem to be that way— Brent grinned. Kitty would have kicked him, but the table base was in the way.

Pussy can do just fine, until a man comes along and squirts it full of his love juice! That's when all the problems start! she complained, exasperated.

The preacher thinks all your girls should be wives, and not whores—then being pregnant wouldn't be an issue!

Fat chance of that! Are you ready to marry one of us? You do seem inclined to having us on a regular basis! Kitty demanded, giving him a wicked look. Brent hadn't had anyone but Kitty for months and months, and they both knew it.

Maybe—eventually. I'm not sure I'd make much of a husband!

Bull shit! I've got a whole building full of whores that would marry you this afternoon!

Are you one of them? he teased. Kitty's eyes flashed, before she looked away.

When she turned back, to stare at him, she whispered, I'll have you know I'm not a whore—I'm the Madame!

I'm sure the Judge's wife would see no difference, Brent suggested.

The judge's wife can kiss my cute ass! Kitty hissed.

I'm sure any number would be delighted to kiss it!

Including you? I may start charging you! If I'm going to be considered a whore, I might as well get paid! Kitty insisted, sounding serious. Seeing Brent's frown, she burst out laughing.

I'd want a discount—I'm a poor, underpaid public servant, he sighed, as Kitty laughed even harder.

2

I hope no one knows what’s going on! Word gets out about this, it will cost everyone involved a small fortune! the dour and portly man sitting at Harland Richards’ dining room declared. Buying land for this is already a pain in my ass—don’t need it to be worse! You think you can come up with what we need in town?

I don’t intend to take no for an answer, frankly, Richards quietly insisted, before taking a sip of whisky. I’m not inclined to be beaten by a woman and a bunch of whores! I’m sure I can pay her enough to make her go away. Then a bit of work, and we’ll have a good hotel and restaurant for your enterprise.

I hope you’re right—but women can be stubborn! What if she says no?

I’ll make her say yes eventually. I can exert an undue amount of influence in that shitty little town—especially since I own the Judge’s ass! Relax! Richards laughed. The man, who was named Tom Arnolds, shrugged.

The surveyors will be pushing into this region in two months—I need to have deeds in hand before they get here, or we’ll be raped for a few parcels! You hold up the people paying for this, you’ll be tarred and feathered!

I’m not worried—you just be ready to pay for all of it, and let me handle the dealing with the townspeople and ranchers. No one will want to cross me!

Hope you’re right. But don’t be too sure—guy buying land two hundred miles back east of here was hung by three dozen ranchers for trying to cheat them—at least they thought he was! Tom suggested, grinning wickedly.

That’s why I’ve got some ranch hands that are good with a gun! Mr. Richards sighed.

When his visitor was gone, Richards went out back and yelled for one of his hands. The man came running.

Whatcha need, Mr. Richards? Denny wondered.

Ride into town and tell the Judge to drag his sorry ass out here for a chat—I’ve got some business for him to conduct! Just don’t mention my visitor that just left!

Sure thing, Sir! the man agreed, and tipping his hat, headed for the barn to get his horse. He was soon gone, his departure marked by a dusty trail, which soon blew away in the light breeze.

Brent had just emerged from the general store when Denny arrived in town, and going directly to the building that housed the Judge’s office, he quickly dismounted and tied his horse to a post, before disappearing inside. Recognizing the man as one of Richards’ flunkies, Brent had decided to find a shady spot under an awning and lean against the wall, curious to see what was a foot. His dislike of the rich rancher, whom he suspected of all manner of wicked enterprise, greatly informed him to be vigilant. While he was waiting his deputy, Clem Tucker, moseyed up, and joined him.

You look serious—got your eye on something? Clem wondered, trying to see what his boss was so interested in.

Brent nodded towards the horse and building across and down the street.

Richards’ man just rode in, went into the Judge’s place. I find that suspect, Brent replied quietly.

You’d find one of his men taking a piss to be suspect! You really don’t like him, do you? Clem observed, grinning.

No—I guess I don’t much care for anyone who uses their money to trample other people, especially little folk. I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if the rich ones ate each other, but they don’t—they tend to gang up on everyone else. Hanging one of them’s always a good time! Brent laughed.

You’d have a lot of friends in this place if you could manage that. Everybody what ain’t on his payroll hates that bastard! Besides, if’n he was to be hung, his two daughters would be orphans, since their momma died. Be a whole lot of men folk here about eager to sortta adopt one or the other of them!

Now why might that be? Brent wondered, wanting to force Clem to declare his thoughts.

You ain’t seen them? Oh, man! They’re both built like a first class marble outhouse! Cute and yummy as could be! If’n Miss Kitty had em, the other poor girls would starve! Clem laughed.

Do tell! Brent chuckled, well aware that Clem was likely correct. Well, well! Don’t stare, but Denny just came out of the building, and the Judge was right behind him!

Giving Clem a quick gesture with his head, Brent turned to walk slowly down the street, with Clem beside him. Denny was busy watching other riders and wagons, and paid them no attention. Four buildings further along, they could look down an alleyway, to see the stable behind the Judge’s building. A bit of patience soon revealed the judge emerging, leading his horse, and once outside, he quickly mounted, and headed off in the same general direction that Denny had ridden, but going down the back street between the stable and main buildings.

Whatcha make of that, Sheriff? Clem wondered.

I’d say Mr. Richards has summoned the Judge for a consultation. He’s likely up to no good, as usual, Brent replied, pulling his hat off and wiping his forehead. I’m sure we’ll hear what in due time! How’s the jail?

Just the usual hung-over drunks—everything’s quiet.

Good, let’s go grab some vittles!

Where? Clem teased, knowing Brent would choose none other than Miss Kitty’s. Brent said nothing, but flicked Clem’s Stetson off his head, and laughed at his deputy’s quick contortion to catch it before it hit the ground.

Don’t pay to be a smart ass! Brent advised him, grinning wickedly.

They found Kitty’s place to be busy, any man who had the choice eager just to be around her group of whores. Kitty had long ago discovered that men liked to be waited on by her scantily clad girls, whom she had well trained to be warm and flirty. The girls were all inclined to rub their bottoms against the men as often as possible, and never got mad when being fondled and caressed. They managed to frequently turn such attention into interest in paying for some more serious entertainment, either then or in the evenings.

Walking in, Brent and Clem quickly surveyed the crowd. Several of the whores noticed him, and were all eager to get him in their part of the joint, so they could flirt and tease; Knowing he was sleeping frequently with their employer did nothing to dissuade them from trying their charms on him, as they all adored him. When four men stood to leave, freeing up a table against the wall in the back, a well endowed brunette named Sharon looked likely to wet herself, motioning for Brent and Clem to come over, as she hastily cleared the table. Clem nudged Brent with his elbow.

I sure wish all that enthusiasm was for me! he sighed.

I’m sure it is! Brent laughed.

Brent barely managed to sit down, when Sharon slipped onto his lap, a naughty smirk displayed fully on her face.

I’m not on the menu, but you could still have me! she suggested, her voice sultry and suggestive.

I’d have to have a note from Kitty, before I took you up on that! Brent laughed. Sharon looked disappointed about three seconds, before giving him a slutty kiss.

You’re making my poor deputy jealous! Brent suggested. This got Clem sat on and kissed, before Sharon hopped up to go get them something to drink.

She’s a bit of a tart! Brent suggested, amused by his deputy’s mesmerized appearance. She’s worth the quarter she charges, trust me! Brent suggested, winking at Clem.

And how might you be so sure of that? Clem wondered.

I pretty much tried all the girls, before all their gushing and flattery regarding me got a certain Madame interested. She’s sorta been hogging my attention ever since.

Don’t see you complaining all that much! You oughta marry her!

Marry who? the voice of Kitty declared from behind Clem. She had silently stepped close and Brent had not given a hint to his deputy that she was near. Clem whipped around to find Kitty, arms crossed and shoe tapping the floor looking like she might skin him alive, if he answered wrong.

Why you! Dang sheriff is plumb crazy about you or I’m an idiot! the hapless deputy declared. A glance back at Brent showed him he had handily put himself astraddle of an awkward fence. Maybe I should just go hang myself! he sighed.

Now you might be onto something! Brent suggested, winking slyly at Kitty, who seemed less than amused.

Maybe we need to have a chat? Kitty asked, suddenly pulling out a chair and sitting, perching her elbows on the table and sitting her chin on her hands.

Maybe I should get enough rope for you too? Clem snickered, delighted to see Brent as the object of Kitty’s curiosity. Before Brent could respond a group of men burst through the doors, agitated and upset.

Anybody seen the Sheriff? one named Calvin loudly called out.

Over here! Brent yelled, waving his hat. He recognized the men as ranch hands and workers from a ranch north of town. All were decent, honest cowboys, little inclined to be causing trouble. Still, Brent kept his hand on his gun just in case.

What’s up? he asked, as the men wove their way through the crowded tables.

Calvin had his hat off, wiping sweat with a bandana.

We were a comin’ back from takin’ fifty head of cattle up to Ford’s Creek when we spotted a stray horse offin’ the trail. Seemed odd, seein’s how it was saddled and had saddle packs on it. We slowly rode over, just to see, and we found Earl Larcome a layin on the ground! I got down to check him out, and found a big old bullet hole in his back, when I turned him over. He’s pretty stiff, so he’s been there a while. Thought you might like to ride out and see aforin yourself!

What about his saddle packs? Did they look pilfered? Brent wondered, concerned that this was robbery.

Can’t say they had been. Nothing left a danglin’ for sure. Can’t see a robber bein’ all neat and tidy, can you? Oh, but his pockets were turned out! Shirt was loose too!

Brent glanced at Kitty, who nodded.

He was here last night—let me go check my girls! she declared quickly, and got up. Kitty talked to four of her whores, before nodding, and dragging one over, and pointing at the open chair.

Helen, was Earl Larcome with you last night?

Yes! What’s wrong? He spent an hour, and left—maybe about midnight!

You notice anything odd—like him having a bunch of money?

Not much—he’d won a few dollars playing cards, before he picked me. Well, he did have a money belt on, under his shirt! He didn’t even take that off when we were—you know! she said, grinning, before becoming serious. What’s wrong?

Nothing, other then him being dead about five miles north of town—big old hole in his back, and no sign of his money belt—right boys? Brent wondered. The men nodded. Sharon arrived with his and Clem’s food, puzzled by the crowd at Brent’s table.

Give me a minute to eat a bite, and we’ll ride out there, Brent suggested, and the men nodded, heading for the bar to grab a drink.

Kitty will inform you! Brent suggested to Sharon.

You don’t think it’s my— Helen began, but Brent shook his head.

I’m inclined to look elsewhere! he assured the nervous whore. They hated to lose a paying customer under such conditions.

We’ll have to talk later! Brent suggested, glancing at Kitty.

Oh, we will—can assure you of that! she proclaimed, before walking regally away.

Better let me hang you! Clem suggested, snickering at Brent’s expression.

3

The ride out to where Earl’s body had been found was slow and leisurely, since they were accompanying a wagon and team, which would haul Earl back to town, and into the hands of the dentist and undertaker, Brett Tarkington. Calvin had been in the lead, trying to keep his bearings in the dusty wilds. He finally waved his hat and pointed, and moved off the trail, before dismounting. The rest of the party was soon stopped, near Earl’s body.

Well, at least there ain’t any buzzards around! Calvin observed, scanning the sky, holding his hat to shield his eyes from the burning midday sun. At least he didn’t leave! he joked, before putting his hat back on, and waiting for Brent to comment.

The sheriff was busy, scanning around the area, trying to see where an assailant might have hidden. There were several possible hills or rises, where a robber might stay mostly concealed. Having determined this, he turned his attention to Earl’s body, squatting down to look closely at the hole in his back, and the blood that had stained the ground as well as the man’s clothing.

He dropped and never moved—ou just rolled him over?

Sure did—you can see where he bleed out, lying on his back! Pretty wicked bastard, shoots a man in the back! he added, stating a common prejudice. Whatcha thinkin’?

If he was shot while riding, going north, his killer had to be behind him some where. See that hill back there, where the trail bends? Man with a rifle could easily hit a man from there. I’m going over, and see what I can find. Go ahead and load Earl up— he declared, absentmindedly, starting off towards the place that had his eye.

At the hill, Brent walked slowly, eyes fixed on the ground. The dry grass was interspersed with bare patches, and it was these that interested him. He finally noted marks in the dirt, and knelt to get a closer look. He continued forward on his hands and knees, and finally reached for an object in the dirt.

Find anything? Clem called, curious to know why Brent was crawling around on the ground. Brent stood, and headed back to the men. He held his palm out, displaying a shell casing.

What in hell’s name kind of gun shoots that? Clem asked, amazed. Instead of brass, the casing appeared to be made of copper.

Henry rifle! They made a bunch of them for the Civil War, and the surplus was sold west. The Indians ended up with a bunch of them—damned traders sold them to ‘em. I got shot with one of them, when I was in the Calvary! Brent explained.

They ain’t all that common anymore, are they? Calvin wondered, wiping his forehead.

No, and if we find someone out here with one, I’d have some serious questions for him!

Could an Indian have shot him with one? Clem wondered.

"Not likely—they aren’t inclined to wander down this way, even to hunt.

Anything else? Clem wondered, pointing back at the small hill.

As a matter of fact, there is—boot prints and marks—two different heel marks, one of which is small—like a woman’s— he ended, considering what that implied.

Think a woman’s out here being a desperado with some man? Calvin wondered.

Either that, or one got taken along for the ride—hard to say without knowing more. Let’s get old Earl back to town—he’s got relatives out east. I’ll have to let them know he’s dead, if the gossip hasn’t done so already.

When they arrived back in town, the wagon stopped at Tarkington’s place, and Brent went on down the street to Doc Miller’s small office. Brent found the doctor sitting with his feet up, reading a paper that was weeks old, having come from Denver and been passed around.

Got a job for you! Brent declared.

Whatcha need, Sheriff? Doc Miller asked.

Need you to go to the undertaker’s place and dig the bullet out of Earl. Try to be as neat as possible, but I want to know what he was shot with. I got a cartridge casing, looks to be from an old Henry, but I want to see the slug—might tell me where it came from!

Really? How’d you get to be so knowledgeable?

"Damned Indian shot me with one! Kinda made me curious about the danged guns!

Imagine it would! Where’d he get plugged?

Back—didn’t come out the front, so it’s in there some where— Brent suggested, as the Doctor nodded, and reached for his bag of instruments. Doc—afor’ you cut him open, stick something in the bullet hole, to see what angle the bullet came from. I’d be much obliged to know that!

Sure thing! the doc replied, and went off. Brent led his horse further south, and across the street, to tie it in front of the Sheriff’s office. He found Earl’s brother Marcus inside, waiting.

Sheriff! What going on? We heard someone shot my brother, Earl! the man, a ranch hand on the Wilson Baker spread, demanded. His face held worry and hope both, wanting the rumor he’d heard not to be true.

I’m sorry, Markus, but it’s no rumor. Calvin Jacobs and three others found him this morning, on their way south from Ford’s Creek. Some one shot him once in the back—apparently to rob him—any idea why he was heading north?"

Well, hell, that’s just—just—damnit, Brent, Earl wasn’t no saint, but he didn’t deserve to be shot like a dog! the man cried, outraged.

I don’t think so either. I’d like to catch the varmint that did it, but that won’t be easy. Any idea where he was going? Brent asked again.

Hell—I have no idea. He asked the bossman for a couple of days off—not much going on right now on the ranch, and we just assumed he wanted to come to town to drink and have some pussy!

Well, he did that.—was at Kitty’s place—won a few dollars at poker, and spent an hour with one of the girls. Then rode off. The whore said he was wearing a money belt, and wouldn’t take it off.

Money belt? Earl ain’t got two nickels to rub together most days! He’s always broke between paydays—booze and whores! If he had a money belt on, someone gave it to him! Marcus insisted, shaking his head in disbelief. Where’s he at?

The undertaker’s. Doc Miller is trying to find the bullet for me, but I told him not to get carried away hackin’ around. Figured you’d at least want to have a nice funeral for him.

Marcus nodded, and went out, thanking Brent for his honesty.

Marcus? Brent called before the man cleared the sidewalk. Anyone comes asking you about Earl’s demise, and especially about a money belt, I’d be mighty obliged if you could tell me who it is. The man nodded, and went off.

Brent determined that the man he’d locked up the night before for being drunk and trying to start a fight was sober, and no longer a problem. He turned him loose, much to the man’s surprise.

Ain’t gonna fine me? he asked, finding this odd.

Don’t have to—your woman will make you suffer enough for not coming home last night! Brent laughed, knowing the man’s wife would in fact be well able to do so.

Maybe I should just stay in jail— the man sighed, before going out the door. Clem had wandered in, and seeing the sad look on their former guest’s face, he couldn’t resist a snide comment.

Bet old Clint will wish you’d hung him, time Olivia gets done with his ass!

Now deputy, are you saying she’s a bit bitchy—more than the average woman?

Clem looked at