Chapter Four
O'Malley, her dependable Knight of Coins, prudence, loyalty, responsibility, was at the bar, silent and watchful as usual. Two or three gadabouts, Tully sweeping. The summer heat made the room oppressive, though a breeze was moving dust around. Rain coming for sure. She went back to check on the kitchen, stuck her head in the pantry to enumerate eggs and bags of flour, scribbled a list for Tully to take round. She was lost in thought till the sound of raised voices caught her attention. She stepped out of the larder, cocking an ear.
A scream jolted her: Lisabet's distinctive opera singer voice that she wasn't afraid to use when inconvenienced. Marie-Rose ran back through the kitchen and into the saloon. The loafers were gone; O'Malley was gone from behind the bar. She ran for the stairs, but the door to the tub room was still closed. Not him, then. She held quiet for a moment, listening. Looking about, her eye fell on Tully's broom, abandoned on the floor by the saloon entrance. She hiked her skirts and ran outside.
Just off the boardwalk that ran in front of the Astoria she saw Lisabet picking herself up off the ground. There just beyond her was Carlyle, kneeling astride a sad lump of someone flat out in the road. He was wearing nothing but his unbuttoned jeans, his lanyard, and a very angry face flecked with shaving lather. Carlyle had a hold of a grimy shirt collar, and the other arm was reared back to deliver a blow that made Marie-Rose wince even before it hit. Two other men, scraggly ranch hands by the look of them, had their hands on their guns, but were looking respectfully at O'Malley's shotgun aimed at their bellies. Tully was on the ground between them, eyes wide, blood on his face.
Belrose Ranch boys, if Marie-Rose were to guess. If they were looking to altercate, it would be fast and bloody. No one spoke a word. O'Malley stepped well clear of Lisabet, shotgun ready. Carlyle looked up, becoming aware of the little gathering of guns around him. He stayed his blow and slowly rose to his feet, wary.
There would normally be a crowd of people out and about, horses and wagons moving up and down the road, but with the strange days upon the town, there were only a few folk to be seen. The German's wife was watching from down the road, and Old Man Brubaker had come out from the feed store. He took one look and went right back inside. Weaned on a pickle, that old bastard; screw him.
Marie-Rose pulled Lisabet further out of the line of fire. The Belrose men took cautious steps back, but moving apart from each other. Tully scrambled to his feet and stood fists before him, set for a fight, but Carlyle put a tense, gentling hand on the boy's shoulder and drew him back and away. The two roughs grabbed their woozy man from the ground and dragged him off toward three horses tied up by the feed store. Marie-Rose fought the urge to grab Tully and pull everyone inside.
Lisabet was in a fit and swearing to fry bacon. "Son of a sheep-fucking shit! Just reached right over and grabbed my tit! Just like that! I was givin' him a what-for and the sidewinder just shoved me right down! Knocked me clean over!" She seemed as much surprised as outraged, oblivious to the cocked triggers around her. She beat dust off her skirts.
Her assailant was thrown up onto his horse, where he managed to keep his seat. The other two mounted and turned their horses north, riding right between the narrow gap between the feed store and the laundry. As they left, they directed baleful and threatening expressions over their shoulders, met by the stony and resolute faces from O'Malley and Carlyle. They gave a glance to Tully, exchanged a look with each other, and rode off. Still not a word had been spoken.
Lisabet was unharmed, just steamed. She sucked air, pulled out her kerchief, and stepped over to the hard-breathing Tully. "That was real brave what you did, Tully. Stepping up to those sons-of-snakes three to one." She reached for his face with her handkerchief. He shied away from the embroidered linen, wiping his nose with his sleeve instead.
"It was Carlyle saved you…" His voice was thick, and a serious swelling was forming on his jaw.
They all looked at Carlyle, who was looking like he was wishing himself elsewhere. He cleared his throat, making quick work of buttoning his jeans. Marie-Rose looked at him, then looked up at the open second floor window directly above the shingled awning of the Astoria, yellow gingham pulled out past the sash, fluttering in the wind. She looked back at him. He wiped his face a bit.
"He landed right on the crowbait son-of-a-bitch still pulling on his pants, Miss Rose," Tully said. He grinned at Carlyle, and winced in pain. Marie-Rose studied Tully's bruised jaw.
Carlyle glanced at O'Malley. O'Malley hefted the shotgun and gave a flick of his eye. Carlyle nodded at the ladies and took Tully by the arm. "You're the hero, kid, I just dropped in for the mopping up. Let's get you cleaned up." They hustled inside, Carlyle giving a last concerned look towards the now-distant riders.
"We'll go have a chat with the Sheriff right smart. Want to check on Tully first." She scanned the street as she went through the doors. Assaulting women in the streets in full daylight now. She feared for her town.
O'Malley resumed his place behind the bar, pouring a drink for Lisabet. She downed it and set to complaining about the uncouthness of menfolk these days to the professionally sympathetic O'Malley.
Marie-Rose took herself up the stairs. The door to the tub room was ajar, and she heard Tully's voice from inside.
"That was some jump, Mister Carlyle! Never seen the like!"
"Let me see that arm. That sumbitch gave you a good yank."
She stepped quietly to the door, close enough to see in but not to disturb. Tully was sitting on the bed, Carlyle filling the water basin from the ewer. He set the basin on the floor, knelt in front of Tully, and carefully helped Tully remove his shirt. He wet a cloth, and careful as a mother cat with a kitten, set to cleaning the boy's face.
"Nah, it's not bad hurt. I—ow—" Tully winced, and Carlyle leaned in to look close.
"Got your lip, pawdner. Let me look." He put his hand behind Tully's head, and gently turned it to the light. "Little split, nothing more." He carefully brought the wet cloth against it again.
"Let's hold this here a minute." Tully put his hand over Carlyle's, and Carlyle slid his out from under. He picked up another cloth, wet it, and dabbed at the back of Tully's head and the shoulder away from Marie-Rose. Must be a scrape there.
"Got reach on me, the wharf rat." Tully's voice was muffled.
"Wharf rat?"
"Miss Rose says that. She's from river folk down south."
"Gotcha."
"You got kids, Mister Carlyle?" asked Tully.
Carlyle blinked at him. "None that I know of."
Tully just smiled, shrugging slightly.
"Got a brother," Carlyle said. His voice was pitched low. "He needs patching up all the time, too."
"I got a brother. He's a horse doctor. "
"I'm no horse doctor, but I'll do my best."
Tully smiled wider.
"Where's your brother, Mister Carlyle?"
Marie-Rose sighed at his youthful indiscretion. Fifteen was still between hay and grass, but old enough to know not to ask questions that might bring painful answers.
Carlyle didn't answer right away. "We got split up a while back."
"That's a shame, Mister Carlyle. You got folk?"
"Just him and me. Let's see that hand." Carlyle lightly pressed Tully's bruised knuckles between the wet cloth.
"You two ride together?"
"Since we lost our dad. A better trail partner you couldn't find."
"Same as Willam and me. But he leaves me behind."
"You'll be grown enough soon, I'll bet."
The boy's eye had been observing. "You in the army? That's an army cap."
"Nope, just like the fit."
"You leave proper? Not on the run, are you? Anyone on your trail?" Marie-Rose pricked up her ears; Tully's indiscretions weren't as accidental as she figured.
"No, on the move, not on the run. Tracking down some lost city folk."
"So you're not an outlaw, are you? That's an Injun coat."
"Seen my face on a poster somewhere?"
"I wouldn't turn you in if you was." Tully's cornflower eyes were big as saucers and guileless as a rabbit. Wicked child. But Carlyle seemed unaffected. She was impressed.
Carlyle laughed lightly. "Thanks. Nope, not an outlaw." As he said it, a strange look passed over his face. "Not around these parts, anyway. I don't think." So, not hiding among the willows, as the saying goes, Mister Green Eyes Carlyle? she thought. Do I believe you or don't I?
Tully waited a moment before speaking again. "What's his name?"
"Sam." The saying of that name was a conjuration. It pricked her ears.
"He ain't dead, is he, Mister Carlyle? I'm powerful sorry if I'm treading heavy. Miss Rose always tells me—" Yes, I did, and you go right on ignoring me, she thought.
"No, he's… I'm sure he's fine." He concentrated on Tully's shoulder, seemed satisfied with what he saw.
"I'll bet he sore misses you just as much, Mister Carlyle."
Carlyle turned away, and then sat on the chair opposite, setting to pulling on his socks and boots. "Where's your brother, Tully?"
"He was riding up – Willam his name is – he was riding up by the Hebron ranches and then Alexandria. He's a week late. I'm thinking if you'd met a horse doctor along your way you'd have said when I said he was a horse doctor…"
Carlyle spoke soft. "Sorry, no, Tully. I came in off the range from the west. Last people I was around were Arapaho."
Tully must have twitched.
"Just traders, nothing to worry about," Carlyle said.
"Wish he'd send word. He always sends word. He'll thank you for caring for his brother like your own."
Marie-Rose couldn't see Carlyle's face, but he stopped moving briefly.
"Brave of you to take on three against one, Tully. Dumb, but brave."
"You come to the defense of womenfolk. Like you. Bet you taught Sam that."
"Our dad taught us, yeah."
"He teach you to fight?"
"That he did." Carlyle's voice was falling softer, and Marie-Rose had to strain to hear.
"Riding and shooting?"
Carlyle stood, thoughtful for a moment. "He taught us firearms, combat…"
"Poker and women?"
Carlyle was startled out of his reverie. "What? No!"
"No poker? Reverend Hilliard wants to outlaw poker. You ain't Presbyterian, are you?"
"No, we're from Kansas. Nothing wrong with poker. "
"But not women?"
"Sam never liked poker. I love it. In fact, I hear there's a game downstairs… Gimme that cloth." Carlyle seemed strangely distressed by the turn of conversation. "Our dad told us what we needed to know and didn't ask questions."
She smiled as that warning shot went far wide.
"Don't remember my pa. So you took Sam his first time?" Tully asked guilelessly.
"Took him where? First day at school? Yeah, I thought he'd cry, but he ran off—"
"First time with a woman."
Carlyle sputtered with a mix of shock and laughter. "No! No, God, no, we… It, uh, it was different where we grew up. Anyway, Sam didn't know women existed. Till college, I guess."
"He got schooling?" Tully asked.
"Yeah, a little brainiac. Okay at sports, but other kids would be playing ball or chasing—He's a bookworm." Carlyle handed Tully his shirt. "That jaw may be stiff for a day or so."
"That where he is now? In some fancy school back east?" Take more than a stiff jaw to quiet this one, Mister Carlyle, she thought.
Carlyle didn't answer.
"And you didn't teach him about women? What kind of brother are you? Bet those high-class city hookers bleed him dry for a sucker. Ain't right."
Carlyle smiled, winced at a memory, smiled again. "How old are you, Tully?"
"Sixteen," Tully said. Carlyle wrung out the towel and picked up the basin. He paused.
"Fifteen," Tully said.
"Well, plenty of time for that sort of discussion a few years down the line. When Willam thinks you're ready."
"You sure you ain't Quaker? I was ready last year."
Carlyle about spilled the water out of the bowl as he set it back on the commode. He turned to Tully, with a look on his face that had Marie-Rose near to laughing out loud.
Tully grinned cheerfully and patted the bed beside him. Little goatling was incorrigible. Never asked for favors, either, but always ready. Carlyle turned to the window and muttered, then burst out laughing and turned back, giving Tully a soft chuck on the head.
"Things sure are different here. Good for you, kid. Damn, dude, if I'd have been born—"
He saw Marie-Rose standing at the door. Tully followed his look.
"How's Miss Lisabet, Miss Rose? She hurt?" he asked. She noted the earthworks going back up around Carlyle.
"She's fine, Tully, just wet-hen irate. Now what all happened?" She advanced into the room and looked Tully over, approving of what she found, and turned to Carlyle to favor him with a look of thanks and considerably improved regard. Carlyle nodded, self-conscious.
Before Tully could start his recounting, Lisabet called from down below.
"Miss Rose! The law's here, wants words."
"Both heroes will be down presently, tell him!" Marie-Rose called back. "Let's get you buttoned up."
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