'It keeps my weight down. I never thought it would do anything else,' said Craig.
'Forgive me,' said Simmons, 'but will poor Charlie be unconscious for long?'
'He will unless somebody helps him,' said Craig, and Simmons waved for the barman.
'Those shells are blank, you know,' said Simmons.
'Five of them are. The sixth one was under the hammer,' Craig said, and threw it over to Simmons, who caught it neatly.
'When that one came out of your back it would leave a hole the size of a teacup.'
'Yes indeed. How very nasty,' Simmons said. 'Charlie must have overlooked it when we left the firing range. He really is very careless.'
'Doubtless he'll learn in time,' said Craig.
He went back to the party, that was minding its own business of propositioning women. Tempest sat alone at a table, repairing her damaged makeup.
'I suppose it's thank-you time,' she said.
'There's no need,' said Craig. 'He asked for it. By the end I enjoyed giving it to him.' He leaned toward her and spoke softly. 'Anyway I should be saying thank you for keeping quiet.'
'We like you,' she said. 'You're not like the other—'
She started to speak again, and Craig shook his head, as Simmons and the barman went by, carrying Charlie.
'You fixed him and I'm glad you did,' said Tempest. 'He would have hurt me.'
'I doubt it,' said Craig. 'It was me he wanted to hurt.' He stood up.
'You're not going?' Tempest said.
'It's late. I want some sleep,' said Craig.
'Well, honey, we all do. But you can't leave me. Not now I'm here for you.'
'For me specifically? Those were your orders?'
'No. He just said there'd be a fight. I was to go with the winner.'
'Go where?'
'The feedstore,' said Tempest. 'Do you know where it is?'
'Yes,' said Craig. 'Come on.'
They walked out, and Craig heard Simmons murmur 'Bless you, my children.' When they walked away, the party in the saloon sounded very loud indeed. Tempest shivered.
'He offered us a lot of money,' she said. 'Rehearsed us himself. Didn't even make a pass. Then he told us we had to sleep with somebody tonight or the deal's off. He must be queer.'
'No,' said Craig. 'Just odd.'
'Put your arm around me,' Tempest said. 'I'm cold.'
His arm came round her and they walked down Main Street, the cowboy and the dancehall girl. Beneath the thin stuff of her gown he could feel her body's firmness moving under his fingers. She stopped and turned to him, and her mouth opened and flowered to his, her tongue fluttered, and his arms tightened round her.
'You're a hell of a strong bloke,' she gasped, and pushed closer to him. 'What are you up to?'
'Who's asking?' said Craig.
'Just me, honey. I'm nosy.'
'I'm working for the Foreign Office,' said Craig. 'A Chinese citizen was murdered a few weeks ago and Simmons's daughter saw it happen. The Chinese People's Republic wants to know why —and I've been sent to ask if she knows. When I got here I had a fight with a bull and Simmons asked me to the party.'
'Poor bloody bull,' said Tempest. 'I bet he lost.'
'He didn't win,' said Craig.
She kissed him again. 'Let's go to the feed store,' she said.
'I'd like that,' said Craig.
He opened the door, and they went inside. Craig lowered the curtains and flicked his lighter, then showed the woman how to light the oil lamp. As it glowed, warm and soft, she looked around the room. It was furnished with a brash Victorian opulence: all gold-painted wood and scarlet drapes, and Cupids and Venuses in marble, and a huge reproduction of Etty's 'Youth at the Prow.'
'He certainly likes them to take their clothes off,' said Tempest. 'Do you suppose he gets his kicks out of watching?'
'I don't suppose anything any more,' said Craig. 'Two fights in one day, and now you.'
She chuckled. 'I've given in already,' she said, and began to peel off her stockings. Her legs were beautiful, and she looked at them in frank affection.
'Nice, aren't they?' she said, and Craig nodded. 'Help me off with this thing.'
The gown was held together with hooks and eyes, and Craig fumbled happily, watching it open across her back, which was soft and smooth and gleaming in the lamplight, letting it slide to the floor. She stepped out of it with professional elegance, then turned to face him.
'Still nice?' she asked.
'Marvelous,' said Craig.
'Worth a fight, maybe?'
'Two fights,' said Craig, 'and one of them with a bull.'
As he pulled off his boots, she raised one hand to her head, rounding one firm, tender-nippled breast, letting her thick yellow hair fall down to her shoulders.
'I've let my hair down,' she said. 'That shows how much I like you.'
Her fingers moved to his waist, and she unbuckled his belt.
'It's nice to strip somebody else for a change,' said Tempest.
She made love with a demanding passion that was strong and beautiful, and without pretense. Her sophistication was a fact he knew all about, and she used it for his pleasure and her own, neither flaunting it nor hiding it, but being to the very fullest extent herself, healthy and beautiful and friendly, even when making love.
At last she said: 'You really are strong, aren't you? I can always tell.' And she slept neatly curled up against him.
When she woke up it was an hour later, and he was out of bed, his fingers gently exploring the wall as they had explored her. Skillful, careful fingers. She had kissed them, and her mouth had told her how hard and dangerous they could be. The little one on his left hand was broken. His whole body was scarred. They were his scars, and she loved them.
'What the hell are you looking for?' she asked.
'Wires,' he said. 'This room's got to be bugged.' ;
'O-o- I hate bugs,' said Tempest.
'You'll hate these, all right,' said Craig.
They took some finding, but they were there. The wire recorder was two flat disks, let into the molding of plaster round the wall. Craig ran the wire back and played it through, and Tempest heard herself being loved. As the sounds came through she blushed an angry red and pulled the sheet up to her chin, and her shame was so deep she never noticed that Craig had possessed her in silence, and his words before their love-making were just words; polite and meaningless. Tempest hadn't time to think of this; her mind was pinned down on her shame. Then he found the video tape recorder. The camera lens was set in one of the splendid brass knobs of the bed, the tape ran down the brass pillar and curled on to the spool of the machine that had its own compartment in the enormous mattress. Sustained pressure on the bed set the camera going, and just in case one preferred love in the dark the machine had its own infrared bulb. Simmons thought of everything.
'Congratulations,' said Craig. 'Simmons just made you a filmstar.'
She wanted to smash it there and then, but Craig wouldn't let her. Instead he took her nail file, and slowly, patiently made a tiny hole in the camera, then set the machine going again. That way Simmons couldn't be sure, and it would be as well to keep Simmons guessing.
'You going to say anything about this?' he asked.
