“They drew first.”
“I’m sure they did. Just as I’m sure you goaded them into it,” the deputy said.
“I might have teased them a bit about bein’ from Texas,” Harley said. “Didn’t know they was goin’ to take it so hard.”
The deputy stepped over to look down at the two young cowboys.
“Damn, Harley, they’re just kids. Who are you going after next? Grade school kids?”
“Won’t be any of your concern who it is, Deputy. I got a telegram today, offerin’ me a job.”
“Somewhere else, I hope.”
“Yeah, somewhere else,” Harley said.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gothic
Sally was in New York City, sitting on the windowsill of the third floor of one of the Greek revival row houses on the north side of Washington Square. The apartment belonged to her Aunt Mildred, and Sally had come to New York to spend a couple weeks with her. It was late March, a cold and gray day with steely sunlight that illuminated, but did not warm the city. Spring had already begun, but the pedestrians walking on the sidewalk below wore heavy coats and scarves. From this elevation they were a never ending flow of black figures, rather like a stream of ants on the march.
She heard the distant rumble of an El train and the clatter of an omnibus, and wondered about so many people on the move. Who were they ? Where were they going? What lay ahead of them?
What lay ahead for her?
She had already made the decision for her own future, and had announced it to her family with great passion and intensity. She was going West. She was going West to teach school, and to see some of the country she had only read about.
Her parents were completely opposed to the idea, and sent her to New York on a visit so Aunt Mildred could “talk some sense in to her.”
To Sally’s surprise and relief, Aunt Mildred did nothing to try and dissuade her. In fact, she disclosed the secret that she had once had a strong desire to move to San Francisco, to see what was on the other side of the countr y.
So, without Aunt Mildred to dissuade her she was left to her own thought and reason. Was she making a mistake? Should she go West? Or should she stay safe, comfortable, and stable in Vermont, where her father was wealthy, and a “respectable” marriage would occur some day, with an “acceptable” man who was a moneyed member of society ?
If only she knew what was the right thing to do.
“You are making the right decision,” Smoke said. “Come West. Marry me. We will grow old together, and you will have all the comfort, love, and security you will ever want. And you will have something else. You will have excitement, not the dull future Vermont holds for you.”
“I will come, Smoke,” Sally said. “I will come West and I will marry you.”
Sally woke up, and for a moment, had no idea where she was. Was she at her aunt’s apartment in New York? No, that’s not possible. Smoke isn’t someone in a dream. Smoke is real.
But where is Smoke?
She reached over to touch him, but he wasn’t there. As she tried to raise up to look for him, a sudden ache in her side brought her back down sharply to lie on her back on the hard surface of the examination table. She moved her hands around her, feeling the edges.
Yes, an examination table.
But where was Smoke? She vaguely remembered talking to him earlier.
“Mrs. Jensen, try not to move,” a soft, calming, and reassuring voice said.
“Who are you?” Sally asked. “Where am I?”
“I am Doctor Gunther. You are in my office.”
“Why?”
“You have been shot. Remember?”
Sally was quiet for a moment. “Yes. I remember. Where is Smoke?”
“He is staying in the hotel across the street. He will be back here first thing in the morning, but I can get him for you now, if you wish.”
“Am I dying? If I am dying I want to tell him good-bye.”
“You are not dying.”
“Then let him sleep,” Sally said. “I am sure he is worried about me. I am sure he isn’t getting much sleep.”
“You need some sleep as well,” Dr. Gunther said. “Do you want me to give you something to make you sleep?”
“No. I will be all right.”
