‘I’m just going to the hotel to change into Beegee’s frock and hat, then I’m going to howl.’
Picking up the red dress and hat, Joan entered the back room to gather up the jewellery which lay scattered on the table after the other players in the game had helped themselves to their property. It would make old Beegee pot-boiling mad if Joan turned up wearing her jewellery as well as the dress and hat.
Joan left the saloon by the rear door and went along the back alley to the small flea-bag hotel where she roomed. Nobody was in the hall and Joan climbed the stairs to the poorly lit passage where her room lay. She unlocked the door, pushed it open and entered.
A noose of rope dropped over her head and shoulders and clamped tight on her arms. The hat and frock fell from her hand, she let out a startled squeal and felt herself being pushed forward towards the bed. Two more loops of the rope came over her head and drew tight on her arms. Taken by surprise, Joan could not stop herself being shoved forward until she fell face down on the bed. A knee rammed into her back, holding her down, a mouthful of bed clothes prevented her from screaming; not that it would have done much good screaming, for the hotel catered for saloon workers, most of whom would be out at work.
Struggling wildly, but with no result, Joan felt her hands drawn behind her back and secured. Her unseen attacker sat with knees astride her and weight on her back. Then the weight eased off, a hand gripped her hair, pulled her head up from the pillow and, as she opened her mouth to scream, released the hair and pulled one of her own stockings around her face in a gag.
Rolling over, Joan found herself looking up at laughing Beegee. Bending, Beegee grabbed one of Joan’s ankles, reaching for the other leg. Kicking wildly, Joan tried to buck herself free of the hands which held her ankle and escape from the ropes. Twice Beegee grabbed and missed, then managed to get a noose around the free ankle and draw the rope tight. She ignored Joan’s angry splutters as she fastened the ankles together.
‘Now who’s come off second best?’ Beegee grinned, rolling Joan on to the bed. ‘What’s wrong, Joanie, cat got your tongue?’
Leaving Joan lying back down on the bed, Beegee went to pick up the dress and put it on. She lifted Joan’s vanity bag which had fallen with the clothes and tipped the entire contents into her own bag. After putting on the hat, Beegee came across the room and stood with hands on hips grinning down at Joan.
‘Your make-up’s all smeared, Joanie,’ she said and dipped a finger into the pot of rouge on the dressing table, rubbing her finger on the tip of Joan’s nose and leaving a red stain. ‘That’s better. Now for some eye-shadow.’
By the time Beegee had finished, Joan’s nose looked like a clown’s and she appeared to have two glorious black eyes. All the time she had struggled and tried to free herself, but failed. At last Beegee stepped back and stood with hands on her hips, admiring her work.
‘It’s an improvement,’ she said. ‘Well, I’m going for a last look at the Buffalo Hide, Joanie. Don’t bother to see me out. I’ll tell somebody what’s happened to you—before I catch the midnight train.’
‘It’s time we went to collect Miss Shandley,’ Waco drawled, looking at the clock on the wall.
‘Why sure,’ agreed the Kid. ‘Ain’t that just like a woman, though. She done forgot to tell us which hotel she’s staying at.’
‘It won’t be the Bella Union or the Grand,’ drawled Waco and went to where the floor manager stood. ‘Where at’s Miss Shandley live?’
‘Along the street there, at a small hotel down on Crail Street. You turn left here and it’s first on the right.’
On leaving the saloon Waco and the Kid strolled along the sidewalk towards the junction of Crail Street. Already the town seemed to be waking up, people on the sidewalks going about their business or looking for
Picking up the red dress and hat, Joan entered the back room to gather up the jewellery which lay scattered on the table after the other players in the game had helped themselves to their property. It would make old Beegee pot-boiling mad if Joan turned up wearing her jewellery as well as the dress and hat.
Joan left the saloon by the rear door and went along the back alley to the small flea-bag hotel where she roomed. Nobody was in the hall and Joan climbed the stairs to the poorly lit passage where her room lay. She unlocked the door, pushed it open and entered.
A noose of rope dropped over her head and shoulders and clamped tight on her arms. The hat and frock fell from her hand, she let out a startled squeal and felt herself being pushed forward towards the bed. Two more loops of the rope came over her head and drew tight on her arms. Taken by surprise, Joan could not stop herself being shoved forward until she fell face down on the bed. A knee rammed into her back, holding her down, a mouthful of bed clothes prevented her from screaming; not that it would have done much good screaming, for the hotel catered for saloon workers, most of whom would be out at work.
Struggling wildly, but with no result, Joan felt her hands drawn behind her back and secured. Her unseen attacker sat with knees astride her and weight on her back. Then the weight eased off, a hand gripped her hair, pulled her head up from the pillow and, as she opened her mouth to scream, released the hair and pulled one of her own stockings around her face in a gag.
Rolling over, Joan found herself looking up at laughing Beegee. Bending, Beegee grabbed one of Joan’s ankles, reaching for the other leg. Kicking wildly, Joan tried to buck herself free of the hands which held her ankle and escape from the ropes. Twice Beegee grabbed and missed, then managed to get a noose around the free ankle and draw the rope tight. She ignored Joan’s angry splutters as she fastened the ankles together.
‘Now who’s come off second best?’ Beegee grinned, rolling Joan on to the bed. ‘What’s wrong, Joanie, cat got your tongue?’
Leaving Joan lying back down on the bed, Beegee went to pick up the dress and put it on. She lifted Joan’s vanity bag which had fallen with the clothes and tipped the entire contents into her own bag. After putting on the hat, Beegee came across the room and stood with hands on hips grinning down at Joan.
‘Your make-up’s all smeared, Joanie,’ she said and dipped a finger into the pot of rouge on the dressing table, rubbing her finger on the tip of Joan’s nose and leaving a red stain. ‘That’s better. Now for some eye-shadow.’
By the time Beegee had finished, Joan’s nose looked like a clown’s and she appeared to have two glorious black eyes. All the time she had struggled and tried to free herself, but failed. At last Beegee stepped back and stood with hands on her hips, admiring her work.
‘It’s an improvement,’ she said. ‘Well, I’m going for a last look at the Buffalo Hide, Joanie. Don’t bother to see me out. I’ll tell somebody what’s happened to you—before I catch the midnight train.’
‘It’s time we went to collect Miss Shandley,’ Waco drawled, looking at the clock on the wall.
‘Why sure,’ agreed the Kid. ‘Ain’t that just like a woman, though. She done forgot to tell us which hotel she’s staying at.’
‘It won’t be the Bella Union or the Grand,’ drawled Waco and went to where the floor manager stood. ‘Where at’s Miss Shandley live?’
‘Along the street there, at a small hotel down on Crail Street. You turn left here and it’s first on the right.’
On leaving the saloon Waco and the Kid strolled along the sidewalk towards the junction of Crail Street. Already the town seemed to be waking up, people on the sidewalks going about their business or looking for
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