not happen.
The man had been run out of Virginia City, had narrowly escaped lynching once at Laramie. There had been no evidence to convict him of killing Ad Wilson at Tascosa, but the man was found dead in his bed one night with a knife wound, and he had been robbed. A horse was trailed to within a mile of Bain's ranch.
"He was keepin' out of sight," Buffalo went on, "an' they don't know I've seen him."
"I see." Matt kicked at a stone with the toe of his boot. "I think I'll advise Coyle to drop out of it."
"They won't listen."
"I know, but I'll advise them. It's the least I can do."
Hardy grinned. "Massey ain't goin' to like you!"
The crowd was already gathering forThe Banker's Daughter when they went into the theatre and found seats. It was a noisy and profane crowd, but an interested one. Jack Langrishe always ran clean plays and he always entertained. He would do no less on this night. He had come from Dublin, and his theatres had been the bright spots in more than one western mining town.
Matt seated himself on a bench and stared around. The whole town had turned out and the place was jammed full of miners, stage drivers, bartenders, bull whackers and mule tenders. California Jack, faro dealer, Madame Canutson the lady bull-whacker whose profanity matched any man's, Scott Davis, shotgun messenger, Seth Bullock, Deadwood's sheriff, Cold Deck Johnny, Colorado Charlie, and many others. Names famous and infamous wherever miners, gamblers of the crowd that followed the boom towns gathered.
Suddenly, the door opened and a woman shoved her way inside, calling loudly over her shoulder. Whatever the remark was, everybody laughed. She wore a man's narrow brimmed black hat set at a careless angle atop her hair, and her rather long face, the skin olive, clear and smooth broke into a smile that suddenly made all who saw her forget that she was actually a plain woman.
"Ban," Matt said, "better take a look. There's a woman who'll be remembered after they've buried an' forgotten the rest of us. That's Calamity Jane!"
Hardy leaned forward, craning his neck for a better view. She wore a fringed buckskin coat that fitted loosely and was gathered by a broad leather belt. Her trousers were also fringed buckskin, and even now she was carrying a rifle. Under the buckskin coat she wore a man's plaid shirt.
"Heard a lot about her," Hardy said.
"She came into the Black Hills with Crook. Smuggled herself into the outfit when it left Laramie. She was one of the first to come in. Dead shot with that rifle, too. She's a hard case, but a good hearted one, give you anything you want, and funny thing, she being so much like a man in other ways, but she loves to handle sick people. Good at it, too."
Matt glanced at the late comers again, searching the crowd for the face he was eager to see. Then he saw her come through the door, laughing over her shoulder as Calamity Jane had done, but how different!
She was wearing a green gown that made a low murmur run over the crowd, and every head in the place turned toward her. She walked down the aisle, preceded by her brother and followed by Clive Massey. Matt felt the smile leave his face. He shifted his feet and turned his eyes elsewhere. He was aware that Buffalo was glancing at him out of the corners of his eyes, but he ignored it.
Nevertheless, he felt sick in the stomach and unhappy. He kept his eyes on the stage and the constant flurry of activity behind the curtain. Yet she sat in a position his eyes overlooked, and suddenly he realized she was looking for him. He saw her head turn slightly, glancing at the crowd, then after a moment, it turned toward him. Their eyes met, briefly. He nodded his head, and she replied with a cool nod, and then looked away.
The curtain started to go up. Quietly, he turned and left his seat. Murphy started to speak, but he shoved his way through the crowd to the outside. "The hell with it!" he told himself roughly. "The hell with it, I say!"
Shoving his hands
The man had been run out of Virginia City, had narrowly escaped lynching once at Laramie. There had been no evidence to convict him of killing Ad Wilson at Tascosa, but the man was found dead in his bed one night with a knife wound, and he had been robbed. A horse was trailed to within a mile of Bain's ranch.
"He was keepin' out of sight," Buffalo went on, "an' they don't know I've seen him."
"I see." Matt kicked at a stone with the toe of his boot. "I think I'll advise Coyle to drop out of it."
"They won't listen."
"I know, but I'll advise them. It's the least I can do."
Hardy grinned. "Massey ain't goin' to like you!"
The crowd was already gathering forThe Banker's Daughter when they went into the theatre and found seats. It was a noisy and profane crowd, but an interested one. Jack Langrishe always ran clean plays and he always entertained. He would do no less on this night. He had come from Dublin, and his theatres had been the bright spots in more than one western mining town.
Matt seated himself on a bench and stared around. The whole town had turned out and the place was jammed full of miners, stage drivers, bartenders, bull whackers and mule tenders. California Jack, faro dealer, Madame Canutson the lady bull-whacker whose profanity matched any man's, Scott Davis, shotgun messenger, Seth Bullock, Deadwood's sheriff, Cold Deck Johnny, Colorado Charlie, and many others. Names famous and infamous wherever miners, gamblers of the crowd that followed the boom towns gathered.
Suddenly, the door opened and a woman shoved her way inside, calling loudly over her shoulder. Whatever the remark was, everybody laughed. She wore a man's narrow brimmed black hat set at a careless angle atop her hair, and her rather long face, the skin olive, clear and smooth broke into a smile that suddenly made all who saw her forget that she was actually a plain woman.
"Ban," Matt said, "better take a look. There's a woman who'll be remembered after they've buried an' forgotten the rest of us. That's Calamity Jane!"
Hardy leaned forward, craning his neck for a better view. She wore a fringed buckskin coat that fitted loosely and was gathered by a broad leather belt. Her trousers were also fringed buckskin, and even now she was carrying a rifle. Under the buckskin coat she wore a man's plaid shirt.
"Heard a lot about her," Hardy said.
"She came into the Black Hills with Crook. Smuggled herself into the outfit when it left Laramie. She was one of the first to come in. Dead shot with that rifle, too. She's a hard case, but a good hearted one, give you anything you want, and funny thing, she being so much like a man in other ways, but she loves to handle sick people. Good at it, too."
Matt glanced at the late comers again, searching the crowd for the face he was eager to see. Then he saw her come through the door, laughing over her shoulder as Calamity Jane had done, but how different!
She was wearing a green gown that made a low murmur run over the crowd, and every head in the place turned toward her. She walked down the aisle, preceded by her brother and followed by Clive Massey. Matt felt the smile leave his face. He shifted his feet and turned his eyes elsewhere. He was aware that Buffalo was glancing at him out of the corners of his eyes, but he ignored it.
Nevertheless, he felt sick in the stomach and unhappy. He kept his eyes on the stage and the constant flurry of activity behind the curtain. Yet she sat in a position his eyes overlooked, and suddenly he realized she was looking for him. He saw her head turn slightly, glancing at the crowd, then after a moment, it turned toward him. Their eyes met, briefly. He nodded his head, and she replied with a cool nod, and then looked away.
The curtain started to go up. Quietly, he turned and left his seat. Murphy started to speak, but he shoved his way through the crowd to the outside. "The hell with it!" he told himself roughly. "The hell with it, I say!"
Shoving his hands
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