Chapter 10
Chapter 10: The Quick, the Dead... and the Charmed
1874
Former deputy Billy Brooks dismounted and pulled a bow and arrow and a bulging canvas bag out of his grip and walked to the still-warm form of the boy bleeding in the wind-bent Kansas grass. He pulled out his Bowie knife and scalped the boy's auburn hair and tossed it into the canvas pouch. Then he shot him with four arrows at close range, since he was not a very good shot with such a weapon.
“This is a bunch of crap...” Slip Gallagher protested angrily, “May be a few decent Buffalo hides, but the wagon and the team- this is a handsome team. They will bring good money over at Baker's. You drive it and I'll take your horse.” Gallagher jumped off of the wagon and stepped into his stirrup, all in one graceful motion. He was as calm as if he had just stepped on a tumble bug. He removed his dusty hat, and combed his hair with his fingers and shook his head, erasing the past few moments forever from his mind.
Billy Brooks had little to say. He had begged Hurricane Bill Martin for a job. He knew if he left the gang now they would probably try to kill him, worried that he might spill the beans. He pulled himself up into the buckboard and slapped the reins as the wagon rolled over the boy's body and they gallantly rolled back towards Turkey Creek. “I gotta work on Hurricane about that scheme of mine...” he said to himself. “Right now I would do it for free.”
The Newly
Almost Weds
Marshal Meagher came to Lottie's and Alvin's rescue- and quite prematurely, as it turned out. Golden's Cronies also knew him well, and managed to corral him in the saloon and get him drunk enough to delay satisfaction for his insulted pride. He was reminded that he was already wanted for the Topeka killing, and Wichita was the last place left where he might find refuge. He could not afford to mess that up. James Earp provided the drinks, and Morgan Earp the rationale, and a half-dozen cronies of the little jockey provided moral support.
The West saw plenty of violence, and life was cheap enough without killing some guy over a dalliance with your whore. IF that was indeed what happened.
Few of Golden's associates in the saloon thought the dowdy tintype man actually had it in him. It was easy to understand, for anybody but Johnny; Lottie might actually love him, but had second thoughts about marrying a fugitive from the law, and about giving up her lucrative trade for a shiftless gambler. What intelligent, self-respecting whore wouldn't?
Marshal Meagher sat in the photography studio for the better part of an hour, and then cashed in his chips. They might be coming, but he thought a better strategy was to go to them and listen to what was being bantered around on the street. He would interview Golden personally, and make him promise to not bother Lottie or her friend. Golden would understand too well that there were no Osage friends here to finagle his escape.
With that assurance, Lottie let go of her fears for the moment. But she had known Johnny a long time... actually since childhood, and she knew how the little man operated. It did not matter what he promised. Johnny had settled many a score quietly, with his Bowie knife, in the dark, where nobody ever knew what happened. She and Alvin were going to be stalked, and maybe killed eventually, unless they somehow shook the cunning little devil. Alvin agreed to be watchful, and stay out of dark alleys.
Lottie decided the best thing she could do was to go ahead and go to work for the Earps. They would present Johnny a formidable incentive not to abuse her, and Golden would hopefully let go of his fantasy of pimping for her again. She finally left Alvin, ashamed and depressed. There she was- a whore in Wichita, with no man promising protection, much less salvation, and a long, dark life of meaningless, monotonous “pokes” waiting like an endless monsoon in front of her. She began to imagine a better life somewhere, perhaps doing something else with her life, somewhere south where she could change her name and her prospects. But right now she was still "Lottie Deno" and she had to be brave.
She walked helplessly towards the Earp's enterprise, the magnetic center of Wichita, and gathered her most fierce aura of composure. She would puff up her chest and raise her chin and strut in and accept Virgil Earp's previous offer, and hopefully, Johnny would be right there. She would not have to tell him, and he could not claim he did not know.
Alvin resumed his tintype project unscathed and surprisingly, made enough money to send the Pinkertons a positive report. He had made over a hundred portraits by the first month. The movers and shakers of Wichita had been in, and he had photographed various members of the Earp and Masterson clans, and prominent city officials- and there had been a few who might prove to be useful later to law enforcement. He regretted that the one person who would have been the most useful, Johnny Golden, was not one of them.
Stew's maxim had failed in this instance, as Alvin had gotten too obsessed with embracing an opportunity. But that tendency of Alvin's towards flexibility was soon to pay off.
The Wichita Newspaper had mentioned the squabble at Payne's Portrait Studio, and made a joke about “Miss Lotta,” one of Wichita's Red Light Queens, postponing marriage for a better offer. This kind of fabrication had to have been born from whiskey-inspired conversations at one of the saloons. Editors were often guilty of scraping their news from the residue on the brass spittoons at the bar rails. Alvin had to laugh, because the publicity could not hurt either one of them. He thought.
What he had not considered was how a fairly innocuous mention in the paper would be carried around the state. Newspapers loved to repeat any humorous newspaper sketches involving prostitutes. Across the state “Billy Bowlegs”, aka William White Turkey, aka the scariest thug in Topeka, read the snip-it from the Topeka paper and rose up out of his rawhide-bottomed wagon chair.
“Found them!” Was all Bowlegs said as he stomped past his partner and out of the unbranded Bowlegs Warehouse, and he was painfully sober. Freshly enraged and in his right mind, he was on the next train to Wichita that day. And then he had plenty of time to plan his next move. His income since Lottie left him had shrunk considerably, and he wanted her back. She was after all, his. Bought and bled for, as he figured it. And they were married to seal the deal- for life as far as he was concerned. It was his brother whom Golden had stabbed to death when he and Lottie fled to parts unknown. The story in the paper only solidified his suspicions, but now he knew where to start looking. The miserable trip to get there only salted the wound... and somebody was destined to suffer. If he was lucky, maybe both of them; one while living, the other while dying. He would kill Golden in a heartbeat, but Bowlegs would not kill his goose that laid the golden egg. And with any luck, the photographer mentioned in the article might be someone he had been looking for.
Bowlegs arrived in Wichita after sunset, a couple of weeks after the article had originally been published. He only had one solid clue, and that was Payne's studio. He could not know it, but Alvin lived in a room in the rear of the store. He had already retired for the evening, and his lights were out by the time Bowlegs found the studio. The ominous Seminole stood for a long time staring, considering how to shake this coon out of its tree. He stepped up on the boardwalk and peeped inside, but could see nothing. Bowlegs was a big man, so the boards cried as he put his weight on them. Breaking into the place probably had no benefit, unless Lottie was inside. And that was not likely, because it was a Friday night and she should be knee-deep in alligators.
Not yet asleep, Alvin had heard the boards as they complained and slipped out his revolver and rolled over to where he could swing open his bedroom door. He knew that once he did, the windows in front would be a clear shot, and he would immediately see whomever was making such a late night visit. Bowlegs' silhouette loomed like a monster in the doorway, and Alvin went into a minor panic. This visitor looked downright deadly.
Alvin quickly, quietly pulled on his boots, not caring that he was not wearing any pants. His long-handles would have to suffice in such an emergency. It occurred funny to him that for some reason, he felt safer with his boots on... but his Colt's .44-40 revolver had not given him the same degree of confidence. He stood and peeked through the bedroom door, only to see that the big intruder had taken himself down the street. He had a familiar look, a certain walk, a kind of limp, what his father used to call a “hitch in his git along..”
Then he knew. It was Bowlegs. The Topeka terror had found him, and was no doubt looking for Golden and Lottie as well. It was just a matter of time before the nut-cutting began. He kicked off his boots, the pants were going to have to come back on... because he had a critical errand to run. If Lottie was not warned, Bowlegs might walk right into her bedroom as a "client." There was no telling what the man might do to her.
His shirt unbuttoned, his suspenders hanging down to his knees, Alvin dressed as he trotted. No hat, his hair flapping in the Kansas wind, he buckled on his gun-belt, and then remembered that he should not wear it, or be fined. Oh well, he would deal with that when the Marshal brought it up. He peered down alleys and in several saloons as he walked down the street in low gear, unsure if he might suddenly be caught in a shoot out with Bowlegs. Hopefully he would find Marshal Meagher first. And there he stood, standing out in front of Earp's, talking to some cattlemen.
“Marshal, I'm glad you're here. I just saw Billy Bowlegs peeking in my studio. Thought you would want to know...”
“Bowlegs! Are you sure?”
“As sure as I'll ever be, seeing a big man peering in my window in the night.”
“Which way was he headed?”
“Right here, as best as I could tell.”
The marshal's friendly face changed to deadly serious, as he began to glance around, almost hawk-like. “I see you have your gun- consider yourself deputized.”
Forgetting that he was not really a policemen anymore, Alvin began to prod, more like a posse-man. “Have you been inside?” He asked as he finally checked the cylinder of his pistol.
“Uhm- No, actually just been enjoying a visit with these friends from Texas.” The marshal needed no prodding, and was already scanning the inside of the saloon, as he got nearer, he motioned for Alvin to come to the door as well. “Is that who you saw?”
Meagher pointed to a big dusty figure near the bar, bathed in light, head bent down, almost as if he was asleep. The long trip from Topeka was finally kicking in.
“That is...” Alvin affirmed with satisfaction. This was going to be easy.
A couple of beers in Bowlegs' empty stomach had made him drowsy. He wasn't sleeping, but he was scheming, and trying to lay low. When he finished his last beer, he tossed a nickel and sauntered towards the door.
“Here he comes” Announced Meagher.
“Are you going to arrest him?” Alvin blurted, already knowing that he was not.
“Can't. I've got no reason- but I'll speak to him.”Bowlegs moved like an old panther on the prowl, and hit the doors gently, as if he did not want to attract attention, and his eyes had not adjusted to the dark when he walked out on the boardwalk.
“BOWLEGS!” Meagher called, somewhat demandingly.
Bowlegs turned to see who might dare to bother him, and when he saw Meagher he spread a wide smile. “Maarrshhaal!” He announced as if they were old friends.
“Bowlegs, it's been awhile since I had you as a guest.”
“That's right Marshal.”
“I'm empty right now, I sure could use some company.”
“I've gone straight Marshal Meagher- you won't see me in that jail...”
“What are you doin' in Wichita?”
“Jus' business,jus' passin' through, you won't even know I was here...”
“That's good. That's what I was hoping to hear.”
Bowlegs melted into the night, Meagher chuckled with confidence, and Alvin went inside. He could breathe a bit easier now, knowing where Bowlegs was.
The lamps were turned up in the Earp's version of a Victorian man-cave. Barely clad ladies sprawled in paintings on the walls, cowboys sucked down beers and threw their money away in poker games, and Virgil Earp stood like a bear who had just picked up a strange scent. It was an all-male establishment, except for the art, and it seemed to be somewhat safe. There was no music, no food, just alcohol and tobacco, and several different gambling tables where men gathered around peacefully as if watching paint dry. There were some guffaws coming from the keno table. This was the mental picture of heaven for most men in the West. The lack of any ladies or food, however, soon killed the illusion.
Alvin approached the "bear" and found out where to find Lottie. Virgil Earp was the most responsible of the Earp brothers, the most likely to give straight answers without sarcasm or ridicule. But he was also the least informative... “Down the hall, up the stairs, last door on the left, but check with Miss Manda before you bust in.” It was strictly business, but what Alvin wanted was none of his business for the moment.
Alvin bounded up the stairs, it was not so uncomfortable for him, even kind of familiar since he had lived with Miss Mellie and her girls. Manda greeted him with a smile, as she had already met him while having her portrait made a few weeks before. “So, turn about is fair play!” She giggled knowingly.
After hearing Alvin's explanation she was less friendly, but she nodded and obligingly pointed to the fancy carved rosewood sofa at the end of the room. It was a slow night, and Lottie should be available in ten minutes. That was all any of the girls were allowed to spend with their guests. Directly a solemn looking man in a suit went by without saying a word, and then a cowboy strolled out like he had just conquered a wild bronc. Then Manda went back and told Lottie she had a non-paying visitor, a violation of the establishment, and to make it snappy. She came back and motioned for Alvin to come back. Lottie was standing at her door, hand on hip.
“Lottie- I'm sorry, but you needed to know...”
“You ain't supposed to ever come up unless...”
“I know the rules Lottie, I lived in one of these places in Kansas City.”
“At first I hoped maybe you wanted to...” Lottie confessed with a strange expression.
No... NO. But I'm not the only visitor you're not expecting.”
“What is it?”
“It's Bowlegs. He's here, and he is looking for us. Well, he doesn't know me.”
“Bowlegs! Are you sure?”
“Yes, and I'm sure he is here to end your engagement celebration.”
“I told Meagher, and you need to tell Virgil... to keep an eye out. The man looks as if he is waiting for an appointment- but he is the only one who knows who with... or why. My guess is he will deal with Johnny first.”
“I'm glad you told me... I bought a little pistol. You wanna see it?” Lottie was eager to brandish her new toy.
“Maybe later.” Alvin was stunned at how casual Lottie's reaction was, as if it was all in a day's work, to fend off a jealous, murderous husband. “Be careful Lottie, don't go anywhere without an escort. You need to tell Manda out there about him and to warn you if he comes up. And he just might...”
“I know. I will, now get out of here.” Alvin did not need to be told twice. He spun on his heel and took off.
“And Alvin- thanks, I owe you... my favorite cowboy.” Alvin knew how Lottie repaid favors, and did not look back, but marched on. “So you lived where in Kansas City?” She yelled as he leaped down the stairs.
“These people are all crazy.” he said under his breath.
When Alvin hit the streets, there was a bunched crowd loudly engaged in some screaming and commotion about two blocks away. Seeing it gave him a sick feeling, because crowds like that rarely produced anything but dead or dying men. He walked fast to get nearer, wondering if he should try to break it up or try to find the Marshal instead. The crowd was much more convenient, so he weaved through the spectators and suddenly found the spectacle; Bowlegs and Golden had found each other.
They were both bleeding, but it appeared that Bowlegs had taken the worst of it. Both had knives flashing, but neither was ready to risk his life, not yet. They danced as if they would just slowly take off arms and legs until they could not fight anymore. It was obvious that Golden had a look of desperation, and was fighting for his life, whereas Bowlegs looked like a tiger enjoying the kill, the way only cats and humans do. But his expression was driven more by adrenaline than confidence, as the blood on his face and arms testified- that Johnny Golden was very good at defending himself.
Bowlegs fought Indian style; stripped to the waist, barefooted, knees bent, up on the balls of his feet, arms spread like he was going to fly, showing impressive grace for a big man, grinning like he was winning a pile of gold at a poker table. Golden was stiffer, humped over, slightly encumbered by his shirt and vest, slashing broadly- but accurately. Then suddenly he lunged in at the big man, dropped to his knees, and shoved his Bowie in from below, before Bowlegs could react to the change in his direction. It was a dirty trick. But the knife had caught Bowlegs' belt, and only made a shallow insertion. The Indian was hurt, but he was still be able to fight. As Johnny pulled back his blade, Bowlegs kneed him in the face, and showing excellent fighting skill, instantly stabbed at his head as it reeled by, slicing off a piece of the jockey's ear.
Golden went down, limp, and bleeding profusely, and Bowlegs kicked him where it would best affect his children and grandchildren. The crowd screamed for Johnny to get up before the Seminole outlaw cut his throat and ended it all. But the unwritten rule of the street was that you could not stab or slice a man when he was down, and Bowlegs knew to break that courtesy might bring the whole crowd down on him. Golden took advantage of that, laying still for a moment, as he tried to get back his breath, which had gone with his missing earlobe. Then he was suddenly back up, now mad enough to kill someone and suffer the consequences.
The town had outlawed handguns, but had not stopped men from killing each other, and worse, had not mitigated men's love of violence. The Earp brothers were there watching and trying to figure out how to make some bets on the outcome. “THREE to one on the big injun!” Wyatt Earp declared. Alvin did not see any allies in his safety concerns, and could not figure a way to stop the slaughter, without getting killed himself, so he decided to go find the Marshal.
To his surprise, Meagher was standing just a block away, and Alvin must have passed him in the dark when he was attracted to the melee. The marshal was leaning against a narrow pillar in front of a dress shop, watching contentedly, smoking a cigar. He grinned as Alvin came up.
“You're not goin' to stop it?”
“Mr. Payne, it's not often that folks do my job for me. Here I got two bad men, subduing each other, which makes my job a lot easier, and maybe my life a lot longer.”
“I see- one gets killed and the other goes to jail... with murder charges.”
“Which was more than I had on either one of 'em before. You blame me?” He chuckled with smug, self-serving wisdom.
“No sir, I don't. But we did things different across the Missouri...”
“I'm sure you did Payne, that was America. You had more men- and I've got me and a deputy, and this is the first gate of Hell. And I will probably never have enough men to operate here like you did.”
“So much for Davy Crockett!” Alvin scoffed.
“Who” Meagher asked.
“Davy Crockett, the fearless hero of the Alamo.”
“Oh... Davy Crockett... he was a damned fool.” As his real deputy finally rushed by towards the trouble, Marshal Meagher swaggered over to help him break up the fight, now reduced to just a few whines and some heavy breathing. He was glad to engage now that the men had probably mortally wounded one another. “And deputy...” he hollered, Meagher was sarcastically alluding to Alvin's impromptu swearing in. “This here is the way I “remember the Alamo...” but thanks for your help. Now, put that damn hogleg away, you are officially un-deputized.”
With that advice, Marshal Meagher pulled out his own peacemaker and blew away the aftermath with deafening thunder; Two shots into the air, to warn the spectators to get away or get roughed up. Wichita men knew to move swiftly after such an event, or else get conscripted to haul the bodies away.
Alvin laughed and nodded, and headed home to his studio. After a belt or two, they would all sleep soundly tonight.
The Cheyennes shrugged and looked at each other and nodded- how convenient could it get?" Soon the other three men were there as well, as the Indians discussed among themselves a price they might settle on for their spring harvest. They were soon in an animated discussion, or borderline argument. But before they could agree on a number, the men drew their guns and shot them all dead.
One of the men hopped into the Cheyenne wagon, while another rounded up their horses. Their useful goods were tossed in the wagon by another and soon the wagon full of hides was driven to Pole Cat ranch, while the Cheyenne horses were taken to Dodge City. In a hurry and without the usual supervision, the men did not work as efficiently as they had been trained. They neglected to collect the scalps, and thus make sure their victims were all dead.
When they were gone, one brave was awakened by the groans of another. The pistol in his belt had stopped the bullet meant for his gut, and a second round had almost blown his right ear off. The other man who was still alive had been hit in the chest but was still conscious. The lucky warrior looked around, without a horse it might be days before he could return, and his wounded companion would be eaten by the wolves if left out in the open without any protection. "Kill me" the wounded man said with understanding... It will be a great thing you have done. Spare me the pain of a slow and horrible death."
It was a reasonable request, but there was not a weapon to be found in the ravaged camp. Not even a large rock. The men had to part with a haunting loss, of knowing neither would ever see the other again.
Wichita was electric for weeks after the big fight between its two local legends. And since both desperadoes had survived, there was great speculation about a rematch. Lottie had become a mythical celebrity overnight, being the prize the two men were contesting for, and this was great for the Earp's businesses. And Lottie was becoming the bell mare of their enterprise. Her prices shot up, as the excitement was at its peak. She came into Alvin's studio one day, dressed like a New York actress, in a multi-layered satin dress and a huge hat adorned on top with silk flowers, and ordered twenty tintypes.
Impressed with her mature beauty, Alvin sweet-talked her as she posed, and shared some sad news as he did. He was leaving town. He could not explain the truth for the reason behind his sudden departure, so he made up a story that he and Pauline were finally engaged and were to marry and that was where she wanted to settle. Lottie never even asked where it was, but acted as if she was happy for him, and shared that she was leaving town too.
Alvin thought that she was making it all up, spontaneously, as a reaction to his equally fictitious plans. She claimed that the pressure from the Earps was annoying, as she had become known as the “Prize of Wichita,” they said, but she saw a “golden” opportunity, she joked, to get away from both pimps, whom she had grown to despise. She was headed to Texas, while the two men were convalescing. She was planning to leave half of the tintypes behind in Wichita as mementos, but she wasn't leaving a forwarding dress.
“The Earps aren't gonna like it...” Alvin teased.
Alvin could not share that the Pinkertons had surprised him with his next orders. He could not trust Lottie with such a secret. The change had come much swifter than he had expected, or wanted. Marshal Meagher had watched Alvin, and liked him, but had become concerned about his complications with a certain “undesirable element.” He had written the Pinkertons a report upon their request after the street brawl. He complemented Alvin and the Pinkertons for their scheme, but he also informed them that the rails were quickly expanding and reaching farther west. Wichita he hoped, would soon be as tame as a church mouse in a church house. He was glad to work with them, but he recommended that they set up in Dodge. It was quickly becoming the latest “El Dorado.”
Pinkerton had sent Alvin a terse letter explaining the transfer, and the rookie detective had only a few days to shut down his studio and arrange the move to Ft. Scott, near the Missouri line. Lottie had made his last order to fill in Wichita.
“I'll leave your “pitchers” for you at Earp's...” He promised. They hugged an obligatory hug as she left, and Alvin stiffened- saddened by the expanding canyon between them. He watched her march down the street in the town that worshiped her, but she would not have. It was just as well, neither was going to reform the other.
It was good he thought, that he was leaving. Wichita would be just another train stop after Lottie had gone. He was moving up, as she was moving out. The Pinkertons had regrouped, and took half of Marshal Meagher's advice. Seeing Alvin's talent and his success, they decided to treat him with more deference; Give him a little more stability, and a little less danger, and allow him to travel to various towns, rather than be isolated so far away, in an outpost like Wichita where he could not easily replace his photography supplies.
It was possible that he might never see Lottie again. He put it all out of his mind, to meet the challenge at hand. “That's right Stew, stay focused on the goal...” The story he told Lottie was not true, but was close to Alvin's best case scenario, if all went well. The move would allow him to get a home, and he might could take on Sim again, if he would come, and he would finally have a real house with a kitchen, something Pauline would find acceptable. It wasn't his idea of home, but it was much closer than there in Wichita, “Where everything goes.” Everything except peace and safety- and marriage.
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