Cheyenne Cowboy Page 2

  The bright lamplight in the hotel lobby made Hammer squint as he walked across to the highly decorative desk. He knew that he looked out of place in such elegant surroundings but he had bonus money in his shirt pocket and that made him the equal of the hotel’s more refined guests.

  ‘Can I help you?’ a rather pompous desk clerk asked him as he rested his gloved hands on the desk. ‘The saloons are down the street. This is the Deluxe. I think it might not be in your price range, young man.’

  The cowboy smiled. Hammer was not easily riled.

  ‘I want a room and a tub full of hot soapy water,’ he drawled down at the far shorter man on the other side of the desk. ‘I also want a steak dinner and someone to take my horse down to the livery for me.’

  The clerk cleared his throat and leaned across his open register. ‘You don’t seem to understand. This is the Deluxe Hotel. We are very expensive.’

  Hammer leaned across the desk counter as well. The brim of his Stetson touched the clerk’s highly polished head. ‘You’re the one who seems confused, partner. I’ve got the money and I want all the things I just told you about. Savvy?’

  The clerk was about to speak again when his eyes widened at the sight of the wad of bills in the cowboy’s hand as Hammer started to peel them off and place them on top of the ledger.

  ‘A room, you said?’ The clerk repeated the Cheyenne cowboy’s words. ‘And a tub of soapy water? Certainly.’

  ‘Hot soapy water, friend.’ Hammer smiled. ‘How much will that be?’

  The drooling clerk scooped up the bank notes eagerly and pocketed them. He turned the register around, dipped a pen in the ink well and handed it to Hammer.

  ‘This will cover it,’ he gushed.

  The Cheyenne cowboy grinned. ‘I’m sure it will.’

  ‘I’ll get the boy to take your horse to the stable and have the chef prepare your steak before you reach your room.’ The older man glanced down at the register. ‘I hope you’ll enjoy your stay, Mr Hammer.’

  The cowboy placed the pen down and accepted the key. ‘I’m sure I will.’

  The clerk watched as the cowboy approached the flight of stairs. With every step he left trail dust. The balding man cleared his throat just loud enough to draw Hammer’s attention to him as he placed a boot upon the bottom step of the staircase.

  ‘May I make a suggestion, Mr Hammer?’ the squeaky voice asked as the cowboy looked in his direction.

  ‘You sure can, friend.’ Hammer smiled. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘We have an excellent cleaning service,’ the clerk stammered nervously. ‘We could clean your clothes while you are having your soak in the tub. They’ll be fresh and dry by the morning.’

  Hammer nodded. ‘That’s a good idea. The hombre who brings up the hot water for the tub can collect my duds.’

  The clerk watched as Hammer continued on up to the second floor. With each step the sound of his spurs rang out around the lobby. When the cowboy was no longer in sight he pulled out the bills and smiled at them.

  ‘What a pleasant young man,’ he drooled again as he stared at the bank notes in his hands. ‘Dusty, but nice.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dodge City was filled with the sound of awakening roosters as they greeted the rising sun. Gat Hammer yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes and then stared around the well-appointed hotel room. He inhaled deeply and then threw the bedsheets off his bruised body. The cowboy rose up and dropped both his legs on to the carpeted floor as he slowly gathered his wits.

  Sunlight defied the window drapes and bathed the room in a golden glow. The Cheyenne cowboy reached to the bedpost and pulled his saddle-bag toward him. He unbuckled its satchels and extracted a clean pair of pants and a shirt, which he quickly slipped on.

  Tucking his shirt into his buttoned pants he then snaked his belt through its loops and secured the buckle. Hammer had no sooner done this than he heard a gentle rap on the door.

  His eyes flashed to the freshly painted door.

  ‘Who is it?’ he called out across the room.

  ‘The bellhop, sir,’ came the reply. ‘I’ve brung your clean clothes. You want me to leave them out here in the hall?’

  Hammer pulled the door toward him and stared at the short youngster holding the freshly pressed clothing in his hands. As the cowboy reached down and took the clothes, he noticed that the boy was no more than twelve and covered in freckles.

  ‘Thanks, son,’ Hammer drawled before moving to the dresser where he had piled his personal items the night before. He slid a quarter into the palm of his hand and then laid the clothes down on the highly polished surface. Hammer turned and walked across the carpeted floor and then gave the boy the coin. ‘There you go.’

  ‘A quarter.’ The youngster smiled at the coin. ‘Gee, thanks. Anything else you want? You want a woman? I know them all.’

  Hammer chuckled. ‘I’m sure you do but I’m not looking for any female company at the moment.’

  The boy raised his eyebrows. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Come to think about it, there is.’ The cowboy rubbed his stomach. ‘Is there any chance of getting some grub, son? I know it’s early but my innards are grumbling.’

  The boy nodded. ‘The cook has just started rustling up vittles, mister. Do you want to eat in the dining room or do you want me to bring up a tray of grub here?’

  Hammer still did not feel as though he should be staying in such a classy hotel and shrugged. He looked down at his bare feet and then at the young worker.

  ‘Could you bring me eggs and bacon and a pot of coffee, son?’ he asked the smiling boy. ‘I don’t feel that cowboys fit these surroundings. I’d rather eat up here.’

  ‘No problem.’ The boy winked. ‘I’ll bring you everything. Bacon, eggs, biscuits and a pile of pancakes should fill your belly just fine, mister.’

  Hammer smiled broadly. ‘Hell. That sounds real good.’

  The boy turned and then looked over his shoulder. ‘My name’s Billy. Billy Vine.’

  ‘My name’s . . .’ Hammer did not manage to finish his statement. The boy had run down the corridor and disappeared before the cowboy had time to give him his name. He closed the door and moved to his clean socks. ‘Friendly little critter.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  The rising sun hung over the massive range as the six horsemen guided their mounts to a halt on a dusty ridge. Emmett Holt leaned on his saddle horn and stared down at the sprawling city and then at his men. He raised a hand and pointed at the sight that greeted them and then smiled.

  ‘Look at them stock pens, boys,’ he drawled as he located another fat cigar and bit off its tip. ‘Have you ever seen so much beef?’

  Gibbs lowered his canteen from his mouth. Droplets of water ran from the corners of his lips as he screwed its stopper.

  ‘Is that what we gotta do, Emmett?’ he asked. ‘Have we gotta steal them steers?’

  Holt glanced at Gibbs. ‘Nope, that ain’t why we’re here, Bart. Besides, what the hell would we do with a couple of thousand steers?’

  Gibbs nodded. ‘They would be kinda hard to hide.’

  Holt scratched a match across the top of his saddle horn and then cupped the flame to his cigar. He inhaled the smoke deeply and tossed the match at the ground. The gleaming rail tracks glistened like a string of diamonds as they led down to Dodge. His smile grew wider as he finally allowed the smoke to escape his lips. His eyes narrowed as they watched the massive locomotive wind its way into the outskirts of the famed settlement and finally entered the enormous stockyards. Black smoke puffed up into the cloudless blue sky from the locomotive’s black stack. From their vantage point they could see the entire city.

  ‘It’s still mighty early, boys,’ Holt told them as he gathered the loose ends of his long leathers in his gloved left hand. ‘Nobody will notice us when we enter Dodge. That’s exactly the way I want it. We keep our heads low until I find out exactly what the job is. No fights. We don’t wanna draw unwanted eyes.’r />
  Jim Dante scratched his head before lowering his Stetson back down on to his grey hair. He leaned forward and looked along the line of horsemen at Holt.

  ‘I figured that you knew what it was we were hired to do, Emmett,’ he croaked. ‘Are you telling us that you ain’t got any notion what we’re meant to do?’

  Holt glanced along the line of riders at Dante. ‘Shut the hell up or I’ll part your head with a bullet, Jim. Savvy?’

  Dante went silent and slumped back on to his saddle.

  Holt gripped his cigar between his teeth and whipped the shoulders of his mount.

  ‘C’mon,’ the deadly outlaw shouted over his wide shoulder as he raced down the ridge beside the steel rail tracks. ‘We got us work down yonder.’

  A mere heartbeat later, the five other outlaws raced after Holt. All they knew for certain was that somewhere in Dodge City there was a job to do and they were going to do it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Billy returned to the hotel room less than ten minutes after he had hurriedly departed. In his hands he expertly balanced a large silver tray laden down with everything he had promised the cowboy. He gently kicked the room door and held his fragrant cargo between his hands. Hammer opened the door and ushered the bellhop into the room.

  ‘You’re mighty fast, Billy,’ the Cheyenne cowboy grinned.

  ‘Where’d you want this?’ Billy asked as Hammer pulled on his high-sided boots and stomped on the floor until satisfied that they were comfortable. ‘I asked you where you wanted me to put these vittles. They’re real heavy.’

  There was something about the kid that Hammer liked. Billy Vine had spirit and that sat well with the cowboy. He raised an arm and pointed at the table near the window.

  ‘Over there,’ Hammer said. He trailed the lad as his aromatic breakfast was carefully placed down.

  ‘Sure looks good,’ Billy said staring hungrily at the food he had just delivered. ‘The cook really knows how to rustle up breakfast.’

  The cowboy nodded in agreement. ‘He sure does. I’ve never seen food look so neat before. Smells real good too.’

  Billy glanced out of the window at the sun-baked street and then over at the buildings opposite. The black smoke from the trail curled up in the distance. ‘They’ll have them steers loaded in no time, I bet.’

  ‘I reckon so.’ Hammer smiled.

  ‘We get trail herds in here every week nowadays,’ Billy informed him. ‘Them folks back east can’t seem to get enough of the cattle you and your friends bring here.’

  Hammer remembered that he had not had time to tell Billy his own name earlier. He cleared his throat.

  ‘I was gonna tell you my name when you high-tailed it, Billy,’ Hammer said as he sat down before his piping hot breakfast.

  Billy glanced back out of the window at the quiet street. The rising sun was starting to awaken the townsfolk and draw them from their individual hiding places. The youngster looked back at the cowboy.

  ‘There ain’t no need. Everybody knows who you are,’ Billy grinned. ‘You’re the Cheyenne cowboy folks are talking about.’

  The cowboy raised an eyebrow and studied his young friend as Billy placed his hands on the backrest of his padded chair and watched as Hammer looked in awe at the meal before him.

  ‘I am?’ Hammer replied.

  ‘You are the Cheyenne cowboy, ain’t you?’ Billy repeated before moving around the table and seating himself opposite.

  Hammer nodded. ‘That’s what they call me but I didn’t know that anyone, apart from my fellow cowpunchers, knew me around these parts. Who in tarnation has bin talking about me?’

  ‘Everybody.’ Billy reached across the table to the tray and lifted one of the slices of toast from the rack. He started to bite and chew it. ‘Sure wish I was a cowboy like you, Cheyenne.’

  The cowboy grinned. ‘I was about as big as you when I went on my first trail drive. Must be about seven or eight years back, I guess.’

  ‘Golly gee,’ Billy gasped excitedly. ‘Does that mean I could be a cowboy like you, Cheyenne?’

  ‘Reckon so.’ Hammer removed a folded napkin from the tray and tucked it into the neck of his buttoned shirt. His mind frantically tried to work out how anyone could possibly know who he was. As far as he knew, he was just another drover at the end of a long trail drive. Hammer poured coffee into the white china cup.

  ‘Do you reckon you could put a good word in for me, Cheyenne?’ Billy asked as he finished the last of his toast and hopped back on to his feet. ‘I sure would like to be a cowboy like you.’

  ‘It’s a hard life, Billy,’ Hammer sighed. ‘Brutal at times.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ Billy grinned.

  ‘You gotta be able to ride, Billy,’ Hammer said as he cut the eggs apart so that their golden yoke filled the plate.

  ‘I can ride.’ Billy started for the room door as he rubbed the crumbs off his mouth. ‘We got us a mule. I’ve bin riding that critter for years. Bareback.’

  ‘Bareback?’ The cowboy smiled as he ate. ‘I’m impressed. I’ll have a word with the trail boss. He might hire you but it ain’t no picnic being a cowpuncher.’

  Billy had crossed the room. He paused, looked back at his hero and grabbed hold of the doorknob. ‘I’d sure be grateful if you could help me, Cheyenne. I’d hate to waste my whole life working in the Deluxe.’

  Hammer could understand. As Billy left the room he smiled to himself. The kid reminded him of how he used to be. He sprinkled sugar into his cup and glanced at the window to the sun-drenched street below his room. The steam of the beverage filled his nostrils as he took a sip. It reminded him what real coffee was meant to taste like and bore no resemblance to the beverage he was used to, dished up from a chuck wagon. He was about to swallow when long morning shadows traced across the sand of the main thoroughfare.

  He could tell it was horsemen. Quite a lot of horsemen.

  The curious cowboy allowed the coffee to find its way down into his gullet and then rose back to his full height and stepped closer to the window. With the cup still in his hand he pressed his temple against the glass as six horsemen came into view.

  A cold shiver traced down his spine.

  He watched them carefully steer their lathered-up horses along the still quiet street toward the livery stable at the far end.

  ‘Now who in tarnation are those hombres?’ he asked himself before returning to his chair and resting himself down upon its padded seat. He placed the cup down upon its saucer and then lifted the cutlery and started to cut up the still sizzling bacon.

  As he chewed and savoured the taste of well-cooked food, his mind raced. There was something about the six riders that did not sit well with Hammer.

  He knew what the average cowboy looked like and those men were definitely not cut from their cloth. Hammer made short work of the meal as he dwelled upon the thought of the half-dozen horsemen and tried to work out why they made him so uneasy. Folding the last slice of bread he mopped up every last drop of the yoke.

  Hammer washed the unexpectedly good meal down his throat with a mouthful of the black coffee. He became convinced that the six horsemen were either lawmen or they were hired gunmen. It seemed doubtful that they were star packers. He patted the sides of his mouth with the napkin and then pulled it free of his shirt collar.

  Hammer stood, tossed the cloth on top of the plate and then strode across the room to where his six-shooter hung in its holster. He lifted the gunbelt free of the bedpost and strapped it around his hips.

  The cowboy moved to his saddlebag and unbuckled one of its satchel flaps. He pulled out a bank book and his trail drive earnings. As was his ritual, he was going to deposit the cash in the bank and use the remainder of his handsome bonus money to live on.

  That was his plan anyway.

  He slid the bank book into his shirt pocket with the folded cash and smiled to himself.

  ‘Reckon I’ll go put a good word in for little Billy before the bank opens,’ he muttered
before picking up his still dusty hat and placing it over his hair. He rubbed his face, then glanced in the stand mirror and sighed at his reflection. ‘Sure wish I could grow me some damn whiskers.’

  The Cheyenne cowboy exited the room, locked its door and hastily made his way to the top of the staircase. He descended the steps and moved across the lobby toward the slumbering clerk propped on his chair behind the desk. The man was dozing on his chair as the cowboy slapped the palm of his hand on the wooden counter top.

  The noise resonated around the hotel lobby.

  The startled clerk awoke suddenly and stared at the tall Hammer who was looking down at him. A feeble smile etched the face of the slightly built man as he got to his feet and yawned.

  ‘Can I help you, Mr Hammer?’

  ‘I’d like to rent that room for another day, partner.’ Hammer smiled as he placed another greenback on the register and pushed it toward the clerk. ‘Unless you got any objections, that is?’

  ‘Absolutely no objections, my dear sir.’ The clerk scooped up the five-dollar bill and clutched it to his chest. ‘None at all.’

  Hammer was about to turn when he recalled the words little Billy Vine had uttered up in his room. He rested a hand on the desk counter.

  ‘Tell me something, friend,’ the cowboy enquired. ‘Are folks talking about me?’

  The clerk shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Folks are said to be talking about the Cheyenne cowboy,’ Hammer added. ‘Some hombres call me that.’

  The clerk shook his head. ‘I’ve not heard anything but I ain’t bin out of the Deluxe since yesterday. If I do hear of anyone talking about you, I’ll ask why.’

  Hammer sighed heavily.

  ‘Thanks, friend. I’m going to stretch my legs.’ Hammer touched the brim of his hat, swung on his heels and walked with dogged determination out into the bright street.

  He closed the hotel door behind him and then looked to his left and then to his right. Dodge City was eerily quiet for a town with so many cowboys within its boundaries. Hammer narrowed his eyes and stared down at the six horsemen outside the livery. Something was still gnawing at his craw. It was an uneasy feeling that Hammer could neither understand nor fully explain.