Western Omelette

Harold Gets His Story

"Stagecoach never carried so many folks at one time, I'll tell yu." The driver revelled in the attention, and the free drinks being foisted on him in the saloon. Reporters from papers all over the state and from up north too, were clamouring for details. Down the street at the doctor's office, another crowd crammed the front door trying to get statements and photographs.

"I'm gonna be able to retire after this, Hoke," the doc grinned and did a final examination of the wound in his side. "Some of them fellers outside have been offering me more than a few of the rewards our sheriff has on outlaw posters."

"Careful what you wish for, Doc. What do you think?" Hoke touched the fresh bandage and stretched carefully.

"Comin' nice. Few more weeks and you'll be set to do it all again."

He climbed down from the table and pulled on his shirt. "Not in this lifetime. Once was plenty. Told Pinkerton's I was quitting, and I'm gonna rebuild on my land."

"Then what? You got future plans for makin' a livin'?"

"You bet." Hoke grinned, setting his hat on his head. "Can I get out your storeroom door.

"Sure, I'll wait a spell before leavin'."

****

The hotel dining room was packed, and Alicia was behind a table defended by Harold and his photographer. She had told and retold her story until she wondered herself if it was true, and now just wanted to be alone and quiet. Harold stood on a chair and shouted for silence and attention. His bandaged hands swishing around like white doves, as he calmed the crowd.

"Enough now, okay. You boys have been badgering this poor lady for two days now. You have the story – we all have the story, and it's soon going to be in papers across this whole country. Right now, Miss Potter is finished giving interviews and is retiring for a much-needed rest, so move along and let's not be bothering the lady any more."

He saw her up to her room and left her at the door, promising to see she wasn't bothered. Alicia thanked him and stepped into her room, closing the door and locking it.

"Learned your lesson, I see."

She spun about, fingers at her throat, and opening her mouth in surprise. "Hoke! How- when . . ."

"When nobody was lookin'." He moved toward her, and she fell into his arms.

"Uff- gotta be careful still," he said, bending away and sitting on the bed.

"Oh, Hoke, I'm sorry – what did the doctor say?" She perched gently beside him.

"Said a couple of weeks yet. Right now I'm supposed to rest easy and let it finish healin'." He removed his hat and stuck his finger in the hole in the crown. "This was from the day we first met."

He felt her soft hands on his face as she turned it toward her, and fell into the liquid pool of her eyes.

"And this is for that last day we almost had together." Her mouth closed on his, moist and eager . . . and enduring.

****

Alicia answered the door and faced a flustered Edward.

"I'm so real sorry to bother you, but I can't find Mr. Easterly anywhere and I wondered if . . ." His eyes stretched past her shoulder and took in the figure of Hoke Easterly, stripped to the waist, sitting on the bed.

"Oh, my . . . I'm surly sorry. I really am. I- I- I-"

"You're startin' to sound like the Santiagos, Edward. What did you want?" Hoke laughed.

"Uhm- oh- there's a- a Pinkerton man downstairs lookin' for you."

"Tell him I'll be down in a minute. And Edward . . ." Hoke put his finger over his lips, and gave a nod.

"Surely. Right." Edward copied the sign.

Alicia returned to the bed and lay propped on one elbow.

"So much for discretion."

"Actually, Edward is a clam when it comes to secrets. I don't think we need worry. Besides, it will soon be common knowledge anyway."

"Hmm. What do you think Pinkerton wants?"

"Prob'ly came to collect my badge and papers. Not something they want just lyin' around." He finished dressing, kissed her warmly and left, saying he wouldn't be long.

Hoke found the man from the agency, seated in the dining room enjoying a large plate of steak and eggs. He strolled over, hand out and introduced himself.

"Hoke Easterly."

"Hiram Tuft. Sit and join me."

"I expect you came for these," Hoke placed his papers and the Pinkerton badge on the table as he sat, and waved at the server.

"What he's havin' looks mighty good, and a coffee please."

"You're right," Hiram said between mouthfuls. "But I also need to hear the whole story from you."

Hoke sighed and sat back. "It'll be in all the papers soon, which I'm sure you're aware of."

"Horse's mouth, Mr. Easterly. Them's my orders."

"O--kay, but this is the last time so get it straight before you leave." He sat forward as his meal came, and after tasting the beef he folded a piece of bread and dunked it in his egg. Hiram chewed slowly, waiting, and Hoke began right from the day Alicia first arrived.

Hiram listened intently, pausing for one or two questions, and a break to order some more coffee and pie – his treat. When Hoke reached the point where he was shot, in the canyon, Hiram held up a hand, finished chewing some pie and put down his fork.

"This is where I need you to be very precise, Hoke, 'cause after all, you were unconscious, and bits of this next part of the story are hearsay."

"I can only tell you what I was told and what I know for a fact."

"Okay, just wanted you to know. When I turn in my report, it'll come up for sure."

Hoke sipped some coffee and wiped his mouth. He noticed other diners had lingered longer over their meals, trying to hear the conversation, but Hiram waved a dismissing hand.

"Like you said, be in all the papers soon."

"Well, first thing I knew, was Alicia Potter was wipin' my face and my side where the bullet hit. Hurt mighty too. She was babblin' on about how I was crazy and made her so angry, all the while all I felt was tender hands carin' for me.

"That's when I heard the other voice and I thought at first it was Houseman, but when I looked up, it didn't look like him. The face was in shadow with the sun right behind his head."

"What did he say?"

"Guess your friend shouldn't have mixed with two Pinkertons."

"Two Pinkertons. He said that?"

"Yep. And when he squatted down beside me and talked about my wound, I saw his face . . . it was Tom Horn."