This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [104]
“Leave it in the hall,” she called.
“I’ll get yore chamber pot,” he insisted.
“I’ll leave it outside the door.” Her voice rose in agitation.
With relief she heard him set the tray on the floor and then his heavy footsteps plodding down the stairs. She leaned back weakly, and prayed that her stomach would not heave.
Bulldog rode into town shortly before noon. He was hot and tired and mildly agitated. Waiting around town wasn’t the thing he liked to do best. After he had waited for three or four days for Slater and Summer, he decided to ride up to Burleson to see a rancher who joined their cattle drive each year, thinking it would save him a trip later.
When he’d come into Hamilton almost a week ago, he had been surprised to discover the town had progressed to the extent it had its own new plank church and a skinny young fellow for a preacher. With the purpose of his trip accomplished, all he had to do was loaf about and wait for the wedding party to arrive.
Now, thinking he should check with the liveryman, he turned his horse toward the stable and inquired if anyone from McLean’s Keep had come to town.
“No, but Jesse Thurston brought that fancy buggy of Mrs. McLean’s in.” The liveryman looked expectantly, waiting for a sign to continue.
“I ain’t a carin’ ’bout Mrs. McLean or her goddam buggy,” Bulldog retorted. “I’m a waitin’ for Slater and his bride to come in to be married.”
The liveryman couldn’t believe that here was someone who hadn’t heard the big news and joyfully launched into the long story.
“It was one of the troopers what told me. Said Travis shot his ma. Said he come in a braggin’ he’d seen Slater McLean up in the hills, eyes already picked out by the crows, said Jesse dealed hisself in and the woman run betwixt ‘em. Tom Treloar, Jesse’s top man, shot the top of Travis’s head off. There’s more to it. Soldier said Slater was hurt, bad hurt. . . .” He looked at Bulldog slyly, because he was about to drop his heaviest load. “Did ya say that Slater was gonna wed up with that gal that come from the Piney Woods? Yeah? Wal . . . I wonder why she come to town with Jesse Thurston. He put ’er up at the hotel the other day.”
Bulldog almost swallowed the cud he was chewing. Without a word, he turned his horse and rode toward the main street. A feeling of importance for being the one to pass along such disturbing news caused the liveryman to hitch up his britches and grin as he watched Bulldog ride away.
At the hotel, he stomped into the lobby and bellowed:
“Graves! Where the hell you at?”
The man ambled in from the back room, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
“What you want? I let yore room out.”
“I ain’t a wantin’ yore goddam room. I’m a wantin’ to know if Miss Kuykendall is here.”
Graves looked uneasy. His eyes shifted toward the saloon door.
“Well, is she or ain’t she?” Bulldog grabbed the register and looked at it, forgetting momentarily he wouldn’t recognize her name if he saw it.
“Her name ain’t writ thar.”
“I ain’t carin’ if her name’s writ thar, ya dumb ass. Is she here?”
“It ain’t none of yore business who’s in my hotel.”
“I’m makin’ it my business, you shit-eatin’ bastard.”
Graves made a move to block the way to the stairs, but seeing the look on Bulldog’s face, shrugged and stepped aside. He’d done what he’d been told to do. It was a toss-up which one of them gents was the orneriest. It would be a good fight ta see . . . yes, a damn good sight ta see Jesse Thurston and Slater McLean a fightin’ over that lit’l bit of tail.
Summer was standing beside the window when Bulldog rode up to the hotel. She had forgotten he had come to town almost a week ago . . . come to be sure a preacher was in town, and if not to go on to Burleson or even to Georgetown to fetch one. At the sight of him, the sharp edge of terror caused her head to throb unbearably, but that was nothing at all compared to the chill surrounding her heart. She shrank against the wall, and stood there very still for what seemed an eternity.
She knew the heavy footsteps on the stairs were Bulldog’s even before he commenced pounding