Cemetery Jones 2 Page 15
People stopped to stare at the ballyhoo. Sam climbed into the carriage. On the opposite side, Maxine Murgatroyd leaped and picked up the reins. Before he could speak, she had chirrupped to Stubby’s team of bays and they were off for Pecos.
She said, “Wanted a few last words with you, Sam.”
“You’re gettin’ to be quite a talker,” he observed.
“Well, you’re the first man I ever did talk to.”
“You learn fast.”
“It’s about that Renee. Supposin’ she’s mad at you ’cause you stayed away so long and never did write that letter?”
“Let me worry about that.”
“Well, but just supposin’?”
“I don’t play supposin’ games. You just mind the road and get me to the stage line.”
After a while she said in a low voice, “I just wanted you to know I’d be there.”
“Now, Mac, you’ve growed to be a lady and all that, I do admit it, but I’m old enough to be your father. And—”
“And nothin’,” she said firmly. She had resumed her masculine garb: tight Levis and a red and white shirt. Her hair had grown so that it resembled a boy’s cap—still, she was all girl. “I’m rich now. Men’ll be chasin’ after me, you think I don’t know it? Well, it’ll be a hell of a while before I meet another Sam Jones. I know that.”
He sighed. “Mac, you’re the greatest kid in the world. Nobody could do what you done. I think you’re wonderful. Can we let it go at that?”
After a long moment, she said gravely, “I reckon we can.”
It ended there. She drove along the peaceful road to the parting she dreaded without further comment.
But as he was about to board the stage, she leaped high into his surprised arms and kissed him fiercely on the mouth. Then she was gone, fleeing, as he had first seen her in Bowville, swift as an antelope.
Sam dropped off the stage unannounced. The boy named Dink was chasing his dog down Main Street. Sam shouldered his duffle bag and walked to the hotel. He went up to his room and had them bring him hot water, then bathed and shaved and changed into fresh clothing.
When he got to El Sol, there was a welcoming committee: Mayor Wagner, the councilmen, Abe Solomon, Mr. and Mrs. Burr, and Marshal Donovan in the van.
Renee played a rousing march. Shaky, the bartender, called, “Drinks are on the house.”
Sam went to Renee. “I’m sorry about that letter. Things got a bit too busy.”
“It better be a good story,” she said. “Should we go upstairs?”
“Where else?”
In her room, she poured brandy. They sat down across the room from each other.
She said, “You’d better tell me.”
Sam sipped the brandy. He thought for a moment and then said, “It’s kinda weird, but I reckon the way to start is not with Stubby. That got settled. Y’see, there was this maverick kid ...”
About the Author
William Robert Cox (1901-1988) was a writer for more than sixty years, and published more than seventy-five novels and perhaps one thousand short stories, as well as more than 150 TV shows and several movies on film. He was well into his career, flooding the market with sports, crime, and adventure stories, when he turned to the western novel. He served twice as president of the Western Writers of America, and was writing his fifth Cemetery Jones novel, Cemetery Jones and the Tombstone War, when he passed away. He wrote under at least six pen names, including Willard d’Arcy, Mike Frederic, John Parkhill, Joel Reeve, Roger G. Spellman and Jonas Ward.
But the adventure doesn’t end here …
Join us for more first-class, action-packed books.
Regular updates feature on our website and blog
The Adventures continue…
Issuing new and classic fiction from Yesterday and Today!
More on William R. Cox