Win was a step behind him. “That’s right. We may not have as much to offer as Dodge, but whatever we have is yours.”
“Such gracious hospitality,” Nelek said. “What we would like most is to get in out of this sun and have something to drink.”
Win gestured at the batwings. “After you, then.”
Sugarplum twirled her red parasol, her golden hair shimmering under the lace. “Is it possible to get some ice cream anywhere?”
Chester and Win shared pained glances and Chester said, “I am afraid not, young lady. There is no ice to be had anywhere in Coffin Varnish.”
“How do people survive in this awful heat?” Sasha asked.
Nelek wrapped his arms around her and Sugarplum. “Ladies, we must remember we are roughing it. Dodge is an oasis of luxury compared to the rest of this godforsaken territory.”
Chester could not let the slur go unchallenged. “I wouldn’t know as I would go that far.”
“Oh, really?” Nelek said. “Tell us. Can Coffin Varnish boast of a water closet anywhere in its limits?”
“A what?” Win asked.
Nelek smiled smugly and gave the women on his arms a playful squeeze. “See what I mean, my dears? But don’t be disheartened. On the contrary. It will make the story of our adventure all the more entertaining.”
They repaired to the saloon and Win offered them his best whiskey. It earned a quirk of the lips from Charles Nelek. The ladies, Win noted, drained their glasses in a gulp.
“Now that we have wet our parched throats,” Nelek said, “we would very much like to view the display Undersheriff Glickman told me about.”
“Oh yes!” Sugarplum squealed. “The dead people!”
“You will be the first to see them,” Win mentioned.
Leah giggled and squirmed in her chair. “We will? Did you hear that, girls? We will be the envy of everyone.”
“I can’t wait to tell Claudia,” Sasha said. “Her and her two-headed snake she saw once.”
Chester had been so entranced by the three visions that he was slow to rouse and say, “I trust that Undersheriff Glickman also mentioned it is a dollar a person for the privilege?”
“Yes, he did,” Nekel replied. “A bit exorbitant, wouldn’t you say?”
“Not at all,” Chester said. “These aren’t ordinary dead people. They are the handiwork of a notorious desperado. A killer who has his own penny dreadful. Jeeter Frost is halfway to famous.”
“Or will be after this,” Win said.
“Still, a whole dollar…,” Nelek quibbled.
Sugarplum showed her less than sugary side by snapping, “Damn it, just pay the man, Charley. We didn’t come all this way to listen to you haggle. And it’s not as if you haven’t hoarded every cent you ever earned.”
“That tart tongue of yours will get you in trouble one day,” Nelek warned.
“Oh, please. All I have to do is cross my legs and you will come begging for it,” Sugarplum said. “If you want to act all tough and important, be my guest. But don’t threaten me or I will be on the next stage for San Francisco. McCabe has been after me to come to his place.”
“Now, now,” Nelek quickly said. “Let’s not talk rashly, shall we? Did I say I wouldn’t pay this gentleman? Do you think I would bring you all this way and then not view the deceased?”
Chester accepted the money with the air of a man accepting the Holy Grail. He ushered them outside and down the street to the livery, the ladies chattering like chipmunks the whole while about the perfectly vile heat and the hideous dust everywhere and the awful smells, and wasn’t it all just grand fun?
Win accompanied them, and at a nod from Chester, helped open the double doors.
“Oh my!” Sugarplum exclaimed.
The four bodies had been propped upright in coffins built by Dolph Anderson. Each bore a crudely scrawled sign with the name of the victim. The three Blights had their arms folded across their chests. But it was Edison Farnsworth who drew the ladies like buzzing flies.
“He is blown all apart!” Leah squealed in delight. “Oh, it is hideous! You can see his organs and bones and everything!”
“Wait until we get back and tell everyone!” Sasha gushed.
Charles Nelek did not realize it, but he made Chester and Win extremely happy when he remarked, “Gentlemen, I do believe you have a gold mine on your hands.”
Chapter 9
“Letters have always been chicken scratches to me,” Jeeter Frost said as he stared hard at the McGuffey’s Reader. “You say this one is an e?”
“That it is, Mr. Frost,” Ernestine Prescott said. Her students had long since been dismissed for the day. Outside the schoolhouse, the gray shroud of descending twilight blanketed the prairie. “It is the fifth letter of the alphabet, after d, which you have already learned, and before f.”
“Sort of looks like a tadpole, don’t it?” Jeeter asked with a grin.
“Doesn’t it,” Ernestine corrected, and allowed herself a grin of her own. “Yes, it does, somewhat.”
Jeeter looked up from his desk. He was small enough that he fit, but it was a tight squeeze. “I can’t thank you enough, ma’am, for helping me.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Frost,” Ernestine said. She had on the prettiest of the three dresses she owned, and had washed her hair. “I am an educator. It is my duty to enlighten the ignorant.”
“That’s sure enough me, ma’am,” Jeeter said, nodding. “Ignorant as sin. I don’t know much about anything except Colts. That’s all I am. An ignorant man, good with a Colt.”
“You are too hard on yourself,” Ernestine said. She stood beside her desk, a ramrod, her hands primly folded. “In the first place, we are all of us ignorant to some degree. In the second place, I can’t believe the only skill you have is killing.”
“It’s more of a talent, ma’am,” Jeeter said. “Like the talent you have for teaching. You are awful good at it.”
“Why, thank you,” Ernestine said, unfolding her hands and then folding them again. “You deserve some of the credit. You are an excellent student.”
“Me, ma’am?” Jeeter said, and laughed.
“You also have excellent manners,” Ernestine remarked, “which I must admit I did not expect.”
Jeeter self-consciously ran a hand over his oily hair. His hat was on a peg by the door and he cast a yearning glance in its direction before saying, “My folks take the credit there. I can be almost a gentleman when I put my mind to it.”
“You have impressed me,” Ernestine said. Suddenly coughing, she said, “Suppose we get back to your studies. Practice writing the e, oh, twenty times.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jeeter picked up his pencil. He hesitated, the tip of his tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth, then painstakingly imitated the e in the McGuffey’s Reader. When he was done, he held the paper so she could see. “Look! I done it!”
“You did it,” Ernestine corrected. “Now write it nineteen more times.” As he bent to the task she turned and walked to the window. It would take him a while. He did his best, but he was as slow as a turtle. The sprinkling of lights in Dodge reminded her night had fallen. She should tell him to leave. She had her reputation to think of. A schoolmarm must be above reproach, and here she was, alone with a man. She walked back to her desk and sat in her chair. She did not tell him to leave.
“I really am doing good, ma’am?”
His question surprised her. Not that he asked it, but his sincerity. Ernestine had never met anyone who yearned to learn as keenly as he did. “It has only been three days and already you are up to e. Yes, I would say you are doing quite well, Mr. Frost.”