A Deadwood Fan Fic
Title: A Debt Repaid! Part 1
Author:
pip_longfellow
Rating: PG13 (strong language, physical abuse, a hanging)
Fandom/Pairing(s): Doc Cochran (sorta)/OW
Lines:
Rose and Valerie screaming from the gallery say he must go free.
The judge does not agree and he tells them so oh oh.
from Maxwell's Silver Hammer, off Abbey Road
Warnings:This story, like the show I chose to write around, has extremely strong language. There is ALOT of cursing and some bigoted language ( from the same context used in the show itself). There are allusions to physical violence and abuse as well as a hanging
Disclaimer: I do not own the Deadwood show HBO does. I am simply a lover of all things old west and all things Brad Dourif. The historical facts found in this story are not wholy true, they are warped to impact the story line.
Summary: Doctor Amos Cochran gets a medical reprieve from his ever worsening tuberculosis, but at what cost.
I would like to thank
two_of_us_fic for this fun and enjoyable outlet. I would also like to thank anyone who reads this story and leaves feedback because I adore feedback. Thank you all again
The horse spurred on, its fetlocks drenched in the sweat dripping from its coat. She crested the hill and her rider slowed her to a trot and then to a stop at a flowing brook. Her rider dismounted and sipped a draught from the stream. Jezebel, for that was the horse’s name, stepped panting to the stream and lowered her lips to the water. For a moment she let the cold water numb her and bring coolness to her body, and then she lapped thirstily at the brook. Her rider took a rag out of the sack and dipped it in the water, after a light wring it was brushed against Jezebel’s coat making her shiver.
“Thank you Jezebel, we are so close now, just one more quick run and we will be in Deadwood. Once we crest that hill,” a gloved hand pointed to the little ridge not more then 50 ft away, “we will probably spot it in the distance.” The hand patted her and her master walked downstream and took the glove off. Blood streamed from a gaping hole and Jezebel’s master cringed at the pain. She cantered over, allowing tired muscles to loosen; she nudged her head against the buckskin jacket.
“I’m alright Jezebel, just a little wound, I will get it looked at in town after our deliveries are made and then we can head on to Spearfish.” Bloodied fingers reached into a buckskin pocket and drew out a small leaf wrapped package and brushed it tenderly.
“From what I hear tell this won’t be the place we will find the one to give this to.” Once again it was tucked gingerly into the special pocket and a gentle pat made sure it was safely stowed, and then horse and rider set off at a slow trot towards the ever growing vastness that was Deadwood.
“This here is a fine horse young sir.”
“Thank you Mr…?”
“McKlintock son, the name’s McKlintock.”
“Thank you Mr. McKlintock. Her name is Jezebel.”
McKlintock watched as the young boy reached into his stained leather pocket and pulled out a set of bills. He flipped through them and peeled one off.
“Would this do to make sure she gets extra special treatment?”
McKlintock looked down at the five dollar bill and couldn’t help but let his amazement show.
“Yes sir, I will make extra sure that she gets all the best oats and a good brushin’ every day she is here.”
“Thank you, we shouldn’t be here for more ‘en a week. But I will let you know if our plans change.”
McKlintock watched as the young man walked to his beautiful mare and ran the fingers of one bare hand through her mane. He couldn’t understand the words that the boy spoke but they seemed to calm her. The boy kissed the mare’s forehead and gently pulled her ear before he grabbed the saddle bags and moved off out of the livery tipping his hat at the old stable man.
‘A boy like that won’t last a week in Deadwood,’ iffn he don’t learn ‘at good manners‘re wasted ‘roun here.’
McKlintock shook his head and turned to the red mare taking a hand brush from the wall. He brushed her coat and felt her shiver pleasurably under his touch. He patted her and whispered a gentle prayer for the safe return of her master.
Trixie stood outside the bank sneaking a cigarette while Alma was taking lunch at home. She saw the boy walking towards her from the livery. He looked around as if amazed by what he saw. Trixie shook her head and looked away, get too attached to the hoople heads and you will only be disappointed. She watched the smoke drift up from her lips and took another puff. The boy stopped and looked up at the bank smiling until he noticed the closed sign on the door.
“ ‘Scuse me, Ms. Do you know when the bank might reopen?”
Trixie looked at him questioningly her eyebrows raised in a ‘What the Fuck are you’
“Yeah, it will fuckin’ open when I am done with my fuckin’ cigarette.”
He looked surprised at her and blushed as Trixie shook her head and murmured under her breath.
“I am sorry Ms. I really didn’t mean any offense. I can wait. No bother.” He smiled at her and took off his hat and she felt as if a three legged dog had just gave her a lick, she felt sorry for this poor dumb hoople. Trixie sighed and smiled back at him, stamped out her cigarette and turned to unlock the door.
“Where the hell are you from kid?”
“Most recent? I come from Virginia City , Nevada but I kinda grew up in San Francisco , California .”
“So where did you learn that goofy language?”
“I don’t quite understand Ms.?”
“Exactly! Ms., No offense, no bother.” She repeated them with an air to her voice that couldn’t be missed.
Again he blushed and readjusted the saddle bag on his shoulder.
“I am sorry Ms., I grew up in an orphanage until I was sold when I was twelve. Then I was a servant ‘til recent so… I really don’t mean any off… uh… sorry.” He turned red and looked down at his feet and Trixie felt bad.
“Hey look kid I’m sorry. It’s just we don’t get a lot of folks out here with fuckin’ manners. Just be careful who you doff yer cap at and all, ‘K?”
He looked up at her with a sheepish look and nodded.
Trixie smiled and stepped behind the Bank Cage. “ Alright how may I help you sir.”
He smiled at the little good natured dig her words denoted. “I have a letter I need put in your safe for Mrs. Alma Ellsworth.”
Trixie looked at him confused. “The owner of the bank? Why didn’t you just wait fer her to come in?”
“It is just important that this letter gets placed in a safe place, I figgered Mrs. Ellsworth’s bank would be the most safe. Will you make sure she gets it Mrs., uh… Mrs.”
“Trixie, just Trixie. I ain’t no one’s fuckin’ wife, not fer lack of tryin mind.”
It was the young man’s turn to look confused. “You ain’t married? How in the world could someone as beautiful as you not be married yet? Your man must be insane…”
“I suppose you could say that, he is the mayor.”
“Well ma’am you can just tell the mayor that William Bell thinks he is nuts for not marrying you up right now! Ma’am…” He gently took her hand and brushed his lips on her knuckles while still looking her in the eye. Green eyes she thought, such deep green eyes.
Trixie laughed and looked down at the envelope with Alma ’s name on it written in a flowery hand. On the edge of the envelope was a bloody patch. She looked up just as the kid placed his hat back on his head and backed out of the bank. Suddenly he was flattened by a hunched figure in black and white. Trixie immediately recognized the Doc and raced outside. She reached out to Cochran and helped him up as he started coughing. She turned a glaring eye on the boy ass first in the mud.
“You fuckin’ IDIOT! Watch where the fuck you’re goin’!”
The kid jumped to his feet his face red from the tirade but he immediately went to the doctor to aide him, a white handkerchief magically whipped into the air before the little man.
“Please sir, I am so very sorry.”
Cochran looked up at the proffered handkerchief and nodded taking it and covering his mouth as another coughing spasm bent him double. He felt a strong arm reach around him and snake into the crook of his right arm.
“Where can I get you to Doctor?”
The immediacy of proffered aid took Doc Cochran aback. He tried to gain composure under the great weight of his malady and shook his head.
“Don’t need help, just a moment to catch my breath.” Still a strong hand held him, a comfort considering he felt as if he wanted to fall to the ground.
“Sir please let me get you inside at the very least?”
Cochran looked up at the worried face gazing down at him and then over at Trixie whose eyes were starting to tear. Doc nodded at this idea and he wrapped his right arm around the boy’s neck as the boy nearly carried him into the bank.
“Fuck off we’re closed.” Trixie slammed the door in a hoople head’s face. Then she raced to Doc Cochran’s side.
“Here sir, I just got this water at the creek.” The boy held a small canteen up to the Doctor. Cochran looked up as the coughing finally began to subside. His eyes were blurred by tears but he could see the green eyes gazing at him with concern.
“Don’t want to contaminate your canteen son.”
“Sir it ain’t no matter, I got another one. Please sir?” Cochran smiled and took the canteen. The cold metal felt good against his parched lips, the fresh creek water cut cold across his chest numbing the ache. The wanton need of his body subsided as the water cleansed his innards. He whipped his wet lips on the now blood soaked handkerchief.
“I am sorry about this.” He rasped as he raised the red stained cloth before him. “I will have it cleaned for you.”
“Doctor please don’t it is my fault entirely for knockin’ you down… I should have …”
Cochran felt the green eyes gazing at him and he looked up at the pause in the boy’s sentence.
“You’re… Doctor Cochran? Doctor Amos Cochran? Of the 53rd ? ”
Cochran felt his blurred mind clear in an instant as the reverent whispered words echoed in his mind.
“Yes, how do you know that?”
“I…I…” The boy’s eyes filled with unshed tears as he stuttered whispering. “I… have been lookin’ fer you sir.”
“Why?”
“I uh,” He turned away wiping a tear from his eye. “I got somthin’ for you sir.”
Cochran looked at the young man, far to pretty to be out in the wilderness. He coughed again, bile and blood making him wretch into the soft white of the handkerchief. The boy put a hand out to him, though he was calm in the view of the older man’s malady.
“Somethin’ fer me? What could you possibly have fer me?”
“A package sent by … well by a gal I used ta work with in San Francisco. She asked if I were to ever find you to give it to ya?”
Doc heard the need in the boy’s voice as he tucked the poor stained coughing cloth in his upper pocket.
“Alright, I will be back at my house in about two hours, meet me then.”
“Yes sir. It will allow me to get to the other things I have to do.”
“What other things have brought you here son?”
The boy’s sad eyes gazed again into Cochran’s and once again the green was striking as were the emotions fighting behind their color.
“I have something for Mr. Swearengen, and a debt to repay.”
He sounded fierce in his conviction and Cochran felt a pain restrict his heart. Trixie’s hand on his shoulder tightened momentarily and he knew that they both felt the same.
“Son you really shouldn’t ought to have dealings with Al Swearengen. Just give what you got to give to his man Dan Dority and leave well enough alone.”
The boy stood and hauled the saddle bags up on his left shoulder, his right hand never flexing in aid.
“No sir, I have to do this in person as I promised. I will see you later then, sir, Ms. Trixie.”
“Al will kill that poor son of a bitch.”
Doc watched as the kid hitched his saddlebags on his shoulder once more before he turned his head and dipped his hat by touching his right hand to it, nodding at Doc and Trixie. As he left Doc looked up at Trixie the pain in his chest subsiding to a mollified ache.
“There is something wrong with his right hand.”
Trixie’s eyes followed the boy as he moved across the street, gazing again around as if perpetually amazed at his surroundings, and entered the Grand Central Hotel.
“Yeah Doc, I found some blood on an envelope he handed me.”
Doc stood feeling older then his fifty years.
“Trixie could you go and tell Dan to head the kid off as best he can?”
Doc stepped out into the thoroughfare not noticing the many worried looks as he walked towards the upper class section of town.
From the door way of the Grand Central watery green eyes saw what the dark hunched figure missed. Damaged fingers painfully grasped at the leaf wrap and clutching it whispered to no one.
“I think I found him father. Maybe I can repay the debt I owe.”
E.B. Farnum drummed his fingers on the desk and murmured under his breath.
“I am sorry sir; I didn’t mean to make you wait.” The boy turned at the murmurs and his gracious reply sent a scowl to EB’s face.
“I am just a menial service person awaiting the opportune moment to attend your every need young sir.”
EB noted the embarrassment in the boy’s eyes as his words hit home.
“Rooms are eight dollars a night, cash up front. Four dollars for private bath.”
EB knew that the kid could probably not afford the rate and he didn’t care, he didn’t need some snot staying at his … this hotel. The kid bit his lip and seemed to think for a moment, and then he shrugged and smiled up at EB with that irritating chirpy happiness EB had seen on him when he had walked in. He riffled through the saddlebags on his shoulder and finally pulled out a small leather folder. He counted to himself and pulled out three twenty dollar silver certificates. EB’s eyes grew wide in greedy shock and amazement.
“Here is sixty dollars, as I could really use that bath.”
“Huh?” EB grunted as he accepted the three crisp bills.
“You said eight dollars a night up front. I plan on bein’ here seven days, so that’s fity six and a bath at four is sixy. Am I wrong in my math sir?”
EB stared at the kid with incredulity, at a loss for words. Finally he shook his head and glared at the kid.
“No you are right in your math, I am just not as quick at my calculations as you are. Here is your room key; I will have my man bring up your water.”
The boy tipped his hat at EB and moved up the stairs.
“Youth and vitality, wrapped up in a teen age package. Well SON, we will see to it that you leave here with a pocket emptied of your proverbial capital of both. Richardson!!!!”
Eyes cast down Richardson slunk into the room from the kitchen.
“Yeesir?”
“He crawls from his hutch like the mangy dog whose assay is the gutter, and whose dining preferences lean to piles of awful left by the back door! Richardson, race up the back stairwell and draw a hot bath for our young guest. I shall pay dalliance to Mr. Swearengen.”
Richardson loped back to the kitchen and placed his apron on a chair.
“Richardson, hon where you bound to in such an all fire hurry?”
“Mr. Farnum done got a guest and I am to draw the young gentlemen a bath.”
“That sour ole goat! I am surprised we still have guests with his face stickin out that window. Well Richardson you go and make sure that bath is nice an’ hot.”
Richardson smiled at the kindness of his dark mistress. He nodded and raced up the stairs. In twenty minutes the bath was misted with warm steam and Richardson was placing a slice of soap next to the tub. He moved out of the room and across to the closed door of The Grand Central’s newest guest.
“Sir your bath is drawn and ready to be had.”
“Oh… uh... thank you
In a little over a half an hour Richardson was cleaning the tables and he watched as the young man came down the stairs. Cleaned the young man looked different .He had on what must have been his Sunday best, black pants, black jacket, crème colored shirt and a bow knot at his throat. In his gloved hands a dusty brown leather riding hat. His long hair, auburn against alabaster skin, was tied with a thong of leather and hidden down behind his shirt. But he looked uncomfortable as he stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“Kin I help you Mr. Bell?”
“I… I want to see Mr. Swearengen and I was hoping that I looked alright. I have traveled a long way and…”
“Well hold on let me git Aunt Lou she can help.”
“Aunt Lou? Oh no don’t both her I…”
Richardson was gone before the statement could finish.
Soon Aunt Lou stepped out of the kitchen dusting flour from her apron.
“Now what is this Richardson? Who needs my hel…”
Aunt Lou stood in the empty parlor and stared at the familiar face before her, the green eyes shadowed in fear.
“Kin it be you?”
“Yeah Aunt Lou.”
“Bell honey what are you doin here?”
“I uh... I have a few letters and such to deliver.”
“Hearst sent You to deliver letters?”
“UH no, no I uh… Listen I had better go. It was nice seeing you Aunt Lou.”
“Wait!”
Richardson stepped out of the kitchen confused at the sound of great worry in Aunt Lou’s voice. He saw the dapper young man pause at the doorway, saw Aunt Lou reach out to the boy as if not believing who stood before her.
“Are you in trouble? Dija… dija run away honey? Dija steal from …that man?”
The only reply she got was a sad smile. The boy named William raised his hand and tapped the brim of his hat and moved out of the door.
“Oh God and Saints preserve us. You jus signed yer own death warrant. He is gonna catch you and kill you. You gotta run.”
“Aunt Lou? What was that?”
Aunt Lou turned towards Richardson and he saw fat tears rolling down her ebon cheeks.
Author:
pip_longfellow
Rating: PG13 (strong language, physical abuse, a hanging)
Fandom/Pairing(s): Doc Cochran (sorta)/OW
Lines:
Rose and Valerie screaming from the gallery say he must go free.
The judge does not agree and he tells them so oh oh.
from Maxwell's Silver Hammer, off Abbey Road
Warnings:This story, like the show I chose to write around, has extremely strong language. There is ALOT of cursing and some bigoted language ( from the same context used in the show itself). There are allusions to physical violence and abuse as well as a hanging
Disclaimer: I do not own the Deadwood show HBO does. I am simply a lover of all things old west and all things Brad Dourif. The historical facts found in this story are not wholy true, they are warped to impact the story line.
Summary: Doctor Amos Cochran gets a medical reprieve from his ever worsening tuberculosis, but at what cost.
I would like to thank
two_of_us_fic for this fun and enjoyable outlet. I would also like to thank anyone who reads this story and leaves feedback because I adore feedback. Thank you all again
The horse spurred on, its fetlocks drenched in the sweat dripping from its coat. She crested the hill and her rider slowed her to a trot and then to a stop at a flowing brook. Her rider dismounted and sipped a draught from the stream. Jezebel, for that was the horse’s name, stepped panting to the stream and lowered her lips to the water. For a moment she let the cold water numb her and bring coolness to her body, and then she lapped thirstily at the brook. Her rider took a rag out of the sack and dipped it in the water, after a light wring it was brushed against Jezebel’s coat making her shiver.
“Thank you Jezebel, we are so close now, just one more quick run and we will be in Deadwood. Once we crest that hill,” a gloved hand pointed to the little ridge not more then 50 ft away, “we will probably spot it in the distance.” The hand patted her and her master walked downstream and took the glove off. Blood streamed from a gaping hole and Jezebel’s master cringed at the pain. She cantered over, allowing tired muscles to loosen; she nudged her head against the buckskin jacket.
“I’m alright Jezebel, just a little wound, I will get it looked at in town after our deliveries are made and then we can head on to Spearfish.” Bloodied fingers reached into a buckskin pocket and drew out a small leaf wrapped package and brushed it tenderly.
“From what I hear tell this won’t be the place we will find the one to give this to.” Once again it was tucked gingerly into the special pocket and a gentle pat made sure it was safely stowed, and then horse and rider set off at a slow trot towards the ever growing vastness that was Deadwood.
“This here is a fine horse young sir.”
“Thank you Mr…?”
“McKlintock son, the name’s McKlintock.”
“Thank you Mr. McKlintock. Her name is Jezebel.”
McKlintock watched as the young boy reached into his stained leather pocket and pulled out a set of bills. He flipped through them and peeled one off.
“Would this do to make sure she gets extra special treatment?”
McKlintock looked down at the five dollar bill and couldn’t help but let his amazement show.
“Yes sir, I will make extra sure that she gets all the best oats and a good brushin’ every day she is here.”
“Thank you, we shouldn’t be here for more ‘en a week. But I will let you know if our plans change.”
McKlintock watched as the young man walked to his beautiful mare and ran the fingers of one bare hand through her mane. He couldn’t understand the words that the boy spoke but they seemed to calm her. The boy kissed the mare’s forehead and gently pulled her ear before he grabbed the saddle bags and moved off out of the livery tipping his hat at the old stable man.
‘A boy like that won’t last a week in Deadwood,’ iffn he don’t learn ‘at good manners‘re wasted ‘roun here.’
McKlintock shook his head and turned to the red mare taking a hand brush from the wall. He brushed her coat and felt her shiver pleasurably under his touch. He patted her and whispered a gentle prayer for the safe return of her master.
Trixie stood outside the bank sneaking a cigarette while Alma was taking lunch at home. She saw the boy walking towards her from the livery. He looked around as if amazed by what he saw. Trixie shook her head and looked away, get too attached to the hoople heads and you will only be disappointed. She watched the smoke drift up from her lips and took another puff. The boy stopped and looked up at the bank smiling until he noticed the closed sign on the door.
“ ‘Scuse me, Ms. Do you know when the bank might reopen?”
Trixie looked at him questioningly her eyebrows raised in a ‘What the Fuck are you’
“Yeah, it will fuckin’ open when I am done with my fuckin’ cigarette.”
He looked surprised at her and blushed as Trixie shook her head and murmured under her breath.
“I am sorry Ms. I really didn’t mean any offense. I can wait. No bother.” He smiled at her and took off his hat and she felt as if a three legged dog had just gave her a lick, she felt sorry for this poor dumb hoople. Trixie sighed and smiled back at him, stamped out her cigarette and turned to unlock the door.
“Where the hell are you from kid?”
“Most recent? I come from Virginia City , Nevada but I kinda grew up in San Francisco , California .”
“So where did you learn that goofy language?”
“I don’t quite understand Ms.?”
“Exactly! Ms., No offense, no bother.” She repeated them with an air to her voice that couldn’t be missed.
Again he blushed and readjusted the saddle bag on his shoulder.
“I am sorry Ms., I grew up in an orphanage until I was sold when I was twelve. Then I was a servant ‘til recent so… I really don’t mean any off… uh… sorry.” He turned red and looked down at his feet and Trixie felt bad.
“Hey look kid I’m sorry. It’s just we don’t get a lot of folks out here with fuckin’ manners. Just be careful who you doff yer cap at and all, ‘K?”
He looked up at her with a sheepish look and nodded.
Trixie smiled and stepped behind the Bank Cage. “ Alright how may I help you sir.”
He smiled at the little good natured dig her words denoted. “I have a letter I need put in your safe for Mrs. Alma Ellsworth.”
Trixie looked at him confused. “The owner of the bank? Why didn’t you just wait fer her to come in?”
“It is just important that this letter gets placed in a safe place, I figgered Mrs. Ellsworth’s bank would be the most safe. Will you make sure she gets it Mrs., uh… Mrs.”
“Trixie, just Trixie. I ain’t no one’s fuckin’ wife, not fer lack of tryin mind.”
It was the young man’s turn to look confused. “You ain’t married? How in the world could someone as beautiful as you not be married yet? Your man must be insane…”
“I suppose you could say that, he is the mayor.”
“Well ma’am you can just tell the mayor that William Bell thinks he is nuts for not marrying you up right now! Ma’am…” He gently took her hand and brushed his lips on her knuckles while still looking her in the eye. Green eyes she thought, such deep green eyes.
Trixie laughed and looked down at the envelope with Alma ’s name on it written in a flowery hand. On the edge of the envelope was a bloody patch. She looked up just as the kid placed his hat back on his head and backed out of the bank. Suddenly he was flattened by a hunched figure in black and white. Trixie immediately recognized the Doc and raced outside. She reached out to Cochran and helped him up as he started coughing. She turned a glaring eye on the boy ass first in the mud.
“You fuckin’ IDIOT! Watch where the fuck you’re goin’!”
The kid jumped to his feet his face red from the tirade but he immediately went to the doctor to aide him, a white handkerchief magically whipped into the air before the little man.
“Please sir, I am so very sorry.”
Cochran looked up at the proffered handkerchief and nodded taking it and covering his mouth as another coughing spasm bent him double. He felt a strong arm reach around him and snake into the crook of his right arm.
“Where can I get you to Doctor?”
The immediacy of proffered aid took Doc Cochran aback. He tried to gain composure under the great weight of his malady and shook his head.
“Don’t need help, just a moment to catch my breath.” Still a strong hand held him, a comfort considering he felt as if he wanted to fall to the ground.
“Sir please let me get you inside at the very least?”
Cochran looked up at the worried face gazing down at him and then over at Trixie whose eyes were starting to tear. Doc nodded at this idea and he wrapped his right arm around the boy’s neck as the boy nearly carried him into the bank.
“Fuck off we’re closed.” Trixie slammed the door in a hoople head’s face. Then she raced to Doc Cochran’s side.
“Here sir, I just got this water at the creek.” The boy held a small canteen up to the Doctor. Cochran looked up as the coughing finally began to subside. His eyes were blurred by tears but he could see the green eyes gazing at him with concern.
“Don’t want to contaminate your canteen son.”
“Sir it ain’t no matter, I got another one. Please sir?” Cochran smiled and took the canteen. The cold metal felt good against his parched lips, the fresh creek water cut cold across his chest numbing the ache. The wanton need of his body subsided as the water cleansed his innards. He whipped his wet lips on the now blood soaked handkerchief.
“I am sorry about this.” He rasped as he raised the red stained cloth before him. “I will have it cleaned for you.”
“Doctor please don’t it is my fault entirely for knockin’ you down… I should have …”
Cochran felt the green eyes gazing at him and he looked up at the pause in the boy’s sentence.
“You’re… Doctor Cochran? Doctor Amos Cochran? Of the 53rd ? ”
Cochran felt his blurred mind clear in an instant as the reverent whispered words echoed in his mind.
“Yes, how do you know that?”
“I…I…” The boy’s eyes filled with unshed tears as he stuttered whispering. “I… have been lookin’ fer you sir.”
“Why?”
“I uh,” He turned away wiping a tear from his eye. “I got somthin’ for you sir.”
Cochran looked at the young man, far to pretty to be out in the wilderness. He coughed again, bile and blood making him wretch into the soft white of the handkerchief. The boy put a hand out to him, though he was calm in the view of the older man’s malady.
“Somethin’ fer me? What could you possibly have fer me?”
“A package sent by … well by a gal I used ta work with in San Francisco. She asked if I were to ever find you to give it to ya?”
Doc heard the need in the boy’s voice as he tucked the poor stained coughing cloth in his upper pocket.
“Alright, I will be back at my house in about two hours, meet me then.”
“Yes sir. It will allow me to get to the other things I have to do.”
“What other things have brought you here son?”
The boy’s sad eyes gazed again into Cochran’s and once again the green was striking as were the emotions fighting behind their color.
“I have something for Mr. Swearengen, and a debt to repay.”
He sounded fierce in his conviction and Cochran felt a pain restrict his heart. Trixie’s hand on his shoulder tightened momentarily and he knew that they both felt the same.
“Son you really shouldn’t ought to have dealings with Al Swearengen. Just give what you got to give to his man Dan Dority and leave well enough alone.”
The boy stood and hauled the saddle bags up on his left shoulder, his right hand never flexing in aid.
“No sir, I have to do this in person as I promised. I will see you later then, sir, Ms. Trixie.”
“Al will kill that poor son of a bitch.”
Doc watched as the kid hitched his saddlebags on his shoulder once more before he turned his head and dipped his hat by touching his right hand to it, nodding at Doc and Trixie. As he left Doc looked up at Trixie the pain in his chest subsiding to a mollified ache.
“There is something wrong with his right hand.”
Trixie’s eyes followed the boy as he moved across the street, gazing again around as if perpetually amazed at his surroundings, and entered the Grand Central Hotel.
“Yeah Doc, I found some blood on an envelope he handed me.”
Doc stood feeling older then his fifty years.
“Trixie could you go and tell Dan to head the kid off as best he can?”
Doc stepped out into the thoroughfare not noticing the many worried looks as he walked towards the upper class section of town.
From the door way of the Grand Central watery green eyes saw what the dark hunched figure missed. Damaged fingers painfully grasped at the leaf wrap and clutching it whispered to no one.
“I think I found him father. Maybe I can repay the debt I owe.”
E.B. Farnum drummed his fingers on the desk and murmured under his breath.
“I am sorry sir; I didn’t mean to make you wait.” The boy turned at the murmurs and his gracious reply sent a scowl to EB’s face.
“I am just a menial service person awaiting the opportune moment to attend your every need young sir.”
EB noted the embarrassment in the boy’s eyes as his words hit home.
“Rooms are eight dollars a night, cash up front. Four dollars for private bath.”
EB knew that the kid could probably not afford the rate and he didn’t care, he didn’t need some snot staying at his … this hotel. The kid bit his lip and seemed to think for a moment, and then he shrugged and smiled up at EB with that irritating chirpy happiness EB had seen on him when he had walked in. He riffled through the saddlebags on his shoulder and finally pulled out a small leather folder. He counted to himself and pulled out three twenty dollar silver certificates. EB’s eyes grew wide in greedy shock and amazement.
“Here is sixty dollars, as I could really use that bath.”
“Huh?” EB grunted as he accepted the three crisp bills.
“You said eight dollars a night up front. I plan on bein’ here seven days, so that’s fity six and a bath at four is sixy. Am I wrong in my math sir?”
EB stared at the kid with incredulity, at a loss for words. Finally he shook his head and glared at the kid.
“No you are right in your math, I am just not as quick at my calculations as you are. Here is your room key; I will have my man bring up your water.”
The boy tipped his hat at EB and moved up the stairs.
“Youth and vitality, wrapped up in a teen age package. Well SON, we will see to it that you leave here with a pocket emptied of your proverbial capital of both. Richardson!!!!”
Eyes cast down Richardson slunk into the room from the kitchen.
“Yeesir?”
“He crawls from his hutch like the mangy dog whose assay is the gutter, and whose dining preferences lean to piles of awful left by the back door! Richardson, race up the back stairwell and draw a hot bath for our young guest. I shall pay dalliance to Mr. Swearengen.”
Richardson loped back to the kitchen and placed his apron on a chair.
“Richardson, hon where you bound to in such an all fire hurry?”
“Mr. Farnum done got a guest and I am to draw the young gentlemen a bath.”
“That sour ole goat! I am surprised we still have guests with his face stickin out that window. Well Richardson you go and make sure that bath is nice an’ hot.”
Richardson smiled at the kindness of his dark mistress. He nodded and raced up the stairs. In twenty minutes the bath was misted with warm steam and Richardson was placing a slice of soap next to the tub. He moved out of the room and across to the closed door of The Grand Central’s newest guest.
“Sir your bath is drawn and ready to be had.”
“Oh… uh... thank you
In a little over a half an hour Richardson was cleaning the tables and he watched as the young man came down the stairs. Cleaned the young man looked different .He had on what must have been his Sunday best, black pants, black jacket, crème colored shirt and a bow knot at his throat. In his gloved hands a dusty brown leather riding hat. His long hair, auburn against alabaster skin, was tied with a thong of leather and hidden down behind his shirt. But he looked uncomfortable as he stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“Kin I help you Mr. Bell?”
“I… I want to see Mr. Swearengen and I was hoping that I looked alright. I have traveled a long way and…”
“Well hold on let me git Aunt Lou she can help.”
“Aunt Lou? Oh no don’t both her I…”
Richardson was gone before the statement could finish.
Soon Aunt Lou stepped out of the kitchen dusting flour from her apron.
“Now what is this Richardson? Who needs my hel…”
Aunt Lou stood in the empty parlor and stared at the familiar face before her, the green eyes shadowed in fear.
“Kin it be you?”
“Yeah Aunt Lou.”
“Bell honey what are you doin here?”
“I uh... I have a few letters and such to deliver.”
“Hearst sent You to deliver letters?”
“UH no, no I uh… Listen I had better go. It was nice seeing you Aunt Lou.”
“Wait!”
Richardson stepped out of the kitchen confused at the sound of great worry in Aunt Lou’s voice. He saw the dapper young man pause at the doorway, saw Aunt Lou reach out to the boy as if not believing who stood before her.
“Are you in trouble? Dija… dija run away honey? Dija steal from …that man?”
The only reply she got was a sad smile. The boy named William raised his hand and tapped the brim of his hat and moved out of the door.
“Oh God and Saints preserve us. You jus signed yer own death warrant. He is gonna catch you and kill you. You gotta run.”
“Aunt Lou? What was that?”
Aunt Lou turned towards Richardson and he saw fat tears rolling down her ebon cheeks.