“Take her to my room,” said Jake. “And none of your chaff.”

  “This Sampson’s daughter?”

  She knew Pa? How?

  “She’s nobody,” said Jake. “Just a girl. Go on with her, Minnie.”

  “Where are you going?” I said, frightened.

  “Downstairs.”

  He gave me an encouraging smile. “I’ll be up directly.”

  So much for not letting him out of my sight. The woman made a hoarse sound in her throat. I squinted at her. Maybe once she’d been blonde, but it was hard to tell through the layers of bad dye, and the few strands still clinging to her scalp. The dress she wore was about twenty years out of style, and utterly threadbare.

  “My name’s Billie,” she growled. “I look after the girls here.”

  “I’m not a whore,” I said.

  “Every woman’s a whore,” she flung back. “Now step quick. Jake’s room is here.”

  She led me in and shut the door, but it had no lock, so as soon as she clumped away I darted out again. The laughter of cowboys rang up the inner stair. I hovered at the top, trying to pick out Jake’s voice. If I squatted down I could only just make him out, leaning against a pitted wooden table. Four more cowboys sat there, dealing cards.

  “A baldface for you, Jakie?”

  “No,” he said. “I’ll take a toddy.”

  “The Irish likes his toddy.”

  A drink was poured. I recognized the squat figure of one of Papa’s men, Shortie. The rest were unfamiliar.

  “We got to talk about the ride, Jake.”

  “We’ll talk later.”

  “Now what about the money you lost to Dick Harry?” Shortie said. Cowboys, though not a species generally given to many words, were always very loud drunks. They were practically shouting at each other.

  “I didn’t lose nothin’,” said Jake. “The bastard stole it.”

  Billie the old whore came clumping back up the hallway. I shrank, expecting her to drag me back to Jake’s room by the ear. But she hoisted her skirts and sat next to me, her fat legs dangling between the railing. She fumbled in a little case for a cigarette.

  “Havin’ fun?” she asked.

  She had a stale smell; I was grateful when she lit the cigarette to mask it.

  “Who’s Dick Harry? What’s he done to Jake?”

  “Big brute,” she grunted. “Big cock, too.”

  “Who? Harry?”

  “Ha!” Billie snorted, as if I’d made a joke.

  I blushed. She poked me in the side. “Want a ciggy?”

  “Er- I never smoked before.”

  “Start now.”

  She pushed the little roll in my hands. Then she pulled out a matchbook- expensive, those- and struck it.

  “Suck that end,” she ordered. “Puff slow.”

  I coughed, choked.

  “Don’t hold it in, goose.”

  Downstairs the men were still talking about Dick Harry.

  “I never seen a fucker that big,” said Shortie. “He’d break you in half, Jake.”

  “Nearly broke me in half,” Billie grunted to me.

  “It don’t take much when it’s three to one,” said Jake calmly. “Like to see him try me by himself.”

  “I’ve taken three men at once,” Bille said to me. “I’d rather that than one of Dick Harry. You ever seen a big man’s cock?”

  I stammered, “No.”

  “Horse-like, it is. Like your forearm. Split your cunt right down the middle.”

  Downstairs: “You want to take him alone, Jake?”

  “I can hold my own,” said Jake. “I had nine brothers.”

  “Careful what you wish for,” another cowboy grumbled. “We been lookin’ for someone to lick him for years. Not that folks ain’t tried. Big men, skinny men. Shooters, hustlers. He shot four men last year.”

  “God damn,” swore Shortie. “Where the hell’s your Sheriff?”

  “Harry’s the Sheriff’s son-in-law.”

  “You don’t want to step to him, Jakie.”

  “Anyone can get licked,” Jake laughed, and finished his drink.

  I was mystified. The calm, quiet, and collected Jake McCoy I’d known had nothing to do with this cocky stranger. But of course I’d been mistaken about people before.

  I felt nauseous; I’d smoked the cigarette all wrong.

  “I’ll be goin’,” I mumbled, and stumbled to my feet.

  “Mind you get the right room,” said Billie, sucking her cigarette down.

  I returned to Jake’s room and collapsed on his bed. Bedbugs be damned. Noises became clearer. The sound of someone coming up the stairs; the neighboring door opening; the tinkle of a woman’s laughter, then unmistakable moans. I was in a brothel. A whorehouse.

  I should have stormed downstairs and demanded Jake put me up somewhere decent. But by what right? I had nothing to pretend to now. You’re a good girl, Minnie. Oh, it didn’t matter. Being a good girl meant letting other people push you around.

  What would happen if I threw it all away- all of those expectations and demands? If I spoke directly instead of wrapping everything in careful politeness?

  If I stood up for myself?

  Entirely too passive. That had always been my problem. Used to getting what I wanted but never assertig myself when I didn’t. I was a danger to myself. More so than my scheming aunt or the pretentious John Miller.

  Well, no more.

  Sleep came quicker than I’d expected. The sound of the window rocking open and shut drowned the moans and squeaks on the other side of the wall.

  I woke to Jake McCoy shaking my shoulder.

  “Minnie.”

  “Mmm?”

  “Wake up.”

  I pushed myself up on my elbows. I wiggled my stockinged toes. Didn’t remember taking off my shoes. Jake must have done that.

  “You sleep like the dead,” he said.

  “Not usually.” I wiped my mouth. “What is it?”

  “I brought food. You hungry?”

  I was. Famished, in fact. He went out and returned with biscuits, a slice of cheese, and a questionable cut of bacon. I left the green-tinted bacon to the side and demolished the rest.

  “We’re leavin’ tonight,” said Jake.

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah. We don’t have a horse for you, but you can ride on mine.”

  I rubbed my eyes. “Have you written my mother? Told her we’re coming?”

  He blinked at me.

  I remembered. He couldn’t read or write. Blushing, he got up and sat in front of the little stand. He poured water from the decanter into a bowl. Then he laid out some shaving things and set to making lather.

  “So,” he said. “You went and got married.”

  A loud, vigorous moan came from the adjoining room. Jake’s blush deepened.

  “I don’t think it counts,” I said. “We never shared a bed.”

  “Thought you didn’t want to get married.”

  “I was- wrong. I thought it would be different.”

  “Different how?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Seems like you should have thought it over before you ran full chisel into it,” said Jake. He began to soap his cheeks.

  “I know,” I said, irritated.

  “Or maybe your husband ought to have known better. Some men get a girl they’re keen on and propose her just to get under her skirts. Give up a lifetime of freedom for somethin’ they can get cheap about anywhere else.”

  My face went hot. I looked away from the mirror, away from his very blue eyes.

  “But I wonder,” Jake continued, “How the women feel about it. Some of ‘em know they can wrap a man around their finger. String him along, make him offer more and more. Man’s so busy chasin’ after the lady, doesn’t notice when the string’s round his neck.”

  “That’s very cynical,” I snapped.

  “Now that’s a four-dollar word.”

  “It means-”

  “I know what it means,” he said, flicking open the razor. Concentrating, he drew it down his cheek.

  “But anyway- I wonder who’s more to blame. The wilsome woman, or the stupid man.”

  “We were talking about my marriage,” I reminded him. “You think I’m wilsome?”

  “I don’t know what to think about you, Minnie,” said Jake calmly. “But I been around town here and asked about. There’s more to your marriage than you’re lettin’ on.”

  “You think I’m lyin’?”

  Someone opened the door before he could answer. It was one of Jake’s cowboy friends, the man with the big red moustache.

  “Dick Harry is here,” he said.

  “You never learned to knock?” said Jake. “God damn it. Almost cut my head off.”

  “He’s askin’ for you.”

  Jake wiped the razor on a cloth. “What’s he want?”

  “The rest of your money.”

  The man’s eyes shifted to me. He turned red. “Jake, what that girl doin’ up here?”

  “What’s it look like?” he snapped. “She’s with me.”

  “A negress?”

  Downstairs, the sound of glass breaking. I said, “Yes, a negress.”

  The man stepped inside, his eyes rolling angrily to Jake. “Watch your tone, girl.”

  Jake said, “Don’t bark at her. She ain’t a dog.”

  “Scarce better,” snarled the cowboy.

  Downstairs, someone roared like a scored Bull.

  “Dick Harry,” said Jake, answering my silent guess. “Go tell him I’m busy.”

  The cowboy said, “I ain’t tellin’ him shit. But if you want to leave tonight I suggest you get a move on. If he knows you’re here it’ll be hell and fury.”

  “He’s got my money. I’m not leavin’ without it.”

  “I’ll loan you some, Jakie.”

  “You know I don’t like borrowin’.”

  “On your head be it, then.”

  Red Moustache left. I watched Jake finish his shave. Folks were chattering and shouting downstairs, but his hand didn’t tremble a fraction. His blue eyes were very cool.

  “You ain’t scared at all?” I squeaked.

  “What’s to be scared of?”

  “He sounds fit to kill!”

  Jake stood up and rubbed a strong-smelling cream over his chin and jaw. He bent over to inspect his reflection in the mirror. The shave made him look paler, younger.

  “Looks nice,” I offered.

  “Thank you.”

  He flicked open the razor again and again, thoughtfully looking down at it. “If I don’t get this money back, then we’ll be stuck here another week. Maybe two.”

  “How’d you lose it in the first place?”

  “He stole it off me when I was drunk.”

  “Oh.”

  He looked at me. “Two things I can’t stand in a man- bullyin’ and thievin’.”

  I said, “What about in a woman?”

  “What?”

  “What don’t you like in a woman?”

  He smiled, just a little quirk of the lips. “You mean what don’t I like in you, Minnie?”

  I got out of bed and began to put my shoes on.

  “You’re comin’ to watch?” he said incredulously.

  “Of course!”

  “It’ll be ugly.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” But my voice shook.

  Jake shrugged. He took his hat off the hook at the door and fixed it on his head. Then, still flicking the razor open and shut, he went out.

  I followed him, my heart in my mouth.

  I’d slept longer than I’d realized. The battered clock read four, which meant most of the town miners had already been let off work. The smell of the Red Rooster was obscene. Dirty men and a couple ragged-looking women spilled themselves into chairs and tables, ready to get down to the serious business of the night. Someone was badly playing a fiddle in the corner.

  Jake waited for me at the top of the stairs. Perhaps he was annoyed that I’d come.

  “Don’t provoke anyone,” he said. “Just say you’re with me.”

  “Don’t get killed,” I whispered.

  He went down the stairs, deliberately loud, drawing looks to the both of us. I felt suddenly, horribly, overdressed. A colored girl in nice clothes in the smelliest doggery in town. But Jake’s feud with Dick Harry was far more interesting than me, as a dog fight is always more interesting than a terrified mouse.

  And yes, there was Dick Harry. I picked him out instantly. He was tall, taller than Jake. Maybe Three Jakes stuffed together would have approximated the size of his waist. His beard was red, dripping with ale, and tangling down to his collar. He had mean little eyes, a miner’s eyes, short-sighted from squinting in the dark.

  Jake took my elbow and led me to a table at the end of the room, which had gone very quiet.

  “Move an inch,” he said through his teeth, “And I’ll leather your ass, Minnie Sampson.”

  I sat.

  “Hol’ up,” boomed Harry, turning to his mates. “Someone tell me why this Mary is still hangin’ around when I told him to get up out of here.”

  Jake rubbed his clean-shaven face. “You ain’t got to ask the room, Dick. I’m right here.”

  “Leave him alone, Dick,” someone bleated unconvincingly.

  Jake walked up to the bar. He plucked a half-finished jug of something brown and foamy and drank it down. Then he plucked another jug from an old man’s hands. He drank that, too.

  “Man enough to challenge me, you was,” said Dick Harry. “I guess you’re man enough to take the whuppin, too.”

  “Speak plain, Harry,” said Jake. His voice carried throughout the room. “Talk in riddles, you’ll confuse yourself.”

  “Don’t wake snakes, Jakie,” the old man at the bar whispered. “He’s been drinkin’ since he got out the caves.”

  Dick Harry’s face rippled into an ugly scowl.

  “Where’s my money, Dick Harry?” said Jake, unruffled.

  “You fucker,” growled Harry.

  A man pushed his way out of the back room, weilding a broomstick like a club. He was better dressed than most, but shaking like a leaf. I correctly guessed he was the owner.

  “Hang on now!” he cried. “Just hold on a minute. I won’t have y’all tearin’ up my joint!”

  “Where’s my money?” Jake repeated.

  “Outside! Take it outside!” the owner begged. “Don’t make me get the Sheriff.”

  “Go get him,” said Harry, taking off his coat. “This won’t take long.”

  People began to clear the floor, but reluctant to miss the fight, they pressed themselves along the walls. I began to think Jake had overstepped. Next to Harry he looked tiny.

  “David and Goliath,” Billie purred.

  I cast about. Would anyone stop this madness?

  “Don’t mess with him, Jake,” said Shortie, pushing forward. “You wanna spend our last night in jail? Or dead?”

  Jail? What would happen to me if Jake McCoy went to Jail? I stood up.

  “It’s between me and him,” snarled Dick Harry. “Get out the way, midget.”

  Shortie dipped out. Now Jake and Dick Harry circled each other.

  “You ain’t so big,” said Jake.

  I have ten brothers.

  Harry struck first, a wide swing that angled towards Jake’s temple. Jake ducked; Harry stumbled and righted himself just in time. For a man that size, he was faster than he looked.

  “Outside!” The owner bawled, begging.

  Jake backed towards the door.

  “Where’s my money, Harry?”

  They swatted at each other like Tomcats; Jake danced nimbly away from Harry, weaving on his feet. He knew, as we all did, that a stroke from Harry’s fists would end the fight.

  “We dancin’ or fightin’?” Harry roared. Jake lunged, Harry prepared to absorb the blow and trip him. At the last second Harry faltered; Jake’s wrist had given a sharp flick. The razor snapped open. Harry realized his mistake. Jake let his forearm fly out like a whip; the razor flashed, a miniature cleaver carving a vivid line into the raised palms of Harry’s hands.