Chapter 2

Jane rode into Centerville with hopes of finding Curly Johnson this time. It seemed to her that she had been running around over half the Territory chasing wild geese, but she might get lucky tonight or tomorrow. Jane registered at the Centerville Union Hotel as Jim Austin, as had become her habit, and went into the hotel restaurant for supper. She was pleased to find that she could get antelope roast with potatoes and greens for only 50 cents, and coffee was included. Not only was the price reasonable, but it tasted like the cook knew what he was doing.

She left the restaurant for the attached saloon (was that why it was called the "Union" hotel?) to inquire about Curly Johnson. She bought a beer, which she was developing a taste for, by now, and engaged the bartender in conversation. The bartender insisted that he had never heard of Curly Johnson, or anybody who looked like him, so Jane was somewhat taken aback. Had she come this far for nothing? She thanked the bartender for his courtesy and left for the next saloon on the one street in town.

Jane passed two closed and shuttered businesses before reaching the next saloon. Here, the results were the same as at the previous bar. Her prospects were looking dismal, but she kept on in her search for information. She visited 3 more saloons that night, all with the same results. It looked like she had lost the trail of Curly Johnson. Now, what?

The next morning, as she was retrieving her horse at the livery stable, she got into a conversation with the handyman, and he came up with a suggestion. He pointed out that the nameless wide place in the road where she had first encounter Tom Foley was actually the junction of a connecting road leading to a town called Chance. Maybe, her quarry had taken that road instead of the one to Centerville. Having nothing to lose at this stage, Jane thanked the handyman and tipped him a nickel, enough money for a beer with 2 pennies left over. She set out for Chance, hoping that the town's name had some significance for her quest.

She got as far as making the turnoff for Chance when her horse developed a limp. Damn, this was bad luck! Here she was out in the middle of nowhere with a horse she was reluctant to ride. She had just finished examining the horse's hoof and finding that the problem was a loose shoe, when she saw a buckboard approaching. As was common in those days when one saw a fellow traveler in distress, the driver pulled his buckboard to a stop and asked about her problem.

"Well, sir, it appears that my hoss has a loose shoe. It ain't serious, but it shore is a pain. He kin walk, but he ain't interested in havin' me on his back while he's doin' it. I'm headed fer Chance; could ya give me a lift ta as near as ya're goin' in that direction."

"I shore kin. Tie yer hoss ta the rear of the buckboard and climb in. I'm goin' all the way ta Chance, an' ya're welcome ta come along fer the company. I'm Jack Arnold an' I got a small ranch back a ways."

"Pleased ta meet ya, Jack. I'm Jim Austin an' I looking fer a galoot what's wanted fer murder back in Silver City. There ain't no reward that I know of—it's kind of a personal thin'." Jane described Curly Johnson and gave an edited version of why she was chasing him; she left out the parts of the story that would show her to be a woman.

"Yeah, I know that bastard! He beat the shit out of a friend of mine fer no good reason an' skipped town afore any of us could cotch 'im. I wish ya luck on findin' 'im, but he ain't in Chance no more. Chance ain't much of a town, the road just runs right through it without slowin' down. Ifen he ain't on this side of town, then he must of headed in the direction of Whoretown, what some people have started callin' Horton ta keep from embarrassing the ladies."

"I'm much obliged, Jack. Ya done saved me a passel of trouble chasin' down all that information. I'll head for Whoretown soon's I git my hoss's shoe fixed."

They arrived in Chance late that afternoon, and Jane stood for a couple of beers while her horse's shoe was being fixed to pay Jack back for the ride and the information. She spent the night in Chance and left for Whoretown right after breakfast the next morning.

Her trip was uneventful, and she arrived in mid-afternoon. She was tired, so she rented a room and napped for the rest of the afternoon until supper time. After supper, she started her circuit of the saloons, fishing for information on Curly Johnson. All she got at the first two places she stopped in was that, yes, Curly was in town. Very encouraged, Jane headed for the next saloon.

Jane walked into the third saloon and saw the tail end of a killing fight with bowie knives. Curly Johnson was one of the combatants. Just as she walked in, Curly jammed his knife to the hilt (man, he was strong!) in his opponents chest. Curly had a couple of slashes on his left arm which he had wrapped with a bar towel as a shield during the fight, but he was otherwise unhurt. As soon as the fight was over, Curly was swarmed under by 5 bystanders, who held him down while calling for a "neck tie party."

The town marshal showed up in time to prevent that, but Curly was frog-marched to the jail by the 5 friends of the looser of the fight. The marshal locked Curly in a cell and placed the key on a peg near the door, but out of reach of the prisoner locked inside. A doctor was sent for, and Curly's wounds were sewn up. As was the custom of the time by most barely trained doctors, no sanitation rules were followed during the procedure; the wounds were not even cleaned—it was assumed that the profuse bleeding had cleaned them sufficiently. The bloody towel that Curly had used as a shield during the fight was tossed into a corner and forgotten.

It was getting late, so the marshal locked the jail and went home. Curly waited about an hour and then used the towel to knock the key to the cell door from its peg onto the floor. He then used the towel to drag the key close enough to pick it up and unlock his cell door. From there, escape was a snap as he recovered his gun and belt and sneaked out the back door. Curly made his way to his horse and was out of town long before daylight.

The marshal discovered the escape when he arrived back at the jail the next morning. He organized a small posse which consisted of Jane and the 5 friends from the previous night. They had found a trail of blood which gave them the direction that Curly had fled, so that part of the pursuit was easy. However, Curly was nothing if not determined to make good his escape, so he was able to stay ahead of the posse throughout the day. By that evening, the marshal and the 5 friends were disgusted, frustrated, and ready to give up, so they made camp and plans to return to Whoretown the next morning.

Jane joined the camp, but had no intention of abandoning the chase. The next morning, the other 6 members of the posse returned home, but Jane stayed with the pursuit. She was not much of a tracker at this time, but Curly's trail was easy to follow. He probably had thought that he had shaken off his pursuers and was making no effort to hide his trail.

They were traveling cross country, so there were no competing tracks to confuse the trail that Jane was following. All she had to do was follow the hoof prints through the sand and scrub. Curly had managed to keep his 5 or so hour lead on her throughout the day, but she was not giving up. She had some jerky left in her saddle bag, so she was not stopped for lack of food—she could hold out for a week if she had to.

Jane had no idea where Curly was headed, or even if he had any idea. He appeared to be just riding across the countryside as fast as he could in an effort to make his escape with no particular goal in mind. Jane did not care where the chase led, she was determined to stay with it until she caught up to Curly.

Four days later, she was still chasing him, and Curly knew by now that there was a relentless pursuer on his tail. He had spotted her at one point when he had stopped to let his horse catch its breath. Who the shit was this who would not give up? Well, Curly had developed an unexpected problem during the chase. His left arm, which had been slashed in several places during the fight, was now inflamed and starting to hurt like Hell. Curly would not have understood the problem had he known, but some horse shit from the saloon floor had gotten into one of his wounds during the fight and had been sewn up deep under the skin by the uncaring doctor.

Curly's arm was now a festering breeding ground for a multitude of infections, including gangrene. In fact, unless his arm was amputated within a few days, the infections were going to kill him. Curly would never understand this, and would kill anybody who tried to take his arm off. The upshot, though, was that Curly was getting weak very fast, and the chase was soon to end in one way or another.

Curly could see that his relentless pursuer was getting closer and was sure to catch up sometime that afternoon. That knowledge, coupled with his weakening state, caused him to decide to ambush his pursuer at the first opportunity. That opportunity came when his path intersected with some rocky outcroppings which were nearly high hills in their own right. Curly saw a likely place and headed toward it.

He found a declivity which he entered, and he hobbled his horse there. He had his treasured, nearly ancient, Henry rifle, one in the original design using rimfire cartridges. The design was obsolete, now, but the rifle was still in first-class condition and it was an efficient killer at 200 yards. He pulled the rifle from its scabbard and took it, with his spare ammunition, on the arduous climb up a "chimney" cleft in the rocks to a spot high over the trail he had left. He knew that his pursuer would follow that trail, and all he had to do was wait patiently.

Curly settled in and lit a cigar to smoke while he waited. He laid his rifle and ammunition out in the shade while he relaxed and enjoyed his cigar. His arm was hurting particularly bad as he had banged it several times as he climbed to his elevated position. He was distracted by the pain and the necessity of shifting around to try to find a comfortable position while his arm throbbed. All of this resulted in Curly not noticing that the sun had shifted enough that his rifle was no longer in the shade.