Chapter 2

Suddenly he looked up when he heard the sheriff’s voice calling out.

“Frenchy!”

He moved quickly, grabbing a blanket, and getting the stranger covered up just in time to see the sheriff stick his head inside the tent. Quickly shifting into his female guise he jumped up, and ushered the sheriff back out while making a joke. “Are you trying to ruin my reputation, sheriff? This is my dressing room. It wouldn’t be ladylike to allow a man in here.”

The sheriff chuckled. “Sorry, Frenchy. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You’re forgiven. Now, what can I do for you?”

“Well, we just got back from chasing after the Desperado Gang. They robbed the bank, you know.”

“Yes, I heard about that. How much did they get away with?”

“Right now we’re thinking it was in the neighborhood of ten thousand.”

“Oh, my, that’s a lot of money.”

“Yeah, it sure is. They got away from us when they headed down toward the Badlands, but they won’t be able to hide among those buttes and canyons very long. It ain’t a place for man nor beast. I’ve heard it said that they’ve found the skeletons of three-toed horses and saber-toothed cats up in those pinnacles and spires. How the hell anybody thinks they’ll come out on the other side of that maze of rocks is beyond me. But we’ll be waitin’ for them when they decide to give up. By the way, one of them is still around here somewhere. I thought my bullet killed him, but he’s gone, so he must be hidin’ out. I just came by to ask you to keep your eyes open in case he shows his face around here. A sideshow tent might look awfully inviting to him. Lots of places to hide, you know.”

“Sure, sheriff. I haven’t seen anyone yet, but it’s like a grave around here until show time. A lot of the performers are still asleep. You know, work all night, sleep all day.”

“I guess it is about that time, ain’t it?”

“Another few minutes yet. There’s makeup to put on, costumes to…well, you know the routine.”

“Sure, I know. Okay, well, be seein’ you then,” he said as he touched the rim of his hat like a gentleman, and nodded.

Frenchy watched the sheriff until he got off the sideshow grounds, and then turned and went back inside the tent, and to the black clad desperado he was hiding.

* * * *

Minutes, or maybe hours had passed, and when the man woke up, he found himself lying on a pile of hay, and heard a soft, lyrical voice singing in the distance along with what sounded like a crowd of people. He turned and looked, but all he saw was an occasional shadowy form passing by the mouth of the tent, and a lot of activity and laughter outside. He could also hear music coming from the next tent, and carefully turned, reached over and subtly lifted up the tarp to see what was happening. His eyes widened. There he saw the woman—or was it the man he’d seen earlier? He was dressed in a gaudy costume full of flounces, and in his hand was a fan of feathers, and he was singing in a kind of falsetto voice. The room was set up much like that of a saloon with men sitting at the tables and drinking whiskey. As he sang, he went from table to table, using his feathered fan to stroke the men’s faces as he teased them with the lyrics of his song. Feeling a wave of weakness, the injured robber let the tarp fall, and lay back. He closed his eyes, bearing the pain while darkness swirled in his head until he passed out.

The next thing he knew he heard the voice he’d heard before, and again it sounded light, lyrical, and smooth. When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking up into the gaudily made up face he’d seen earlier. At first glance it looked like a feminine face, but as he stared he could see another face beneath all the makeup. He was so stunned he couldn’t speak.

“Hello there,” he said with a gentle smile. “I’m glad to see that you’re all right.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Frenchy Starr, but you can call me Frenchy.”

“Frenchy?” the man repeated. “Where’s your accent…Frenchy Starr?”

“I’m not French, it’s just a stage name. But Starr, in case you’re interested, is spelled several different ways, so depending on how you spell it depends on where it originates from. Actually, the name Starr is a fusion of two different cultures. English and Irish.”

“A fusion?”

“You know. A mixture or a combination of two—”

“Are you a mixture or a combination of…two…?”

When his smile dropped, so did his voice. “If you’re thinking I’m some kind of nut, or that there’s something wrong with me, you’re mistaken. I’m fine. I just do what I have to do to make a buck.” He put his hand underneath his back, and tried to help him sit up. “Now, if you can sit up a little, I’ve got some soup for you. It’s hot, and it’ll make you feel better. And then, when you’re a little stronger I’ll take that bullet out.”

“I’m sorry…about what I said.”

“It’s okay. We’ll just forget it.”

While taking a sip of the soup, he said, “About the bullet, can you do that? I mean, you’re not a doctor, are you?”

Frenchy laughed lightly. “Not unless you measure a doctor’s skill by how many bullets you’ve taken out of people in your lifetime. If you do, then yes, I’m a doctor.”

“Then I’m going to be all right?”

“You are if I can get that bullet out. It’s hard to tell just how much blood you’ve lost. You seem to be as weak as a kitten, and I don’t dare go digging into you with a knife until you get your strength back. So, if you want that bullet out, you’d better do what I say. Now, eat the soup, and don’t stop until it’s gone.”

“You didn’t ask me my name, or what happened to me.”

Frenchy had a wise look on his face when he said, “It would take an idiot not to know who you are. The bank was robbed, and a man who’s the spittin’ image of Johnny Redd runs into my tent with a bullet in him. I think I can add up two and two. By the way, the sheriff came lookin’ for you right after you showed up. He knows you’ve been wounded, and can’t get very far. If I know our sheriff, he’ll tear this town apart until he finds you, so it’s best that you stay out of sight for a while.”

“Damn. What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him a thing, so don’t worry.”

“You think he’ll be watchin’ the place?”

“I don’t think so. By the way, what happened to your partners? Why did they leave you?”

“I don’t know. They might have thought I was dead, but if it was to get their hands on my share of the money, I’ll kick their asses from here to the moon.”

“It’s over, cowboy,” Frenchy said as he took the soup away. “You might as well kiss that money goodbye.”

“No way. If they think I’m dead, let them think it. I’ll come back as a friggin’ ghost, and take my share out of their hides.”

“Well, that’ll be a while, so for now just lay back and rest.”

Day after day Johnny lay on that hay pallet eating, resting, listening to Frenchy’s smooth falsetto voice, and looking at the gaudily made up face of a man who spent his life masquerading as a woman. He saw all the acts that Frenchy put on for the men in town, and decided that he was damned good at what he did, but if they all knew what he was, why were they interested? He got the answer to that question one night when he heard something, crawled over to Frenchy’s tent, and saw him screwing one of the men.