The Adventures of Johnny Vermillion by Loren D. Estleman Page A

her sweater, pulled a small revolver from under the belt of her trousers, and gave it to him. “He took it, but I found that after he left; he lost it when he jumped off his horse. I’m afraid it wasn’t much of a trade.”
    The Major asked if he’d assaulted her. She looked at him piteously.
    â€œHe knocked me to the ground, cut my lip, and blacked my eye.”
    â€œYou know very well what I meant.”
    â€œNo, Evelyn. I’m still the same unsullied girl you married.”
    â€œYou were living with a fire-eater when we met.”
    â€œDon’t think I don’t miss that.”
    The Major balled his fists. “That fellow should be behind bars.”
    â€œSo should we,” said Johnny. “Did he say anything?”
    â€œHe said, ‘Teats! Jesus Christ!’ Either my disguise is better than I’d hoped or I’m not as comely as I once was.”
    â€œIs that all he said?” April asked.
    â€œ ‘Hand over the swag.’ ”
    Johnny’s watch ticked loudly in the profound silence.
    Lizzie smiled sourly, gasped, and touched her lip. “
Annabelle and the Pirate
. It brought down the house at the Metropolitan in Detroit in fifty-eight. They held us over ten days.”
    â€œTwelve,” murmured the Major.
    Johnny glared at him. “Just what did you say in the Overland office?”
    â€œI don’t remember.”
    â€œIf you say anything at all, you say, ‘Reach for the sky.’ We rehearsed it.”
    â€œIt’s hackneyed.”
    â€œIt’s intended to be. Swag! By God! You might as well have appeared in full costume and handed the fellow a programme. You might have autographed it.”
    â€œWhat’s the point in directing him now?” April said. “This is terrible, Johnny, terrible. If the manager told this—this bandit what the Major said, he’s told everyone. We’re found out.”
    â€œQuite likely.” He walked over to the table and lifted one of the sheets Cornelius had written on, read for a moment. “This is good. I’m sorry we won’t be able to use it this season.”
    â€œIt needs work in any case. My French is rusty.”
    A whistle blew, drawn thin by distance. Lizzie pawed at her attendants and got up to help put the bicycle in its trunk. Cornelius found his wrench.
    â€œWe have a few minutes,” Johnny said. “Major, the lantern.”
    A railroad lantern with a red lens was produced. Johnny lit it from the table lamp. “So much more convenient than waiting at the station,” he said. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been a successful tour. We’re long past due for a holiday.”
    The Major blew out his moustaches. “There are no holidays in the theater. Except Sundays, of course. Lizzie and I haven’t had Christmas off since the Coliseum burned down in Baltimore.”
    â€œI’m declaring one. I’d intended to, anyway, after Boise. We’re carrying too much gold and paper to distribute among ourselves and in the strongbox and claim it as box office receipts much longer. The time has come to place it in a bank in Denver. Since we’ve demonstrated that none of us can be trusted to do it alone, we shall all go. I see no reason why we shouldn’t spend some of it while we’re there and entertain ourselves for a change.”
    April buttoned her traveling cloak. “Does this mean the end of the Prairie Rose?”
    â€œJust for a season, while we cede the headlines to a more conventional breed of blackguard and brigand.” He put on his soft black hat and smoothed the brim. “And then—”
    â€œThe show must go on,” said the Major.
    Johnny smiled. “If only you remembered all your lines as accurately.”

10
    We glide down Pike’s Peak, bluer than the ocean beneath its white coronet, into a hurdy-gurdy metropolis of macadam and brick, teeming with surreys, streetcars,