Dragons Teeth Crichton 2017 (WWT)

Cheyenne
In the unimaginable splendor of a room at the Inter-Ocean Hotel (which he had previously seen as a
roach-infested dump), Johnson took his ease for several days, with Emily. But first, upon arrival and
signing the hotel register, he ascertained that the Inter-Ocean maintained a steel-walled strong room,
with one of the new combination time locks, developed for banks against would-be bank robbers. The
boxes were carried into the room by the porters. He tipped them generously so that they would not
resent him and whisper about the boxes to their less friendly colleagues.
The first day, he soaked in four baths in succession, for after each he found his body was still dirty.
It seemed as though the dust of the prairie would never leave his skin.
He visited the barber, who trimmed his hair and beard. It was startling to sit in the chair and
inspect his own face in the mirror. He could not get used to it; his features were unfamiliar; he had the
face of a different person—leaner, harder, determination now in his features. And there was the scar
over his upper lip; he rather liked it, and so did Emily. The barber stepped back, scissors in one hand,
comb in the other. “How’s that look, sir?” Like everyone else in Cheyenne, the barber treated Johnson
with respect. It wasn’t because he was rich—no one in Cheyenne knew he was rich—but rather
because of something in his manner, his bearing. Without meaning to do so, he looked like a man who
might shoot another one—because he now had.
“Sir? How does that look?” the barber asked again.
Johnson didn’t know. Finally, he said, “I like it fine.”
He took Emily to dinner in the best restaurant in town. They dined on oysters from California, and
wine from France, and poulet à l’estragon. She recognized the name of the wine, he noticed. After
dinner they walked arm in arm on the streets of the town. He remembered how dangerous Cheyenne
had felt when he had been here before. Now it seemed a sleepy little railway junction, populated by
braggarts and gamblers putting on airs. Even the toughest-looking customers stepped aside on the
boardwalk when he passed.
“They see you wear a gun,” Emily said, “and you know how to use it.”
Pleased, Johnson took Emily back to the hotel early, and to bed. They stayed in bed most of the
following day. He had a wonderful time, and so did she.
“Where will you go now?” she asked him on the third day.
“Back to Philadelphia,” he said.
“I’ve never been to Philadelphia,” she said.
“You’ll love it there,” he said, smiling.
She smiled back, happily. “You really want me to come?”