Dragons Teeth Crichton 2017 (WWT)

“Where are you from?” he asked. “You don’t have a French accent.” Perhaps she had come from
France as a child.
“I’m from St. Louis. Lucienne’s only my name de stage, see,” she said cheerfully. “Mr. Barlow—
the manager—Mr. Barlow wants everyone in the show to have a French name, because the theater is
the Pride de Paree Theater, see. He’s very nice, Mr. Barlow.”
“Have you been in Cheyenne long?”
“Oh no,” she said. “Before, I was in the theater in Virginia City, where we did proper plays by
English writers and such, but that closed with the typhoid last winter. I was going home to see my
mother, see, but I only had money to get here.”
She laughed, and he saw one of her front teeth was chipped. This little imperfection only made him
love her more. She was obviously an independent young woman, making her own way in life.
“And you?” she asked. “You are going to the Black Hills? Looking for gold?”
He smiled. “No, I am with a group of scientists who are digging for fossils.” Her face clouded.
“Fossils. Old bones,” he explained.
“Is there a good livelihood in that?”
“No, no. It’s for science,” he explained.
She placed a warm hand on his arm, and the touch electrified him. “I know you gold diggers have
secrets,” she said. “I won’t tell.”
“Really, I am searching for fossils.”
She smiled again, content to drop the matter. “And how long are you in Cheyenne?”
“Alas, I am here for only one night. Tomorrow I leave to go farther west.”
This thought already filled him with a delicious pain, but she did not seem to care one way or
another. In her straightforward way, she said, “I must do another show in an hour, and stay with the
customers another hour after that, but then I am free.”
“I’ll wait,” he said. “I’ll wait all night if you wish it.”
She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Until then.” And she swept away, across the
crowded room, where other men awaited her company.
The rest of the evening passed as lightly as a dream. Johnson felt no fatigue, and he was happy to sit
until she was finished with her performances. They met outside the theater. She had changed to a
demure dress of dark cotton. She took his arm.
A man passed them on the sidewalk. In the darkness: “See you later, Lucy?”
“Not tonight, Ben,” she laughed. Johnson turned to glare at the man, but she explained, “It’s just my
uncle. He looks after me. Where are you staying?”
“The Inter-Ocean Hotel.”
“We can’t go there,” she said. “They’re very strict about the rooms.”
“I’ll walk you home,” Johnson said.
She gave him a funny look, and then smiled. “All right. That would be nice.”
As they walked, she rested her head on his shoulder.
“Tired?”
“Some.”
The night was warm, the air pleasant. Johnson felt a wonderful peace descend over him.
“I’m going to miss you,” he said.
“Oh, me, too.”