right, then, let's go." She took a few steps, then paused for a swig from the bottle. When Ben offered her his hand, she slapped it away. "I can help my own self, thank you kindly. I ain't as drunk as all that yet."
Behind them, Boots looked over from where he was wiping down the bar. "You OK, Cora?"
"Yes, I am," she declared in a loud voice, her braid whipping around as she turned to face the bartender. "What is it with all you men thinking I'm too weak to find my way back to my own damn room?"
"Well, I just thought–"
"You thought nothing," she said. "I'll have you know I went all the way up to the Bartlett place and came faceto-face with something or other in the mountains today, and that thing wanted to eat me, but I shot it up and made it run back into its tunnel. What'd you do today, Boots? Huh? Can you top that?"
The bartender's round face flushed as he looked down at the rag he was holding. "No, but you've had quite a bit from that bottle tonight, and maybe you'd want–"
"What I want is to go back to my room and have myself a good sleep," she said. "I can't get that with you all pestering me about whether I'm fit to do it."
"Just take care of yourself." Boots found some bottles behind the bar that needed straightening and turned his back to them.
"Just thank your lucky stars that I ain't got that Mart Duggan's temper," Cora said, more to herself than Boots. Her own boots started making a crooked line for the door. "That mick's got a short fuse on him. Why, he'd probably shoot you in the mouth just for saying howdy if you happened to catch him in a bad way."
"Glad I ain't had the pleasure yet," Ben said. He moved to open the saloon's door for her, but she crashed into it before he could. Bouncing back from the impact, she stared at it in confusion for a moment. A stream of curses flowed from beneath the wide brim of her hat as she reached a shaking hand toward the doorknob.
The knob pulled away just as her hand reached it. She fell face-first on the wooden floor, the bottle spilling from her hands. Ben heard an exclamation of surprise from the other side of the door. Looking up from his fallen wife, he saw two men standing in the doorway, their boots inches from Cora's head.
"Well now, ain't this a sorry sight." Mart Duggan crouched down, his wrists resting on his knees. Recognizing Cora's braid, he tossed Jack Evans a look. "Not even quitting time at the mines yet and here we got us a drunken disorderly."
"I ain't disorderly," Cora said, pushing herself up on her hands and knees. The floor seemed to pitch and heave under her. "And who's asking, anyway?" She raised her head and squinted at the marshal. "Why, speaking of Mr Satan himself. Look here, Ben, it's the marshal."
Duggan kept his attention on her, a scowl knitting his red eyebrows together. "I don't take too kindly to drunkenness in my deputies, Mrs Oglesby."
"Good thing we ain't your deputies, then." She tried to roll back onto her heels, went too far, and fell into a sitting position. "I never did take to wearing no badge, anyhow."
"Can't say that's a shame," Duggan replied. "The way I see it, no law outfit would benefit from having you with them. I'm ashamed to be working with you myself."
Cora laughed. "That's what they call gratitude here in Leadville?" Her boots scuffed across the floor as she tried to pull them under her. After a few attempts, she managed to rise to her feet. A wave of nausea rolled through her, but she swallowed it down. "Maybe we should just leave you to get ate by that monster out there."
"Can't do us much good from inside a jail cell," Duggan said. "I've more than half a mind to take you there right now."
Jack spoke up. "Maybe she just needs to be walked back to her room, marshal."
"By God, I will shoot the next man who says that," Cora said, pushing her way past the two lawmen. Her breath puffed out in white clouds beneath the evening sky. "The hotel is just down the street here. I can find my own way."
"All the same, I think Jack here will walk you back," the marshal said. "I'd hate for you to