"THE SHOW'S IN TROUBLE," THE CASHIER SAID.
Nevada glanced at Rina. She was looking out the window of the ticket wagon, watching the last act of the Wild-West show going on in the arena. The faint sounds of the whooping and yelling drifted back to them on the still, warm air.
"How much trouble?" Nevada asked, his eyes coming back from her.
"Enough," the cashier said flatly. "We're booked in a week behind Buffalo Bill Cody's show for the whole summer. If these two weeks are any indication, we'll drop forty thousand this season."
A bugle sounding a charge hung in the air. Nevada shifted in his uncomfortable wooden chair and began to roll a cigarette. The performance was almost over now. The cavalry was coming to the rescue of the beleaguered pioneers. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth.
"How'd you let a stupid thing like that happen?" he asked, the cigarette dangling unlit from his lips.
"Wasn't my fault, Nevada," the cashier answered quickly. "I think the agent sold us out."
Nevada didn't answer. He lit the cigarette.
"What you going to do?" the cashier asked worriedly.
Nevada filled his lungs with smoke. "Play out the season."
"For forty grand?" The cashier's voice was shocked. "We can't afford to lose that much money!"
Nevada studied him. The cashier's face was flushed and embarrassed. He wondered why the man seemed so upset. It wasn't his money that was going to be lost.
"We can't afford not to," Nevada said. "We fold up, we lose all our top hands. They won't sign with us for next year if we dump 'em now."
Nevada got to his feet, walked over to the window and looked out. The Indians were riding out of the arena with the whooping cavalry hot after them. He turned back to the cashier. "I'm takin' Mrs. Cord down to the railroad station. I'll drop in at the agent's office after that. You wait for me here. I'll be back."
"O.K., Nevada," the cashier answered.
Nevada took Rina's arm as they went down the wagon steps. They cut across the field to his car. All around them hustled performers, hurrying their horses to the corral, racing to their wagons to change clothes, yelling to each other about their plans for the evening.
Rina turned to him as they reached the car. "Let me stay with you, Nevada, please."
He smiled slowly. "I thought we had that settled."
"But, Nevada," Her eyes grew serious. "There's nothing for me back East. Really. Here, at least, I can feel alive, excitement-
"Stop actin' like a kid," he said. "You're a grown woman now. This ain't no life for you. You'd be sick of it in a week."
"I’ll buy half your losses this season if you let me stay," she said quickly.
He looked at her sharply. He thought she hadn't even heard the conversation back in the wagon, she had seemed so engrossed in the show. "You can't afford it," he said.
"And you can?" she countered.
"Better'n you," he said quickly. "I got more'n just the one thing goin' for me."
She stared at him for a moment, then got into the car. She didn't speak until they were at the station and she was ready to board the train.
"You’ll write me, Nevada?" she asked.
"I ain't much for writin'," he said.
"But you'll keep in touch?" she persisted. "You'll answer if I write you?"
He nodded.
"You'll let me come and visit you sometimes?" she asked. "If I’m lonely and frightened?"
"That's what friends're for," he said.
A hint of moisture came into her eyes. "You've been a good friend, Nevada," she said seriously.
She kissed him on the cheek and climbed up the steps of the Pullman car. At the door, she turned and waved brightly, then disappeared inside. He saw her face appear in the window for a moment as the train began to move. Then she was gone and he turned and walked out of the station.
He walked up a rickety flight of stairs that led into a dust-ridden corridor. The paint on the door was scratched and worn, the lettering simple and faded.