Gunman's Song Page 6

  “Naw, it ain’t!” said the old man, his eyes widening. “Is it sure enough?”

  “It is sure enough,” said Dawson, still with no expression. He picked his saddle up from the adobe wall and pitched it up onto his horse.

  “A real honest-to-God living, in-the-flesh gunfighter,” the old man said, looking over to where Shaw stood up and helped Della to her feet.

  “Yep, he’s living, all right,” said Dawson with a wry grin, “better than most of us, anyway.”

  Having seen the way Dawson had looked at him and Della a few minutes earlier, Shaw came over to him and said, “Dawson, I know you don’t approve of how I do, but I want to remind you that I’ve just lost the only woman I ever loved. It hasn’t been easy on me. I know I’ve done a lot of drinking and fooling around with other women. I reckon it’s just my way of making up for missing Rosa. But I don’t know what else to do to keep from losing my mind.”

  “I’m not judging you, Shaw,” said Dawson stiffly as he cinched his saddle down and shook it, testing it.

  “Then what are you doing?” Shaw asked in a level tone.

  Dawson turned and looked him up and down, thinking about it, then said, “Hell, I don’t know…envying you, I reckon.” He shrugged. “Do you ever stop and see how easy it comes to you?”

  “How easy what comes to me?” said Shaw. “Drawing a gun and killing a man? It just looks easy, Dawson…believe me, it’s not.”

  “It’s not just that, Shaw; it’s everything,” said Dawson. “But it ain’t your fault; it’s mine. We just see things different. And things just come different to us, that’s all. I meant no offense looking at the two of you.”

  “I knew you didn’t,” said Shaw. “But I also saw that something was eating at you. I figured it better to ask than to keep wondering what it is.”

  “Then now you know…it’s nothing,” said Dawson, “just envy, wondering how it feels walking in your boots.”

  “Be careful envying a man’s boots,” said Shaw, turning away. “You could end up wearing them.”

  They finished preparing the horses and rode on to Eagle Pass, arriving at the outskirts of town at midday in the boiling heat. Dillard Frome rode one of the Comancheros’ little hard-boned barbs and led the four-mule string behind him. Della Starks also rode one of the Comancheros’ horses. Dawson led the other two. The little desert barb horses drew curious looks from the adobes and plank shacks they passed going onto the main street. The horses wore feathers, beads, and scraps of bones and scalps woven into their manes and tails. Two wore coyote skins down onto their saddles and riding cushions that caused dogs to appear out from under boardwalks and porches and begin yapping with their hackles up.

  “What the hell do we have coming here?” said the town sheriff, Earnest Neff, rising from a wooden chair out front of his office and stepping down onto the boardwalk.

  “Looks like somebody got ahold of some Apache ponies,” said the young telegraph clerk who’d been visiting with him in the shade of the boardwalk overhang.

  “Naw,” said the sheriff eyeing the ragged sombrero still hanging from the leader’s saddle horn. “No self-respecting Apache would ride such a mess as that. Comancheros is what I make it to be.”

  “My goodness! They’re not Comancheros, are they?” the clerk asked, growing apprehensive all of a sudden.

  The sheriff squinted hard and recognized Lawrence Shaw at the head of the party, Della Starks beside him on the little barb. “No,” he said, letting out a breath and adjusting his pistol out of habit, “but I might be wishing it was before this day is over.”

  Before Shaw made it to the sheriff’s office, Sheriff Neff had hurried forward and met him in the street out front of the Big Spur Saloon. He kept his hands chest-high as he waved Shaw down. As Shaw and the others came to a halt, Sheriff Neff said in an even tone, “Mr. Shaw, I already know who you are and why you’re here. I’ve got Sidlow Talbert in my jail right now. I don’t want no trouble over him.”

  “I didn’t come here looking for trouble, Sheriff,” said Shaw, “but I did come looking for Sidlow. I want to know where his brother and the rest of that bunch are. You already know why.”

  “Yes, I do,” said Sheriff Neff, “and I don’t blame you for wanting to kill every one of them…just not in my town; that’s all I ask.”

  Shaw stepped down and walked around to where Della sat atop the little barb horse. He helped her step down onto the dirt-and-stone street. “I’ll do my best not to have any trouble here, Sheriff; you have my word. If you know who I am, then you also know that some hothead saddle tramp is going to pop up every now and then wanting to try me.”

  “I expect that,” said Neff. “I hold no man to blame when it comes to defending himself.”

  “Then you and I are going to get along fine,” said Shaw. He presented Della Starks, saying, “Sheriff, this is Widow Della Starks.”

  “Well, now, we’ve been expecting you, ma’am,” said the sheriff, taking off his hat and running a hand back along his thinning hair. “We were all saddened to hear about Purvis’s death. He hadn’t been here for long, but we all still considered him one of our own. Hope you’ll let us make you feel welcome here in our town, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff,” said Della, looking around for the Desert Flower Inn.

  “Your inn is all the way down the street just before you reach the border road crossing. Albert and Fannie Jenkins are still running it, just the way they did before your husband’s death. I’ll be honored to escort you there right now.”

  “Thank you again, Sheriff,” said Della. She looked up at Dillard Frome and said in a domineering tone, “Take those sweaty animals to the livery barn, Dillard. You can catch up to us afterward.”

  Jedson Caldwell and Cray Dawson stepped down from their saddles, stretched, and looked around the street.

  “I’ll accompany you and the widow Starks to the Desert Flower,” the old sheriff said to Lawrence Shaw. “Then you and I can talk on our way back before you go in to see Sidlow.” He raised a finger for emphasis. “You’ll have to give me your word that you won’t shoot him while he’s in my custody.”

  “You’re asking a lot, Sheriff,” said Shaw, his jaw tightening. “But all right, you’ve got my word.” Shaw turned to Cray Dawson, saying, “Dawson, I’ll be back here shortly. See to our animals. I’ll get us some rooms at the Desert Flower; that is, if Della here approves of our company.”

  Della only smiled demurely.

  Caldwell looked at Dawson and said, I’ll tag along with you, help you with the horses, if you don’t mind.”

  “No, I don’t mind,” said Dawson, sounding a bit dejected, watching Shaw walk away with Della and the sheriff. He shook his head and said jokingly, “Stick with me, Caldwell; you’ll soon learn to be a top-rate stable hand.”

  While Shaw and his group broke off into separate directions, just inside the doors of the Big Spur Saloon two ne’er-do-wells looked at each other with knowing grins. The taller of the two said to his comrade, “You’re right, Elton; that’s Fast Larry Shaw, sure as hell.”

  “I knew it was, Sammy Boy!” said Elton Minton. I can spot money on the hoof from a mile away. Our luck is just about to change.”

  “What do you mean, our luck?” said Sammy Boy White. “I’m the one who’s quick enough to face him. I’m the one with the Colt.” He patted the gun on his hip.

  “Yeah,” said Elton, thumbing himself on the chest, “but I’m the one with enough money to work up some bets on the fight. Now, are we still partners or not?”

  “Hell, yes, we’re still partners, Elton,” said Sammy Boy. “Couldn’t you tell I was just teasing with you?”

  “All right, then, no more teasing,” said Elton, raising his finger for emphasis. “I’m going to get Fat Man Hughes to back us financially. We’ll get some wagers made, all very quietly so nobody will know what’s about to happen until you’re ready to meet Shaw on the street. Meanwhile, maybe you best go somewhere and practice getting t
hat Colt out of your holster. Shaw ain’t no easy play.”

  “Don’t worry about my end of this deal,” said Sammy Boy. “I’m ready for whatever comes at me.”

  “Good enough—just keep that kind of attitude and follow me,” said Elton. He turned and walked to the crowded bar, shoving in between two of the drinkers at the right end of the bar, where a huge man wearing a black linen suit sat on a high wooden stool counting a thick roll of greenback dollars.

  Seeing Elton and Sammy Boy move in beside him, he gave them a sharp glance, held his roll of money a little closer to his chest, and continued counting. “What do you want, Elton?” he asked gruffly.

  Elton Minton looked taken aback by the man’s testy tone of voice. “Easy, Hughes,” Elton said. “I came here to bring you a wagering opportunity. Of course, if you don’t want it, I’ll just mosey on.”

  “Yeah, okay,” said Hughes, “you do that. I don’t want to fool with you two saddle tramps.”

  “Saddle tramps?” Sammy Boy hissed, poising his hand near his pistol. “Nobody calls me a saddle tramp! You better fill your hand, Hughes!” Even though his voice was loud enough to be heard the length of the bar, nobody turned in his direction.

  “My hands are already full, you idiot,” said Hughes, nodding at the money. “Now both of you get out of here; I’m busy.”

  “Hold it, Sammy Boy,” said Elton, giving his partner a slight shove to the side. “We came to talk business, remember?” He turned back to Hughes, who still concentrated on counting his money. “All right, Hughes, I’m going to tell you about this anyway, just because I want to see the look on your face when I win everybody’s money.”

  Hughes gave up counting his money, and shoved the thick roll inside his linen suit coat. “All right, Elton, you’ve caused me to lose my count. Now tell me how you’re going to win everybody’s money.”

  “Lawrence Shaw just rode into town,” said Elton, leaning in close to Hughes’s ear.

  “No kidding? Fast Larry, here?” Hughes looked surprised for a second, but then said, “So what’s that to do with you winning everybody’s money?”

  Elton beamed and hooked a thumb in his dirty, ragged vest. “I’ve got the man here who can beat him with a gun.”

  “Yeah? Who?” Hughes leaned back and looked all around the saloon.

  “Me, that’s who,” said Sammy Boy, looking angry.

  Hughes gave Elton a dubious look. “Yep, that’s who,” Elton said, confirming it for Hughes.

  Hughes fell silent for a moment. He looked Sammy Boy up and down. Then, unable to stifle his laughter, he let it roll, his huge belly bouncing as he slapped a thick hand on the bar top. “Lord God, Elton!” he mused, “have you been hearing banjos playing when there ain’t no banjos around? Fast Larry Shaw wouldn’t waste a bullet on this scarecrow! He’d stomp a foot and Sammy Boy would piss his trousers running!” He bellowed louder.

  “Make this fat sumbitch shut up,” Sammy Boy said to Elton with an embarrassed look on his face.

  But Fat Man Hughes raised a hand toward them, got himself collected, blew out a big breath, and said, “Whew…all right, you’ve got my attention. Whatever odds you’re offering, I’ll take them.” He reached inside his coat, snatched out the roll of dollars again, and slapped it down on the bar top. “Name your amount; I’ve got you covered.”

  “No, damn it,” said Elton, “put your money away for now.” He cut a quick glance around the saloon to make sure no one was listening. “I want to talk to you about you and me partnering up and taking all the loose money in this town.”

  “Partner with you?” Hughes started to laugh again, but this time he caught himself, shook his head, and said. “What you’re wanting is a backer. Elton, I wouldn’t back you selling ice water at the gates of hell. Now get away from me. I think you’re both smoking opium!”

  “Listen to me, Hughes!” said Elton. But before he could say another word, Hughes turned his back to him.

  “Get out of here,” Hughes growled over his shoulder.

  Elton and Sammy Boy started toward the door, looking dejected. But before they had crossed the floor, a man wearing a pencil-thin mustache and tied-down Colt slipped in beside Elton and said in a guarded tone, “Did I hear you boys say Fast Larry Shaw just rode into town?”

  Elton and Sammy Boy stopped and looked at the stranger. “Yeah, we saw him ride in a few minutes ago,” said Elton.

  “And you’ve got somebody you think can beat him straight up?” As he spoke he eyed Sammy Boy’s Colt, then looked him up and down, evaluating him.

  “Mister,” said Elton, “you sure heard an awful lot for a man who wasn’t being spoken to.”

  I couldn’t help overhearing you two talking to Fat Man Hughes.” The stranger shrugged. “If you’ve got somebody and you’re still looking for a backer, maybe I’m your man.” Again he looked at Sammy Boy’s Colt. “I take it this is the shooter you were talking about? He looks fit enough to handle the job,” he added, getting on Sammy Boy’s good side right away.

  “Damn right I’m fit enough,” said Sammy Boy.

  “Well, all right.” The stranger grinned and rubbed his hands together. “My name is Willie Devlin…business associates like to call me Willie the Devil.” His grin widened; his expression grew crafty. “All in good fun, of course.”

  Elton nodded and jerked a thumb toward Sammy Boy. “I’m Elton Minton. This here is Sammy Boy White…soon to be known as the man who gunned down Fast Larry Shaw.” He smiled boldly. “Willie the Devil, there are lots of sporting men in this town who would jump on this deal if I was to let it out. But the fact is, I want to keep it quiet until we’re all set. Timing is everything, I always say.”

  “I agree,” said Willie Devlin. “Now what’s the deal? How much money do you need? How sure are you that our man Sammy here can get the job done?”

  “Oh, Sammy Boy will get it done,” said Elton. “I wouldn’t have gone this far even thinking about it if I wasn’t sure of that.”

  “Do I need to see Sammy shoot first or can I count on your word for it?”

  “Count on it,” said Elton, “this is the fastest man I’ve seen with a gun. I’ve seen him take a—”

  “I’ve got three thousand dollars,” said Willie Devlin bluntly, in order to get Elton to stop beating around the bush. “Am I in or out?”

  Elton’s jaw dropped, Devlin’s words leaving him stunned for a second.

  Sammy Boy looked at Elton and said, “Damn! Three thousand dollars!” He gigged Elton in his ribs. “Go on…tell Willie what you’ve got in mind.”

  Elton recovered, batted his eyes, and said, “Uh, sure thing, Sammy Boy. But I think you need to let Willie and me get together in private and handle the details. You go somewhere and practice your part in this thing. Keep that gun hand well oiled, so to speak.”

  Sammy Boy hesitated, but only for a moment. “All right,” he said, I’ll go practice some…but I’m ready right now.” He patted the pistol on his hip as he turned and walked out through the bat-wing doors.

  As soon as Sammy Boy was out of sight, Willie the Devil said in a solemn tone to Elton Minton, “Tell me the truth: Do you really think that boy has a ghost of a chance against Fast Larry Shaw?”

  Elton Minton looked slightly offended. “If I didn’t would I be betting everything we have on him?”

  “I don’t know that we will be betting everything we have on him,” said Willie. “For all I know you might be wanting to bet some on him and some on Fast Larry, just to hedge your bet.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of pulling something like that on my old pal Sammy,” Elton said, incensed.

  “A smart man would,” Willie the Devil suggested with a sly grin.

  Elton’s face reddened a bit; then he returned Willie’s grin. “To be honest, I have to admit the thought did cross my mind.”

  “Good,” said Willie, “because if it hadn’t I wanted to be sure and mention it to you, make sure your mind is in the right place on this thing.” The two
shook hands; then Willie said, “Now back to what I asked you. Can that boy beat Fast Larry Shaw?”

  “If we’re going to bet it both ways, what do you care?” Elton asked, still grinning shrewdly.

  “Because I know some people who want Fast Larry dead,” said Willie the Devil. “If I tell them Shaw’s as good as dead and then he isn’t”—as he spoke he shaped his right hand into a pistol and poked his sharp finger firmly into Elton’s stomach—“guess who will be?”

  Elton’s smile soured on his face.

  “Now that he ain’t standing beside you where he can hear you…tell me like your life depended on it,” said Willie the Devil. “Is that boy going to be able to get the job done?”

  “If my life depended on it?” Elton considered it for a second; then, not wanting to let Willie the Devil and his three thousand get away, he said with finality, “Damn right, Sammy will get the job done.”

  “Good then, partner,” said Willie, throwing an arm up around Elton’s shoulder, directing him back toward the bar. “Let’s have a drink on that. I’ve got a friend I’d like you to meet.”

  Chapter 6

  When the sheriff and Lawrence Shaw left Della Starks at the Desert Flower Inn, they walked back to the sheriff’s office. Along the way, Sheriff Neff looked Shaw up and down and said, “If it’s any consolation, Lawrence, I too lost a wife some years back. She was killed by a young drunken cowboy on a street in El Paso. I was out of town when it happened. I got back and found out about it three days later. I was so full of blind, killing rage I went straight to the jail…. I meant to kill him on the spot. Turned out he had sobered up and felt so sorry for what he’d done, he hanged himself with a wool blanket from the top crossbar of the cell.”

  “I’m sorry about your wife, Sheriff,” said Shaw. He stared straight ahead. “But don’t worry about me killing Sidlow on the spot. I gave my word…I never break it.”

  “I wasn’t telling you that story to teach you any moral lesson, Shaw,” said Sheriff Neff. “It just seemed fitting, is all, what with you losing your wife under similar circumstances.”