The Last Good Day

by John L. Lansdale

  “What if I say no?” B.W. said.

  “Then I’ll do it anyway,” Rance said.

  “You that set on this?” B.W. said.

  “Yeah,” Rance said. “Let’s head out. Keep movin’ south while we still got daylight.”

  “If we run into any of their kin we may have to kill some more of that family,” B.W. said. “What’s your conscience say about that, major?”

  “Won’t change what we got to do with the money, whatever happens.”

  “I could just take the money and leave,” B.W. said.

  “Couldn’t let you do that,” Rance said.

  “You know you would have to kill me.”

  “I do.”

  “Or I would have to kill you first.”

  “You would,” Rance said.

  “Damn it, I can’t go against you both. I don’t like it, but okay. We better do it soon, them bodies are gonna start stinking.”

  “We’ll find a town that’ll bury ‘em,” Rance said.

  “That’s right considerate of you,” B.W. said. “Since I won’t have to do the digging.”

  They tied the dead boys on their horses and mounted. The lingering gun smoke disappeared in the trees from a cross wind as they rode away.

  Further down the trail, they saw a sign reading Buffalo Flats—Four Miles. They stopped and looked at the sign.

  “If they got a road sign it’s probably big enough to have a telegraph,” Rance said.

  “Maybe,” B.W. said. “Didn’t that sheriff say he was going to see if the bank would put up a reward?”

  “Seems like I recall that,” Rance said.

  “Maybe we won’t come out of this too bad after all,” B.W. said.

  “Unless they know somebody’s after us,” Tommy said.

  16

  Everyone stared at the dead boys as they rode down the street. Soldiers from both sides, still in uniform, some missing arms and legs, standing around doing nothing.

  By the time they got to the sheriff’s office they had gathered a motley-looking crowd of ex-soldiers and old men.

  They rode up to the sheriff’s office. Rance dismounted and tied Buck to the hitching post.

  “Might be better if you and Tommy stay on your horses while I check in with the sheriff,” Rance said.

  B.W. nodded and took the lead rope from their horses.

  “These people act like they never seen a dead man before,” Tommy said.

  “They seen plenty, just curious,” B.W. said. “They think we might have somebody they know.”

  Someone in the crowd yelled, “Who you got?” as Rance walked into the sheriff’s office.

  A wiry-looking little man with sky blue eyes wearing a rebel hat stood up. He had a homemade tin star pinned on the black and white checked shirt he was wearing, and an ivory-handled Navy Colt hanging from his hip.

  “What’s all the commotion goin’ on outside?” he asked.

  “Got two dead ones outside. Bank robbers,” Rance said. “You the sheriff?”

  “I am. Name’s Sheriff Billy Shaw. You bounty hunters?”

  “No,” Rance said.

  “How you know they robbed a bank?”

  “We heard about it when we was in Pinefield. Money bags had Pinefield Bank on them, money was still in the bags. They charged us on the trail, thinking we were the posse, I guess. Didn’t have a choice but to kill or be killed. Just kids, though, hate that it had to happen.”

  “You don’t say,” he said. “You have this money with you?”

  “We do, in their saddle bags out front.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “An Indian and a boy I’m ridin’ with.”

  “Let’s have a look.” The sheriff stood up and headed for the door. Rance followed.

  “Alright,” the sheriff said to the crowd. “You boys go on, this is law business.”

  An old skinny man with a long white beard and a face full of wrinkles stepped in front of the sheriff.

  “Who they got, sheriff?” he asked.

  “None of your business, Welford, now move out the way.” The sheriff pushed the old man aside, grabbed the hair of one of the dead boys hanging across his horse and raised his head. “Know him,” he said. “Ike Bannister.”

  He dropped the boy’s head and repeated the same thing with the other one. “This is his bother, Keavy. The Bannisters lived on a small farm outside of town. Was the only ones left from a Yankee raid on their farm last winter. Bring those saddle bags in and let’s have a look. Welford, take these boys to the undertaker for me. Tell him we’ll settle up with him later.”

  “Do I get any whiskey money out of it?” the old man asked.

  The sheriff handed Welford a coin.

  B.W. and Tommy dismounted, tied the horses to the hitching post, got the saddle bags and handed Welford the reins to the dead boys’ horses and he led them away.

  B.W. and Tommy sat the saddle bags beside the desk and the sheriff opened them and took the bank bags out and placed them on the desk.

  “Like you said, got Pinefield Bank painted on the bags.” He opened one of the bank bags, scooped a handful of gold coins and some paper money out and laid it on the desk. “Lot of money here.”

  “There is,” B.W. said and gave Rance a hard look.

  “Said those boys attacked you?” the sheriff said.

  “Came charging out of a thicket, shootin’ at us,” B.W. said. “Didn’t have a choice but to shoot back.”

  “Known them boys all their life. They was having a hard time makin’ it.”

  “The war has made it hard for all of us,” Rance said.

  “You lose that arm in the war?” Sheriff Shaw asked.

  “I did.”

  “He was a rebel major,” Tommy said.

  “What ‘bout you,” Shaw said, looking at B.W.

  “Was on the winnin’ side,” B.W. said.

  Shaw looked at B.W. with a cold stare for several seconds and B.W. returned it.

  “You got any deputies?” Rance asked.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Mayor appointed me sheriff two weeks ago. May not be able to pay me unless the Yankees fork over some money.”

  “You got a bank?” Rance said.

  “No, went belly up some time ago.”

  “Got anyone to help you look after that money you can trust?” B.W. said.

  “Just me. That’s it.”

  “Is there a telegraph to let the sheriff in Pinefield know what happened?” Rance said. “So they can come get their money.”

  “We got a telegraph at the train station.”

  “You got a train runnin’ out of here?” Rance said, surprised.

  “Yep, twice a week. One going south on Tuesday, one going north on Saturday.”

  “That’s tomorrow,” B.W. said. “The one going south headed to Texas?”

  “Think so,” Shaw said. “You thinkin’ ‘bout catchin’ it?”

  “Maybe,” B.W. said. “Is there a livery stable and a place to eat in this town?”

  “On down the street. Livery’s ‘fore you get to the Chinaman’s café.”

  “I see you got a safe,” Rance said.

  “We’ll have to count it,” Billy said. “Need a witness on how much is there ‘fore I put it in the safe.”

  “Don’t know if they spent any,” Rance said. “We haven’t touched it.”

  “Major, how ‘bout you and Tommy go take care of the horses and eat,” B.W. said. “I’ll help him count the money and put it in the safe. I’d like to know how much is there, too. Bring me some biscuits and whiskey.”

  Shaw looked at B.W. with a strange expression. “Biscuits and whiskey?”

  “Good,” B.W. said.

  Shaw shook his head. “Okay, I’ll give the undertaker their horses for burying ‘em since there’s no one to claim ‘em.”

  “That okay,?” Rance said, looking at B.W. and Tommy.

  “One oughta do it,” B.W. said. “Think the sheriff should have one for takin’ care of th
e money.”

  Rance and Tommy nodded in agreement.

  “Appreciate that,” Shaw said. “Comin’ from a Indian Yankee.”

  B.W. grinned.

  “Okay, we’ll be back in a little while,” Rance said. “B.W., you make sure none of that money disappears.”

  “Don’t forget the whiskey,” B.W. said.

  “And biscuits,” Rance said and left.

  When Rance and Tommy returned, they brought B.W. the whiskey and biscuits and sat them on the desk.

  “Thanks,” B.W. said. “We counted the money. Twenty-one-thousand, eight-hundred dollars and ninety-six cents. Sixteen thousand in paper money, the rest in gold and silver coins. He gave me a receipt.”

  “I’ll go send the telegram to the sheriff in Pinefield and wait for a reply,” Shaw said.

  “What time that train leave for Texas?” Rance asked.

  “Tomorrow morning, ten-o’clock,” Shaw said. “The Fast Hitch Saloon has beds, fifty cents. Can come by there, let you know what the Pinefield sheriff said when I hear back.”

  “Just as soon you didn’t say anything ‘bout us in that telegram,” Rance said. “Just tell him ‘bout the boys and the money.”

  “What if there’s a reward?” Shaw said.

  “We’ll take it out of the bank money,” B.W. said.

  “I’ll handle it right now,” Shaw said.

  “Good. Find out if we can ship our horses too,” Rance said and they walked back outside.

  “Don’t think I want to sleep in a bed,” B.W. said. “Somethin’ bad always happens when I do.”

  “That’s ridiculous, just a coincidence,” Rance said.

  “Don’t think so.”

  “That’s silly,” Tommy said. Rance nodded.

  “Alright, but I warned you,” B.W. said and they walked across the street into the saloon.

  A big-headed man with almost as much hair on his eyebrows as his head and a salt-and-pepper beard watched them come in and walk up to the bar. He looked at Tommy and shook his head.

  “Don’t allow no kids in here,” he said.

  “We just want a bed for the night, nothing else,” Rance said. “Got a train to catch in the mornin.’”

  “Don’t matter. No kids in here.”

  “Just as well,” B.W. said. “Didn’t want to stay here anyway.”

  “You’re not goin’ to rent us a bed?” Rance asked.

  “Not with the kid,” the man said. “My place, my rules.”

  “Give it up, major, we’ll sleep in the livery,” B.W. said. “Would feel better there, anyway.”

  “Let’s go,” Rance said and they walked back out on the street. “We’ll wait for the sheriff then go to the livery stable. Guess sleepin’ on hay don’t count as a bed, huh, B.W.?”

  “Nope.” B.W. sat down on the board sidewalk and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

  When the sheriff showed up they were leaning against the wall, half asleep.

  “How come you’re not inside?” Shaw asked.

  “Wouldn’t rent us a bed with the boy,” Rance said.

  “Wait here, I’ll take care of it. Solomon can be a cantankerous old cuss sometimes.”

  “It’s alright, B.W. don’t want to sleep in a bed anyway,” Rance said.

  “How come?”

  “It’s a long story,” Tommy said.

  “What did Pinefield say?” Rance asked.

  “They’re gonna catch the next train to pick up the money,” Shaw said. “Bank put up a five-hundred-dollar reward for the return of the money.”

  “Anyone beside the telegrapher know about the money?” Rance asked.

  “No.”

  “Keep it that way,” B.W. said. “That’s a big temptation for anyone.”

  “Sure is,” the sheriff said.

  “Think we better move on,” Rance said. “If they got a place for our horses on that train in the mornin.”

  “Asked them ‘bout that,” Shaw said. “The one comin’ tomorrow is a cattle car, said you can take your horses.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Rance said.

  “Sheriff,” B.W. said. “Think we’ll take that five-hundred now unless you’ve got some objections.”

  “And if I did?” he asked.

  “We’ll, we’d have take it anyway,” B.W. placed his hand on the butt of his Colt.

  “I’ll tell them when they get here,” Shaw said.

  B.W. collected the five hundred, gave Billy a hundred for his trouble and they spent the night in the livery stable, sleeping on hay—much to B.W.‘s satisfaction.

  17

  They were up early, saddling their horses when they heard a train whistle.

  ”The train’s here,” B.W. said. “It’s a little after seven.”

  “We better high-tail it out there,” Rance said and they hurried outside to see tumbleweeds rolling down the street from a gusting wind. They hung on to their hats, mounted and took off.

  The train was pulling out from the station as they rode up with their hats in their hands. They tied their horses to a hitching post and the horses turned sideways from the wind. The train blew its whistle as it crossed a dirt road on the edge of town. The horses started prancing around the station agent walking toward them. He looked like a ghost with his tall, thin frame, swinging the glowing lantern, his snow white hair and beard blowing in the early morning wind.

  “Hey!” B.W. yelled. “How come the train’s leaving early?”

  The man stopped and waited for them to get closer. “What’s that you say?” he asked. “Couldn’t hear you with the whistle blowing.”

  “Why is the train leaving early?” Rance said.

  “Leaving on time,” the man said.

  “Thought it didn’t leave until ten?”

  “Nope, seven-thirty like always.” He raised the globe on his lantern and the wind blew it out.

  “Where’s the cattle cars?” B.W. said.

  “It’s a passenger train, don’t no pull cattle.”

  “Did Sheriff Shaw send a telegram to Pinefield yesterday?” Rance asked.

  “Nope. Would have had me do it. I’m the only one knows how.”

  “Should have asked for a copy of the telegram,” Rance said.

  “He was formulatin’ this from the time he saw the money,” B.W. said. “I could see it in his eyes, thought if I gave him the horse and money it would ease the temptation. Shaw’s on that train, ain’t he?”

  “He is,” the agent said. “Said he quit and was goin’ to California. Seemed all excited, kept lookin’ over his shoulder like he was expectin’ someone.”

  “He was,” Rance said “We’re here.”

  “Wish I had listened to B.W. now,” Tommy said. “ No way we can catch up. He’s long gone.”

  “Me too,” Rance said.

  “Got a leak in the boiler,” the agent said. “They’re goin’ to have to fix it when they get to Hudsonville. Got no tools here, probably take all day.”

  “How far is that from here?” Rance asked.

  “Twenty miles or so.”

  “What’s the quickest way?”

  “Follow the tracks, pretty straight shot from here,” the agent said. “Tried to tell him but he was too jumpy to listen.”

  “Thanks,” Rance said and they hurried to the horses. They rode hard until their horses started puffing and stopped to rest them. They dismounted and wet the horses’ noses from their canteens.

  “We gonna kill him?” Tommy said.

  “Don’t know yet,” B.W. said.

  “What you think, major?” Tommy said.

  “I’ll let B.W. make the call.”

  “I know what you was thinkin’ but everything has changed,” B.W. said. “It’s dog-eat-dog now and it’s goin’ to be that way for a long time.”

  Rance didn’t say anything, just grabbed the saddle horn with his good hand and pulled himself up in the saddle. They rode another mile or two and came over a rise and saw the train in the distan
ce, sitting at a depot on the outskirts of town, men working on the train’s engine.

  “There it is,” B.W. said. “He may have figured out we’re coming and is already gone. He damn sure had money to buy a horse.”

  They rode down a long slope across an open field of blue bonnets, crossed the tracks and stopped near a big man wearing overalls with a railroad cap on his bushy hair, a huge hand wrapped around the handle of a sledgehammer resting on the ground. Three Chinese men were working on the train. The big man wasn’t carrying a gun but a rifle was propped against a tree some ten feet away.

  “Any of the passengers still on the train?” Rance said.

  “Who the hell are you?” the man asked.

  “Someone that will ask you a question if you don’t mind,” B.W. said.

  “Unless you got someone on the train or you’re the law, I ain’t got time for you.”

  “Not very friendly, are you?” Tommy said.

  “And you don’t know how to respect your elders, do you boy?”

  B.W. rode up between the man and the rifle, slid off his horse and wrapped the reins around the saddle horn.

  The three men working on the engine stopped and looked at what was going on.

  The big man picked up the hammer, back-peddled to the steps of the passenger car, took a firm grip on the handle of the sledgehammer with both hands. “You’re not goin’ on this train.”

  “Get out of my way,” B.W. said and started walking toward him.

  “Over my dead body,” the man said.

  “That can be arranged.” B.W. jerked the tomahawk from his belt and hurled it toward the man, cutting off two fingers from his right hand. The man yelled in pain. The sledgehammer fell to the ground along with his two fingers, the tomahawk stuck in the handle. He dropped to his knees and grabbed his bleeding hand, looking at his fingers on the ground between his knees.

  “You fuckin’ red nigger, I’ll kill you!”

  “Not today,” B.W. said and drew his Colt.

  “Let it go,” Rance yelled. “Check the train, I’ll take care of him.”

  B.W. stared at Rance for a second, stuck the Colt back in his belt, picked up the sledgehammer beside the wounded man, pulled the bloody tomahawk out of the handle, wiped it off on the back of the man’s shirt, dropped the hammer, stuck the tomahawk in his belt and boarded the train. The three working men dropped their tools and took off running down the track.