Last Night on Earth

by James Peters

“Idiom Lee? That’s an unusual name. Care to tell me why your parents might have named you Idiom?”

  I offered my hand to shake his. Krenshaw acted as if he didn’t notice. “That’s a story that can only be told when I have a drink in hand.”

  Krenshaw laughed, turned toward the bar, and shouted toward the boy tending it. “Bring this man a…”

  “Whiskey,” I said.

  “Whiskey. No, not that watered down stuff, boy! Open up the top shelf bottle. Everybody has a price, and this gentleman’s price is a drink. Let’s make it a good one.”

  The boy brought the bottle over and two shot glasses. He poured my drink and looked back at Krenshaw, who pointed to the table before him. The boy left the bottle on our table.

  “Now, I’m ready to be enlightened, Mr. Lee.” He gave a slow nod to Dan Holloway, who shuffled the cards.

  I took a sip of my drink, set the glass down and smiled a tight-lipped grin. “Shortly before I was born, Dad met with a traveling preacher-man and asked him to speak to the Lord about a safe birth for me. The preacher asked if Dad prayed regularly, and he answered truthful-like, which was no. The preacher stated a child could give a man a new heart if it were dedicated to the Lord, took Dad’s hands, and prayed. When the prayer was over, Dad asked what it meant by being given a new heart. The preacher explained it was an idiom. So, when I was born, he said he felt something in his chest, and he insisted I be named Idiom.”

  A broad smile curved across Krenshaw’s face. “Good thing that preacher didn’t tell your dad it was a horse’s ass.”

  I wanted to say, “Then I’d be named Douglas Krenshaw,” but simply nodded. I had a notion I would come to really not like this fellow.

  Dan dealt the first round, and the ladies strutted around the table. One stopped behind Neil, using a lacy fan to cool herself off. That round, Neil won with two pair, and conveniently, Krenshaw folded early. I was onto his game. The ladies were signaling him, and it hadn’t cost me much.

  It was my deal next, so I had my chance to load my cuff with its first card. I shuffled the deck several times and caught a glimpse of the ace of hearts as the bottom card. I palmed it and pushed it into my cuff pocket. That round I won with a pair of kings and didn’t even need to cheat, adding two dollars to my stack.

  The deal passed to the undertaker sitting next to me. I cringed as I watched him struggle to slip his own card into his boot top. It was better for me to keep Krenshaw’s attention. I said, “Mr. Krenshaw, did you hear what happened on my way out here?”

  “Rumor has it you lost your horse.”

  “And I’ve heard you’ve lost some cattle, as well as a ranch-hand. I have reason to suspect we’re up against the same beast.”

  Krenshaw kept his eyes from meeting mine. “Funny for you to say beast and not bear. Did you get a good look at it?”

  “Good enough to know that if it was a bear, it’s momma’ and poppa’ must have been brother and sister. That thing was deformed, to say the least.”

  Krenshaw poured himself a shot of whiskey and slurped it like he was eating soup. “How did you escape?”

  “Shot it with my rifle. Not a great shot, but I hit it in the shoulder. When it saw me ready the next round, it ran off.”

  “So, it was hurt, and it learned what hurt it. Doesn’t sound like any bear I’ve ever seen. What time of day did you see it?”

  “It was night. Well past sunset.”

  “At least that fits with a bear’s normal habits. It’s rare to see one during the day.”

  I nodded and sipped my whiskey, enjoying the warmth of the alcohol. “Rumor has it you’re seekin’ some men to go after it.”

  “Are you willing to go alone?” Krenshaw asked, his eyes squinting as if sizing me up.

  “Honestly, no. I was lucky to escape with my life, and I don’t look to die anytime soon, even though my new friend here needs the business. I’d be a lot more comfortable with three other well-armed men. It will take several good shots to bring that thing down.” Neil finally got his card situated in his boot and the next round dealt.

  “I have a Mexican working for me. Big guy, kind of stupid, but he knows how to use a rifle. I’d send him with you,” Krenshaw said.

  The tavern’s doors flung open, and two men walked in. I recognized them as soon as they entered. Tall and thin with black hair cut in a bowl style, Darrel Bodel entered first, followed by Clyde Tanning, a man of average height, blond hair, and strong build. Under other circumstances these men would be acquaintances; not friends, but not men I’d consider violent. However, them being here just a day after I showed up had to mean they’re looking for me. My heart pounded like wild Indian drums just before they went on a warpath. I tried to sink down into my seat, tipping my hat down to cover my eyes. Clyde would be the toughest, so he’s likely in charge. Darrel is a follower, not too smart nor tough.

  “Are you playing cards?” Dan asked, drawing my attention back to the game as the two men approached the bar.

  “Yep. What’s the bet now?”

  “A dollar to call,” Dan said.

  “I call.” I pushed a dollar coin out.

  Clyde stepped toward the table, his hand resting on his six-shooter. Darrel followed his lead. “Look what we have here. Just the man we been lookin’ for. Idiom Justus Lee, in the flesh!”

  “Ha, what a stupid name,” Darrel said. “Should be Idiot, No-Justice Lee.”

  I laughed, nodding toward Darrel. “He’s funny, isn’t he?” I don’t want to kill these guys. They’re little more than kids. But I won’t let them lynch me for doing my job.

  Clyde drew his weapon and aimed it at me. “Real slow-like, you’re going to stand up, Idiom, and turn away from me. Then we’ll check you for weapons, understood?”

  I took a deep breath and cleared my mind, finding the calm before the storm. Standing, I wrapped my ankle under my chair’s leg and crossbar. I snapped my leg up, driving the top of the chair into Clyde’s wrist. Clyde’s gun discharged as it was knocked from his hand, flipping end over end until it landed on the floor near the spittoon. When the wayward shot lodged into a support beam inches from my head, a trickle of dust landed on Krenshaw’s shoulder. Krenshaw flicked the dust off as if it had insulted him.

  Clyde screamed in pain, grasping his wrist. Before Darrel could react, I’d snatched my Derringer from my boot holster and had it pointed at his face. Darrel released a small, fearful whine as he stared down the business end of the tiny gun.

  “You boys are a long way from home, and I reckon you’re both tired,” I said. “Too tired to be carrying around all that heavy metal, so why don’t you hand me your gun. Slowly and don’t give me a reason to get antsy, understand?”

  Darrel eased his pistol from his holster using a thumb and a finger, and I snatched the gun and stuffed it into a pocket. I backed away toward the spittoon and retrieved Clyde’s gun.

  “You ain’t keepin’ my gun!” Clyde said.

  “Nobody said anything about keeping your gun, son. Now put your ammo belts on the table.”

  Clyde moaned in pain as he tried to unhook his ammo belt with his good hand. “What are you gonna do with us?”

  I spoke with a deliberate pace. “The real question here is what were you going to do with me?”

  Clyde spoke in a nervous squeal. “We was just messin’ around, Idiom. We wasn’t gonna do nothing.”

  “Boys like you should learn to respect your elders and call them sir, or Mr. Lee.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Lee,” Clyde said.

  I leaned in toward Clyde, just enough to establish dominance. “That’s better. Now, why don’t you explain to the nice gentlemen here why you were after me.”

  Clyde leaned backward. “Mr. Brown has offered both of us ten dollars to bring you back to face justice.”

  “Mr. Brown has an unusual sense of justice. Just because he thought he loved one of Madame Hanson’s ladies. Go on, tell these men why Mr. Brown is after me.”

  “Because you defended t
hat crazy mountain man, Orland. Everybody knew he killed that whore, but you convinced the judge he weren’t guilty,” Clyde said.

  I squinted my eyes, staring down Clyde. “Were you in the courtroom when the judge passed down his sentence?”

  “No.”

  “And neither was Mr. Brown. None of you know the facts of the case.”

  Clyde’s face turned defiant. “What does it matter? You helped a murderer get free!”

  Would changing my tone to sound more like a school teacher help? I had to try. “Let me tell you something about evidence. Orland was an odd man, a drunk, and he liked to fight, and he carried a big knife, right?”

  “Which he used to stab that girl.”

  “The doctor examined her stab wound. He found the tip of the knife broken off in her backbone. There was a shard about a quarter inch wide by an inch long left inside her.”

  “So?”

  “Orland’s knife wasn’t broken. Its tip was still intact. I had a blacksmith examine them. The blades were made by different methods.”

  “Steel is steel, and you can sharpen a new point on a knife,” Clyde said.

  “A master knife maker can tell one type of steel from another, and he can tell if a knife has just been sharpened to a new point. I don’t know who killed that girl, but it wasn’t Orland. That’s why I represented him and made sure he received a fair trial.”

  I turned toward Krenshaw, who was now standing. He asked, “So, you’re not a businessman passing through town like Dan told me?”

  “The law is a business just like any other,” I said.

  Darryl’s eyes drifted down to his boots. “We needed that ten dollars.”

  I saw my opportunity and took it. “Perhaps we can come to a solution. Mr. Krenshaw here is offering a reward to kill and return a particularly nasty bear in this area, and I happen to be the last person to see it. Work with me, and you’ll make more than ten dollars.” I turned to Krenshaw. “I’m assuming that offer is still on the table?”

  “It is. I’ll send my Mexican to meet you here tomorrow at dusk. The four of you will go and kill that beast and bring its carcass back to me. I’ll pay one hundred dollars to the group.”

  “See boys? Do you know what one hundred dollars is, split four ways?” I asked.

  Clyde looked at his hands and started counting on his fingers. “More than ten dollars?”

  “That’s right Clyde, it’s fifty percent more than ten dollars! Fifteen dollars for the each of you,” I said. “Just one more thing, Mr. Krenshaw. The ranch-hand you lost, did he have a horse?”

  “Of course he did.”

  “Great, you wouldn’t mind having your Mexican bring that horse along as well so I can borrow it? If I like it, I may be in the market to buy it from you. Now I believe we have a poker game to finish.”

  Chapter Two

  Posse Trouble

  The next evening, Clyde and Darrel sat at the end of the bar, each sipping a drink, while I double and triple checked my weapons and ammo belts. Just as the sun set, the door creaked open, almost as if someone were trying to sneak in. I turned to find a large, dirty, dark-skinned man, with a black mustache and a hateful scowl on his face. This had to be Krenshaw’s Mexican.

  The big Mexican spat on the floor, glanced left, and then right. “Señior Idiom?”

  “Yeah-up,” I said, accenting the drawl.

  “Señior Krenshaw sent me. We are to kill uno oso?”

  I glanced at Clyde and Darrel. “Let’s go, boys. The sooner we kill this thing, the sooner we get paid.”

  The boys tossed back their drinks, grabbed their gear, and we all followed the Mexican out to where the horses had been tied.

  I tried to start a conversation. “So, do you have a name?”

  “Yeah-up,” he said, repeating my drawl.

  “Care to share it?”

  “Only with mi amigos.”

  “Then I’ll just call you the Mexican,” I said. If he responded, it was only a grunt. I couldn’t be certain if he’d made a noise or if it’d been one of the horses passing wind. The Mexican, Clyde and Darrel climbed aboard their horses. That left me with the tired old mare with a hollowed face, clouded eyes, and sagging lip. She released a loud snort as I strapped my tack on her and climbed into the saddle. I hope you’ve got at least one good trip left in you. “Get up, mare!”

  I led the way, while the big Mexican lagged behind Clyde and Darrel. We traced my path back along the trail until we got to the place this had all started and the woman had screamed. Should I have stayed and searched for her? If she had encountered the beast I saw, she must have suffered the same fate as Leroy had, and I didn’t need to see the aftermath.

  I smelled death on the air, so I brought my mare to a halt, saying in a low voice, “We’re getting close. Be ready.” Clyde and Darrel drew rifles from their packs. The Mexican didn’t respond. He didn’t hear me or didn’t care. I had my mare amble around the final bends and brush around the path until I saw what was left of Leroy. I dismounted while the other men remained in their saddles.

  While his bones hadn’t been picked clean, what remained was what little buzzards or coyotes wouldn’t eat. I pointed to his right front leg. “See those scratches on the bones? That’s from what killed him.”

  “That must’ah been a big bear,” Darrel said.

  The tracks around the kill indicated it had been a popular attraction. I wasn’t interested in the canine prints. Recalling the beast leaping toward me, I estimated where it had been and found a large divot in the soil. I discovered another several feet away. “This is the track we’re looking for.”

  The Mexican approached closer, staring over his horse’s shoulder. He muttered, “No es uno oso.”

  He doesn’t think these are bear prints. I ignored him and continued searching. Tracks led away, and some had returned to it. If I’m reading these tracks right, he’s come back for seconds using the same trail. That means he’s likely got a den somewhere close. I climbed back on the mare. “Follow me.”

  I kept an eye on the path. When the trail seemed to end, I had to stop several times, but then I’d see something; a broken twig or a bush with leaves bent at an angle. We kept going, crossing an icy stream and venturing down into a valley. There I spotted what remained of an old shack. The prints led that way, circling the rotting building. Additionally, in the tracks, I noticed human footprints, smaller than mine and wearing a flat-bottomed shoe instead of a boot. I dismounted and walked around until noticing a hatch on the ground leading to a root cellar. The smaller prints ended at the entrance.

  The Mexican climbed down from his horse, drawing a rifle from its strap. He marched right to the door, flung it open, and stepped inside without hesitation.

  A woman screamed, sounding like the one I’d heard just a few days prior. A chill ran down my spine. The Mexican dragged her kicking and screaming out of the cellar. She wore a deerskin dress, tan with turquoise beads adorning it. Her hair was long and dark, and she had the features of an Indian—Cherokee if I had to take a guess. She was a pretty lass, even when struggling to try to escape.

  Her eyes met mine, and in that instant, I felt a connection of sorts, almost like we knew each other. Maybe she saw something in me she recognized. Adrenaline surged through my body, and my mind raced with a sense of urgency, destiny, and fear.

  “Look at what he caught!” Clyde said.

  “She’s pretty, fer an Indian,” Darrel added.

  Clyde licked his lips. “That ain’t gonna stop me. I want a turn with her.”

  “Now don’t be getting any ideas, boys,” I said. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

  “Let go of me!” she screamed as the Mexican pawed at her.

  “Después de que termine con ella,” the Mexican said. He reached his hand down her dress.

  My Spanish was spotty at best, but that meant either “after I’m finished,” or he was calling me a snail. I drew one of my Colts, cocked the hammer back, and drew a bead at his head. �
��Let her go before this goes too far.”

  The Mexican pushed her down and turned his rifle toward me. That was your last mistake, amigo. Without hesitation, I put a .45 caliber hole through his big, ugly forehead. He was dead before hitting the ground. His horse reared up and galloped away.

  “What the hell?!” Clyde reached for his weapon.

  I pointed my .45 at Clyde, pulled the other from its holster, and aimed it at Darrel. “How this goes down is up to you boys. Either of you makes one move toward this girl or me, and I’ll put you in the bone orchard just like I did that bean eater. We can continue on, or you two can make tracks.”

  “Darrel, let’s get out of here,” Clyde said. “We can’t spend fifteen dollars at a hookshop if we been killed.”

  “But I was lookin’ forward to a painted lady or two,” Darrel said.

  “You’d be lucky to get a painting of a lady.” They rode off into the darkness.

  I turned back to the Indian girl. “Are you hurt, ma’am?”

  She circled around. Her eyes peered through me as if she was looking past my flesh and studying the depth of my soul. She stopped, her face just inches from mine. “Why?”

  “Why? Why did I shoot him? A man like that needs to die, and had I not stopped it right then, Clyde and Darrel would have joined in. Besides, he was about to end me with his rifle.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Just trying to do the right thing.”

  “What did you expect to get out of doing this right thing?”

  That’s an odd question. She doesn’t trust me even though I just saved her. I guess I’ll have to prove I don’t have bad intentions. “Nothing more than the peace to sleep at night, ma’am.”

  Her eyes flared as she spoke. “Who are you, Mister Do Right?”

  “Idiom Lee.” I tipped my hat. “And, you are?”

  Her scowl softened into a defensive smile. “Ginnamorana M’Duhra.”

  Now I’m getting somewhere. She’s a lot prettier when she doesn’t look like she may stab me in the neck. “Ginna… Ginn it is. Nice to meet you, Ginn.”

  “Why did you think I needed your help, Idiom Lee? I am quite capable of caring after myself.”