Cemetery Jones 5

by William R. Cox

  “Did they hang him, or bring him in for trial?”

  “Neither. Sheriff Behan came along and the posse was outside the town line so they had to surrender the prisoner to him. The posse went on after the other three, and they were no sooner over the next rise than Behan turned Luther King loose.”

  Renee said, “How on earth did he get away with that?”

  “Claimed the man pulled a hide-out gun on him, disarmed him, and escaped.” Luke Short snorted and jammed the stub of his cigar down into the sand bucket with a lot more ferociousness than necessary. “For a man who’d been disarmed by his prisoner, Behan had a healthy amount of guns on his person and his horse when he rode back into town.”

  Bat Masterson continued, “Well, the other three outlaws ended up dead, one way and another. Wyatt and the brothers haven’t talked about it, specifically, you understand. But the fly in the ointment’s that one of the three robbers was Bill Leonard, who’s known up and down the Rockies as a friend of Doc Holliday’s.”

  Renee said drily, “I wasn’t aware he had any friends.”

  “He had at least two,” said Luke Short. “Wyatt Earp and Bill Leonard.”

  Bat Masterson said, “Bill Leonard was killed in the Haslett brothers’ store in Huachita. They say he was trying to rob the place. It’s not clear who shot him. Wyatt and the posse were there before he died, that’s for sure, because several of them signed affidavits that Bill Leonard admitted the Benson stage holdup and identified the other three who’d killed the driver and passenger. Including one Luther King, who’s probably halfway to Buenos Aires by now. He’s the only one of the four didn’t get dead.”

  Bat paused to ruminate a mouthful of brandy, then went on:

  “Now as soon as this all came back to Cochise County, the Clanton cowboys started accusing Doc Holliday of having been behind that stage holdup where Philpot got killed. All three Clanton boys—Ike, Phin, Billy—were spreading these yams all over the county, trying to stir up sentiments against Doc. And Doc’s personality bein’ what it is, quite a few folks around here are happy to believe he was behind the holdup, regardless of what the evidence says.”

  Luke Short said, “Puttin’ that rumor out was Old Man Clanton’s idea, I reckon. He’s smart enough to know Doc is the weak point in the Earps’ defenses.”

  Sam said, “What happened then?”

  Bat showed a crooked smile. “You may remember Doc’s sometime lady friend, Big Nose Kate?”

  Sam remembered Kate Fisher well enough. A sour-pussed plump woman, nearly as unpleasant as Doc himself.

  Bat said, “Johnny Behan got Kate blind drunk, and got her to sign a deposition to the effect that Doc had admitted to her that he’d been one of the robbers.”

  “Fool woman,” Luke scoffed. Both Renee and Nellie shot glares at him. He grinned weakly.

  Bat said, “So then Behan and a mob that he called a posse went over to Holliday’s room, caught him drunk and half-asleep, put him under arrest, and took him to jail.”

  “Doc Holliday in jail,” Sam said. “Imagine that.”

  “Not for long,” said Bat. “Wyatt went five thousand dollars bail. Virg sobered Kate up and held her in custody. There was a trial, Mayor Clum presiding. Kate testified that Behan had made her sign something, but she couldn’t remember what it was. So the deposition was thrown out of court. Bunch of witnesses exonerated Wyatt and his party, and Doc was acquitted.”

  “Much to the chagrin of friends Clanton and such,” said Luke.

  Sam said mildly, “Doc shoot Kate then?”

  “No. He’s a gallant Southerner, Doc is. Never shoots women.” Luke’s lopsided smile was addressed to Renee, who made a face at him.

  Bat Masterson said, “Doc always had a soft spot for that dreadful woman. Gave Kate a thousand dollars and told her to get out of the Territory. She’s long gone. Left a lot of hard feelings behind. And that’s about where it stands now. The feud gets hotter every day. The Clanton cowboys have been spreading it around just what they aim to do to Doc and the Earps, and Ringo’s rattlin’ around like a wild card, and Wyatt’s taken to wearing two guns instead of one, and here we sit, waiting for the powder keg to explode.”

  Luke Short said, “Bat forgot to mention the Clantons want Bat’s head on a platter, and mine, too, along with Doc and all four Earp brothers and, who knows, half everybody else in town to boot.”

  “Including Mayor Clum,” Bat added. “They’ve got a pretty long death list.”

  Sam digested what he had heard. After a brief silence he said, “It’s not law you need around here. It’s folks with the sense God gave a duck.”

  Nellie Cashman said in unison with Renee, “Amen.”

  Luke wasn’t having much more to say; he was hanging on every word, every move made by Nellie. It was amusing, how transparently the king of gamblers was infatuated with this genteel, saint like queen.

  The lobby was exceptionally quiet and orderly—for Tombstone. It was as if the Cosmopolitan was declared off-limits.

  The air of Big City was complete in this haven. Yet Luke, Bat, and Sam were wearing their weapons.

  The daylight was fading; it was a warm evening with old friends and a charming, beautiful lady who invited them to her house over sweets and coffee.

  It had been a long several days on the dusty, rattling stagecoach, but Renee said, “I’d love to see Anna’s baby.”

  It was still half-light when they went out onto Allen Street. People were strung as before, going hither and thither, mainly in and out of saloons and gambling places in midtown. There seemed not to be a square foot of the town not occupied by people and buildings of all sorts. The scene was kaleidoscopic. There were adobe buildings as well as frame. Canvas tents could be seen as they progressed toward the outskirts.

  Bat kept up a lecture on their surroundings. “The land’s taxed. Wyatt collects. Every penny, believe me. Did you hear about the cave-in on Toughnut Street? There was a vein of silver still producing, so they followed it—right under the town. Rich as all get out. The street fell right down into the mine tunnel, wrecked I don’t know how many buildings, killed some mules and horses and a few folks, and they just shored it up and went on digging.”

  “And the miners spend and you gamblers gamble,” said Nellie. “And men and women die alone.”

  “Not if you can help it,” Luke said.

  “I can help, but I can’t cure,” she replied. Her concern was real, unselfish, Sam knew. He’d heard enough to have developed a high opinion of the lady—the legendary Angel of Tombstone.

  They turned abruptly on a street amidst the shabbiest of buildings. They came to an adobe building occupying possibly fifty front feet and a hundred feet deep—huge but dilapidated. It looked as if a coat of old paint was holding it together. Nellie led them inside.

  They found Anna in the narrow hallway. Baby Sam was in her arms.

  She beamed. “I knew you’d come!” Tears ran down her cheeks. She extended the baby as Renee went to her. “Pacheco—he’s gone. He’ll be killed.”

  Nellie said briskly, “Now, Anna. Come on in the kitchen. We’ll have some tea.”

  It was a huge kitchen, a barracks of a kitchen. There was an enormous wood stove and an old man replenishing it. Pots and pans dangled; there were piles of serviceable crockery, a sink, a line of straight chairs. Set apart was a small table, to which Nellie repaired. Renee carried little Sam to her seat. Anna stoically wiped her face with her apron.

  Anna produced delicate porcelain cups and saucers. An old man poured tea with a strange, pleasant pungent aroma.

  Nellie said, “This is Barney.” His face was scarred with the ravages of hard times. “I couldn’t do without him. He was a trail camp cook.”

  Barney’s voice was a croak. “I was a gutter bum when she picked me up, I was.”

  “Shush,” said Nellie. “He’s a fine cook and kitchen mechanic. The tea is from our Chinese friends.”

  They tasted, and the tea was indeed delicious. Anna
took baby Sam from Renee and sat at the end of the long table.

  Sam was curious. “You got any idea where Pacheco went?”

  Nellie answered for the girl. “Probably up toward Cochise’s stronghold. There are some people up there—the ones who didn’t follow Victorio. They’re short of everything—I don’t know how they could live without help. One or two of the good ranchers supply them. Pete Kitchen and some of the older ones, not the rustlers. The Indians up there mean well, but they lack a leader.”

  Anna said, “Miss Nellie knows everything about everybody.”

  Sam said, “What did Pacheco take along?”

  Nellie said, “The wagon. What few guns and ammunition he could beg or steal. Some food, not much.”

  “A bit more than he took from us,” said Sam.

  Anna said, “I wish—”

  Her forlorn downcast gaze came close to breaking Sam’s heart. He heard himself say, “Anna, I’ll have a look.”

  “Hey, you can’t go runnin’ off,” said Bat. “We need you around here.”

  “You don’t say. Poor little boys,” said Sam. “I’d worry about you if it wasn’t for Nellie here to take care of you, wipe your face when you need it, hold your hand in the dark.”

  Nellie said, “I expect you’ll do what you think is right.” She smiled at Sam.

  Renee said nothing. It had happened before and it would happen again. She knew Sam had spent time with Cochise’s tribe and she was not surprised at his declaration.

  Luke said, “I think you’re loco. But then you always was. ”

  “I’ll talk to Wyatt first. Tomorrow.” It was probably a fool’s errand, he thought. But he could not resist it. Pacheco’s stubborn bravery was under his skin. He actually felt younger and stronger. Maybe Luke was right—he was loco.

  There were footsteps in the hallway. Nellie said, “Time for supper to be made ready.”

  Nellie took the baby from Anna and placed it in a crib in a corner of the big room. She led the way back through the hall and into another part of the building—the dormitory, where Nellie’s army of unfortunates was quartered.

  The rows of cots were not too close together. Men sat up or lay flat. Other men walked about. Easy enough to see how most of them had been hurt in the mines or crippled in falls or fights. They turned their faces to Nellie. She said, “Miss Hart will stay with us a while. I hope she will play the piano for you. Now you boys behave, and supper will be ready on time.”

  It was a confederation of nations, Sam thought. There were blacks and whites and reds and yellows: American, English, German, Welsh, Cornish, Scots, Irish, Chinese, African, Basque, tall and short, lean and fat, every imaginable sort. They shared one quality; they all looked at Nellie with adoration. Some murmured her name.

  She led the visitors out. “My quarters are back on the other side of the kitchen.”

  She led the way to a small parlor. The furniture was simple, sturdy, without charm. There was a wall covered with books, a table, a lamp, and a chess board. She said, “You see I don’t deny myself comfort. Luxury I need not.”

  “Speakin’ of which,” Luke said to Sam, “any cash you can spare goes to the cause.”

  “True,” said Nellie frankly. “We’re always in need of money. How else could we exist?”

  Renee said, “There’ll be contributions as soon as we can telegraph our bank in Sunrise.”

  The visitors took their departure amidst warm exchanges. They walked back down Allen Street.

  Bat said, “Nellie gets money from people you wouldn’t believe. Johnny Ringo, for one.”

  “You’re joshin’.”

  “No, sir. John Ringo his own self. Not long ago he invited a gent to have a drink, he being oiled. The man took beer when Ringo had ordered whiskey. He shoots the poor gent through the throat. Behan don’t dare arrest him. They take the victim to Nellie, the hospital bein’ full like always. Two days later Ringo gives Nellie a hundred dollars he won at faro.”

  Luke said, “This town is a quarter-mile wide and a half-mile long, and it’s got more moon-crazy galoots than all the asylums in the west.”

  They were at the entrance to the hotel. Luke said, “See you all tomorrow. So fine to see you again, Miss Renee. Thanks for comin’ down, Sam.”

  “Thank old silver tongue here,” said Sam.

  As they entered the hotel he saw Wyatt Earp near the counter, talking to his brother Morgan. Sam said, “Believe I’ll have a word with Wyatt.”

  Renee said, “About Pacheco?”

  Sam grunted assent.

  Renee said in her husky voice, “Go right ahead, darling. I’ll be waiting.”

  He watched her climb the stairs. So did every other man in view. When she was safely on her way, he approached the Earp brothers.

  Wyatt had his eyes on the stairway. “Handsome lady there, Samuel.”

  “She is indeed,” Sam replied. “Wyatt—Morg.”

  Wyatt shook his hand. Young Morgan, always reserved, gave him a friendly nod and excused himself. They looked a good deal alike, the two brothers—well dressed in dark town suits; lean, tawny, gray-eyed, mustached.

  “Can we have one?” Sam asked.

  Wyatt nodded. “Certain. Damn glad to see you.”

  They proceeded into the bar. Like everything else in the Cosmopolitan, it was a copy of those in the big cities. Wyatt, who was not a drinking man, ordered coffee. Sam asked for brandy and was impressed when he was served an imported brand.

  He said, “Happens I’ve got kind of an interest in that Indian boy you brought in.”

  “Good boy. Helped me out of a whangdoodle on the road. “

  “I heard. You talk much to him?”

  “He’s got a bee up his rump about Cochise and the good Apaches and all that.”

  “He’s a grandson of Cochise, or so he believes.”

  Sam hooked his elbows over the bar and surveyed the room. “Named his kid after me. That is, his woman did.”

  “Now that’s a compliment.” Wyatt stroked his ample mustache. Always dignified, he nodded and raised his coffee cup. “Well, then. Here’s to little Samuel.”

  “Think I might take a ride out toward the mountains. See if I come across the kid.” Brandy burned the throat and warmed Sam’s innards. “Pretty country up there, if you like rock formations. I mind I was down here before there was a Tombstone.”

  “That a fact?”

  “With some Chiricahuas. Met Cochise a few times. The country’s changed a bit.”

  Wyatt said, “Reckon it must have.”

  “How’re you gettin along, Wyatt?”

  “Oh, we’d be just fine if it wasn’t for these fool cowboys. Why do I stay, then? I’ll tell you, Sam, it’s no secret I like money as well as the next man. Maybe some better. And this here, it’s ridiculous. I could pay you a hundred a week and what you could make dealin’ poker, and the house would still profit.”

  “If that’s an invitation, I’m obliged. But I don’t need the money.”

  “Then why are you down here with that beautiful lady? Just sight-seein’?”

  “Visitin’ friends. Luke, Bat. You.”

  “You could’ve come at a better time. What with the Clantons and the McLowerys and John Ringo, and the good Sheriff Johnny Behan and his associates, it just doesn’t seem too healthy for my friends here just now.”

  “Interestin’ times, though.”

  “Morg tells me you already seen how interestin’ it can be. Brocius and Baxter. And that’s nothin’ to what goes on day and night.”

  “Worse’n Abilene and Dodge, they tell me,” said Sam.

  “Worse for certain.” Wyatt shook his head in thought. “I brought the brothers and their families here. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Feels like I’ve got too damn many responsibilities, Sam.”

  “You always manage. You got a gift for it.”

  “Maybe you can help us keep order here,” said Wyatt. “Although I doubt the Seventh Cavalry could do the job.”

  “I
’m no lawman,” said Sam.

  “Neither am I, mostly. But these are hard times. I’ve had word from Contention and Charleston tonight—the cowboys are gathering. There’s word the Clantons aim to raid Tombstone again. Teach us a lesson. I let the word go back we’d be waiting, anytime. At their service.” Wyatt’s wickedly reckless grin came and went in a flash.

  “Then maybe I’ll hang around a day or two,” Sam said. “See the fun. Lend a hand if needed.”

  “I’m obliged.” Wyatt was clearly pleased; equally clearly, he hadn’t wanted to ask for Sam’s help.

  Sam finished the brandy. “I’ll get to bed, then.” He put money on the bar. “As aforesaid, soon as I can I’m a mind to see if I can find that young Apache before he gets himself killed. That won’t interfere with anything by you, will it?”

  “No. The time comes, you go right ahead, and thank you for asking first. You owe him?”

  “Nothing, I guess most would say. Nothing except friendship.”

  “Well, I believe that’s enough,” said Wyatt Earp. He glanced at the wall clock. “Believe it’s time to settle myself in the Oriental, let the boys that feel lucky have a crack at me over the card table. Walk me out, Sam?”

  Sam accompanied him to the door. As they stepped outside they were stopped by an Indian boy dressed in rags. The kid darted from behind a horse into a sprawl of lamplight, to approach stiffly but determinedly. He must have been twelve, maybe thirteen; no more. Obviously confused by the appearance of the two white men, the kid looked quickly from one to the other. “Mr. Wyatt?”

  “That’s me, son.”

  “Mr. Sam Jones?”

  “I’m Sam Jones.”

  “Pacheco sends you message.”

  With his customary courtesy Wyatt nodded and waited to hear the rest. He drew a cigar from inside his coat, bit the end off, and turned the smoke slowly in the flame of his match until he had it going to his satisfaction.