The Law at Randado

by Elmore Leonard

  Frye shook his head. “We figured we’d grub around and make out. There’s a spring back a ways.” He nodded toward the deep pines.

  “Tomorrow you’ll have food,” Haig said. “And I’ll bring something for your feet.” He hesitated again. “You don’t have blankets.”

  “Or clean sheets,” Harold Mendez said.

  “Wait a moment,” Haig told them. He hurried down the slope and returned with a rolled tarpaulin over his shoulder. “This will help some.”

  “Haig,” Frye said, “we owe you a lot.”

  “You don’t owe me anything. God forgive me, but I would like to see something bad happen to this Sundeen.” He started to go. “You say Danaher comes Wednesday?”

  Frye nodded. “That’s what he said.”

  “To make sure, I could go to Huachuca tonight and wire him.”

  “He’ll come,” Frye said.

  “I want to be there when he does,” Haig said, and after that he left.

  As they strung up the canvas shelter they could hear his wagon far down the grade, the faint creaking fading to silence as they gathered wood for a fire. And when the fire was burning they sat close to it, listening to the silence, then becoming aware of the night sounds, the crickets and the soft hissing of the wind through the pines.

  “I’m going to quit,” Harold murmured, staring into the fire. “I don’t have to take this.”

  Frye watched the fire and said nothing.

  After a moment Harold asked, “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure,” Frye answered. “Right now, sleep.”

  But he did not sleep, not for some time, thinking of Danaher coming and what would happen when they rode into Randado. He knew what he would do. He was sure, even though he told Harold he wasn’t sure. There was no sense in arguing with Harold. If Harold wanted to quit that was his business.

  You don’t have to do it though. You don’t have to do anything. But you will, huh? You’ll go through with it and have it out with Phil Sundeen and Digo…and Jordan, if that’s the way it has to be. And Tindal and the others. Don’t leave them out. “You’re under arrest…Mr. Tindal.” What do you call a man when you arrest him?

  You should have stuck to mustanging.

  Danaher will back you, but probably he’ll give you another chance to do it by yourself if you want. He’ll say, “Kirby, this is your jurisdiction. If you see fit, handle it your own way, with your own deputies. I’ll only make suggestions.” The Danaher let’s-see-what-kind-of-

  a-man-you-are test. And if you’re smart you’ll say, “John, you can take this job and—” But something won’t let you say that and you’ll see it through now. Are you mad enough to see it through? Danaher said he just had to look at your beat-up face. And after what they did this morning—You’re damn right I’ll see it through.

  Something will happen soon now to end it…one way or another. And that’s good because it should never have started. A silly damn thing that’s grown…no, it wasn’t silly, not hanging two men, but it was stupid…and now there’s a chance more will be dead before it’s over. Sundeen will fight. Maybe he doesn’t want to; maybe he knows he’s gone too far, but he’s not the kind who’d admit it. Like Harold said, a man who rides his horse into a saloon doesn’t have to have a reason. And he didn’t hire a gunman out of humility. It’s too bad there isn’t a way he can back down and still hold on to his self-respect. No, you have to beat him, beat him once and for all.

  Tindal and the others, that’s something else. They might give themselves up. If they did, Judge Finnerty would probably go light. Maybe just a fine, because he’s known them all his life. They know they did wrong, else they wouldn’t have run this morning. So maybe there isn’t any problem…except living with them after. “Mr. Tindal…sir…you’re under arrest.” “Mr. Tindal, I wonder if I might marry your daughter…while you’re in jail.”

  Wouldn’t that be just fine.

  You better ask Mil first.

  But most of the time, until he fell asleep, he thought of Phil Sundeen, his horsebreaker and his hired gunman.

  Sundeen came to Randado again late Wednesday morning. He brought with him Digo and Jordan and they went directly to De Spain’s. Many of his riders had left during the past two days, including the four who had been present when he ran off Frye and Mendez, and he believed that if they were still around he would find out at De Spain’s.

  Sundeen stood at the bar, but Jordan and Digo took a bottle and glasses to a table.

  “He drinks too much,” Jordan said.

  Sitting down at the table, Digo shrugged. “He holds it…and it’s his money.”

  “And the more he drinks, the less you have to work.”

  “Watching him is work in itself.”

  “It’s starting to wear thin.”

  “You get used to it,” Digo told him.

  “How long have you been at it?”

  “Almost since the day he was born.” Digo smiled. “I taught him to ride…how to break a horse…how to drink. I taught him many things.”

  Jordan’s gaze left Sundeen standing at the bar and returned to Digo. “And now there’s nothing left to teach.”

  Digo nodded. “Now I watch. I told this one’s father I would watch him, so that’s what I do.”

  Jordan’s eyes went to Sundeen again, who stood with his elbows on the bar and his back to them talking to De Spain behind the bar. “Was his father like that?”

  “At times. But he worked harder than this one,” Digo said. “I’ve been with him twenty years and I know. He saw that the work was done and then he drank. This one does what he feels like. He always has. Even when the father was strong and would try to break him with his fists, this one continued his own way…and now it’s that father who’s broken. When there was no strength left to use on him, the old man said, ‘Digo, watch him—’ He gave me my name, Digo. Once it was Diego, but the old man said it Digo and now everyone does. He said, ‘Digo, watch him as I would.’ ” The horsebreaker closed his eyes as if to remember the words. “He said, ‘Watch him and keep him alive as long as he’s bad, for if he dies the way he is, his next meal will be in hell.’ ” Digo grinned. “That was something for the old man to say, uh?”

  “What about his mother?”

  “She never counted. And now she’s dead anyway.”

  Phil Sundeen came over to the table. He pulled out a chair and put his foot on it and stood leaning on his leg, looking at no one in particular. “De Spain says they haven’t been in since Monday morning. And this is—”

  “Wednesday,” Digo said. “That’s four more men you don’t have.”

  “They might turn up. If they don’t, so what? I can sign four waddies any day of the week.”

  “Eleven more,” Jordan reminded him. “Counting the three you chased off Saturday.”

  “All right, eleven. I’d let go almost that many over the winter anyway. I don’t need riders to scatter hay and drop salt licks. That’s farmer work.”

  “If you don’t care,” Jordan said, raising his eyes to look at Sundeen, “why did we ride all the way in to look for them?”

  Sundeen looked down at Digo. “He’s the serious type.”

  “I think so,” Digo answered. This was when he liked Phil the best, when he kidded with a straight face.

  “The serious ones are always worried about little things,” Sundeen said. “Like where to pick hands.”

  “I’ve noticed that in life,” Digo said. “Some even pray before they know they’re going to die.”

  Phil nodded. “That’s the serious type.”

  Jordan leaned back in his chair placing his hands gently on the edge of the table. He said to Phil, “Remember what that boy said when I tried to prod him into a fight? I insulted his mother and he told me I was wasting my time.”

  “He was scared to fight,” Sundeen said.

  “Maybe so, under those conditions. But he didn’t rile up and get shot. He held on until he saw an opening…one
that you made.”

  Sundeen said, “What’s the point?”

  “The point is you tend to underestimate people. You chased that boy out of town and you don’t think you’ll ever see him again. Just like you think you and Digo can go on joshin’ back and forth and I’ll sit here and listen as long as you keep it up.”

  Sundeen said, “Digo…that’s what I mean by the serious type.”

  Jordan rose. “I’m going to eat.”

  Sundeen just nodded, then followed him with his eyes as he left De Spain’s.

  “Don’t think what you’re thinking,” Digo said.

  Sundeen grinned. “And what’s that?”

  “You’d try anything once.”

  “How do we know he’s fast? Just because somebody else said so.”

  “Just look at him.”

  “You can’t go by that.”

  “You didn’t see him draw when Harold Mendez opened up.”

  “Fast?”

  “Fast! Listen,” Digo said earnestly, “there isn’t anybody in this country can touch him. I’d bet my life on it.”

  Sundeen shrugged. “You know how things enter our head.”

  “Keep that one out,” Digo said, and exhaled silently as Phil straightened up, pushing the chair under the table.

  “I’m going to get something to eat.”

  “It sounds good,” Digo said.

  “You get back home. Somebody’s got to work.”

  Digo shrugged. “All right. But don’t run off any sheriffs without me.”

  Now it was almost noon and half of the tables in the Metropolitan were occupied. Sundeen glanced at the men sitting along the counter and then his eyes went down the row of tables. There he was. Jordan. Sundeen walked toward him, but beyond he saw Tindal and Stedman sitting together and he walked past Jordan who looked up at him but said nothing.

  Stedman half rose, holding his napkin to his stomach. “Phil…how are you?”

  Tindal made himself smile, offering, “Sit down, Phil.”

  Sundeen pulled out one of the chairs and stepped over it sitting down.

  “That’s just what I meant to do.” He was grinning, looking from Tindal to Stedman and said, “Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

  “We were away,” Tindal explained evasively, “on business.”

  “That’s what I’m told.”

  Stedman pushed his plate forward putting his elbow on the table. “Earl Beaudry’s thinking about buying some property in La Noria. Wanted us to take a look at it.”

  “You missed a show the other morning,” Sundeen said.

  Tindal nodded and now his face was serious. “You shouldn’t have done that, Phil.”

  “You heard about it?”

  “It’s all over everywhere.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it got to La Noria else you wouldn’t be back.”

  Stedman held his eyes on Sundeen. “Do you think we left for any other reason than because Earl asked us to come with him?”

  Sundeen shook his head, grinning. “George, you old bastard, you should have been on that stage.”

  “Phil, I swear, when we left we didn’t know Danaher was in town.”

  “Everybody else did.”

  “We can’t help that.”

  “Why didn’t Earl come back?”

  “He’s still looking at the property.”

  “Look,” Tindal said, lowering his voice then, “we got no reason to lie.”

  Edith Hanasian came to their table and handed Sundeen a menu. His had touched her arm as he took it and she drew back.

  “What’s the matter, Edith?”

  She returned his stare, but not his smile. “What do you want?”

  Phil winked at her. “The special.”

  “What else?”

  “Edith”—his grin widened—“you’re somethin’.”

  “I mean to drink.”

  “Coffee.” He was still grinning, watching her walk back to the kitchen.

  “Phil, what about Kirby?” Tindal was leaning close to the table. “Is he coming back?”

  “He’s got no reason to.”

  “He won’t just sit down and forget this.”

  “He doesn’t have any choice.”

  “Hell he hasn’t,” Tindal said anxiously. “He’ll go to Danaher.”

  “That’s a long barefooted walk to Tucson.”

  “Phil,” Stedman said as seriously as he knew how. “You got to do something.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Explain to Danaher you were drunk and didn’t mean anything by it. You’re a big enough man, the most he’ll do is fine you a little bit.”

  Sundeen looked at Stedman for a long moment. “What do you mean you?”

  “Well, it was you that ran Kirby out.”

  Sundeen’s face relaxed. “Why, I was working by request of the Committee. After the trouble he caused Saturday night you said we needed a new deputy and would I ask this one to leave.”

  Tindal’s mouth opened, but no sound came from him. Stedman’s words were a hoarse whisper, saying, “We never told you that!”

  Sundeen shrugged. “Danaher would believe it whether it was the truth or not after the stunt you pulled Saturday.”

  “We can explain that to him,” Stedman said hastily, “but not running off a deputy!”

  “Well, now you’ll have to explain both.” Sundeen leaned back as Edith placed his dinner in front of him. He said pleasantly, “Where’s Haig?”

  “He’s around.”

  “That’s too bad, isn’t it?”

  She turned away without answering.

  “Phil!” Tindal’s tone was impatient. “You’ve got to think of something!”

  Sundeen watched Edith until she reached the kitchen.

  “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “Be serious for a minute!”

  Sundeen raised his fork and pushed it into the fried potatoes. He picked up a slice of ham with his fingers and curled it, biting off a piece. “Let me tell you something,” he said, chewing the ham. “Everything I did, you did. And everything you did, I did. That includes Earl Beaudry looking over property down in La Noria. Now shut up while I eat.”

  They remained silent, stirring their coffee, letting it get cold and finally pushing the cups away untouched. When he was finished Sundeen stood up, taking a toothpick from the table. “Come on. I’ll buy you a drink.”

  Stedman said absently, “I’d just as soon not.”

  “George, I’m not askin’ you.”

  They went next door to De Spain’s and stood at the bar, Sundeen leaning with his back against it, enjoying Tindal and Stedman’s discomfort and watching Jordan, who had left the café before they did, sitting alone at a table now reading a three-day-old Tucson newspaper.

  “Look at my lawyer,” Sundeen said, amused. “He’s not worryin’…and he’s the serious type.”

  Jordan looked up, but said nothing.

  Stedman finished his drink, scowling at the taste of it. “I’ve got to get back.” He hesitated, as if expecting Sundeen to object.

  “I do too,” Tindal said. Stedman moved away from the bar and Tindal followed him. “We’ll see you later.”

  “All right.” Sundeen nodded and watched them head for the door. Stedman put his hand on the knob, but stepped back clumsily against Tindal as the doors swung in abruptly.

  Digo pushed past them. He was breathing heavily moving toward Sundeen and one word came from him as a gasp—

  “Danaher!”

  9

  Frye swung down from behind Danaher and went to the jail as Danaher’s posse tied up along both sides of the street. Twelve men. He recognized a few of them: three men who had been with Danaher at Galluro Station. Two others were deputies from Sonoita and Canelo. Danaher had picked them up on the way down from Tucson. All of them were heavily armed; grim-faced men who spoke little and watched Danaher for orders.

  There had been fifteen originally. Three were now scouting the S
un-D buildings. To Danaher this was merely going through the motions. He knew Phil Sundeen, and he was moderately certain where to find him.

  From the jail doorway Frye glanced back seeing Danaher going toward De Spain’s. He’s not fooling, Frye thought. And neither are the rest of them.

  Dandy Jim was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and he rose as Frye entered the office, seeing the look of surprise on Frye’s face.

  “I thought you’d be gone.”

  “If you thought that,” Dandy Jim said, “why did you have that man bring food yesterday and today?”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure, so I mentioned it to him.” He had told Haig about Dandy Jim when Haig came out to them Tuesday morning.

  “He said that he saw you”—the Coyotero spoke in Spanish—“and that you would come back soon.”

  Frye asked, “You saw what took place the day before this?”

  Dandy Jim nodded. “All of it.”

  “Have you seen those men today?”

  “They left hurriedly before you came.”

  Frye’s eyebrows raised. “Will you wait here?” When the Coyotero nodded he added, “Only a short time,” and went out, crossing the street to De Spain’s.

  As he pushed through the doors, De Spain was saying, “Sundeen wanted to fight. He’d been drinking all morning and the idea of a posse on the way seemed to appeal to his sporting blood. I’d never seen a man so eager to fight…until Digo reminded him he didn’t have enough men. Digo kept saying, ‘Man, you lost eleven already—’ ”

  Following De Spain’s glance Frye saw Merl White. He was standing next to Danaher and behind him was Haig Hanasian.

  “You see, besides Merl and Ford and Joe Tobin,” De Spain went on, “some more left after the stunt Phil pulled with Kirby. Phil knew they had quit, but it looked as if it didn’t really sink in until that moment. Still, he wasn’t going to budge and he told Digo, ‘Well, go on home and get who’s left!’ But Digo argued there was no way of telling if any of the other men were still about, and if he rode all the way to Sun-D, then came back without anybody, it would be too late to dodge Danaher’s posse. Phil argued back, but you could see it sinking in that suddenly he was almost alone…that Phil Sundeen, who owned the biggest spread in San Rafael, had only Digo and a hired gunman left.”