Cemetery Jones 3

by William R. Cox

  “Fast man.”

  “Friend o’ mine. Jones got him with his gun half drew and turned on me so fast I swallowed m’ chaw. Now that’s fast.”

  “You seen him work, then?”

  “One time and that was plenty.” Babbit asked, “How come Cap knows about him? Cap’s a damn tenderfoot.”

  “Gawd knows. Cap’s an ornery one.”

  “Where’s he gettin’ his money?”

  “He ain’t talkin’.”

  Babbit’s voice rode high. “You c’n talk about how fast Jones is. But I seen Cap Fisher teachin’ them young uns to draw and I’m tellin’ the world—he’s lightnin’.”

  “Then why ain’t he out here lookin’ for Jones?”

  “Mebbe ’cause he can pay suckers like us to do the job.”

  “Four of us.”

  “Ain’t no man in the world can stop us four.”

  The bottle gurgled again, four times. Babbit said, “Hell, let’s get some shut eye if we can. I’m so damn wet it don’t make no never mind, now.”

  Beaver touched Sam’s arm, drawing away. Sam followed him. They came to where the four riders had made a cavayar for the horses with a length of rope. Beaver produced a Bowie knife and sliced the rope, cooing to the horses a soft tune, almost indistinguishable to Sam, who was at his side. The animals followed the mountain man down the road. Sam was the rear guard, Colt drawn. Beaver handled the horses so that they made no sound save the sucking noise of their hoofs in the mud.

  Down the path a hundred paces Beaver stopped and said, “Reckon I’ve spilt more liquor than most folks drink. It does muddle the head. While they’re sleepin’ it off, we got what they need.”

  Sam, teeth chattering, said, “I’d admire to have a sip of muddle-head stuff right now.”

  They came to where their mounts stood side by side, heads down, mournful in the downpour. They mounted up and Sam said, “You sure got a way with horses. Reckon we better take these four along?”

  “Chances be their brands is marked over more’n once. Why not take ’em into town?”

  “You got good notions. And when we hit the road I got some muddleness in my saddlebag.”

  “Waugh!” Beaver said. It was the guttural sign of the mountain man that he was highly pleased.

  They went slowly and carefully to the main road. Beaver spoke to the horses and they actually whinnied in their misery. Sam marveled. When they had organized the drive he took a bottle of whiskey from his saddlebag and extended it to Beaver, who despite the dark of the night, found it with ease. Each drank deeply and sighed in partial relief as they bent their way toward Sunrise and shelter from the elements.

  Sam ran over in his mind what he had overheard. Only one positive fact had been substantiated: Captain Steve Fisher wanted him dead.

  Now it needed to be learned if his death related to the shots fired at Renee. There could only be one conclusion. Since Sam stood in the way of Renee’s murder, Fisher was connected to the failed bushwhacking. This led him to the dog, which had come from Dunstan to Sunrise.

  He was a man who kept to himself, who spoke only when necessary, yet in the dark and the rain, plodding along in the mud he found himself talking aloud to his new acquaintance. “We were settin’ on the stoop, the lady and me, and this dog comes along and we lean over and some jasper shoots at the lady and because of the dog he misses. I go after him and he don’t even try to pick me off. He’s gone. But now this here Fisher is tryin’ to have me killed. Only thing I come up with is he didn’t know who I was, didn’t give a damn about me at that time, only wanted to kill her. She don’t know why. The dog, it’s a kinda loco animal that adopts me. It eats like four hogs. There’s a connection some place because it came from Dunstan to Sunrise. None of this makes any real sense, y’see?”

  The rain pelted them. Beaver said, “Had a dog once up no’th in high country. Starvin’ we was. Got track of a deer; he was a tracker. He stopped, wouldn’t move an inch. Couldn’t get past him. Heard a howl. Creeped up. There was a grizzly, had the deer. Woulda got me sure. Shot the bear, the deer was dead already. Waugh. We et off ’em for weeks.”

  “Man’s best friend. I never owned one before. Seems like I got one now. If he could talk I’d bet he could tell what’s happenin’,” Sam said. “That bushwhacker now, it could be he didn’t have the sand to risk missin’ me and took off.”

  “Bushwhackers tend to be smart enough to know to get you and then go in after the lady. It’s a puzzlement, that part.”

  “It don’t make sense,” Sam said.

  “Plenty things that don’t make sense happen alla time,” Beaver said. “It’s a worry, though. Patience won’t cut it.”

  “Patience gets you killed,” agreed Sam. He became silent with his thoughts. They rode on and came to the outskirts of Sunrise at dawn and drove the horses to where Adam Burr had his ranch outside town, put them in the corral without awakening anyone, then rode back into Main Street and to the livery stable.

  Sam said, “We can put up here, then go to the hotel. There’s a room next to mine. They know me good, it won’t be a bother to anybody.”

  “Waugh,” Beaver said. “Jest so I can rinse out.”

  In the light of a lamp he was taller than Sam had judged, hairy to his shoulders, sharp-nosed, with large, bright blue eyes.

  He wore moccasins and fringed leggins with his buckskins and carried a leather pouch swung over his shoulder. He looked around the comfortable room Sam opened for him and nodded, twinkling. “Ain’t seen anything like this in a space o’ time. Sleep well, Sam Jones; sleep well.”

  “You too. And thanks.”

  Sam was undressed in a jiffy, dried and clothed in dry garments. He heard the mountain man snoring as he crept from the hotel in his slicker and ran down to El Sol. As he knew she would be, Renee was waiting for him.

  Four

  The storm ceased mid-afternoon, but the skies remained sulky. In Dunstan there was little movement on Dunstan Avenue. The false-front buildings dripped in forlorn silence. The saloons were full of somnolent clients.

  At Mayor Dunstan’s house Vera Brazile presided over tea, with Mrs. Dunstan and Captain Fisher in attendance. On a fair day there would have been other ladies; it was part and parcel of the package of elegance the dancing lady had brought to town.

  She said brightly, “It was a good meeting in spite of everything, was it not?”

  “Not when my boy was hurt,” Mrs. Dunstan said, her eyes red from weeping. “Cyrus is just too mean, damn him.”

  “The boy needs discipline,” Fisher said mildly. “I will point out the problems to him. He’ll be fine.”

  “We all depend on you for so much,” Vera Brazile said.

  “Matter of duty. The mayor has given me leeway to keep the boy on the narrow path.”

  “Danny’s not one to follow no narrow path,” cried his mother. “He’s a real westerner. He goes his own way. He’s strong and a leetle too fond of fun. Be nice to him, you hear, Cap?”

  “Certainly.” There was reservation in his agreement and they both felt it.

  Vera Brazile said softly, “Oh, I think Captain Fisher will not be too harsh. Will you, sir?”

  “Of course not.” He looked directly at her. “Just some hard work which never hurt anybody—and a talk, advice, that is.”

  There was a knock at the door. Fisher answered. Before him stood Babbit, mud covered, shoulders slumped. Behind Babbit were the three who had ridden out with him, all in the same woebegone condition.

  Fisher said harshly, “You failed.”

  “Injuns,” lied Babbit. “We got bushwhacked. They stole our hosses and our guns.”

  “And why didn’t they kill you?”

  Babbit took off his hat, displaying a self inflicted round hole in the felt. “Come near to it. Reckon they didn’t want that much on their heads when they git rounded up. Stealin’s one thing. Killin’s another.”

  “This is the first I heard that the Apaches were out,” Fisher said.
“What about Jones?”

  “He had a start. Must’ve got to Sunrise.”

  Fisher debated a moment, then said, “Out to the ranch.”

  “Jeez, Cap, we ain’t cowpokes. We got no guns and we’re busted.”

  “You take the hay wagon and get to the ranch. That’s an order. You get no pay for work unfinished. Remember that.”

  Babbit said, “But we’re cold. We ain’t et nothin’; we need a drink real bad.”

  Fisher stared at him without replying. After a moment Babbit turned and the others turned with him. Fisher went back into the house.

  The red-haired girl walked from the hotel to the butcher shop, picking her way in short boots. Oley was helping the hired butcher, whose name was Pate. The young man wiped his hands on a bloodied apron and said, “Hi, Cassie. You come for the order?”

  “Yeah,” she said, showing no haste, leaning against the counter. She was long-legged and straight-backed and slightly freckled and almost pretty. Her green eyes were her best feature; they were sharp. “You made up to that Jones feller, didn’t you?”

  “You had an eye on him yourself, didn’t you?” Oley said.

  “The Kid was pawin’ me all evening. I liked it when Jones stomped him.”

  “That was plenty good.”

  “You want to help me with the order?”

  “Sure. Pate, I’ll be right back.”

  “If you ain’t you send for Sven, you hear?” the butcher said.

  They gathered the packages of meat for the hotel, divided them up, and started down the street. Cassie moved like a colt avoiding the puddles, a thoroughbred filly, he thought. He wanted to marry her but everyone said they were too young.

  They put the meat in the large hotel refrigerator and looked at one another. Oley said softly, “Sven is with Cap Fisher in the big hall. A lecture.”

  “On killin’ people,” she said. She led the way down the side street to the Olsen house. They went into the parlor and sat on a couch and embraced. They kissed long and ardently, but when his hand strayed she put it aside, saying, “Now, darlin’.” He desisted, sighing but amenable.

  She went on, “I saw something last night. Couldn’t sleep. You know my room, upstairs, on the street?”

  “How could you see anything? It was pitch black.”

  “Just shapes. And voices. You know that big feller named Babbit? Him and two or three other rannies rode out toward Sunrise.”

  “Babbit’s Cap’s man. A no-good.”

  “Well, they came back a while ago. Walkin’. No guns.”

  “You saw that?” Oley asked.

  “Just happened to. You reckon they were after Jones?”

  “I knew Jones was goin’ to leave. It could be. I’ll bet he outsmarted ’em somehow or other,” Oley said.

  “Do you think they were after him on account of him takin’ care of the Kid in Sunrise and at the dance?”

  He said, “I don’t think the mayor is up to that. He’d rather show off and have it peaceful.”

  “Cap’s always suckin’ up to him. What if old Dunstan didn’t know about it?”

  “Could be.” Oley frowned and said, “Best keep this to ourselves, Cassie.”

  “And Sven.” She knew he could never keep anything from his twin brother; it was part of their existence. She went on, “Reckon we don’t have to go and tell Jones about it. Reckon he knows.”

  “Just if he comes back here.”

  “Yes. If he comes back here.”

  He kissed her and said, “I got to get back to the shop or Pate’ll have a fit. I do love you, Cassie.”

  She put her long arms around him and whispered, “They better let us get married soon. Damn Swedes got to marry late, your papa always says. I don’t want to wait any more’n you do.”

  He released her, then hugged her again. “I don’t feel like no Swede around you.”

  “More like a goat,” she said, pushing him away.

  They parted with decorum and Cassie went back to the hotel. Her father, a worried, balding man, was behind the desk.

  She said, “Pa, why do we stay here in this lousy town?”

  “Because Cyrus Dunstan’s got a mortgage on us and folks ain’t crazy about stoppin’ off here.”

  “He’s got a mortgage on the town.”

  “That’s right. We got to put another couple tables in the dining room. People are beginnin’ to eat here. Josie’s good in the kitchen.”

  “More work for me.” But Cassie smiled and patted his shoulder.

  “If you married Oley we might could get cheaper prices on the meat.” He was only half joking.

  “The Olsens say we’re too young.”

  “I was your age when I married your ma. And they weren’t much older. Folks is strange sometimes.”

  “If we only had a man like Sam Jones in town.”

  “And six or seven others of ’em.” Oliver Dixon returned to his books.

  She went into the kitchen where Josie, a gaunt Yankee widow, was preparing for dinnertime. Despite her outward bold bearing, Cassie had doubts of the future in Dunstan.

  Cyrus Dunstan drove the carriage past his acreage, past herds of wet, downcast cattle, up the circular driveway to his hacienda. The D Bar D was a showplace, everything in order, staffed with workers, a cook, a housekeeper, a teenage boy for the chores, a hay barn, a horse stable, cowboys a-plenty, and a house built of hard wood large enough to accommodate a dozen guests. He ceremoniously handed down Vera Brazile and his wife.

  “Here we are. Doggone rain, watch your step. You gals get ready for a big ol’ meal.”

  “How nice of you,” Vera Brazile said. “What a lovely house.”

  Liz Dunstan said, “We bought all the furniture in El Paso. Wait’ll you see.” They tripped through puddles and went indoors. Cy Dunstan went to the bunkhouse seeking his segundo. He found him braiding a rope, a burly man named Tom Vaughn. Sitting on four of the many bunks were Babbit and his cohorts in sin.

  Dunstan said, “Tom.”

  “Yessir.” He had a bass voice. “These came in on the supply wagon.”

  “No horses?”

  Babbit said, “Apaches got us.”

  “Where the hell were you in the rain that Injuns could git you?”

  “Cap Fisher sent us out,” Babbit said.

  “For what damn reason?”

  “Well, he wanted to make sure that Cemetery Jones’d left town.”

  “So you trailed him?”

  “Until the Injuns ambushed us.”

  “How come they didn’t ambush Jones?”

  Babbit shrugged.

  Vaughn said, “Mebbe they knowed him.”

  “You know him?” Dunstan asked.

  “I been around a while. Met him in Abilene. He killed Obie Dailey there. Fastest man I ever seen.”

  “People keep tellin’ me that. Seemed a quiet sort to me.”

  “He ain’t a gunner,” Vaughn said. He jerked a thumb toward Babbit and the others. “Not like these.”

  Dunstan said, “So Cap sent you out here. We don’t need help out here.”

  “They can swamp the stable and barn,” Vaughn said indifferently. “Let some real cowmen loose. If there’s Apaches out we’ll need ’em with the herd.”

  “We ain’t no swampers,” bellowed Babbit.

  “You’re hired hands.” Dunstan could talk louder than the discomfited gunman. “Cap sent you out here. You wanta quit?” They were broke and without horses. Babbit opened his mouth, shut it.

  Vaughn said, “You can go to work right now. The kid that does the chores’ll show you what needs doin’.”

  They left. Vaughn shook his head. “I ain’t for havin’ their kind around.”

  “Cap hired ’em. Reckon he’s punishin’ them for missin’ out on his orders. You know how he is.”

  “Long as he don’t order me.”

  “He won’t. He’s town. You’re boss here,” Dunstan said.

  Vaughn said, “Things are smooth enough here. You be
lieve it about Apaches?”

  “I wouldn’t believe Babbit on a stack o’ Bibles. Best to set a watch, though.”

  “Consider it set.”

  “You’re a good man, Tom. No problems?”

  “None.”

  “Got to get you into town for the dance. Big doin’s.”

  “Not for me,” the foreman said. “Got two left feet.”

  Dunstan sat down at the long table in the center of the wide room. “Set yourself, Tom.”

  Vaughn sat opposite him. Dunstan took a flask from his pocket and passed it. “Best whiskey in the territory. About Babbit and them. We was both in the War, right?”

  “I got the scars to prove it.”

  “If us Rebs was allowed to fight ’em even with cornstalks we’d of won. But they had more guns and more men.”

  “Them kids from Ohio and Minnesota sure could stand up,” Vaughn said.

  “You mind Vicksburg?”

  “Gen’ral Grant killed thousands of them kids.”

  “And took the Mississippi. And Sherman?”

  “He wasted Georgia and cut us in half.”

  “Grant and Sherman, they didn’t worry how many they kilt.”

  “Won the damn war.”

  “So I put up with Babbit. I don’t even know the names of t’other three. Don’t give a damn. I got a job to do cleanin’ up the town. I need Cap Fisher to do it,” Dunstan said.

  “You certain that’s the way?”

  “It’s the only way. It’s my way. You been with me long enough to know.”

  “I been with you since you started with the cows.”

  Dunstan grinned. “Swung a wide loop, didn’t we?”

  “Who didn’t?”

  “That ain’t the way I got my start.” Dunstan picked up the flask and took a long swig. “Feller found traces of gold over in Arizona. Got drunk and bragged on it. I filed a claim. He come at me and I shot him. All legal. But I had to be ready with the gun, I had to think ahead of him. And several others.”

  “You always been square with me.”

  “You’re my top man. The only one I trust. Now about that son o’ mine.”

  Vaughn shook his head. “Roarin’ down the pathway t’hell.”