Cemetery Jones 3

by William R. Cox

  Renee said softly, “I’ll talk with her, Adam.”

  There was a general silence. Then everyone seemed to speak at once to relieve it. Shaky clattered behind the bar serving drinks. The dance girls set up their customary chatter.

  No one heard the horseman in the street. No one saw the object that rolled, sizzling, into the room in the direction of the chair in which Renee sat.

  No one, that is, but the old mountain man. He yelled “Waugh!” scrambled from his chair, seized the bundle of dynamite, and ran for the door. The short fuse burned fearfully close to the cap that would blow up El Sol and half the people in it.

  He took two dangerous steps. Then he looked before he flung the dynamite into the street, making sure no one would be endangered. The blast singed him. He reeled back, blinking from under the blackened eyebrows.

  He smiled serenely at them and said, “Moughty close, that one.”

  Sam, who had run with Adam to the door, said, “Too close. Did he go south?”

  “Yep,” Beaver said. “Looks like we ain’t got too many friendlies in Dunstan or thereabouts.”

  Shaky was bringing butter to apply to Beaver’s face. Adam was solemn. The preacher seemed undisturbed, a fact Sam noted. Renee was pale, rings under her eyes. The volume of noise now in the town’s finest saloon was at an all time high. People came pouring from their homes, recoiling at the damage done to the street. Marshal Donovan was hastily organizing a posse—far too late. Spot Freygang, the newspaper reporter and photographer, was asking questions in rapid fire order. The dog was sniffing at the blast damaged street, for once confused.

  Sam said, “You can’t win ’em all, Dog. Beaver’s got a nose as good as yours any day.”

  They retreated while Mayor Wagner began to get men together to work on the hole in the street, sending for labor, arranging for light.

  Peggy McLaine came in like a small cyclone. She rushed to Adam and threw her arms around him, tears streaming. “I was scared you all had been killed. I was scared to pieces.”

  “Would have been if it wasn’t for your grandpa,” Sam told her.

  She slowly turned to Beaver. She said quietly, “By the time I got halfway home I knew it was true. I was turnin’ back when it happened.”

  “It is true. No mistaking it,” Renee said. “Why don’t you go up to my room and talk? Just the two of you.”

  They went, not touching each other, tentative, the small girl and the rough man from the mountains. The others watched them until they were out of sight, a warm feeling of satisfaction within them.

  Returning to the present, Sam said, “Casey, this is a rangdoodle you got to know about. I didn’t think so, but now I know.”

  Robinson said, “All right, folks. Time to close.”

  Unwillingly the customers departed. Shaky turned out all but one of the lamps then locked the inner, solid door. They sat at the large rear table, Adam, Robinson, the preacher, and Sam. The dog curled up nearby as though listening.

  Sam said, “Casey, somebody’s out to kill Renee.”

  “What? You loco?”

  “They tried at the house, my house. Cactus Joe was after her, not loot.”

  “It don’t make sense.”

  “I thought to keep it quiet so as not to rouse the town. Right now, only the Burrs and Beaver and us right here are onto it.”

  “We got to put up a watch,” Robinson said. “Renee, we can’t do without you around here.”

  She said, “I hate it. I hate putting you all in such a spot.”

  “Someone is hiring killers,” Sam said. “That’s as plain as the nose on my face. The rider that threw that dynamite rode south.”

  “Dunstan. A bad town.”

  “Beaver McLaine nosed around down there. He don’t know much, but he heard they were after me. I did give ’em some reason, but whether that’s important or not I don’t know.”

  “We got to tell the mayor and the council,” Robinson said.

  “Yes. And Donkey most of all.”

  “It’s too much,” Renee said, tears in her eyes.

  The owner of El Sol said quietly, “If it was me I’d be glad to have the town on my side. Don’t you fret.”

  They were silent, drinking. The red haired preacher finally spoke. “Maybe you’d play something, Miss Renee?”

  She went to the piano. For a moment she sat with head bowed. It would be her sad music, Sam thought. Then her head went back and her hands struck the keys and the song burst forth.

  It was “The Battle Hymn Of The Republic”. After the first bars sounded they began to sing the Civil War battle song. For that time there were no Rebels or Yankees among them, only people bonded together.

  When it was ended, the preacher said devoutly, “Amen.”

  Beaver and his newly-found granddaughter came down, arm in arm. They all drank a nightcap together, and the Burrs and the preacher went home. Beaver remained, glowing.

  “She said to put the gold in the bank, she didn’t need it. She said she was happy. She said she forgave me and all.”

  “She’s a fine girl,” Renee said.

  “She sure is. Waugh!”

  Sam asked, “You looked for her in Dunstan?”

  “Yep. Nobody knew nothin’. Found out that Cap Fisher is the big muckamuck ’ceptin’ Cy Dunstan owns him, or seems to. Don’t figure Dunstan would wanta kill a lady. Don’t know about Fisher.” He chuckled. “He’s fishy.”

  “You think he’s got enough money to hire gunners?”

  “No way to tell.”

  Sam said, “I got to get some sleep.”

  “Lock up for me,” Casey said. He left with Beaver for the hotel he owned. Sam locked the door behind them, turned out the light, and went upstairs with Renee. It was a time for comforting and reassuring.

  Six

  In the morning Renee and Sam stood at the window looking down on Main Street. She was wan, her voice a trifle uncertain.

  “Sam, I just can’t do it. The whole town. It’s just too much.”

  “Where would you go? They found you here. They’d find you again.”

  “I don’t know. It’s unfair.”

  The dog was in the room, radiating hunger. Sam fed him a bit of a cake. It vanished and the hound looked at him with reproach. Sam said, “Later. I promise you. She’ll feed you.”

  “He’s a comfort,” she admitted. “All the people and this dog. I know it should make me feel good.”

  “Think on it. Runnin’ wouldn’t cut it. Besides I’d have to go along.”

  “I know you’re right.” She touched him. “I still hate the idea of involving the town. If only I had a glimmer of an idea who might want me dead.”

  “Dunstan. It comes from there. I’ll find out.”

  “If there’s so much money to hire killers they could get you. Ambush you, as they tried to do me at the house.”

  “People have been after me for donkey’s years,” he assured her. “It’s nothin’ new. The Lord takes care of drunks and fools.”

  “You’re neither.” She hugged him and kissed him.

  “Looky here.” He drew her to the window. The boy called Dink was rolling a hoop down the walk, oblivious of the men at work on the rapidly drying mud hole. Marshal Donovan stood talking to his wife, who held their infant son in her arms. From the general store there emerged Missy Wagner and Clayton Lomax, bearing packages, animatedly in conversation. Wagons were backing up because of the blockage, and the drivers were dismounting to help the workers. The town buzzed with life.

  He said, “Those’re our folks, Renee. They wouldn’t appreciate you takin’ off. It’d be kinda insultin’, wouldn’t it?”

  “I am thinking of them.”

  A wet nose thrust between them. Sam reached down to pet Dog’s shaggy head. Spot Freygang set up his camera and began taking pictures of the men working. Peggy Burr came toward El Sol, evidently to talk to her best friend, Renee. Old Abe Solomon from the bank waved at her, and Adam Burr joined him. The sun shot do
wn on all.

  “There is no other place,” Renee said, half to herself.

  “You can run but you can’t hide from yourself,” Sam told her. “It’s up to us. You, me, and Dog. And there’s damn few in this burg wouldn’t pitch in.”

  “I know.”

  “Towns. I been in towns all my life. You see Abe Solomon down yonder? This town was no better’n Dunstan when he come from New York, him and his wife. He had a bit o’ money and he loaned it at a low rate and people were able to buy land that he also bought and sold. He opened his bank and Wagner came and Tustin’s ranch growed and more money came in. And Abe brought them together, these people. Rafferty’s saloon wasn’t clean, but then Casey opened this place. And I came in and there was a trouble which you know all about and Adam inherited from the thieves who cheated his dead father. It all happens fast in this country.”

  “And they welcome strangers on the run,” she said. “Like me.”

  “You give ’em somethin’ they need, music. They work hard. The music sorta softens them, makes it fun.”

  “You’re right, darling.”

  “If that hound could talk.” He shook his head. “It’s comin’ from Dunstan, I know it. Not from the old man. He’s tough and crooked enough, but it’s not him. That Fisher feller, I smell somethin’ there. Old man Dunstan’s fooled by him, all right.”

  “I never knew anyone of Fisher’s description,” Renee said.

  “So he’s a hired hand. And there’s plenty of money behind him so that he can hire others. Like Cactus Joe.” Her face contracted and he said softly, “You got to get used to it, y’know. It’s maybe the hardest thing there is. Still and all, you got to swallow it.”

  “In time,” she acknowledged. “It will pass; all things pass.” She managed a smile. “Except love, the songs say.”

  “Believe the songs.” He hugged her to him. The dog nestled close, as though demanding its share of affection.

  There was a knock on the door. Renee said, “That’s Peggy.”

  Sam held her back. “Is she alone?” The hound stood at point. Sam drew his gun and asked, “Who is it?”

  “Peggy. Who else?”

  “Okay.” He flung the door open. Peggy Burr jumped in alarm.

  Sam said, “Supposin’ somebody had her at gun point?”

  “I cannot live like this,” protested Renee.

  “You’re goin’ to,” he told her. “I’m plumb sorry. But that’s the way it is.”

  “Like to scare me to pieces,” Peggy said. She was bright eyed, smiling. “Hey, did you see the preacher totin’ parcels for Miss Wagner? We asked him to come stay with us. He said the Wagners were so kind. Couldn’t refuse their hospitality.”

  “Now, now,” Renee said, smiling nevertheless. There had been a time when Missy Wagner was pursuing, modestly, Adam Burr. “Mama Wagner is head of the committee to build a church.”

  “Sure,” Peggy said, grinning wider. “Sure, she is. And the preacher’s a handsome single feller. Sam, Abe and Adam want to talk to you.”

  “Right. Now you remember, Renee. Keep that gun handy and watch the door. And stay away from the window.”

  “Yes, dear.” She sighed in resignation. “But I can’t hide every minute of the day.”

  “I’m workin’ on that.” He looked at the hound. “You stay. She needs you more’n I do.”

  He went down to the street and walked toward the bank. The hole made by the dynamite was filled. Sam motioned to Donovan to follow him.

  Mrs. Lolly Wagner was a high-busted woman who dressed in black bombazine, wore her hair pulled straight back and walked strictly erect as if balancing a plate on her head. Her view of life was a bit lofty, yet she smiled often and genuinely believed in God and most people. She said to her daughter and Clayton Lomax, “Just put the bundles in the kitchen; the girl will take care of them. Come set down with me and we will discuss the church.”

  Miss Wagner, willowy, tall, wearing a long plaid skirt and a crinoline blouse, led the way. The parlor was furnished with comfortable chairs, a small sofa, Navajo rugs, chromos of animals and European cathedrals dominating the walls.

  “I’ve always dreamed of a stone church with a tall steeple. I could see Missy walking down the aisle to organ music.” She smiled in resignation. “There’s stone in the mountains all around us but no means to bring it down. We’ll have to make do with timber.”

  “There is plenty of that,” Lomax said.

  “And men to cut it. But we need plans. We need a master carpenter. Ours is wounded, shot in the arm.” Now her tone was disapproving. “Shot while working on a house for Sam Jones and the woman from El Sol.”

  “Now, mother,” said her daughter. “Renee is a fine lady.”

  “Who carries on with Sam Jones, you should forgive me for mentioning it, Preacher.”

  “It’s nobody’s business but their own,” Missy said.

  “About building a church,” Lomax said smoothly. “I can be of help there.”

  “Oh?”

  “I worked my way through school as a carpenter. It was always that way for me, to work with my hands. Also, my minor at Princeton was architecture.”

  The two women sat in silent astonishment. Then Mother Wagner raised her eyes and said, “Thank you, Lord.”

  “You can draw the plans? And help with the building?” Missy shook her head. “It’s past believing.”

  “I may add, I need the work,” Lomax told them. “The Lord may be looking down on us all.”

  “Papa is the treasurer of the church fund,” Missy said.

  “You draw wages as of this minute,” said her mother. “Praise be!”

  “Amen.” He had reservations better kept to himself. He was new, a greenhorn, and he had notions of his own. He wanted no spires. He wanted a recreation hall where the young people could gather. He believed in music and dancing. He believed that the edifice meant little except as a gathering together of good people. It was possible he had lost part of what churchly folk called “the faith”. He could sense the iron in Mama Wagner.

  However, he took a quick look at Missy and felt some hope. She was a good girl, not the one he had built in his mind’s eye, but one that presented strong possibilities.

  Praise the Lord, he thought, but thank Adam Burr, whose letters had enticed him to make the journey westward.

  Sam sat in the office of the bank that held his stake—less now than the thirty thousand he had gained from the sale of the Long John mine, presently owned by Adam Burr through a long chain of remarkable circumstances. Abe Solomon, bearded, balding, and benign was sober faced.

  “It is a bad time, no?” The banker and town father frowned. “It is for certain of us to consider gravely.”

  Adam said, “We could get her out of town. Put her on a northbound stage, take her off at night, bring her back here, hide her.”

  “First place, it might not work. The ones who want her killed seem to know too much,” Sam said.

  “They could follow. Or have someone watching all the time.” Abe shook his head. “Also, it is running away, no?”

  “My sentiments, exactly. She stays and we cover her,” Sam said. “Certain people, like Abe says.”

  “I guess you’re right. Dangerous as hell, but it’s no good trying tricks,” Adam said. “I’m scared.”

  “Who ain’t?”

  “Of course they’re after you, too.”

  Sam allowed himself a thin grin. “Never been the time somebody or other wasn’t.”

  “It could be someone from Rafferty’s. It could be someone working the mine,” Abe said. “It could be, heaven forbid, somebody working for us in the bank.”

  “Money talks and there’s money behind it,” Sam agreed.

  “If only Renee had a glimmer,” Abe said.

  “She don’t. Never thought to see her like this,” Sam said. “It ain’t becomin’. Adam, you check those horses in your corral?”

  “They are so covered with brands they’re like works of
art. They’ve been stolen so often they wouldn’t know their home pastures.”

  “I’ll look ’em over.” Sam took from his vest pocket the empty shell Dog had rooted out upon their first meeting. “I got this and the horses. That’s all exceptin’ some matters my nose tells me mean somethin’. Every smell comes from Dunstan.”

  “It’s not healthy for you to go back down there.”

  “Not in daylight,” Sam said. “Howsomever, there’s a few decent people there. And those black men, they’re another matter.”

  “Playing the blues,” Adam said. “I’ve heard about the Negro music. Riverboats carried them north.”

  “You should hear ’em play. Kinda spooky when they wail. The woman keeps ’em under her thumb. Sooner or later ... but never mind the music. It’s the guns I worry about. The Fisher feller, now, I need to know more about him.”

  “You think Cy Dunstan is in the clear?” asked Abe.

  “I think he’s a crooked Abe Solomon,” Sam said. “He owns the town, and you don’t try to own Sunrise. It’s his town in his mind. His son is a joker but the old fell’s for real.”

  “Well, now I think we should tell the marshal what we know, and the council,” Abe said. “You agree?”

  “I’m afraid the town would get loco if they all knew. One step outa line by anyone would start a riot. Can’t have that,” Sam said.

  “It worries me,” Adam said.

  “It’s a good town but there’s always a rotten apple or two,” Abe said. “We do know those we can trust.”

  “You men attend to it,” Sam said, rising. “I’ll go down to Rafferty’s, then to your place, Adam.”

  “Be careful,” the old banker said. The two were like sons to him. He waved as Sam departed and was silent under Adam’s pressure to go into action, to call in Donkey Donovan and some others. “All in good time, my boy.”

  Sam walked down past the repaired section of the street, past the Wagner Hay and Feed company to the district every town would rather be without. Rafferty’s Saloon had been in existence before El Sol, when a couple of planks stretched on barrels made a bar for the thirsty, and rotgut whiskey was accepted by all. Rafferty was a burly man scarred by a hundred battles, mean-eyed and belligerent. He stared hard at Sam. “What t’hell you want, gunslinger?”