Nightfall at Little Aces

by Ralph Cotton

  When he saw Emma Vertrees step onto the boardwalk at the far end of the street and walk toward him, he set his coffee on the windowsill behind him and headed her way. He took his time, looking into shops just opening for the day, and tipping his broad-brimmed hat at proprietors through wavy window glass. He did not want to appear as if he’d deliberately set out to meet Emma, although he had.

  Seeing the sheriff, Emma felt her first impulse was to cross the street and avoid him. But he had seen her coming and knew that she had seen him as well.

  All right, she told herself, she had nothing to be ashamed of. Still, she felt a twinge of guilt, as if Sheriff Gale somehow knew, as he drew closer and looked into her eyes.

  “Morning, Miss Emma,” Gale said, touching his hat brim with his gloved fingers. “I hope you’ve had a pleasant night?”

  She looked into his eyes in return. Did he know or suspect something? Maybe he’d seen Omar’s horse across the street, in front of the saloon. Nonsense. Why would he think anything of that? “Yes, Sheriff, thank you,” she replied, collecting herself, averting her eyes from his for only a second. “And I hope you did, as well.”

  “Yes, ma’am, most pleasant,” Gale said. He turned beside her as she continued on along the boardwalk. “May I accompany you?”

  “Yes, you may.” She smiled, knowing he’d suspected nothing. More often than not, she would find him strolling along the boardwalk making early business rounds when she came to shop. Sometimes they met purely by chance. But other times she was certain he watched for her and timed his rounds in order to happen upon her.

  He reached out, offering to carry her straw shopping basket for her. “May I?”

  She relinquished the basket to him and the two walked along at an easy pace. “You know I haven’t seen much of you the past few days,” he probed gently. “I hope all is well with you.”

  “Yes, Sheriff, quite well, thank you,” Emma said, smiling, looking ahead.

  “Please, call me Vince, Miss Emma,” he reminded her a bit awkwardly. He had asked her to call him by name several times in the past.

  “I prefer addressing you by your title, Sheriff,” she replied cordially yet firmly.

  They walked on, and after a short pause, Sheriff Gale ventured, “It’s been a while since I invited you out to dinner. I had hoped to hear your answer by now.”

  “Yes, you’re right, Sheriff Gale, I should have replied before now. That was impolite of me. Please forgive me,” Emma said.

  “Oh, ma’am, it’s all right,” Gale said. “I know you’ve been in mourning. I don’t want to seem pushy. But I do think you know how highly I think of you.”

  “Yes, I do,” said Emma almost before he’d finished his words. “But having given it thought, my answer is no. I’m sorry, but I think it’s best that we don’t begin socializing, Sheriff.”

  “Miss Emma, I don’t know what to say,” Gale replied. “I’ve tried to be as respectful to you as a man can be. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. What is wrong with me? What have I failed to do?”

  Almost cutting him off, she said, “There is nothing wrong with you, Sheriff. It’s just that I remember too much about Mr. Vertrees’ years as a lawman…and, of course, how they ended.” Her voice softened in vulnerable reflection. “I will never allow myself to be put through something like that again.”

  “What happened to Dillard Vertrees was terrible, Miss Emma,” Gale said, stopping on the boardwalk, still holding her shopping basket. “But because it happened to him doesn’t mean it will ever happen to me.”

  “That’s true, Sheriff Gale,” Emma said firmly, reaching out and putting her hand on the basket handle. “Nor does it mean that it won’t. But I’m not taking that chance. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She tugged gently on the basket handle.

  But Sheriff Gale held it tight in the crook of his arm. “Why is it you never allow me to finish a conversation with you?” He sounded on the verge of turning testy with her. “Just once I wish I could speak my mind with you. I want to do right by you, Miss Emma. You’re a widow…I’m a man not without prospects and a respectable future.”

  “Meaning what, Sheriff, that I could do a lot worse than you?” she said, not releasing her grip on the basket handle.

  “I didn’t say that,” said Gale, “but the fact is, this is no country for a woman on her own, especiallya…well…” He hesitated, then said, “A mature woman, who’s already had a man, and who is—”

  “But you are willing to overlook all of that and take care of me?” Emma said harshly.

  “You’re taking this the wrong way, Miss Emma,” the sheriff said.

  “I’m taking it the very way you intended it, Sheriff Gale,” Emma said stiffly. She jerked the basket handle sharply. “Now, will you please let go of my shopping basket?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Gale turned the basket loose and glanced around to see if anyone had been listening. He saw a horseman riding in from the hill country leading two horses with bodies draped over their saddles. In front of the rider a man on foot led his limping horse along the street.

  Emma saw the approaching horseman and took note of the two bodies as she freed her basket and started to turn and leave. Lowering her voice, she said coolly, “Well, Sheriff, it looks like this is another conversation you won’t be finishing.”

  “What do we have here…?” Gale said more to himself than to Emma Vertrees. He gazed toward the newcomers as they entered Little Aces from the far end of town. Emma had started to leave, but she hesitated for a moment, unable to take her eyes off the man on foot. As the party drew closer, recognition struck her and she raised a hand to her face as if to hide.

  “Oh my!” she gasped.

  “Something wrong, Emma?” Sheriff Gale asked, turning to her for only a second, then back to the horseman. He noted the glimmer of a badge on the man’s chest, showing from inside the open lapels of his riding duster.

  “No,” Emma said, recovering quickly. “It always disturbs me seeing the dead treated in such a coarse manner.”

  “Why? They don’t feel a thing,” Gale commented matter-of-factly. He turned his attention back to the grisly scene. Emma stood back quietly, having ascertained for herself that this was indeed Warren Beck walking toward her. He looked a little older, his beard stubble the color of wood ash, his lean stature slightly bent, but he still looked ready and capable, moving with the grace of a seasoned and wary mountain cat.

  When he stopped a few feet from her in the dirt street and looked at her and tipped his hat, he made no sign of recognizing her. Was that intentional? She watched silently as the ranger stepped down from his big Appaloosa. He touched the brim of his sombrero toward her courteously, saying, “Morning, ma’am,” then turned to Sheriff Gale. “Howdy, Sheriff.”

  Eyeing the ranger badge, the pearl gray sombrero, and the Appaloosa stallion, Gale said, “Ranger Burrack?”

  “I am.” Sam had intended to introduce himself, but seeing it wasn’t necessary he stopped himself and said instead, “Sheriff Vince Gale?”

  Gale tipped his hat. “Yes, that’s me.” His eyes slid over Beck. He gestured a hand toward Emma Vertrees and said, “This is the late Sheriff Dillard Vertrees’ widow, Mrs. Emma Vertrees.”

  “Ma’am,” Sam said in a softened tone, lifting his sombrero from atop his head. “I had the honor of knowing your husband. He was a fine lawman. You have my condolences.”

  “Thank you, Ranger Burrack,” said Emma. “Sheriff Vertrees spoke highly of you.”

  Sam only nodded, holding his sombrero at his side. Before he could introduce Beck to the sheriff, he saw Beck and Emma exchange a glance. It was quick and fleeting, yet Sam caught something there, enough to summon his interest.

  “You look familiar,” Sheriff Gale said to Beck, eying the outlaw closely. “Have I seen you somewhere before?” When Beck only stared at him, he turned his question to Sam.

  “This is Memphis Warren Beck, Sheriff,” said Sam.

  “Oh?” Sheriff
Gale’s look hardened a bit. “Then I’ve probably seen your face on wanted posters?”

  “It’s not likely,” Beck offered in an offhand manner. As soon as he answered Gale, he looked at Emma and said, “My condolences as well, ma’am.”

  “You’re one of that bunch of rogues from Wyoming,” Gale said with a harsh tone.

  “Alleged to be,” Beck said firmly, giving the harsh attitude right back to the lawman.

  “Alleged!” Gale said skeptically. A nerve twitched in his chiseled jaw. “Everybody knows about that wild bunch of thugs.”

  Sam cut in before the sheriff could say more on the matter. “Beck isn’t wanted for anything in my territory, Sheriff. I found him riding with the Wheelers.” He gestured a hand toward the bodies. “I thought it would be a good idea to come here and see if New Mexico had anything on him.”

  Gale stared fiercely at Beck for a moment as if in contemplation, trying hard to come up with something against him. But finally he gave up, let out a breath, and said, “No, not that I can think of, he’s not wanted for anything here. He should be, though.”

  Sam noted how Beck and the woman had given each other a guarded look.

  Gale continued. “The territorial governor has been conferring with other governors over these outlaws committing crimes and then hightailing it across territorial lines and getting away free as birds.” He looked at Sam, then back to Beck. “Their spree will come to a halt one of these days. I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Meanwhile, Sheriff,” Beck said, letting the sheriff’s words run off him, “my horse picked up a stone bruise back along the trail. Any chance you’ll allow me to stay here long enough for him to heal up?”

  “You’ve got some nerve, Memphis Beck,” Gale said, stepping down to the horse as he spoke.

  “Far as I know, this cayouse of mine hasn’t broken any law,” Beck said. He gave the woman another glance, not realizing the ranger saw it. He patted a gloved hand on the horse’s muzzle.

  “I expect I can’t blame the horse for what he has to carry around,” Gale said. He stepped in close and raised the horse’s favored hoof without asking Beck’s permission. But Beck let it pass and watched as the sheriff looked the hoof over and ran his hands up the horse’s foreleg.

  “The horse would be obliged, Sheriff,” Beck said.

  Again a looked passed between him and Emma Vertrees; again the ranger saw it.

  Setting the horse’s hoof back down gently onto the ground, Sheriff Gale dusted his hands together and said to Beck, “He’s bruised sure enough. Lucky for this animal it happened close to town. A few more miles on a bad hoof would have laid him up for a month.” His look at Beck seemed to soften just a little. “Good thing you’re not the kind who’ll ride a bruised horse.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it, Sheriff,” said Beck, rubbing the horse’s muzzle. “I don’t suppose you might have a horse doctor here in Little Aces?” He allowed himself another brief look at the woman as he spoke.

  Emma replied before the sheriff could. “No, we don’t have an animal doctor. But we do have Curtis Clay. Nobody is better than him when it comes to horses—”

  Sheriff Gale cut her off with a narrowed gaze, then turned that same narrowed gaze to Beck, as if not liking the idea of Beck talking to the woman. “Curtis Clay is a blind Negro who’s handy treating horses. He lives over beside the livery barn.” He pointed at the weathered tin roof looming above a row of dust-streaked clapboard cottages. “If you ask him to, he’ll have your horse trail-worthy before you know it.”

  “Sheriff, I’m obliged,” said Beck. He deliberately averted his eyes from the woman.

  “Don’t be obliged to me, Memphis Beck,” said Sheriff Gale. “I’m doing this for the horse, not for the likes of you.”

  Beck, having to stop himself from making a sharp reply, let out a patient breath and said, “I understand, Sheriff.”

  Beck looked at Sam. “I can’t say it was a pleasure riding with you, Ranger…but it wasn’t too bad either. Now, if there’s nothing else required of me, I’ll ask your permission to take my leave and go have this horse attended to.”

  “On your way, Beck,” Sam said with a nod. “I’m glad you’re not wanted for anything here. New Mexico could be a good place for a man to make a new start.”

  “Thank you, Ranger,” said Beck. “If I was looking for a new start, I’d consider it.” He gave Emma a tip of his hat and a quick glance that revealed nothing between them, Sam thought, watching closely.

  Sam stood beside the sheriff watching Beck turn and walk his horse toward the livery barn. Beside them, Emma said, “Gentlemen, if you’ll both excuse me, I’ll be about my shopping this morning.”

  Both lawmen tipped their hats to her. “May I see you later today and finish up what we were talking about?” Gale asked quietly.

  “Another time, Sheriff,” Emma said coolly. “I’m awfully busy.”

  “Wait, please.” Gale looked embarrassed when she just walked away; and as soon as she walked a few yards, he avoided Sam’s eyes and looked toward the outlaw, who was turning the corner toward the livery barn. Getting back to the subject of Beck, he said to Sam, “I didn’t feel I had a right to chase him out of here, his horse injured and all. Soon as the animal is better, I’ll let him know his welcome is worn out.”

  “I expect he knows it already, Sheriff,” said Sam. “The fact is he won’t be in Little Aces any longer than he needs to. He’s got a railroad posse on his tail right now.”

  “Oh?” said Gale. “You mean Colonel Elgin’s Great Western Railroad Posse?”

  “Yep,” said Sam, “that’s the one. I had a run-in with a couple of the colonel’s scouts along the trail. We might have thrown them off for a while. But I expect they’ll figure it out and be coming this way.”

  “I’d just as soon they didn’t come here,” said Gale, staring up the street after Beck had already walked out of sight. “Those detectives and hired gunmen get drunk, they can get as rank and mean as any outlaws.”

  “They’ve got rewards for anybody who helps them capture one of these big-name outlaws,” Sam said. He wanted to know where the lawman stood on such matters.

  “Yeah,” said Gale, “I heard Elgin even has a photographer who travels with him, takes photographs, so they can prove the outlaw is dead.” Sheriff Gale spat in the dirt, as if to get a bad taste from his mouth. “It don’t matter to me. I don’t take railroad money, Ranger Burrack. Never have, never will.”

  Sam nodded, liking what he heard. “That’s good to know, Sheriff…neither do I.”

  Chapter 5

  When Emma left the two lawmen standing out in front of the sheriff’s office, she’d walked on toward the mercantile. But instead of going inside, she’d looked back to make sure Gale wasn’t watching, then stepped down from the boardwalk into an alley. She followed the alley to the rear of the row of buildings and hurried back toward the livery barn.

  Standing beside the barn, she saw Curtis Clay reach down and lift the injured horse’s foreleg and inspect its hoof and tendons with his fingertips. Beck stood watching. Emma stayed back behind the crumbling remnants of an adobe wall, looking for a chance to get Beck’s attention. At the same time she carefully kept an eye on the picket fence behind her house, and on the house itself, making sure Wills wasn’t looking out the kitchen window.

  “It’s not bruised deep, yet,” Clay said, setting the animal’s hoof down gently. He dusted his hands together and straightened up. “Were it my horse, I’d rub it good with witch hazel and wrap it in an herb and cactus poultice for a few days.”

  Reaching into his pocket, Beck pulled out three gold coins and jingled them together for the blind man to hear. “Treat him like he is your horse, until he’s ready to travel,” Beck said. He took a step forward to give Clay the coins. On the ground the spotted dog sat observing the two men closely, his head turning back and forth between them as they spoke.

  Hearing Beck’s single footstep on the dirt, Clay also took a ste
p forward. With a wide aimless smile he held his hand out for the coins. “I treats every horse like it’s mine…it is mine so long as my hand tends it.”

  “Obliged,” said Beck, dropping the coins into Clay’s expectant palm.

  Taking the horse’s reins, Clay turned to the rear livery barn door and said, “Come on, Little Dog.” To Beck he said, “I’ll get this horse into a stall and shuck his saddle.”

  The dog flipped quickly to its feet and hurried into its task, walking in front of Clay while the sightless man turned the horse toward the barn door.

  “I’ll come in and get my saddlebags,” said Beck, stepping in behind the horse. “If I need to rent a horse while I’m waiting, do you have any?”

  “We’ve got three to pick from,” said Clay. “Two are out in the corral, and there’s the roan over there in a stall. He’s the best, far as I’m concerned.”

  “I’ll keep him in mind,” said Beck.

  “If you want him and nobody is here, leave the money on his stall post,” Clay said.

  “Obliged,” said Beck.

  As Clay took a step forward, he caught the scent of the woman—the familiar scent he’d grown used to when he followed her fence and heard her in the yard hanging clothes or tending her modest garden. He expected her to call out a greeting, as she did on occasion. But after a second of pause he realized she had no greeting for him this morning.

  Instead Clay heard Beck say behind him, “I’ll be along in a minute,” and he heard the man turn away and walk a few steps toward the crumbling adobe wall.

  Clay followed the dog to an empty stall door where he stopped and spun the horse’s reins around a post. “Shhh,” he said down to the dog, causing the animal to stop as if frozen in place.