by Matt Braun
“Who, me?” Starbuck opened his hands, shrugged. “I was just funning you, Doc. No harm in that.”
“You’re liable to fun yourself—”
“Quit your squabblin’!”
Earp’s voice brought them around. His spell appeared broken, and it seemed some cord of sanity had kept him from slipping over the edge. His face was drawn and solemn, and his tone was irritable.
“You want to fight amongst yourselves, save it till another time. We’ve got plans to make.”
Holliday was watching him carefully. “What sort of plans?”
“Johnny Ringo.”
“What about him?”
“I’ll tell you what about him,” Earp said harshly. “He’s the only one that ever saw us together. We’ve got to run him down.”
“Be a waste of time,” Holliday observed. “I know that bunch. None of them could hardly take a leak without instructions from Brocius. With him dead, they’ll scatter all over hell and half of Mexico.”
“You’re not listenin’,” Earp said with strained patience. “Until Ringo’s dead and buried, I’ll always be lookin’ over my shoulder. He’s the only one that knows—the only one!”
“Give it up, Wyatt.” Holliday’s tone softened, turned persuasive. “It’s time we started worryin’ about murder, not robbery. The way things stand, Ringo’s the least of our troubles.”
Starbuck felt a jolt of excitement. The link he’d sought all these months had just been revealed. He had no idea of the circumstances involved, no hint as to when it had occurred. Yet there was no question as to its meaning. Johnny Ringo could tie Earp to the stage robberies!
“Doc’s right.” Warren placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, reassuring him. “We’ve evened the score for Morg, but we can’t afford to stay in the territory much longer. If we try chasin’ Ringo down, it’s us that’s liable to get caught. And you’d never get off, not for murder.”
“Frank Stilwell,” Earp said quietly, “was a good-for-nothin’ backshooter. Him and Cruz both deserved to die.”
“Maybe they did,” Holliday agreed. “But that don’t change the shape of things. Behan’s on our trail, and sooner or later, he’s bound to get us cornered. Once he does, he’ll move heaven and earth to put us on the gallows. You know it for a fact, too.”
“So you’re sayin’ we should run, is that it?”
Holliday nodded. “We’ve played out our string. No sense bettin’ into a cold deck when there’s always a new game somewhere else.”
“I suppose,” Earp said in a resigned voice. “You got any place special in mind?”
“Colorado,” Holliday replied quickly. “Behan wouldn’t never figure us to head north. That’s why we haven’t run across him up till now. He’s probably got the whole Mexican border covered like a mustard plaster.”
A tight fist of apprehension suddenly gripped Starbuck. With Earp in Arizona, there were several options open to him. At least two murder charges were outstanding, which made every lawman in the territory Starbuck’s ally. There was, moreover, the new possibility presented by Johnny Ringo. He had no idea where it would lead, or even how it might be turned to advantage. Yet it would be of no advantage whatever in Colorado. He had the sinking feeling that everything was suddenly falling apart.
“Doc’s on the right track,” Warren said earnestly. “Once we’re across the line into Colorado, they couldn’t touch us in a month of Sundays. It’d be a whole new ball of wax. A fresh start!”
“A fresh start.” Earp’s voice was abstracted. “How many times would that make?”
“How many times what?”
“Three, four,” Earp mumbled to himself. “We’ve started over so many times I’ve lost count.”
“One thing about it,” Holliday said morosely. “It beats the hell out of having your neck stretched.”
Earp inclined his head in a faint nod. “No argument there. I just don’t like the idea of leavin’ loose ends.”
“You talkin’ about Ringo?”
“He’s about the only loose end left.”
“You think about a hangin’ rope,” Holliday advised him. “That’ll take your mind off Ringo.”
Earp’s gaze drifted to the body swaying overhead. He permitted himself a single ironic glance, and his eyes shuttled away. He turned slowly to look at Holliday.
“We’ll pull out at sunrise.”
Starbuck felt like he’d been punched in the mouth. All his plans were out the window, and there seemed no alternative to tagging along. His thoughts turned north, to Colorado. He considered a last desperate gamble, a way to end it. Perhaps the only way.
A week later the Earp party rode into Trinidad. They were bone-weary, with the look of men who had ridden hard and traveled light. At one of the town’s sleazier hotels, rooms were engaged for the night. There, with plans to meet for breakfast, they separated. Tomorrow seemed time enough to discuss the future.
In his room, Starbuck stripped and poured a pitcher of water into the washbasin. He took a bird-bath, sponging away layers of grime, then used the dirty water to shave. From his saddlebags, he laid out a fresh shirt and a clean pair of trousers. Padding around the room in his undershorts, he lit a cheroot and turned down the bed covers. The bath had refreshed him, but he was hollow-eyed with fatigue and needed sleep. He stretched out on the bed, placing a stone ashtray on his stomach. He blew a slow, thoughtful smoke ring at the ceiling.
Trinidad, he told himself, was a shrewd choice on Earp’s part. By rail, it lay some two hundred miles south of Denver. Of greater significance, from a strategic standpoint, it was perfectly situated for a man on the run. Only ten or twelve miles south of town, at the state boundary, Raton Pass provided a gateway into the wilds of northern New Mexico. To the east, perhaps a day’s ride away, was No Man’s Land, a lawless sanctuary for outlaws and killers. To the southeast, bordering New Mexico and No Man’s Land, was the Texas Panhandle, equally remote and bereft of peace officers. Within that unholy trinity, a man could lose himself forever. In the event Earp had to run, there was no better jumping off point than Trinidad. But then, having escaped Arizona, why would it be necessary to run?
The question summoned a thought from some dark corner of Starbuck’s mind. For the past few days he’d been toying with a new, and not altogether improbable, idea. The details were still fuzzy, and it was another in a string of longshots he had played so unsuccessfully over the past four months. Yet it was entirely legal, and unlike killing Earp outright, it would boost his stock as a detective. Not that he flinched from killing, but he’d undertaken the assignment with the thought of adding a feather to his cap rather than a notch on his gun. All the same, the critical factor was Earp himself.
Nothing had been said openly, but Starbuck sensed that Trinidad was the end of the line. Tomorrow, Earp would cut the cord and send his band of gunmen their separate ways. Their usefulness to him had ended the day he fled Arizona. Like ragtag soldiers, recruited for the duration of hostilities, they had served their purpose. The war was lost, the last battle fought, and tomorrow they would be mustered out. Their leader, simply put, no longer needed them.
Vermillion and McMasters doubtless expected to be sent packing. They were, after all, professionals who formed alliances rather than personal bonds. As for Holliday, Starbuck suspected he was in for a surprise, perhaps the shock of his life. He was about to discover that all men are expendable. Loyalty was a fragile currency, and even those who risk death in the name of friendship ultimately outlive their usefulness. Holliday, so long an asset, had now become a liability. He was a notorious gunman and certain to attract attention wherever he might go. All of which meant his time had come and gone. The man he’d faithfully served now sought obscurity, not headlines.
Starbuck’s decision, then, boiled down to a single element. If Earp stayed put, then legal means might yet deliver him into the hands of the hangman. If he tried to run, assuming a new identity, then he would have to be killed swiftly, using whatever
pretext presented itself. Tomorrow would tell the tale.
Starbuck stubbed out his cheroot and set the ashtray on the floor. He turned down the lamp, easing back on the pillow, and closed his eyes. He was asleep almost instantly.
After a late breakfast, Earp led the men to a saloon across from the hotel. The noontime rush was still an hour away, and the place was empty except for a few loafers. He signaled the barkeep, and walked toward a table at the rear of the room.
Over breakfast, Starbuck had detected traces of the man he’d first met in Tombstone. Apparently a night’s sleep had restored Earp’s vitality. Of greater consequence, the relative haven of Colorado had quite clearly restored his spirits. He exuded confidence, once more in command of himself and events. The thin cord of sanity was on the mend.
The barkeep brought a bottle and glasses. Earp poured for himself, then passed the bottle around the table. When everyone had a drink, he raised his glass in salute.
“You’re as good a bunch as a man ever rode with. Here’s mud in your eye!”
The men nodded, pleased by the compliment, and drained their glasses. The bottle once more circled the table, but this time there was no toast. Everyone sensed Earp had something on his mind, and they dutifully waited for him to speak. He took a slow sip of whiskey and set his glass on the table. Then his eyes moved from face to face. He smiled.
“Well, boys, I guess it’s time for adios and goodbye. Like the man said, all good things come to an end.”
Vermillion bobbed his head agreeably. “Where to from here, Wyatt? Any ideas?”
“Now that you mention it,” Earp said briskly, “I was talkin’ with the desk clerk before you boys came down this morning. He tells me they’ve struck it big over at Gunnison.”
“Gunnison?” Vermillion repeated blankly. “Never heard of it.”
“New silver camp,” Earp informed them. “Hundred miles or so west of Colorado Springs. Way it sounds, it’ll make Tombstone look like small potatoes.”
McMasters chuckled. “You sound like you got the itch again. Figure Gunnison needs a head dog, do you?”
“Aim high, that’s my motto! Nobody ever caught the brass ring with his eyes on the ground.”
“Damned if that ain’t the truth.”
“How about you, Sherm?” Earp inquired. “Headed back to Nogales?”
“Not right off,” McMasters said vaguely. “Thought I’d take a little sashay down through Texas.”
“Don’t say?” Earp glanced at Vermillion. “You boys aren’t breakin’ up the team, are you?”
Vermillion grinned. “I reckon we’ll stick together. Folks always figure they’re gettin’ two for the price of one.”
Earp sipped, quiet a moment. Then his gaze swung to Holliday. “How about you, Doc?”
Holliday looked startled. “What d’you mean?”
“Where’re you headed? I’d ask you to come along with me and Warren, but Gunnison’s just startin’ up. Wouldn’t be enough action to suit your style.”
There was a long silence. Holliday eyed him with a steady, uncompromising stare. No one, least of all Holliday, had missed the point. Dodge City and Tombstone, all the years in between, were of another time. The slate had been wiped clean, and this time he wasn’t being invited along. At length, collecting himself, he gave Earp an ashen grin.
“It’s Denver for me,” he said casually. “I’ve got a taste for bright lights and easy livin’. Tombstone pretty well cured me of mining camps.”
“Know what you mean,” Earp remarked with false cordiality. “Course, you’re always welcome, Doc. Anytime you get the urge, why pop on over and see us.” He paused, glancing at Starbuck without much interest. “What about yourself, Jack?”
Starbuck made a spur of the moment decision. His gut-instinct told him Earp was actually headed for Gunnison. That allowed a little leeway in his own plans. A trip to Denver, and a conference with the Wells, Fargo superintendent, suddenly seemed very much in order.
“I’ll tag along with Doc,” he said in high good humor. “Bright lights and fancy sportin’ houses sound awful tempting right about now.”
“Christ!” Holliday muttered aloud. “Don’t get any fool notions. I play a lone hand, no partners!”
“Wouldn’t have you anyway,” Starbuck ribbed him. “You’re too honest for a grifter like me. Strictly along for the ride, Doc! Good company makes the time fly.”
“You just remember that when we get to Denver.”
“Say now!” Starbuck said abruptly, turning to Earp. “Just thought of something. When you bring the women up from Tucson, be sure and tell Alice goodbye for me. It’s not likely I’ll get over Gunnison way.”
“I’ll do it,” Earp said a little too hastily. “She’ll be sorry she missed you.”
Starbuck heard the lie in his voice. Suddenly it was all the more important that he get to Denver. There were things to be done, and no time to spare. With a broad smile, he raised his glass and looked around the table.
“Here’s to you, gents! Better days ahead!”
CHAPTER 18
Alice’s hair was loose and unbound. She was still wearing her nightgown and her expression was dreamy. Sitting up in the bed, her legs were drawn up and her chin rested on her knees. She was watching Starbuck dress.
His morning ritual seldom varied. By now, she could anticipate every move, step by step. A short, vigorous scrubbing of teeth and a quick splash in the washbasin. A methodical shave, the razor gliding along his jaw bone with deliberate strokes, followed by a few haphazard rakes of a comb through the sandy thatch of hair. Then he selected one of two suits hanging in the wardrobe and began dressing. His final act, which seemed to require the utmost concentration, was knotting his four-in-hand tie. He stood now before the mirror, adjusting the tie with one last tug.
Today, though, her thoughts were not on the morning ritual. Her eyes followed his every movement but her mind was fastened upon the man himself. She marveled that she could love him so completely. With utter candor, she also considered the fact that he did not love her.
A month ago, at the boardinghouse in Tucson, she had received a wire. His request was simple and straightforward: he asked that she and Mattie join him in Denver. He alluded as well to the fact that they were now on their own and had no compelling reason to remain in Tucson. By then, of course, they knew Earp had departed Arizona one jump ahead of a murder warrant. His exact whereabouts were unknown, and since dumping them at the boardinghouse, he had never once attempted to communicate with Mattie. The conclusion, after all those weeks of silence, was inescapable. They could wait until doomsday and there would be no letter, no message of any kind. He had deserted Mattie.
Jack Johnson’s wire had seemed a godsend. They were without funds and without prospects. A woman stranded in Tucson and seeking a livelihood was faced with hard times. Her choices were limited to laundress, cafe waitress, or dancehall girl. Or in the extremity, she could join the girls on crib row, selling herself for whatever the traffic would bear. Alice, her heart thumping wildly, chose instead to join Jack Johnson.
All her arguments directed to Mattie were to no avail. Despondent, drinking heavily, Mattie would listen to no slander aimed at her husband. While she wallowed in self-pity, she still loved him and she was almost irrational in her belief that he would one day send for her. After a night of fruitless wrangling, Alice realized it was hopeless. She could stay, knowing full well Mattie was destined for crib row, or she could take a chance on happiness. She wired Jack Johnson to meet her train in Denver.
There, after a warm and passionate reunion, she learned the truth. With shock and dismay, she sat round-eyed while Jack Johnson slowly revealed himself as Luke Starbuck. He told her the whole story, omitting nothing. He made no excuses, openly admitting that he had used her to cultivate Earp’s trust. He went on to explain he’d planned to use her as a witness with regard to Earp’s involvement in the Tombstone stage robberies. Holding nothing back, he then related he was worki
ng secretly to have Earp and Holliday extradited to Arizona on murder charges. In the event that scheme was successful, her testimony would still prove invaluable. She could corroborate, through personal knowledge, a conspiracy that had ultimately led to cold-blooded murder. At the same time, she could avenge her sister, who was no less a victim of Earp’s brutality. At last, looking her straight in the eye, Starbuck had told her of his own feelings. He made no promises, but he clearly cared for her and he was deeply concerned with her welfare. She was free to go or stay as she chose. He hoped she would stay.
She stayed. Nothing he’d told her had changed the way she felt toward him. She was there because he wanted her there. He could just as easily have left her in Tucson and called her to testify at the appropriate time. His interest in her, though he dwelled on her importance to the investigation, was clearly personal. She believed that the night he’d taken her into his confidence, and she still believed it. A month with the man she now knew as Luke Starbuck had only served to heighten her emotional attachment.
Underneath the hard exterior, she had discovered that he was not only gentle but delighted in spoiling her. Their suite in the Brown Palace was small but well appointed, far more luxurious than anything she’d ever known. He insisted on outfitting her in stylish gowns, took her to the theater and the finest restaurants, and lavished her with thoughtful gifts. Even more revealing, he was an attentive lover and seemed never to tire of their madcap romps in bed. She had only one complaint. He was still operating under his alias, and the hotel staff always addressed her as Mrs. Johnson. She would have much preferred Mrs. Starbuck.
Yet marriage, under any name, was a remote possibility. She daydreamed a great deal, but she never deceived herself. For all his gentleness and concern, she understood that the man who shared her bed was wary of any permanent bond. He was drawn by wanderlust and his lodestone was some inner vision of distant places he’d not yet seen. She thought there was little likelihood he would ever marry her. She contented herself with the man and the moment, asking nothing more. It was enough for now, perhaps forever. A treasured time of joy and immense happiness.
