Elmore Leonard's Western Roundup #1

by Elmore Leonard

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding, “let me think on it awhile.”

  Then was pulled up short again as Sundeen said, “You bag of shit, the thinking's been done. He walks out of here tonight at…let's say eleven o'clock, after you show him a release form.”

  “A release form? I don't have anything like that.”

  “Jesus, you show him something. A wire from the county clerk saying the charge's been dropped. Eleven o'clock, open the door for him to walk out and duck,” Sundeen said. “You do anything else, like try and back-shoot him, you'll see fireworks go off in your face.”

  First Sundeen—

  Then Bren Early walking into the office, looking at the mess on the floor where the bottle had knocked over the spittoon and the papers lying there were stained with tobacco juice and whiskey.

  “Come to see your old partner?”

  “In a minute,” Early said, looking down at Bruckner from where Sundeen had stood a little while before. “You owe me a favor.”

  “For what?”

  “Not killing you three years ago. That would be reason enough to do what I ask, but I'm gonna give you another one.” Early brought paper scrip from his inside coat pocket and dropped it on the desk. “Being practical—why was he arrested in the first place?” Early watched Bruckner pick up the money and begin to count it. “Because he admitted in court trying to shoot somebody. But how're they gonna convict him if he stands mute at his trial? Moon being an agent of the federal government and all—”

  “Five hundred,” Bruckner said, looking up.

  “Since he'd get off anyway—all you'd be doing is cutting a corner, wouldn't you?”

  Bruckner folded the money into his shirt pocket and sat back, getting comfortable, big nose glistening in the coal-oil light. “I would need to do a little preparing, make it look real, you understand.”

  “I was thinking, in a few days when you take him to the county seat,” Early said. “Out on the road someplace—”

  “No, it's got to be tonight,” Bruckner said.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I'm on duty tonight and if I'm gonna do this I want to get it done, over with.” Bruckner paused. He had to think, picture it, without taking too much time. If Sundeen and Early were both waiting outside…If they saw each other as Moon came out…If they went for each other, there'd be guns going off, wouldn't there, and he could maybe have a clear shot at Moon going out and then, what if he put the gun on Early, if Early was still standing up?…Shoot the accomplice…Jesus Christ, shoot Sundeen if he had to, if he saw the chance…Shoot all three of them during the confusion…Shoot those big names in the newspapers, God Almighty, gun them down, all three of them shot dead by Deputy Sheriff R.J. Bruckner…Oh yes, that's Bruckner, he's the one that gunned down Moon, Bren Early and Phil Sundeen, the Yuma terror, during a daring jailbreak…Wiped them out, all three of them. Jesus.

  “What're you nervous about?” Early asked him.

  Bruckner pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his forehead and down over his nose and mouth. “Goddamn dinky office is like a hotbox. I'm gonna get out of here pretty soon, run for the job in Tomb-stone next year. Shit, if I can't beat Fly, with my experience in law enforcement—”

  “Let's get this done first,” Early said.

  Bruckner nodded, mind made up. “Tonight, eleven o'clock… No, five minutes before eleven. You come, leave a horse for him in front. Step inside and give me a nod. I'll go back and get your partner, lock myself up in his cell.”

  “Why not the back door?” Early said. “In the alley.”

  “That door don't open. It's bolted shut.”

  “All right, let me talk to him now.”

  “Tell him five minutes before eleven,” Bruckner said.

  This time it was Moon in the cell and Early looking through the bars.

  He said, “I talked to John Slaughter before they moved their show out of here. John says they didn't have a choice, you shot three men in that yard. They'll hold your trial at the county seat. Now, considering everything, the company'll turn on the pressure to get a conviction. See if they can send you to Yuma.”

  “It's a lot of country from here to there,” Moon said. “Kate visits tomorrow, I'll talk to her about it. You don't have to get involved in this.”

  “I already am,” Early said. “Sundeen was here about a half-hour ago. The way I see it, he doesn't want you in here either. He's been keeping quiet, but that business in Sonora's still eating him.”

  “I know that,” Moon said.

  “I talked to Bruckner and he was already there waiting. Had the time set and everything.”

  “What'd you pay him?”

  “Not much. He owes me a favor. But wouldn't it make his heart glad to shoot you going out the door and me standing there? Or Sundeen. He paid a visit—something's already been arranged here, I can feel it.”

  “I can smell it,” Moon said. “But this isn't any of your business. If he's gonna open the door, I'll take my own chances.”

  “What was it you said the time I was in there and you were out here?” Early paused before reciting the words from three years ago. “‘You might see it coming, but I doubt it.’ Well, you'll probably hear me three blocks away.”

  “Drawing your sword and yelling, ‘Charge,’” Moon said. “It should be something to watch.”

  4

  The parlor was semi-dark with only one lamp lit, turned low. When Kate came down the stairs, Janet Pierson turned from the front window.

  “Did you rest?”

  “A little. I didn't sleep though.”

  Kate walked over to the hall tree and took down her husband's suitcoat and holstered revolver. (They had taken him out of the house in his shirt-sleeves, hurrying to get him past the throng of newsmen.)

  Watching her, Janet said, “I envy you. I'm not sure why, but I do.”

  Kate draped the coat over the back of a chair. Holding the shoulder holster, she slipped the Colt's revolver in and out of the smooth leather groove, then drew the gun and looked at the loads in the chambers as she said, “You don't have to envy anyone. You can do whatever you want with your life.”

  “But you know what you want.”

  “This minute I do,” Kate said. “I want my husband. If I have to shoot somebody to get him, I will. It's not something I have to think about and decide.” She looked toward the kitchen, at the sound of the back door opening and closing, then at Janet again. “This doesn't mean anything to you personally. Why get mixed up in something just for the sake of taking sides?”

  The question was left unanswered. Bren Early came in from the kitchen with saddlebags over one shoulder.

  “I haven't seen a soul in front,” Janet said to him.

  “Tired of waiting around,” Bren said. “They're in the saloon telling each other stories.” He took the holstered revolver from Kate and slipped it into the saddlebag that hung in front of him. “I still think it'd be better if you waited here.”

  Kate shook her head. “I'll be out on the road. If you won't let me any closer—”

  “You might hear shooting,” Bren said. “This man wants to make it look real. Stay where you are till Moon gets there. But for some reason he doesn't—he gets delayed or has to ride out the other way, you come back here.”

  “What do you mean, gets delayed? I thought it was all arranged.”

  “It is. I'm talking about if something happens to change the plan…somebody comes along doesn't know about it. That's all.”

  “You're not telling me everything,” Kate said. “What is it?”

  “Believe me,” Bren said, “Dana's gonna walk out. But you have to be patient and not spook if you hear a lot of noise. All right? Wait'll I'm gone a few minutes before you leave.”

  “I'll be out there before eleven,” Kate said. “By the first bend.”

  Janet watched Bren pick up Moon's coat, then lean toward Kate and kiss her on the cheek. Turning he looked at Janet. “I'll be back in a little while.” A
nd went out through the kitchen.

  The room was quiet again.

  “I don't know what to say to him.” Janet turned to the window to watch for him. He'd ride past the front of the house leading Moon's horse.

  “Then don't say anything,” Kate said, walking over to her, her gaze going out the window to the dark street.

  “I feel—I don't feel part of him or what any of you are doing.”

  “Well, you can come up the mountain for a visit, except I don't think it's a very good time.” Kate paused and put her hand on Janet's shoulder. “Why don't you just marry him and quit thinking about it?”

  “You sound like Bren now.”

  “If you have to be absolutely sure before you make a move,” Kate said, “then forget it. Else you're gonna be sitting here with cobwebs all over you.”

  5

  LaSalle street was quiet: first-shift miners in bed for the night, the second shift still up at the works where dots of lantern light marked the shaft scaffolding and company buildings; the crushing mill was dark, the ore tailings black humps running down the slope.

  Sundeen, mounted, came down out of that darkness into the main street, holding his horse to a walk past the store fronts and evenly spaced young trees planted to grow along the sidewalk. The porch of the Congress Hotel was deserted. Lights showed in the lobby and in saloons and upstairs windows down the street. It was quarter to eleven. At the sound of gunfire they'd pour out of the saloons—most of them who were sober or not betting against a pot—the news reporters coming out of their hangout, the Gold Dollar, which was on the northeast corner of LaSalle and Fourth streets. The jail was on the southwest corner, the cellblock extending along Fourth toward Mill Street. On the corner across Fourth from the jail was the Maricopa State Bank. On the corner across LaSalle—where Sundeen now dropped his reins and stepped down from his horse—was the I.S. Weiss Mercantile Store.

  Sundeen, looking at the jail and its two lighted windows—the one to the left of the door Bruckner's office—did not see the dark figure sitting on the steps of the bank, catty-corner from him.

  When the figure got to its feet Sundeen caught the movement and knew who it was: yes, crossing Fourth Street toward the jail with something dark draped over his shoulder and carrying a short club or something in his left hand. No, not a club. The object gave off a glint and took shape in the light from the jail window and Sundeen saw it was a stubby little shotgun.

  Early stopped. He half turned to look across toward the Mercantile Store.

  “It isn't gonna be as easy as you thought.”

  “What is?” Sundeen said. Shit.

  “Where's all your men at?”

  “I didn't think I'd need them this evening.”

  “Well,” Early said, “you better decide if you're gonna be there when we come out.”

  “God damn Bruckner,” Sundeen said. “I think he has got cow shit for brains.”

  “No, he's not one to put your money on,” Early said. “Well, I'll see you if you're still gonna be there.” He moved past the jail window toward the front door.

  There was nobody to trust, Bruckner had decided. Not a friend, not one of his four deputies. Not in something like this. The chance, if it came, would be there for him alone and he would have to do it himself if he wanted to reap the benefits. And, oh my Lord, the benefits. Both at hand and in the near future, with a saloon-full of news reporters across the street to begin the spread of his fame which would lead to his fortune. All he had to do, at the exact moment when he saw the chance, was pull the trigger three times—at least two times—and in the coming year he would be the Fighting Sheriff of Cochise County…working angles the mine company and the taxpayers never knew existed. Being ready was the key. Here is how he would do it:

  Early sticks his head in the door, gives him the nod.

  Unarmed, he goes back to the lockup, thanking the Lord he had put Moon in a cell by himself.

  He steps in, Moon steps out, locks him in. As soon as Moon is through the door, into the front part of the jail…

  He unlocks the cell with a spare key, goes through to the front, gets the loaded shotgun and peacemaker from under the cabinet…

  Runs to the door—maybe hearing Sundeen's gunfire about then—and opens up on them with the shotgun, close behind, while they're busy with Sundeen.

  Then, as Sundeen comes across the street—and before anybody is out of the Gold Dollar—blow out Sundeen's lights.

  If Sundeen's fire turns them back in the jail, which was possible, he'd bust them as they came through the door. Then step out and shoot Sundeen with the Peacemaker, saying later the man had fired at him after he'd told him to drop his gun, so he'd had no choice but to return fire. (He could hear himself telling it, saying something about being sworn to enforce the law, by God, no matter who the armed men were he had to face.) Killing the two should buy him the ticket to the county seat; but he would like to notch up Sundeen also, long as he was at it.

  In case of an unexpected turn—if he somehow lost his weapons and found himself at close quarters, he had a two-shot bellygun under his vest, pressing into his vitals.

  At a quarter to eleven Bruckner stopped pacing around the front room of the jail, moving from the railing that divided the room to the front window and back, went into his office and sat down, wishing he had just a couple swallows of that Green River drying on the floor.

  At five to eleven he thought he heard voices outside. He turned to the window, but came around again as he heard the door open and close. Bren Early appeared in the doorway to his office wearing his .44's, saddlebags over his shoulder and carrying a sawed-off shotgun. At this moment Bruckner's plan began to go all to hell.

  “O.K.,” Bruckner said, getting up and coming out to the front room as Early stepped back. “You got his horse?”

  Early nodded.

  “I'll fetch him. Go on outside.”

  Early looked at Bruckner's empty holster, then over at the gun rack, locked with two vertical iron bars. “Where the keys?”

  “Don't worry—go on outside.” Bruckner took a ring of keys from the desk in the front room, walked to the metal-ribbed door leading to the cell block and unlocked it before looking back at Early.

  “What're you waiting on?”

  Early moved toward him, making a motion with the sawed-off shotgun.

  Early coming back with him wasn't in the plan. But maybe it wouldn't hurt anything. It could even make it easier, having the two right together.

  Bruckner glanced over his shoulder walking down the row of cells. He raised his hands as one of the prisoners, then another, saw them and pushed up from their bunks. A voice behind Early said, “Hey, partner, open this one. Let me out of this shit hole.”

  Moon stood at his cell door. He stepped aside as Bruckner entered, made a half-turn and came around to slam a fist into the side of Bruckner's face. The deputy hit the adobe wall and slid to the floor. Moon stood over him a moment, seeing blood coming out of the man's nose. He said, “Don't ever put your hands on me again,” and gave him a parting boot in the ribs, drawing a sharp gasp from Bruckner.

  Early held the lockup door open as Moon came through, then slammed it closed, cutting off the voices of the prisoners yelling to be let out.

  “Sundeen was out in front. Just him I could see, but it doesn't mean he's alone,” Early said.

  From the saddlebags Moon took his folded-up coat and shoulder rig and slipped them on, saying, “How far you going in this?”

  “See you get out of here, that's all. But Sundeen's a different matter. I mean if he wants to try.” Early paused. “If he doesn't, maybe we should go find him, get the matter settled.”

  Moon was smoothing his coat, adjusting the fit of the holster beneath his left arm. He took the sawed-off from Early. “I ain't lost any sleep over him. Least I haven't yet.”

  “No, but he's gonna bother you now, he gets the chance. I'd just as soon finish it.”

  Moon seemed to study him, forming wo
rds in his mind. “Is it you've been sitting around too long, you're itchy? Or you just wanted to shoot somebody?”

  “I can go home and leave it up to you,” Early said, a cold edge there.

  “Yes, you can. And I'd probably handle him one way or the other.”

  Early stared at Moon a moment, turned and walked toward the door.

  Moon said, “You understand what I mean? I want to be sure about him.”

  Early pulled the door wide open and stepped aside. “Go on and find out then.” Still with the cold edge.

  Shit, Moon thought. He said, “Get over your touchiness. You sound like a woman.” And walked out the door past him—the hell with it—out into the middle of the street, looking around, before he saw his horse over by the side of the bank. He didn't see any sign of Sundeen and didn't expect to; the man wasn't going to shoot out of the dark and not get stand-up credit for his kill.

  Early came out to the board sidewalk, pulling the door partly closed behind him. He said, “Go on home, sit on your porch. Kate's waiting up by the bend.”

  “Thanks,” Moon said, glancing over, already moving toward Fourth Street.

  “You don't have to thank me for anything,” Early said. “We're even now, right? Don't owe each other a thing.”

  Jesus, Moon thought. He should hear himself.

  He saw the light in the half-closed doorway behind Early widen. He saw a figure, Bruckner, and yelled, “Bren!” and had to drop the sawed-off with Bren in the way and the door too far; he had to drop it to pull the goddamn saddlebags off his shoulder and come out with the Colt's, seeing Early throwing himself out of the way as Bruckner's shotgun exploded and Moon's revolver kicked in his hand and he saw Bruckner punched off his feet as the .44 took him somewhere in the middle of his body. Bren was up then, yelling at him to go on, get out of here, waving his arm.

  You better, Moon thought, picking up the sawed-off. He could see Bruckner's feet in the doorway, beyond Early. And sounds now from across the street, people starting to come out of the Gold Dollar, standing there, looking this way. Moon reached his horse and stepped up; he pointed toward Mill Street and was gone in the darkness.