Slip Gun

by J. T. Edson

  ‘We was having a game of put-and-take,’ Billy explained.

  That bee—fell—gent didn’t want to play, but the cowhand had liquor in him and got mean about it.’

  ‘Hey!’ yelped Angus, pointing at Smith. ‘Look at his gun-hand. He don’t—’

  ‘Was I you,’ Derham interrupted, ‘I’d stop talking right there. Boss, this-here’s Waxahachie Smith.’

  Every eye in the room had turned to stare at Smith’s right hand. Talk welled up as the old timer made his announcement. Glaring up at the Texan’s face, McCobb opened his mouth. A flush of red rose to the sheriff’s cheeks and several seconds went by before he could speak.

  ‘You said you was on a special assignment for the Governor!’ McCobb accused indignantly when he regained control of his vocal cords.

  ‘Happened you think back real careful,’ Smith drawled. ‘I didn’t say no such thing.’

  ‘You’re not a—a—!’ the sheriff spluttered. ‘Damn it! You’re just a-a—’

  ‘A what, sheriff?’ prompted Burbury.

  ‘Damn and blast it!’ McCobb blustered, ignoring the question. ‘I want to know what happened, all of it.’

  ‘First off,’ Burbury answered, before anybody else could speak. ‘Those three come here figuring to kill Wax Smith.’

  ‘Why?’ McCobb demanded.

  ‘Now that’s a right good question,’ Burbury praised with blatant mockery and looked at the Texan. ‘How’s about a right good answer, Wax?’

  ‘Happen you think of one, let me know it,’ Smith replied. ‘I never saw any one of ’em afore they walked in here tonight.’

  ‘You mean they were perfect strangers?’ yelped McCobb.

  ‘Don’t know about the others,’ Burbury put in dryly. ‘But Arney Moxley was a long ways from perfect. You’ll find a wanted dodger on him out of Butte, Montana. Eight hundred dollars, walking or flat on a board.’

  ‘You know him?’ asked the sheriff.

  ‘I’ve got a good memory for faces,’ Burbury answered.’ Feller in my line of work needs one.’

  ‘Hey, sheriff!’ Gilpin put in. ‘Let me have the bodies moved down to the barn, then get the blood washed away.’

  ‘Go to it, Bert,’ McCobb assented. ‘Maybe I should search them first?’

  ‘Some’d say that’s a smart notion,’ Burbury said. ‘Only I’m betting you’ll not learn much.’

  ‘Why?’ the sheriff wanted to know.

  ‘Those boys’re top-grade stock, way they handled things. They’ll not be carrying anything to say who hired ’em to kill Wax.’

  ‘It’s my civic duty to look, anyways. Billy, Angus, come lend a hand.’

  At their uncle’s words, the brothers exchanged startled, nervous glances. Up to that moment, they had only been employed upon unimportant duties like riding escort for stagecoaches. Travelling self-importantly around the county was poor training for the unpleasant task ahead. More so when the sheriff gave no sign that he would take other than a verbal part in the search.

  ‘Perhaps I could be of assistance, sheriff?’ suggested the small, soberly-dressed man. ‘I am by profession an undertaker.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ McCobb authorized, showing relief. ‘If you need help, my deputies will give it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the undertaker said. ‘Perhaps you could lift the gambling man off the other, gentlemen.’

  Making a wry face, Billy bent and took hold of Hardy’s left sleeve. As the deputy tugged, the gambler’s left hand opened and a small metal object fell from it.

  ‘What’s that thing?’ the sheriff demanded.

  ‘The put-and-take top we was using,’ Billy replied.

  ‘That one’s still on the bar,’ Burbury pointed out. ‘He must’ve had another palmed, Wax.’

  ‘Looks that way,’ Smith agreed.

  Obviously the sheriff attached no importance to the extra top, or its mate. Instead he picked up the dead gambler’s wallet, which had been laying on the counter during the game, and examined its contents. Without taking an active part in the search, he supervised it to the extent of checking each item produced from the bodies pockets.

  Burbury picked up the top which had fallen from Hardy’s hand. Watched by Smith, he spun it half-a-dozen times using the awkward-looking anti-clockwise twirl of the gambler. The results varied, wins and losses coming up. Setting the top aside Burbury took the other one and repeated the tests employing a clockwise spin.

  ‘Put-three,’ Burbury said quietly and continued to call the other results. Tut-All, Put-Four, Put-Three, Put-All, Put-Four.’

  They’re all “put” and no “take”,’ Smith said quietly. ‘Try spinning it the other way, Ric’

  ‘Well, that’s all,’ the sheriff announced before the experiment could be carried out. Two hundred dollars each, wallet on the bar packed out with paper. Gambler had a deck of cards and the other a hip-flask.’

  ‘He’d been drinking from it, Uncle—’ Billy began. He paused, knowing that the sheriff disliked references to the deputies being kin-folk. That’s what made him mean.’

  ‘He got ornery if he thought anybody was disrespecting the gambling man,’ Angus went on. ‘And with the liquor in him—’

  ‘He wasn’t drunk,’ Smith put in.

  ‘We saw him—’

  ‘Making like he was drinking,’ Burbury finished for Billy. ‘You see what’s in that flask, sheriff.’

  ‘All in good time,’ McCobb answered. ‘First, I’d like to hear exactly what came off here.’

  ‘You wish me to search the other man, sheriff?’ asked the undertaker.

  ‘Huh?’ McCobb grunted. ‘Oh, sure. Go help the gent, Billy, Angus. Bring all you get to me.’

  ‘Sure,’ Billy replied, with no great enthusiasm.

  ‘Now, Dad,’ the sheriff went on, turning to the bar. ‘What happened?’

  Derham told his story at greater length with more attention to detail. Much to McCobb’s thinly-concealed annoyance, it proved favorable to Smith. While the old timer was declaring vehemently and profanely that the Texan had been provoked, Burbury picked up and opened the dandy’s hip-flask. Ignoring the sheriff’s obvious, if unspoken, disapproval, the burly man sniffed at the flask’s neck.

  ‘It don’t smell like Bourbon,’ Burbury stated, when Derham had stopped speaking. Pouring the remaining spots of liquid on to his palm, he held them for Smith and the sheriff to see. The small pool in his hand was colorless. He tested it with the tip of his tongue and went on, It don’t look nor taste like Bourbon, neither, Water, maybe, but not Bourbon. Want to try a lick, sheriff?’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it!’ McCobb said coldly and swung on his heel to face the trio of drummers. Indicating the largest of them, he asked, ‘How did you see it, mister?’

  By the time the sheriff had interrogated two of the drummers, he knew there was no case against Smith. Nor did the third travelling salesman change the pattern. All of the trio corroborated the old hostler’s statement that the Texan had gone out of his way to avoid trouble, in the face of vicious insults and threats. Even more damning to McCobb’s hopes had been the fact that Hayward not only instigated the fight but tried to take an unfair advantage. The drummers also verified that Hardy had drawn before the dandy was shot and so menaced Smith’s life to such an extent that the Texan had been justified in shooting him.

  During the giving of evidence, Billy had brought the third dead man’s belongings to his uncle. They did not prove any more informative than the items found on Hardy or Hayward. Telling his nephew to have the bodies removed to the barn, the sheriff turned back to the Texan.

  ‘Can I have a word with you, S— Mr. Smith?’

  ‘It’s your county, sheriff!

  ‘In private,’ McCobb hinted, looking pointedly at Bur-bury.

  ‘Mind if I hear what’s said, Wax?’ the burly man asked.

  ‘I mind!’ McCobb yelped.

  ‘I don’t,’ Smith drawled. ‘And I’m allowed to have a witness any time I’m talking to
a lawman. You’ll know Supreme Court Ruling Eleven, Decision Twenty-Three, Clause Sixty-One, I reckon, sheriff?’

  ‘Er, yes. Of course I know it,’ McCobb replied.

  He did not, but felt sure that a man like Waxahachie Smith would be fully conversant with any ruling or decision which gave him an advantage when dealing with an officer of the law. Already the Supreme Court had earned a reputation amongst peace officers for producing rulings which made their work more difficult. So McCobb did not doubt that Smith was within his legal rights to have Burbury present.

  For his part, Smith wondered why he had agreed to Burbury’s request. Sure he was grateful to the burly man for saving his life, but he felt that Burbury was taking a whole heap too much interest in his doings. However, the decision had been made and there was no going back on it.

  ‘Set up drinks for these three gents, barkeep,’ Burbury instructed, indicating the drummers who, having given their evidence, were eyeing Lily Shivers with interest. ‘They’ll need it while they’re helping tote the bodies out of here.’

  ‘Huh?’ grunted the largest drummer.

  ‘You was playing with them two,’ Burbury pointed out. ‘And they’ve got to be moved. Sheriff can deputize you to do it.’

  ‘So I can,’ McCobb agreed, looking his most pompous. ‘And I’m doing it.’

  ‘Man can get jailed for refusing due and lawful deputization by a sworn officer of the county,’ Smith warned as the drummers seemed on the verge of protesting. ‘Sheriff’d be in his legal rights to do that, too.’

  Muttering to themselves, the trio accepted McCobb’s orders that they should help remove the bodies. With that matter under control, the sheriff suggested that he, Smith and Burbury should conduct their business away from the bar.

  ‘It looks better,’ McCobb explained. ‘Let’s go sit at the big table.’

  Before following Smith and the sheriff, Burbury picked up the first of the tops with which he had experimented. Dropping it into his right side pocket, he put its mate into the left. Then he walked after the two men in the direction of the big table.

  ‘Don’t get up, Miss Shivers,’ McCobb requested as the blonde made as if to rise. ‘We’ll go down the other end.’

  Smith thought that he could detect a cynical smile as the blonde lowered her rump back to the seat. Slowly her eyes lifted to his, then ran over him from top to bottom. There was interest in her gaze, and not just caused by hands. Further thoughts on that subject ended as McCobb coughed twice, cleared his throat loudly and started speaking.

  ‘I’m satisfied that you acted in self-defense, S— Mr. Smith. You’re sure you don’t know why they picked on you?’

  ‘Nary a notion,’ the Texan replied.

  ‘Or who could have hired them?’

  ‘Nope. I’ve got a few enemies who might have, but none of them are up this ways far as I know.’

  ‘Where are you headed for?’

  ‘Widow’s Creek. I’ll be going in the morning.’

  ‘Who’re you—?’ McCobb began, showing his relief at the news. Hurriedly revising his question, he continued, ‘Why’re you going there?’

  ‘For the county fair,’ Smith answered, eyeing the sheriff in a challenging manner. ‘Why else?’

  McCobb let the query pass. If Smith carried out his declaration, he would go out of the sheriff’s jurisdiction. Never a man to make work for himself, McCobb decided to let the whole affair slide.

  ‘Like I said,’ he announced. ‘I’m satisfied you was forced into fighting. Most likely that young cuss figured to get a name as the man who gunned down Waxahachie Smith.’

  ‘Most likely,’ Burbury put in dryly.

  ‘That being the case,’ the sheriff went on, ‘we’ll say no more about it.’

  ‘Hardly seemed worthwhile fetching us from the bar,’ Bur-bury commented as McCobb crossed to where Gilpin was talking to the farmer. ‘Anyways, we’d’ve had to come here. Lily was saying’s how she’d admire to meet you.’

  Chapter Five – Worthy of His Hire

  ‘So you’re Waxahachie Smith,’ Lily Shivers said, after Bur-bury had performed the introductions. ‘I thought that Ric was joshing me when he told me your name.’

  Seen up close, the blonde was even more beautiful than from a distance. She met Smith’s gaze with an air of equality. Accepting that she possessed considerable charm for members of the opposite sex, she did not try to play on it. There was an attitude of calm competence about her, as if she felt certain that she could match up to any man on his own terms and handle whatever play he chose to make.

  ‘I’ll go fetch us some drinks,’ Burbury announced, avoiding the question that Smith was preparing to fire at him. ‘Don’t reckon this place’ll run to wine, Lily.’

  ‘Whiskey’ll do,’ the blonde replied, keeping her eyes on Smith. There was neither promise nor invitation in them, only a cool appraisal. ‘This’s a mite north of your home range, Waxahachie.’

  ‘Man likes to see new places, ma’am,’ the Texan answered. ‘And you’d likely find “Wax” comes easier to your tongue.’

  ‘I’ll try, if you’ll say “Lily” instead of “ma’am”,’ the blonde promised, then she stopped smiling. ‘That was a trap if ever I saw one, Wax. Why’d they come gunning for you?’

  ‘Somebody hired ’em. But I couldn’t start to guess who.’

  ‘Maybe it’s somebody who doesn’t want you to get to Widow’s Creek. I heard you tell McCobb that’s where you’re headed.’

  ‘And I am.’

  ‘For the county fair?’

  ‘Why else?’

  ‘So play cagey,’ Lily sniffed. ‘Could be I can help you. I’ve seen those three up at the Creek. They came in the day before I left for Cheyenne.’

  ‘Did, huh?’ Smith said noncommittally. ‘Who’d they meet?’

  ‘You think maybe I trailed them around?’ Lily replied. They were together in my place, but nobody joined them. And I saw the gambling man coming out of the side door of the bank.’

  ‘Side door?’ Smith repeated.

  ‘Wil’s private office door,’ the blonde elaborated. ‘He’d likely been in there talking business. With Wil, it’d have to be business.’

  Thinking back to Derham’s comments about Lily not getting on with Wil Jeffreys, Smith wondered if he should mention his employer’s identity. While the discovery might jolt the blonde into some enlightening comment, it could also have the opposite effect. Then all he would have achieved would have been to let Lily know that a rival—enemy even—was going to hire him. Smith decided that he would lose more than he might gain by taking her into his confidence. So he was not sorry to see Burbury returning with a tray of drinks.

  ‘Here we are,’ the burly man boomed, setting down the tray and handing one of its drinks to Lily.

  ‘Just how long have you known who I am, Ric?’ Smith challenged as Burbury sat down beyond the blonde.

  ‘Would you believe me if I said only since the old timer named you?’

  ‘Not ‘specially.’

  ‘He let on about it down to the barn. Come in while I was unhitching my rig.’

  ‘I figured you knew something,’ Smith declared. ‘You didn’t mention about me wearing my gloves while I was eating.’

  ‘Hey, fellers,’ Lily put in. ‘I’m still sat here. At least throw me a smile now and then. It’s bad for my reputation if I’m ignored.’

  ‘Sorry, Lily,’ Burbury grinned. ‘I reckon Wax’s a mite uneasy in his mind over what happened. And so am I. Those fellers were sure set on seeing him dead. Way I see it, they was using that put-and-take game so’s they’d have an excuse for doing it.’

  ‘By having that flashy-dressed yack call him down when he wouldn’t play?’ Lily asked. ‘He didn’t first time Wax said no.

  ‘Likely they wasn’t sure where I sat in the game,’ Burbury replied. ‘I raked at Hayward, but he took it. Wasn’t ’til I’d come over to you that it happened.’

  ‘What if Wax’d played the next time
he was asked?’

  ‘He’d already said “no” once. So if he’d come in on that pot and took it, the other fellers in the game would’ve objected and given Hayward his chance,’ Burbury answered and took the top from his left side pocket. Turning it over on the palm of his left hand, he examined it. ‘I dunno if it means anything, but some of the edges are rounder than the others.’

  ‘That’s so it’ll fall the right way, if you know the gaff,’ Lily explained. ‘The top tends to roll off the sides with the rounded edges and stop on those which are sharp.’

  ‘What’s the gaff?’ Smith inquired, knowing the word to be a gambler’s expression for the secret which caused a crooked device to perform its dishonest function.

  ‘If you spin it clockwise, which comes natural to a right-handed feller,’ the blonde explained, taking the top and demonstrating, ‘it lands on a “put”. Turn it the other way and you get a “take” every time. I had a jasper from a crooked gambling supply house ’round trying to sell me some gaffed and straight tops a few weeks back.’

  The drummers returned, cursing the weather and their lousy luck in being caught for such a stinking chore. Looking around, Smith found that the farmer and his wife had disappeared. Gilpin stood at the bar with the sheriff, while a couple of hostlers swabbed the blood from the floor. After throwing scowls at the Texan and Burbury, the drummers slouched across to the bar.

  ‘Hardy was spinning anti-clockwise all the time,’ Burbury reminded Smith.

  ‘That’d be so nobody’d be able to complain he’d changed his way when he used the gaffed top,’ Lily guessed.

  ‘Only he didn’t get ’round to using it,’ Smith pointed out.

  ‘Could be he was counting on you taking his offer, hitting a “Put All” and not wanting to pay,’ Burbury suggested. ‘That’d’ve given Hayward a chance to call you down.’

  ‘Know what I think?’ Lily asked. ‘I’m betting that Hardy hadn’t meant to have Hayward take you until he’d won the pot. Then he got a signal from that other feller to do it. Or he fumbled while he was trying to switch tops and thought he’d made the marks suspicious, so he might’s well get it over with. Hayward had already established that he wouldn’t let anybody disrespect Hardy. So nobody’d think too much about him calling you over refusing what looked like a friendly offer.’