Gunman's Song

by Ralph Cotton

  Burns swallowed a knot in his throat and said with a shaky smile, “Oh…well, then, my apologies, Mr. Shaw. It appears we all owe you a thanks.” His eyes passed over the bloody, mutilated body of Sidlow Talbert, then went to Sheriff Neff, still looking frightened. “Sheriff, I also owe you an apology. I should have realized instantly that whatever is going on here, you have it under control.”

  “That’s right, Councilman,” said Sheriff Neff, looking back at Lawrence Shaw as he spoke. “Rest assured that whatever I’m doing, I’m doing with the town’s best interest in mind.”

  Shaw slid his Colt into his holster and gave Cray Dawson a slight nod, prompting him to do the same.

  Chapter 7

  Inside the bat-wing doors of the saloon, Willie the Devil and Elton Minton had watched and listened to everything that happened in the street. Willie’s pal Donald Hornetti had joined them, and the three stood off to the side away from the other drinkers who had crowded the doors, some of them having stepped out along the boardwalk.

  “There’s what our boy is up against,” Willie whispered to Elton. “Think he’ll have any problem taking Fast Larry down?”

  Elton just stared dumbstruck at the grizzly scene in the street as four townsmen picked up Sidlow Talbert hand and foot and carried him away, his head bobbing with each step. After a moment Donald Hornetti gave Elton a rough nudge. “Hey, you, idiot! Didn’t you hear what the Devil asked you?”

  “Oh, uh, yeah, I heard,” said Elton. But still he couldn’t take his eyes off of Lawrence Shaw and the bloody corpse.

  “Well?” said Hornetti, growing impatient with him.

  “Well what?” Elton was rattled senseless by what he’d seen happen on the street.

  Donald Hornetti snarled and grabbed him by his shirt collar. “Let me crack this fool’s head like a ripe walnut, Willie,” he said.

  “No, not now, Donald,” said Willie.

  “Not now?” said Elton, getting alarmed. “What does that mean, not now?”

  Donald Hornetti palmed Elton roughly on the side of his head and let out a dark, cruel chuckle. “It means not right now, but maybe real soon if you don’t straighten up, idiot.”

  “Stop it, damn it,” said Willie. “We’ve got to get word to Barton and Blue Snake. Barton is going to blow sky-high when he hears about Sidlow. The first thing he’s going to ask is what did we do to protect him.”

  “Wasn’t nothing we could have done,” said Hornetti, turning Elton’s collar loose with a gruff shove.

  “I know that and you know that,” said Willie the Devil, “but we better come up with some kind of story that Barton’s going to believe, or else we’re going to look worse than old Sidlow out there.”

  Listening to the two, Elton felt a nausea crept upward from deep in his belly. He’d no idea Barton Talbert was who these men rode with. He made a strange sound in his throat and Donald Hornetti snapped around facing him, saying, “What are you laughing at, idiot? You’re in trouble too…you didn’t try to help Sidlow either.”

  “Whoa,” said Elton. “I’m not laughing, I swear! But I’m not a part of this in any way. I don’t ride with nobody. I just have a pal who’s going to call down Fast Larry and shoot him. This is strictly a onetime business deal for me.”

  “In a pig’s eye you’re not a part of it, idiot,” said Hornetti, grabbing Elton’s shirt collar again. “You’re a part of it if I say you’re a part of it!”

  “Turn him loose, Donald,” said Willie, “and stop grabbing him. We need to think this thing through.”

  “Yeah,” said Elton as Hornetti turned loose and shoved him back again. “And stop calling me idiot.”

  “I’ll stop calling you an idiot when you quit being an idiot…idiot!” Hornetti snapped, once again palming the side of Elton’s head. “What are you going to do about it?” He stepped real close to Elton, almost nose-to-nose, except Donald Hornetti stood a full head taller than Elton and his shoulders were twice the width.

  “It just doesn’t look right,” said Elton. “Nobody wants to be called an idiot. What if I called you an idiot? Would you like it?”

  “Try it,” said Hornetti. “I dare you, idiot!”

  “All right, that’s enough,” said Willie the Devil. “We’ve got to get this shooting going with Sammy and Shaw. At least if Sammy kills him, we’ve got some good news for Barton and Blue Snake. If Shaw kills Sammy, we can always say we did our best.”

  Elton just looked at Willie, wishing he’d never met these men. Now he was on the spot, and so was Sammy Boy.

  “Sammy will have to call him out tonight right before dark,” said Willie, looking at Elton. “Is that going to be all right? Can you get all our bets down by then?”

  “Sure,” said Elton, trying to muster up the courage he needed to get back into the scheme. “But I’ll need to get moving on it. Give me the money and I’ll start making the rounds.”

  “Not so fast,” said Willie the Devil.

  “Yeah, idiot, not so fast,” said Hornetti, feinting a palm to Elton’s head, then stopping himself at the last second, causing Elton to flinch nervously.

  “I’m going along with you,” said Willie, pulling out a large roll of money.

  “But these are my people; they don’t know you from Adam,” Elton protested.

  Willie shook the money in Elton’s face. “This is my money, it don’t know you from Adam,” he said, chuckling.

  “Yeah, so shut up, and do like you’re told, idiot,” said Hornetti.

  Elton gritted his teeth. He had to get the money down on the gunfight, half on Sammy Boy, and half on Shaw, making sure he and Willie the Devil won either way it went. For the time being he’d have to put up with Donald Hornetti’s insults and bullying. He’d made the mistake of letting the big man get away with calling him an idiot the first time, an hour ago when Hornetti joined him and Willie in the saloon. Like any bully, Hornetti had gotten worse. Now it had gone too far for Elton to tell him to leave him alone and get any results other than a thump on his head for his effort. He’d have to find a way to straighten this big man out once and for all. He couldn’t keep taking this kind of treatment from him.

  “All right, Willie,” said Elton, ignoring Hornetti, “let’s get going.”

  The first person Elton led Willie the Devil to was Fat Man Hughes, who still sat on the high stool at the end of the bar. When Elton told Hughes that Sammy Boy was going to call Shaw out into the street, the big man’s face lit up with anticipation and greed. “Sure, I’ll take some of your wager,” Hughes said, reaching for his thick roll as he eyed Willie the Devil, saying to Elton, “I see you found yourself a backer, huh?”

  Willie the Devil offered a crafty smile and replied before Elton got a chance, “I believe we’ve met before, Mr. Hughes…I’m Willie Devlin. Willie the Devil, as you may recall? I’m somewhat of a sporting man myself.”

  “Yeah.” Fat Man Hughes shrugged, unimpressed. “I remember you. Your roll never was as large as mine.”

  Willie the Devil didn’t let Hughes’s words bother him. “Perhaps after today it will be, though.”

  Hughes grinned. “I like a man who thinks positive!” Flipping out his thick roll of money, licking a thumb, and riffling through the bills, he asked, “Now, sir, what can I do you for?”

  Elton said, “I’ve got one thousand and five hundred dollars that says Sammy Boy is going to beat Lawrence Shaw straight up…outdraw him and outshoot him, plain and simple. Since Shaw’s the big gun and Sammy Boy’s an unknown, what odds are you going to offer me?”

  “Odds, huh?” Fat Man Hughes’s belly bounced up and down as he laughed and shook his head. “Boy, Elton, you’re so full of shit, if I stepped on your foot it would squirt out both ears.” He quickly peeled off a stack of bills, saying, “Five to one, Elton; take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it,” said Elton, turning to Willie the Devil for the money.

  Fat Man Hughes flagged the bartender over to hold the bets in the small tin lockbox he ke
pt under the bar for wagers of this sort. “Porter,” he said to the broad-shouldered bartender, “we have a gunfight in the making between Elton’s friend Sammy Boy White and Lawrence Shaw. Hold this for safekeeping, if you please.”

  “Whoa,” said Porter Chapin, looking excited at the prospect, “Sammy Boy is fast with a gun; I’ve got to give him that.” He took the money from Willie the Devil and Fat Man Hughes, counted it quickly, folded it, then held it up and said, “Can I get some money down on this thing?”

  Fat Man Hughes had lowered his big body from the stool, picked the seat of his trousers, and adjusted his wrinkled suit coat. “You’ll have to talk to Elton here,” he said to the bartender. “It’s his endeavor…I’ve got to go to the jake. Keep my seat open, if you will, please.”

  Elton and Willie the Devil waited until Hughes was out the back door before Elton said, “How fast do you think Sammy is, Porter, just between you and me?”

  “He’s damn fast,” said Porter, reaching behind his white apron into his trouser pocket. “I know Shaw is supposed to be the fastest gun alive…but everybody’s got to fall someday. Give me twenty dollars on Sammy Boy.”

  “Done,” said Elton. “Of course you know Sammy and me are pals; I’m not offering any odds.”

  “I don’t care,” said the bartender, “I can take even money any day on a gunfight. The main thing is just to be able to say I had an interest in it.”

  “Yes, that’s the spirit.” Willie the Devil beamed. “I bet there are many here who feel the same way.” He looked around the saloon as he rubbed his hands together.

  * * *

  Cray Dawson and Lawrence Shaw had carried their saddlebags to their separate rooms at the Desert Flower Inn. As Dawson unpacked a clean shirt and socks, Shaw stepped in from the hall, first rapping quietly on the wooden door. “I know you think I did the wrong thing killing Sidlow Talbert,” Shaw said. “But you covered my back anyway. I’m obliged.”

  Cray Dawson looked at him with a flat expression. “I didn’t come along to judge you, Shaw,” he said, unfolding his clean socks, shaking them out, and pitching them on the bed. “Just to back you up. I want them dead too, don’t forget.”

  “He was with them,” said Shaw. “I know damn well he was. I could see it in his eyes when I talked to him.”

  “I’m not saying he wasn’t with them,” said Dawson, “but I’ve got to say he wasn’t with them when I saw them riding away.” He stared evenly at Shaw. “I wish I could say he was, but I’d be lying.”

  “It’s water under the bridge now anyway,” said Shaw. “He’s dead either way. One thing’s for sure: This is going to flush his brother and the gang out once word gets to them.”

  “Yeah,” said Dawson, “I have to admit, if anything will bring Barton Talbert to us, that ought to do it.”

  Shaw knew Dawson had a problem with what he’d done, whether he admitted it or not. “Let me make myself understood, Dawson,” he said. “I’m not calling what I’m doing anything but what it is. I’m out for blood vengeance, and there’s no way to clean it up or pretty it up. What you saw today was dark and ugly. But there’s a good chance it’s going to get darker and uglier before it ends. I’ll kill anybody close to Barton Talbert just to get his attention, just to make him turn and fight. Think of it like a war. I’m out to win…damn the cost, and damn the casualties.”

  “I understand,” said Dawson with a grave expression.

  “Do you really?” Shaw asked, stepping closer to him. “Because if you don’t understand, I won’t hold it against you if you cut out now.”

  “What about what you said the other day?” Dawson asked. “You said there wouldn’t be any giving out riding with you.”

  “After today there won’t be,” said Shaw. “Until today, maybe you didn’t realize how far I will go, or how low I’ll reach to drag these rats up out of the slime. Now that you see it, if you’ve got no stomach for it, go ahead and leave. Leaving might be the smartest thing you’ll ever do.”

  Dawson studied Shaw’s face as the gunman tried to avoid eye contact with him. It occurred to Dawson that Shaw was ashamed of what he’d done to Sidlow Talbert. Yet as he’d deliberately tortured Sidlow Talbert there had appeared to be no hesitancy, no show of remorse, no spark of mercy. “I’m in, Shaw,” said Dawson. “No matter what, I’m on this trail until it ends.”

  “All right,” said Shaw, “I won’t mention leaving again.” He let out a deep breath and wiped a hand across his forehead.

  Dawson saw the torment he seemed to be in and offered a tired smile, saying, “You need a drink bad, don’t you?”

  “I need one something awful,” Shaw said, shaking his head, “but I’m not giving in. From here on it’s either cold water or buttermilk for me. I’m off the whiskey….”

  While the two settled into their rooms at the Desert Flower Inn, Jedson Caldwell and Dillard Frome had gone back to the livery barn to finish tending the animals. When the last mule and horse were rubbed down with a handful of fresh straw, the two sat aside the water bucket and grain sack and walked to the Big Spur Saloon still talking about the shooting. Inside the saloon they found the atmosphere to be crackling with excitement over the shooting; but they didn’t realize what part of the commotion was until Willie the Devil slid in beside them and asked who they had picked to win the gunfight between Lawrence Shaw and Sammy Boy White.

  Frome and Caldwell looked stunned. Caldwell started to answer, but before he could speak, Elton Minton said, “Hey, these two men rode in with Shaw!”

  Willie squinted, studying Frome and Caldwell closer. “Say, Elton, I believe you’re right.” As he continued to speak he poked his finger into Caldwell’s chest. But Caldwell never backed an inch as the Devil said, “This fight is supposed to come as a surprise to Fast Larry. Looks like you two boys aren’t leaving here until Shaw shows up and we get this thing settled.”

  Caldwell looked back and forth as Sammy Boy White and Donald Hornetti closed in on either side of him, rendering him unable to make a run for it. He saw he had no chance to get out of the saloon and tell Shaw what awaited him, but he also could see that Frome had a clear run for the doors if he moved quickly. “Frome! Run! Tell Shaw!” Caldwell shouted suddenly. Frome needed no coaxing. He’d already seen what was at hand. He turned and bolted out the bat-wing doors.

  “Damn it!” Willie the Devil shouted. “Hornetti, get him!”

  The big gunman ran out the doors onto the boardwalk, drawing his pistol on his way. Frome ran straight down the rutted dirt street toward the Desert Flower. “I’ve got him,” said Hornetti, raising his pistol, calmly taking aim as onlookers veered out of the way. The gun bucked once in his hand, the explosion resounding along the street, and Frome seemed to be thrust forward by a powerful blast of wind. “Got him dead center.” Hornetti chuckled, raising his pistol and blowing smoke from the tip of his barrel. He turned and walked back into the Big Spur Saloon without giving Dillard Frome another glance.

  “I didn’t mean for you to shoot him, damn it!” said Willie. “I only meant for you to stop him.”

  “Then you should have made it more clear.” Hornetti grinned. “He’s laying out there deader than hell.” He patted the pistol he’d slipped back into his holster. “The way I just shot, I don’t know that we really need ol’ Sammy Boy here.” He gave Sammy Boy White a look that could be read different ways.

  Noting it, Sammy Boy said flatly, “You’re a bag of fish guts, Hornetti. If you think shooting a man in the back while he’s running is anything like facing Fast Larry Shaw, then I’m tempted to stand down and let him shoot your eyes out.”

  Hornetti looked stunned. “Hey, wait a minute, ol’ pard, I was only joking around with you!”

  “Sure you were,” said Sammy Boy, his hand poised close to his pistol butt, “now that you see I ain’t taking a nickel’s worth of your bullying horseshit. I’ve noticed that old ‘I was only joking’ is the ace every coward keeps up his sleeve. You’ll push a man a little; then if that
sticks you’ll push him a little more.” He jerked a thumb toward Elton Minton. “You started off calling my friend here an idiot…once you saw he wasn’t going to call you down for it, you started pecking him on the head, like this.” He took a step with his gun hand still poised and with his free hand palmed Hornetti on his forehead. “There, idiot, how does that feel? Dare me to do it again.” Sammy Boy offered a flat, mirthless grin.

  “Why you…” Hornetti bristled, his hand going instinctively toward his pistol butt, then stopping short as he felt the tip of Sammy Boy’s pistol against the tip of his nose.

  “You wasn’t going to draw it anyway, idiot,” said Sammy Boy. “I’m doing you a favor. Think how bad it would look if I’d waited for you to draw. We’d have been here all day.”

  “All right, stop it, Donald! We’ve got business to attend to!” said Willie the Devil, directing his attention to Hornetti and giving him a shove, deciding it wouldn’t be wise to push Sammy Boy White. “Go get a drink and calm down,” he said to Hornetti. I’m going to be counting on you to back this man when the time comes.”

  Hearing Willie the Devil, Sammy Boy White looked at Elton and asked, “What’s he talking about, backing me?” He cut a glance at Hornetti, making sure Hornetti heard him say, “I don’t need that piece of rat bait backing me up, he’d soil his trousers.”

  Hornetti’s face reddened. He bristled with anger and humiliation, but he made no offer of retaliation. Instead he turned and walked to the bar.

  “Easy, Sammy Boy!” said Elton. “We just thought in case things went bad—which we know they won’t, of course…” He looked around and lowered his voice. “Willie just thought it might be a good idea to have Hornetti near about with a shotgun. Sort of a secondary plan, you might call it.”