Sudden Troubleshooter

by Frederick H. Christian

‘Jake Harris,’ the bartender told him. ‘Owns the JH spread. Yu tell him I sent yu.’ He gave the cowboy directions to the Harris ranch. Green nodded his thanks and, with a smile and a nod to the Marshal, led the way out of Tyler’s saloon, closely followed by the kid.

  The saloon-keeper watched him go and then turned to the Marshal. ‘Wal, Tom,’ he said, ‘I reckon that young feller could cool down this war talk in no time flat, an’ I feel good for the first time in months. The drinks are on the house!’ he shouted. Only the Marshal did not join in the general melee that ensued. He leaned against the bar, reflectively, eyeing the doorway through which the newcomer to Yavapai had left.

  Chapter Two

  HENRY SLOANE thought of a hundred questions to ask the tall, saturnine man at his side as they rode out of town along the trail leading north towards the timbered hills they could see faintly in the distance, but he held his tongue and covertly surveyed his companion. Green’s range garb was neat and serviceable, but hardly new. His saddle was plain and unadorned, but the leather had the deep dull glow that comes only from constant care. Green’s horse, a magnificent black stallion, bore no brand except the letters ‘JG’ which had been hair-branded – plucked out with a knife blade rather than a hot iron – on the glossy haunches. Henry’s eyes kept straying to the two tied-down guns at Green’s sides, and eventually, his youthful curiosity unable to contain itself any longer, burst out, ‘Jim, where d’yu ever learn to shoot like that?’ To the kid’s chagrin, Green’s face darkened. His heart sank, and he wondered what he had said. After a moment, however, a smile reached Green’s wintry countenance, and he replied, ‘She’s a long story, Philadelphia, but I’ll tell yu this: yu don’t learn in three days.’

  ‘Gee, I know that, Jim. I just wondered I never even had a chance to thank yu properly until now.’

  ‘Shucks,’ Green told him. ‘I had a reason for interferin’.’

  ‘Yu did?’ cried Henry, incredulously. ‘What was it?’

  ‘Wal,’ grinned the cowpuncher, ‘if Dancy had salivated yu, it would’a’ given yu a mighty pore impression o’ Arizona.’

  His faint smile widened as the boy frowned, and then, as the import of what Green had said suddenly dawned on him, Henry burst out laughing.

  ‘Yo’re right,’ he said, giggling. ‘That ain’t no way to see the country – from underneath!’

  Green smiled to himself. Philadelphia was already getting the hang of the western way of looking at things.

  ‘Three or four weeks an’ he’ll look like the genuine article,’ Green mused. The kid broke in on his soliloquy with another question.

  ‘Jim … would yu learn me how that fast draw goes?’

  ‘Philadelphia,’ Green told him. ‘The answer’s no. The less yu know about gunfightin’ the better off yu’ll be.’

  ‘Heck, Jim,’ protested the lad. ‘If I’m goin’ to make a hand, I reckon I’ll need to know how to shoot properly.’

  ‘Shootin’s one thing,’ Green said, as they cantered over a bridge across a deep dry creek bed, the horses making a noise like thunder with their hoofs. ‘Fast drawin’s another. Any danged fool can do fast draws in front of a lookin’ glass until he’s convinced hisself he could out-draw his own reflection. But that ain’t the same as facin’ a man who’s shootin’ back.’

  ‘But a fast draw is important, ain’t it, Jim?’

  ‘Shore ’nuff,’ Green agreed. ‘But what’s more important is what yu do when yu’ve unlimbered yore smoke-pole. Hold up a minnit.’

  He reined in his horse and, gesturing the lad to follow suit, tethered the animal to a mesquite bush beside the trail. He then paced off about fifteen yards and, stooping, piled up three or four large stones to make a pile. Upon this he placed a cardboard cartridge box which he had taken from his saddlebag. Walking back, he gestured with his chin at the makeshift target.

  ‘There yu go, Philadelphia. Let’s see what yu can do.’

  Nothing to lose, Henry settled himself, checked his gun-belt to see that the holster was hanging properly, drew clumsily, and fired. His shot whined off a rock somewhere in the distance.

  ‘Never come near it,’ smiled Green. ‘Try her again.’

  Sheathing the pistol, the youngster drew and fired again, and this time kept firing until the gun was empty. His shots kicked up dust not far from the pile of stones, while one nicked a branch which slewed down lop-sidedly from a tree, shedding leaves like snowflakes and sending a startled jay scolding away into the hills. Green tapped the downcast youngster on the shoulder.

  ‘Philadelphia, yo’re doin’ her all wrong. Yore holster’s too low, yo’re too tight, yo’re not aimin’ … now, watch.’

  Without seeming to think about what he was doing, Green drew faster than Henry’s eyes could see. Like a roll of thunder five shots blasted out in one staccato burst and the carton was torn off the pile of stones, whipped away to the right by the second shot, caught in flight by the third and the fourth, and whisked off in tatters by the fifth. Before Henry could bring his startled gaze back from where the box had landed to his companion, Green’s gun was back in the holster.

  ‘Holy cow, Jim,’ breathed Henry. ‘I never seen anything like it!’

  Green’s smile was wintry again. He looked older and tired, but he smiled as he saw the youngster’s shining eyes.

  ‘Philadelphia,’ he said. ‘There ain’t no secret to it. Given good reflexes an’ plenty o’ practice, most fellers can learn to shoot pretty good. What counts is not so much knowin’ how but knowin’ when to use a gun.’

  The youngster nodded. ‘I get yu, Jim.’

  ‘Yu listen to me, kid. Don’t never pull a gun unless yu got to; and when yu got to, aim to shoot. Will yu remember that?’

  ‘Shore, Jim,’ the lad agreed. ‘I swear it.’

  ‘Good,’ nodded Green. ‘Now let’s get that belt right for a start.’ He adjusted the gun belt around Philadelphia’s middle until the butt of the pistol hung level with the lad’s mid-forearm. He stood by the youngster’s side and demonstrated the movements of the draw, chanting the sequence out aloud: ‘Draw, cock, aim―fire!’

  ‘Point the barrel like a finger,’ he told Philadelphia. ‘Yu ain’t got time to sight. Imagine the gun-barrel is yore finger. Point it. Then fire.’

  Together they went through the routine again. Draw, cock, aim – fire; draw, cock, aim –fire. Draw, cock, aim– fire. Green’s voice chanted on and on as Philadelphia’s hand and arm grew heavier and heavier. His mentor finally called a halt.

  ‘Gosh, Jim, my arm feels like it weighs about a ton,’ he confessed.

  ‘Yo’re usin’ new muscles,’ Green told him. ‘Don’t worry: yu’ll get used to it.’

  He stood to one side, eyeing his young companion critically.

  ‘Wal, yo’re as ready as yu’ll ever be. Try her yoreself.’

  Henry nodded, his eyes gleaming at the prospect of testing his newly acquired knowledge. Already he had the feel of the gun, and the adjustments Green had made to the belt had made it feel as though it belonged about his waist. At a signal from Green he drew smoothly, the hammer clicking on the empty chamber.

  ‘Pretty good, Philadelphia,’ Green told him. ‘Ain’t much else I can teach yu; the rest is all practice.’

  Henry nodded. He drew the gun again, and again. Pretty fast, he told himself.

  ‘One final thing,’ Green said. ‘We’ll draw together, see how much yu’ve learned.’

  Henry nodded eagerly. ‘I know I can’t match yu, Jim,’ he said. ‘But I aim to try, so watch out.’

  Green nodded, busy emptying his own revolver. Henry meanwhile settled himself in the half crouch that the puncher had shown him and, waiting until Green nodded, called, ‘Draw!’

  He had hardly touched the butt of his gun when he found himself staring into the muzzle of Green’s forty-five.

  ‘I ain’t showin’ off, Philadelphia,’ the cowboy told him. ‘I just want to impress on yu the final lesson I was talkin’ about. If that had be
en for real, yu’d have been on yore way to Boot Hill right now. Remember: yu’ll allus meet someone who’s faster on the draw than yu are, so don’t fool yoreself – not ever.’

  He said this with such grim authority that Philadelphia’s heart sank.

  ‘Jim,’ he asked hesitantly, ‘did yu ever meet anyone faster’n yu?’

  ‘I seen a few men I wouldn’t have wanted to draw against, kid,’ Green told him. ‘Learnin’ when to keep yore gun in the holster’s durn near as important as knowin’ when to pull her out. But that’s enough, I reckon. We’d better be movin’ on if we want to reach Harris’s afore nightfall. An’ keep that hawgleg unloaded while yo’re practicin’, yu hear me? I don’t want yu shootin’ yoreself in the laig.’

  With a grimace, the youngster proceeded to his horse and mounted, following his friend back on to the trail. His mind was full of the fantastic display of shooting skill he had just witnessed, and he vowed silently to practice and practice until he could merit the unqualified praise of this tall, drawling cowpuncher who had in such a short time replaced any hero he had ever had.

  The two riders traversed a wide, flat prairie, moving steadily uphill now towards the hills ahead of them. Off to the right a shimmer that looked almost like the sea drew their attention.

  ‘Desert,’ explained Green succinctly. ‘Probably runs into badlands.’

  The Mesquites were not much more than rolling foothills skirting the base of a range of mountains whose silvered tips they could see limned against the dropping sun. These were the Yavapais where, in not too distant time, the Apaches had lurked. From these mountains they had swept down upon the plains below, raiding south into Mexico, looting and killing, until the U.S. Army had subdued them and placed them on reservations where, even today, they lived in sullen acceptance of the white man’s laws.

  The two riders found themselves crossing a timber-line, and riding into the gloom of a heavy pine forest. The keen scent of the green trees was strong in the evening air, the shade and coolness doubly welcome after the heat of the open plain. Ahead of them lay a junction; the trail dividing into four tracks.

  ‘Second trail from the left, that bar-keep said,’ Green recalled. ‘Better ride behind me, Philadelphia.’

  Some minutes later they crested a bluff to see below them a small ranch house, constructed of logs, smoke curling lazily from its tin chimney. They could see men moving about in the open yard before the house. As they came fully into view it seemed to Philadelphia that the men moved more quickly, and one of them went into the house and emerged again. The gleam of the late sun on metal was discernible.

  ‘Take off yore gun belt an’ sling it on the pommel o’ yore saddle,’ Green told his companion, suiting his own action to the words. Then, riding easily, his hands in plain sight, he kneed his horse on towards the ranch below. As they entered the ranch yard a thickset, bushy-browed individual stepped in front of them, covering them unwaveringly with a double-barreled shotgun.

  ‘Hold it right there,’ he commanded. ‘Johnstone – get their guns.’

  A lanky fellow with fair hair that fell over his eyes and grew long at his collar stepped carefully forward and lifted the gun belts off the pommels.

  ‘Lookin’ for Jacob Harris,’ Green said cheerfully, as if no guns were in sight. ‘Might yu be him?’ he asked the thickset man.

  ‘Might be,’ allowed that individual. ‘Depends who’s askin’.’

  ‘Name’s Jim Green. Thisyere youngster is my partner. He goes by the name o’ Philadelphia. Feller in town name o’ Tyler said yu might have a job for two willin’ workers.’

  ‘Yu look a sight more like fodder for the Saber, bucko,’ growled Harris. ‘Or maybe that’s where yo’re from?’

  ‘It might be but it ain’t,’ smiled Green, slipping easily from the saddle, hands still held at chest height. ‘But seein’ yu got our guns, it ain’t goin’ to hurt yu none to listen.’

  ‘I’m listenin’,’ Harris told him.

  ‘Like I told yu, my name is Green. I’m a stranger in these parts. Been ridin’ the chuckline atween here an’ Tucson, an’ I’m down to my last few dollars. It’s either work or starve, so I’m hopin’ for work, bein’ what yu might call an optimist. The kid here is from Philadelphia, but his daddy was a cowman. He’ll make a hand.’

  The man named Johnstone sidled over to Harris and murmured something inaudible to the newcomers. Harris nodded.

  ‘What Reb says is right, mister,’ he told Green. ‘Yu sport two guns, an’ they look as if they’ve been used plenty. How come yu ride out here instead of tryin’ Gunnison at the Saber?’

  ‘He gave Jim Dancy a beatin’ in town, that’s why!’ burst out Philadelphia, unable to contain himself.

  Harris looked at Green in astonishment.

  ‘Yu did what?’ He slapped his thigh. ‘By cracky, mister, if yu did that yo’re the most welcome sight I’ve seen in many a long day. Is what the kid says true?’

  ‘Well, Dancy needed pacifyin’ a mite,’ Green admitted. ‘He was set on marmalisin’ Philadelphia, an’ I kinda talked him out of it.’

  ‘Yu shoulda seen him,’ enthused Philadelphia. ‘It was—’

  ‘Shucks, kid, no call to run off at the mouth about it,’ intervened Green. ‘If it’s okay with yu, seh, I’d be glad to lower my arms afore they stick like this.’

  ‘Green, I’m beggin’ yore pardon. Come on over here an’ set.’ Harris led the way to a bench on the porch of the ranch house. ‘Yu, Reb, tell Susie to bring some cawfee out here for these fellers.’ Johnstone rose and went into the house. ‘Now, Mr. Green—’ Harris began.

  ‘—Jim’s a sight easier, seh,’ interposed the puncher.

  ‘So be it, my boy, so be it. My name’s Jacob, but purt’ nearly everyone in these parts calls me Jake. Susie – that’s my daughter; yu’ll meet her just now – keeps on tellin’ me I orta insist on Jacob like her Maw, God rest her soul, used to prefer. I keep on forgettin’. Now then, Jim: yu say yo’re lookin’ for work. Yo’re a cattleman, I take it?’

  ‘That’s correct, seh,’ Green told him. ‘I hail from Texas.’

  ‘An’ the boy, here,’ boomed Harris, ‘is he …?’

  ‘Nope, he’s kinda apprenticed, yu might say,’ the puncher replied. ‘He’ll work for his food an’ a place to sleep an’ mebbe a few dollars to spend in town, won’t yu, Philadelphia?’

  The younger man opened his mouth to frame an indignant protest at Green’s apparent endorsement of legalized slavery, when at that moment they were interrupted by the arrival of Jake Harris’s daughter, Susan. Not more than eighteen, her lithe young body had all the natural lissom grace of a young animal. Her neat shirt, jeans, and half-boots suited her admirably, while the late sun caught traces of gold in the cropped chestnut hair. Wide brown eyes, a slightly tip-tilted nose with a faint dusting of freckles, and a well-shaped mouth completed a picture that any man would have found attractive.

  ‘Susie, thisyere is Jim Green. He’s goin’ to work for us. The young sprout, too. Goes by the name o’ Philadelphia, believe it or not. My daughter, gents.’

  ‘Gentlemen, I’m happy to know you.’

  Susan Harris’s voice was low pitched and warm. She smiled and set down steaming mugs of black coffee in front of them, affecting not to notice the hypnotized stare and open mouth of Green’s companion. Philadelphia’s reaction had not gone unnoticed by either Green nor his new employer. Jake Harris clapped the boy on the shoulder and shattered his reverie with jovial words.

  ‘Son, yu ain’t the first cowpoke to gawp at my gal, an’ I don’t reckon yu’ll be the last, neither! Danged if she don’t get purtier every day!’

  ‘She shore don’t hurt the eyes none,’ Green agreed. Then to Philadelphia, ‘Yu was about to say something afore Miss Susan arrove,’ he prompted.

  The boy gulped, flushing scarlet as he realized how completely he had betrayed himself. Green’s smile told him the puncher was well aware that he had been about to protest his ‘apprenticeshi
p’ when Susan Harris appeared, but seeking to spare his young friend’s feelings further, Green asked a question of Harris.

  ‘I run a small spread, Jim,’ the old man said. ‘Nothing to rave about, but she’s more’n I can handle alone. About seven hundred head. Up to now I ain’t been able to get help. My neighbors pitch in at round-up time, but they got their own places to look after.’

  ‘That bartender Tyler said yu was on the “one-o’-these-days” side,’ blurted Philadelphia.

  ‘Damned if he ain’t right,’ chuckled Harris. ‘I’m allus sayin’ to Susie that one o’ these days we’ll spread a mite, an’ build up our herd. But we’ll never do it without help. I can’t avoid feelin’ that yu boys would’a’ got a better deal at the Saber. Gunnison pays top rates: I can’t match that.’

  ‘Who is this Gunnison, anyway?’ asked Philadelphia. ‘All I heard when I was in town was Gunnison said this, Gunnison did that, Gunnison wants the other. I got the feelin’ he owned that town.’

  ‘Durned if that ain’t half true, boy,’ Harris admitted. ‘Lafe Gunnison is an old tyrant. Been here since the days when Pete Kitchen was fightin’ Cochise’s bucks, an’ he reckons Gawd gave him a special lien on the Yavapai valley. I understand his feelin’s. He come out here when things was a danged sight harder than they are now, an’ fought Apaches for his land. He paid for it in blood an’ sweat, but he never took the trouble to file on it legal an’ proper until after we moved in here. Then it was too late to move us off. We’re entitled to this land an’ we’re stayin’ till hell freezes over.’

  ‘Y’all said a mouthful, Jake,’ said Johnstone, who had come up while the older man was talking. From his accent Green placed the man as a Southerner. ‘We own this land legal, but Gunnison don’t aim to let that stand in his way. He’s told us in so many words: get out or take the consequences.’

  ‘Yu had any trouble with him?’

  ‘Not directly,’ Harris told him. ‘A few nuisance raids. Wheat field s flattened, steers stampeded, a couple o’ horses stolen. Nothin’ big. We complained to the Marshal, o’ course, an’ although it ain’t his responsibility he went to see Gunnison. The old rascal claimed he knowed nothin’ about it.’