A Reason to Die

by William W. Johnstone

  “Nope,” Wick said. “We’re gonna set right here in this saloon and let him come get us. We’ll see if that sheriff has the guts to come in here and arrest anybody. I’m bettin’ he ain’t, and he ain’t got nobody to help him against three guns.”

  On their first day in town, the three of them had scouted every business to see who ran it and how much trouble it would be to rob it. In every case, they found the business owned by one family and operated by one person in that family. In some cases, like the general store, a family member worked in the business to help the proprietor. In Spence’s case, that was his wife, who posed no threat at all. It was the ideal setup. Wick had always had dreams of robbing an entire town, and Blue Creek was just made for it.

  Then he remembered something Blackie had complained about. “What about this other feller you were talkin’ about? The one wavin’ the bandanna.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about him,” Blackie replied. “Tell you the truth, I ain’t sure he had brains enough to know what was goin’ on, him hollerin’ about a bandanna.”

  “Yeah,” Red agreed. “Then he wanted Blackie to tell him what insurance was.” He chuckled while recalling it. “He ain’t nothin’ to worry about.”

  “I thought you said he had his gun out,” Wick reminded him.

  “Well, yeah, he did,” Red allowed, “but that was after the sheriff came in with his shotgun.”

  “Then the feller backed up like he didn’t want no part in it,” Blackie added. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he ain’t already hightailed it outta town. The sheriff didn’t know him, so he don’t belong around here.”

  “All right, then,” Wick announced. “We’ll set right here and see if that sheriff’s got the guts to come in to get us.” He yelled to Jim Squires, who was standing behind the bar. “Hey, Squires, tell that woman to get us some supper out here.”

  Squires didn’t answer, but went into the kitchen to tell Gussie to fix three plates of food for them.

  “I heard him,” Gussie said before Squires opened his mouth to speak. “Them three bastards have run all our regular customers off and left me with a pot full of stew I’m gonna have to throw to the hogs. Why don’t you tell ’em we don’t serve no supper? Maybe they’ll hurry up and get outta here.”

  “They know better ’n that,” Squires said. “Hell, they ate supper here two nights ago.”

  “Well, I druther throw it all to the hogs before I serve it to the likes of them. They’re cookin’ up trouble for Blue Creek. You don’t have to be smart to see that. They ain’t nothin’ but common outlaws.”

  “I reckon you’re right about that,” Squires admitted. “I’ve been thinkin’ about tellin’ the three of ’em to get out. They’ve been drinkin’ my whiskey ever since this afternoon and I ain’t seen a dime of their money yet.”

  “I swear, I can’t believe I have to tell you this, Jim, but you ain’t gonna see any of their money. They’re fixin’ to hold us up for certain.”

  He knew she was right. He had just been reluctant to admit it. “Well, I reckon I’ve had about enough of it. I’m gonna run ’em outta here. It might be a good idea if you slip out the back door and go fetch Marvin Kelly.”

  “You sure?” Gussie asked. “There’s three of ’em, you know, and they look like they ain’t no strangers to trouble.”

  “They won’t be expectin’ me to come outta here with a loaded shotgun,” Squires assured her. “They’ll know the first one that makes a move will get cut down. If they try to bluff it out, I oughta be able to hold ’em till you get back with Marvin, so hurry.”

  “I will,” she said and headed for the back door.

  He waited for a few minutes to give Gussie some time to reach the sheriff’s office before he picked up his shotgun, broke it to make sure it was loaded, took a deep breath to steady his nerves, then went back into the barroom.

  Busy planning how they were going to rob each business on the street, before the next on the list was aware of what was happening, they paid no attention to Squires holding the shotgun until he spoke.

  “It’s time for you three to leave my saloon,” he announced, catching them by surprise as he had expected.

  “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” Wick replied.

  “I’m talkin’ about the three of you sittin’ around here all afternoon, drinkin’ my whiskey and ain’t paying a penny for it. You’ve run off all my regular customers tonight, so I’m tellin’ you to get out, plain and simple.”

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” Wick started, frankly astonished. He hadn’t figured the man had it in him. “And what if we don’t, Squires?” he asked calmly. “You gonna shoot us?”

  “If I have to,” Squires answered.

  “I’m right sorry to hear you say that. We was just talkin’ about how much we appreciated the hospitality you was showin’ us. Weren’t we, boys?” Wick glanced at Blackie and winked, causing Blackie to smile, for he knew what Wick had in mind.

  “We was even plannin’ on rentin’ a couple of those rooms upstairs,” Wick continued. “But if we ain’t welcome, I reckon we’ll have to get out.” He got up from his chair. “Let’s go, boys. Just don’t crowd me.”

  His mind gripped by anxiety for the task he had set himself, Squires found the remark an odd thing to say. Too late he realized the three outlaws were purposely spacing themselves apart while taking their time heading for the door. Finding it difficult to cover all three, he started shifting his aim from one of them to the other in a panic.

  “Squires!” Wick suddenly yelled, and the saloon owner swung his shotgun around to aim at him.

  It was plenty of time for Blackie to draw his Colt and send a .45 slug into Squires’ chest. It was followed a second later by a shot from Red that tore into Squires’ gut. He was already dead when his finger squeezed the trigger and sent a load of buckshot through the front window.

  “Hot damn!” Red sang out. “I felt the wind of them buckshot when it flew between us.”

  “So did I.” Wick laughed. “He damn-near got one of us after he was dead.” He walked over to stare down at the body, then he shifted his gaze to the kitchen door, his gun in hand. From his brief acquaintance with Gussie Beatie, he half expected the cantankerous cook to come through the door with a gun in her hand. When she did not, he told Red to look in the kitchen for her.

  In a minute, Red came back and reported that the kitchen was empty. “She musta run when she heard the shootin’,” he surmised. “But at least she didn’t run off with the stew pot,” he added with a grin.

  “Ain’t no doubt everybody heard the shots,” Wick said, “so I reckon we can get ready for the sheriff’s visit pretty quick now. Red, throw the lock on the kitchen door. I’ll make sure the bar is on that hallway door in the back. Then I reckon we’ll just set back and wait for Sheriff Kelly to make a call.”

  “That’s right,” Blackie said. “It’s gettin’ along about sundown, time for him to run me and Red outta town.” That brought a laugh from his two partners. “I think I’ll dip me out a bowl of that stew Gussie left on the stove. We might get busy later.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Red decided. “I think I’ll join you.”

  The incident was taking on the air of a wild party. The presence of the body sprawled on the barroom floor added to the fun.

  “How ’bout it, Wick?”

  “I’m gonna see how much money ol’ Squires left in the till for us,” Wick answered. “He’s most likely got his big money hid somewhere in this place. I ain’t seen no safe.”

  “You want me to throw that bar on the front door?” Blackie asked.

  “No,” Wick answered. “We ain’t gonna lock the door. I want that sheriff to feel welcome to walk right in.”

  “What are we gonna do about the horses?” Red asked. “We need to take ’em to the stable if we’re gonna hole up here.”

  “We will,” Wick said, “but right now we need to wait to see what the sheriff’s gonna do about the shootin’. After we t
ake care of him, we’ll do whatever the hell we wanna do.”

  * * *

  Sheriff Marvin Kelly sat at his desk in the cramped two-room building that served as Blue Creek’s sheriff’s office and jail. In his early thirties, he had taken on the job in the fledgling farming settlement mainly because there seemed no likelihood of any real trouble for a law officer. Drifters, cowhands whooping it up at the completion of a cattle drive, and outlaws of all kinds would be attracted to Ogallala, over thirty miles away. Until today, that had proven true.

  He looked at the clock on the wall, which seemed to be hurrying toward sundown. He got up from his desk and went over to the door to take a look at the setting sun, knowing he was going to have to see if his orders to the two drifters had been obeyed. About to open the door, he stopped short when he heard the shots. Two revolver shots, he thought, and one shotgun. He jerked the door open to discover Gussie Beatie running toward him.

  “Gussie!” he exclaimed. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “I’m afraid they mighta shot Jim!” she cried out. “He was gonna run ’em out of the saloon, so he sent me to get you. I just heard shots!”

  “Who’s in the saloon?” Kelly asked. “Is it the same three drifters that were here? All three?” he repeated, knowing the answer before she nodded excitedly. The two he had ordered out of the general store had not left town as he had told them. He looked down the street and saw three horses still tied at the rail in front of the saloon.

  “It’s the same three,” Gussie said. “Whaddaya gonna do?”

  “I reckon I’ll go down there and order ’em out of there. Maybe you better stay here.” He stepped back inside to get his shotgun, wishing like hell that he had been out of town, hunting or fishing, but knowing he had to go. It was a matter of pride at that point.

  * * *

  Perley was feeding Buck a portion of oats when he heard the shots from the saloon.

  A few minutes later, Frank Mosely walked in from the barn. “Did you hear those shots?” When Perley said he had, Mosely said, “Sounded like they came from the saloon.”

  They walked outside the stable and looked toward the saloon. Already a few people were gathered across the street from it, also curious to see the cause. Perley saw the sheriff walking toward the saloon, carrying a shotgun. He didn’t have to be told who was causing the trouble.

  “It was just a matter of time,” Mosely said. “Those three jaspers spelled trouble as soon as they hit town.”

  “I don’t know what the sheriff’s gonna do,” Perley commented. “But if he’s fixin’ to take those three on, he’d best deputize a couple of fellows to help him.”

  “Come on,” Mosely said. “We can’t see what’s goin’ on from here at the stable.” He didn’t wait for Perley and headed up the street at a trot.

  Perley caught up with him after a few yards. “Are you one of his deputies?”

  “Hell, no,” Mosely answered. “I just wanna see what’s happenin’.”

  They arrived to stand with the other spectators a few seconds after the sheriff arrived at the front of the saloon and in time to hear Kelly’s ultimatum.

  Standing by the three horses at the hitching rail, Kelly shouted to the three inside. “All right, in there. You were told to get outta Blue Creek, so it’s time for you to leave. Come on outta there with your hands up.”

  “I’ll tell you what, Sheriff,” a voice came back. “Why don’t you come in and get us?”

  Kelly hesitated, not knowing what to do. He stepped closer to the horses tied at the rail, thinking that they might not take a chance on hitting their horses should they suddenly open fire. “Is Jim Squires in there?”

  “Yeah, Jim’s in here,” the jeering voice answered.

  “Well, let him walk out here. You got no reason to hold him in there.”

  “Jim don’t look like he could do much walkin’ right now,” Blackie answered. “But if he can get up and walk out, we won’t try to stop him.” His words were followed by the sound of chuckling from Blackie and Red.

  “Or you can come in and get him,” Wick said.

  Leonard Porter stepped up close to the sheriff. “Whaddaya gonna do? They’ve done shot Jim.”

  Kelly clearly didn’t know what to do. To walk into the saloon would be certain death. “I don’t know,” he confessed while he tried to think of any option left to him. “I’m gonna need some help from some of you fellows if we’re gonna get ’em outta there.”

  “If you’re thinkin’ about walkin’ in there to arrest ’em, you can count me out,” Porter said. “I ain’t walkin’ in there. That’s just what they want you to do.”

  “Maybe we could get in the back door. How ’bout it, Frank?” Kelly said, looking at Mosely.

  Mosely quickly let him know where he stood. “They can stay in there till the place falls down, as far as I’m concerned. It sounds to me like Jim Squires is dead, so there ain’t nothin’ we can do for him now. And I sure as hell ain’t plannin’ to join him.”

  Porter was quick to agree with him. “Leonard’s right. Come to think of it, we ain’t too smart, standin’ around here. They might start pickin’ us off anytime now.”

  “You might be right,” Kelly said. “Maybe we’d best back up and take cover behind your forge.” He moved toward the forge.

  Immediately, the spectators also retreated across the street, seeking protection behind the blacksmith’s forge and workshop.

  All except one.

  As anxious as the other gawkers, Perley watched the standoff, too, but when the others backed away, he calmly stepped up to the hitching rail and untied the three horses. Taking the reins of all three, he led them away from the rail and walked them down to the stables. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to have something for the sheriff to bargain with.

  “What the hell’s he doin’?” Kelly blurted.

  Inside the saloon, the same question occurred when Red Johnson, peeking out the corner of the broken window, announced, “He took our horses!” He turned to Blackie and Wick. “That crazy bastard with the red bandanna just walked away with our horses!”

  It occurred to all three at that moment that they hadn’t thought about their horses.

  “I shoulda shot the son of a bitch, but I didn’t know what he was doin’ till after he did it,” Red complained.

  After a short pause, Wick commented, “It ain’t gonna do ’em no good. When we’re ready to leave, we’ll just take our horses, same as we’re gonna take everything else we want.”

  “What’s to keep ’em from surroundin’ the saloon and waitin’ for us to come out, then shoot us comin’ out the door?” Blackie asked.

  “There’s enough food and stuff in here to last a good while,” Wick said. “There ain’t enough men in this little town to stand guard on this place for very long. As long as we sit tight, there ain’t nobody gonna try to come in and get us. It don’t matter ’bout the horses. We was gonna put them in the stable, anyway.”

  “What if they decide to burn us out?” Red wondered. “We could come out shootin’, but without our horses out front, we’d have to run down the street to the stable. Everybody with a rifle would be shootin’ at us.”

  “They ain’t gonna wanna burn the saloon down,” Wick said. Even when he said it, he wasn’t sure they wouldn’t. After all, the owner of the saloon was lying dead on the barroom floor. It was becoming painfully clear to him that his plan might not be as smart as he had first thought. It also occurred to him that one of the three of them would have to stand guard every night, as well. He wished that they had ridden in, struck the saloon and the general store, and ridden out again. He couldn’t admit his error to his two partners, however.

  Across the street, Sheriff Kelly was still pleading for recruits to help him set up a guard around the saloon. When Perley returned from the stable, Kelly approached him. “What the hell were you thinkin’ when you took their horses? You mighta got yourself shot.”

  Perley shrugged. “I recko
n if the shooting was to start, I just didn’t want those horses to get shot.”

  “I’m needin’ men to keep a constant guard on the front and back of the saloon,” Kelly said. “Can I count on your help?” He knew Perley was just passing through town, but if he was dumb enough to walk up to the rail and take their horses, he might agree to help out.

  “I reckon,” Perley answered. “Seems to me those fellows holed up in there have got as big a problem as you have, though. We can’t get in, but they can’t get out. If I was you, I’d offer to give ’em back their horses if they agreed to ride on outta town and not come back.”

  “I can’t do that,” Kelly replied at once. “They’ve killed Jim Squires. I can’t just let ’em go.”

  “I never said you should let ’em go,” Perley said. “I said you could tell ’em you would. There ain’t no sin in tellin’ a lie if it’s in a good cause.”

  “We’re talkin’ about three pretty mean gunmen,” Kelly insisted. “They ain’t likely to surrender peacefully. Somebody’s liable to get shot.”

  “How ’bout if I can fix it so you and I can handle the arrest without endangerin’ any of the town’s citizens?”

  “How you gonna do that?” Kelly was desperate enough to listen to any solution for his problem.

  “First, you gotta tell ’em you’ll give ’em their horses back and won’t try to stop ’em if they’ll agree not to shoot anybody else and just ride outta town.” Perley went on to explain his plan in detail, and when he was finished, Kelly was not absolutely convinced it would work.

  “Well, that’s the best I can come up with,” Perley concluded. “You got any ideas?”

  “No, I reckon not,” Kelly confessed. “Let’s give her a try.” He turned to the spectators hiding behind every solid object they could find in Porter’s shop. “Folks, you’re gonna have to get on up the street now, toward Leonard Spence’s store. There’s liable to be some shootin’ and I don’t want nobody else hurt.”

  One by one, they started to back away, not willing to chance getting shot, but still wanting to witness the standoff.