‘You got a by-God close mouth,’ he said through his two teeth.
Sam Spur swallowed a mite and said, ‘I can’t return that compliment.’
Nick drew his breath in noisily.
The big man stood up hastily, knocking his chair over backwards.
‘Jesus!’ he said.
The stranger was still, head lowered, eyes gazing up at the man towering above him six foot away.
‘You done forgot your civility, mister,’ the big man said.
Spur asked him softly, ‘Since when was it good manners to question a stranger?’
The big man struggled to get enough air into him to satisfy some terrible hunger. He opened his mouth and gulped.
The sheriff got hastily to his feet and said, ‘Now wait a minute, Mr. Smelling. No call to …’
The big man said without looking at the lawman, ‘You keep your goddam sniffin’ nose outa this.’
The door opened and a little man ran in. He went up to the table and leaned forward on it, resting on both hands, his rabbit face was eager.
‘Say,’ he wheezed out breathlessly, ‘you heard the news?’
Everybody turned, including the big man, Smelling.
‘What news?’ Smelling asked. It was obvious that when there were questions to be asked in his vicinity, he asked them.
‘Parson Garret’s daid. Drygulched. They got him down to Jed Masters.’
Smelling forgot the stranger. He got himself towards the little man and roared out phlegmily, ‘What in hell’re you talkin’ about?’
‘Sam Spur!’ the little man yelped out.
The big man stopped as if he’d walked into a brick wall. His face seemed to drop about a foot or two.
‘Sam Spur,’ he wondered.
‘He done it. Waited in the dark for the parson and shot him outa the saddle in cold blood. I had it from Ely hisself. He come down…’
‘Sam Spur,’ the big man said with gargantuan softness. He came slowly around and put his small eyes on the stranger.
Looking up at him, Spur thought, Here’s another of them. Every town you come to, there’s one of them waiting for you. Like they want you to be a murderer again and again. The deadly bitterness dropped over him coldly so he was almost frightened of himself, scared by the necessities of the life that somehow he had chosen for himself.
‘By God,’ Smelling said, ‘I knewed I’d seen you-all someplace afore. You’re Spur.’
Every man went stiff. One made a quick movement, either for his gun or the door, thought better of it and sat still, holding his breath. Again every eye was on the stranger.
Nick looked sick behind his counter. The woman put her head through the doorway and looked at Spur. She went to jerk back again, but she didn’t. The flies buzzed.
‘That’s my name,’ Spur said.
The big man spoke to the sheriff, the rage in him making his voice shudder with disbelief.
‘You mean you brought that man in here, knowing he killed the parson. You bring this murderin’ bastard in here—?’
‘Now hold hard, Smelling…’
‘How goddam stupid can you git?’
‘Hold your horses, Smelling—I’m telling you. This man come in and surrendered himself.’
‘I came in,’ Spur corrected, ‘and brought the body of the man who attacked me out on the trail. I didn’t know he was a parson. Wouldn’t have done now, but what’s been said. I’ve not surrendered to anybody.’
‘Now, Mr. Spur…’
One of the men at the table got to his feet and went backwards till he was up against the wall.
Nick said, ‘Jesus God, the parson was a good man. This man don’t come in here an’ eat my good food…’
‘Why ain’t he in jail?’ Smelling demanded.
That was quite a question. The sheriff knew the answer like he knew the answer to a whole lot of things, but he didn’t air them around town. A man had to be practical.
‘He’ll go to jail,’ he said in as firm a voice as he could find, ‘just as soon as I’m good and ready. Just because a man says he’s killed another man, that don’t mean to say it’s so. Not by a damn sight.’
The big man said, ‘Aaaaah!’ in profound disgust.
‘Where’d you say you killed this parson?’ he demanded.
‘I didn’t say. And I don’t rightly know. I camped in the dark. He shot me up. No reason I could tell. I yelled out, but he kept coming. I guess I’d druther he died than me.’
Smelling snapped, ‘Maybe we wouldn’t.’
‘That’s your privilege. Now you’ve done a considerable amount of talking, friend. Make it good or back up. I’ve a steak coming and I aim to eat it peaceable.’
‘Why, you goddam cheap gunny, you come into my town—’
‘This is an American town. It don’t belong to you or any other one man. Cut the verbal flow and pull your iron if you’re so minded. Just bear in mind, when I draw mine, I kill you.’
The man hadn’t moved from his easy slouch at the table, hadn’t moved his gun into a more convenient position, but left it out of sight over his right buttock.
Smelling seemed to be reared up over him, poised, momentarily inanimate. Every man there seemed in that moment to be as lifeless; assessing this man in front of them, realizing that he meant what he said. This was no bluff, but the real thing. You didn’t often meet it, but now you did. And it gave you a queer feeling in your belly, knowing you’d come up against something you’ll always doubted existed.
‘No trouble here,’ the sheriff said.
‘It’s here,’ Spur said. ‘It’s been here ever since this blowhard’s been in town. Get out of that door, Smelling, and when you’re outside keep off the streets when I’m on them. Move.’
The woman licked her dry lips and whispered across the counter to Spur, ‘Kill the pig, mister.’
If Smelling heard that, he gave no sign.
‘I don’t have to take this,’ he said in a hushed voice.
Spur stood up and Smelling jumped a little, taking an involuntary step backwards.
‘You take it. Move before I get mad.’
The big man wiped his face with the back of his hand, saying, ‘I’m no gun-hand. You know damn well I wouldn’t stand a chance if I made a try. But this ain’t all, I’ll come up with you again and then you won’t—’
Spur said, ‘Git,’ and his tone had altered. His face had too; the ugly bleakness showed the cold rage that possessed him. The big man started going backwards, feeling for the latch of the door behind him, finding it and letting himself out into the street. For a moment, he stared through the glass at Spur, then turned and disappeared abruptly out of the light into the darkness of the street.
‘Whyn’t you kill him, lover?’ the woman asked, but Spur ignored her.
‘All of you out,’ he said. ‘Sheriff, you stay.’
The lawman looked as though he would liked to have gone out with the others, but he sat down on the edge of a chair and nervously watched Spur.
The gunman sat down again and said to the woman, ‘How’s that steak a-coming, ma’am?’
She hurried into the kitchen.
Nick wiped his face on the dirty rag and made it considerably wetter.
When she brought him his steak, Sam got straight into it, saying with his mouth full, ‘Another coffee for the sheriff. He looks kind of cold.’ They brought the sheriff coffee.
When he was halfway through his steak, he asked, ‘When you sent Ely to the undertakers, what message did you give him?’
The sheriff set his cup down in the saucer with a clatter, slopping some of the deep amber liquid on the table. He looked a pretty sick man as Spur went on eating.
‘I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.’
‘Ma’am,’ Spur said, ‘do me the favor of stepping out on to the street and telling me what you see.’
Nick said quickly, ‘Stay where you are. Keep outa this.’
Spur put his knife down and looked around at the Greek.
‘You want your head busted open, mister, you go right on talking. Go ahead, ma’am.’
The woman gave Nick a look that contained some defiance and a good deal of fear too. She stepped past him hastily as if she were afraid he’d stop her, but she made the door and stepped out on to the street. Spur looked at the sheriff and smiled. His somber face lit.
‘You put yourself right atop a powder keg,’ he said conversationally. ‘Could be you’ve lit the fuse. Maybe you’d best put it out.’
The sheriff smirked faintly.
‘You sitting right here with me.’
Spur smiled back amiably and said, ‘I’ve been getting on and off powder kegs most of my life. You’ve been living soft. You’d best make your moves good.’
The woman came back in. The three of them turned and watched her. She was excited. She flicked a look at Nick and said, ‘There’re men on the sidewalk with guns.’
‘Left or right of the door?’ Spur asked.
‘Left.’
‘Any more?’
‘Two-three by the bank. Another bunch over by the feed store.’
‘I’d be beholden if you take a look out back, ma’am.’
This time she looked defiantly at Nick and said, ‘Sure.’
They sat still, listening to the flies and the burr of the uncleaned lamps, straining their hearing for any sound from the street, the sheriff praying one of those damn fools wouldn’t do anything foolhardy.
When the woman returned she said, ‘I can’t see nobody out back.’
Spur said, ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Spur finished his steak. He did that to make his impression on the sheriff. He didn’t want any slip ups. Anything went wrong and men would be dying. Enough men had died by his gun already.
When he stood up, the sheriff flinched. Spur felt a little sorry for him—it wasn’t a comfortable position for even a brave man to be in.
‘We’ll go through the rear,’ Spur said. ‘Nick, you raise a yell and I’ll come back before long and plant you. Hear?’
‘Yeah,’ Nick whispered.
Spur slapped the sheriff lightly on the shoulder with the back of his hand and said, ‘Let’s go.’
The lawman stood up. He didn’t say anything, because there wasn’t anything to say. His fine mustache had lost some of its spring, his politician’s bounce had evaporated completely. He hesitated, suspecting some treachery. Fascinated, he watched Spur draw his belt-gun and inspect its loads, carefully, unhurried, making sure each nipple was covered by a percussion cap, that every load was full and tight.
Spur made a sign towards the door behind the counter and the sheriff stepped off. His fat shook loosely.
CHAPTER FOUR
When Smelling hit the street, he found that he was sweating and shaking. That was because he was angry, or so he told himself. If he had been an honest man he would have known that he was afraid, still afraid of the man back there in Nick’s. But he wasn’t honest—not even with himself.
He stood for a moment uncertain of which way to go, his mind benumbed by this thing that had happened to him. It was only after the passage of a minute that he became aware of the men on the opposite side of the street alongside the bank. That touched his curiosity. His eyes ran along the buildings and saw more men by the feed store.
A faint sound behind him made him turn his head and he caught the glint of metal on the sidewalk.
For a second or two, the truth didn’t come home to him. When it did, a sudden savage joy took a hold of him. He lurched around and tramped stolidly to the edge of the sidewalk and tried to see into the gloom under the overhang.
‘Who’s there?’
‘Deputy-sheriff, Mr. Smelling.’ The man’s voice was high-pitched with excitement.
‘You know that’s Sam Spur in Nick’s?’
‘That’s why we’re here.’
Smelling nodded his great head, saying, ‘Good, good, good.’ Then he laughed.
A man back in the shadows cried, ‘I’m funny that way. I just can’t get myself to laughin’ over me gittin’ some lead in the gut.’
‘Ely,’ Smelling asked, ‘who’s that you have by the bank?’
‘John Ruskin’s there. Smiley Olsen by the feed store. Good men, the both of them.’
‘Who’s around back?’
‘Nobody.’
Smelling made a low moaning noise of disgust and disapproval.
‘Somebody ought to be out back. You think that Sam Spur’s a green ‘un. My word, Ely, I’m surprised, I surely am.’
‘How about it, Mr. Smelling? Would you go around that way? Take one of the boys with you.’
‘Glad to help. Justice is my watchword.’
Ely said, ‘Bob, how about you goin’ around back with Mr. Smelling, should this hardcase make a break that way?’
‘All right. I don’ mind.’
Smelling drew his pistol and checked the caps with his fingertips and said ‘All set’ when he was ready. He and the man Bob moved off down the street, turned left down an alley and pushed into pitch darkness.
Once, as they went down the alley, feeling the narrow sides now and then with their outstretched hands, Smelling trod on some trash and airtights and nearly went down. He made a lot of noise and added to it with his curses.
‘Hush up for Gawd’s sake, Mr. Smelling,’ Bob said. ‘You want this Spur should hear? We gotta do this careful. We got a real tough grizzly there.’
‘Git on,’ the big man said.
They came out by the loading platform of the saloon called The Lucky Drover and stopped peering through the murk at Nick’s rear door.
‘Should oughta be a moon any minute,’ Bob said raising his eyes to the sky. ‘Jeez, with a moon we could git him real good. Like takin’ candy from a kid.’
The big man didn’t say anything. He found that he had to moisten his lips with his tongue and that his body was still worrying him with its gentle shaking. But for a different reason this time. There was a kind of anguished thirst in him now and he hoped he’d quench it soon.
Aim careful, he told himself. Don’t make a damn fool of yourself. Hit him and keep on hitting him even when he goes over. Make sure. Don’t let up till your gun’s empty.
From further down the street came the sound of an untuned piano; from far out on the plain came the sad note of the coyote’s song.
‘They say,’ the man Bob affirmed, ‘he killed more men than he’s lived years.’
‘Folks exaggerate these things. On’y natural, I guess. Killed five - six maybe. No more. He’s all blowed-up reputation.’
‘Can’t deny he’s a real heller though.’
‘Maybe he is, but he goes down under lead like any other son of a bitch.’
A little doubtfully, but out of politeness Bob said, ‘Yeah, I reckon.’
The moon came out from behind the clouds reluctantly, casting a light that flattered the trash-strewn back lots of the town.
The two men looked at the rear-door of Nick’s place and told themselves that a living man might be walking through it when it opened next, a living man that would soon be a dead one. They were a little awestruck by the power over a human life that they held in their hands.
‘This ain’t no time for singin’ out,’ Bob said. ‘I’m gonna cut down on him and keep goin’ ahead till he’s deader’n last week’s mutton.’
Smelling nodded his head sagely.
‘You got the right idea,’ he said. He was feeling something of his old size now, a big man physically, a big man in local reputation. Some of his arrogance started seeping back into him. Some of the feeling of being a small whipped boy crept away.
He jumped though nearly startled out of his wits when the man beside him gripped him suddenly by the arm and hissed out, ‘Here he comes.’
He noticed then that the light in Nick’s had gone out. The door was moving slightly right enough; slowly, slowly opening.
Lifting his pistol, he cocked it slowl
y with his thumb and the sound of the clicking hammer seemed to fill the whole night.
CHAPTER FIVE
The sheriff walked carefully through the kitchen, through the smell of stale food, left over fried onions and dirty water. The smell was nearly too much for him and he felt the inclination to retch. He heard Spur pacing softly behind him.
When he came to the door, he stopped and Spur said, ‘I’m going to have a look out of the door. My gun’ll be in your belly. Now listen good. I shan’t be looking at you—I’ll be looking outside. But I’ll be listening. You stay very still. I hear anything and I fire. You got that?’
‘Yes,’ the sheriff said in a tiny whisper.
‘My gun won’t be cocked, but don’t get any ideas. I cock a gun fast.’
‘I know. I won’t try anything. You think I’m crazy?’
‘Yeah,’ Spur told him, ‘I think you’re crazy. You’d have to be to start all this.’
He stepped up to the fat man, turned him half around and drove the muzzle of his long Remington pistol into his belly so the foresight disappeared. The wind was driven out of the lawman and he sagged a mite.
Very slowly, Spur opened the door and peered out and saw that the scene was lit by a watery moonlight. He didn’t like that much. The woman could have been wrong, she might have had good reason for lying and there might be guns out there. But he reckoned she’d been telling the truth. He was alive now because of his ability to judge people.
Keeping his gun pressed hard against the fat belly, he moved forward slightly and took a wider view. Everything was still and silent, but he knew that might not mean a thing. He stepped back inside, hefted the sheriff’s gun in his left hand and said, ‘Step out. Slow till I tell you different. Any shooting and you’ll be the first to get hit. Remember that. You see anybody out there like they mean business and you sing out to them. If you want to stay alive.’
‘We’re kind of in this together, Spur,’ the sheriff said. ‘You want to live, so do I. I’ll play it straight—you have my word on it.’
‘Go ahead and let’s see how straight your straight is, mister,’ Spur told him and pushed him lightly into the yard.
The fat man flinched once from the open, but he got a hold of himself and started forward, Spur’s gun with his thumb on the hammer not a couple of feet away from him.
The Gun is my Brother Page 2
