by Tony Masero
‘It’s just a word, Belle. You don’t owe me nothing, I just have a quiet word with the man. What’s that cost? A minute of my time, is all.’
‘Well,’ she said doubtfully. ‘If that’s all it is. We don’t want any more bloodbaths here; town council’s calling on a State Marshal to make an appearance as it is. Lord knows why, I guess it give the business folk a sense of security to have some regular law come calling now and then.’
‘I guess,’ agreed Kirby. ‘It’s a mining town with a lot of gold passing through to the Reserve and the State Governor’s got to take an interest at some time.’
She nodded, ‘There’s some talk of the gold playing out now though. Just whispers, you know? But its out there.’
‘Really? Well, once it’s gone this town’ll close down quicker than a lightning bug on a dry day. Hope you’re prepared for that?’
Belle sighed, ‘Tell the truth I haven’t had much time to consider more than keeping this place going. Ma’s sickly too, she never really got over Tim’s passing and the lady’s at an age where things like that strike hard.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Kirby frowned. ‘She’s a game old gal.’
‘The best, always ready with a good word and commonsense. I’ll miss her when she’s gone.’
Kirby sniffed and there was a long moment of silence as the two of them found little else to say to each other.
‘Well then,’ Kirby said finally. ‘I’d best be on my way. I’ll speak to Bellows but watch out for those Lemon brothers. You take care now, Belle.’
‘I will and thanks again Kirby.’
It is hard to assess a man like Kirby Langstrom. A fellow of variable attributes, the least of which was a devotion to Belle Slaughter. He was in love with her of course, but in keeping with his normal restraint he felt unable to make more than the mildest of approaches. She was to him an admirable creature and not just for her obvious good looks but also more for the deeper qualities he recognized with an instinctive knowledge. He had meant every word he said to her on the day he had encouraged her from the despair she felt over Aloysius’s death. Even though he was fully aware of what a wretched man the gambler had been he knew that Belle doted on his memory and felt intuitively it was impolitic to bring the name into disrepute. In this he was wise.
As he walked the Main Street in the direction of Joe Bellow’s saloon, he pondered on his affection and how, despite his free and easy lifestyle he should feel so close to the woman. To Kirby, it was as if they had known each other all their lives, as if they were as close as siblings, even though his desire was far from such a state. He knew she saw him as little more than a friend and the closest he could ever hope for was that she would at least see him in some fraternal light.
But as was his nature, he accepted the state of affairs as it existed and would let the future take care of itself. He knew he was committed to Belle and that was all there was to it. He would defend her with his life whatever might come. What more could a common cowboy expect?
The Cakewalk was a rather dowdy looking wooden structure with a false front in plain wood and a painted blue sign on the building that was beginning to fade in the sun and weather. He stepped up onto the boardwalk and pushed open the glass-paneled door, the checkers of blue and white colored diamond-shaped panes rattling in complaint a he did so.
It was quiet inside, a few idle drinkers, all men of lower order who sat at solitary tables either alone with noses buried in their glasses or together in hushed conversation. Some slept, heads in folded arms on the tabletops. The bartender sat at one end of the bar reading a newspaper and swatting at flies with a rolled section of the obituaries.
The room was a dark place, the one street window half covered by a brass-railed curtain overshadowing the room and allowing only a little light to enter. A gloomy place and representative of the lack of custom and failure of revenue, not at all like the bright and lively interior of The-Get-Up-and-Go.
‘Bellows here?’ Kirby asked the barman.
The fellow looked up disinterestedly, ‘He’s out back.’ He jerked his head in the direction of a curtained section behind him and Kirby moved to pull back the curtain. ‘Best tread easy,’ warned the bartender. ‘He ain’t in the best of moods these days.’
Kirby found himself in a narrow corridor with a single door facing him. He knocked.
‘What!’ came the irritated call from inside.
With a hand over his pistol butt, Kirby eased the door open.
Joe sat behind his desk facing he door in a small office space. Crates of whiskey surrounded him and a Mexican saloon girl leaned against one of the stacks to one side. She was smoking a hand rolled cigarette and looked at Kirby through the lazy coils of smoke.
Joe shifted his bulk and studied Kirby through reptilian eyes, ‘What do you want?’ he asked.
The pervading smell of lavender was present in the room and its strength almost caused Kirby to gag.
‘You have to wear that?’ he asked.
‘What?’ said Joe, looking down the length of his immaculate gray suit and frowning.
‘That stink you lay on you,’ said Kirby. ‘Smells like a whole damned whorehouse in here.’
‘I think it is nice,’ said the bar girl, elbowing herself away from the crates.
Both men’s eyes travelled over to her and she smirked, placing her hands on her hips and jutting her small breasts forward provocatively, the cigarette hanging limp from her lips. She was a stick-thin, dark haired woman, with unwarranted confidence in her charms and she held her chin up in proud demonstration of this belief.
‘You want to leave us alone, Conchita,’ said Joe quietly. ‘I guess Mister Langstrom and I have business to discuss.’
‘Okay, querida. I see you later, no?’
‘Later, yes,’ Joe agreed.
The girl brushed past Kirby giving him a sidelong glance that was intended to be seductive but was only met by a stony gaze in reply.
‘Don’t appeal, huh?’ said Joe, working on his teeth with a fingernail as he watched Kirby ignore the girl. ‘Got to agree she don’t come a patch on Belle Slaughter.’
Kirby came into the room and heeled the door closed behind him. ‘I want to talk to you about that.’
Joe pouted, ‘What’s to say? I made my play and lost the hand. It’s under the bridge now.’
Kirby shook his head, ‘I heard about the Lemon boys.’
Joe shrugged, ‘Don’t mean nothing to me; I had to let them know their brother was dead. That’s all there is to it.’
‘You’ve got them on their way here; so don’t play games with me, Joe. I’m telling you to leave The-Get-Up-and-Go alone.’
‘You’re telling me?’ Joe observed calmly. ‘And what makes you so interested? They paying you, is that it? Or perhaps you’re getting your way in the lady’s panties.’
‘Don’t go there,’ Kirby warned icily.
‘I’ve been trying to find out about you,’ Joe said, changing tack.
‘And?’
‘Not much really, kinda strange really. There’s talk of the Stebbings Gang of train robbers taken down in Omaha and a fellow looked like you was there at the time. A lynch mob pulled up by a lone gun in Utah. Both descriptions fit but nothing is certain. What are you? Some kind of law.’
‘Tell you what I am if you don’t listen to me, I’m your worst nightmare.’
‘I don’t faze so easy,’ said Joe with a hard look at Kirby. ‘I guess you’re law of some kind or other and if you ain’t you’re a crazy vigilante type. But when it comes down to it, Langstrom. You’re just one man and you bleed like everybody else.’
Kirby stared at him, ‘You bring those Lemon boys in here to do harm and there’ll be some blood alright and it won’t be mine.’
‘We’ve got the regular law coming here,’ said Joe, leaning forward and smiling. ‘Marshal’s coming. Lomas Bell, you heard of him? He ain’t the type to let things slide, you step out of line and that’s one old boy who’ll follo
w you to the ends of the earth if need be.’
‘So how does that profit you? You’re the one pushing the limit here.’
‘Me?’ said Joe, spreading innocent hands. ‘I’m just a plain old businessman. It wasn’t me that shot down a sheriff and two deputies in a barroom brawl.’
‘Jesse Lee weren’t no legally elected sheriff. He was a stiff set up by you and your pocket town council, so don’t try that one.’
Joe shrugged, ‘Might be the law sees it different. All depends on the slant you put on it.’
‘Okay,’ sighed Kirby, tiring of he word play. ‘I see you ain’t about to let it be. Remember. You was warned.’
‘Get the hell out of here, you punk-assed pistolero,’ snarled Joe. ‘Day I run from the likes of you I might as well kiss my self respect goodbye.’
Kirby had his hand on the handle and he pulled the door open stepping out backwards and keeping his eye on Joe. ‘Be more than your self respect you’ll be waving goodbye to you cross me.’
‘You got me shaking in my shoes,’ sneered Joe. He heaved himself up from behind his desk and glared at Joe and for once his normal quiet voice was raised. ‘Run along back to your piece of fancy and tell her I’m coming and this time it won’t be over so easy.’
Kirby backed into the gloom of the corridor until he was only a black outline in the shadows. ‘Be seeing you soon, Joe,’ was all he said.
Belle was seated beside Ma’s bedside.
The old lady was fading fast and she seemed strangely small and vulnerable under the bedclothes. Belle took her hand and felt the bones below rising from the thin mottled skin; it was as if she held a small bird in her hand.
‘You there, Belle?’ the old lady asked, coming out from a doze.
‘I’m here, Ma.’
‘You’re a good girl. Lord, don’t know why I feel so tired these days. You tell Tim I’ll be down shortly.’
Belle lowered her head and Ma looked at her sharply for a moment. ‘Ach! Damn it,’ she spat. ‘I plumb forgot. He ain’t down there, is he? Poor boy’s gone on ahead. Well, guess we’ll be seeing each other again other soon enough.’ She sighed and looked vaguely up at the ceiling.
It touched Belle to see the once lively old girl come to this, natural as it was, she had great affection for Ma and was sorry to see her fading so.
‘Oh, yeah,’ Ma sparked up suddenly. ‘I got something to tell you.’
Belle looked at her attentively.
‘This place,’ Ma went on. ‘I had the lawyer come by. It’s signed over to you now Belle, you been like a daughter to me and I want you to have something on my leaving. I got a few trinkets too, some bits of jewelry; they ain’t much but they’re for you to have.’
Belle cocked her head to one side and looked at the old woman fondly. ‘That’s sweet, Ma. I’m real grateful, thank you.’
‘One other thing,’ said Ma. ‘And you pay heed to this.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That young fella, that Kirby boy. He’s a good one, Belle. He’s got heart and he’s bold and courageous. I want you to look on him kindly.’
‘But I already do, Ma.’
‘No,’ she shook her head, a slight movement of her wrinkled head on the pillow. ‘I don’t just mean in a regular way. You need a man, Belle. Someone strong and loving and he’s the one.’
‘Well,’ smiled Belle dismissively. ‘I’ll think on it.’
‘Now you got to do more than that. I know you’ve got your heart still set on that gambling man but he’s dead and gone now. You can’t hang onto that memory so hard, or it’ll take you to the grave along with him.’
Belle sighed and her eyes glazed over, ‘I do so still miss him, Ma.’
‘I know that, child,’ Ma said sympathetically. ‘But life’s awaiting you yet. You’re still young. There’s children to come and tomorrow’s to make.’
‘I don’t know, Ma. I don’t feel that way inclined just now. We’ve got a business to run and the thought of a man doesn’t interest me.’
Ma frowned, a touch of anger flashing in her fading eyes.
‘The hell you say!’ she snapped. ‘Don’t go giving me that whimpering tongue, Belle Slaughter. You’re a healthy, good looking woman and its your place to populate this world with fine sons that look just like you.’
Belle laughed out loud, ‘Why, Ma, I reckon you want some grandkids running around. Is that what this is? You got a hankering for little ones to pet and fuss over?’
Ma lay back her head on the pillow, ‘It sure would have been nice,’ she sighed. ‘But I reckon I won’t see that now.’
‘Come on, Ma,’ Belle encouraged. ‘You’ll be up and running around soon enough once you’re over this fever.’
‘No, girl. My time is coming. It’s right too, my string’s run out and I had me a good life, I can’t complain. But you hear what I say, Belle, you look to Kirby, he’s the one for you.’
Belle heard her but it was as if she were talking to somebody else, a stranger. Her mind was still too full of Aloysius to even consider someone the likes of Kirby Langstrom, a common cowpoke and gunman. She nodded as if in compliance to keep the old woman happy, then stood up and straightened her dress.
‘Well, I guess I’d better be getting on, there’s the bar and the girl’s to get ready and I think that Mex guitarist has been off on the razzle again.’
‘You look lovely,’ said Ma, her tearful eyes gazing at Belle with affection.
‘Rest up, Ma,’ said Belle, leaning over and patting her small hand where it lay on the sheet. ‘I’ll be back up as soon as I get a moment.’
‘Okay,’ whispered Ma. ‘Goodbye, girl.’
It was the last time Belle was to see Ma Leatherbetter alive. She went peacefully in her sleep, her passing unnoticed as the bar below filled up with noisy drinkers and the hung-over Mexican guitarist struck up the first chords on his guitar.
Chapter Seven
Both the Lemon Brothers and Marshal Lomas Bell arrived in town at the same time.
They came in from different directions and on separate transport.
Cain and Malachi rode up on horseback to The Cakewalk and went to see Joe Bellows right away whilst Lomas Bell stepped down from the midday stage and looked around to get his bearings.
He was a tall, keen-eyed man dressed in a long-tailed pale cream jacket and sported a drooping white mustache that hung down each side of his mouth. He moved with a slow, patient elegance and was obviously naturally confident and comfortable with wherever he found himself.
He laid his small leather hold all down on the boardwalk outside the stage line office and looked along the busy street. He noted the two brothers, both big men and heavily bearded as they dismounted outside The Cakewalk, before he turned away and called up to the stage driver.
‘You know where I can find lodgings here?’ he asked.
The driver leaned over and saw the glint of the marshal’s badge showing on his vest under his jacket lapel.
‘Hotel’s down there, or you can try the saloons or I do believe there’s couple that let out rooms over yonder,’ he poked a thumb in the direction.
‘Obliged,’ said Lomas, looking off in the direction the driver pointed. On one side of the street ahead Lomas saw the extravagant sign for The-Get-Up-and-Go and his eyes narrowed. Picking up the bag he set off down the street.
Cain was the talker, his brother Malachi the solemn and silent one. They trooped into the bar of The Cakewalk, dragging their spurs and immediately filling the gloomy place with their ominous presence. Both large men, standing well above six foot they towered over the bartender who looked at them with a show of consternation.
‘Help you gentlemen?’ he asked nervously.
‘A bottle,’ said Cain. ‘And tell Bellows we want to see him.’
The barman hurried to oblige them and then ran into the back room to fetch Joe as the two men cracked the bottle open and poured themselves liberal helpings.
‘Boys!’ said Joe, beam
ing as he came out from his office. ‘Good to see you.’ He lowered his gaze and took on a remorseful attitude. ‘So sorry for your loss, fellows. Bolt was a good man.’
‘You see him laid out decent?’ asked Cain.
‘I did,’ said Joe. ‘He had the best, proper casket and I had the undertaker bear him along in the hearse all right and proper. Black horses and them mourning feathers on the side, it was a sight to see.’
Cain sniffed and threw back a shot. ‘Good,’ he said.
‘You boys got a place? You’re welcome to stay here if you fancy.’
‘We’ll do that,’ said Cain.
Joe studied the baleful Malachi who stared back at him remorsefully with a blank expression.
‘How about eats?’ asked Joe. ‘You need a meal after your trip?’
‘We’ll pay our respects first,’ said Cain. ‘Bolt was the youngest and his Ma wouldn’t forgive us we didn’t see him on his way.’
‘Is the good lady coming too?’
‘Nah, she passed over already but she’s there watching over us, ain’t she, Malachi?’
The bear-like Malachi harrumphed an indistinguishable answer.
‘Tell us about this fellow who gunned down our youngster?’ Cain asked.
‘He’s a drifter,’ said Joe. ‘Sometimes he’s here and sometimes he ain’t. I tried to find out about him but its like trying to trace a will o’ the wisp. I can’t nail him down definite. Goes by the name of Kirby Langstrom.’
‘He here now?’
Joe shook his head, ‘Nope, don’t think so but he’ll turn up.’
‘You tell us when he does.’
‘Oh, I will. You can count on it.’
Lomas Bell pushed open the swing doors and stood a moment studying the interior. The place was mostly empty it being not much past midday and Lomas looked over at Belle standing behind the bar. She was polishing glasses and she looked up as the swing doors swung shut behind the Marshal.
‘Morning,’ she called. ‘You want something?’
Lomas took an appreciative look at her and lifted his wide-brimmed white hat in salute. She did indeed look a picture; the sunlight from a high window had caught her in a beam and her golden hair shone brilliantly in the light like a glowing halo.
