The Kansas Fast Gun

by Arthur Kent

  They made small talk. Frome asked the girl how she liked the town, and she said she liked it. She asked Frome what line of business he was in, and he said cattle, and she said she had lived on a ranch once.

  The waitress arrived and asked Frome what he would like. Frome said, ‘Ask the lady first, please.’

  The girl ordered; Frome said he would have the same; and the waitress left.

  Curly said, ‘Thank you, Mister Frome.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For treating me as a lady.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’ Frome smiled.

  She shrugged. ‘A lot of people don’t think so. No matter how you live, if you’re on the stage... .’

  Frome said, ‘The waitress didn’t mean anything. She knows me. I leave a large tip. Besides, she’s jealous. You’re pretty, Curly.’ He smiled. ‘Very pretty.’

  She lowered her head. She was smiling. ‘You’ve had a little too much to drink. Mister Frome.’

  ‘It’s not that at all,’ Frome said. ‘There’s something about you, Curly ... all of a sudden I’ve forgot my troubles.’

  She said, still smiling, ‘Mike Sturmer was right. I should’ve stayed in my room. This town isn’t safe. I’d better get back to The Drovers... .’

  ‘Without any dinner?’ Frome smiled.

  ‘Oh, I must eat. And I’m sure I’m safe. Mike wouldn’t have agreed otherwise.’

  ‘I’ve known Mike six years,’ Frome said, ‘I’ve never known him to make a mistake. But there’s always a first time.’

  She smiled broadly then. ‘I’ll take that chance, Mister Frome.’

  Frome heard footsteps behind him, but he did not look round. A hand touched his shoulder. He swung, hand sinking to the Colt in the cutaway holster. He saw Sam Justin looking down at him. The sheriff was redheaded, barrel-chested, in his early fifties, but had the capacity for hard-riding and desk work of a much younger man.

  Frome’s hand slid back to the table. ‘You’re the man I’ve been trying to avoid, Sam.’

  ‘It figures,’ Justin said heavily. ‘You’re packing a gun, and you look beaten-up. Don’t tell me a buffalo kicked you in the head.’

  Curly looked from the sheriff to Frome, puzzled, a little anxious.

  ‘Never known you to hit town without calling in to see me,’ Justin said. ‘What’s the matter – guilty conscience? Something happened I ought to know about?’

  He reached for a chair, swung it to face the rancher, sank his big frame on to it. Frome was smiling at him, and he didn’t like that. ‘I see the gun on your belt. Unusual to see you carrying one?’ he prompted.

  ‘We all change, Sam.’

  ‘That’s a fact,’ Justin said flatly. ‘I see Bennett’s changed – back riding for Glinton. Isn’t that odd?’ He saw Frome’s lips tighten slightly. ‘Saw him in Gulick’s this morning, buying rifles for Glinton. I asked myself why Glinton wants all those guns.’

  ‘Did you find an answer?’

  ‘Naturally. But you haven’t told me about those head bruises. Buffalo?’

  Frome said easily, ‘Now, Sam, if I said “buffalo”, you’d say there ain’t any buffalo left in these parts.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect to catch you on a bum trick like that.’ He bent forward. ‘All right, Dave, stop kicking it around. I know what’s going on. I’m just surprised at you, that’s all. You weren’t going to fight Speakman. You wanted to talk it out.’

  ‘Still do,’ said Frome. The waitress arrived with the steak, french fries and onions. After she had left, Frome continued, ‘That’s why I’m in town. I’ll see Speakman in the morning.’

  Justin still looked at Frome. ‘Has it started?’

  ‘Started?’

  ‘Trouble. You know what I mean. Has it started?’

  ‘When I hear of any, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Like hell you will. You’re not packing a rod because it makes you look more masculine.’ He hesitated. ‘Speakman’s in town now. Why wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘I’m having dinner. You ask too many questions.’

  ‘And I don’t get any answers.’

  ‘That’s because you ask the wrong people.’

  ‘Glinton and you fallen out over something?’ Justin pushed at him suddenly. ‘Or have you and Hesta broken off your engagement?’

  ‘Now you’re getting personal, Sam. Hell, making you a lawman hasn’t done you any good, Sam. You’re suspecting trouble under every bush.’

  Justin flushed angrily. ‘I’m expecting trouble, but not from under bushes. Speakman’s brought a pack of gunhawks, but I don’t kid myself they’re here for their health or to knock over our bank. Glinton’s buying guns to furnish an army.’

  ‘So?’ said Frome, slicing at his steak.

  ‘So a warning. If this thing breaks out, there’ll be no favourites. Whoever starts it, collects from me. Whether it’s Speakman, you, or anybody else.’

  Frome said, ‘I always said you were honest, Sam. Shut the door after you, huh?’

  Justin got up, glowered at the rancher a moment, then left angrily without looking back.

  Curly saw that Frome was annoyed because he had quarrelled with the sheriff who was obviously a close friend. She spent the rest of the meal telling the rancher of the funny things that had happened while the touring company were on the road. Frome relaxed and forgot his troubles.

  After the meal, he returned Curly to the saloon. They went in at the side entrance from the alley. Curly stopped at the door, extended her hand through her coat, and said, ‘Thank you, Dave, for a very pleasant hour.’

  Frome took her hand, held it a moment longer than was necessary, and countered, ‘Well, if you enjoyed it, Curly, we must do it again.’

  She frowned. ‘Would that be wise? It’s not my business, but the sheriff said you were engaged ... you know how people talk ... small town.’

  Frome smiled. ‘Not to worry. What harm is there in taking a bite to eat together?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ she said. ‘Meanwhile, I have to be ready for the next show.’

  Frome returned to the bar at the front of the saloon. He was leaning there ten minutes later, when Matt Grape and Dwight Taber, a tall cowpuncher who had worked for Frome, but who now probably worked for the Double Star, came through the batwings. Both riders slapped alkali dust from their clothes, then moved towards Frome.

  Frome ordered them a couple of beers, and nodded. Grape said, ‘Kyle’s plenty sore about the Talbot killing. He got back about an hour after the incident. When he found you’d gone, he took it out on me because I’d given you the gun and got you from the canyon. He tried to fire me. But Glinton put him in his place. Reminded him that the trouble’s with the miners – not with you. Taber and I left shortly after. We went to the Canyon, did the necessary for Wolf, then came on here. It’ll give Kyle time to cool down.’

  Frome said, ‘Was he shaken or just angry?’

  Grape said, ‘Angry. Talbot was a pal of his. Kyle’s no coward. He’ll face you, Dave.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘You might have a wait. Kyle’s been ordered to lay off you. Glinton told him to concentrate on the miners.’

  ‘So – I can wait.’

  There was sarcasm in the ramrod’s reply. ‘Yeah, but where are you going to wait?’

  Frome shrugged. ‘Here’s as good a place as any. I can see Speakman here. If you’re expecting me to ride down miners in the hills... .’ He scowled.

  ‘And if Speakman won’t listen – which he won’t – what’ll your cattle drink?’

  ‘There’s water in the Teap.’

  ‘Won’t be long before that’s copper-contaminated.’

  ‘So,’ Frome grinned, ‘I’ll advertise my stuff as copperplate steaks. And, anyway, I’ve been thinking of another way to get water. Drill wells. Drill down far enough, and you can have a pond in your own back yard.’

  ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’ Grape’s voice softened. ‘You haven’t got a crew left
, Dave, you know that? They’ve joined up with Glinton. Only Long Will’s at the Broken Arrow. But any time you feel like getting tough with Speakman, the boys will come back. You know that, too, don’t you?’

  Frome shrugged. ‘There’s nothing important for a month or two. Only that army contract to fill, and that’s way off. I’ll soon round up a crew to drive that herd.’

  Grape nodded. ‘Could be that everything would’ve been settled by then.’

  Frome unbuckled the shellbelt and held it out to Grape. ‘Thanks for the loan.’

  Grape hesitated. ‘What about Bennett?’

  ‘You said he won’t be making any moves yet. Besides, Gulick’s got Colts for sale.’

  ‘OK.’ Grape buckled on the gun. ‘It’s Glinton’s, anyway.’ He turned to Taber, finished his beer. ‘Well, I guess we’ll be moving. This isn’t our kind of bar.’

  Frome said, ‘I’m heading for the hotel. I need some sleep.’

  They went through the batwings, stood on the sidewalk.

  Grape was embarrassed. Frome said, ‘Forget it, Matt. A hundred bucks says you’ll be back ramrodding for me in a month.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  Frome nodded to Taber, and crossed to the hotel. Grape and the cowpuncher swung left, moving along Main.

  Frome reached the hotel and found the lobby and bar to the left packed. Most of the men bore the stamp of hard case gun-slingers. He reached the reception desk and was told that the room he usually took on the first floor was occupied.

  He took a small coffin-like room on the third floor, and made the long climb. He found it at the end of a dingy corridor at the rear of the hotel.

  He looked at the little room, shrugged, began to undress. He was that tired, he couldn’t care less.

  He locked the door and went to sleep.

  CHAPTER 7

  Frome heard the voice and came awake. The room was still dark with night’s shadows, but dawn was a dirty grey above his window. The voice came again, and he recognized it, and came up on the bed.

  ‘Dave! Dave! Wake-up, Dave!’

  It was Sam Justin, and something in his voice brought Frome awake. ‘What is it, Sam?’

  ‘Bad news. Open up.’

  Frome came off the cot, crossed to the door, unlocked and opened it, a question taking shape on his lips as the sheriff lumbered in.

  ‘Dave, this is pretty bad.’ The sheriff stumbled over the words. ‘Matt Grape and Dwight Taber are dead.’

  It took long seconds to sink in, to believe. ‘What – what are you saying, Sam?’

  Justin smacked his hands together. ‘They didn’t have a chance. It was a massacre.’

  ‘How did it happen?’ Frome said softly. ‘Where?’

  Justin walked to the window. He looked out. He didn’t look back as he talked. ‘About two hours ago ... just as the night spots were closing down ... a bunch of riders, maybe four or five, shot off their handguns at a corner. Nobody wondered about it ... thought they were just letting off steam ... then one of my deputy’s found the bodies. Both had been hit several times ... both were dead ... and neither had had the chance tc get their guns out.’

  Frome went cold. He sank on to the cot. It was something he didn’t want to believe, but that didn’t mean it had not happened. It was a cold fact. No amount of wishing would make it any different. ‘Who did it, Sam?’

  Justin shrugged. ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean – you don’t know? What kind of sheriff are you, anyway. You’re the man who’s supposed to know everything!’

  Justin turned slowly. ‘OK, Dave, kick me if it’ll make you feel any better.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘That’s all right. I’ve been working on it. Got a couple of deputies still working on it. Matt and Taber went to the Pioneer. Spent most of the time there, excepting for a break to catch some food. Spencer, who runs the Pioneer, says the boys kept to themselves. They didn’t talk to anybody other than a couple of cowpokes, and they didn’t quarrel with anybody. Same happened at the eatery. They didn’t argue with anybody. Only cowfolk use the Pioneer’ – Justin looked at Frome sharply – ‘so couldn’t be that they, in some way, annoyed any miners. And, as you’ve already told me, trouble hasn’t started yet.’

  ‘Nobody saw the horsemen?’

  ‘Several people saw the bunch firing off their irons, but they were too far away to recognize them. They didn’t think anything of it. It must’ve been that crowd, though, because that was the only firing heard on that street.’

  Frome bunched his fist. ‘We’ll get the sonsofbitches, Sam. First thing you do, is post a reward. Five thousand dollars just for the names. No “dead or alive” mush. Just the names.’

  ‘OK,’ Justin said. ‘I’m thinking about it, and I don’t see it as an accident. Nor as a grudge shooting. Everybody liked Grape, and Taber was an easy-going guy. And even if they annoyed say a bunch of miners ... well, the shovel-heads are pretty rough, but I doubt if they’d do something foul like this.’

  Frome said, ‘What are you getting at, Sam?’

  ‘Just this. I think somebody’s out to get you. Grape was close to you – very close. I think that in someway this links up with you.’

  Frome didn’t answer. He was thinking about the lynching of Denny Le Roy and Tony Wolf. Was the murder of his two boys the miners’ reply to the Wolf killing?

  Frome reflected, too, that Justin didn’t know about the deaths of Denny Le Roy and Tony Wolf.

  He wondered whether or not he should tell Justin. Then he decided against it. If the miners had killed Grape and Taber, then Frome couldn’t afford to do any favours for Justin. The sheriff was neutral, opposing all force. If Speakman had ordered the gunning of Grape and Taber as a reprisal for Tony Wolf, then that put Frome irrevocably in a range war against the miners.

  Justin was looking at him now. ‘What do you think, Dave? Do you think somebody’s out to get you?’

  Frome said, ‘Speakman – what about Speakman? You said he’s got gunslingers with him.’

  Justin looked scared. ‘Now, Dave, hang on a moment. Don’t let’s do any wild guessing. Why should Speakman pull a deal like this? Especially on your men? He knows you’re the only rancher who wants to find a peaceful solution.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know for sure,’ Frome said. ‘But I’ll tell you one thing, I’m going to find out.’

  ‘Now, Dave, you hold on. Matt was a friend of mine, too. There’s a lot about this I don’t understand. I think you’re holding something back. You think Speakman, but why?’

  Frome began to dress. ‘Just a guess. Where have you taken Matt and Taber?’

  ‘The undertakers.’ Justin swung to the door. He paused there. ‘Don’t do anything stupid. Leave it to the law. We’ll find out who those gunhawks were.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Frome said. ‘I’m not hanging about on this thing until Grape’s death is just a distant memory.’

  Justin snarled. ‘I told you, I’ll handle it. Get in my way, go off half-cocked, and I’ll slap you in jail.’

  ‘Just try it,’ Frome said.

  Justin left, slamming the door.

  Frome finished dressing. He crossed to the small wash-stand, poured water into the basin, and quickly washed. He left the hotel a few minutes later, stood on the boardwalk and looked down the empty street. The early morning breeze touched him. In the mud a few yards away two dogs fought over a scrap of something. A lone rider swung from an alley further down, hunched forward in the saddle of his small cowpony, slicker pulled to his hat-brim, heading for some distant range after blowing a month’s wages in a few swiftly-passing hours.

  Light still touched the windows of The Drovers and Frome, guessing that Mike Sturmer would still be cleaning up the bar, crossed the street and moved along to the saloon. He pushed through the batwings and saw Mike Sturmer behind the bar. He was busy counting up the night’s takings.

  He was surprised to see Frome. ‘Hey, couldn’t you sleep?’

&
nbsp; Frome guessed that he hadn’t heard about the Grape-Taber shooting. He crossed to the bar, took out his makings, laid them on the bar. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

  Sturmer was pushing coins into a cloth bag. Two negro cleaners had piled the chairs on to tables and were scrubbing the floor. Right at the end of the saloon, Frome saw the stage and it’s glittering decorations and remembered Curly. His lips softened with the memory.

  ‘Can I get you something?’ Sturmer said.

  ‘Not from behind the counter you can’t, Mike. But I could go a cup of coffee if your kitchen’s working.’

  ‘Always is.’ Sturmer told one of the cleaners to fetch two mugs of coffee. ‘I don’t like it myself,’ he said, ‘but a feller shouldn’t drink alone.’

  Frome fashioned a cigarette. ‘Curly asleep?’

  Sturmer looked up, nodded.

  ‘A nice kid,’ Frome said.

  ‘Yeah, Curly’s a nice kid, Dave.’ He frowned. He looked at Frome a moment, and he said, ‘Don’t kick me for saying this, Dave, but ... but she’s different to the usual run of saloon girl. She’s not used to men, could easily get hurt, if you savvy what I mean.’

  Frome smiled. ‘I savvy.’

  Sturmer gave a nervous laugh. ‘She’s had one unhappy experience, I hear tell. I wouldn’t like for her to have another. I think she’s a bit struck on you, Dave. Asked questions about you. And you’re engaged, get me?’

  Frome lit the cigarette. ‘I get you. And what do you mean by “she’s had one unhappy experience?” ’

  ‘Don’t know all the facts. But it appears Curly was engaged to some fellow who got killed in a gunfight.’

  Frome considered that. He thought that that could happen to him. His mind went back to the deaths of Grape and Taber. He also had to see Speakman. He decided he wanted to see Speakman very badly now. The deaths of his two men, following on the lynching of Tony Wolf, must be Speakman’s work.