The War Wagon

by Clair Huffaker

  In the kitchen Jess filled two glasses, killing the half-empty bottle in the cupboard. "Soon as we finish this off, we'll drink up the rest of the whisky in Pawnee Fork, saloon by saloon."

  Taw raised his glass to drink and Jess said, "Great days!"

  "Why didn't you tell me you were married?" Taw asked.

  Jess took another swallow from his glass and shrugged. "Wasn't sure she'd still be around when you got here. She's got high-falutin' ideas."

  "Who's Alvin Snyder to you, Jess?"

  "He met you on the way in?"

  "He gave me a guided tour, including Holiday's gold coach out of Deadwood."

  "Old Ironsides," Jess laughed. "She's a regular fortress on wheels, ain't she? One time thirty men, biggest outlaw bunch ever gathered together around here at one time, laid in wait for her. They got themselves just plain shot to hell. Six of 'em got killed, couple bad hurt. The others lit out in a hurry. That's the only time anybody ever tried to fool around with her."

  "I told Snyder I wasn't interested."

  "But you don't even know the whole idea, yet. This sort of thing will be just your meat."

  "For the first time in seven years I'm square with the law, Jess. I like it that way."

  "I tell you Snyder is a God-damned mental giant. He's got a plan figured that's plain foolproof. I ought to know. I'm working for the stageline."

  "You a whip?"

  "Was for a while. Got the express office here in the Fork now. I'm telling you though, Taw, Snyder's idea will drop that gold right in our pockets. And we'll probably never even have to look at those ugly brutes ridin' guard on the coach." He waved his hand. "But we can talk about all that later, Taw. As long as you're so dead set against being rich, you can buy me a few at the President around the corner. Come on."

  At the President, a late afternoon crowd was milling around the bar, whetting up an appetite for supper. Jess elbowed his way through to the mahogany and yelled, "The best you got, McDonald! For me and my brother Taw!"

  The bartender looked up from under bushy red eyebrows to glance at Taw. He stopped pouring the beer he was working on and took a bottle from the shelf behind him. Putting it on the bar with two glasses he said, "Compliments of the President, gentlemen."

  "You never gave me a free bottle, Mac," Jess grinned. "Or anybody else, so far as I know."

  "It's the Scotch in me. I still hear stories about what Jack Tawlin did to bars where he decided he didn't like the barkeep."

  "Why, hell! Taw hasn't taken a bar apart in years!"

  "I don't want him starting in on mine."

  At a corner table Jess gave Taw a drink, chuckling to himself. "They still remember you, Taw. All through the whole territory, wherever you go, you hear about Jack Tawlin and his violent ways."

  "Jess, you've got a nice thing here. Job must pay pretty good to keep you in that house. Pretty wife."

  "I'll have it good 'fore long."

  "Dead or in jail it won't be so fine, Jess."

  The younger brother lowered his voice. "I'm not making too much money, Taw. Christine bought that big house for us. Thing is, she earned herself a pile of money in Dodge. Was a dance-hall girl down there for some time. And since she got married to me and settled down to bein' a wife, you never seen a girl act such prunes and prisms. But she'll be a chippy at heart till the day she dies." Jess banged his glass down hard on the table and refilled it with an unsteady hand. "Fellow she knew in Dodge was passin' through the Fork once. He come up to the house and propositioned her, asked her to go to Deadwood with him. I'd've killed him on the spot if I'd had a gun. But she took it like he was asking her for the time of day. Didn't bother her at all. After he'd gone, she said he always treated her like a lady and was one of her nicest customers. Imagine her telling me that! Drive a man loco! Frankly, I ain't never been too happy with her."

  "Too bad."

  "But I'll be able to do anything I want to do pretty quick. You sure have changed, Taw. I'm drinking mor'n you."

  Taw upended his own glass....

  They moved on to the Silver Dollar and killed another bottle. From there they went on to Steamboat House, a large saloon with gambling tables set up beyond a thirty-foot bar.

  After their first shot at the counter, Jess waved and shouted to the room at large, "My big brother! He can beat any man in the house at his own game! Cards, bare knuckles, knife or gun!"

  Taw said softly, "I'd just as soon you didn't brag me up that way. You're forgetting that I'm living a peaceful life these days."

  "But it's true!" Jess bellowed. 'There ain't a man in Dakota can stand against you!"

  A taciturn, narrow-faced man at the end of the bar looked at Jess and said loudly enough to be heard clearly, "They sure grow 'em big-mouthed around the Fork here."

  Jess stopped short in what he'd been about to say. He shoved his hat back and smiled in friendly fashion at the man. "You saying I'm lying about my brother?"

  The thin-faced man shook his head. "I'm sayin' you got a big mouth—the biggest mouth I ever hope to see."

  Jess smiled again. "It's about the right size, I'd estimate, to bite your head right off, mister."

  The bartender broke the sudden silence that had fallen over the bar by saying, "Time for another round for you Tawlin boys." Pouring, he added in a low whisper, "He's bad medicine, Jess. Better leave 'im be."

  Taw took his drink and said mildly, "Let it ride, Jess."

  The younger brother called down the bar, "You ain't said nothing since you heard the name Tawlin mentioned, mister. The name scare you some?"

  "My name's Sam Boicourt."

  Taw's muscles tensed as he heard the name, and a few of the old-timers at the bar tossed off their drinks and moved away. Jess said, "In that case, from what I've heard of you, the name Tawlin won't scare you. You're too damned stupid."

  Boicourt walked closer, and his eyes flicked over Jess. "You ain't wearin' no gun."

  "My brother is. It's all in the family."

  "We're not looking for any shooting," Taw said. "Let's all forget it."

  Boicourt studied Taw's face, searching for a look of cowardice. He saw none there and said, "All right. But you ought to give this kid a good whippin'."

  "Come on, Jess." Taw turned away as the other man did. "Let's get out of here."

  "Look out!" Jess yelled.

  Instinctively Taw ducked, swinging around and pulling his gun in one swift instant. He saw Boicourt whirling into position to shoot, and he pulled the trigger as Boicourt's revolver came free of leather. Boicourt was thrown back against the bar by the wallop of the heavy slug. He caught the edge of the polished mahogany with his elbows, stared with astonishment at Taw for a choking moment, and then slipped off to the side.

  The bartender hopped over the bar and crouched beside Boicourt. "Dead," he said quietly.

  "Lucky I saw him go for his gun," Jess muttered. "He figured on getting you in the back, Taw."

  The barman glowered at Jess. "I didn't see either one of 'em go for a gun until you yelled to look out."

  "You wouldn't know a gun was bein' gone for until the shooting was all over," Jess told him.

  Taw returned his revolver to its holster. "We were starting to leave. Let's do it."

  Outside, Jess said, "You haven't lost the old touch, Taw. Got 'im about five inches below the middle of the throat on a spinnin' shot. Got him cold. And Boicourt had a sizable rep, judging from the talk that comes up from Newton."

  "Thanks for warning me, Jess. But it's done and over now. I don't want to talk about it."

  "Plain self-defense, Taw."

  As they walked through the thickening dark, Jess looked at his brother's hard-set, troubled features. He showed his front teeth in a thoughtful smile. "Chances are the law's gonna be on your neck anyway now, because of the shooting. Why don't you throw in with me and the others? At least hear the plan and see what you think. What about it?"

  Taw took a long breath of air and gulped slowly. He could feel his hands
shaking now, trembling slightly as they always did after a gunfight. They turned down Lincoln Street toward the house in the distance and he said, "Not interested, Jess."

  Chapter Two

  CHRISTINE was peeling potatoes at the white, modern basin when Jess entered the kitchen. She glanced up at him and said, "Supper will be ready in a few minutes. Perhaps your brother would like to wash."

  Taw was a step behind Jess. As soon as Christine saw the older brother she stopped her work. "What's wrong?"

  "Taw had a fight with a fellow," Jess told her. "Killed him."

  "Oh, my God!" She dropped the knife among the potatoes and put her fingers to her cheek. "Are you all light, Mr. Tawlin?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I want you to know I'm sorry it happened."

  She sat in a chair near the table, her blue eyes worried. "It didn't take you and trouble long to find each other, did it, Mr. Tawlin?"

  "No trouble." Jess shrugged. "Other fellow started it. They can't do nothing to Taw for sticking up for himself."

  "How can you say killing someone is no trouble?" Christine murmured, sudden tears edging down her cheeks. "It's a terrible thing."

  "You rather have Taw layin' back there dead?"

  "No. Of course not."

  "Well, that's the only other way, so quit carrying on like that! You seen it happen plenty in Dodge dance halls."

  Taw walked back toward the kitchen door. "I don't want to be the cause of a family fracas. I'm going to collect my horse and move on."

  "Whoa!" Jess grabbed his brother by the shoulder. "If you walk outa here, I go too!"

  "No," Christine said. "Don't go, Mr. Tawlin. What's done is done."

  Taw hesitated. "I'll stay on till morning."

  It was past sunup when Taw was awakened by a tap on the door. "Yes?" he called, stretching the muscles in his back that were stiff from the unaccustomed softness of a feather mattress.

  The door opened a crack and Christine spoke through it. "You have a visitor, Mr. Tawlin. Jess is with him in the parlor." The door shut once more.

  A fat man was standing with Jess in the parlor. He wore a sheriff's badge near the center of his vest, where it would show conspicuously even when his suitcoat was buttoned. In the corner chair sat a silent deputy.

  "My name's Wiley, Tawlin." The fat man stared at Taw with small, belligerent eyes.

  "Sheriff was passing through the Fork," Jess said. "Wants to hear you tell your story about the shootin' last night."

  "I'll do my own talking to your famous brother, Jess." Wiley hooked his thumbs in his vest. "Want to see him alone."

  Jess grinned. "Sure. When you're done, Taw, come on into the dining room for breakfast."

  The door shut behind Jess. Wiley pursed his lips and silently studied Taw, who, dressed in a fresh shirt, pants and boots, was wearing no gun. The lawman finally said, "I hear you never was no good. They should've never set you free of jail."

  "You here for my side of it," said Taw, his jawline tightening, "or for a fight?"

  "I know your side. Leastwise, what you'll claim. You was just looking out for yourself. But you don't know my side. I say you stepped outa line once too often. I say you damn well better be moving on in a hurry. If you don't hightail it out of the Fork and the rest of my stomping grounds, you'll get shot for as much as spitting on the sidewalk."

  "You make it hard for a man to do the right thing." Taw put his hands in his hip pockets and both sheriff and deputy reached nervously toward the butts of their guns. "You got me pegged as trouble, and that's all there is to it."

  "That's right, Tawlin." The sheriff scratched at his stomach. "I'm hoping you'll leave and give some other lawman the chance to drop you. I don't look forward to the job. But if you stay in this country, me or one of my men'll do it."

  "And what if I'm figuring on going to work somewhere, leading a quiet kind of life?"

  "Jack Tawlin leading a quiet kind of life?" The sheriff exposed his yellowing teeth in a thin smile. "That's funny. You been in hot water all your life."

  "And the law's going to keep me there."

  "The law's gonna get shed of you, one way or the other." Wiley nodded to his deputy. "Come on." Turning to Taw he said, "Take my advice and move on. Maybe you'll live a little longer somewheres else."

  The two men went out of the house and Taw walked back to the dining room where Jess and Christine were seated at breakfast.

  "Sit, Taw." Jess waved him to a chair. "Did old Wiley warn you never to shoot Sam Boicourt no more?"

  "Something like that."

  Christine went to the kitchen for coffee and Taw said, "Long as I'm still here, I might as well listen to what Snyder has to say."

  "Thought so," Jess nodded happily. "Old Wiley's the kind of lawman that'll let anybody know there's no turning back. Glad you're in with us."

  "I said I'd listen. That's all."

  Christine returned with a fresh pot of coffee and Jess said, "Taw's gonna stay on here with us for a time."

  She held the pot over Taw's cup. "More coffee, Mr. Tawlin?"

  "Yes, thanks."

  At six-thirty Jess left to go to the express office. "Be back in the early evening," he told Taw. "Unless I can set up that poker game with Snyder for someplace else in the meantime."

  When he'd gone, Christine touched the coffee pot with her fingers. "It's still warm, Mr. Tawlin. Would you like some more?"

  "I'll always go another cup." Taw watched the girl as she poured. Her face was set in firm, serious lines that were in stark contrast to her fresh, youthful beauty and the gaily flowered gingham dress she wore.

  "I wish you'd call me Taw, ma'am. And I hope you don't mind too much about my staying here. If you do, I'd be glad to move to a hotel in the Fork."

  "It's all right." She filled her own cup again and placed the pot on the table. "It doesn't really matter. It's the old Parkins luck starting all over again."

  "Beg pardon?"

  "Parkins is my maiden name."

  "You figure I've brought bad luck?"

  "You didn't cause it. You're just a sign of it. I guess I'm my own bad luck." She reached to a shelf of the china cabinet behind her and took down a brown leather container. "Would you care for a cigar?"

  "That's thoughtful of you, ma'am. I would."

  She handed him the box and smiled with no feeling. "I'm noted for my thoughtfulness. It's my specialty. Thoughtful Christine. The only cowtown girl in Dodge City that every rich cattleman took to his hotel room and proposed to the next morning."

  Taw noticed for the first time that her eyes were tinged with red from crying. He took the band off the cigar and lighted it in embarrassed silence before asking, "Why do you say a thing like that to me, ma'am?"

  "Call me Christine. I say it to you because you already know. Jess takes a pleasure in telling everybody about what I did before we were married."

  "It's too bad you two aren't getting on well. But sometimes things mend themselves."

  "Some things do, maybe. Not this." Christine folded her hands on the table in front of her and stared at her gracefully tapered fingers. "I'd hoped to start clean here in Pawnee Fork. I wanted to forget my life in Dodge and build up something new and good with Jess. It hasn't been working for a long time. Last night I came to realize that it never would work. It's impossible."

  "Because of the shooting?"

  "No. Because of the way Jess felt about the shooting. The way he told me about it." She toyed absently with the ring on her finger, a plain gold band. "Jess enjoyed the killing, Taw. He had a good time."

  "He just didn't carry on about it. That's his way."

  "You don't know your brother very well." Christine got up and began clearing the dishes. "He likes mean things, cheap things. That's what he saw in me at first, a cheap dance-hall girl with a painted face and mesh silk stockings. A quiet home and a good wife are too dull for him. That shooting was the first excitement he's had in months."

  Taw frowned at his cigar. "Jess is young and maybe in som
e lights doesn't know his own mind yet. He'll settle down."

  "When? When he makes some money with the scheme he's working on?" she asked bitterly.

  Taw's frown shifted from the cigar to the girl. He said nothing.

  "I don't know anything about it," she said. "But I'm certain he's planning something dishonest and dangerous. It slips out in his talk every now and then."

  "His talk doesn't mean anything. But however this disagreement turns out, I hope you come out of it right side up."

  "Like I said before, it doesn't count any more. You should know that, after last night. I'm a dance-hall girl. You're a gunman. No one's going to ever let us be anything else."

  Taw got up and dropped the remainder of his cigar into the ashes of the fireplace. "Can I help you clean up here?"

  She shook her head.

  "Then I'll go over and see to my horse, if you'll excuse me.

  "Why don't you turn it out with mine and Jess's? They're right out there." Christine pointed through the window at a fenced in pasture a few hundred feet beyond the house. "You can put your saddle and things in the shed at the edge of the pasture where we keep our gear."

  "Thanks. He'd appreciate stretching his legs some."

  Taw got his pinto from the stable and rode it out to the pasture. He stripped the paint and slapped him out toward the other two. One was a buckskin mare. The other was a beautiful black stallion with thoroughbred blood showing in his sleek lines. Taw watched to see if the black would fight his pinto, but they gazed at each other indifferently before dropping their heads to the grass.

  Later, Taw explored the town's streets before going into a small bar on a corner. He bought a drink and sat down at a sun-drenched corner table to browse through a two-week-old copy of a St. Louis newspaper.

  He was well into the second page, reading slowly and carefully, when a shadow fell across the paper. He looked up to see a short, heavy-shouldered man of about fifty with intense blue eyes and lips that were set in a lopsided grin. He was roughly dressed, with a shapeless brown hat crammed casually over his head.