Dark Trail

by Ed Gorman

  “Frank.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s have a nice day today.”

  He was still turned away from her, looking out the window.

  “Why don’t you give me some time to get dressed and then we can go downstairs and have some breakfast,” she said. “Wouldn’t you enjoy that?”

  He looked back at her. Even his eyes looked sulky now. “I suppose.”

  She smiled. “Why don’t you go for a walk? Maybe you’ll be in a better mood.”

  She could see that he wanted to protest, but he finally gave up, went over and got his shirt and tugged it on. He jerked on his boots and pulled his trousers down over them. “How long will you need?”

  “Maybe a half hour.”

  “All right.”

  He wouldn’t look at her. Not meet her eye, anyway. “I really don’t want to argue today, Frank.”

  “You think I do?”

  And with that he left.

  The main street was noisy with the chink of wagons, the laughter of children, and the general din of commerce. A water wagon went by, dousing the yellow dust that would otherwise be drifting up from the street; and ladies twirled parasols of a dozen different colors.

  A woman noticed him. True, she was older and she was not what you’d call beautiful, but she was a woman and she was watching him. Already he felt better about himself and better about this day. The gaze of a woman could do that for him—make him feel special, powerful. Not even gold could quite equal the kick of a woman expressing interest in him.

  When he reached the corner where the woman stood, he tipped his hat and smiled slyly, as if they shared some wonderful and special secret. He wished now he’d shaved and put on fresh clothes. The woman, obviously respectable and just as obviously married, smiled slyly right back.

  He passed a tavern, and for a moment the smell of hops and malt appealed to him. But no, he did not want to be half-drunk today while Beth led him from one store to another or as they sat through their long lunch. He knew that they soon had to be kind to each other again or they would drift apart for sure.

  It was money; always, it was money.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” Frank Evans replied. It was ten minutes later and he was circling through the green city park. He had no idea who the man was who’d fallen into step with him.

  “That’s a nice bandstand over there.”

  “It sure is,” Frank agreed.

  “And a nice wading pool for the youngsters.”

  “Very nice.”

  “It’s not the sort of day a fellow would want to work now, is it?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Get a good book and a blanket and stretch out and spend your time reading.”

  Frank didn’t know how to read, but he did appreciate the pastoral scene the other man was painting for him.

  “You’re Frank Evans, aren’t you?”

  “Yes; yessir, I am.”

  “How many men do you suppose you’ve killed?”

  So there you had it, what this man really wanted. Despite his fancy clothes, despite his somewhat sophisticated ways, he was no better than a punk kid who wanted to shine up to the gunslinger.

  “Oh, it’s too early in the day to talk about that.”

  “No, seriously now, how many do you suppose?”

  Frank sighed. “The stories I keep hearing say twelve. But it’s really eight.”

  “Eight,” the man said, “my.”

  They were now at the east edge of the park. Babies in buggies were being pushed by pretty young mothers in long skirts and aprons. Five-and six-year-olds climbed trees and swings and chutey-chutes with the stealth of monkeys.

  Frank stopped walking and asked, “You got a name?”

  “Now don’t go getting mad, Mr. Evans.”

  “You heard me. Your name.”

  “Hollister. Walter Hollister.” Instead of offering his hand, the man put a small white business card in Frank’s fingers.

  Frank pretended to read the card. “What do you want with me?”

  “Business.”

  “Business? What kind of business?”

  “Very profitable business, Mr. Evans. At least potentially.” Hollister pointed to the northern edge of the park. “Have you seen the zoo?”

  “No.”

  “It’s not much, just a camel and a fox and a very old lion, but why don’t we go take a look? Give us someplace to walk to as we talk.”

  “I still want to know what kind of business you’re talking about?” Frank didn’t move.

  Hollister looked right at him and said, “I’m going to give you a perfectly legal chance to kill Ben Rittenauer and collect ten thousand dollars cash for doing so.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, mister?”

  “Let’s walk over to the zoo and I’ll tell you.”

  The camel was pathetic: scraggly and filthy and fly-bothered. He switched his tail like a horse.

  Frank and Hollister stood looking at him inside his rope corral. He was ground-tied and obviously not going anywhere—poor bastard had neither the strength nor the gumption.

  Hollister had explained it to Frank once and now Frank was having him go back through it again.

  “You say it’s legal?”

  “Perfectly legal. There’ll be a couple hundred witnesses to say it was a fair fight.”

  Lately, the closer the calendar got to the turn of the century, the harder the law was getting on gunfighters, charging them with murder.

  “Plus you’ve got Tom Adair backing you up. Do you seriously suppose that any town marshal or judge is going to question Tom Adair?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “And then there’s the matter of ten thousand dollars cash.”

  The thought of such money almost made him giddy. For the entire year they’d been together, he’d been promising Beth to take her to Frisco. With that much money, he’d take her a lot of other places, too. Their relationship could be what it had been at the beginning. She was a girl to have fun with, to be young with. All you needed to keep her happy was money.

  “You talked to Rittenauer about this?”

  “Not yet. But I will very soon. Mr. Adair would like the fight to be this evening.”

  Frank whistled. ‘That don’t leave us much time.”

  “You’re interested then, Mr. Evans?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then I can count on you being at the Box Y?”

  “If Rittenauer’s there.”

  “I’ll go talk to Rittenauer now and then get back with you.”

  “Fine.”

  Hollister smiled. “May I be honest, Mr. Evans?”

  “Be my guest.”

  “I guess I figured you’d be the tough one to convince.”

  “Oh. How’s that?”

  “Well, you know Ben Rittenauer’s reputation.”

  “I see. You’re saying he’s faster than me?”

  “I’m saying that’s his reputation. And you did sort of help yourself to his woman.”

  “You trying to get me to change my mind?”

  “I just want you to be sure. I don’t want to promise Mr. Adair something I can’t deliver.”

  “If Rittenauer’s there at five, I’ll be there at five.”

  Hollister glanced over at the broken-down camel and shook his head. “Almost feel sorry for the old fellow, don’t you?” Then he looked straight back at Frank and said, “He doesn’t seem to know that his time has passed.”

  With that, Hollister left Frank alone in the park.

  Chapter Nine

  When Guild woke up in the morning, the first thing he thought about was his conversation with Hollister and Adair. Guild had said he wouldn’t help them, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t help themselves. Hollister himself would probably go talk to the two gunfighters.

  He ate Mrs.Tomlin’s breakfast too quickly for any real appreciation of the trouble she’d taken with the eggs, b
acon, and sliced potatoes. Then he spent his remaining time in the house apologizing for being in such a hurry.

  “You look worried, Leo,” Mrs. Tomlin said.

  “I am worried,” Guild said.

  “Anything I can do?”

  “I wish there was,” Guild said.

  The first place he went looking was the hotel where Frank Evans stayed. He asked the clerk, “You seen Evans this morning?”

  “’Bout half an hour ago.”

  “Oh?”

  The clerk nodded at the door, its windows filled with golden dusty sunshine. “Believe he said he was going for a walk.”

  The town wasn’t that big, Guild reasoned. He shouldn’t have that tough a time finding Evans. Maybe in the meantime he’d run into Ben Rittenauer and have a chance to talk to at least one of them.

  He walked up and down ten blocks of board sidewalk and down dusty alleys. He walked along the river through the park.

  No sign of Evans or Rittenauer. But he kept looking anyway.

  After leaving Hollister, Frank Evans was as exultant as a kid on his birthday. He went to the barber, where he got a good hot shave and his hair slicked down. In the back room were tubs where you could bathe for fifteen cents, so he got himself a good hot bath, too.

  He hated to put on the same dirty clothes, so he sent the black man who worked the tubs for new clothes down the street. He’d have to trust the man’s tastes, but how wrong could you go with a white percale shirt and dark trousers? In the meantime, he splashed rose-smelling after-shave on himself.

  Frank Evans hadn’t spent any money on himself in two months. Cash was so low, he’d been afraid to. Anyway, Beth spent enough money for the both of them. But now that he was actually laying out cash for himself, he felt almost dizzy with pleasure. He felt like his old self again, the tent-show self, the one who swaggered around playing the grim gunfighter to the awed rubes. This self spent as much money on himself as he chose.

  The black man was back in fifteen minutes. He’d done a good job choosing clothes, so Frank tipped him a quarter. The man thanked him five times.

  After he left the barbershop, smelling and looking brand-new, Frank headed down the street to where a plump Slavic woman was selling flowers. He bought a half-dozen roses, pricking himself on one of the thorns. Then he went back to his hotel.

  Ten thousand dollars. It was all he could think of. Ten thousand dollars. No more dreading that Beth would sneak off and find another man. She’d never leave him when he had ten thousand dollars.

  He eased open the door and went inside.

  She sat at the dressing table combing her beautiful red hair. She wore only a silk undergarment that enhanced the full breasts she was so proud of.

  She glanced up at him in the mirror. She was startled by what she saw. He’d left unshaven and rumpled and returned slicked up, wearing different clothes, and bearing flowers.

  He went straight over to her and kissed her on the forehead and then grandly presented her with the roses.

  She cradled the wrapped flowers as if they were a precious infant and said, “You seem to be celebrating, Frank.”

  “I am.”

  “New clothes and a shave and—”

  “By tomorrow morning, we’re going to have ten thousand dollars cash.”

  He had never seen her look happier or more radiant. The mention of ten thousand dollars put a grin on her face that was wonderful to see. “Ten thousand dollars? But how?”

  “Just to do a little shooting is all,” Frank said.

  “For a show of some kind?”

  For the first time, he was hesitant. “No, not a show exactly.”

  He walked over to the window. The main street was alive. He wanted to be down there fancied up this way, people staring at him and knowing who he was.”

  Not facing her, he said, “Ben Rittenauer and I are going to have a gunfight.”

  “Frank, are you kidding?”

  She set the flowers down and came over to him. Touched his elbow. He still wouldn’t look at her.

  “Frank, I asked you if you were kidding.”

  “No, I’m not kidding.”

  “But Frank, you’re no match for Ben, and you know it.”

  Now he looked at her. “He’s not who he used to be. He’s getting older.”

  “But so are you.”

  He took her arms and pulled her to him. He hugged her. “Just think of all the things we can do with that money.”

  “But Frank—”

  “Ten thousand dollars, Beth. We’ll go to Chicago and Kansas City and—”

  “Oh, Frank,” she said, as if she were talking to a little boy with too many fanciful notions. “Oh, Frank.”

  And then they just stood there a long time, not speaking, Frank thinking of ¿he ten thousand dollars and her thinking how Frank would soon be dead and it would be time to find another man.

  Guild found the two of them—Ben Rittenauer and Hollister—in a restaurant. They sat at a table along the wall. Coffee and bacon smelled good on the morning air.

  Hollister saw Guild before Rittenauer did; he frowned.

  Guild went over anyway and said, “I wouldn’t have anything to do with him, Rittenauer.”

  Rittenauer looked amused by this. “You wouldn’t, huh? And just who the hell are you?”

  Hollister said, “His name is Leo Guild. Frank Evans took his wife away from him.”

  “Oh, that’s right, Guild,” Rittenauer said. He smiled a hard quick smile. “I guess that gives us something in common, losing women to Evans.”

  “Hollister and his boss don’t give a damn whether you live or die. They just want a show put on so all their rich friends can have a laugh.”

  “Maybe you should have been a preacher, Guild,” Hollister said.

  “Maybe I should have.”

  “I don’t remember inviting you over, Guild. Why don’t you go find a table of your own?” Hollister said. He nodded at Rittenauer. “Ben and I were having a nice pleasant talk over a nice pleasant breakfast. Right, Ben?”

  Rittenauer looked up at Guild. “That’s the truth, Guild.”

  “Maybe Evans won’t do it,” Guild said. “Maybe he’ll be sensible for once.”

  “Afraid you’re a little late for that,” Hollister said. “I’ve already talked to Evans and he’s delighted with the opportunity.”

  Guild said, “You know damn well Evans doesn’t have a chance against Rittenauer here.”

  Hollister shrugged. ‘That’s the thing about gunfights. There’s always a surprise or two. You never quite know for sure who’s going to win.”

  Guild said to Rittenauer, “I suppose you’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

  “A long time,” Rittenauer said. He studied Guild’s calm face. “You mean you never thought of killing him yourself?”

  “I thought about it.”

  “He’s a little too free with other men’s women.”

  “You make it sound as if the women don’t play any part in this. They make choices the same as men do.”

  Rittenauer’s face tightened. “I spent a lot of nights thinking about her in his bed. That’s not a way to live.”

  “What makes you think she’ll come back to you even if you do kill him?”

  Rittenauer grimaced. ‘Ten thousand dollars, Guild. That’s what’ll make her come back.”

  “And you’d want her back knowing that?”

  “Hollister here was right, Guild. Maybe you should have been a preacher. Anyway, why the hell do you want to save his neck? You should be hoping I put two good bullets in his chest.”

  “You don’t understand Guild here, Ben,” Hollister said, “He’s the noble sort. He’s trying to do something nice for his ex-wife.” He smiled. ‘The one Frank Evans took from him.”

  The waitress came to fill their cups again. Guild left.

  * * *

  The word had spread quickly and widely. Guild stopped into another restaurant down the street for a cup of coffee an
d a cigarette; and he heard four men at the counter discussing the impending gunfight. They sounded like children—eager, naive, bloodthirsty. In their minds neither Evans nor Rittenauer were human beings—they were some kind of mythical beings who did not have fears or hopes or come down with whooping cough or feel good on sunny days. They were just “gunfighters,” players in a play, and they did not have families who would mourn the loser or doll-like women who would exploit the winner. All the talk disgusted Guild. These men would never have nerve enough to get into a gunfight themselves, but they were eager enough to let someone else do it in their stead.

  Guild left a nickel for his coffee and wandered back out into the street.

  The sheriff, whose name was Carter, had a noble face. With his ringlets of gray hair, his Roman senator profile, and his deep, thunderous speaking voice, it was easy to see why he was serving his sixth term as the county’s leading lawman. The only troubling aspect of Carter’s whole show was his gaze. There was no mercy in his eyes, nor amusement. Maybe his job had made him this way, or maybe he’d always been this way and took the job because it encouraged his particular kind of coldness.

  “Yes, I’ve heard about the gunfight, Guild.” Carter shrugged. “I’m afraid I can’t get excited about it.”

  “The state legislature passed two bills about gunfighting last year.”

  “That they did.” The two men sat in a small office with a large window and a nice big mahogany rolltop desk. Carter had set his big fine-tooled cowboy boots on the open desk. He sipped coffee after giving Guild his coffee.

  “So what they’re doing is illegal.”

  “I’ve got three deputies.”

  “All right. You’ve got three deputies.”

  “If I was to post them out at the Adair ranch, what the hell would I do about the rest of the county?”

  “You don’t need to post them. Just go to Adair now and tell him what you’ve heard and make clear that you plan to press charges if the gunfight takes place.”

  Carter laughed. “Yeah, and I’m sure old Tom would pay a lot of attention to me.” Carter downed some more coffee. “He’d just smile and say Aw, hell, Carter, don’t you have anything better to do than pick on rich old boys like myself?’ ” Carter shook his head. “It’d be good for my ego and my reputation to interfere with the gunfight—show people I can stand up to Tom Adair, after all—but to tell you the truth, no matter what I do, that gunfight is going to take place. At least if that’s what Tom Adair wants. And there’s nothing you can do or I can do to stop it.”