by H. V. Elkin
“John!” Molly yelled. She started forward, but had not taken two steps before there was the crack of a whip and the lantern spun out of her hand, falling to some hay on the ground and setting it afire. By this time Hansen was hidden amongst the lead stock tethered in the center of the tent and could not be seen amidst the frightened movements of the animals.
Molly could be heard running outside and shouting, “Fire!”
Cutler was out of the cage and cursing himself. He had to make a choice, and he quickly decided to turn his attention toward the fire, whipping a blanket off one of the horses and attempting to smother the growing flames. All around him was the sound of frightened animals, joined by the excited yells of aroused circus people outside. As Cutler was working on the fire, some men appeared in the doorway carrying buckets.
“Get the animals out!” Maroney shouted. “Save the animals!”
There was an instant flurry of men throwing water, others trying to save the animals. And one animal, a horse, ran madly out.
“There’s one safe!” one of the men shouted. “That was Eric on her!”
In the minds of most circus people, nothing could be worse than a fire at night. A fire in the menagerie tent was the worst of all. The shows they put on might demonstrate optimism, high spirits and bravado, but in their private lives they could be superstitious, looking for good or bad omens in their daily lives. Being alert to omens, they were equally alert when disaster struck. Any disaster had been imagined many times before and, when it occurred in reality, they were ready for it. The shouts of “Fire!” galvanized them into actions they had already practiced in their imaginations. So, within a surprisingly short time, the fire was brought under control. The only physical damage turned out to be some lost hay, a burned patch on one side of the tent and a singed elephant tail. The people were left with feelings of triumph and something like relief. It was less the relief of the fire being over and more the relief of their worst fears having been realized and a sense that, now that this particular disaster was out of the way, they might not have to worry quite so much about it happening again in the future.
Only Cutler did not feel this way. True, it had not been a total loss for him. At least Hansen was now clearly identified as the black sheep. But this fact was dwarfed by Cutler’s growing anger with himself. Hansen had been caught in the act and he had been at gunpoint, and Hansen had escaped. Now he was out there in the darkness somewhere he could not be tracked. If Cutler took Red for tracking at night, he might be endangering the valuable animal with Hansen’s deadly whip. Yet each moment of darkness put distance between Cutler and the man he was obsessed to get.
Unless Hansen did not keep running.
“John?” Molly had come up beside him as he stood by the wagon pondering the problem. She put a sympathetic hand on his arm.
He looked at her. She could not see his expression in the darkness, but there was a tilt to his head and a stiffness in the arm, and she knew he wanted to be left alone.
“I’m sorry,” she said and went away.
Unless Hansen did not keep running. That was possible. How far could a man like that hope to get riding bareback on a horse without reins? At the very least, he would have to stop to make other arrangements. And at the most, he would go somewhere nearby to hole up until Bean was the new circus boss or until the circus was compelled by financial necessity to move on, taking any demands for justice along with it. If Hansen and Bean were accomplices, Hansen could hope to be free in Bean’s jurisdiction after the circus moved on. And if they were accomplices, Hansen might go no farther than Langtry in search of a hideout. Cutler slammed his fist against the side of the wagon. That was it!
So let Hansen get there. Let him not be pursued immediately. Give him time to feel secure and get careless. Get him in the morning.
Be there in the morning. Cutler saddled Apache, put his Winchester in the saddle boot and rode off at a leisurely pace, controlling the anger that made him want to race there, saving it for later when he could use it.
The Mexican guitar player had stopped playing five minutes ago and had been out back answering a call of nature. He returned and rushed up to the handsome man behind the bar. “Senor Torres,” he said and pointed toward the back door.
Torres asked for some explanation in Spanish, but the guitar player only put a finger to his lips and pointed to the door again. Torres shrugged and went out. There seemed to be no one there. He took a few steps into the yard, then shrugged and turned to go back. But now he could see in a light from the back window that a man stood in front of the closed door. There seemed to be something dangerous about the silhouette. “I am unarmed, senor,” he said.
The man held his hands out to show he meant no harm. “It’s John Cutler.”
“John!”
“Not so loud.” Cutler joined Torres in the yard.
“What is it, John?”
“Think I’ve got Bean by the tail. Wondered if you wanted to grab hold, too.”
Torres smiled broadly, but then his expression clouded. “Ah, but I am not a fighting man.”
“You won’t have to fight. But I can’t show my face right now, and I’d sure as hell like to know what’s goin’ on across the street.”
“There’s been something, a lot of noise.”
“Think you can find out what the noise is all about?”
Torres nodded. “Yes, I can try.”
The big Mexican who walked into the Jersey Lily wore a long serape and a large sombrero that hid much of his face. He seemed to have difficulty walking in a straight line, and the path he made in the straw on the floor looked like the tracks of a wounded animal. He was babbling in Spanish, but no Spanish that anyone could understand. There had been a lot of commotion when he entered, most of it from the corner where Bean had his cot, some of it on the other side of the pool table where two cowboys had been trading yarns and drinking beer from bottles. The noise stopped when everyone saw the Mexican. The cowboys looked him over, decided he was too drunk to react to harassment and went back to whatever they had been talking about. Under his sombrero, the Mexican saw Roy Bean’s feet.
“What do you want?” Bean asked.
The Mexican spoke some more incomprehensible Spanish.
“What the hell part of the country do you come from?”
The Mexican produced a coin and pointed in the general direction of his mouth.
“What?” Bean asked. “Beer?”
The sombrero nodded.
“Ain’t you had enough already?” Bean snatched the coin away. “Okay, but you’ll have to take it outside.”
The sombrero nodded again and in a moment a bottle was held beneath its brim. “Go on now, get out.”
The Mexican took the bottle, started to weave his way toward the door, then settled in a heap on the floor near the cot.
“Want some help, Judge?” one the cowboys asked.
“Never mind,” Bean told them. “Just stay over there and enjoy yourselves.”
“Is he out?” another voice asked near the Mexican.
“Dead to the world,” Bean said. “Probably wouldn’t understand English if he wasn’t. Never mind him. What about you?”
“I told you all of it.”
“So you get caught by Cutler, then you come runnin’ off here.”
“Where else would I go?”
“Open your ears a minute, Hansen,” Bean said. “The way I see it, we had a deal and you didn’t uphold your part of the bargain. You went back on your contract, and that’s against the law.”
“You listen to me, Judge,” Hansen said. “I’m not one of your locals you can hoodwink with that kind of talk. The contract wasn’t legal in the first place. And if I get caught, it won’t help your reputation around here. Now you better make sure I don’t get caught.”
“Well, I guess I could give you legal protection for tonight. But you’ll have to be out of here in the mornin’, you hear?”
“Tonight’s when I need t
he protection. If they don’t come tonight, they’ll be busy pulling up stakes in the morning.”
“Cutler won’t be.”
“If he doesn’t come tonight, his gun must have gone off in his own face or he died in the fire. You post a guard on me tonight, give me money and a horse and I’ll go lay low somewhere else tomorrow. When this blows over, I’ll come back maybe.”
“This is beginnin’ to sound like blackmail, and that’s against the law, too.”
“What do you say?”
“See that noose up there? How’d you like to fill it up for me? All I got to do right now is say you confessed to lettin’ the tiger out, and those two cowboys’d be more than happy for a little legal entertainment.”
There was a long silence before Hansen said, “The fight isn’t over yet, Judge. That circus still has a good chance of going bankrupt. When they do, they’ll listen to any offer you want to make. But you’ll need me then because the circus needs an animal trainer and you’ll need someone like me to look after things for you. It’s to your advantage to find me not guilty and keep me free.”
“How’d that Miss Barrie look at me if I did that?”
“I think she’d look kindly on any man who saved the circus, even if it meant having a couple of new bosses.”
“Okay, Hansen, I’ll play this hand for you, but you better not trip up any more.”
“I won’t.”
“You get a guard tonight, then. You’ll have your horse and money in the mornin’. And when you ride out, I’ll have some men on the roofs to see you get out. After that you’re on your own.”
They stopped talking when the Mexican mumbled in his sleep. Then the Mexican lurched, as if he had been jolted out of sleep. Putting his hand on the wall he eased himself up on wobbly legs, muttered some more incomprehensible Spanish, and weaved his way out the door, the beer bottle dangling in his hand like something he forgot he had.
The Mexican walked up the street, lurching once into a hitching rail, then swerved around it and went behind the buildings. A few minutes later he was in the backyard of the Eagle’s Nest and no longer drunk. He offered the beer to Cutler who shook his head. The Mexican took a swig of it, then pushed his sombrero back, and Torres was smiling broadly.
“It feels very good,” he told Cutler, “to hold the tail with you.”
Hansen was riding east from Langtry. He had not slept much last night but might have, for he had not been disturbed. He had approached the morning with apprehension as he was making preparations for his departure from the Jersey Lily, and he had kept looking over his shoulder, but all he saw were the outlines of gunmen on the roofs, men who were there to see he got safely away. He kept listening for a horse galloping from the west but all he heard were the clarion calls of roosters, the barking of dogs and, once more, the low rumble that came from the sky. By the time he left there was a wind that blew dust along the streets.
Now he was two miles out of Langtry and no longer worried. He had the leisure to think of ways he might turn his disaster into a triumph. He had put too much effort into the plan not to get something out of it now. In the next few days he would figure something out and, when he did, Judge Roy Bean had better be ready to make things right. Maybe the circus would fold without any further help from Hansen but, if it did not, then Bean had better be ready to compensate Hansen for all the trouble he had gone to. He could call it blackmail if he liked, but Hansen was not about to come out of this a loser. When he was not thinking those things, Hansen heard thunder and regretted he had not made sure Bean included a slicker with the rest of the gear.
Then the thunder sounded different, closer. And Hansen realized it was not thunder at all. It was the sound he had been listening for, but not heard, in town. It was the sound of a horse coming fast toward him.
Cutler was thinking of nothing. All that existed in his vision was the rider up ahead. All that mattered was that the distance between them was getting shorter. He could pick the man off with the Colt now very easily. But that might kill Hansen, and that would be too easy. For Hansen.
Hansen was spurring his horse now, and that made Cutler glad. It meant that Cutler would not catch the man quite so quickly and the taste of victory could be savored a little longer.
They were galloping near the railroad tracks, and that made Cutler smile grimly. Hansen would be galloping toward the canyon that sank three hundred feet down toward the Pecos River. That would stop him. No horse was going to run over a railroad bridge.
Mindless of the danger ahead, Hansen uncoiled his whip and tried to use it against the back of his horse. But the whip was too long to be handled like a riding crop, and Hansen put renewed faith in his spurs, letting the whip trail on the ground. Then the whip wound around his horse’s right rear hoof, and that made the horse stop and rear, twisting its neck around and seeing what looked like a snake. The horse could not be controlled now, and Cutler was getting closer. He saw Hansen thrown to the ground, get up quickly and start running toward the railroad bridge. He might get across it on foot.
Hansen was partway out on the bridge, carefully measuring his steps to the crossties, when Cutler pulled up at the edge. Cutler dismounted and went out after Hansen.
The wind that had started up that morning seemed to originate here. Strong gusts came rushing along the draw, blowing up from the canyon floor, snapping at the men’s clothing and threatening to throw them off balance. Suddenly the wind was accompanied by a stinging rain.
Hansen stumbled as Cutler got closer, too close to evade. Hansen recovered his footing and turned toward his pursuer, his whip ready to strike. Cutler stopped twenty feet away and out of the whip’s range. They stood there glaring at each other as the wind and rain continued to beat at them.
“Throw it down!” Cutler shouted to be heard above the wind.
“What?” Hansen took a few steps toward Cutler.
“I said throw it down!” Cutler drew his six-gun.
“Let’s talk it over, Cutler.” Hansen took another step forward and stumbled. But it has been a trick, and the whip came up toward the gun. Cutler had been ready for it, sidestepped and moved into close position to Hansen who was coming up from his crouch. Cutler had automatically reholstered his gun and then the gun-hand made into a fist shot forward, connecting with Hansen’s jaw. The fist hit that clean, insolent line of chin with all the power of Cutler’s accumulated rage, and there was a great satisfaction in feeling the chin give in to the blow. Hansen stumbled backwards, still holding stubbornly to the whip. Cutler was coming in for another blow when Hansen quickly recovered his footing and lashed out blindly with the whip. It coiled around Cutler’s wrist, and Cutler’s hand closed around it. In that moment, as Hansen tried to pull the whip back, a strong gust of wind came shooting up from the canyon, and Hansen went over the side of the bridge before he had time to scream. But he still kept his stubborn hold on the whip handle. The suddenness of it pulled Cutler forward onto his stomach, knocking the air out of him, and when it had come back to his lungs, Cutler was dangling over the edge of the bridge, his toes hooked over a rail, the whip still coiled around his wrist, his hand around the whip. Hansen still held on to the handle end as he dangled in the air and his body swung back and forth, the wind slapping him against the bridge’s supporting trellis. When Hansen tried to get a foothold on the ironwork, Cutler moved the whip enough to keep Hansen dangling.
“Pull me up, damn it!” Hansen yelled.
“Let’s talk first.”
“Are you crazy?”
“You better hope not.”
The wind whistled around them, and then the whistle was another kind. Cutler knew it was probably the eastbound train just leaving Langtry and heading in their direction.
Hansen heard it too. “You damn well better pull me up, Cutler, or you’ll be joining me down here, and all the way down there!”
“How’s that?”
“That train’s going to cut off your legs pretty soon.”
“
Well, maybe I am crazy after all.”
Hansen reached out for a handhold on the trellis, and Cutler again swung him away from it. Hansen glued both hands to the whip handle. His face was white and streaked with rain as he looked up at the man who held his life. “What do you want to talk about, for godsake? Talk fast, damn it!”
“Tell me about your deal with Bean.”
“What deal?”
“The one Torres heard you two talkin’ about last night.”
Hansen buried his face in his arms a moment, then looked up quickly when he heard the train whistle.
“Cutler! For godsake!”
“Take your time,” Cutler yelled. “I’m in no hurry.”
The words came tumbling out so close together they were hard to understand.
“Slower,” Cutler said. “Hard to hear in this wind. You’re just wastin’ time if I can’t understand what you’re sayin’. Make sure it’s the truth, too. We ain’t got much time for lyin’ right now.”
Hansen gasped and started again. “Bean wanted the circus and Molly.”
“Now what for?”
“Please! Just listen! He wanted the one to get the other. I said I’d help him. I’d put the circus in a position where it’d have to be sold.”
“What were you gonna get out of this?”
“A partnership. You know the rest.”
“Then Bean wanted Molly and you wanted the circus.”
“Yes! I’m coming up now!”
Cutler nodded and started to pull the whip up as Hansen braced his feet against the ironwork and started to climb by walking up the side of the trellis and putting one hand over another. The train was almost upon them.
“No!” Cutler shouted to him. “Just hang on to the trellis. Grab hold down there!”
Maybe Hansen did not hear Cutler because of the wind and rain. Or maybe, like the cats he trained, he was now cursed with a single-track mind. At any rate, he did not grab hold of the trellis but continued in his desperate attempt to climb up. But the rain-soaked leather had become slippery; he lost his hold and slowly slid down the length of the whip, casting one desperate, frightened look at Cutler before he slid off the end of it and fell three hundred feet to the sharp rocks below.
