Silver City

by Jeff Guinn

  “Howdy,” Billy said politely. Brautigan responded with a curt nod. He had no interest in children.

  “Where’s your father?” he asked Ike. “Let’s get this business conducted.”

  “Pa’s likely taking his ease inside,” Ike said. “Why don’t you stop here a moment, take a dipper of water from the barrel there on the porch. I’ll go in first, provide Pa with the facts, and then you can join us.”

  “Be quick,” Brautigan said. “I’ve no time to waste.” As soon as Ike entered the building, Brautigan did several knee bends. His entire body was stiff from days of riding. Saddle rash on the insides of his thighs made even short steps uncomfortable. He drank several dippersful of water, then soaked a handkerchief and used the dripping cloth to clean trail dust from his face and hands. After perhaps ten minutes Ike emerged and said, “Come on in. Pa’s ready to see you.”

  It was warm and dark inside the house. Most of the window openings were covered with oilcloth. Two were open to allow the circulation of a faint breeze, and also to supply minimal light. In one corner, slouched on a patched davenport, was an enormous man, wide rather than tall, whose bulging belly extended far in front of the rest of his body. As Brautigan’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw more: a bald pate, bushy gray chin whiskers, and thick brows over deep-set, glittering eyes.

  “Newman Clanton,” the man said in a rumbling voice. “Founder of Clantonville. My boy says you’re named Brautigan, and you want something. What?”

  “Discretion above all, from this moment forward.”

  Newman Clanton studied his guest, taking in Brautigan’s own bulk and looking directly into his eyes. After a moment, satisfied with what he saw, Clanton said, “Ike, you go on. Brautigan and I will converse.”

  “I should take part, Pa,” Ike protested. “It’s me who brought him here.”

  “I said go,” Clanton said, and Ike did. Clanton told Brautigan to sit—there was a hardwood chair opposite the sofa. Then the Clantonville patriarch said, “So talk to me, and be as plain as you please. There’s no one else to hear.”

  Brautigan sat, enjoying the relative comfort of the chair after so many excruciating hours in the saddle. “What did your boy tell you so far?”

  “Only that you’re on your way to Mountain View with the plan of nabbing someone we Clantons don’t remember fondly. Ike figures you want to first get him to Silver City and then back East wherever you’ve come from. You’re not the law, so it’s a private matter.”

  “That’s correct. I need a base to work from. Clantonville would do.”

  “What specifically is required?”

  “I may need a place to keep someone, just for a night or so. An unwilling guest, you might say.”

  Clanton nodded. “I’ve got a shed that would do. Use it to shelter sick animals sometimes. Door bolts from the outside. Enough air to breathe, some room to stand and move.”

  “What if there are shouts from within, pleas for assistance?”

  “All in Clantonville hear only what I tell them that they should.”

  “I’ll need trail supplies for two. First from here to Mountain View and back, then the necessaries for travel from here to Silver City. Water, bread, canned provisions. Also some feed for my two horses and a mule.”

  “We’ll have what you require. I doubt further information is necessary. The less I know of your business, the better. One question remains—what further play will my boy Ike have in this?”

  “We came to an agreement in Silver City. He’s obligated to gather information for me in Mountain View.”

  Clanton sat straighter on the sofa, which creaked as he shifted his bulk. “You’ll have noticed Ike lacks common sense, and he talks too much. I’d not want him placed in any situation where his lack of discretion leads him into direct conflict with the law.”

  “I plan to completely avoid any contact with the law.”

  “The two you mention traveling from here to Silver City—that’s you and your prisoner? Ike’s not included?”

  “No. Once I have my man and return with him here, your boy is clear.”

  “Glad to hear it. Let’s come to a financial arrangement.” They did, quickly. Newman Clanton would receive two hundred dollars for his assistance and an additional hundred and fifty for discretion. In return, Brautigan could have the use of the shed as needed with no questions asked, and all the food and other supplies he might require.

  “We’ll seal the bargain with a drink,” Clanton said. With some difficulty, he hauled himself up from the couch. Despite the heat, he wore a vest with a pocket watch and chain. The thick links of the chain clinked together as he walked toward a table where a bottle and glasses rested. He reached for the bottle, but before he could pour, Brautigan said, “I’ll decline. There’s still plenty of daylight, and I’d like to be well on the way to Mountain View before dark.”

  “Are you certain? For a fellow from the East, you’ve ridden a fair distance already. I believe I discerned a slight hitch in your step as you entered my home. Perhaps an overnight respite would relieve some discomfort.”

  “I’m fine,” Brautigan said. “If that boy Billy has the animals watered and you’ll oblige me in the matter of resupply, Ike and I will be moving on. It’s another day to Mountain View from here?”

  “If you cut across the San Carlos agency instead of circling around it. Is this your intent?”

  “It is. When there’s business to be done, I dislike delay.”

  Clanton poured himself a drink and downed it in a single gulp. “Remember that discretion works both ways. You run afoul of Clum, the agent, leave Clantonville out of it.”

  —

  IKE CLANTON WAS particularly garrulous as they rode out, and Brautigan understood why. He’d felt humiliated when his father ordered him out of the house. Brautigan needed Ike to feel confident when they reached Mountain View, so he let the other man prattle about women he’d seduced and fistfights he’d won.

  “Pa acts like a lord, but it’s really me who handles most of the Clantonville business,” Ike bragged, forgetting he’d told Brautigan the opposite as they’d ridden in to the family settlement. “All the details and such. It’s fortunate I’m a man of the world.”

  Brautigan kept quiet, trying to think about what had to be done in Mountain View and not about the aching at the base of his spine as his ass jostled constantly against the saddle. The ground was breaking up again, and the horses’ gaits were ragged. Ike pointed out the Mescal Mountains on their left, and ahead Brautigan could see arching, sharp-angled slopes that stopped just short of being mountains themselves.

  “There’s some decent bottomland on the other side,” Clanton said. “White men should have it, but the guvmint gave it to the Indians. Makes no sense. They don’t want to be farmers and never will.”

  “Should we be on the lookout for Apache?” Brautigan asked.

  “Another few miles, we’re on agency land,” Clanton said. “Even if we see any or they glimpse us, there ought to be room to maneuver away. Their big chief died not long ago. Name was Cochise and he was sheer hell. But without him, they got no real leader. Any of the young bucks start feeling froggy to fight, they don’t stick around the agency. They ride south down into Mexico and the Army’s got to go after them. It’s the agent who’s the danger. John Clum, if he finds the likes of us doing what he considers trespassing—”

  “Would he attempt to take us into custody?”

  “Prob’ly not, but at the least he’d be displeased.”

  “His displeasure won’t concern me,” Brautigan said, and lapsed back into silence.

  By dark they were well onto the agency. Though they’d seen no one, Indian or white, they kept a cold camp that night without a fire. They drank canteen water and slurped canned peas. After the meager meal, Brautigan gave Clanton instructions.

  “Just outside M
ountain View, you’ll go on without me. I’ll camp outside town. You go in, find McLendon, and quick as you can figure out where he goes, what he does. He’s a man of routine. I need to know where and when he’ll be someplace isolated, where I can snatch him free of observers. That’s what you’ll scout out and report back to me. You do your job right, you’ll be well paid and that’s the end of your obligation.”

  “You’ve never specified the amount,” Clanton said. “I’d like to know.”

  “If I get McLendon out clean, two hundred dollars. Any trouble, any untruths or omissions in the information you provide me, and there’s nothing but a bad end for you. One or the other, Ike.”

  “That’s a hard way to speak to a fellow who’s been nothing but helpful.”

  Brautigan didn’t reply. He soon slept. Ike couldn’t.

  —

  THEY BROKE CAMP when the sun was still a thin red speck on the horizon. By full daylight, Clanton said they were almost through San Carlos. “From here, another twenty miles and we’re outside Mountain View. Not long now.”

  Then as they splashed across the San Carlos River there suddenly were Apache in front of them, a half-dozen copper-skinned men in dun-colored shirts. They were mounted on unshod ponies. Though the two intruders had been keeping constant watch, the Indians seemed to spring up from nowhere. Brautigan was startled but didn’t show it. He sat stoically on his horse and gestured for Clanton to do the same. Ike twitched nervously. His right hand dropped toward his holster.

  “Leave the gun be,” Brautigan hissed. He thought the Indians were unarmed except for some knives he saw at their waists. The odds weren’t great, but Brautigan made himself ready, easing his boots from the saddle stirrups, preparing to spring. His back ached and the insides of his thighs burned, but he ignored it. Then another rider appeared from a wash to the right, a wide-shouldered white man whose height was accentuated even more by his upright posture in the saddle.

  “Ike Clanton,” the newcomer said. “Ike and a companion.”

  “Clum,” Ike said, sounding petulant rather than defiant. “You and your red men, delaying two innocent travelers.”

  “Somehow Ike Clanton and the word ‘innocent’ don’t match up right together,” Clum said. “Just stay on your horse as you are.” He turned to Brautigan. “I’m John Clum, the agent here at San Carlos. I’d appreciate your name and your purpose for trespassing.”

  “I’m Brautigan, and we’re riding through with no intention of causing trouble. Mr. Clanton here has just given me a look at his family’s property, the town they’ve founded. I’m thinking of investing.”

  “Yet you’re riding away from Clantonville,” Clum observed. “On your way to Mountain View, I suppose. If you’re seeking Tucson, you’re headed in the exact opposite direction. Even Ike, here, should know that.”

  “Why does our destination interest you, Mr. Clum?” Brautigan asked. “And why are these Apache necessary to the conversation?”

  Clum pulled a pipe from his pocket, tamped down tobacco, and lit it. All the while, his eyes never left Brautigan. “Perhaps Ike didn’t inform you that it’s illegal to cross an Indian agency without permission of the designated government agent. These Apache here would be within their rights to pull you off your horses and do what they wished to you. I hope you appreciate their forbearance.”

  “I’d like to see ’em try,” Ike spluttered, but his voice shook a little. The Apache noticed. One, a bandy-legged fellow, hopped off his horse and muttered something to the others, who laughed.

  Clum snapped, “Back on your horse, Goyathlay,” and added something else in Apache.

  “You speak their filthy tongue?” Clanton asked.

  “Some, and you ought to learn it too. It’s a beautiful language,” Clum said. “Well, Ike and Mr. Brautigan. Of my two choices, the first is to escort you to the agency office, then turn you over to the authorities for trespass. There would be fines, substantial ones. The other is to warn you never to trespass again and send you on your way. There’s some risk to you in that. These men are offended by your presence. They intend to trail you until they see you entirely off the agency, and unless I’m present they might attempt physical chastisement.”

  “We’ll accept the warning and move on,” Brautigan said. “Tell these Apache there’s no reason to follow us.”

  Clum spoke to the Indian men in their language. Goyathlay barked something back and hopped on his horse. “It seems they’re going to ride behind you whether you wish it or not,” Clum said. “Goyathlay promises that you won’t be harmed as long as you head right off their land.”

  Brautigan said curtly, “We will.” Clanton, reassured that any immediate danger was past, snapped, “Clum, you warn them that we’re considerably ferocious and armed besides. We’re leaving, but if they raise a hand to us, they’ll regret such action.”

  Clum chuckled. “Ike, I already know you’re a fool. You don’t have to prove it so often. Have you any idea who Goyathlay is?”

  Clanton studied the Apache, who sat hunched forward on his horse. Goyathlay’s brow was furrowed as he glared at the two intruders. “All I see is a flea-ridden red runt.”

  “Look again,” Clum said. “Goyathlay’s one of the worst hotheads on the agency, the hardest to hold in check. Before we got him in here, he raised so much hell below the border that the Mexes called him Geronimo, though I personally don’t know the significance of that name. He and his pards there could have you down and dead before you so much as blinked, Ike. Be clever for once and ride off nice and meek. And you, Mr. Brautigan. Never cross this agency again without permission. We straight on that?”

  “I’ll make certain our paths don’t cross in the future,” Brautigan said. “We’re on our way. Come on, Clanton.”

  “Good afternoon to you,” Clum said cordially. “Keep that mule you’re leading close, Ike. These Apache have a powerful taste for mule meat. They might want to take it from you as a kind of toll.”

  “Better not try,” Ike grumbled, careful to keep his voice so low that no one but Brautigan could hear. They rode northwest, Goyathlay and the other Apache trailing a few hundred yards behind. Clum sat astride his horse at the top of a rise and watched awhile.

  Brautigan and Clanton rode for almost an hour without speaking. Then, as they splashed across a narrow creek, Ike said, “This is the agency boundary.” They stopped to let the horses and mule drink. Looking back, they saw the Apache riding away.

  “Goddamned Indian-loving John Clum,” Ike said. “Day’s coming when he’ll get his. I don’t forget an insult.”

  “Put it aside for at least the present,” Brautigan said. “I need you giving all your attention to the task at hand.”

  —

  BECAUSE OF THE delay at the agency, it was almost dusk before they neared Mountain View. Brautigan found a small wash about two miles south of town; its embankment provided cover from easy detection. He told Ike to tether the animals and give them feed and water. Brautigan sat with his back against a rock and thought while Clanton did these chores. When Ike was done, Brautigan had him sit down too.

  “The task is simple but important,” he told Clanton. “I must know where I can lay hands on McLendon with no one to notice. No guessing. You have to be certain. Let him see you, speak to you. It’s all right if he’s antagonistic.”

  “If McLendon spies me, won’t that put him on his guard?”

  “McLendon’s a weak man, but always watchful and suspicious. It’s better he first sees you out in the open. Then he’ll likely consider your presence to be coincidence rather than dangerous. Just get the full sense of him. And no threats. I don’t want him spooked.”

  “I’ll be as smooth as you please,” Clanton said. “No man surpasses me at easy charm.”

  “Make it a natural thing, your showing up there. Talk up Clantonville like you did in Silver City.”

 
; “I need no such instruction,” Ike protested. “What would aid me is a handful of coins. When I tout my town, I like to treat prospective investors to drinks. It’s my custom, and some observing me might think it strange if I didn’t.”

  Brautigan gave him several dollars. “Be certain that almost all the drinks go down throats other than your own. Keep in control of your faculties. I want no faulty information. Watch him tonight, observe him tomorrow, and then tomorrow night return here with what I need to know.”

  “I shall,” Clanton said. “Rest easy until then.”

  “Ike,” Brautigan said quietly. He grasped Clanton’s shoulder in his huge hand and squeezed just enough to hurt. “You’ll not want to fail me. I found McLendon. If need be, I could always find you.”

  “Then let me be on my way,” Clanton said. Brautigan loosened his grip and watched as Ike rode off toward Mountain View.

  9

  The next few days were happy ones for Cash McLendon and Gabrielle Tirrito. They shared their news with a few select friends—Major Mulkins, Sheriff Jack and Mamie Hove, Mayor Camp, Rebecca Moore, Marie Silva—and everyone seemed glad for them. Gabrielle’s father, Salvatore, was the exception. He still despised McLendon for abandoning Gabrielle in St. Louis.

  “I believe he’ll come around,” Gabrielle said. “For now, let him get used to the idea that we’re back together. Reconciliation between the two of you will take longer.”

  “In his place, I’d probably feel the same,” McLendon admitted.

  Despite Gabrielle’s determination to economize, each evening the newly announced couple celebrated at the Ritz. They could do this because their friends insisted on paying for drinks. For the first time since fleeing St. Louis, McLendon contemplated a joyous future. That was more intoxicating than the Jim Beam bourbon Mayor Camp insisted on buying everyone. Major Mulkins stood several nightly rounds too.

  “It will be impossible to replace Gabrielle on the hotel staff,” he said. “But love trumps business. I’m happy for you both.”