Jim Saddler 2

by Gene Curry

  “This is my house, girl. I’ll thank you to remember that.”

  My hand was on the doorknob.

  “You got a rotten temper, Saddler,” John said. “I guess you didn’t know that, did you?”

  “People tell me, John.” In spite of everything I had to grin at the old rum-sodden Yank.

  “Never did get used to taking orders, did you?”

  I said no.

  “I’ll shoot you if you don’t take the next order from me. Which is: sit down and finish your breakfast.”

  “Right, Colonel,” I said.

  We were both grinning like fools.

  “I’m glad you called me back,” I said. “Sir,” I added.

  “Go to hell, Saddler!”

  “You too, Wingate. Colonel Wingate, that is. You pay top wages, sir.”

  John followed that up with the dirtiest name he could think of for me.

  We were friends again and only Jessie didn’t like it.

  “Don’t try to slicker me, Saddler,” John said. “I guess I know you all right. I got to face Pardee no matter what. Do me a favor—no more arguments about it. My mind’s made up and I’m not going to unmake it. You’ll ride with me?”

  “Sure I will, John,” I said, forking hard-fried eggs onto my plate.

  “So will I, Mr. Wingate,” Jessie chimed in, seeing her general’s commission fading away while we talked.

  While I ate breakfast I decided Old John wasn’t such a bad friend after all. Living the way I had for more than ten years, I could count my friends, any kind of friends, on the fingers of one hand. How did John fit in? Pretty well, is the answer.

  “Got to get some black coffee into me,” John said. By then it was getting on toward seven o’clock; the hands were fed and were busy with their morning chores. Usually ranch hands keep quiet early in the morning, but this wasn’t any ordinary morning and they tried to hide their jitters by talking too much.

  I don’t know how John expected to sober up by drinking a few mouthfuls of coffee. It would have taken a whole pot of horseshoe-floating coffee and a splash in an icy pond to put any kind of spring in his step. I knew he was scared and no doubt Pardee was feeling the same way. Both men were too old for any kind of gun-fighting.

  John asked me to take a bundle of money outside and give it to Curly Fitch. There was no need to explain; he wanted to pay off the men in case he got killed.

  I gave the money to Fitch and when I came back to the house Jessie was trying to talk John into a double-cross. I was surprised to see him paying so much attention to her, which could only mean that he was even more scared that I thought he was.

  Jessie was trying hard to make it seem like good sense. “I know you want to play fair with Pardee,” she was saying, “but how do you know he’ll play fair with you. My guess is they’ll have a marksman set up to kill you, Mr. Wingate. That’s why you have to move first and get the drop on them.”

  John looked up and saw me standing in the doorway. He knew I wouldn’t go along with a double-cross so he shook his head and said in a too loud voice, “Can’t do it that way, Jessie. I got to take my chances.”

  He was still showing off for my benefit, the old faker. “Let Vince Pardee try any tricks he likes. I’ll still drop him like a stone.”

  Jessie didn’t want to look at me. “If he tries anything I’ll shoot his eyes out.”

  That was how she talked, a young lady of refinement.

  “I’ll beat you to it,” I said.

  It was several hours later before we finally reached Dade City. Riding in a buckboard, John slowed us up, but that hardly mattered; they had all day to get their killing done.

  John rode in the buckboard because he was still too full of rum to sit a horse, though nobody discussed the point with him. Jessie rode ahead of the wagon to show how ready she was to take a bullet in John’s defense. She gave a brave show of it, but in the end it wouldn’t matter much if they wanted to stage an ambush. A shooter with a keen eye could lay off at long range and John would never know what hit him.

  Now we were on the outskirts of town, coming in slowly, and I thought it was time to take a few precautions. I signaled and Curly Fitch and the rest of the boys rode in close to the wagon, front and back. I stayed close to John and kept an eye on Jessie at the same time. I knew she wanted trouble—wanted it like a starving man craves food. I didn’t know what I was going to do if she jumped the gun on Pardee.

  We rode in a skirmish line. The deal with Pardee said no men on rooftops or concealed at upstairs windows, and if they were there, I didn’t see them as we started down the main street. We’d know in a minute.

  I knew old man Pardee would keep his word; that didn’t mean much if some of his men got enough whiskey in their bellies. They were still hopping mad about the killing of the two young punchers on the north range, and who could blame them. It was possible that they had already decided to mete out justice in their own way.

  I didn’t see anything wrong. The townspeople were keeping out of the way, remaining in their houses and stores. The line of men and horses, with old John leading it, looked more like a funeral than anything else, and for the first time I wondered who would win. I hadn’t thought about it because I didn’t think it would really happen; but there we were in the hot, dusty main street of Dade City.

  I knew John Wingate had been a fair hand with a six-shooter in his day. The same was true of Pardee. Both men had used their guns to take and defend their land, but that had been a long time before. On the other hand, you never knew about old men: both might be faster than I thought.

  I was resigned to the fact that the showdown would take place. If that was what they wanted, nobody was about to stop them, or could stop them. In a way it would be better if both died in the shoot-out. If only one died his men might take it so hard they’d start blasting. What started as a duel could end as a slaughter.

  It was still quiet, no sign of treachery from Pardee’s side. If it came it wouldn’t come until the two old men faced off. Within minutes they would be doing just that.

  Chapter Eleven

  We were heading in from the north end of town when John took a final drink of rum and put the bottle back in his pocket. A Pardee rider waiting under the porch of the freight office rode down to J. M. Lord Saloon as soon as he saw us. A lot of horses were lined up at the hitching rack.

  Now we were most of the way down the street, and it was hot and dusty and quiet. It never was much of a town, not from the first day they built it.

  “Pull up here,” I told John while Curly Fitch got his riders dismounted and lined up on both sides of the street. Jessie tried to keep her position in front of the wagon and I had to order her to get out of John’s way. She threw me a mean look but did what I said.

  At this point it was up to John and Pardee to finish their trouble one way or another. It was their show and I wondered how they liked it, now that it was about to go onstage. I looked over at Sheriff Brimmer’s office; the door was closed.

  A hot wind blew in from the desert and made a lonesome sound. Two damned old fools, I thought, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. High on the wagon seat, John uncorked the bottle again and drank deeply. Then he yelled at Pardee to come out and show himself, but I knew he wouldn’t break down and cry if Pardee had decided to stay in bed that day.

  But Pardee was there, bearded and squat; he came out of the saloon followed by his riders. His Johnny Reb voice carried far in the quiet street. He crooked a finger and was handed a bottle by one of his men. His thick neck worked convulsively as a lot of whiskey went down.

  The man who had given him the bottle took it back. Pardee wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and hitched up his gunbelt around his thick waist. Well, they were finally getting down to it.

  I noticed that Jessie’s right hand hung motionless at her side. That wasn’t such a good sign, and at last I knew that I would drop her if she tried to kill Pardee. I eased up close behind her and said quietly
, “I already warned you. You’ll never make it if you try.”

  Her arm tensed and I got ready for bloody murder. Then slowly her body relaxed and her fingers unclenched.

  John and Pardee were having a slanging match.

  “I always said you had a big mouth on you,” Pardee sneered. “How I put up with you all those years is something I’ll never understand. Don’t you ever get sick of hearing yourself talk?”

  “Not when I listen to you I don’t. Is that your idea of human speech, you damned ridge-runner?”

  Shaking loose from his foreman’s grip, Pardee stumbled as he stepped down from the sidewalk; that made two old drunks in Dade City that morning. John jumped down from the wagon seat and nearly fell on his face. They were a sight to see, but I would have gladly passed it up.

  It took John a while to take up his position in the middle of the street; Pardee was already there and they were both weaving badly. Curly Fitch took the wagon out of the way and set the brake. I nodded in Jessie’s direction and Fitch nodded back.

  It was winner take all; those were still the terms. If both men were killed the county would grab the land and everybody would be out of a job.

  “You call the play, Saddler,” Pardee said, limbering up the fingers of his gunhand as best he could. I don’t think he was doing a very good job of it.

  I nodded and got well out of the way. “I count to three and then you draw,” I said.

  They didn’t say anything.

  “Three!” I said, and for two old buzzards, more than half drunk, they got their six-shooters out fast enough. Pardee was a little slower than John; even so, he got off the first shot. It didn’t come anywhere close to John; his next bullet came closer to killing me than anybody else.

  The two old fools staggered back and forth and kept on firing. Pardee kept trying to level his gun, telling John to hold still so he could shoot him. John fired again and the bullet kicked up dust between Pardee’s feet. Pardee’s last and final shot broke the rum bottle in John’s pocket. I didn’t know how drunk Pardee was until he slapped his chest with one hand and told John to do his worst.

  John fired and Pardee fell down.

  “Oh God!” John said, throwing his gun away. Deal or no deal, I knew there would be killing within seconds. I yelled at John to throw himself flat, but he didn’t even hear me.

  “Hold it! Everybody hold it!” I yelled.

  I couldn’t see John’s face but I knew it was mournful. I could see why; he and Pardee had been friends and partners for more than twenty years.

  Suddenly John roared with anger; he was pointing a bony finger at Pardee. “What’s so funny, you damned fool? You’re supposed to be dead. Don’t you know that. I asked you a question—what in blazes is so funny?”

  “You! That’s who! Why you couldn’t hit a barn door and never mind a man.”

  Pardee lay flat on his back in the middle of the street, shaking with laughter. When I first saw him shaking I thought he was in his death throes. His crazy laughing started again and then John was laughing too. That broke up the tension and now we were all laughing— everybody but Jessie.

  She didn’t like it at all and her face said so. We were spoiling her fun, it appeared. I still wasn’t sure she wasn’t going to try something. I looked at Curly Fitch and he was right behind her. She saw where I was looking and turned slightly. And that, I hoped, would hold her for a while.

  Pardee was saying, “You’re drunk, John.”

  “Not as much as you, Vince. The fact is I never saw you drunk in your life.”

  “This is the one and only time.” Raising himself on his elbow, Pardee looked at the dark stain on John’s coat. “Lord, I didn’t hit you did I?”

  “You hit my rum bottle, but there’s more where that came from. Today we’re going to get as drunk as we can get. I sure am glad I didn’t kill you, Vince.”

  “I’m glad too,” Pardee said, and they started laughing again. So far nothing had been said about the two cowboys who had been shotgunned on the north range. I wondered how soon it would come up, and if more shooting would start when it did.

  John reached down to yank Pardee up on his feet; they almost went down in a pile of arms and legs. The two old men went arm and arm over to the saloon and the rest of us followed along. John said all the drinks were on him and there was a mild argument about that. In the end they decided to go fifty-fifty.

  John and Pardee got a table by themselves. Jessie wanted to sit with them, but I told her to let them alone. “They have a lot to talk about. You sit with me.”

  We were sitting down when I heard John say to Pardee, “You have any idea how this tomfoolery got started?”

  ~*~

  I got a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the bar and put them on the table. Jessie poured and drank two drinks one right after the other. I smoked a cigarette while she looked around with a tight look on her face; she was the only one there who wasn’t having a good time.

  Except for her I was having a fine time, and I wished there was some way I could make her loosen up. Unless John and Pardee started up again I was out of a job. I was glad to be out of it. Besides, I had more than enough money left over from that big card game in Goldfield.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked Jessie, who was knocking back another drink. “Aren’t you glad those old buzzards didn’t get themselves killed. I’m glad and you should be too.”

  “How can they expect people to respect them when they act like that?”

  “You’d have more respect if they were dead?”

  “I’m saying they both wanted a showdown, then when it came time they fell down drunk in the street.”

  “It’s better to be dead-drunk than dead.”

  “I don’t know that it is. I never expected Mr. Wingate to behave like that. He made a disgrace of himself.”

  “Don’t worry about John. He’ll be all right. What about you? The trouble is over so what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. What do you care?”

  “Not much. You did kill those two men, didn’t you?”

  “You keep coming back to that.”

  “Today was a big disappointment to you, wasn’t it, Jessie? Don’t fret about it. If you like trouble that much you’ll always be able to find it. Someday you’ll probably get killed.”

  “That’s what you think, Saddler. Even if I do it’ll be better than cooking, washing dishes, doing dirty laundry. I’d rather die than spend my life that way.”

  “You’ll die for sure if you keep it up. Now why don’t you move on and let John and Pardee work things out. You said you were going to Lincoln County. I think that’s a good place for you to go.”

  Jessie flared up. “Don’t tell me what to do. I already told you that.”

  I looked at her and wondered how a girl so beautiful could be so dangerous.

  “I might have to, Jessie,” I said. “Why don’t you make it easy for both of us.”

  She didn’t say anything else for a while, just sat there staring into her empty glass when she wasn’t filling it. It looked like it was going to be one hell of an all-day party. Like I said before, we were all having a good time, if you left out Jessie.

  The more she drank the more mean-faced she got. Nothing had gone right for her; the expected Dade County War had just fizzled out like a wet firecracker.

  Jessie gave me a peculiar smile. “If Mr. Wingate had played his cards right today he’d be the biggest rancher in this county. He could have killed Pardee and taken everything.”

  “That was the deal,” I said, “but I’m not sure Pardee’s men would honor it. They might decide to fight.”

  “Then let them. We could have run them off.”

  “There’s no guarantee of that, not even if we wanted to do it.”

  “Together we could have handled it. Forget about the rest of Mr. Wingate’s men. You and me, we’re both professionals.”

  “I’m a professional gambler, not a professional killer.”r />
  She looked defiant. “Say what you like, you’ll be hearing about me someday.”

  “I hope I don’t. But you won’t get famous around here. Dade County is going back to the good old ways of peace and harmony. There won’t be any more hiring of guns. See for yourself.”

  She looked over at John and Pardee, slapping one another on the back and drinking whiskey as fast as they could put it away. “He could have been the biggest man in these parts,” she said. “It’s a shame. I guess you’re right. I’d better be moving on.”

  “Lincoln County?”

  “Maybe. First I’m going back to the ranch to get my gear. After that I don’t know. I certainly hope New Mexico has more real men than this place. I don’t include you in that, Saddler.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  John had been up on the floor dancing—trying to dance—with one of the whores. You could tell from her face that she was taking a lot of punishment. John made her feel better by dropping silver dollars down the front of her dress. When he finished doing that he went back to the table and tried to wake up Pardee by pouring a full quart of whiskey over his head.

  Before she left Jessie went over to say goodbye to John. John could barely see but he grabbed her and tried to kiss her. She pushed him away and then went out in the longest stride she could manage.

  And that was that. Or so I thought.

  I beckoned one of the better looking whores over to the table and poured drinks for her until she sounded more enthusiastic about her job. It took four drinks to set her talking; after that there was no stopping her. Now I don’t mind listening to a talky woman before I roll into bed with her. If you want them to be enthusiastic in bed you have to pour whiskey into them and you have to listen. It’s the price you pay and it’s well worth it.

  There was no stopping the Wingate-Pardee celebration. It roared on into the afternoon. I felt fine, full of whiskey, easy, relaxed. Two of Pardee’s men got into a fight about something or other, but they were too drunk to do any real harm, and when they finished swinging weak punches they went back to drinking.

  The more whiskey I drank the better my whore began to look. She was prettier than the usual saloon girl you’d expect to find in a miserable little town like Dade City. She was too stylish for Dade County and of course there was a tale to go with it.