by Matt Braun
“Guess I won’t be needing this after all.”
“I don’t understand.” She took the shotgun, staring at him numbly. “What happened?”
“Spivey and the Judge just informed me that they don’t want a war. Seems like Anderson sent word for me to be on the noon train and that bunch uptown don’t know whether to blink or go blind.”
Belle clapped her hands with delight. “Then you’re leaving! You’re really leaving.”
“Hell, no, I’m not leavin’. Wild horses couldn’t get me out of here now. I’m just gonna give ’em a little war instead of a big one.”
“Oh, God.” She seemed to wilt and slumped back into her chair. “There’s just no end to it. No end.”
She let go of the shotgun and McCluskie grabbed it before it hit the floor. “That’s where you’re wrong. I mean to end it once and for all. Anderson’s about to find out he treed the wrong town.”
He hefted the greener, studying it a moment, then laid it across the table. “If I meet ‘em without this, I’ve got an idea I can keep it between him and me. Thought it all out on the way back down here. That way Spivey and his bunch will just get that little war I was talkin’ about.”
“Mike McCluskie, you’re a fool.” Belle’s lip trembled and she looked on the verge of tears. “Do you know that? A stubborn, thickheaded fool!”
Over her shoulder he saw the kid watching him intently and he smiled. “Well, it takes all kinds. Course, the nice part about being a fool—”
“—is that they walk in where angels fear to tread.” Belle gave him a withering look. “Isn’t that what you started to say?”
The kid blinked a couple of times, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Cripes a’mighty, he can’t just take off like a scalded cat. Them Texans would be tellin’ it all over that they scared him out of town. Then where’d he be?”
“Kinch Riley, you stop that!” Belle snapped. “He’d be alive, that’s where he would be. If he doesn’t get on that train they’ll kill him. Is that what you want?”
“Stay out of it, Belle.” McCluskie shot her a harsh look, then glanced back at the kid. “You’re right, sport. Sometimes a fella does a thing just because it needs doing. That’s what separates the men from the boys. Knowin’ when to stop talkin’ and get down to business. That’s the kind of lingo Anderson will understand.”
Belle uttered a small groan and sunk lower in her chair. “Talk never killed anybody. Or running either. If you weren’t so pigheaded, you’d see that.”
“Better a live coward”—McCluskie grinned—“isn’t that how it goes?”
She turned away from him and began dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Sugartit moved up behind the chair and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. The Irishman stood there a moment, aware now that he’d gone too far with the jest. Then he glanced up and saw a look of fierce pride in the kid’s eyes, and suddenly it was all right.
“Like I said, it’s a thing that needs doing.”
FOURTEEN
Newt Hansberry waited on the platform as the evening train rolled to a halt. This was the last train of the day, and the station master felt a weary sense of relief that it was only an hour late. All too often it was midnight or later before he closed the depot, and he was grateful for any small favors the Santa Fe passed along. Hansberry waved to the conductor as he stepped off the first passenger coach, then turned and headed toward the express car. Once he had the mailbag locked away he could call it a day and begin thinking about himself for a change. Heading the list was a good night’s sleep, something that had been rare as hen’s teeth since he took over in Newton.
Out of the corner of his eye Hansberry saw something that suddenly made him forget late trains and mailbags and even his weary bones. He wheeled around and peered intently toward the street. Just for a moment he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. The flickering light from the station lamps was poor at best, and shadows often fooled a man into seeing things that weren’t there. Then he took a closer look and grunted. What he saw wasn’t imagination, and it had nothing whatever to do with shadows. It was the real article. A yard wide and big as life.
The station master couldn’t seem to collect his wits, and he just stood there as the Irishman crossed the tracks and headed toward the southside. Before he could call out it was too late. McCluskie melted into the darkness at the end of the platform and vanished from sight. Hansberry blinked and rubbed his eyes, looking again. There was something spooky about it. Like waking from a dream bathed in sweat. Yet there was nothing unreal about this, or the sudden chill that swept along his backbone. It was just damned hard to accept, and perhaps frightening in a way he didn’t wholly understand.
McCluskie got much the same reaction from people he passed on the street. Particularly the Texans. They stopped, hardly able to credit their eyes, and stared after him with a look of bemused disbelief. That he hadn’t quit and run, boarding the noon train, they could accept. Some of them, the ones with gumption, liked to believe they would have done likewise. But that he was out prowling the streets—fully aware of what he faced—was beyond reason. The act of a man who had crossed the line separating foolhardiness from common ordinary horse sense.
Angling across Main, McCluskie hesitated before the hotel and then walked on. With everybody staring at him like he was some kind of tent show freak, he wasn’t about to give them that satisfaction. They could guess and be damned, but his reasons for staying were his own. He meant to keep it that way.
The baffled expression of everyone along the street gave him a moment of sardonic amusement. Before the night was out they would have talked themselves dry trying to put a label on it. But they wouldn’t even come close, and in a grim sort of way, it made everything easier knowing he had them stumped. Most of them would chalk it up to lunacy or pride, and they weren’t far wide of the mark. Perhaps, after all, it did take a certain brand of madness to stand and fight. To shoulder the burden of an entire town and accept the responsibility of the cheap piece of tin pinned on his shirt.
But there was a simpler truth, one not so readily apparent, and only after considerable thought had he seen it for what it was. Each man in his own way feared certain things worse than he feared death itself. The lucky ones were never forced to take that close a look at themselves, and what it was they feared most went to the grave with them. The vagaries of fate being what they were, McCluskie hadn’t been that fortunate.
He had found his secret fear in the eyes of a kid.
That revelation had come hard, after searching his innermost self with a fine probe. Somehow it was all jumbled together. The town and the kid. Since the war he hadn’t given a tinker’s damn for anyone or any place. A nomad answerable to no one but himself, with no ties to bind him and no obligations he couldn’t sever on the whim of the moment. Now, after grappling with it most of the day, he knew that it was only partly pride, and an even smaller sense of duty, which had prompted him to goad the Town Board. To back them into a corner and force them to let him stay and fight their fight. Underneath it all, perhaps overshadowing his own flinty pride, was the kid. That was the part which had come clear and crystal bright.
Quitters finished last.
Kinch had proved that in the siege with his own special devil. After all that had passed between them, McCluskie could do no less. The look he’d seen in the kid’s eyes, exultant at his determination to stay and fight, had made it all worthwhile.
Whatever happened.
Along with a fitful day, holed up in Doc Boyd’s office, this newly acquired awareness hadn’t given him much rest. Which struck him as neither odd nor unreasonable. Somehow it seemed merely fitting. Luckily, he wasn’t forced to dwell on it any longer.
Approaching Third, he saw the yellow parlor house and his thoughts turned to Belle Siddons. While he had curbed the impulse to stop at the hotel, there was no reason to avoid Belle. She was the closest thing he’d ever had to a sweet tooth, and tonight seemed a lit
tle late in the game to start resisting temptation.
When he entered the parlor, Belle uttered a small gasp and the color drained from her face. Several Texans were lolling about making smalltalk among themselves, and the conversation fell off sharply as he stepped through the doorway. Apparently they were passing time, waiting, for there wasn’t a girl in sight. Somewhat taken aback, the cowhands stared at him as if he had dropped out of a tree. None of them said anything, but they suddenly got very careful with their hands. Galvanized at last, Belle came out of her chair as if touched by a hot poker.
She grabbed his arm, raking the Texans with a fiery glance, and marched him through the door and down the hall to the kitchen. Only after she had drawn the shade on the back door did she turn on him. Somehow, though it came to him only at that moment, McCluskie had always liked her best when she was angry. She was plainly in one of her spitfire moods right now and the look on her face made him smile.
“Mike, for God’s sake, stop grinning at me like a jackass. Don’t you know what’s happening?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He doffed his hat and gave her a half bow. “You see I heard stories about this lady that snorts fire like a dragon, and I’ve come to pay my respects. Queer thing is, them stories weren’t the least bit exaggerated.”
“Stop it! Stop it!” A tear rolled down over her cheek and her bottom lip trembled. “They’re going to kill you. Do you hear me, Mike? Anderson and his men are in town right now. This very minute. Don’t you understand that?”
He crossed the kitchen and took her in his arms, sobered by what he had seen in her face. She met his embrace with a fierce hug and buried her head against his chest. After a moment he raised her chin and kissed her, slowly and with a gentleness he’d never shown before. When their lips parted, she gave a small sniffle and he smiled, wiping a tear off her cheek.
“There’s lots of things I understand better than I did this morning.”
Belle kissed his hand, then blinked as the words slowly took hold. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, I guess because I had plenty of time to do some thinkin’. I’ve been holed up in Doc’s office all day, waitin’ for things to cool down before I braced Anderson. Just sat there starin’ at the wall for the most part, figuring things out.”
“What things?”
McCluskie let her go and drew back. He pulled out the makings, trickling tobacco onto paper, and started building a smoke. There was something deliberate and unhurried about his movements, as if he was stalling for time, keeping his hands occupied while he collected his thoughts. Belle waited him out, and at last, when he had the cigarette going, he met her gaze.
“I was thinkin’ about the kid.”
She gave him a quick intent look. “Kinch? Why, there isn’t any reason to worry about him. He’s just a boy. Texans aren’t even low enough to take their spite out on a boy.”
“That wasn’t what I meant, just exactly.” The Irishman took a deep drag and exhaled, studying the coal on the tip of his cigarette. “I was thinkin’ about the way he looked at me this mornin’ when he heard I hadn’t quit.”
“My god!” Belle paled and her eyes widened with comprehension. “You stayed so he would go on thinking you’re some kind of holy terror.”
“Something like that. I’d already made up my mind anyway, but it came to me sort of gradual that I stayed for the kid as much as for myself.”
“And you’re going to hunt Anderson down just to prove it?”
“That’s about the gist of it, I guess.” McCluskie flicked ashes toward the stove and smiled. “Seems odd, don’t it? Can’t say as I’ve quite gotten used to the idea myself.”
“Not odd, Mike. Insane. Do you hear me? Crazy mad! You’ll get yourself killed for nothing.” She waited for an answer but he just stared at her. “He’s dying, Mike. Don’t you understand? In a few months he’ll be dead and whatever you proved to him won’t mean a thing.”
“That’s the point I’ve been tryin’ to make. It’ll mean a whole lot.” His brow wrinkled and he took a swipe at his mustache. “Funny thing is, it’s hard to explain, but when you get it boiled down, it’s real simple. The kid don’t have much besides me. When his string runs out I’d like to think nothin’ between us had changed.”
“You’re just kidding yourself, don’t you know that? He’s in Sugar’s room right now. Does that sound like someone who’s all busted up because his idol might wind up dead?”
“Belle, you’ve been in the business long enough to know better’n that. Sugar’s like a toy, just something to keep him from suckin’ his thumb. Case you don’t know it, he spent most of the day searchin’ all over town for me. Doc told me so himself.”
He took a final puff and ground out the cigarette in an ashtray. “You say he’s in her room now?”
“Yes, has been for the last hour. Why?”
“Nothin’. Just hadn’t planned on seein’ him, that’s all.”
“Well that takes the cake! I’ll swear to God, it does.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Matter? Oh, nothing at all. Just that you’re willing to get yourself killed, but you can’t face Kinch and tell him why. Doesn’t that strike you as a little strange?”
“Depends on how you look at it. First off, it’s not all because of him. Never was. And there’s no sense makin’ it out to be something it’s not. Next thing is, I don’t plan on gettin’ killed. Likely there’s some that could punch my ticket, but Anderson’s not one of ’em.”
He paused and gave her a tight grin. “Tell you the truth, there’s an even better reason. Hell, you know how the kid is. If I told him what’s up, he’d raise a fuss to go along. I want him kept out of it.”
“You’re crazy, Mike McCluskie, do you know that?” Belle stomped off a couple of paces and turned, glaring at him. “Just once in your life couldn’t you stop being so bullheaded? Anderson isn’t about to stick to some silly set of rules. He wants you dead, and he’ll use every dirty trick in the book to make sure it comes out that way.”
The Irishman shrugged and grinned. “I’m not much for playin’ by the rules myself. Like the fella said, there’s more’n one way to skin a cat.”
“Whose cat you gonna skin?”
Startled, they looked around and saw Kinch standing in the hallway door. There was no way of knowing how much he had overheard, yet it was apparently enough. His eyes were fastened on McCluskie, and as he stepped into the kitchen, a wide grin spread over his face.
“You’ve been sorta scarce today. Everybody said you was hidin’ out, but I told ’em they was full of beans. I knew you’d show up.”
“Well you had me shaded there, bud. I wasn’t real sure myself till the sun went down.”
“Yeah, but I knew. I got to thinkin’ about it after you left this mornin’, and I told myself there wasn’t nothin’ on earth that’d stop you. I was right, too.”
“Guess you were, at that.” McCluskie smiled and punched him on the shoulder.
Kinch paused and eyed him steadily for a moment. “You’re gonna go lookin’ for Anderson, aren’t you?”
The Irishman cocked one eyebrow and nodded. “Guess it’s time somebody called his hand. Seein’ as I’m still wearin’ the badge, it might as well be me.”
“You’ll need some help. Like that night with Bailey, remember? Wouldn’t hurt none a’tall for me to back your play.”
“Not this time, bud. It’s personal. Something Anderson and me have got to settle ourselves.”
McCluskie expected the kid to sull up and start pouting. Oddly enough, it fell the other way. Kinch nodded, as if he understood perfectly, and for once showed no inclination to argue the matter. They stared at one another a while and the Irishman finally chuckled.
“Tell you what. You wait here for me and after I’m finished we’ll go up and check the yards together. Fair enough?”
“Whatever you say,” the boy agreed. “Don’t make it too long though. I’d like to get back to Sugar somet
ime tonight.”
McCluskie laughed and turned back to Belle. She was fighting hard, determined not to cry, and from somewhere, she dredged up a tiny smile.
“Take care, Irish.”
He grinned and gave her a playful swat on the rump. “Keep the lamp lit. I’ll be home early.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Her words had a hollow ring, and as he entered the hallway she couldn’t hold back any longer. Tears sluiced down over her cheeks, and when the front door slammed her heart seemed to stop altogether. Behind her another door closed softly, eased shut with only a slight click of the latch. Somehow she knew even before she looked, and a spark of hope fanned bright as she spun around.
Kinch was gone.
McCluskie had thought it all out at Doc Boyd’s while he waited for it to grow dark. The choice was between Gregory’s Saloon and Perry Tuttle’s Dancehall. Those were Anderson’s favorite hangouts, and sooner or later he was bound to show. Tuttle’s somehow seemed the more appropriate of the two dives. That was where he had killed Bailey, and it was only fitting that the big dog himself be accorded the same honor.
Striding along toward Hide Park, the Irishman amused himself with a wry thought. Chances were it wouldn’t be so much a matter of him finding Anderson as it would of Anderson finding him. While he had been on the street less than an hour, it stood to reason that word had already spread through town. The Texan likely knew every move he was making, and by now any chance of surprise would have worn off. The fact that he chose to flaunt his decision by invading Tuttle’s made it a challenge Anderson could hardly overlook. That was something he counted on heavily. Bait of sorts.
Only in this case it was a tossup. He hadn’t quite decided whether he was the hunter or the hunted. Not that he would have too long a wait to find out. The question would be resolved soon enough.
Tuttle’s was packed to the rafters and going full blast when he came through the doors. He swept the room with a slow look, assuring himself that Anderson wasn’t present, but even that seemed more out of habit than any sense of caution. Tonight he didn’t feel wary. Quite the opposite, he felt reckless and anxious to have it done with. He had come here to kill a man, and the sooner it could be arranged the better. Perhaps he wouldn’t walk away himself, but that had ceased to trouble him. For an assortment of reasons, none of which he had bothered to explore, he was riding a crest of fatalism. It was a thing that needed doing and he had tapped himself for the job. That was explanation enough.
