by Simon Hawke
“Oh, maybe your reputation as a pistolero will make some men back down.” he continued, “but it will also mark you. Instead of trying to face you down, they’ll look to shoot you from behind or get you through a window with a scattergun. And then they’ll be able to brag about how they gunned down the Montana Kid. You’ll be popular with the saloon girls, but most respectable women will keep shy of you. You’d be a bad bet to settle down with You’ll have men respect you and move aside when you walk down the street, but deep down, they won’t like having you, around and no one will be sorry when you leave.”
“What about if you’re a gambler?” Scott asked.
Masterson pulled out a crudely made wooden chair and sat down at the table. “Well, it’s more respectable, for one thing,” he said, as he took out a pack of cards and absently started to shuffle them. “Lots safer, too.”
“Like yesterday, you mean?” asked Scott, with a smile.
Masterson shrugged. “What happened yesterday doesn’t really happen very often. And, in a way, it was my own fault. Slim was cheating. And he wasn’t very good at it. I decided to cheat back a bit, to teach him a lesson. He wasn’t good enough to catch me at it, hut he tumbled to it somehow. I read him wrong. I didn’t figure that he’d pull a gun. That was foolish of me. Yes, there are risks to being a gambler, but the advantage is that you only have to deal with trouble that comes to you. You don’t have to go out looking for it.” He glanced at Scott and smiled. “You play?”
He put the deck down in the center of the table for him to cut. Scott looked at him a moment, then picked it up and cut it twice, one-handed. He shuffled it, quickly shot the deck from one hand to the other, split it, fanned the two equal parts in either hand, put it back together and then started dealing from the top, face down.
“Deuce of hearts.” he said, as he put the first card down. “Deuce of spades. Deuce of clubs. King of clubs. King of diamonds.”
Masterson stared at him, then slowly turned each card over to reveal the full house. He whistled softly.
“Son. I don’t know how you did that, but if you could teach me. I’d be much obliged. That’s my own deck and I know it’s clean.”
“All it takes is practice. Mr. Masterson.” said Scott. He reached out and pulled a silver dollar from Masterson’s ear, then walked it across his fingers, back and forth, snapped them, and the coin was gone. “Lots and lots of practice.”
Masterson shook his head with awe. “There sure is a lot more to you than meets the eye.”
Neilson smiled. “You could say that.”
“You see about all you want to see here?”
“Yeah. I guess I have.” said Scott
They were so small, they could easily have been missed, but he had known what he was looking for. Three tiny holes in the adobe wall. Burned into it by lasers.
The dining room in the Grand Hotel boasted an elegant menu for a town like Tombstone, but Neilson avoided the dubious French cuisine and ordered a thick steak, instead. He had it with a buttered baked potato and some beans and washed it down with a passable claret. He was about halfway through his meal when a soft, feminine yoke behind him said. “You’re the Montana Kid, aren’t you?”
He turned slightly and saw a lovely young girl of about eighteen or nineteen, with long, silky, ash-blonde hair and large, powder-blue eyes. She was wearing a long, light blue calico dress with lace around the collar and high-buttoned shoes. Her creamy complexion was absolutely flawless, she had a small, tuned-up nose, a slightly pointed chin and naturally pouting lips. He thought she was one of the most beautiful girls he’d ever seen.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your meal,” she said, coming around in front of him, “but I saw what you did yesterday and I thought it was about the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You were there? “ Scott said, with some surprise. He could hardly believe he had missed seeing her.
“I work there.” she said, lowering her eyes slightly. “I… I wasn’t dressed like this. I’m one of the saloon girls. My name is Jennifer. Jennifer Reilly.”
Neilson wiped his mouth and stood up “Pleased to meet you, Miss Reilly. And no. you’re not interrupting me. I’d appreciate the company. Please, sit down.”
He pulled out a chair for her.
“Call me Jenny. What do your friends call you-Montana?”
He grinned. “No, not really. My friends call me Scott. Scott Neilson.”
“It’s nice to meet you. Scott” She watched him as he sat back down. “I see you’re not wearing your gun.”
“No, Virgil Earp took it from me. Said there was an ordinance against carrying guns in Tombstone.”
“That doesn’t seem to stop a lot of people.” she said.
“No, it doesn’t, does it?”
“Aren’t you afraid? To be without your gun, I mean. Those cowboys that you shot have some pretty nasty friends.”
“Like Curly Bill and Johnny Ringo?”
“And Ike Clanton and the McLaury brothers: she said.” I see you’ve already heard of them”
“Yes. Bat Masterson warned me about them”
“And you’re not worried?”
“Well, yes. I confess I am, a little. But the law’s the law, isn’t it? And I’ve only just arrived in town. I don’t want to get on the wrong side of a man like Virgil Earp. His brother, Wyatt, already seems to have taken a dislike to me.”
“Oh, that sounds like Wyatt, all right.” she said. “Wyatt’s very protective of his brothers. And to him, any man who wears a gun and uses it the way you do means trouble. And wait till you meet Morgan.”
“Oh? What’s he like? He a lawman. too?”
“He’s a shotgun guard on the Wells Fargo stage. You’ll know him when you see him. Those three Earp brothers look as alike as peas in a pod, but they’re all really very different. Virgil is the steady one. He’s calm-tempered and looks to avoid trouble if he can. Wyatt’s steady, too. I guess, only in a different way. If there’s trouble, he doesn’t waste too many words. He’ll buffalo you with his six-shooter just as soon as look at you “
To “buffalo” someone, Neilson remembered, meant to get the better of him in some way, usually by force. What Jenny was referring to was Wyatt Earp’s penchant for braining miscreants with the barrel of his gun and knocking them unconscious. In a Wild frontier town like Tombstone, it was nothing more than sensible law enforcement. Why give a man a chance to draw his gun if you can crack his skull first and avoid all the unpleasantness?
“And as for Morgan,” Jenny continued, “he’s real hot tempered and can be quite a handful when he’s been drinking. He hangs around with that Doc Holliday a lot. Wyatt and Doc are close friends too, which seems a little strange. I guess, seeing as they’re so different Wyatt doesn’t drink at all and Doc drinks quite excessively. When him and Morgan have had a few too many, watch out!”
“I’ll try to remember that.” said Scott. “May I offer you some wine?”
“Oh. thank you. no.” She hesitated. “Well, maybe just a smidgen? It goes to my head so.”
Scott smiled and signaled the waiter for another glass.
“Anyway,” Jenny went on. “Morgan? He only gets riled when he’s had a few too many, but that Doc Holliday, he’s got a real short fuse. You wouldn’t think it to look at him, him so frail and sickly and coughing all the time-he’s got consumption, you know-but he’s a real killer. They say he’s one of the deadliest men with a six-shooter in the whole Southwest.”
“Really? You seem to know a lot about the people in this town.”
She blushed and looked down. “You must think I’m an awful gossip.”
“No. I don’t. Just that I’m new in town and it’s useful to hear such things. Might help me stay out of trouble.”
“Seems to me like you’ve already found some. With Slim and Jack, I mean. Not that anybody’s going to miss them overmuch. They were rustlers, you know. Real troublemakers.”
“I gather there’s a
lot of rustling going on around here,” Neilson said.
“
Oh, yes. And there’s a lot who don’t mind it. They can get their cattle and their horses cheaper when they’re rustled up from Mexico. Or from one of the bigger spreads around here. People don’t ask a lot of questions when they’re getting a bargain. Course, the big ranchers, they don’t like it one bit, but they don’t have all that much to say about it. The rustlers don’t bother the smaller ranches and they usually get a real welcome there. And they never cause much trouble in town, either. At least they didn’t until lately.”
“Oh? What changed things?”
“Well, there’s a lot of money in this town right now. It’s growing bigger every day. And that’s a lot of bullion going out on the two stage lines. That can be real tempting for some people who don’t have too many scruples.”
Jenny downed her “smidgen” of wine in one quick gulp and held her glass out for more as she spoke. Scott refilled it.
“So you’re saying the town’s attracting a bad element?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt about that! Sheriff Johnny Behan? You run into him yet?”
“No, I can’t say I have.”
“Well, you ask me, he’s one of them. He’s a real handsome man, though his hair’s thin on top, and he goes around like he’s God’s gift to women. He’s good friends with Ike Clanton and his bunch. And his deputy, Billy Breakenridge, he’s not much better. Sadie calls him Billy Blab, because he talks so much and is real full of himself.”
“Sadie?”
— Oh, that’s right. you wouldn’t know her. Actually, her name is Josephine, but her middle name is Sarah so her close friends call her Sadie. She used to be Johnny Behan’s girl, only now she’s with Wyatt and there’s been bad blood between the two men ever since. See, her daddy paid for her to build this house in town when she was engaged to Johnny, only now Johnny’s on the outs with her and she’s with Wyatt, but Johnny owns the lot the house is standing on and one night, he came to, try and dispossess her. Only Morg was there and he knocked Johnny clear off the front porch.”
“Sounds like things keep jumping around here.” Neilson said, with a smile. He refilled Jenny’s glass as she held it out again for another smidgen. “I just might stick around a while.”
“What brings you to Tombstone, Scott? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”
“No. I don’t mind. I came looking for some friends of mine. Only I found out they’d been killed. Maybe you knew them. Ben Summers. Josh Billings and Joe McEnery?”
“Oh. My, yes!” she said. “They were friends of yours? It was an awful thing, what happened. They were real gentlemen, all three of them, always so nice and so polite. Never pawing at you like a lot of men do. Ben and Josh were always friendly, but Joe was kind of sweet on me. He used to sneak over sometimes to see me, when the others weren’t around. See, they were all supposed to be saving up to buy a ranch together out in Oklahoma and he didn’t want the other two to know that he was spending any of it on me.
“I see,” said Scott. What he hadn’t wanted them to know was that he was going to a hooker. That son of thing was against regulations, though it was known to happen. Observers were only human, after all, and long-tem postings had their hardships.
“You don’t approve of me.” she said.
“No. I wouldn’t say that. A girl has to make a living. I’d say that Joe McEnery had good taste.”
She lowered her eyes demurely. “It’s sweet of you to say that, Scott.”
“Did you see Joe often?”
“Every now and then.”
“Did he ever say anything about anyone in town he might be worried about? Someone he had trouble with, perhaps, or someone new in town who looked suspicious to him?”
“Well, he did ask some questions, once or twice,” she replied. “He seemed curious about that Mr. Drake and a few others.”
“Mr. Drake?”
“Oh, well, he had a room right here in this hotel, but he checked out and left town. Nathan Drake, his name was, a rich man from hack East somewhere. He came out here looking to make some investments, like a lot of people do. He wasn’t interested in silver, I don’t’ think, just property, only he didn’t find anything here that suited him. Then there was that Mr. Stone, from San Francisco. Joe was curious about him, as well. He’s a gambler and you can find him most nights in the
Oriental or the Alhambra He’s new in town, only came in a few weeks ago. And Zeke
Bailey. Joe asked about him, as well. Zeke’s a gunsmith, works for Mr. Spangenberg at his shop over on Fourth Street. He came to town about a month or so ago and old George Spangenberg, he says he’s just a wonder when it comes to tuning guns and fixing them. Zeke makes knives, too. Beautiful things they are. I’ve seen some of them in the shop. He has a little place just outside of town, where he’s got himself a forge and all. Zeke’s kind of quiet and keeps to himself a lot. And there’s a few other people that Joe asked about. To tell the truth. I think Joe distrusted just about everyone he didn’t know. Most folks around here think those three were greenhorns, nice enough, but city boys who didn’t know their business and were slowly going broke out there. Me, I think they made themselves a strike and didn’t talk about it, for fear of someone robbing them. I think they were hiding what they found till they were ready to pull out. Only it looks like someone found out about it anyway and killed them for it. I guess Joe was right to worry.”
The bottle was empty and Scott had only drunk two glasses.
“Oh, look at me!” said Jenny. “My, here I was rattling on so, I went and drank up all that wine and didn’t even notice! Now I’m feeling a bit tipsy. Scott, you naughty boy. I do believe you’re trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me!”
“I’d never take advantage of a lady.” Scott replied.
“Well, aren’t you the proper gentleman. But what must you think of me, talking so and drinking all that wine!”
“I think you must have been thirsty,” Neilson replied, with a smile.
“Now you’re teasing me!”
“Well, maybe a little. But I have enjoyed talking to you, Jenny. You seem to know a lot about what happens in this town. I’d like to try and find out what happened to my friends. You’ve been very helpful. Maybe we could talk some more.”
“You mean, like in private?” she asked, looking at him.
Neilson had been thinking about that. She did seem like a font of valuable information and information was exactly what he needed now. A friend like Jenny could be very helpful. Yet, if he turned her down, he might offend her. Or was he just rationalizing the fact that he was sexually attracted to her? He’d been rendered immune to most diseases, including those that were sexually transmitted, but he wasn’t sum if getting involved with her would be a very smart thing to do. On the other hand, he did need intelligence…
Before he could decide, he heard a loud voice say. “I’m lookin’ for the Montana Kid.”
“Oh. dear.” said Jenny. “It’s Ross Demming.”
“Demming?” Neilson said, looking over his shoulder.
“The brother of one of the men you killed. And the other man with him is Frank McLaury. Don’t say anything. Maybe they won’t know who you are.”
But Demming’s gaze had already settled on him.
“You,” he said. “You’re the one. You’re the polecat who shot my brother.”
The room had become completely silent, save for the sound of chairs scraping as people quickly moved out of the way. Neilson turned away from him and remained seated.
“He’s not wearing a gun. Ross,” Jenny said. “If you shoot an unarmed man, it will be murder.”
“You stay out of this. Jenny. It’s none of your affair. He murdered Jack.”
“It was a fair fight.” Jenny said, was there. I saw it. As anyone in town. Jack jerked his pistol first “
“I said, stay out of it!”
“Frank, you get him out of here before there’s trou
ble,” Jenny said, speaking to McLaury. “You have more sense. You get him out of here right now.”
“Jack was a friend of mine, Jenny. And Ross has a right to be upset about his brother bein’ shot down by some young gunfighter out to make a reputation for himself.”
“He’s got no right to shoot an unarmed man!”
“The Kid can have one of my guns,” said McLaury, pulling one of his Colts out of its holster. He held it out butt first. “Here, Kid. Take it. It’ll be a fair fight. They say you’re good. Let’s see how good you are.”
Neilson still sat with his back to them. His heart was beating fast and his stomach felt tight.
“I don’t want any trouble,” he said. “I’ve got no quarrel with you, Mr. Demming. Or with you, Mr. McLaury. What I did yesterday. I did because. I had no choice.”
“What makes you think you’ve got a choice right now?” asked Ross.,
“Take the gun, Kid,” said McLaury. “Unless you’re yellow.”
“All right.” said Scott. “I’m yellow.”
“You take that gun,” said Ross. “You stand up and take it, right now, or so help me. I’ll let you have it in the back.”
There was the sound of soft coughing behind Demming and a voice said. “Two can play at that game.”
Demming and McLaury both stood very still.
“This ain’t none of your affair. Holliday.” said Frank McLaury, without turning around.
“I just made it my affair. Wyatt’s on his way and so is Virgil. They heard you just rode into town and forgot to check your guns. Morg just got in on the stage, so I expect he’ll be along, as well. And I don’t think they’ll take too kindly to your actions. Funny thing, though, how the sheriff never seems to be around at times like this. Where do you figure Johnny went?”
“Okay. Holliday.” said Frank McLaury. “You win. This time. Come on. Ross. Let’s go.”
“Before you turn around. Frank, put away that six-gun, nice and easy. I wouldn’t want to chance your pulling a border roll on me. Hear Curly Bill’s right good with it and he’s been teaching you.”
