Gunpoint

by Giles Tippette

  On the third day, after crossing the San Antonio River, I looked up at the sun. It was coming noon so I decided to have some lunch where firewood was plentiful. I’d make some coffee and heat up the beans. Maybe even take a little rest. I figured Pleasanton was about ten or twelve miles away. I could take a good long nooning, let the horses rest after their swim, and then ride a considerable part of the distance in the balance of the afternoon and evening. That would put me in position to arrive in Pleasanton the next day in the early afternoon.

  I gathered up downed wood and built a little fire. I hadn’t seen the four riders since that day at the Navidad River. I’d seen riders in the distance, but not the four that had worried me. I figured, by then, they would have turned back.

  I made a good lunch. I fixed coffee and then sliced off some brisket and put it in the skillet with some beans and an onion I’d peeled and quartered. That along with bread and a can of apricots to finish it off made a better meal than I’d had the last few days when I’d been making cold camps and getting by with cheese and bread and canned tomatoes.

  I drank one cup of coffee black, and then sweetened the second with a pretty good helping of whiskey and leaned back against the saddle to drink it. I’d unsaddled the roan to let his saddle blanket dry, spreading it in the sun over a bush at the far side of the tree line. The horses were cropping grass in the shade.

  When I finally got going I rode on until just before dark. Now the country was getting a little chopped up. I left the horses down in a pretty deep valley and made my camp on the knob of a little hill. There was plenty of grass in the valley but I gave them the last of the oats so they wouldn’t forget where home was. I figured to take the time to restock on provisions for both myself and the horses in Pleasanton, which I knew to be a town of a little bigger size than Blessing.

  I was away next morning by eight. The horses had wandered a bit and it took me a little longer to get them in and saddled and loaded than it ordinarily would. I could see the colt was hardening up and filling out. He might still be skittish, but he was going to make a good cow horse when he got a little sense.

  Pleasanton was closer than I’d thought. I didn’t figure I’d ridden more than a mile when 1 topped a little rise and saw the town laid out for me. I pulled my horses up and stood there staring down at it. My original plan had been to get into the town and get out as quick as I could: send Norris the telegram, make a fast stop at the mercantile, and then be on my way. But I’d been on the trail for a week and the only real human commerce I’d had with anyone had been with the three Mexican thieves. And I was getting mighty tired of my own cooking and the same old diet of beef and beans and bread and cheese. I wanted a cold beer or two and I wanted to sit down to a meal of fried eggs and ham and take my time. I also wanted a drink of whiskey that hadn’t come out of a bottle that had been baking in ninety-five-degree heat all day and was so hot the fumes nearly took your head off when you pulled the cork.

  What the hell, I thought. What could it hurt. I looked back. There wasn’t a soul in sight, just a few cattle scattered here and there. What difference would an extra hour make? I just could not believe that my pursuer or pursuers could be that close to me. For all I knew the whole trip was for naught. I decided to give myself a break from the trail. I’d send the wire and get the provisions, and then I’d treat myself to a haircut and a barbershop shave and then eat a civilized breakfast and drink some cold beer. I started the horses toward Pleasanton.

  CHAPTER 5

  First thing I went to the telegraph office and got off a wire to Norris, saying essentially the same thing I’d said to him in the previous telegram, only adding that I might swing up north toward Del Rio but that I definitely intended to head for the border.

  I was looking for some rough country where I could set my own ambush and that seemed the most likely spot. Again, the telegraph office was attached to the Southern Pacific line, just like at El Campo, and they charged me extra for wiring to Blessing, which was part of the MKT railroad. It wasn’t but an extra four bits, but it still riled me. I couldn’t see where it cost no more to wire an MKT station than it did an SP. The wires were already there. It was just another way of getting at the public.

  When the wire was gone I rode slowly down the middle of the street, keeping a sharp lookout, or keeping as sharp a lookout as I could with all the people on the street, until I found a general mercantile and grocery store. I hitched the roan, leaving the chestnut just as he was, and went on in. It was cool and dim, just like Lonnie Parker’s was and, I reckoned, just like every other mercantile in the country. I had one of the helpers get a tow sack and I loaded up on some more canned goods and a sixty-foot coil of soft rope. I wasn’t quite sure what I needed the rope for, but such an article is always handy in rough country. I bought some saltine crackers and some more cheese and a jar of pickles, and was delighted to find they had some cured hams. That was going to make a mighty welcome change from the beef brisket, which was starting to dry out. My bacon was nearly gone, but they didn’t have any, and besides, the ham would take its place nicely. My bread had pretty well gone stale, but there wasn’t much I could do about that. They had some tinned biscuits, but I’d tried them before and damn near lost a tooth. I’d just have to do without bread or maybe be able to buy some in the cafe I’d spotted a few doors down.

  When I was finished I paid the clerk and asked him to keep the tow sack full of supplies for me, saying that I wanted to step down the way and have some breakfast and then get a haircut and a shave. He said there was a right serviceable barbershop just one door down from the cafe. I thanked him and indicated my horses, gave him four bits, and asked him to keep an eye on them. He was a well-mannered young man, and he appreciated the fifty cents and was doing something to earn it. I don’t mind spending money when I get something for it.

  I gave my livestock a look as I came out the door. I’d loosened the roan’s cinch, but I couldn’t do the same for the chestnut on account of his packsaddle would fall off. I’d watered them that morning at the depot trough when I’d come into town and they appeared to be doing fine, both of them with their heads a little down and one hind hoof lifted till the tip was just touching the ground. After a time they’d switch and rest the other hind leg. A horse does most of his work with his back legs; that’s why big hams and big gaskin muscles are so important in an animal you want for speed and endurance.

  I decided to get the haircut and shave out of the way. I was especially looking forward to the shave. I’d shaved twice in creeks and a shave without a mirror in cold water wasn’t my idea of comfort.

  I went in and waited my turn, and then got the works when it came my time in the chair. The talk I heard around me was just the same as if I’d been in the barbershop in Blessing: the weather, the price of beef, the celebration that would come on the Fourth of July, the likelihood of some good horse racing and who had a runner and who didn’t. They’d be talking about horse racing in Blessing, and I imagined that Ben was already looking over his herd to find a likely entry. Josalito, the boy that had got hit over the head, usually rode as a jockey for him. He had a natural way with horses and he didn’t weigh much over 120 pounds soaking wet. I didn’t know a town that didn’t have match horse races on the Fourth.

  When I was all slicked up and had lost about a pound of hair, I give the barber his six bits and then sauntered on to the cafe. I ordered four fried eggs and some ham and biscuits with cream gravy and coffee. I ate and ate, and finally only quit out of shame. Then I asked the girl who’d waited my table if there was any chance the kitchen could sell me a couple of loaves of bread. She came back a little later with some in a sack. I paid her for the whole mess and asked her to hold on to the bread for me, saying I’d be back in a few minutes.

  What I wanted was a couple of cold beers and a couple of shots of whiskey that weren’t near boiling. There was a saloon just across the street. I thought it would be best to move my horses down because I planned to leave right
after I visited the saloon. I walked down the boardwalk, went into the mercantile, fetched my tow sack, hung it off the packsaddle, and moved my horses down in front of the saloon. I always liked my animals where I could keep an eye on them, especially in a strange town.

  I tied the roan in front of the saloon and then went in and took a table toward the back. It still being pretty early of a morning, not much after nine, there weren’t many customers. The barkeeper came out to serve me. I ordered a bottle of his best whiskey and two mugs of cold beer. I figured to save him a trip because I was going to down that first beer like it had been looking for a home.

  After the first beer and the first shot of whiskey I just sat there relaxing and letting some of the tiredness run out of my bones. Sitting there, enjoying myself, I slowly came to realize just how tight and tense I’d been holding myself for the last eight or nine days: watching my back trail, alert for the slightest sound or movement, making cold camps, in the saddle all day, sleeping on the ground, eating like a fugitive. And of course, there was more of the same to come. But that was the reason for the trip. I was just looking forward to when I reached the rough country and I could turn the tables. I just had to hope that my bushwhacker, whoever he or they might be, was close enough on my trail so that I wouldn’t have too long a wait to let him know how it felt to be attacked from cover.

  I couldn’t quite see my horses. They were tied in front of the open door, which led right at the bar, and I was back a ways in the room. Besides, the windows were kind of colored for the lower half. I reckoned that was so just anybody walking along the boardwalk couldn’t see who was having a drink, a wife or some such who wouldn’t approve.

  I was about halfway through the second beer and was just pouring out a shot of whiskey when a tall man of about my age came through the door. He stopped just inside and looked the room over, his eyes coming to rest on me. As he neared I could see he was wearing a tin star on his chest. But what took my attention more was the way he had his gun rig set up. I’d seen a lot of lawmen and I’d never seen one wear his rig like a gunslinger. They didn’t have to draw with people. Mostly they carried a shotgun under their arm, or already had their revolver out when they approached their target.

  The man wove his way toward me through the tables. I set the shot glass down and let my right hand fall down on my right thigh. I put the sole of my boot against one of the legs of the table.

  He came up to the table and stopped just opposite me. He said, “Are you Justa Williams?”

  I studied him for a moment. “I’ve never had cause to deny it. Yes, I’m Justa Williams. What business would that be of yours?”

  He said, “I’m the sheriff over to El Campo. An’ I got pretty good reason to think you shot and kilt one of our citizens.”

  I straightened just a little more and let my right hand get a little closer to my revolver. I had the bad feeling that something was wrong, something didn’t fit. I said, “I was jumped by three Mexican thieves about five mile outside of El Campo. One of them drew on me and I shot him. But I didn’t kill him. The slug took him in the left shoulder, and unless his two friends let him bleed to death on the way back to town, he was good and alive the last time I saw him.”

  The man said, sort of menacingly, “All I know is he was dead when they brung him into town. And you picked the wrong hombre to kill. That man was the son of one of our leading citizens.”

  I wanted to laugh. “That man looked like the son of one of your leading horse thieves. Listen, I taken notice of those boys’ clothes and the quality of their mounts. I tell you I shot him in the shoulder. And he drew first.”

  “I got two witnesses say you drew on him. They say you was going to rob them.”

  I said, as evenly as I could, “Now listen to me. I’m easy to check up on. I took a considerable amount of money out of your bank in El Campo. You can wire on that. They knew who I was. And they know who I am. So it don’t make much sense talking about me robbing three penniless pachuchos. Those boys saw me putting some cash in my pocket and they followed me.”

  By now we had the full attention of everyone in the saloon. Even the barkeep had stopped wiping glasses and was watching us, his elbows on the bar.

  The man shifted his weight just imperceptibly, but I took notice that he was putting more weight on his left leg. It made it easier for a right-hander to draw. He said, “Well, yeah, that’s yore story. I reckon we can git it all straightened out back in El Campo.”

  “I’m not going back to El Campo. You haven’t got any authority here. You are way out of your county.”

  “I been in hot pursuit. Law allows for that.”

  I laughed slightly. “You must have been riding a mighty slow horse because I’ve just been poking along, taking my time. And I never saw hide nor hair of you.” In the back of my mind I was thinking he’d very carefully waited until I was hemmed up in a saloon and not out on the prairie where I could see him from five miles off. I wondered if he’d been one of the four riders I’d seen going hell-bent for leather.

  And then it hit me. He’d come up and asked if I was Justa Williams. How could the sheriff of El Campo know my name? I sure as hell hadn’t told the Mexicans. And he wouldn’t have connected me to the bank. Or if he had, he wouldn’t have come at me with some cock-and-bull story about trying to rob those three worthless Mexicans. This man wasn’t a sheriff. Hell, anybody could buy a tin star. This was my bushwhacker just as sure as hell. The hair started to rise on the back of my neck. My right hand twitched the toward the butt of my revolver.

  The man said, “Well, you’re coming back to El Campo with me. Settle up yore bill. An’ I’ll have that gun off you.”

  The saloon was very quiet.

  I said, “Like hell. If you’re really a sheriff go down and get the Pleasanton sheriff and we can settle on an answer for this.”

  I don’t know whether he meant to shoot to kill me or not, to kill me without telling me who it was being done for. All I saw was the lightning move he made toward his revolver. He had the butt in his right hand when I shoved the table at him with my booted foot. It caught him right below his belt, throwing him off balance and distracting him for that quarter of a second I needed. In that instant I drew and shot him square in the chest. He went straight over backwards, his revolver clear of the holster. As he hit the floor he fired one shot into the ceiling.

  I stood up. My first thought was to mount my horse and run. But that would have been stupid. I’d killed the man in self-defense and I was confident he wasn’t a lawman. Besides, I wouldn’t get very far hauling a packhorse along. I stood there with my revolver smoking in my hand. Looking across the table I could see the man on the floor was finished. He twitched once or twice and then lay still. A little blood came out of one corner of his mouth. From his lungs, I reckoned.

  I looked around. The saloon was still. I said, “Somebody ought to go for the sheriff.”

  A man got up. He said, “I’ll go.” He looked at me. “I seen him draw first. Lawman or not, he drawed first.”

  There was a murmur of assents running around the room.

  I said, “He was no lawman. He was a paid killer.”

  There was a murmur to that. Everyone was on their feet, at least the five or six men in the bar, now less one. Most of them were craning their necks to get a look at the man I’d just shot. I sat down, poured myself out a drink, and settled down to await the coming of the sheriff.

  It wasn’t a long wait. After about five minutes he came through the door with the man who’d gone for him. He was a man in his mid-fifties with graying hair and a lined, leathery face. But there was no mistaking the air of authority about him. He came straight up to the body, looked down briefly, and then looked at me. I had stood up. He said, “I’m Sheriff Towns, Bill Towns.” He motioned. “This your work?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He presented himself as the sheriff from El Campo and wanted me to return with him for some imagined wrong I’d done. I told him he had no authority
here and to go and fetch the local sheriff. Then he drew his gun. I shoved the table into him and drew my own weapon and shot him.”

  Another little murmur went up of men saying, “That’s raight, that’s raight, that’s jest the way I seen it,” and, “Drawed fust, shore as hell did.”

  The sheriff held up a hand to quiet them. He said, “And what would your name be?”

  “Justa Williams,” I said. “My family owns the Half-Moon ranch in Matagorda County. I’m on a, uh, business trip. Looking over the land.”

  “Do say,” he said. He scratched himself under the chin. “What’s the name of the sheriff over in Matagorda County?”

  “Lew Vara.”

  “He know you pretty well?”

  “He’s one of my best friends.” I pointed at the body. “I have some good reasons to know this is not a lawman, but I’d appreciate you telling me if he’s the sheriff of El Campo County.”

  The sheriff chuckled and looked down at the body. “I don’t know where he got the badge, but he sure as hell ain’t law from El Campo. That’s Aubrey Mills and this sure as hell ain’t Aubrey Mills.” He nudged the body with his boot. “He looks familiar to me but I know he ain’t from around here.” Then he came back to me. “Did I understand you to say you had reasons to question whether or not this feller was a lawman?”

  I answered reluctantly. “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “You want to tell me about it?”

  I looked around. I didn’t have any idea who else might be in the bar. “Any reason we can’t go back to your office and talk about this?”