Gunpoint

by Giles Tippette

  And then, just as we approached the top of the curve, the jockey looked over at at me. I could see how flat his nose was. He was riding the horse two-handed with his bat or whip in his right hand. He looked at me, and then he let his horse began to drift out. It forced me wider on the curve, making us run more distance. He was deliberately riding me out, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could think to do about it short of swinging out an arm and knocking him out of the saddle. We rounded the top of the curve, him still riding us out, and started down the back side of the turn. By now I was up near the middle of the track, trying to keep his horse from bumping mine. And then he did give us a bump. It threw my colt off stride and the strawberry forged ahead while my colt struggled to get his feet working again. By the time we started out of the turn the other horse was a length and a half, maybe two lengths ahead. And then we were into the homestretch. The finish was about three hundred yards away. I got my face right down on my horse’s neck, all of my weight forward, holding my hands way up the reins, and then I asked the colt to run. I popped him hard with my spurs and slapped him on the neck. I thought he was already running nearly as hard as he could, but at my urging, he suddenly found a whole lot more speed. With a hundred and fifty yards to go we had caught the strawberry roan. I guessed it was a combination of my horse running faster and the other horse beginning to flag because we went on by him like he was standing still, in spite of the fact that his jockey appeared to be trying to beat him to death with his whip. But the red roan just didn’t have that much more run left in him. As I passed the finish line I looked back. It appeared we had won by four or five lengths.

  But then I had trouble getting the colt to pull up. He didn’t appear convinced that the race was over, and we were nearly to the first turn when I finally got him pulled down to a canter and turned him back for the gate. The strawberry roan and his jockey were just ahead of us, walking back down the track. The little red roan’s sides were heaving and he was snorting and shaking his head, trying to get some air in his lungs. As we got abreast of them I slowed the colt to their pace and said to the hard-faced jockey, “Listen, you’re too little to hit and too big to slap. But you ever race me again and you ever interfere with my horse, and I’ll shoot you clear out of the saddle. You savvy?”

  He just looked at me with his hard eyes and didn’t say anything. I flicked the reins and the colt cantered on forward.

  Wilson Young was waiting when I came out of the track. As soon as I was through the gate I stepped down and loosened the colt’s girth even though he wasn’t breathing very hard. Wilson had my hat and the money. He handed me a thousand dollars, the five hundred I’d put up and Junior Borden’s five hundred. I took the money, put it in my pocket, and then set my hat on my head. I said, “Well, that’s that. How’d Borden take it?”

  Young smiled. “Not real good. He yelled foul. Tried to get the judge to believe you had interfered with his horse.” “That’s pretty funny,” I said. “That little ex-bronc-buster tried to ride me off the track. Bumped my colt and nearly caused him to stumble. I had a word with him.”

  Wilson laughed. “That’s wasted breath. Charlie Inman spends half his time drunk and the other time looking for a fight. In between times he rides horses. Borden is hopping mad. Say, that’s a pretty good pony you got there. I think you could have beat him in the six-sixty.”

  “On a straightaway, maybe,” I said. “But that strawberry horse does go around that curve like he’s on rails like you said. I was glad for the extra distance.”

  Wilson was fixing to say something when I glanced to my left and saw Junior Borden coming at a furious pace. I told Wilson. He glanced around. “Aw, yeah, I was expecting him. He’ll have another race in mind.”

  He came strutting and puffing up. The first thing he said was, “You fouled my horse. And you know it!”

  Wilson Young said, “Oh, shut up, Junior. As dumb as you are you don’t believe that. You know goddam well that Charlie was trying to ride him out when he seen Mister Williams’ horse could take him. Go get wet.”

  Borden turned to me. “You owe me another race.”

  I said, “I don’t owe you shit.”

  He threw his head back. “Well, how about another race? Give me a chance to get even. That’s what a gentleman would do.”

  “Who said I was a gentleman?”

  Young said, “And what would you know about gentlemen, Junior?”

  Borden said, “I’ll make it to your advantage. A longer race, say three quarters of a mile?”

  Wilson Young and I looked at each other. We both knew what that meant. I said, “I don’t think so.”

  “We’ll race tomorrow. Say, for a thousand dollars. Make a good payday.”

  I said, “My horse is tired.”

  He said, “Well, so is mine.”

  Wilson Young laughed. Junior Borden gave him a hard look. I said, “Not tomorrow. We’ll see.” I started to walk away, but Borden put out his hand. He said, “Just a minute. That ain’t a bad cow pony you got there. Tell you what, I’ll just buy him from you.”

  I was getting a little annoyed. I’d run a race I didn’t want to and now I was tired of all this nagging around. “He ain’t for sale.”

  Borden said, “I’ll give you five hundred dollars.”

  I smiled at him. “I’ve already got five hundred dollars. Yours.”

  Wilson Young laughed.

  We walked off, me leading my colt, leaving Junior standing there. As we walked I said, “Mister Young, why did you bet on me? It doesn’t make sense.”

  He shrugged. “I told you I was a gambler. Besides, I liked the way you laid it back on Junior by increasing the distance.”

  “That’s all?”

  He smiled. “Well, you just didn’t strike me as the kind of man who rode slow horses.”

  I was liking Mister Young better and better and I was in bad need of someone I could trust. I didn’t know if he was a good risk or not. But then there was no way I could find out. One thing I knew I could count on; he could handle a gun, and it very much looked like it was going to come to that.

  I got out my watch. “It’s going on for lunchtime. You going back to the hotel?”

  “Might as well. It’s the best place to eat in town.”

  I tightened the girth back up, put a foot in the stirrup, and swung aboard. “Then I reckon I’ll see you back there.”

  * * *

  We had finished lunch. The special that day had been pork chops and black-eyed peas and grits with biscuits or light bread. I’d tried some of that iced tea Mister Young seemed to prefer, and found it was mighty refreshing with some sugar and lemon juice. I finished the meal off with a shot of whiskey and a cigarillo. Young did likewise, only he took brandy.

  I said, “How come you are so partial to brandy?”

  “Mexico. You generally can’t get whiskey down there, not of any account. so it was brandy, rum, or tequilla. The brandy was less likely to kill you. I reckon I got used to it. Why?”

  “No reason,” I said. I was studying him. I made up my mind. “Mister Young, I’ve got a little trouble on my hands.”

  “With Flood?”

  That made me pull my head back a little. “How’d you know?”

  He shrugged. “Saw you talking to him. I seen his buggy come in right before your race. Saw it leave after you finished.”

  “So he was there,” I said. “I wondered.” I’d looked around, expecting to see him, but then there’d been the race and the necessity of cooling out the colt.

  Young said, “I see you with Flood and you tell me you got trouble and I got to figure it’s Flood because Flood is trouble.”

  Which was nice, sound reasoning. “Yes, it’s with Flood.” I got out my watch. It was twenty minutes to one. I was going to have to go up to my rooms pretty quick. “I’ve got a meeting with him at one o’clock, upstairs in my rooms. I can’t exactly say why, but I’d kind of like to have somebody overhear that conversation. I don’t know nobody here
and I ain’t got no more reason to trust you than anyone else, but I do.”

  “You want me to set in the other room and listen?”

  I nodded. “I won’t try and tell you what it’s about. I reckon you’ll pick that up from what gets said. It goes back a long ways, several years. I don’t know what he’s going to want, but I know he’s going to want something.”

  “And you want me to hear? Or somebody to hear?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You understand, I hope, that this ain’t got nothing to do with gunplay or anything of that sort. I may be in for a spot of that later, but right now it will just be talk.”

  Young said, “I wouldn’t trust Flood as far as I could throw his buggy, horse included.”

  “If I read Mister Flood aright it’s money this conversation is going to be about. He’s had a hundred chances to kill me. The men in his pay, I mean. No, right now I’m no good to him dead. Now, will you do it?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  I hesitated. I didn’t quite know how to go about mentioning money. I finally said, kind of awkwardly, “I can understand that your time is valuable.”

  He gave me a half-humorous look. “Let’s kind of avoid that line of talk. Though I think you ought to pay for the meal.”

  “I could do that,” I said. “Though I don’t think it would make a dent in that two hundred you won off my horse. And me riding him.”

  “Yeah, except you like to fell off when he started.”

  I shook my head. “Tell you the truth, I didn’t know the damn horse was that quick a starter. And I never touched him. When that other horse went it seemed like it irritated the hell out of him.”

  “Good horse,” Wilson said. “Win a lot of brush-track matches with him. Don’t think he’d do too good against some of these Thoroughbreds, though.”

  “Mister Young, you may have wondered why I want somebody to hear the details of what me and Flood talk about. Something could happen to me on the way back home. If that be the case my two brothers back there might need some information, some facts as a place to start.”

  “I figured it was something like that.”

  I looked at my watch. “It’s ten to one. I reckon we ought to go up and get set.”

  * * *

  When the knock came on the door I was sitting in a big, comfortable armchair. It was the only one in the room. Across from me, against the far wall, was a little straight-backed wooden chair. There was a kind of low table in between. The door to the bedroom was right behind me. I had it just slightly cracked. Wilson Young was sitting in there with his ear to the crack and a bottle of brandy beside him on the floor.

  I said, “Come in. It ain’t locked.”

  The door was shoved open and J.C. Flood was helped in by the big man I’d seen driving his buggy. Flood said, “Good day, Mister Williams.”

  I said evenly, “Mister Flood.”

  They were both looking around for a place to sit Mister Flood. There was only that one other chair. There was a small settee, but it was against a side wall and would have made it awkward to talk. Finally Flood limped over to the little chair and eased himself down with the help of his bodyguard or nurse or whatever the hell he was. He said, “Thank you, Milton.”

  I said, “If we’re going to talk it will just be me and you. Milton can wait in the hall.”

  He said, looking at me innocently, “You don’t think I mean you any harm, do you, Mister Williams? This is to be a business talk.”

  Sitting in the chair Flood looked smaller than I’d remembered. I couldn’t recall what had crippled him, but it appeared that one of his legs was shorter than the other. But I didn’t really give a damn about that. All I cared about was getting him off my back. “Then you don’t need Milton to talk business.”

  “Surely you don’t mean me any harm?”

  “I’d gladly wring your neck for the trouble you’ve caused me. But not today. How about Milton?”

  Flood waved his hand and said, “Wait outside, Milton. But stay close.”

  Milton went out without a word. For about a half a minute I sat staring at Flood. I deliberately didn’t have any whiskey out mainly because I didn’t want our little talk to get confused with a party. I finally said, “All right, Flood, now what is this all about? What the hell do you want?”

  Flood said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Listen,” I said, “are we going to talk bullshit for half an hour before we get around to it? You damn well drug me two hundred and fifty goddam miles for something. Now what the hell you got on your mind?”

  “Just let me correct that,” he said. “I didn’t drag you anywhere. You went where you went by your own choice.”

  I was getting a little heated. “I don’t guess you sent me those threats, those messages?”

  “Me? No.”

  “All right. People you’d hired. Like them five that accompanied me nearly all the way. Or was it six? I’m talking about Whiskey Jack. You lost him, Mister Flood.”

  He just looked at me.

  I said, “You’ve caused me and my family considerable trouble. I’ve been gone from the ranch better than two weeks and my time is valuable. Now you’ve gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to get me here. Tell me what you want.”

  Flood said slowly, “You speak of me causing you trouble, Mister Williams. I find it humorous that you should mention such. I suppose you don’t consider what you did to me as causing me trouble? Not to mention the money it cost me! Not to mention the loss of my ranch! Not to mention the men who were working for me that you and your brothers and others killed!” He suddenly stopped. He’d been getting pretty hot under the collar, but then he set himself to cool off. After a minute he said, “I don’t think you’ve been caused that kind of trouble, Mister Williams.”

  “Shots fired over my head? A prime bull slaughtered? My best saddle horse shot? Warning messages? What the hell are you talking about, Flood? I don’t think you’d care to go about figuring at any second somebody was sighting in right between your shoulder blades.”

  “Is that a fact?” he said. “I wouldn’t know.”

  I said disgustedly, “Hell, Flood, we ain’t going to go on like this. I got your message. The stick of dynamite? Remember? It lamed my pack horse. You been herding me this way ever since I left Blessing. So why lie about it? You got me here, now let’s get down to cases.”

  Flood was carrying a cane, an ebony cane with a gold top. He put it between his legs and leaned both hands on it. “Mister Williams, I calculate that you and your family owe me thirty-two thousand dollars and I want it.”

  “People in Hell want out too. You and them got about the same chance.” It hadn’t come as much of a surprise to me. I’d known all along that the whole business was about money. I just hadn’t known how he was going to present it or how much it was going to be.

  He took no notice of my interruption, just went on in that voice that sounded calm and sane if you didn’t know better. “I’ve waited a considerable time to recoup what you took from me and what you destroyed. I’ll be glad to give you a written accounting of the losses you caused me, but I can assure you it comes to a matter of thirty-two thousand dollars, and that is not counting the profit I’d of made if you hadn’t acted against me in the illegal and murderous fashion that you did.”

  I had to laugh. “For a little fellow you sure use big words.” Then I got serious and a little angry. “Now listen, Flood, this line of talk just ain’t going to wash. You, and we both know it, were trying to drive an illegal herd of Mexican cattle across our range with the excellent chance that you would have infected every cow in the county with Mexican tick fever. You were warned by me, you were warned by the sheriff, you were told to turn back. You—”

  “I had papers on those cattle.”

  “Bullshit!” I said briskly. “Those papers were forged and we both know it. Or at best, bought and paid for. There wasn’t any five thousand cattle quarantined across from Brownsvill
e or any other border town. We checked, Flood! We checked.”

  “And you willfully and deliberately scattered my herd, killing a great deal of them with dynamite, and killed and scattered my drovers. I never recovered a single one of those cattle.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” I said. “Not with those border gunslingers you call drovers. They couldn’t find a cow in a broom closet.”

  The hotel even had wallpaper. The pattern behind Flood was some kind of flowers. It looked kind of strange behind him sitting there in his black suit trying to extort money out of me.

  He said, “I’m not going to mention your bank buying up the note on my ranch and forcing me out of it. Or the fact that you did it while I was laid up in the hospital as a result of the injuries I suffered when you blew up my buggy with your infernal dynamite.”

  Truth be, I admired his nerve. He couldn’t really believe I was going to give him thirty-two thousand dollars, not after all the trouble he’d caused in the first place with his damn Mexican cattle, and damn sure not after all the bother and upset he’d caused with his notes and his threats and his gunmen. I said, “Well, Mister Flood, you make a hell of a case, the way you tell it, but it just ain’t going to be that way. I wouldn’t give you thirty-two cents, much less thousands of dollars. You amaze me, near about befuddle me with the way you think. Listen, Flood, two good men got killed as a result of that little stunt of yours. And another one wounded.”

  “You started it,” he said stubbornly.

  “No, you started it. Either you are sick in the head or somebody dropped you on it if you can’t see that. You weren’t going to drive those cattle over anyone’s range, much less ours. You must have known that, else you wouldn’t have brought along fifteen gunslingers.”

  “Drovers.”

  “Bullshit! All right, you’ve had your say. Now I’ll have mine. The answer is no. And I don’t want to have to repeat it. You’ve held me up as long as you’re going to. I’m heading home. You or those ruffians of yours start any trouble with me and it will be you I take it up with. In person. Understand?”