Gunpoint

by Giles Tippette

  Borden swung around on me. “What is Wilson Young doing on that horse’s back?”

  I said, “He’d look damn silly trying to ride him sitting anyplace else.”

  “You are not racing that horse?”

  I smiled. “I’ll ride mine if you’ll ride yours.”

  He stared at me, but then he saw there wasn’t much he could do. Wilson came back about then. He said, “I’m ready whenever everybody else is.”

  Mister Rodriquez started for the finish-line judges’ stand to wave the white flag and clear the track, and the other judge, the starter, headed across the track to where the three-quarter-of-a-mile mark was. I walked alongside the colt as Wilson headed him for the gate that opened on to the track. I said, “He feel all right to you?”

  Wilson said, “Yeah, sure. Many horses as I’ve stole, I’m used to a new mount.”

  “He is going to want to run.”

  “I hope so. We are going to look damn silly out there if he don’t.”

  I opened the gate and Wilson passed through. He stopped and pitched me his hat. “Don’t get that one confused with yours. I paid twelve bucks for that hat and ain’t wore it but twice.”

  “Can you ride without a saddle horn to hold onto?”

  He gave me an amused look and started the colt loping down the stretch in front of the grandstands, letting him warm up slow.

  I looked around. Flood still hadn’t arrived. When Junior had limped around about taking Wilson’s bet yesterday, I’d figured for sure Flood would be on the grounds today and Junior would have to weasel off and ask him. But there was no sign of the buggy and Junior had taken on the job himself. I wondered if it was his money, not that I gave a damn one way or the other.

  I mounted the judging platform. Junior and the Mexican judge were already up there. The thing was about twelve feet high and gave you a good view of the track. The judge was waving a white flag on a long pole, and the horses and riders who had been on the track began clearing off, leaving it to Wilson and the hard-faced ex-bronc-buster.

  I turned my head, looking around. As I did I caught sight of the black buggy coming down the road and then turning in the gate. It came on until it turned to the left and the horse stopped at the track railing almost at the finish line. They were just below me, Flood and his driver.

  Junior said, as if I didn’t have eyes in my head, “There is Mister Flood.”

  I said, “Then you better run down and tell him you bet another thousand dollars of his money. And if I was you right now I’d get to my prayers if that don’t meet with his approval.”

  “Wilson Young don’t know shit!”

  “You want me to tell him you said that?”

  He looked away and I watched out over the track. You could tell a good deal more about the racetrack from up high than you could standing on the ground. The straightaways were longer than I’d thought and the turns looked mighty tight and sharp. I could see now why it was so important that a horse be able to run the turns. Wilson and the little hard-faced jockey were warming their horses up on the backstretch. Finally Wilson loped the roan up to the starting mark. The judge was standing there. The race would start at the top of the backstretch, just where the first curve ended, go down and around the other turn, and then finish on the homestretch right in front of the judges’ stand.

  Both horses were now at the starting mark, but the roan colt was kind of milling around, not standing as he ought. The starter had his pistol up. Finally Wilson got the colt’s head pointed down the track and the gun went off. I heard its bang a second after I saw the smoke from the barrel.

  They broke about even with Flood’s horse on the inside and Wilson keeping the colt tight alongside. It appeared to me that he was holding the colt back. He had the colt’s neck arched just the least little bit so he couldn’t run flat out. I wondered what he was doing as the strawberry horse slowly pulled ahead. As they entered the turn the hard-faced jockey had his horse in about a length’s lead. Wilson was holding the colt under rein, the colt’s nose just about a foot behind the strawberry roan’s rump.

  And then they were into the turn. I saw the strawberry roan, who was going too fast, start to drift out. As he did Wilson pointed the colt in slightly, coming to the rail. The strawberry horse was drifting further out though he was running just as hard. Then I saw why Wilson was a much better racetrack rider than I was. He’d deliberately taken the colt into the turn at a slower pace so the momentum wouldn’t swing him out. But now, as they hit the top of the turn, I saw him let go of the colt, saw the colt starting to really run. The strawberry roan’s jockey was trying desperately to bring his horse lower down on the track, but the animal’s size and his speed kept throwing him out further and further, causing him to cover more ground than my colt.

  Then they were into the homestretch and the colt was flying. But the strawberry horse was now out of the curve and into the stretch, and his jockey had gone to the whip and he was gaining on the colt. The colt had come out of the turn with about a two-length lead, but the strawberry roan was a good runner, a good distance horse, and he began to dig in, stretching out in long strides, trying to run down the colt. They weren’t but about two hundred yards away, coming straight down the track toward us. The strawberry roan had edged up until he was less than a length behind, his head bobbing just off the right hip of the colt. I saw Wilson glance quickly back, and then he leaned forward even lower on the colt’s neck and slapped him with the flat of his hand and hit him with his spurs, and the colt found a little more speed.

  I could see it happening. The long run around the curve at full speed had taken a lot out of the strawberry roan. Now he was being asked to catch a horse that had plenty left on account of the way Wilson had saved him in the backstretch and around the first part of the turn. For about one hundred fifty of the last two hundred yards the strawberry roan tried. He almost got his nose up to Wilson’s boot, but that was all he had. My colt was still holding his pace and the strawberry roan began to fade. As they swept by the finish line the colt was leading by two lengths and pulling away. I didn’t realize how tensed up I’d been until I looked down and saw that I’d been rolling and unrolling the brim of Wilson’s hat in my hands. It wasn’t ruined but I sure as hell hadn’t done it any good.

  Without a word Senor Rodriquez reached into a little cigar box he had sitting on a table and handed me a hell of a wad of greenbacks. It was $4000, but I didn’t insult Senor Rodriquez by counting it. I said, “Much obliged, señor, for your good services.”

  He said, “A very good caballo you have. Very intelligent in how he runs.”

  “Had a good jockey,” I said. I looked over at Borden. His jaw muscles were working but he wasn’t saying anything. I said, “And much obliged to you too, Junior. Got any more words for Mister Young?”

  He just glared at me. I felt mighty lucky that looks couldn’t kill. I went down the little ladder and walked toward the gate. Wilson was just coming through it. As I walked up the roan gave me a look. He seemed to be saying, “Now about this damn three-quarter-of-a-mile race . . .” He was sweating pretty good and his flanks were heaving. Wilson jumped down and loosened the cinch. A Mexican boy came up, and Wilson handed him the reins and a quarter and told the kid to walk the roan around.

  I said, “Horse run a good race, didn’t he?”

  Wilson let me see the glint in his eye. “Yeah, I was just along for the ride. I taken especial pleasure in seeing how he paced himself through that curve. Damn smart horse.”

  I handed him his money and his hat. He casually stuffed the two thousand dollars in his pocket, but took note of his hat. “What the hell happened to the brim of my hat on the left side?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Looks all right to me.”

  “Looks like a bulldog has had hold of it. What the hell did you go and do to my hat?”

  “I just held it,” I said. “Listen, I’ve got to go and talk to Mister Flood. I’ll just be a minute.”

  C
HAPTER 11

  I walked up to the buggy on the right side. Flood looked out at me. There wasn’t much in his face. He’d just watched himself lose some more money to me. I said, “Mister Flood?”

  “Mister Williams. Congratulations. Your horse did well. And I see you have a new jockey. Have you and Mister Wilson Young become allies?”

  “I don’t know what that means. But if it means is he lighter than me, the answer is yes.”

  “You told Mister Borden you wanted to speak to me.”

  “Yes. I’ve got an idea. I’ve got a thought about how we might settle our differences. I’ll meet you at the hotel at one o’clock. Is that all right with you?”

  He studied me for a second. Then he said, “Since you won’t come to my ranch I don’t think I’ll enter your parlor again. Let’s say the dining room at two o’clock. It should be empty by then.”

  I turned without another word, and was taking my leave when Flood’s voice stopped me. I looked back. He said, “Is that satisfactory?”

  “I’d of mentioned it if it weren’t.”

  Then I walked on away, looking for Wilson.

  After the roan colt was cooled out and we were riding back into town I told Wilson about my talk with Flood and the outcome. He said, “So you are going to try and fix up a race?”

  “Yeah. Best way I can think to get out of this mess. He mounts a war against my ranch it’s going to cost a hell of a lot more than thirty-two thousand dollars.”

  “You don’t think you ought to wait until we are more sure about the black? Run him against that roan there?”

  “Roan won’t be ready to run again for at least a couple of days. Not after that hard race today. I can’t wait forever.”

  “Well, you better give yourself as much time as you can allow to get the black ready.”

  “How much time?”

  He looked off, thinking. We were just shambling along the road, about to enter town. Most of the town was already out at the fairgrounds or headed that way. He said, “Week.”

  “Hell, I ain’t got a week.”

  “Anyway, what makes you think Flood will fall in with your idea?”

  I had to pull a face. “I don’t know that he will, but if this Bank Money is as good as you say he is, he’s got to calculate it to be a sure thing.”

  “What if it really ain’t the money he’s after? I mean, just getting the money.”

  “I’ve thought of that too. If he is set on rubbing my face in it, then I reckon we’ll just have to go to war. I ain’t going to just hand him over that money. I don’t care what the amount.”

  We pulled up in front of the hotel and dismounted. Wilson left his horse hitched while I walked mine on back to the livery stable and turned him over to the boy that was on duty. Wilson waited for me on the hotel porch. He said, “I’m going to ride on back to my place this afternoon after lunch.”

  “You ain’t going to work that black again, are you?”

  “Naw,” he said. “I got a girl over there I ain’t been seeing much of lately.” We were walking through the lobby. “You want to come over tonight? She’s got a sister. Or a cousin or a friend.”

  “Or something,” I said. I thought, Lord, it’s been a long time. A long, long time. Wilson’s offer was mighty tempting but I had to decline it. “I ain’t been married that long, Wilson. Besides, with the designs Flood acts like he’s got on me, I’d hate to go to hell with that sin on me.”

  “Hell, you ain’t got to do nothing. We’ll just eat some supper with them. My woman is a good cook. I’m going to take her over some good beef from this side, corn-fed beef. You’ve eaten Mexican beef.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “So I gather up most of the groceries over here.”

  “She speak English?”

  “Pretty good. Better’n my Spanish. You could still come to supper.”

  “Hell, why not?” I said. “I ain’t going to do nothing that would give me a bad conscience. I’m pretty well overloaded in that department already.”

  We went on in and ate lunch and then I walked back out with Wilson. He untied his horse and mounted. “I’ll be back to fetch you around six. You ought to be through with Flood by that time.”

  “I’m already through with Flood. He just don’t know it.”

  Wilson rode off to make his purchases of groceries and I went on upstairs to my room and sat down and had a drink. One thing was, my pockets were becoming considerably full. I’d left El Campo with two thousand dollars, and had won fifteen hundred more off the horse racing. And I didn’t calculate I’d spent more than two hundred, including the fine in Hondo for “disturbing the peace.” Of course I still had my hotel bill to pay, but all in all, I was walking around with something near thirty-two or thirty-three hundred dollars. It was a power of money to be carrying about one’s person. Norris would have damn sure disapproved, and would have pointed out that money in the pocket doesn’t draw any interest. But I was hopeful of having business at the bank the next day, and I’d get some of it put in safekeeping. For a few minutes I thought of home and my family, and especially of Nora. But I pretty quick put a stop to that line of thinking. There was still a lot of business to tend to before it would be time to think of going home.

  At a few minutes until two I went downstairs and into the dining room, and sat down at the same table Wilson and I had just eaten at, the one nearest the door. The waitress by now knew me well. She came over, a cloth in her hand, and began brushing away crumbs off the tabletop. “My goodness, don’t tell me you want to eat again! I swan, I don’t reckon they is anything left. We didn’t figure on no customers, it being the Fourth and all and ever’body out to the fairgroun’s.”

  I told her that, no, I wasn’t hungry, but that I wanted to borrow her table to have a little talk with a friend. She could, though, bring me a beer and a shot of whiskey.

  She said, “Well, you’ve got it all turned round. This here place is fer eatin’, the bar is fer drinkin’ an’ the lobby is fer talkin’. I swear, I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you, Mister Williams.”

  But she said it in fun. She was a nice little old lady, kind of motherly and bossy. I always left her a good tip.

  She said, “Well, I reckon it’ll be all right, though I don’t hold with this drinkin’ in the middle of the day.”

  As she was going off I almost asked her if she knew my brother Norris, but I let it go. Flood was due and I didn’t want anything interfering with what was to be said. The place was all but empty. One man was dawdling over a cup of coffee, but even as I glanced his way he got up, paid his score, and left. I had the dining room to myself.

  Flood was fifteen minutes late. He came in, helped by Milton. I had the beer mug to my mouth when he came hobbling through the door, and I just went on drinking until he got seated.

  When I set the mug down on the table Flood said, “Well, Mister Williams?”

  Milton had gone to stand against a far wall, but he had his eyes right on us. I never had noticed what an ugly sonofabitch he was before. He had thick jaws and a knife scar on his cheek and little, squinty eyes with bushy brows over them. But there wasn’t anything ugly about the way he kept his right leg advanced, making it easier to draw the big Colt revolver he wore in a slightly cutaway holster. I was going to have to ask Wilson about him. He was the first nursemaid gunslinger I’d ever seen.

  I still hadn’t touched the shot of whiskey. I downed that and then I said to Flood, “I want to get this business settled. Once and for all. You and your damn foolish vengeance have kept me away from home for better than—”

  He cut in. “Do not seek sympathy from me, Mister Williams. I laid in a hospital bed for six weeks because of your actions.”

  I was getting disgusted with that line of talk. “Goddamit, Flood, you were wrong! If it hadn’t been me that stopped you and that infected herd it would have been someone else. But let it lay! Let it lay. We ain’t ever going to settle that matter. Let’s get to the business at
hand.”

  “Pray do.”

  “You want me to give you thirty-two thousand dollars for some wrong you think I did you. Well, I just ain’t going to do that. Not under any circumstances. On the other hand, you say you haven’t got anything to lose and that if I don’t give you the money you will send a band of marauders down to my ranch and cause all the damage you can. Is that about what you’ve been saying?”

  He half smiled, but it looked like the grin on a corpse’s face. “You could put it that way. And there is still the matter of you getting home.”

  “And of course, if you cause us damage I’m going to damage you right back. You can depend on that.”

  “We seem to be at a stalemate then.”

  “I don’t know what that means, but if it means we’re at a standoff, then I agree.”

  “I think you are worried about saving face, Mister Williams. I think that’s why you refuse to give me the money you know I have coming.”

  “I ain’t trying to save face, Flood. I’m just not going to let you rub it in a mess I didn’t make. So I got a proposition for you.”

  “Yes?”

  I didn’t know what I was going to do if he turned me down. Settle in for a long siege of trouble, I figured. “I’ll run you a horse race for thirty-two thousand dollars.”

  Something like amusement flickered across his face. “A horse race? Did you say a horse race, Mister Williams?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You’ve seen ’em, Mister Flood. A horse is that big four-legged animal that don’t give milk.”

  He ignored my sarcasm. “But you’ve had extraordinary luck racing horses. Who’d of thought that roan horse of yours was so fast.”

  “Cut out the bullshit, Flood. My horse against your horse. Thirty-two thousand dollars. The money held in an escrow account in the bank. It’s a lot of money to have someone standing around holding it in his hand.”

  “Oh, yes,” Flood said. “Oh, yes. This important a match race, papers will have to be drawn. Judges selected. Agreements reached. Oh, yes.”