The Sunshine Killers

by Giles Tippette

  The boy took the money, but stood there looking at him for a second. “You seek?”

  “No,” the man said. “Go on.”

  When the boy had left, the man spread the bedroll out on the cot, putting his big rifle in at the side. He bothered to take off his boots, the effort obviously painful, then sat down on the bed and laid back. Lying there he took his big pistol out of the holster, saw to its loading, then slipped it in his belt. Then he lay there staring at the ceiling, waiting for the boy to come back with the whiskey in hopes that it would dull the pain of the gunshot wound in his side.

  Morning came swiftly. The snow had ceased and the sun was out. Its beams, shining through the small windows of the dim bunkhouse, were like rays from a lantern, cutting sharply through the smoke and the dark air. The man came awake all at once, aware that there were men standing around him. Three, all from the evening before, were there, just at the end of his bunk, staring at him silently. Instinctively his hand went to the gun in his belt, then relaxed as he saw they didn’t have weapons out. Then he noticed that his shirt was open and his undershirt pulled up, exposing the bandage. The wound had been bleeding afresh and someone had seen it and investigated. His eyes went quickly from face to face; he recognized two of them, Tomlain and Billy. Tomlain was the nearest, standing just to the right. Billy was at the foot of the bed. When he saw that the man was awake he grinned and said, “Going to sleep all day?”

  But the man made no sign; he was watching Tomlain, noting that he was wearing a pistol set up for someone who might want to get at it in a hurry. Tomlain suddenly leaned over and, with an ungentle finger, jabbed the man in his wound. “Where’d you get that, boy?” he asked.

  The man flinched, but made no sound. Instead his eyes got very hard. His hand was still resting just off the butt of the pistol in his belt. Billy said, “Don’t do that, Tomlain. You can see it hurts him.”

  “I ain’t worryin’ about that,” Tomlain said. He licked his lips and grinned. “I want to know what done it. I want a few answers off our old buddy boy here.”

  The man, still without showing any sign of emotion, hitched himself up further on the bed so that he was no longer lying flat. He could feel a surge of preparation run through him. Billy, recognizing it, said, “Don’t be doing that.” He said it almost kindly, but there was a definite threat in his voice. “We just want to know a little about you.” He paused, and, getting no response, added, “We got a reason. See, we don’t want no trouble.”

  But Tomlain reached down again and prodded at the wound. “That’s a gunshot wound, ain’t it?”

  In a move so swift that it seemed almost casual, the man knocked Tomlain’s hand away and then half pulled the pistol out of his belt. He didn’t pull it all the way for there were three of them and they were the kind of men, in that time and in that country, who, if you pulled a pistol, would have pulled their own and started shooting. The man did not take hold of his pistol as a threat, but only as a warning. He’d calculated the move to just the right degree and they recognized that.

  “Come now,” Billy said. “None of that now. We just want to talk to you.”

  “Hell with that, Billy,” Tomlain said, his voice rising. “I want to know who the bastard is and what his business is. I don’t want him bringin’ no storm down round my ears.”

  “See,” Billy explained, “we got some folks around here who get nervous about unusual things goin’ on. That’s why we just want to ask you a few questions. Hope you’ll take it the right way. What’s your name?”

  The man looked from face to face for a second. Finally he answered, “Name’s Saulter.”

  “Where you come from, Mister Saulter?”

  “South,” the man said.

  “We know that,” Billy answered patiently. “What we mainly want to know is what’s your business in Sunshine and how come you here?”

  The man looked at the three faces slowly. Finally he said in that hoarse whisper, “I need a rest. This place was here . . . I just stumbled on it.”

  “Listen,” Tomlain broke in angrily, “this won’t get it.” He pointed at Saulter’s wound. “Somebody shot you and you’re running. What we want to know is are they chasing you? Have you got somebody fixing to come in here with company we don’t want to see?”

  Saulter was a long time answering. Finally he shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, “nobody is chasing me. Not now.”

  Tomlain made a sneering sound. “Sure, Pilgrim, we believe you. That’s why you’re running with a bullet in you. If you ain’t being chased, why are you on the jump?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Well, we want to hear it. We got plenty of time.”

  The man shook his head and lay back tiredly, ignoring Tomlain’s remark.

  Tomlain started to make a move but Billy restrained him. “Aw, let him be, Tomlain. Let him rest a bit, we can take it up with him later. Let’s get some breakfast.”

  He took the unwilling Tomlain by the arm and pulled him away. But, as they went out, the short gunman turned to look back at Saulter, his leer a promise of more to come.

  When they were gone, Saulter swung around and sat on the side of the bed. Slowly, he pulled his undershirt down and buttoned his shirt. In spite of the fire at the far end of the bunkhouse it was still cold and his breath steamed in the air. First he put on his hat and then shrugged into his big coat. He had to rest before he could struggle into his boots. When he was dressed he still sat on his bed, seeming too done in to move just yet. At that moment the half-breed came in with a load of firewood. He carried it down to the fireplace and threw it in, causing sparks and coals to come flying out. Then he came back up to Saulter. “Maybe you buy me one wheesky?”

  Saulter didn’t move for a second. Finally he reached under the bed and came out with a bottle. He sighted it against the light. There was about an inch left. He uncorked it, took a long drink, then handed the rest to Chiffo. While the boy was drinking, Saulter located the stump of a thin black cigar and lit it. He smoked meditatively for a moment. The boy watched him.

  “Who are those men?” Saulter asked.

  The boy shrugged. “Just some mens.”

  “Do they stay or do they go?”

  “They stay.”

  “What do they do around here? Do they work? Are they hunters? Prospectors?”

  “They don’t work. They just stay.”

  “How long they been here?”

  The boy shrugged. “Pretty long.”

  “A week? A month?”

  “I don’t know. Pretty long. They don’t buy me no wheesky.”

  “They just sit around here all day?”

  “I think,” the boy said, “that they’re pretty bad men. Yes, I think maybe they pretty bad. I think maybe they already kill one man maybe two.”

  “What for? Did they rob him?”

  “Who can say? Maybe they kill somebody. Maybe not.” The boy’s face suddenly brightened. “You buy me more drink of wheesky?”

  “Not now,” Saulter said. “You go on.”

  After the boy was gone Saulter reached in his pocket and took out a little deerskin shot bag. He emptied the contents in his hand. It was all the money he had and he counted it laboriously. Then he clinked it meditatively in his hand. After a second he put it back in the bag and the bag back in his pocket. He sat there thinking that he needed to rest and recuperate, but that he wouldn’t be able to do it long in such a place on eight dollars. Well, there really had been no reason for him to have only eight dollars. His pride had been the only reason. But it was too late for that now. Then he sat awhile longer, thinking about this place, this Sunshine town. There was something going on here, something he didn’t quite understand. He was not curious about it except as it applied to himself, but the hell of it was that it looked as if it were going to involve him. They didn’t want him here. They’d made that plain. For whatever reason. But he was hurt and he was going to have to stop off awhile until he healed. But they’d sa
id one night. That was what the man behind him, at the table, Billy he guessed it was, had told the bartender. Well, he couldn’t leave. It was a long way to nowhere across that frozen desert and neither he nor his horse were up to it yet.

  So, he guessed, there’d be trouble. He didn’t understand it and he probably wouldn’t understand it when it came, but he’d handle it. The image of Tomlain ran through his through his mind. He’d seen his kind in camps and bars all over the country. The man wouldn’t quit pushing until it came down to guns. He expected he’d have to kill Tomlain. He might have it out with all of them if it came to that, but he hoped not. He tried to think how many there were. There’d been three that morning, but there were others. Five or six, he guessed. Well, he was in kind of a fix, a little bit of a tight place. For whatever reason, they seemed too set on making him leave, but they ought to realize that he couldn’t. He’d walk as quietly as he could, but he didn’t think it was going to do much good.

  He got up and left the bunkhouse and went in the store. The others were there and he took a table in a corner, off by himself. They watched him steadily, all of them. From behind the bar Schmidt called to ask if he wanted coffee. “Yes,” Saulter said. He got out one of the little thin, black cigars and lit it, the strong smoke biting him deep in the lungs. Through it he could see Tomlain watching him, not taking his eyes off him even when he turned his head to spit.

  When Schmidt brought his coffee, he asked what he could have to eat for breakfast.

  “Beans,” the owner said. “Or bacon.”

  “Do you have any eggs?”

  Schmidt laughed, loudly. “Did you hear that?” he called to the other men. “He wants eggs.”

  “Tell him to go lay one,” Tomlain said.

  Saulter did not respond. He sat there, not looking at anything particular, breathing shallowly because his ribs hurt otherwise. The wound itself hadn’t been so bad; it had missed his lungs by a good inch or two. If it just hadn’t broken those two ribs. It pulled him down, wore him out.

  Schmidt finally brought his food and, as he sat there eating the poor fare, Billy got up from the group at the table, coffee cup in hand, and came over and sat down. “Mind if I visit a minute?” he asked.

  Saulter, busy with a mouthful of bacon, just shook his head. He had been expecting something ever since he’d come in. He was just hopeful it would hold off long enough for him to eat.

  Billy sat there for a long moment, watching Saulter eat, taking little sips of his coffee. Finally he said, “I guess you’ll be moving on, won’t you? Right after you finish your breakfast?”

  “No.”

  Billy shook his head and smiled slightly. “I think it’d be a good idea. Can’t be nothing about Sunshine to attract you.”

  Saulter said, “I need the rest.” He was willing to go that far, to explain.

  Billy nodded. “Your wound. I understand.” He jerked his head toward the other table. “Listen, I’m sorry about the way old Tomlain acted. Over at the bunkhouse. That’s just his way. He’s about as bred up as a common goat.”

  Saulter nodded.

  Billy scratched his chin and glanced over at Saulter’s rifle. It was leaning against the table, right at Saulter’s side. “That thing’s big as a cannon. It go everywhere with you?”

  Saulter nodded. He was about finished eating.

  “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  “It hurts to talk,” Saulter said lowly.

  “Ah,” Billy said. “Your ribs. Must have one busted. How about a good laugh? Reckon that’d feel good? What if I was to tell you some real funny jokes?”

  Saulter smiled faintly. He knew that Billy was being friendly for a purpose. He just wished he’d get on with whatever it was he’d come over to say.

  “Heard you to say you was a hunter. Reckon what kind?”

  “Contract,” Saulter said in a hoarse whisper. “I was a contract hunter for the railroads they’re building.”

  “Railroads?” Billy looked startled. He glanced over at the table where the men were sitting, watching and listening. “The continental hookup? I thought they was a good little piece from here.”

  “They’re getting closer,” Saulter said. He pushed back his plate and then picked up the stump of the cigar he’d been smoking. Before he could light it, Billy reached in his shirt pocket, pulled out a long cigar, and tossed it across to Saulter. “Here,” he said, “have a fresh one. That one looks like it’s been rode hard and put up wet.”

  Saulter nodded and picked up the cigar. He took a careful moment to light it. When he had it drawing good, he leaned back in his chair. “Thanks.”

  They stared at each other for a half moment.

  Finally Billy grinned. “Well, tell me, Mister Saulter, if I ain’t prying, how come you leave off working for the railroads. I’d think that would be pretty good employ.”

  Saulter considered the question for a moment, turning the cigar in his mouth and looking at the four men at the other table. “It was their choice,” he said finally.

  “Have anything to do with that?” Billy asked, gesturing toward Saulter’s wound.

  Again Saulter spent a long moment considering the question. It was pushing his privacy, but then there was something going on here he hadn’t got all figured out. “It was a fair fight,” he said.

  Billy laughed. “Sounds like you was hunting the wrong kind of game.”

  “It was a fair fight,” Saulter said again. He raised his voice, speaking now for the benefit of the whole room. There was a menace in his words. “A man put me in a corner and wouldn’t leave me no way out except to kill him. It was his mistake.”

  It brought a silence. Billy looked at him. He understood what Saulter meant and what he was saying.

  Saulter took the cigar from his mouth and put it out. “Now I’m a little curious,” he said to Billy. He jerked his head toward the other table. “How come you and that bunch are pushing me so hard toward the city limits?”

  Billy smiled and shrugged. “Well, we just can’t understand why you’d want to hang around Sunshine, Mister Saulter. Ain’t much here.”

  “I told you why,” Saulter said evenly.

  “Well, that worries us, Mister Saulter,” Billy admitted. “See, we’re worried you might have got in some trouble with the law and there might be a whole pack of them right behind fixing to come piling in here on us. And we wouldn’t like that. So we’d kind of like them to see your trail leading out the other side of town. Understand what I mean?”

  “I told you nobody was tracking me. I’m not wanted. By nobody.”

  “Yes, that’s what you told us, Mister Saulter. Still and all.”

  “All I can do is tell you.”

  Billy put a cigar between his teeth and smiled around it. “I reckon I might say some of the same if I was wounded and needed a place to hole up. But, see, we might be wanted men, for all you know. You could understand how we’d feel then.”

  Saulter looked at Billy and then at the other men. “If you’re wanted,” he said slowly, “they’d be tracking you, not me.”

  “Still,” Billy said.

  Saulter looked at him. “Is it just this saloon, just this one place you want me out of? What about them other buildings, the one across the street?”

  From the other table Tomlain laughed. Billy said quickly, “Oh, you wouldn’t be interested in those, Mister Saulter. See,” he confided, “this ain’t really a town. Not what you’d call a proper one. We’ve kind of taken it all over. You might call it a company headquarters. So you can see how we wouldn’t be interested in having no strangers around.”

  Saulter nodded slowly. He’d gone as far as he could or would. The rest of it was up to them. “Yes,” he said, “I can see that.”

  “And besides, you’re leaving.”

  “Yes,” Saulter said, “I’m leaving.” He got up slowly, and went to the bar. Schmidt was standing there, his arms crossed. Saulter nodded at a bottle of the cheap whiskey. “Gimme a bottle of that.
”

  Schmidt set the bottle on the bar. “Dollar and a half.”

  Saulter took out his shot bag and counted out six dollars. “And there’s another four and a half. That’s for me and my horse for three more days.” Then, without looking back, he picked up the bottle of whiskey, shouldered his rifle, and walked out of the room. As he left Billy looked over at the other table and shrugged, the gesture saying that he’d done all he could.

  Outside, Saulter stood a moment looking around, drawing the clean cold air into his lungs. The sky had turned off a bright blue and the rays from the sun put a sparkling sheen on the snow. But still it was cold, bitterly cold.

  Standing there, he looked the other buildings over. Just across what would have been a road if it wasn’t hidden by the snow was a large rambling adobe and log building. He could tell it was occupied by the smoke coming out of the chimney. As Saulter looked, a woman suddenly opened the door and came out on the porch. He turned to face her, staring. She looked back. Though she was perhaps fifty yards away he could tell that she was young and fairly good-looking. For a long moment they stood there, staring at each other, her holding the door behind her, him in the snow. Finally, not taking her eyes off him, she backed through the door and disappeared inside. He stood there a moment longer, wondering. It was not a place, nor the country, for such a woman. Seeing her had startled him. This was, he thought, a very strange town. But all he wanted out of it was three days’ rest. Then they could have it. He trudged toward the bunkhouse.

  Two

  SAULTER LAY LIKE a man carefully preserving his strength so that his body could do the job of healing a wound. He lay on his bunk, fully dressed against the cold that swept through the room in spite of the big fireplace at the end. He had the place to himself and the dimming afternoon sunshine made it seem much bigger and bleaker. He lay there, not thinking, not making any plans beyond getting strong enough to travel. He had the big pistol back in his belt; he’d seen to the loading and added an extra cartridge to the safety hole, making it a full six. He didn’t plan to stand for any more prodding.