Her voice broke off in the sounds of a struggle.
“You coming, Saulter?” McGraw yelled.
Saulter glanced toward the sun again. Twilight was full upon the snow. “She doesn’t mean anything to me. Kill her if you want. I’m riding out.”
“You’re lying.”
“Watch me! I’m heading south.”
“This woman will be on your head.”
“Go to hell. I’m pulling out.” Saulter stood up and went to the door. “And I’m taking all the horses with me. You’ll freeze to death before you can get out of here, McGraw.”
“You’re bluffing, Saulter.”
“Watch me!”
“I’ll carve her up! I’ll slit her belly! I’ll cut her like a sow.”
“Watch me,” Saulter yelled again. He turned and went out the back, glancing toward the bunkhouse to make sure Schmidt was not a threat. Then he went to the horse he’d selected. He stepped aboard, and rode to where the other horses were tied. Leaning out of the saddle he gathered up the reins, turned on lead and rode around the barn and south, leading the other horses. In the open, but out of rifle shot from the women’s house, he paused. Holding his big rifle in one hand he fired a signal shot in the air. There was no effect from the house. After watching a moment he kicked his horse into a lope and set off south. The sun was now down and the winter darkness coming fast. In a moment he had disappeared into the gloom.
In the women’s house McGraw, still holding Letty by the hair, was craning his head out the window, watching Saulter ride away. When he was out of sight he pulled back in, looked at Letty, and then flung her away. She staggered across the floor, hit a wall, and fell down. McGraw walked deliberately to a chair and sat. The other women were huddled on the couch across the room. McGraw said to one of them, “Bring me a bottle of whiskey.”
The woman got up, as if hypnotized, and hurriedly fetched the bottle of whiskey and a glass. He took them, poured a drink, and downed half of it. Then he said to the woman, “Now get to that back window and watch for Saulter. Any sight or sound of him you sing out, or I’ll put your eyes out.” The woman hurriedly took up her post.
McGraw slowly set his glass down and looked at the other women. “The rest of you watch. I’m going to show you what happens to a whore who doesn’t stick to the business she gets paid for.” He reached in his pocket and came out with a knife. With a wrist snap he flipped it open. The blade was long and sharp. He looked at Letty, his eyes bright. “Now. Come here. I’m going to skin you alive.”
Saulter rode perhaps a half mile. Finally he pulled up, satisfied that he couldn’t be seen from the little settlement. He dismounted and, taking a rope, made a picket line by running it though the reins of all the horses. Next he took his big rifle and, holding it by the stock, drove the barrel deep into the hard-packed snow. To this he tied the picket rope, there being nothing else to tie the horses to. In his belt was a pistol he’d taken off one of the dead gunmen in the saloon. He took it out and checked the load. Satisfied, he shoved it down in his belt. Then he tugged his hat down, pulled his big coat around him as protection against the hard cold that had come with the night, and started walking back toward the little settlement. Once he looked back. The horses were huddled together, a dark, indistinct shape against the snow.
In the women’s house they were as before, the women on the sofa, McGraw in the chair, and Letty huddled at the base of the wall where McGraw had flung her. It had grown dark in the room and McGraw directed one of the women to light a candle. “Just a little one,” he said, “so that I’ll have light enough for my work, but not enough to make us targets for Letty’s Mister Saulter.” He felt very secure. He had Letty and he was inside and Saulter was somewhere in the snow. And he did not believe that Saulter could slip into the house. There was just the front door and the back. And so far as he knew, the only windows on the lower story were the two at the front and the one at the side. He knew that he could stay awake all night and once morning came Saulter would have even less chance. He would have to come for Letty soon; his whole character said he would have to. And McGraw intended on hurrying him along by a simple expedient. He looked over at Letty and smiled pleasantly, like a man with a task in front of him that he particularly relished.
“Are you coming here, Letty, or will I have to come and fetch you? I want you over in this chair so that you’ll be comfortable. And nearer the window so that Mister Saulter will hear you when you scream.”
She stared back, hating him, but not speaking.
“Oh, yes,” he said, as if she’d answered, “he’s still out there. I have no doubt of that. His avowals of departure, leaving the damsel in distress, were piteously weak. You see, I understand Mister Saulter and he’s a fool. He’ll come rushing blindly in through that door when you begin to scream. Make no mistake of that. He’s out there and he’ll come.”
She lay there against the wall, watching McGraw, but frantically thinking of how she could get her hands on some weapon.
“Of course,” he went on, “you think you won’t scream. You think you’ll be proof against such weakness. My dear madame”—he smiled broadly—“I assure you that you will scream. And loud. And you’ll beg. No matter how strongly you believe now that you will not, you’ll find that it will rise from your throat involuntarily. Now, are you coming here or do I have to come fetch you?”
She looked at him a long second, then she said, “Go fuck yourself.”
Saulter paused some thirty yards from the women’s house. It was so dark that he had to move closer to make sure that Chiffo’s ladder was still leaning as he’d left it. He glanced around. The saloon was dark and empty, just a dim hulk in the moonless night, but there was a faint light from the windows of the bunkhouse. Saulter assumed it was Schmidt, hiding there until it was all settled and he had his little way station back. He moved up to the ladder, tested it with a hand, and then stood a moment listening. He could hear nothing from inside through the thick log walls.
In the parlor McGraw was having a brief struggle with Letty. He’d had to go get her, taking her by the hair, and attempting to drag he across the room. But she’d fastened onto his leg and sunk her teeth into his calf so that he’d had to punch her in the head with his fists until she’d finally fallen to the floor. “Goddam bitch!” he swore, panting with the effort. He leaned down, got her under the arms, and dragged her across to the chair he’d placed in front of the opened window. She came to as he was forcing her down and began to fight. He had to hit her until she once again slumped into submission. In the pause he grabbed up some cloths, tore them into strips, and bound her arms and legs tightly to the chair. Finished, he stood up and looked down on her, breathing heavily. She had come to and she stared back at him, her nose puffed, a line of blood running down from her mouth. She spit out a little blood, trying to spit on him, but not succeeding. “You bastard,” she said, “I’ll kill you. Somehow.”
He smiled again, now that she was immobilized, the pleasure returning to his eyes. “Well now,” he said, “I doubt that you’ll get the chance.” He reached out a hand, took her by the collar of her bodice, and ripped it down the front, baring her breasts. “Now we’ll see how much you can take. That should be interesting.” He took his long knife out of his pocket, opened it again, and tested the point against the white skin of her stomach. Even with just a little pressure it drew a tiny drop of blood. Letty turned her head and looked at the women sitting on the sofa. She said, “Won’t any of you help me?”
Under her gaze they, one by one, dropped their eyes.
Letty said, “He’s nothing. He’s a coward. Together you could handle him.”
Hester said, self-righteously, “I warned you, Letty. I warned you not to bring that man in here. Now you’ll just have to take what’s coming to you.”
Letty shook her head slowly. “You poor bitch,” she said simply. She looked back at McGraw. This time he was closer and she spit in his face. “You’re nothing, McGraw. No matter ho
w bad you hurt me it won’t make you any more than nothing.”
He stepped back from her, her spit on his cheek. He fumbled for his handkerchief, remembered he’d given it to Billy, and then took up one of the cloths and slowly wiped his face. “I’m glad you did that,” he said, “it will increase my enjoyment of what is to come.”
Saulter climbed slowly and carefully, avoiding the slightest noise. When he got to the top of the ladder the loft window was, as he’d expected, closed. He took it by the bottom and tugged up gently. It refused to budge. There was just enough of an opening at the bottom for him to slip the ends of his fingers in. He pulled up again, harder this time. It was either stuck or locked. He peered in through the glass. Just inside he could see a stick someone had put at the side of the window to jam it closed. He would have to break the glass. There was no choice. He took out his gun, reversed it, and tapped the butt gently against the pane. It made an alarmingly loud noise in the quiet night. And he would have to hit harder, making more noise, for the glass to break. He drew back his pistol. There was no help for it; it would have to be done.
Letty was cursing McGraw steadily in a low monotone. He was down on his knees in front of her with the knife in her belly. He had the blade run in just a quarter of an inch under the skin. Then he’d turned it laterally, running the supple blade between the skin and the muscle wall of her stomach. It was excruciatingly painful and Letty was strained upward against her bonds, sweat bathing her face. But her voice never broke, just stayed in the murmured cursing she was giving McGraw. The cut was so delicate and sharp that the wound was bleeding very little. He turned the blade again, slipping it, inch by inch along underneath her skin. The blade was a full five inches long and most of it had disappeared into her flesh. He worked with an intense, excited smile on his face. “Scream,” he urged her, “scream and it’ll feel better. Call Saulter. Beg him. Scream, Letty.”
But she wouldn’t. Occasionally her voice broke and a quiet, agonized “Oh, my god!” was squeezed out of her. But she was cursing loud enough so that neither McGraw nor anyone in the room heard the faint tinkle of glass as Saulter broke out the pane in the loft room upstairs.
Quickly he reached through, knocked the stick out of the way, and eased the window up. Then he climbed through, having difficulty because of his large bulk and the smallness of the window. Once in the room he stood quietly for a moment and then shrugged out of his coat and threw it on the floor. With the revolver in his hand he opened the door softly and started down the stairs. He could hear a quiet murmur from the first floor, but he didn’t know what it meant.
Letty had given up cursing. She sat now with her mouth clamped shut, just using all her strength to resist the pain. McGraw stopped probing with the knife and looked up at her, puzzlement in his face. “Well, little lady,” he said, “it appears we’re going to have to try something else. Perhaps you are more sensitive elsewhere. Though, your profession being what it is, I have my doubts. Still we’ll try.” He pulled the knife out of her belly. Blood came trickling behind it. Then with rough hands, he ripped her dress the rest of the way down the front.
Saulter was at the last step. The stairwell entered in the middle of the south wall of the room. Standing motionless he could see the women on the couch to his right. They were staring raptly at something in the front of the room, completely unaware of him. He craned his head out just an inch and then he could see McGraw down in front of Letty with the knife. Now that the pain had ceased temporarily she lay with her head resting back against the chair, her face chalk white, gasping for breath.
Saulter was about to step out into the room when there came a sudden pounding at the door. He moved back half a step.
At the sound McGraw jumped to his feet and flattened himself against the wall by the door. From his belt he took out a revolver, cocking it and holding it ready.
The pounding came again. “McGraw! It’s me, Schmidt! Open up.”
Staying against the wall, McGraw reached out with one hand and jerked the door open. He was ready to fire when Schmidt came stumbling into the room.
“He’s out there!” Schmidt said. “That wild-man. I think I just saw him outside!”
McGraw turned to give Letty a triumphant leer and then went to the window and peered around the edge. It was too dark to see.
At that instant Saulter stepped out of the stairwell, revolver leveled. McGraw was turned away and did not see him. But Schmidt, who was still standing in the door, did. The fat saloon keeper’s eyes bulged out and grew round and his mouth fell open. Without a word he went backpedaling out the door, staring at Saulter. At the edge of the porch he tripped and fell in the snow. Then he jumped to his feet and went racing away in the darkness.
McGraw said, “What the hell?” and turned. Then he saw Saulter, saw the revolver pointed straight at his chest. He froze. Then, almost in slow motion, his nerveless fingers, one by one, released the hold he had on his own gun and it fell to the floor. “Saulter . . .” he said. “Saulter . . .” He swallowed.
Saulter just stared at him a long moment. Then he motioned toward Letty. “Cut her loose.”
“Of course. Of course,” McGraw said. He grabbed up the knife that he’d left on the floor and quickly cut her bonds. She slumped down in the chair, half-unconscious. “She’s not hurt,” McGraw said. “Not hurt at all, really. Just a little fun. You can understand I’m sure. My position ...”
“Yes,” Saulter said. He motioned with the revolver. “Go stand in that door facing me.”
“Of course,” McGraw said. “Whatever you say.” He stepped quickly to the open doorway and turned to face Saulter. “Do you want me to put my hands up?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Saulter said evenly.
Then McGraw realized. “Now wait,” he said. “Wait, now. God, Saulter, don’t kill me. Please don’t.” He put out his hands, as if to ward off the forthcoming bullet.
“You should have left me alone. All of you.”
“I see that now,” McGraw said rapidly. “I’m sorry. Look, Saulter, I’ve got money. I can get you money. You’ll profit from this.”
Saulter fired, shooting him in the right knee. McGraw screamed and half fell. He would have gone down except he caught himself against the doorjamb. “Oh, please,” he said. “Oh, please don’t.”
“Get up,” Saulter said. “Stand on your feet.”
“I can’t,” McGraw cried. “I can’t.” Instead of rising he slid slowly down the door, his wounded leg curled under him.
Saulter shot him in the thigh.
McGraw screamed in pain and covered the wound with both hands, sliding lower.
“Get up,” Saulter said. He shot him in the shoulder, the force of the shell slamming McGraw back against the corner of the door.
“Get up,” Saulter said again.
Slowly, agonizingly, McGraw raised himself to a sitting position. He held his hands out in a prayerful attitude to the hunter. “Oh, please don’t, Mister Saulter. Please don’t shoot me anymore.”
Saulter fired, shooting him in the chest. The force of the bullet knocked him over backwards and half out the door. He twitched once and then lay still. Saulter uncocked the pistol and walked over and looked down at the dead body. Then he opened the revolver magazine and levered the spent shells out. They hit McGraw on the chest and bounced onto the floor. Finally Saulter reached down with one hand, grabbed McGraw by the coat lapels, and dragged him out on the porch and threw him over the edge into the snow. He turned back into the room, shutting the door behind him. Letty was sitting up in the chair. She’d seen the last of it. She had her clothes pulled together, but the pain was still evident in her face.
Saulter stood there looking at her. Then he rammed the revolver down his belt.
“It’s over,” he said.
SEVEN
THE MORNING BROKE with such brilliant clearness, as if to innocently disclaim any part of the previous night’s snowstorm. Saulter got up, leaving Letty still asleep, dressed qu
ietly, and went into the living room. From somewhere in the back of the house he could smell the coffee that Juno was fixing. Before stepping outside he lit up one of his little black cigars. He felt content. Not particularly good about what had happened, but more like a man who’d successfully completed a distasteful piece of work.
He opened the door and stepped out into the brilliant sunshine. McGraw’s body lay where he’d thrown it the night before, but it was not alone. Schmidt was at it, rifling the pockets. He looked up from his work, surprise and fear in his face, when he saw the hunter. Saulter paused, smoking his cigar and studying the scene. Schmidt had a sheaf of bills in one hand and McGraw’s gold watch in the other. He gestured in Guilty defiance and said, “He owed me money. I just collect what is mine. That’s all.”
“You do that,” Saulter said. He took the cigar out of his mouth. “And since it looks as if you’re being paid a little extra you can just be the burial detail.” He gestured with his cigar. “Get him underground. And the rest of ’em. I don’t want Letty having to see nothin’ like this.”
Schmidt looked aghast. “How am I gonna do that? That would be a job of work for two men. And the ground is froze!”
“Just do it,” Saulter said. “Stick ’em under the snow. They’ll keep until spring and then it’s your problem. But you get ’em out of sight. You understand me?”
Schmidt hung his head in submission and nodded. He stuffed the money and watch in his pocket and went back to his search through McGraw’s clothes. Saulter descended the steps and was going to walk by when Schmidt said, “That other one is over on the porch. He’s still alive.”
Saulter whirled around. “What other one?”
“That friendly one that saved you. Billy.”
Saulter took the cigar out of his mouth. “He’s alive?
“Layin’ on the porch.”
“You left him out in the weather?”
The Sunshine Killers Page 14
