He picked out the two or three men in the place that might be trouble. One was playing at one of the card tables and there were two others at the bar that he figured for gunmen. One of the two men standing up at the bar seemed dressed pretty nice to be a gunman and he seemed to project a friendly attitude. Jess wasn’t sure about him, but his gut told him to treat the man with caution. There was a young kid sweeping up the floor and Jess noticed it was the same kid that ran in and out of the café earlier. Jess found his usual place at the right end of the bar occupied by this neatly dressed man. Jess was forced to take the far left of the bar. He ordered a beer and took a long pull from it. He noticed that the barkeep’s head wasn’t much above the bar, which made Jess lean over the bar to look. He found a raised platform behind the bar that was about a foot high off the floor. The barkeep, whose name was Paul Little, watched him do this and when Jess was done looking the barkeep gave Jess a stern look.
“One smart-ass word from you about me being short and you’ll not get another drink from me and I don’t care who the hell you are,” warned the barkeep.
“Sorry. I wasn’t planning on making any remarks, I was just curious,” he replied.
“Yeah, well you can be curious about something else,” he said severely.
“Sorry, I meant no offense,” he added as he took another sip of his beer.
Jess glanced down at the nicely dressed man at the other end of the bar and the man held up his glass of whiskey as if to salute Jess. The man was tall and muscular. He was dressed in all black and wearing a very nice black holster tied down low and tight. Jess noticed the man’s hammer strap was removed. When he had first walked into the bar, it was still over the hammer. Jess smiled to himself thinking that’s exactly why he always took the right end of the bar. It could hide such movement from most men, but Jess wasn’t like most men. Jess had already removed his hammer strap before he walked into the bar. Jess took another glance around the room and he could tell trouble was about to find him. He could tell from the changed expressions on the faces of the men in the bar. Jess finished his beer and ordered another one.
“Barkeep,” the man at the opposite end of the bar said, “put that beer on my bill. I’d be honored to buy Mr. Williams a drink.” The barkeep just grunted and got Jess another beer. Jess took a long sip of his beer and then turned to the man.
“Thanks for the beer,” he said. “Do I know you?”
“Thought maybe you might,” said the man. “They call me Nevada Jackson. I’m a bounty hunter myself. Just finished a job in a small town east of here and stopped off to see if there was some money to be made here in Red Rock.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, but I don’t have any bounty on my head,” replied Jess. “Well, at least not yet, if that’s what’s on your mind.”
“You sure?” he asked, tipping his head down a little at Jess.
“Pretty sure.”
“I’m going to take your word on it,” he said. “I always believe a man until he lies to me. I figure that’s the right way to go about it. Don’t you?”
“I couldn’t agree more, Nevada.”
“Well, I’d still like to make a little money today and I like a good challenge and haven’t had a serious one lately,” stated Nevada. “Fact is I’m getting bored. I think I have a way to combine both needs into one.” Jess didn’t respond. He simply stood there, looking at the man and sipping his beer.
“Don’t you want to know what it is I’m talking about, Mr. Williams?” asked Nevada.
“The way I figure it, you’re going to tell me all about it sooner or later anyway, and my hunch is whatever I say won’t matter much,” he replied. Nevada laughed a little and smiled back at him.
“Well, at least you have a sense of humor,” he said smiling. “I have to say, I’m quite impressed with you. You’re a cool one for being so young and I like that in a man. Now, here’s what I propose. Let’s each put five hundred dollars down on the bar, and then we face each other and the man standing after the smoke clears, gets to keep all the money. What do you think about that?” Jess thought about it for a moment.
“You know what, Nevada,” said Jess, “I’ve learned that things happen and sometimes you just don’t have any real control over them. Things like this: Here you are, and I don’t even know you, and yet you’re going to force me to kill you in a gunfight that I don’t want any part of. One day I hope to understand why; but for now, I’d be satisfied with one simple answer.”
“I’d be glad to answer any question you’ve a mind to ask, Mr. Williams,” replied Nevada. Jess took another pull from his beer.
“Have you ever killed someone in cold blood for no good reason?” asked Jess.
“I’ve killed more than my share of men, but they all deserved dying and they all had a fair chance to defend themselves. Why?”
“Well, if the answer had been different, it would have been a lot easier to kill you. Now, I don’t really want to square off with you, but I suppose you’re going to push me on the matter anyway.”
“Well, I guess so, unless you decide to walk out and refuse to face me,” replied Nevada. “I never shoot a man who refuses to draw in a fair fight.”
“Of course, you and I both know that I won’t do that.”
“Of course,” he agreed quickly. “I’ve heard all about you and your fancy pistol you got there. I heard all about you taking down that drifter up in Jonesville who shot that rancher and his boy. As a matter of fact, I was heading up there to collect that bounty when I heard you already took him down. You cost me five hundred dollars on that deal. I guess this would make me whole, so to speak.” Nevada pulled a wad of money out of his front pocket, counted out five hundred dollars and placed it on the bar.
“Barkeep,” said Nevada, “you hold the money. Mr. Williams, do you have the five hundred?”
I’ve got three hundred on me, but I can put up my gun and holster for the rest. If you win, I guess I wouldn’t need it anymore anyway. Agreed?”
“Agreed on both counts!” exclaimed Nevada quickly. “I’d love to have that pistol of yours. It’s worth the five hundred all by itself.”
The barkeep took the eight hundred dollars and put a bottle of whiskey on top of the money. Jess took another sip of his beer and turned to face Nevada when everyone in the bar was startled by the words that came from the batwing doors of the saloon.
“Get ready to die, mister!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The man standing in the doorway to the saloon looked to be about fifty. He had a bushy beard and moustache and looked like he hadn’t had a bath or a new set of clothes in several years. Jess didn’t recognize him, but he knew for sure the man was talking to him and not Nevada or anyone else in the bar.
“I said get ready to die!” the man repeated, as he walked into the center of the saloon. Jess saw the man had a gun tucked in his belt in the front of his belly. The gun looked as if it was used more for pounding nails than for shooting. Jess glanced at Nevada and then turned to face the old man. Neither Jess nor Nevada saw this man as any threat.
“Mister, I don’t know who you are and I have no quarrel with you,” said Jess. “What’s your beef with me?”
“I ain’t got no beef with ya! I just need the money!” hollered the man.
“What money?”
“The three thousand dollars that old man Carter put up for your head, dead or alive,” replied the man. “I need it. I ain’t had a good meal or a new set of clothes in three years. I’ve been riding a sorry sack of a mule ‘cause I lost my horse and what few nuggets of gold I had left from years of prospecting work to some damn thieves. I figure I ain’t got much to live for anyway. I heard about the money Carter had on your head and figured that I might as well go for it. Either way, my suffering will be over with and right about now, I don’t much care which way it ends.”
“How are you going to collect the money when you don’t have a gun?” asked Jess, somewhat sarcastically.
&nbs
p; “I got me a gun,” the man said defensively.
“Where?”
“Right here,” he said pointing the the shabby looking pistol in his front waist. “What the hell you think this here is?”
“That thing?” said Jess, with a look of amusement. “It looks more like a hammer. What are you going to do, throw it at me?”
“Sir,” Nevada politely said to the old prospector, “Mr. Williams and I have a business proposition to complete first. You’ve interrupted us, and I would suggest you wait until we are finished.”
The prospector kept his gaze on Jess, but now he recognized Nevada Jackson and he knew of his reputation. He began to have a sinking feeling. He took a few steps back and began to rethink his plan. He knew he was outgunned by either of these two. His senses began to return and he sat down at a table. When he did, the old pistol slipped out of his belt and fell onto the wooden floor with a thud. When it did, one side of the butt grips fell off the gun. The old prospector just looked up at Jess with a sorrowful look. Nevada turned to the barkeep and told him to get the old man a drink on him. The prospector asked for beer and the barkeep handed it to the kid who worked there and the kid took it over to the man’s table. Nevada then turned back to Jess.
“Well, it seems that if I win this thing, I can collect the money on the bar, your fancy pistol and holster and three thousand dollars from this Carter fellow,” said an enthusiastic Nevada. “It seems to be my lucky day.”
“Only if you win,” claimed Jess. “And that three thousand dollars is just blood money Carter put up to have me murdered. It’s not an official bounty. He’s just pissed off because I killed his only son in a fair fight.”
“That don’t matter,” stated Nevada. “If I win, I might as well collect it. If I didn’t, it won’t make you any less dead.”
“Well, I guess talking you out of this is out of the question?” Jess asked him.
“Hell, I was ready to face you for the three hundred dollars and your pistol and holster,” said Nevada. “Now with three thousand dollars added to the pot, I mean, who could walk away from that.”
“Someone who wants to live.”
“You’re assuming that you’ll beat me.”
“I’m not assuming anything.”
“So, you’re saying I might beat you?”
“Well, I might drop my gun or something like that,” replied Jess, smiling.
“A man with a sense of humor,” said Nevada with a grin. “I like that in a man.”
“Then why push this?” asked Jess.
“Did you forget about the three thousand dollars?”
“I didn’t forget.”
“Well, neither did I.”
“So, you’re still going to push this?” Jess asked again.
“I would say that you have a good grasp of the obvious,” said Nevada. “Now, since I made the challenge, I think it’s only fair that you get the chance to draw first.”
“I never draw first,” replied Jess. “Besides, this isn’t my choice. If you want this fight, you’ll have to start it.”
What happened next was another lesson that Jess would never forget. Nevada feigned a move so slightly that only Jess saw it. It was so slight that you couldn’t really call it a movement. Jess realized in that small fraction of a second that Nevada was attempting to get Jess to draw first. Jess couldn’t figure if it was out of some sense of fairness or some way to trick him into stalling his draw so that Nevada had an advantage. When it happened, Jess almost fell for it.
Instead, he turned the tables on Nevada and did the same to him, feigning a draw and when Nevada saw it, he went for his gun. Nevada was fast. He had outdrawn a dozen men and had never taken a bullet yet. And some of the men he had outdrawn were seasoned gunslingers who were fast, which is why Nevada was so shocked at what happened next. After he felt the thud in his chest and looked down at the bloodstain beginning to form on his shirt, he noticed he had his hand on the butt of his pistol, but it had not moved out from the holster. He looked up at Jess with a look of disbelief in his eyes.
“Damn, I didn’t even have a chance, did I?” he asked.
“Now it’s you who has a good grasp of the obvious,” replied Jess. “I guess things just don’t always work out the way you plan them.”
“I guess not,” replied Nevada, a hint of a smile on his lips. He took his right hand off his pistol and went to pick up his whiskey for one last drink. He never tasted that last drop. Nevada slumped to the floor, dead. Paul, the barkeep, who never had much to say and one who was not easily impressed, spoke up.
“I’ve seen lots of men go at it in here,” said the barkeep. “I’ve seen a few dozen gunfights in my lifetime, but I’ve never seen anything like that. You ain’t normal.” The barkeep went back to cleaning glasses. One of the men sitting by the bar was the town’s preacher. He looked at Jess with a dreadful look in his eyes.
“I seen it, too, and I don’t believe it neither, son,” the preacher said, looking right at Jess, “I don’t know who you are, but Paul here is right, you ain’t normal. Maybe you’re a soul incarnate who’s been brought back to this world by God Almighty himself or maybe you’ve been sent here by the devil to do his dirty work. Whichever it is, you’re not welcome in my church.”
The preacher stood up, picked up his Bible and walked out, not saying another word. Jess said nothing to the preacher. Instead, he turned his attention to the prospector who was still sitting down, holding his glass with both hands so that Jess would see he wasn’t even thinking about going for his gun, which was still lying on the floor under the table.
“I hope you’re still not going to try to collect that blood money, old man,” said Jess.
“No way in hell,” replied the prospector. “I saw what I saw, and my mama, whoever she was, didn’t bear no fool. I was just desperate and on my last straw when I came in here. I’ll be glad to leave here the same way, If’n you’ll let me.”
“Well, I’ll have to think about that for a minute,” he said curiously. The prospector moaned a little.
“Damn it,” exclaimed the prospector. “I just knew when I opened my eyes this morning that it was going to be a bad day.”
“Really, why is that?” asked Jess.
“Because I was able to open my eyes.”
“Well, maybe it won’t be such a bad day after all,” said Jess. The prospector looked somewhat confused. He still wasn’t sure what Jess was going to do. Jess picked up the eight hundred dollars from the bar and counted out three hundred dollars. He walked over to the old prospector, who wouldn’t move his hands from his glass, and sat down at the table with him.
“What’s your name?” he asked the old prospector.
“Name is Dusty Slim,” he replied. “I got that name ‘cause I don’t particularly like baths and I get kinda dusty. I also don’t have a chance to eat very often, as I ain’t never got any money.” He finally took his hands from his glass and patted his chest a little and some dust flew off the old man’s clothes.
“Well, Dusty, I want you to take this three hundred dollars and use it to get yourself a new start.” Jess threw the money on the table. “And, I want you to promise me you won’t try anything that stupid again. Otherwise, I’m making a bad investment in you. “Besides,” he said, glancing down at the sorry looking pistol on the floor, “that thing would probably backfire and blow your damn head off even if you did get off a shot. You best let the barkeep sweep it up and get rid of it.”
Dusty wasn’t quite sure what to say. He had come into the saloon to try to kill Jess for the money and now Jess was giving him money for a new start. This was not a normal day for Dusty Slim. It seemed his never-ending bad luck may have finally changed for the better.
“Mr. Williams, no one’s ever done anything like this for me before,” he exclaimed. “I don’t rightly know how to thank ya. I need the money real bad so I’ll take it, but I promise to pay you back every penny and more. I know a secret place that I’m sure still has som
e gold in it. Not enough to get rich, but enough to pay you back and let me finally quit mining. I’m right sure thankful, Mr. Williams, right sure.”
“You’re welcome, Dusty. And, you tell the man at the livery down the street that I said to give you Nevada’s horse, saddle and his rifle. That is if he had one, and I’m sure he did. Leave the saddlebags or any other belongings though. Tell the stable man I’ll be along to claim those later. Anyone gives you a problem; you let me know about it.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Williams, yes, sir,” Dusty happily agreed as he headed out the door before Jess could change his mind.
“You’re gonna claim Nevada’s belongings? You sure that’s right?” asked the barkeep. Jess looked at the very dead Nevada and pursed his lips.
“He sure ain’t going to need them anymore and besides, that man lying there was going to kill me just as dead as he is right now,” explained Jess. “If that had happened, what do you think would’ve happened to my belongings? You think all my things would just disappear? The way I look at it, his things belong to me now. His money, his horse, his gun and anything else of value he’s got. Hell, if right had anything to do with it, I wouldn’t be here today; and I wouldn’t have had to kill Nevada. I imagine there is some right in this world, but it hasn’t been hanging around me for quite some time now.”
“Fine by me,” replied the barkeep, “but Nevada had a lot of friends and a brother who just might not agree with your way of thinking, if you know what I mean.”
“I’ll deal with that when it happens.”
Jess removed Nevada’s gun from his body and found another two hundred dollars in his pockets. He also removed a beautiful gold pocket watch from Nevada’s front pocket. Jess didn’t have a watch, he never had much use for one, but this one was beautifully engraved on the front. He decided it was time to have one. Sheriff Clancy walked into the saloon and looked at Nevada’s dead body.
The RECKONING: A Jess Williams Western Page 21
