Gunman's Song (31 page)

Lawrence Shaw stood up, dusted the seat of his trousers, and looked off across the sand flats toward town. “It's time I get prepared to go on in and get it done.”

“How will you want us to play it?” asked Dawson. As he asked, Caldwell stood up too and stepped in closer to hear what would be expected of him.

“Things are going to start happening pretty quick from here on,” said Shaw. “Bo Kregger will be expecting me at sunrise, just as the sunlight streaks in.”

“And we”ll be backing your play,” said Dawson. “Where will you want us positioned?”

Shaw didn't answer him. Instead he went on as if Dawson hadn't said a word. “Bo Kregger already has an idea where I”ll come from and where I'll be standing. Talbert will have a couple of his men on the roof somewhere in case things don't go well for him.”

“So Caldwell and I will be across the street, covering the roofs and the alleys?” Dawson asked.

With no expression in his cold green eyes, Shaw continued speaking flatly, as if Dawson weren't there, “Right about now Kregger has me pegged, my every thought, my every move. To hear him tell it he could tell you my tone of voice when I call out his name.”

“Can I say something, Shaw?” said Dawson. Shaw just stared at him.

“What about Caldwell and me? Where are we going to be positioned? I want to be in the thick of it when these rats hit the ground.”

Shaw looked back and forth between the two men. Then he said calmly and with resolve, “Both of you go on home. I'll take it from here.”

“Well, all right then, if you say so,” said Jedson Caldwell meekly. He took a step back out of the way.

“Wait a minute! Are you
loco,
Shaw?” said Dawson. “You've got seven gunmen, plus Bo Kregger, waiting in there to shoot your eyes out! You've got a shoulder wound still healing where Caldwell shot you! No way I'm going home, huh-uh! Not until this is finished!”

“You're going home now, Dawson,” Shaw said in a strong tone. “I no longer want you with me.” He turned a harsh look to Jedson Caldwell. “Same goes for you, Undertaker. Both of you drag up and ride away. The matter is not even open for discussion.”

“The hell it's not!” said Dawson. “If you're cutting me out I've at least got a right to know why! I've rode with you long enough…spilled enough blood for you! You owe me that much!”

“I don't owe you a damn thing, Dawson,” said Shaw in a low, even tone. “You came along for Rosa's sake, remember? Said how much you loved her? Said how you would have married her if it hadn't been for me coming along? Well, I came along. She was my wife. I stood over her grave imagining what those killers put her through. Now it's time they pay up, and it'll be me that sets things straight, nobody else!” He stared pointedly into Cray Dawson's eyes, then said, “Unless there's some reason why things should be otherwise.”

A nerve twitched in Cray Dawson's jaw for a tense, silent moment. Caldwell stood staring in breathless anticipation. Then Dawson broke the silence, saying, “All right, Shaw, I've been trying to tell you all along but you wouldn't listen to me. This is what I meant when I kept saying things still needed to be talked out between us.”

“I knew what you had to say then, Dawson,” said Shaw, “and I know what you've got to say now. The problem is, I don't know whether or not I can keep from killing you after I hear you say it. Do yourself, me, and Rosa's memory a favor: Keep your mouth shut and get out of here.”

Caldwell stood frozen in place, not sure he could trust his own senses. Cray Dawson swallowed hard. “All right, Fast Larry Shaw,” said Dawson. “As always, you get your way. I'll leave. There's no arguing with the fastest gun alive.” He took a step back toward his horse, then he stopped and pointed his finger at Lawrence Shaw. “But tomorrow morning at sunrise, I'm going to be there in Brakett Flats! If you think you have reason enough to kill me, that's up to you. I'll be there whether you like it or not.” He turned, stepped up into his saddle, and started to turn his horse away.

“Damn it to hell, Dawson, wait a minute,” said Shaw, his demeanor softening. “I don't want things to end like this between us. I know you're a good man. Things being the way they were, Rosa must've cared an awful lot for you. Let's just ride away from one another and stay away from one another. We loved the same woman. Everything else about her is gone. Let's keep her memory good.”

Dawson stared at him for a moment longer. “I say
the same, except it ain't easy for me to forgive myself the way it is for you, Shaw. I've tried every way in the world to admit it to you; it just never got said. I wish to God they'd buried me in Somos Santos instead of her. Dying has got to be easier than this!” He jerked his horse around without another word and gave it his spurs. In a moment all that remained was his wake of dust on a passing breeze.

“Well, what about it, Undertaker?” said Shaw. “Hadn't you better catch up to him? You don't want to be left out here all alone, do you?”

“Mr. Shaw, can I say something too?” said Jedson Caldwell.

“Well, I don't see why not; you're the only man who ever shot Fast Larry Shaw and lived to tell about it,” Shaw said with a trace of sarcasm.

Caldwell said in a shaky voice, “I'm not sure what I just heard here…and believe me, it's none of my business. But I think Cray Dawson is by far one of the most decent, loyal, straightforward men I've ever had the honor of meeting in this godforsaken land. It's rare to find a friend like that; I think you would do well to value such a friendship.”

“Is that all?” Shaw asked.

“Well, yes,” said Caldwell.

“Then get a saddle under you and get your knees in the wind. I've got more to do than listen to you give me a sermon on friendship.”

“Yes, Mr. Shaw, I'm going now,” Caldwell said nervously. “But I want you to know that when Cray Dawson shows up in town tomorrow at the stroke of sunrise, I plan on being there beside him.”

“Do you now?” Shaw asked with a scowl. “Right at the crack of sunrise?”

“Yes…indeed I do,” said Caldwell.

“Well, then, you and Mr. Dawson just be my guests,” Shaw said with a bitter twist to his voice. “Show up at sunrise; I won't try to stop you. Now
adios,
Undertaker. Get out of here before I give this shoulder wound back to you!”

It was dark by the time Jedson Caldwell caught up to Cray Dawson. The two rode on without talking until they made a camp without a fire only five miles from Brakett Flats. In the moonlight they shared a cold meal of stiff jerked meat and tepid canteen water. After a while Dawson broke the tense silence, saying, “I suppose you heard enough to figure what had been going on between Rosa Shaw and me?”

“If you don't mind me saying, I've been seeing that for some time. I had even wondered if Shaw could see it…apparently he did.” Caldwell stopped for a moment, thinking it over; then he said, “She must've been a remarkable woman, if two men loved her so much they're willing to share the memory of her.”

“She was a remarkable woman,” said Dawson. “I just wish to God I could have known what was going on that day.
I
would have been there even though Lawrence Shaw
wasn't
!”

“You really do blame yourself, don't you?” Caldwell asked carefully.

Dawson hung his head. “I actually saw them on their way along the road after they left the Shaw home. I had no idea where they had been.”

“Even if you had, it wouldn't have saved her,”
said Caldwell. “It would only have meant that you would have found her killers sooner.” He shrugged. “I call that little comfort for so great a loss.”

“That's all I get,” said Dawson. “But tomorrow I will be there at sunrise, and even if it means I have to fight Lawrence Shaw, I'm taking vengeance on Rosa's murderers.”

“You won't have to fight him,” said Caldwell. “The last thing he said was that he wouldn't try to stop us if we showed up.”

“He said that, huh?” said Dawson.

“Yes, he did,” said Caldwell, nodding. “He said, ‘Show up at sunrise; I won't try to stop you.' “

Dawson let out a tired breath. “Then something I said must've changed his mind after he took time to think it over. That ain't like him,” he said. He shook his head, then added, “Never fall in love with another man's wife, Caldwell; it'll bring you and everybody else nothing but misery. I expect I am lucky Shaw didn't put a bullet in me. The plain truth is, I hurt so bad I just didn't really care.” He stood up, dusted his trouser seat, and took down his saddle and blanket roll.

Caldwell did the same, saying, “So tomorrow we'll meet Shaw there first thing, at sunrise?”

“Yep,” said Dawson. “I will, anyway. If you want to ride on, nobody will ever blame you.”

Taking down his own saddle and blanket roll, Caldwell said, “I know…but if it's all the same, I want to be there.”

Dawson just looked at him.

“Call it a test,” said Caldwell. Then without another word on the matter he shook out his blanket and spread it on the ground at his saddle.

Dawson nodded and did the same.

Caldwell lay awake in restless anticipation of the upcoming events, while Cray Dawson soon fell fast asleep. But at midnight, as Caldwell still wrestled with his blanket and tossed and turned, he was suddenly startled by the sound of Dawson's voice, saying to himself, “Damn you, Shaw! I should have known better!”

Jedson Caldwell sat up quickly, leaning on both palms, looking around as if expecting to see Lawrence Shaw in their midst. “What's going on, Dawson?” he asked, bewildered.

“Shaw just jackpotted us, that's what's going on!” said Dawson. “It just came to me in my sleep what he's trying to do, only it's not going to work! No, sir! Not if I can help it!”

“What is he trying to do?” asked Caldwell.

Cray Dawson snatched his saddle and blanket from the ground and hurried over to where the horses stood at rest. “Come on, Caldwell, if you're coming! We've got to get a move on!”

“But it's the middle of the night!” Caldwell protested, even as he grabbed his boots in one hand, his saddle and blanket in the other. “Where are we going?”

“Shaw told you it was all right for us to be there at sunrise because he knew damned well he was going into Brakett Flats
tonight
! He's deliberately trying to get himself killed!

Bobby Fitt stood guard until midnight, until Harper Furlin limped over to the abandoned gallows to relieve him. “I don't see the damn point in us standing guard like this,” Harper said, feeling cross
and testy from the pain in his swollen, wounded foot. “If I wanted to stand guard I'd have joined the army.”

“I know,” said Bobby Fitt, “I've never seen Talbert so worried about anything since I've been riding with him.” He looked Harper up and down. How's the bad foot doing?”

“No good at all,” said Harper Furlin. “The only thing would help it is if I could stomp it up and down on Denver Jack's face.”

Bobby Fitt chuckled slightly under his breath. “It's a well-known fact that Denver Jack Fish will shoot a man without warning, and with very little provocation.”

Harper only sneered and cursed silently.

Leaving the gallows Bobby Fitt walked over to the saloon, where Willie the Devil and Elton Minton were still drinking, the Devil fervently swapping gunfighting tales with a couple of townsmen who had grown bold enough to drink with what remained of Barton Talbert's men at the bar. “What happens if this fight doesn't take place?” one townsman asked the Devil.

Willie the Devil spread his hands in a gesture of innocence, saying, “Then everybody gets their money back, of course! Look, friend, making book on these gunfights is not something I do for money. This is all done through my love of sporting events.”

“I never thought of two men shooting at each other as a sporting event,” said the townsman, scratching his head.

“Then you haven't studied much history,” said the Devil. “The contest of man against man in a contest of life or death is the oldest sport in the world. The
Romans did it with swords and pikes and other assorted cutting and maiming objects. So did the Greeks, the Chinese…God knows who else! Shooting a man with a gun is perhaps the most humane way in the world to kill him. I hate even thinking about some of the others.” He winced in contemplation.

“I hadn't thought of it, but I reckon you're right,” said the townsman, again scratching his head.

“You bet I am,” said Willie the Devil, smiling broadly. “The Devil wouldn't steer you wrong! Right, Elton?”

“Right you are, Devil,” said Elton Minton, who stood farther down the bar. Elton had taken up with a young woman who had been drinking and consorting freely with the outlaws ever since Talbert had convinced the mayor to allow the young women of the town out of hiding. The young woman raised her dress hem slowly and smiled as Elton stuffed a dollar bill under her garter.