Gunman's Song (9 page)

“
Partner
with you?” Hughes started to laugh again, but this time he caught himself, shook his head, and said. “What you're wanting is a backer. Elton, I wouldn't back you selling ice water at the gates of
hell. Now get away from me. I think you're both smoking opium!”

“Listen to me, Hughes!” said Elton. But before he could say another word, Hughes turned his back to him.

“Get out of here,” Hughes growled over his shoulder.

Elton and Sammy Boy started toward the door, looking dejected. But before they had crossed the floor, a man wearing a pencil-thin mustache and tied-down Colt slipped in beside Elton and said in a guarded tone, “Did I hear you boys say Fast Larry Shaw just rode into town?”

Elton and Sammy Boy stopped and looked at the stranger. “Yeah, we saw him ride in a few minutes ago,” said Elton.

“And you've got somebody you think can beat him straight up?” As he spoke he eyed Sammy Boy's Colt, then looked him up and down, evaluating him.

“Mister,” said Elton, “you sure heard an awful lot for a man who wasn't being spoken to.”

I couldn't help overhearing you two talking to Fat Man Hughes.” The stranger shrugged. “If you've got somebody and you're still looking for a backer, maybe I'm your man.” Again he looked at Sammy Boy's Colt. “I take it this is the shooter you were talking about? He looks fit enough to handle the job,” he added, getting on Sammy Boy's good side right away.

“Damn right I'm fit enough,” said Sammy Boy.

“Well, all right.” The stranger grinned and rubbed his hands together. “My name is Willie Devlin…business associates like to call me Willie the Devil.”
His grin widened; his expression grew crafty. “All in good fun, of course.”

Elton nodded and jerked a thumb toward Sammy Boy. “I'm Elton Minton. This here is Sammy Boy White…soon to be known as the man who gunned down Fast Larry Shaw.” He smiled boldly. “Willie the Devil, there are lots of sporting men in this town who would jump on this deal if I was to let it out. But the fact is, I want to keep it quiet until we're all set. Timing is everything, I always say.”

“I agree,” said Willie Devlin. “Now what's the deal? How much money do you need? How sure are you that our man Sammy here can get the job done?”

“Oh, Sammy Boy will get it done,” said Elton. “I wouldn't have gone this far even thinking about it if I wasn't sure of that.”

“Do I need to see Sammy shoot first or can I count on your word for it?”

“Count on it,” said Elton, “this is the fastest man I've seen with a gun. I've seen him take a—”

“I've got three thousand dollars,” said Willie Devlin bluntly, in order to get Elton to stop beating around the bush. “Am I in or out?”

Elton's jaw dropped, Devlin's words leaving him stunned for a second.

Sammy Boy looked at Elton and said, “Damn! Three thousand dollars!” He gigged Elton in his ribs. “Go on…tell Willie what you've got in mind.”

Elton recovered, batted his eyes, and said, “Uh, sure thing, Sammy Boy. But I think you need to let Willie and me get together in private and handle the details. You go somewhere and practice your part in this thing. Keep that gun hand well oiled, so to speak.”

Sammy Boy hesitated, but only for a moment. “All right,” he said, I'll go practice some…but I'm ready right now.” He patted the pistol on his hip as he turned and walked out through the bat-wing doors.

As soon as Sammy Boy was out of sight, Willie the Devil said in a solemn tone to Elton Minton, “Tell me the truth: Do you really think that boy has a ghost of a chance against Fast Larry Shaw?”

Elton Minton looked slightly offended. “If I didn't would I be betting everything we have on him?”

“I don't know that we will be betting everything we have on him,” said Willie. “For all I know you might be wanting to bet some on him and some on Fast Larry, just to hedge your bet.”

“I wouldn't dream of pulling something like that on my old pal Sammy,” Elton said, incensed.

“A smart man would,” Willie the Devil suggested with a sly grin.

Elton's face reddened a bit; then he returned Willie's grin. “To be honest, I have to admit the thought did cross my mind.”

“Good,” said Willie, “because if it hadn't I wanted to be sure and mention it to you, make sure your mind is in the right place on this thing.” The two shook hands; then Willie said, “Now back to what I asked you. Can that boy beat Fast Larry Shaw?”

“If we're going to bet it both ways, what do you care?” Elton asked, still grinning shrewdly.

“Because I know some people who want Fast Larry dead,” said Willie the Devil. “If I tell them Shaw's as good as dead and then he
isn't
”—as he spoke he shaped his right hand into a pistol and poked his
sharp finger firmly into Elton's stomach—“guess who
will
be?”

Elton's smile soured on his face.

“Now that he ain't standing beside you where he can hear you…tell me like your life depended on it,” said Willie the Devil. “Is that boy going to be able to get the job done?”

“If my life depended on it?” Elton considered it for a second; then, not wanting to let Willie the Devil and his three thousand get away, he said with finality, “Damn right, Sammy will get the job done.”

“Good then, partner,” said Willie, throwing an arm up around Elton's shoulder, directing him back toward the bar. “Let's have a drink on that. I've got a friend I'd like you to meet.”

When the sheriff and Lawrence Shaw left Della Starks at the Desert Flower Inn, they walked back to the sheriff's office. Along the way, Sheriff Neff looked Shaw up and down and said, “If it's any consolation, Lawrence, I too lost a wife some years back. She was killed by a young drunken cowboy on a street in El Paso. I was out of town when it happened. I got back and found out about it three days later. I was so full of blind, killing rage I went straight to the jail…. I meant to kill him on the spot. Turned out he had sobered up and felt so sorry for what he'd done, he hanged himself with a wool blanket from the top crossbar of the cell.”

“I'm sorry about your wife, Sheriff,” said Shaw. He stared straight ahead. “But don't worry about me killing Sidlow on the spot. I gave my word…I never break it.”

“I wasn't telling you that story to teach you any moral lesson, Shaw,” said Sheriff Neff. “It just seemed fitting, is all, what with you losing your wife under similar circumstances.”

“I understand, Sheriff,” said Shaw, “and I appreciate it. I reckon we have something in common, you and me.”

“Yep,” said the sheriff, staring straight ahead of himself now. “There's very few people I've ever talked to about my wife's death, at least not in any personal way. I did notice that shortly after her death, it seemed like every available woman within miles wanted to do something to make me feel better…comfort me in my loneliness, so to speak.” He looked at Shaw, noting Shaw's interest as he continued. “I know part of it was because of me being a lawman. It seems women have a powerfully high regard for lawmen and gunmen.” He smiled and shrugged. “I've never known why, but being a gunman I reckon you know what I'm talking about.” He nodded back over his shoulder toward the Desert Flower Inn.

“Sheriff, I'm not here with any designs on Della Starks, and nothing that belonged to her husband interests me in any way, especially his money.”

“I admire a man not easily taken in by a dead man's fortune or a warm widow's charm,” said the sheriff. After a second he said, “To tell you the truth I always had a soft spot of Della. When Purvis Starks died and I heard that his widow might be coming here to Eagle Pass, I had a wild notion that I might see how I fared with her.” He rubbed his cleanshaven chin. “I even bought this new shirt and all. Now it looks like you've plumb swept her off her feet.” He brushed a hand down the bib-front shirt. “Looks like I'm out thirty-five cents for nothing.”

“Sorry, Sheriff,” said Shaw.

“No need to apologize,” said Neff. “She is a beautiful woman…you are a gunman.” He sighed.

Shaw nodded. “I'm glad you understand.”

“Now then,” said Sheriff Neff, “let me tell you
what I've got figured on Sidlow Talbert. The only charge I've got him on is public drunkenness and shooting out a string of windows along Front Street. There's already been a couple of men showed up and paid for the damage he did. I've got him serving thirty days for the shooting and disturbing the peace. Those two fellows who paid his damages offered to pay a fine to get him released. I figured it best to make him serve the time, make him think twice before shooting up my town again.”

“Who were these two fellows?” asked Shaw.

“They said their names were Smith and Jackson,” said Neff with a disbelieving expression. “Ha! I recognized one right off as Willie the Devil but I didn't let on right then. The other was probably Donald Hornetti. From what I hear they're always together.”

“Are they part of Talbert's gang?” Shaw asked.

“They're a part of anybody's gang whose got some dirty deeds that need doing,” said Neff. “But it's safe to say they spend most of their time with Talbert. I don't know that they were with him when your wife got killed.”

“If I see them, Cray Dawson can tell me. He saw Talbert and his men leaving after they killed Rosa,” Shaw said.

Sheriff Neff noted how Shaw's voice softened when it came to saying his dead wife's name. “I'd say that makes your friend Dawson a very dangerous man to Talbert and his bunch,” the sheriff speculated. “Does he realize how bad Talbert and his boys will want to kill him, knowing he can identify them?”

“Cray Dawson doesn't care, Sheriff,” said Shaw. “He just wants to see them pay for what they did.”
Changing the subject slightly, Shaw said, “How many days does Sidlow Talbert have left to serve?”

“Only eighteen days left,” said Sheriff Neff, “but he acts like it's killing him. You know how these wild boys are…can't stand a set of bars between them and anything they could destroy if they took a notion. He keeps thinking his brother Barton and Blue Snake and the rest is coming to bust him out—I thought it too the first few days. But they're not coming for him. They sent Willie the Devil to pay his way out, but that's all they're going to do. They must figure thirty days ain't going to hurt him none, and it ain't worth getting me and a posse down their shirts. I probably couldn't catch them, but I would sure cramp their style.”

“They must have big plans of some kind,” said Shaw, considering it.

“That kind of scoundrel always has some kind of big plans they're counting on,” said Sheriff Neff. “But whatever it is, they ain't coming to bust Sidlow out, so there's no use in you waiting around here for them, hoping that will happen.”

“I see,” said Shaw, contemplating it further. The two grew quiet the rest of the way to the office. Then, before stepping through the door, Shaw said, “I still want to look this rat in the eyes…I'll know whether or not he was there when my Rosa died.”

“I understand,” said the sheriff, eyeing Shaw's tied-down holster, the big Colt close to his hand. Neff knew there was nothing he could do to stop Lawrence Shaw from drawing that gun and splattering Sidlow Talbert all over the wall of his cell if Shaw decided to. But Shaw had already given his word. Sheriff Neff couldn't question it now. “Just don't expect
him to tell you much,” Neff added, reaching out and opening the door.

Inside the door, Shaw stopped and looked over at the two cells along the wall. One cell sat empty, its door open wide and a mattress rolled up on a wooden-framed cot. In the other stood Sidlow Talbert, a thin young man with his hair disheveled and a week's growth of beard on his hard-edged face. He stood in his sock feet wearing dirty canvas trousers over his summer long johns, the buttons open down the front of his uppers. Before Sheriff Neff could say anything, Sidlow called out, grasping the bars with both hands, “Three more rats deserted this pus hole while you were gone, Sheriff. They said to tell you they wouldn't be back until you cleaned this up and started feeding better.” His words ended in a short fit of harsh laughter.

“You're a real funny man, Sidlow,” said the sheriff. “But if I was you I'd simmer it down and show some manners here. This is Lawrence Shaw. He came all the way from Somos Santos to see you. I expect you already know why.”

“No, I expect I don't know why,” said Sidlow Talbert, showing an expression of contempt even as he gave a wary look at the big Colt on Shaw's side. “If it's about killing that Mexican woman, he's wasting his time,” he said to the sheriff as if ignoring Shaw. “I didn't have a damn thing to do with that.” He cast another short glance at the big Colt, then looked away from it.