Message on the Wind (2 page)

“Be patient, big fella,” he said, patting the horse's massive neck. “I'll get you fed as soon as I can.”

He stepped up onto the boardwalk and through the batwing doors. Three men turned and looked at him, including the bartender.

“Welcome, stranger,” he said, smiling. “Stiff wind blow you our way?”

“It sure did,” Clint said, approaching the bar. One of the other men was leaning on it, while the third man was sitting at a table alone with a bottle of whiskey and a glass.

“Mind telling me where I am?” Clint asked.

“Sure,” the bartender said. “This is Miller's Crossing. It ain't much, but it's home to twenty-two of us. Get ya somethin'?”

“A beer?”

“Comin' up.”

In a second the bartender put a frothy mug in front of Clint.

“ 'Fraid it ain't cold, but it's wet.”

“I'll settle for wet, right now,” Clint said. He took a couple of gulps, almost gagged, and put the glass down.

“Yeah, I know,” the barman said. “Hard to take. That's why most of the folks hereabouts drink whiskey.”

“I need a room, a meal, and board for my horse. Can I get all that here in Miller's Crossing?”

“Sure can,” the man said. “We got all the comforts of home.”

“Who do I see?”

“Well, me for the meal and room, and Antoine down to the livery stable. You wanna take your horse down there? I'll have the meal ready when you get back. You mind beans?”

“Beans and what?”

“Beans and beans right now,” the man said. “It's all we got. Might find a hunk of bacon around that I can cut into it.”

“That'll do.”

“I'm Benny,” the man said. “Benny the Bull, they call me, 'cause I'm so big.”

Clint studied the man and found him to be about six-two, just slightly taller than he was.

“Yeah, I know,” Benny said, “I ain't so big, but I'm the biggest man in town. Anyway, tell Antoine I sent ya, and not to overcharge ya because you're a stranger.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “I'll tell him. Thanks.”

“When ya get back, I'll give ya the best room in the house,” Benny called after him as he went out the door. “The Presidential Suite!”

When he got to the livery, Clint found that Antoine was a black man with a distinct New Orleans accent. He told the man Benny sent him, but that didn't matter. As soon as he saw Eclipse, Antoine got a big grin on his face.

“Dat's some horse, Boss,” he said to Clint. “I gon' take good care of this horse, me.”

“How did you get from New Orleans to here, Antoine?” Clint asked.

“Don' ask, Boss,” Antoine said. “It ain't a pretty story.”

Clint was satisfied that the man would take good care of Eclipse, so he didn't press him for his story. He paid him in advance for a day, then asked, “Have you ever heard of a town called Organ Pipe?”

Antoine's face changed, losing his smile.

“Why you askin' dat, Boss?” he asked.

“Just a name I came across lately, and I'd never heard of it.”

“Dat ain't no place you wan' go,” Antoine said. “I'd never go there, me.”

“Why not?”

“Dat a bad place, Boss,” Antoine said.

“Do you know where it is?”

“Don' know, don' wan' know,” Antoine said, shaking his head.

“Well, is it in Arizona?”

“You ask somebody else, Boss,” Antoine said. “I take care of your horse.”

“Okay, Antoine,” he said. “I'll ask somebody else.”

“You do dat, Boss.”

Antoine walked Eclipse to the back of the stable as Clint left.

When he got back to the saloon-hotel-restaurant, Benny the Bull had a steaming plate of beans waiting on the bar for him. As Clint got closer, he could smell the bacon. Apparently, Benny had found that hunk he'd been talking about.

“Found that bacon,” Benny said. “Had a little green on it, but I sliced it off. The rest seemed okay.”

“I'm hungry enough to try it.”

“Ain't got no fork, but I give ya a spoon.”

“I'll make do.”

“Want a beer with that?”

“How about a whiskey?” Clint didn't usually drink whiskey, but he didn't think he could stomach another of Benny the Bull's beers.

“Comin' up.”

There were still only two other men in the saloon, and neither had said a word the whole time Clint was there.

“I'll bet you're passin' through,” Benny said.

“That'd be a good bet.”

“On the way to where?”

Clint almost said “Nowhere” but instead he said, “Organ Pipe.”

“Where?”

“A town called Organ Pipe.”

“I never heard of that,” Benny said. He looked over at the other two men. “Ever heard of a town called Organ Pipe?”

The two men shook their heads and looked away. Clint had a feeling all three men were lying.

“Guess I'll have to ask somebody else where it is,” he said.

“You don't know?”

“No,” Clint said, “I just ran across the name recently, sounded interesting.”

“Sounds odd to me,” Benny said, “but can't say I'd be interested enough to go lookin'.”

“I wander, anyway,” Clint said. “Just thought I'd try to find it. Think anyone else in town's ever heard of it?”

“Can't say,” Benny said.

“Maybe I'll ask the sheriff,” Clint said. “Or the undertaker. Oh, wait, they're the same guy. That's kind of odd, ain't it?”

“Wait until you meet him,” Benny said. “Then you'll find out what odd is.”

Clint scooped some beans into his mouth.

“I'll go and see him when I finish eating,” he said. “Can I get a glass of water?”

“Sure. Lukewarm okay?”

“Lukewarm's fine.”

Benny went to get the water.

 

After he finished eating, washing it down with brackish water that was at least better than the warm beer, Clint left the saloon and crossed the street to the office of the sheriff-undertaker. He didn't say good-bye to Benny, who must have been in the back room when he left. He still had to get his room, so he'd go back right after his conversation with the law.

He entered the sheriff's office. It had a lot of the conventions of the office—desk, potbellied stove, gun rack—but it also had some of the look of an undertaker's office. There were even some coffins stacked over on one side. There was a curtained doorway that could have led to a cell block, or an undertaker's back room. There could have been bodies back there right at that moment—alive or dead.

“Hello?” Clint called.

“Be right out,” someone yelled from the back room.

Clint noticed the musty smell of the place, as if it hadn't been used in a while. There was a layer of dust on the desk. Maybe no one had died or been arrested in Miller's Crossing in a long time.

Finally, the curtains of the doorway were swept aside and a man walked in.

“Benny?” Clint asked.

“Benny the Bull, sheriff and undertaker of Miller's Crossing, at your service,” the man said, with a smile.

“You hold these jobs, too?”

“You bet,” he said. “I pretty much run everything here.”

“Where's your badge?”

“Oh, I keep it here in a drawer. I don't wear it unless I need it.”

“And what do the other twenty-one people in town do?”

“Well, you met Antoine, he owns the livery,” Benny said. “And he has a daughter. The rest of the citizens pretty much do what those fellas over in the saloon are doin' now. They just sit, and wait.”

“For what?”

“Who knows?”

“And you still don't know anything about a town called Organ Pipe?”

“I told you in the saloon, mister . . . Hey, you never told me your name.”

“My name is Clint Adams.”

“Clint . . . Adams?”

“That's right.”

“Um, well, I got your room ready, Mr. Adams, if you want to go over there and see it now.”

Clint had been toting his saddlebags and rifle with him since leaving his horse at the livery.

“That's a good idea, Benny,” he said, “or should I call you Sheriff?”

“Naw, Benny'll do just fine, Mr. Adams,” the man said, nervously. “This way.”

The hotel room was a lot like the sheriff's office—stuffy and dusty. Clint told Benny it was fine, and then when the man left, he opened the window to air it out.

Miller's Crossing was two things—a dying town and one man's kingdom. Obviously folks had left little by little, and probably still were leaving. Clint wondered what Benny would do when the last of the other twenty-one people left town.

But there were eighteen other people in town who Clint had not asked about Organ Pipe, so he decided to go out and take a walk around.

 

There were shops in town. Whenever Clint entered one, he wouldn't have been surprised to see Benny the Bull behind the counter, but it didn't happen. Apparently, he confined his time to being sheriff and undertaker, and running the saloon-restaurant-hotel.

Clint talked to the clerks in a hardware store, a small barely stocked general store, and a barbershop. He asked them about a town called Organ Pipe and they all did the same thing.

They lied.

By the time Clint got back to his hotel room, he was convinced of one thing. Organ Pipe was in Arizona, and it was probably somewhere in the area. Otherwise why would everyone in this dying town have some reason to lie about it?

There were sections of Arizona he knew well, so Organ Pipe had to be in this area, which he did not know well. Or maybe it
had
been in this area but was gone now. Maybe, like Miller's Crossing, it had dwindled down until, finally, the last person left and the town just died.

But the note that had fluttered over his face had been written on a piece of newspaper that had been published two years ago. That meant that, at the very least, the town of Organ Pipe had still been around two years ago.

Still, riding out and going in circles until he found Organ Pipe was not the way to go. He needed to find somebody who knew something.

One of these people had to talk to him.

 

“Is there some other place to eat besides here?” Clint asked Benny when he came back down from his room.

“There are some homes where cookin' is done,” Benny said. “Wives for husbands, daughters for fathers, but for the public? I'm afraid this is the only place.”

“And all you have is beans?”

“Yeah,” Benny said, “and no more bacon to put in it.”

“I guess I should spend the night, then, and move on,” Clint said.

“That's what everyone does,” Benny said. “I mean, we don't get many people here, but when they do come, some don't even stop; others spend one night and go.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “thanks.”

As he started to leave, Benny called, “Will you be back to eat?”

“Probably,” Clint said. “I mean, what other choice do I have?”

As Clint left, Benny took his shotgun out from beneath the bar and checked it.

For want of something better to do, Clint went to the livery stable to check on Eclipse. As Clint entered, he heard someone talking in very low tones, almost cooing. Most of the stalls were empty, but when he got to the back, he saw Eclipse. In the stall with him was a girl who was stroking his neck, talking to him softly.

“Hello,” Clint said.

The girl's head swiveled around at the sound of his voice, her eyes wide.

“Goddamn, you scared me!”

“Sorry,” he said, “I didn't mean to.”

“What do you want?”

She was black, young, and pretty. He assumed she was Antoine's daughter. While she stared at him, she continued to stroke Eclipse's neck, and the big black Darley Arabian seemed to be enjoying it.

“I've never seen him take to anyone this quickly before,” he said to her.

Her face brightened. “Is he yours?”

“Yes.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Eclipse.”

“Eclipse,” she repeated, then looked at the horse and said, “Hey, Eclipse? How ya doin', boy?”

“And what's your name?” Clint asked.

“I'm Jada,” she said. “This is the most magnificent horse I've ever seen.”

“You should've seen Duke,” Clint said. “A big black gelding, no white on him at all. Just midnight black and huge.”

“Bigger than Eclipse?”

“Seventeen hands, if he was an inch.”

“What happened to him?”

“What happens to us all,” Clint said. “He got old and I had to put him out to pasture. That's when I got Eclipse.”

“That's amazing,” she said. “How did you come to have two such magnificent horses?”

“Both were gifts, from men I knew,” Clint said. He didn't bother to tell her it was Jesse James who made him a gift of Duke, or that P. T. Barnum had given him Eclipse. She might not have believed either story.

“Who?”

“Just friends.”

“You have good friends,” she said. “But you just left him with us today. Why are you back?”

“Just to check up on him.”

“Antoine will take good care of him,” she said. “I'll help.”