The Sunshine Killers (18 page)

“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.

T
HE 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 quietly, 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?”

Schmidt shrugged. “I thought you'd kill him anyway.”

Saulter started to turn and then looked back. “What about that boy, Chiffo?”

Schmidt gestured. “He's in the bunkhouse.”

Saulter's eyes narrowed.

“He's alive. I don't hurt him,” Schmidt said hastily. “He's just shot a little bit.”

Saulter threw his cigar away and turned and hurried for the front of the saloon.

Billy was laying where he'd fallen. Somehow he'd hung on through the long cold night. Though actually, the cold had been as much a factor in his favor as anything since it had thickened his blood and kept him from bleeding to death. His big coat had kept him from freezing. But he was in bad shape, white faced and very weak. Saulter knelt beside him. He put his hand on Billy's brow and the cowboy's eyelids fluttered open weakly. He tried a little smile that didn't come off.

“I got to get you inside,” Saulter said. “I'm going to turn you over and pick you up.”

Billy's lips moved. In a weak voice he said, “Like to give you a hand, but I'm one short.”

“And lucky at that,” Saulter said briefly. He glanced at the stump, amazed at the neat job of amputation the shell had accomplished. It gave his stomach a turn in spite of himself. He could see that the exposed stump had frozen, which had saved Billy a lot of pain. But he knew it was just delayed, that he would get the full share. He turned the cowboy over and picked him up. He felt surprisingly light. Schmidt watched as they passed him and went up on the porch. The door, having been ruined by McGraw, stood half open and Saulter brushed through it. Billy said, as Saulter carried him into the room, “Does this mean we're married?”

Letty was up, standing in the middle of the room drinking a cup of coffee. She looked in surprise at Saulter and his bundle. “One still alive,” Saulter said. “I owe him.”

She nodded quickly. “We'll put him in Hester's room. That bitch is gettin' her ass out of here today.” She set her coffee cup down and led the way.

There were three beds in the room, all containing sleeping women. Letty went straight to Hester, grabbed her by the hair, and jerked her off onto the floor. Then she turned the covers back and helped Saulter lay Billy in the bed. Saulter took the cowboy's boots off while Letty kicked the frightened whore out of the room.

“We got to get that stump bandaged up,” Letty said matter-of-factly. “And get it disinfected.”

“I'll leave it to you,” Saulter said. He looked down at Billy. The cowboy's eyes were open though he looked terribly weak. Billy said, “You blame me?”

Saulter asked, “What?”

“The surrender.”

The hunter shrugged. “I guess not. It didn't work out.”

“I'll get the rest of the girls up and we'll get started on him,” Letty said. Saulter followed her out of the room. “I got to go get that Mexican boy over from the bunkhouse. I think he's shot too. Can you handle him?”

Letty shrugged. “Why not? I may open up a hospital.”

“I mean, how are you feeling?”

The cuts had been just under the skin as McGraw had followed on his plan to skin her alive. She shrugged again. “I feel okay. Little sore in the belly, but that's all. I'll be over it in a week.”

He studied her face. “We'll talk later.”

“Yes. Let's get the mess cleaned up first.”

 

He stayed three days to help with the cleaning up and the nursing. Then he told Letty on his last night that he'd be leaving in the morning. She didn't say anything then, but got up with him and fixed his coffee and breakfast. They sat at the table together when he'd finished eating, the rest of the house sleeping. He fiddled with his coffee cup, feeling the tug of her. He knew she was thinking the same thing.

He said, “I hope you understand it will be hard for me to ride away from you, Letty.” In the days they'd had together he'd abandoned his usual restraint and had talked with her freely.

“Then why do it?” she asked.

He made a motion with his coffee cup and could not answer. Instead he said, “I hate to leave you with all the wounded.”

“Aw, that's nothing. I think Billy's through the worst of it now and Chiffo is up and around, as good as new. If we could just get him off that bottle.” She laughed. “I think he'd be willing to get shot everyday just so he could get all the whiskey he wants.”

“You still taking him back to Phoenix with you?”

“Why not? A drunken half-breed Indian will be perfect to work around a high class whorehouse in the territorial capital. Besides, I think he's got Juno knocked up.”

Saulter smiled slightly. Then he said, “Billy ought to be up and around in another couple of days. He's promised to see you and the girls back to Phoenix. He's a good man and he'll look after you. You can trust him.”

She smiled wryly. “I'd rather trust you . . .”

He looked down and did not reply.

She put her hand on his. “Listen, Saulter— listen, I want you to know something. I'm not putting you on the spot or asking anything, but I want you to know that I'd give up whoring for you. I'd be your wife and I'd be straight as an arrow. ”

He turned his face away from her; he'd hoped she wouldn't say it.

Because she was embarrassed, her voice turned defiant. “And don't think that ain't a hell of an offer. I got a good life. I live like a queen in Phoenix. Silk sheets, French perfumes, the best wines. I ride in a carriage and men tip their hats to me. Yes, and I don't sleep with no range cowboys, neither. I pick my customers.”

He looked at her. She had her head back, her nostrils slightly dilated. “It's not that, Letty,” he said kindly. “You know that.”

She slumped. “Yes, I guess I do. You being what you are. Well, I just wanted you to know.”

“I have to live my way. And you, or any woman, would complicate that.” He stopped and looked at her. “But if it were to be any woman . . .” He left it hanging there.

She went out to his horse with him. He took a moment checking his gear, then put a foot in the stirrup and stepped aboard. She stood by him, one hand resting on his thigh. “I'm gonna miss you, Saulter,” she said.

“I'm gonna miss you too, Letty.”

“You big sonofabitch, I mean I'm really going to miss you. The first time I laid eyes on you, I ... well, not much point in talking about it. You got any idea where you're headed?”

He shrugged. “South. I'd like to get out of the snow awhile.”

“Phoenix is south,” she said.

He nodded. “I know.”

“We'll be there in a week or two.”

“I know,” he said.

“Come by. I'll buy you a drink or something.”

He smiled. Then he leaned down, while she rose on tiptoes in the snow, and kissed her very gently on the lips. “So long, Letty. I'll see you again.”

“Goddam you,” she said. Then she smiled. “All right. Just whenever and wherever you want. Just let me know.”

He turned his horse's head and kicked the animal into a lope. The horse went willingly after several days in the barn, his breath coming steamy in the cold morning. They went on across the white plain, the horse's hooves kicking up little puffs of snow as the settlement behind them dropped away.

 

 

Howard said, “Son, I want you to get twenty-five thousand dollars in gold, get on your horse, and carry it up to a man in Oklahoma. I want you to give it to him and tell him who it's from, and tell him it's in repayment of the long-time debt I've had of him.”

I didn't say anything for a moment. Instead I got up from the big double desk we were sitting at, facing each other, and walked over to a little side table and poured us both out a little whiskey. I put water in Howard's. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him wince when I did it, but that was doctor's orders. I took the whiskey back over to the desk and handed Howard his tumbler. It was a little early in the afternoon for the drink but there wasn't much work to be done, it being the fall of the year.

Howard was father to me and my two brothers. Sometimes we called him Dad and sometimes Howard, and in years past quite a few other things. He liked for us to call him Howard because I think it made him feel younger and still a part of matters as pertained to our ranch and other businesses. Howard was in his mid-sixties, but it was a poor mid-sixties on account of a rifle bullet that had nicked his lungs some few years back and caused him breathing difficulties as well as some heart trouble. But even before that, some fifteen years previous, he had begun to go down after the death of our mother. It was not long after that that he'd begun to train me to take his place and to run the ranch.

I was Justa Williams and, at the age of thirty-two, I was the boss of the Half-Moon ranch, the biggest along the Gulf Coast of Texas and all its possessions. For all practical purposes I had been boss when Howard called me in one day and told me that he was turning the reins over to me, and that though he'd be on hand for advice should I want it, I was then and there the boss.

And now here he was asking me to take a large sum of money, company money, up to some party in Oklahoma. He could no more ask that of me than any of my two brothers or anybody else for that matter. Oh, he could ask, but he couldn't order. I held my whiskey glass out to his and we clinked rims, said “Luck,” and then knocked them back as befits the toast. I wiped off my mouth and said, “Howard, I think you better tell me a little more about this. Twenty-five thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

He looked down at his old gnarled hands for a moment and didn't say anything. I could tell it was one of his bad days and he was having trouble breathing. The whiskey helped a little, but he still looked like he ought to be in bed. He had a little bedroom right off the big office and sitting room we were in. There were plenty of big bedrooms in the big old rambling house that was the headquarters for the ranch, but he liked the little day room next to the office. He could lie in there when he didn't feel well enough to sit up and listen to me and my brothers talking about the ranch and such other business as came under discussion.

It hurt me to see him slumped down in his chair looking so old and frail and sunk into himself. I could remember him clearly when he was strong and hard-muscled and tall and straight. At six foot I was a little taller than he'd been, but my 190 pounds were about the equal of his size when he'd been in health. It was from him that I'd inherited my big hands and arms and shoulders. My younger brother Ben, who was twenty-eight, was just about a copy of me except that he was a size smaller. Our middle brother, Norris, was the odd man out in the family. He was two years younger than me, but he was years and miles different from me and Ben and Howard in looks and build and general disposition toward life. Where we were dark he was fair; where we were hard he had a kind of soft look about him. Not that he was; to the contrary. Wasn't anything weak about Norris. He'd fight you at the tick of a clock. But he just didn't look that way. We all figured he'd taken after our mother, who was fair and yellow-haired and sort of delicate. And Norris was bookish like she had been. He'd gone through all the school that was available in our neck of the woods, and then he'd been sent up to the University at Austin. He handled all of our affairs outside of the ranch itself—but with my okay.

I said, “Dad, you are going to have to tell me what this money is to be used for. I've been running this ranch for a good many years and this is the first I've heard about any such debt. It seems to me you'd of mentioned a sum of that size before today.”

He straightened up in his chair and then heaved himself to his feet and walked the few steps to where his rocking chair was set near to the door of his bedroom. When he was settled he breathed heavy for a moment or two and then said, “Son, ain't there some way you can do this without me explaining? Just take my word for it that it needs doing and get it tended to?”

I got out a cigarillo, lit it, and studied Howard for a moment. He was dressed in an old shirt and a vest and a pair of jeans, but he had on house slippers. That he'd gotten dressed up to talk to me was a sign that what he was talking about was important. When he was feeling fairly good he put on his boots, even though he wasn't going to take a step outside. Besides, he'd called me in in the middle of the workday, sent one of the hired hands out to fetch me in off the range. Usually, if he had something he wanted to talk about, he brought it up at the nightly meetings we always had after supper. I said, “Yes, Dad, if you want me to handle this matter without asking you any questions I can do that. But Ben and Norris are going to want to know why, especially Norris.”

He put up a quick hand. “Oh, no, no. No. You can't tell them a thing about this. Don't even mention it to either one of them! God forbid.”

I had to give a little laugh at that. Dad knew how our operation was run. I said, “Well, that might not be so easy, seeing as how Norris keeps the books. He might notice a sum like twenty-five thousand dollars just gone without any explanation.”

He looked uncomfortable and fidgeted around in his rocking chair for a moment. “Son, you'll have to make up some story, I don't care what you do, but I don't want Ben or Norris knowing aught about this matter.”

Well, he was starting to get my curiosity up. “Hell, Howard, what are you trying to hide? What's the big mystery here? How come I can know about the money but not my brothers?”

He looked down at his hands again, and I could see he felt miserable. “If I was up to it, you wouldn't even know.” He kind of swept a hand over himself. “But you can see the shape I've come to. Pretty soon won't be enough left to bury the way I'm wasting away.” He hesitated and looked away. It was clear he didn't want to talk about it. But finally he said, “Son, this is just something I got to get off my conscience before it comes my time. And I been feeling here lately that that time ain't far off. I done something pretty awful back a good number of years ago, and I just got to set it straight while I still got the time.” He looked at me. “And you're my oldest son. You're the strong one in the family, the best of the litter. I ain't got nobody else I can trust to do this for me.”