Shootout of the Mountain Man (18 page)

“Now, tell me, Jules. If I ain’t goin’ to put up the money to stay in the game myself, why should I back you?” Conklin asked.

“McWorthy?”

“I ain’t got two hunnert dollars, Stillwater. I ain’t even got one hunnert dollars. And I wouldn’t lend it to you if I did have it,” McWorthy answered. “Look at the way he laid them cards down. Hell, he’s got four of a kind, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t four aces. I mean, you seen how slow he’s been to bet. You know damn well he wouldn’t be bettin’ no two hunnert dollars if he didn’t have hisself a winnin’ hand.”

By now, the stakes of the game had grown high enough to attract the attention of everyone else in the saloon, and there were several men standing around the table, watching the game with intense interest.

“He’s bluffin', Stillwater,” one of the onlookers said. “Hell, I can tell by lookin’ at him that he’s bluffin'. Call his hand.”

“You got two hunnert dollars?” Stillwater asked.

The man shook his head. “This ain’t my game,” he said. “But if it was my game, I’d call him.”

“Really? Don’t forget, this is the fella who wouldn’t even raise a full house. Is that what you’ve got, Clark? A full house?”

“It can’t be a full house,” Conklin said. “Look at the way he has them cards lyin’ there. Four to one side, and one to the other.”

“It’s like I said,” McWorthy said. “He’s got four of a kind.”

“What are you going to do, Stillwater?” one of the bystanders asked. “You can’t just sit there all night.”

“Will somebody lend me two hunnert dollars?” Stillwater called out. “Anybody?”

The room was quiet for a long moment.

“I will,” Cindy said.

A huge smile spread across Stillwater’s face. “Ha! I know’d that when it come right down to it, you would come back over to my side.”

“If you win, I’ll take the money right now,” Cindy said. “But if you lose, then I’m going to want to be repaid four hundred dollars.”

“What makes you think I have four hundred dollars?”

“Maybe you don’t have it right now, but you’ll be doing another job with Frank Dodd soon, and when you do, I’ll expect my four hundred.”

“All right,” Stillwater said. “It’s a deal.”

“Jules, you might want to think about this for a bit,” Conklin cautioned.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at where she has been standin',” Conklin said. “You think she don’t know what his hand is? Now, you got to ask yourself, is she doin’ this just so she can get a cut of your money next time we do a job? She might just be tryin’ to sucker you in.”

“Yeah,” Stillwater said. He stroked his chin and stared across the table at Clark. “You think you’ve got me in your sights, don’t you?”

“I’m just trying to learn the game,” Clark answered innocently.

“All right, all right, the pot’s yours,” Stillwater said, turning his cards up on the table. He had a full house, aces over jacks. “What have you got?”

Clark’s cards stayed facedown on the table just the way he left them, four in one pile, one in another. He reached out to rake in his pot.

“I asked you a question, mister. What have you got?” Stillwater asked again. He reached for Clark’s cards, but Clark caught him around the wrist with a vise grip.

“Huh-uh. I don’t know all that much about this game, but I know that if you don’t pay, you don’t see. You didn’t pay, so you don’t see them,” Clark said easily.

With his other hand, Stillwater slid a twenty-dollar bill across the table.

“Is that enough to let me see?”

“I reckon so. Like I said, if you’re willing to pay for it.” Clark turned up his cards. Instead of four of a kind, there were two small pairs.

“What? I had a full house! You didn’t have me beat! “ Stillwater said angrily.

“Well, now, let’s think about that, Stillwater,” Clark said. “You are right, my cards didn’t beat your cards but I did beat you,” Clark said. “It’s called running a bluff.” He smiled up at Cindy. “What do you think, Cindy? It looks like he won’t be spending any of my money on you after all. But that’s all right. I’ll spend some of his money on you.”

“Mister, I ain’t goin’ to forget this,” Stillwater said angrily. He stood up, then walked quickly, and angrily, out of the saloon.

Everyone in the saloon was quiet as Stillwater left. Then Conklin looked over at Clark.

“Kid, he’s my pard, and I ride with him,” Conklin said. “But I got to tell you, he ain’t the kind you want on your bad side. If I was you, I’d be mighty careful around him from now on.”

“Thanks,” Clark said. “I’ll heed your advice.”

“Cloverdale is a nice town,” Doc Baker was saying. “That’s why I moved my practice here. Right now we are at end-of-track, but if they ever continue it on into California, as I believe they will, it will be an even nicer town.”

“It would be nicer now if it weren’t for Wallace,” Nabors said.

“Tell me about this sheriff,” Smoke said.

“I saw a word one time that fits this sheriff,” Nabors said. “The word was potentate. That’s what this sheriff thinks he is.”

“But he was elected, wasn’t he?”

“Oh, yes, he was elected all right,” Doc Baker said. “And if you would ask the average person on the street what kind of job they think he is doing, they would probably say he is doing a good job. He keeps his jail full of drunks, people who spit on the street, deadbeats, and the like. But all the time he is doing that, people like Frank Dodd and his gang operate with impunity.”

“Impunity,” Nabors said, laughing. “Now, you see here, Smoke? That’s why I like to keep the doc on as my friend. How many people do you know who can use a word like impunity?”

Smoke thought of his wife, Sally, back at Sugarloaf. A former schoolteacher, and the smartest person he had ever known. Impunity would be one of her words. He smiled.

“It’s a good word all right,” he agreed.

“That’s him,” someone suddenly yelled, his shout having the effect of bringing all other conversation to a halt.

Looking toward the sound of the shout, Smoke saw Dawes standing just inside the saloon, holding his bandaged hand. He let go of it long enough to point Smoke out to a man wearing a badge. Smoke recognized him as the same man he had seen on the railroad track, shortly after the cowboy, Andy Emerson, had been killed. It was Sheriff Wallace.

“That’s the man who shot me.”

“Is that true, mister?” Wallace asked. “Did you shoot Mr. Dawes?”

“I did.”

“Wait a minute, I know you. You’re the fella I met who had just came in on the train after the little ruckus with Andy Emerson, aren’t you? You’re the one who was interfering with the law.”

“We’ve met,” Smoke said.

“Well, I don’t know where you came from, mister. But in Nye County, we got us a law against shootin’ folks.”

“Yes, that’s been my observation in most places I’ve been,” Smoke replied. “But from what I have seen here, it evidently does not apply to people who are wearing a badge. I notice that you had no compunctions about killing that unarmed cowboy. ”

The sheriff, who was probably three inches taller and eighty pounds heavier than Smoke, got an irritated look on his face.

“Mister, I’ve only met you twice, and you’ve put a burr under my saddle both times.”

“What do you mean, Sheriff? I haven’t been belligerent.”

“No, but you always seem to have something smart to say.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been too smart. I know how difficult it can be for someone like you to have to deal with intelligent comments. I’ll try and bring it down,” Smoke said.

Minnie, Doc, and Nabors tried hard to smother their smiles.

“Just as long as you understand,” the sheriff said, totally unaware that he just been mocked. “Why did you shoot Dawes?”

“Because he was shooting at me,” Smoke replied.

“He’s tellin’ the truth, Sheriff Wallace,” Doc Baker said. “Dawes came in here shooting.”

“That’s right, Sheriff,” Nabors added. “And I aim to sue him for a new table and a new stovepipe. Look here what he did.” Nabors pointed to the hole in the tabletop, and another in the stovepipe.

“Can anyone else back that up?” Sheriff Wallace asked.

“I can back it up, Sheriff,” the bartender said. He pointed to Dawes. “Truth to tell, it’s a plumb wonder Dawes didn’t get hisself shot dead. Most anyone else would have kilt him. But this feller, just as calm as a summer day, shot the gun right out of his hand. Then, when Dawes tried to pick it up, this feller shot again, only this time what he done was, his bullet pushed the gun all the way across the floor. ”

Sheriff Wallace squinted as he looked back at Smoke. “Do you mean to tell me you wasn’t shootin’ at him and just missed? You was
tryin’ to
shoot the gun out of his hand?”

“I wasn’t
trying
to do it, Sheriff. I did it,” Smoke said.

“You are either one hell of a good shot, or a damn fool,” Sheriff Wallace said. He looked at Dawes. “Did you shoot first?”

“I told you, Sheriff, he hit me from behind.”

“Get on out of here,” the sheriff growled. “If what these folks are saying is true, then you are the one I should put in jail.”

“It ain’t right, Sheriff, he had no call to—”

“I said get out of here,” Sheriff Wallace repeated, more forcefully this time.

Glaring at the sheriff and the others in the saloon, Dawes left. Sheriff Wallace walked over to the door and watched for a moment to make certain that Dawes left as ordered. Then he turned back toward Smoke.

“What did you say your name was, back at the depot?”

“Jensen.”

The sheriff squinted at Smoke. “Wait a minute, I thought you said your name was Cody, or Kirby, or something like that.”

“Kirby,” Smoke said. “Kirby is my first name. Kirby Jensen.”

“Well, Mr. Jensen, here is a word of advice. Next time someone points a gun at you, I wouldn’t recommend you trying to shoot the gun out of their hand. If you are going to shoot, shoot to kill. You might not be so lucky the next time.”

“Thanks,” Smoke said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Minnie,” the sheriff said. “Have you heard anything back from that telegram you sent to Buck West?”

Minnie gasped. “What? How did you know I sent a telegram?”

“I’m the sheriff. It’s my business to know.”

Minnie looked over toward Smoke, who, with a barely perceptible shake of his head, cautioned her to say nothing about it.

“Well, if it’s your business to know, then you probably already know that I didn’t hear anything back from him.”

“It’s just as well,” Sheriff Wallace said. “I don’t know what Cabot had in mind when he had you send that telegram, but I plan to keep a close eye on him.”

“Sheriff, I don’t know what happened to that letter he sent you, but if you had gotten it, you would know that he really didn’t have anything to do with that holdup,” Minnie said.

“There was no letter,” Sheriff Wallace said.

“There was too,” Minnie insisted. “I don’t know why you never received it, but there was a letter.

“Even if there had been no letter, he talked to you about it,” Minnie added. “He made plans for you to be waiting for him in the express car. ”

“And you know this because?”

“I know this because he told me about it before the robbery took place. He told all three of us.” Minnie took in Doc Baker and Nate Nabors with a wave of her hand. “And we were ready to testify about it too, but the judge wouldn’t allow it.”

“The judge said that we could not testify, because it would not be direct information. It would be considered hearsay,” Nabors said.

“Only you could have testified that he set up an arrangement with you,” Doc Baker said.

“But you didn’t do it,” Minnie added angrily.

Sheriff Wallace chuckled. “I didn’t do it because there was no letter, and he didn’t talk to me. Don’t you understand what he was doing? He was setting up his alibi with you. I’ll give him this. For all that he is a train robber and murderer, he’s smart. It takes someone smart to set up something like that. But what it all comes down to is his word against mine. The jury believed me. They didn’t believe Cabot.”

“I believe him,” Doc Baker said.

“Why should you believe him? You were in the courtroom, Doc. You heard the letter they read from the WCSA. They said no such investigation had been authorized. No, sir, Bobby Lee Cabot is as guilty as sin.”

“And because the judge wouldn’t agree to let us testify, he is going to hang,” Minnie said.

Sheriff Wallace chuckled. “Yes, ma’am, he is going to hang, all right. We are goin’ to have us one Jim Dandy of a hangin'. We’ll have folks comin’ in from all over the county this Friday mornin’ to watch it, and I don’t plan to let ‘em be disappointed by anything this Buck West fella might have in mind. I reckon this is goin’ to be about one of the best days for business we’ve ever had. If it goes over as well as I think it will, why, I just might see if I can’t arrange a hangin’ about ever’ month or so. It’ll bring so much business into town that I’ll have ever’ storekeep in town votin’ for me.”

“You murderer!” Janet suddenly yelled. She was coming from the kitchen, moving quickly toward the sheriff with a butcher knife her hand. “You killed Andy!”

“What the hell?” Sheriff Wallace shouted. He started to draw his gun but before he could, Smoke reached out and grabbed Janet’s wrist, forcing her to drop the knife.

“Janet, you don’t want to do this,” Smoke said.

Janet put both her hands to her face and began crying.

Looking back toward Wallace, Smoke saw that he was still holding his gun, though he wasn’t pointing it at anyone.

“Put your gun away, Sheriff,” Smoke said.

“Did you see that crazy bitch? She tried to kill me!”

“You were never in any real danger. Now, put your gun away, unless you plan to kill an unarmed woman in front of all these witnesses.”

Wallace hesitated for a moment, then returned his pistol to his holster. He pointed at Nabors. “She works for you,” he said angrily. “And I’m telling you right now that you had better keep her under control.”

“You aren’t going to try anything like that again, are you, Janet?” Nabors asked.

Still sobbing, and with her hands covering her face, Janet shook her head no.