The Gunfighter Read online

  “How do you do, sir,” he said. It like to made me want to puke.

  “Lillian,” I said, “me and ole Happy need us a drink.”

  “You know where to find it, Baijack,” she said, and her voice had that icy chill on it what she seemed to reserve just only for me. She was really a-putting on the dog for ole Sly, though, and she sure as hell didn’t like me interrupting it, I could tell that, and she didn’t like me bringing my sloppy ass into her fancy place neither, ‘specially not when she had herself a customer what she was a trying to impress. The thought crept into my head again that maybe it was ole Lillian what had sent for Mister Sly in the first place so that he could make her into a genuine widow woman. My skin kinda crawled a bit on that one, with him just a-setting right there in the same room with me and her both.

  “Come on, Happy,” I said, and I led the way over to the bar. I went on around behind it and got us each a glass, and I hauled out my bottle and poured us a drink. Then I leaned across the bar and spoke real low to Happy.

  “Well,” I said, “you seen him now. What do you think?”

  Happy whispered back to me, “He’s here to kill someone, Baijack. Mark my words.”

  Chapter Two

  I didn’t stick around the White Owl too long after that. It weren’t my kinda place nohow. It suited my Lillian’s fancy, and I just kept it open and kept supporting it with money from the Hooch House just only to keep her sorta happy and offa my back. That’s all. I didn’t let ole Happy stick around, neither. I made him walk back on over to the Hooch House with me, and me and him set down with ole Bonnie and commenced to drinking some more whiskey.

  “Well,” ole Bonnie said, “what d’ya think, Baijack?”

  “‘Bout what?” I said, and of course I knowed right well just what it was she was a-talking about, but I weren’t in no good mood.

  “About that killer,” she said. “What else?”

  “He ain’t wanted,” I said, “and he’s just in town for a rest-up. That’s all. That’s what he told me, and I ain’t got no reason to disbelieve him. Ain’t nothing for me to think about. Nor you, neither.” I turned on ole Happy then. “Nor you. And I don’t want to hear no scary talk from neither one of you. I mean that. I don’t want no panic in this town’cause of him being here.”

  I took me a big gulp of whiskey outa my tumbler, and Bonnie leaned over close to me and said, “But what if he lied to you, Baijack? What if he did come here to kill someone?”

  “Who?” I said. “Who the hell is there in this puny town important enough for someone to pay the price it takes to hire on the goddamn Widowmaker?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” she said.

  “It ain’t got to be someone important,” Happy said. “It just gots to be someone that someone else is pissed off at enough to pay the price. That’s all.”

  “And there’s assholes aplenty around here,” Bonnie added. “Why, hell, it could be most anyone. I reckon I’ve even made my enemies along the line.”

  “The Widowmaker ain’t never shot a woman,” Happy said.

  “Well,” said Bonnie, “that’s a comfort. ‘Course, like they say, there’s a first time for ever’thing.”

  I didn’t say nothing, but I was thinking about ole Texas Jack and the Bensons and the Marlins and few others — even the ole Five-Pointers, and I was a-wondering about any surviving kin or friends any of them might have. It come to me that the Marlins could have it in for ole Happy too, but it weren’t likely they’d have it in as bad for him as they did for me. Just then ole Sam Hooper come walking in the place. As he walked by the table where we was a-setting, he tipped his hat.

  “Howdy, Miss Bonnie,” he said. “Baijack. Happy.”

  We all howdied him back, and he bellied up to the bar, where ole Aubrey took care of him by bringing out his favorite whiskey. Ole Sam was particular ’bout his whiskey, as any good drinking man ought to be. He could afford to be thataway, too. He owned one of the biggest cattle operations in the whole damn territory. He never come into town too often, but whenever he did come in, why, hell, ever’one kowtowed to his ass just in case he might sprinkle some of his money in their direction. Ever’one but me. I always figgered that I was just as good a man as the next, money or no, and by this time of my life, I weren’t doing too bad in that money area neither.

  “I hope there ain’t no trouble in here tonight,” Bonnie said read low.

  “Trouble?” I said. “What kinda trouble? What’re you talking about?”

  She didn’t say nothing then. She just kinda nodded her head toward the back corner of the room, off to my right side, and I turned around and give a look. I hadn’t noticed before, but there was ole Silver Spike Hanlon a-setting back there with a couple of his cowhands.

  Hanlon and Hooper had been at each other’s throats for years. Hell, it had been so long that no one even could recollect what it was had set them off like that in the first place. They just hated each other’s guts all the way to hell and back. That’s all they was to it. Hanlon’s spread weren’t quite as big as Hooper’s, but it was big enough. The two most richest and powerfullest ranchers around was always just on the verge of starting a goddanm range war with each other.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “If them two bastards start anything in here, I’ll finish it for them.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” Bonnie said.

  I chose to ignore that insulting remark on account of ole Bonnie just natural liked to insult me, and besides that, I had more important things on my mind. Anyhow, there weren’t no trouble, ‘cause in just another minute or so, ole Hanlon tossed down his whiskey and stood up.

  “Come on, boys,” he said to his cowhands. “Let’s get the hell outa this place. I ain’t quite content with the company in here.”

  They walked out without saying nothing else, and ole Hooper, he never even turned his head to look at them as they walked right past him. ‘Course, he didn’t really have to turn his head to see them. They was a big mirror behind the bar, and he was a-facing that. He could see them in there, all right. But they left, and he never paid no mind. Bonnie heaved a big sigh like she was real relieved, but me, I was actually kinda disappointed. The mood I was in, I coulda used some interesting diversion.

  In just a little bit after that, I noticed that it was about time for ole Lillian to shut down the White Owl, and so I drunk down the rest of the whiskey outa my glass and got up and left the Hooch House. I walked on back over to the White Owl and found Lillian just a-putting out all the lights. “What are you doing here, Baijack?” she said.

  “I just thought I’d come on over and walk you home,” I said. “That’s all.”

  She give me a real suspicious look at that and said, “Why?”

  “Well,” I said, “it’s a-getting dark earlier this time of year, and we got us some dangerous folks in town right now. I just thought it might give you some comfort.”

  “Well, all right,” she said. She put out the last light, and I follered her out the door. She locked it up, and we headed for the house. I weren’t looking forward too much to seeing the damn kid, but I strolled along with her anyhow.

  “You know who that son of a bitch was?” I asked her. “The one you was making so much over?”

  “Who are you talking about?” she said, as if she didn’t have no idea what the hell I was a-talking about.

  “That slick stranger you was hovering over while he was eating his steak,” I said. “Black suit and all. Smooth talker. Using them fancy words.”

  “You mean Mister Sly?” she said.

  “So you do know who he is,” I said, kinda accusing-like.

  “He introduced himself,” she said. “He’s a gentleman. I don’t see many of them around this town.”

  I took that jab in stride too. It come to me, though, that ole Lillian and ole Bonnie had a hell of a lot more in common than what most folks would ever notice by just only a-looking at them.

  “He’s a famous professional kil
ler,” I said. “They call him the Widowmaker and the Undertaker and all other kinds of killer names. He’s killed forty or fifty, maybe a hunderd men. He’s cold blooded, and he does it just for money. That’s all. Killing’s a business with him.”

  “Well,” Lillian said in her iciest cold voice, “why don’t you arrest him, then?”

  “‘Cause he ain’t wanted,” I said. “That’s why. He always makes the other feller draw first, and then he kills him dead with just only one shot. He ain’t wanted.” “Then he’s not a criminal,” she said, “and I’m pleased to have him as a customer. He’ll be back in the morning for breakfast. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Damn it, woman,” I said. “Ain’t you been listening to what I’m telling you? He’s a cold-blooded, murdering son of a bitch.”

  “Murder’s against the law, Baijack,” she said. “You just told me that Mister Sly is not a wanted man. You need to get your story straight.”

  We was just coming up to the house, and ole Lillian was frustrating the hell outa me, and I thought about the snot-nosed kid inside, and I just throwed up my hands and turned away. “Hell,” I said, “I’m going back to the Hooch House.”

  Lillian didn’t say nothing. She just walked on in the house and slammed the door. I shivered a bit, and I weren’t sure if it was from the chill in the night air or from the worser one coming offa my wife. I started in to walking back to the Hooch House. When I finally got there and went back inside, I seen that ole Happy was bellied up to the bar beside ole Hooper, and goddamned if ole Bonnie weren’t setting at a table with the Widow-maker hisself. That burned my ass. Here both my women was a-making up to the son of a bitch. I moved up beside Happy.

  “Aubrey,” I said, “give me a whiskey, goddamn it.”

  “You just got here, Barjack,” Aubrey said. “You don’t need to go cussing me.”

  He put my tumbler and my bottle both up on the bar in front a me, and he poured the tumbler might’ near full. He knowed how I liked it, all right.

  “I ain’t cussing you, Aubrey,” I said. “I’m just a-cussing in general. The world is full of crap. Leastways, it is in these parts.”

  “You ain’t just now figgering that one out, are you?” he said.

  “I guess I’m just a-noticing it a little more today,” I said. “That’s all.”

  Aubrey leaned across the bar and spoke to me in a real low voice, giving me a kinda knowing look at the same time. “The Widowmaker?” he said.

  I give Happy a hard, accusing look.

  “I never said nothing,” he said.

  I put my elbow on the bar and my head in my hand. “Goddamn it,” I said. “Does the whole town know by now?”

  “What was that?” Hooper said. I had damn near forgot that he was a-standing there just on the other side of Happy. I looked up real quick and seen Hooper giving me a straight on serious look.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Never mind.”

  Hooper, he looked up in the mirror where he had a clear view of ole Bonnie and Sly a-setting there at a table. He stared at them for a few seconds. Then, “Of course,” he said. “That’s Herman Sly. The Widowmaker. What’s he doing here, Baijack?”

  “How should I know?” I said.

  “You ought to know,” Hooper said. “It’s your business to know. You’re the town marshal, and he’s trouble. You ought to know.”

  “I done had a talk with him,” I said. “He ain’t here on business. He’s here to take him a rest. That’s all. Hell, even killers got to rest, ain’t they? Forget it.”

  “That’s what he would say, of course,” said Hooper. “He never admits that he went to a place deliberately to kill someone. You run him out of town, Baijack. Right now.”

  “Now, don’t go telling me how to do my marshaling job, Sam,” I said. “He ain’t wanted, and he ain’t broke no laws around here. I got no cause to run him outa town. If you can’t stand being in the same town with him, just go on back home to your big-ass ranch.”

  “I’m going,” he said, “and the next time you see me, I’ll have some boys with me, and we’ll all be armed, too.”

  He stormed right on outa there.

  “He’s mad,” said Happy.

  “No kidding,” I said.

  “You reckon he’s afeared that Sly has come after him?” Happy asked me.

  “Could be,” I said. “I reckon he’s made his share of enemies over the years.”

  I was thinking that I hoped ole Sly had come after Hooper. Hell, it wouldn’t bother me none to see Sly gun Hooper down, the way ole Hooper was a-talking at me. I don’t reckon I would a give a damn. I wouldn’t do nothing about it, neither, ‘cause as long as Sly kept true to his old pattern, why, he’d make Hooper draw first, and then all I’d have to do is just write it down as self-defense and forget about it. Then the whole thing would be over with, and Sly would move on, and things would be back to normal around my little, town. Anyhow, Hooper walked out and Sly never paid no mind to him. I turned around and looked at Sly. Bonnie was leaning over into him real cozy-like. I knowed what she was up to. I poured my tumbler back full, picked it up, and headed toward their table.

  “Baijack,” said Happy. “Be careful.”

  I ignored him and walked on back there, and I stood there a-looking down at the two of them. “How do, Mister Sly,” I said.

  “Good evening, Marshal,” he said.

  Oh, how his slickery words pissed me off.

  “Well, now,” I said, “might I have the pleasure of joining you two here at your table for your fine company? If you don’t mind too much.”

  “Sit down, Marshal,” Sly said. “Please.”

  I set, and I took me a gulp of my whiskey. I give ole Bonnie a hard look, and she just ignored it and looked up at ole Sly real goggly-eyed.

  “I had a very good steak at Mrs. Baijack’s establishment,” Sly said. “Thank you for directing me there.”

  “Ain’t nothing special,” I said. “It all goes into my pocket eventual. ‘Course, ole Lillian, she spends it all.” Sly give a kinda polite chuckle that irritated the hell outa me. I took me another drink. Ole Bonnie give me the eye. “Baijack,” she said, “what the hell’re you up to?”

  “I ain’t up to nothing, Bonnie,” I said. “I just thought that I’d take this here opportunity to get a little more acquainted with our visitor here. That’s all. I done found out that he had hisself a nice supper, and I’m right glad to hear it. Whenever I walked my wife home just now, she told me that he was a perfect gendeman, and I’m glad to know that too. Don’t go suspicioning me of no sinister motives, now.”

  “I’m glad to have the marshal’s company, Miss Boodle,” Sly said, and I kinda cringed.

  “Is there anything you need what we ain’t provided?” I asked him.

  “I could use a bath before retiring,” he said, “if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  “I reckon ole Bonnie here could see to that,” I said, “couldn’t you, ole gal?”

  She looked a little bit disappointed, and she give him a cow-eyed look and said, “Do you want it right away?”

  “I am a little tired,” he said. “I would like to call it a day soon.”

  “I’ll fix it up,” she said, and she give me another of them hard looks as she was a-getting up to go tend to her business. I waited a bit till she was outa earshot, and then I said, “Sly, I know who you are.”

  “I made no secret of it,” he said.

  “You didn’t say you was the Undertaker or the Widowmaker,” I accused him.

  “Those are names I’ve been called,” he said. “I’ve been called worse. I don’t introduce myself by names I’ve been called. My name is Herman Sly.”

  “Whatever,” I said.

  “What did you expect, Marshal?” he said. “Should I have come in here and announced that I’m a notorious gunfighter? All I want is a few days of peace and quiet. That’s all. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “No,” I said, “if you’re a-telling me the
truth.”

  Robert J. Conley “Why should I lie?” he said.

  “‘Cause you ain’t never been caught doing no murder,” I said. “‘Cause if you was to come into a town and announce your intentions of killing someone, you might be charged with a-murdering. But if you come in saying that you just want a few days of peace and quiet, and then you locate the poor son of a bitch you been paid to kill and goad him into a gunfight and he draws first and you kill him, you can go on pretending you didn’t come to town for no such a purpose. That’s how come you might lie about it. Now, I never said you lied. I only just said that’s how come you might lie.”

  “I take your point, Marshal,” he said. “But please rest assured that I have not lied to you. I stopped off in your town for a much-needed rest. That’s all.”

  “You ain’t had nothing to drink but coffee since you been here,” I said. “You trying to keep alert, are you?”

  “I always try to stay alert,” Sly said. “I’m still alive.”

  “Have a drink with me,” I said.

  He looked at me, and I tell you, his eyes was steely. A cold chill run through me clean into my bones, and I asked myself how come I had done such a stupid thing. Hell, I had damn near accused him of lying to me, and I had come close to challenging the son of a bitch.

  “All right,” he said.

  I waved an arm at ole Aubrey and had him bring another glass, and then I poured ole Sly a drink from out of my own special bottle. I shoved it across the table at him. He picked it up, and I picked up mine, and I held it up like as if for a toast, you know. Sly lifted his glass and clinked it against mine.

  “To a good rest,” I said.

  “To a happy and peaceful visit,” he added.

  We each took a gulp, and I watched him over my glass as I drunk. I don’t know quite what it was I was a-watching for, but whatever it was, it never happened. He drunk that whiskey like it was water. Whenever we both finished our tumblers full, I poured us another. After two full tumblers, I loosened up some. He seemed just the same as before. ’Course, I had been a-drinking most all day long.