Buzzard's Bluff

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “He knew,” Rachel answered for him. “Dalton and Spade Gunter were in here before they got out.” She shifted her gaze toward Ben, as well. “He told Mack to let ’em out.”

  Ham was about to ask why, but Annie Grey came from the kitchen before he got his question out. “I’m ready to go home, Rachel. I cleaned up everything after dinner. There’s a fresh-baked batch of biscuits and I sliced up a plate of ham, if somebody needs something to eat.”

  “All right, Annie, thanks,” Rachel said. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

  Annie smiled at Ben and joked. “Are you gonna build a fire in my stove in the mornin’?”

  “Don’t count on it.” Ben laughed. “I’m gonna try to get used to sleepin’ a little later.” Even as he said it, he doubted he’d be able to stay in bed any longer than he had that morning. When she walked out the door, he asked Rachel, “How far does she have to walk to get home?”

  “It’s not but about a mile and a half to her house,” Rachel answered. She knew he asked because he wondered about her safety. “She always leaves about this time, before it starts to get dark, so we don’t worry about her. Just in case, Johnny gave her a little derringer to carry in that shopping bag she’s toting. Once in a while, if we’ve got something special going on, and she needs to stay after dark, somebody usually walks her home.” She studied his face while she talked, wondering how this seemingly gentle man who looked concerned about Annie getting home could be the same killing machine that reacted to Bob Wills’s attack.

  “I’d walk her home, if it was real dark,” Ham japed. “But I don’t like the dark, myself, so Johnny would have to walk me back.” He got the chuckles he was going for.

  “It won’t be long before suppertime,” Rachel commented to Ben. “Are you gonna go down to the hotel to eat?”

  “I thought I might,” Ben answered. “How ’bout you? You care to join me?”

  “No thanks. I always find something to eat in the kitchen. I’ll eat one of Annie’s biscuits. Besides, it’s probably a good idea for one of the owners to stay here.”

  “Well, maybe I oughta stay here and let you go to supper,” Ben said. “But big as Tiny is, he can most likely hold the place together.” Saying that, brought up another question. “What about you, Tiny? What do you do for supper?”

  “Annie fixes me a big dinner. I don’t need a big meal at suppertime,” Tiny explained.

  Rachel smiled at Ben and winked. “You hear Annie say she baked afresh batch of biscuits? Half of them will be gone in the morning, and we won’t sell more than two or three tonight. Something happens to them.”

  “Rats,” Tiny said. “You know we got rats in here.”

  * * *

  “You’re a little early,” Lacy James greeted Ben at the door to the hotel dining room, “but it won’t be but about fifteen minutes before we’re ready to start serving. Ordinarily, I’d tell you to come back in fifteen minutes. But since you’re one of our distinguished business owners, I’ll invite you to come on it and take a seat and I’ll get you a cup of coffee to work on ’till we’re ready. All right?”

  “That’s mighty neighborly of you,” Ben replied. “I ’preciate it.” He couldn’t help thinking she could have saved a lot of words and just told him to take a seat. He shed his gun belt and rolled his six-gun and holster up in it, then left it on the table by the door. That done, he paused to let Cindy Moore pass, carrying a large stack of napkins for the tables, before continuing on to a small table against the wall. He had just settled into his chair when Lacy appeared again, carrying a cup of coffee for him. While he had the time, he thought back over what had been a fairly busy day for him. He had been eager to meet Daniel Dalton face-to-face to get an idea what type of man he was, because he had a feeling he was going to be concerned with Dalton more than a little.

  CHAPTER 9

  His stomach full, he said yes when Cindy asked if he wanted more coffee. He watched while she poured and signaled for her to stop when the cup was about half full. “Don’t give me anymore even if I ask you for it,” he said then. “I’m afraid I’m gonna float outta here already. But I want you to tell Myrtle that was one fine supper.”

  “I’m tinkled pink to hear you were satisfied with the food,” Lacy commented, overhearing his remark to Cindy. “Maybe we can look to see you coming back to see us.”

  “I think you can count on that,” he replied.

  She pulled a chair out and sat down with a cup of coffee to join him. “I declare, Ben Savage, you’ve had a right busy introduction to this little town of ours.”

  “A little busier than I had hoped for,” he said. “I’m hopin’ I’ll get a chance to settle in a little better now that I’ve met the owner of my competitive saloon.”

  “I’ll bet that was an interesting meeting.” She chuckled. “Have you met Wilson Bishop yet? Dalton owns the Golden Rail, but Wilson is the one who manages it. He comes in here occasionally.”

  “No, I’ve not had the pleasure of meetin’ Mr. Bishop,” Ben answered. “Maybe I oughta go and introduce myself and we could talk about our different methods of runnin’ a saloon.”

  He laughed and she laughed with him, knowing he had no illusions about his lack of experiences in the business of managing a saloon.” She got up then, saying she had to help Cindy. “Don’t be a stranger,” she said as she pushed her chair back under the table.

  He finished his coffee and got to his feet. Leaving the money for his supper on the table, he walked to the door and paused to strap on his gun belt. As he stepped down from the little porch by the outside door, there were only a few rays of the setting sun peeking up from the western horizon. The town took on a peaceful look as the street grew dim in the twilight and all was quiet as he walked up the street toward the Lost Coyote. The quiet gave way to the familiar noise of a saloon in the early evening hours as he approached the Golden Rail. When he became even with the front door, he remembered his conversation with Lacy and their joking about his getting to know Wilson Bishop. Hearing the sound of voices laughing and talking, he thought, just for the hell of it, it might be interesting to meet the manager of his competition.

  He stepped up to the doors and looked inside. It was not a large crowd, most of the laughter and noise he had heard on the street came from a card game with six participants and a couple of saloon girls watching the game. Mickey Dupree greeted him when he walked up to the bar. “What are you drinkin’?” Mickey asked, not certain if he had ever seen Ben before.

  “How ’bout a shot of corn whiskey?” Ben said. He watched while Mickey poured. “How ’bout Mr. Bishop, is he around?”

  “Yeah,” Mickey answered. “That’s him standin’ at the end of the bar, talkin’ to Charlene. “Whaddaya need to see him about?”

  Ben smiled. “I just wanna meet him. I’m the new co-owner of the Lost Coyote.”

  “No foolin’!” Mickey blurted without thinking and took a step backward, never expecting the owner of the Lost Coyote to set foot in the Golden Rail. He hesitated for a long moment, not sure what he should do. Finally, he turned his head toward the end of the bar and called out. “Hey, Wilson, there’s a fellow here wants to meet you.”

  Wilson Bishop turned to look at Ben, and like Mickey, he was looking at a stranger. He took a longer look before walking over to meet him. “You lookin’ for me?” He asked. “What can I do for ya?”

  “My name’s Ben Savage. I’m the new owner of the Lost Coyote. I thought it would be a good idea to know the fellow managing my competition.” He gave him a friendly smile.

  Like Mickey had been, Bishop was speechless for a few moments, since it was the last thing he expected to happen. Having to look up to the imposing stature of Ben Savage, he was befuddled at best, finding himself at a disadvantage. “What for?” was all he could come up with in response to Ben’s statement.

  Ben shrugged and answered. “Just because we’re in the same business, and I figure we’re both interested in helpin’ the town grow. Right? I me
an, there ain’t no reason why we both can’t do a good business here.” He could see right away, by the blank expression on Bishop’s face, that he was wasting his time. Rachel would probably have told him that, if he had asked her opinion first, but it hadn’t been anything he had planned to do. It had been a spur-of-the moment decision.

  “My business is makin’ sure this saloon is runnin’ like it’s supposed to,” Bishop finally responded. “I ain’t got the time or the interest to give a damn about the Lost Coyote.” He glanced at Mickey for support as he gained confidence. “If you’re lookin’ for advice, since I heard you ain’t got the first notion on how to run a saloon, I can tell you one thing. Startin’ out by shootin’ one of our customers and causin’ another two to get throwed in jail ain’t the best way to expect us to be friendly.” He glanced at Mickey again, feeling smug in the way he handled Ben’s attempt to lower the barrier between the two saloons. “So I reckon you wasted your time payin’ us a visit. Anything else I can help you with?”

  “No, I reckon not,” Ben replied calmly. “I’m glad I stopped in, though, and I appreciate your honesty. I think it can’t ever hurt to know your competition, and I know now that what other people told me about the Golden Rail seems to be true. It’s run by a real horse’s ass. Thank you again.” He tossed a coin on the counter to pay for his drink and nodded to Mickey as he walked back to the door, leaving them both speechless for a few moments.

  When he went out the door, Mickey and Bishop looked at each other, hardly able to believe the surprise visit just ended. Mickey was the first to find his voice. “As I live and breathe...” he started, then paused. “I never in hell expected to see that man in here.” They both turned then to look up at the top of the stairs and the man who had stood watching the entire encounter at the bar.

  He had been tempted and he almost pulled the trigger, but he knew he would have had to be on the run for murder, and he didn’t want that. There were too many witnesses there in the saloon. So he cursed under his breath as he released the hammer, holstered the Colt, and hurried down the stairs. Hatcher didn’t look at Mickey and Bishop as he swept past the bar, stopping at the door to peek out before going outside. When he got outside on the rapidly darkening street, he looked toward the Lost Coyote and spotted Ben Savage walking in that direction. By the size and brawn of the figure, it could be no other, so he immediately followed him, hurrying in an effort to catch him before he reached the saloon. There were no longer any thoughts about calling Savage out again. The more he had thought about the way Marty Jackson had described the man’s lightning response when Bob Wills tried to kill him, the more he had decided it was not worth the risk.

  The street was already dark enough that he could shoot Savage down without being seen. He just needed to get a little closer, so as not to take a chance on just wounding him. That’s close enough, he thought when he closed the distance a little more. A few seconds after having just thought it, Savage suddenly stepped into Howard’s General Merchandise. Damn! Hatcher swore to himself, I should have shot him! That was twice he had missed the opportunity to shoot Savage in the back. It made no difference now, he would shoot him head-on when he came back out of the store. So he hurried back against the side of the harness shop across the street from the store. Tuck Tucker had already closed the shop and gone to supper. There in the dark shadow of the small building, he waited and watched the door for Ben to come out. Ready to shoot just as soon as Ben stepped out, his Colt .44 cocked and aimed at the door, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He thought about the humiliation he had endured at the hands of Ben Savage and the sweetness of the revenge he was about to take.

  What the hell is he doing in there? He thought, when seconds that seemed like minutes began to build up with still no reappearance of Ben Savage. Then another thought occurred, It will be even better if he walks out with his arms loaded with packages. He continued to wait with still no sign of his target. Finally, his patience expired and he decided to look in the window of the store to see what was taking so long. Before leaving the shadow of the harness shop, he took a quick look up and down the street. When he was sure no one was coming, he stepped out in the street and started immediately across. He was in the middle of the street when he was stunned to see the man he stalked taking a step away from the front corner of the general store, his pistol in hand. They both fired at almost the same time. Half a second quicker reaction time was the slim difference that sent Hatcher to his knees, his own shot impacting in the store’s front wall before he keeled over on his side.

  Careful to make sure Hatcher was hurt too bad to get off another shot, Ben moved up to stand beside him. Hatcher grimaced as the pain burned in his chest, and when he was aware of Ben standing over him, he tried to lift his hand to shoot. But Ben stepped on his wrist and reached down to pull the .44 out of his hand. “You wanted to have it out with me, face-to-face,” Ben said to the dying man. “Was this face-to-face enough to suit you?”

  “You low-down scum,” Hatcher whined, “you kilt me.”

  “Wasn’t that what you were tryin’ to do to me?” Ben asked.

  “You damn right,” Hatcher stated boldly. “You were lucky.”

  “Yeah, I reckon I was,” Ben admitted. He noticed the blood coming from Hatcher’s mouth when he tried to talk and knew the pain the man was suffering. “I’ll get you something to ease the pain,” he said.

  “I ’preciate it,” Hatcher rasped, growing weaker and fully aware of Ben’s meaning. Ben walked around behind him and put a final round in his head.

  Knowing Sheriff Mack Bragg would likely be coming any minute, Ben looked back at Howard’s Store. Cecil had not thought it safe enough to come out yet, but Ben could see him peeking through the window. He thought he owed Cecil and his wife an explanation, so he went back in the store. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to explain what I was doin’, but I was kinda in a hurry before.”

  “We thought you’d gone crazy,” Cecil said.

  “When you came walking in here like that,” Sarah Howard said, “didn’t say boo or howdy-do, just walked right on through the store, into the back, and out the back door, I thought something was chasing you.”

  “Matter of fact, something was,” Ben said, “somebody, anyway. I wasn’t sure ’cause I couldn’t clearly see who was comin’ up behind me. And I figured, if it was a friend, they’da called for me to wait up.” He shrugged. “I’d best get back outside to talk to the sheriff, but, anyway, I wanna say I’m sorry I ran through your place like that.” He turned to leave.

  “Who got shot?” Cecil asked.

  “Oh,” Ben said, realizing he hadn’t said. “Ed Hatcher,” he answered as he went out the door.

  When he went back outside, he saw Mack Bragg coming, carrying a lantern. When he got to the body, Bragg held the lantern up as if to make sure it was Ben, although it wasn’t that dark yet. A matter of habit, Ben figured, and he couldn’t help commenting, “If there were any more shooters out here, that lantern would give ’em a good target.”

  “Hell, I knew it was you,” Bragg said, halfway serious. “You’re the only one shootin’ anybody in town lately. I brought the lantern so I could see who got shot this time.” He held it briefly over the corpse. “I figured this was gonna happen when they left town this afternoon. I knew damn well Hatcher wasn’t gonna let it lie, and I’m afraid this ain’t the end of it. Tell me how it played out, just so I’ll have your version of it.”

  Cecil came out of the store as Ben talked the sheriff through the incident and anywhere he could, Cecil nodded and said, “That’s right, just like he said.” When Ben finished, Bragg thanked Cecil for his report on the shooting, even though he had remained inside the store while it all happened. “Glad I could help you, Sheriff,” Cecil said, oblivious to Bragg’s sarcasm.

  When the usual spectators gathered to see what the shooting was about, Cecil took the responsibility to inform them what had taken place. Bragg took that opportunity to pull Ben aside to
ask him another question. “I’m satisfied it all went down just like you said it did. But just to be sure, that shot in the back of his head, was that to put him outta his misery?”

  “Yes, it was, Sheriff. He was dyin’ and in a lotta pain. It wouldn’t have been more’n fifteen or twenty minutes before he cashed in from that bullet in his chest. But there wasn’t any reason to let him suffer that long.”

  “I figured that was the case,” Bragg said. “But I had to hear you say it. It’da been a whole different story, if that shot in the back of his head was the first one. Wouldn’t it?”

  “I reckon it woulda,” Ben said, “but I think it was the shot he was fixin’ to hit me with.”

  “I’d best go get Merle,” Bragg said.

  “I’m already here, Sheriff,” Merle Baker announced. “I heard the shots and figured somebody would most likely be lookin’ for me pretty soon. I’ll go get my cart.” He paused then to ask, “You suppose ol’ Daniel Dalton’s gonna want the body for burial out at his ranch? He didn’t want Bob Wills.”

  “I don’t expect he’ll want this one, either,” Bragg said. “But he’ll be comin’ in here complainin’ like Hatcher was his favorite son.”

  “I’ll give him till tomorrow afternoon,” Merle said, “then I’m gonna dig a hole for him beside the other one up in the bone garden.”

  * * *

  “Did Hatcher get him?” Wilson Bishop asked Stump Jones when the Golden Rail handyman came back to report on the gunshots.

  “Hell, no,” Stump replied. “Ol’ Hatcher’s layin’ out yonder in the street in front of Howard’s Store. Two bullets in him, one in the chest and one in the back of his head.” He went on to give them the story of the shooting as Cecil Howard had narrated. “Sounds to me like Hatcher was followin’ Ben Savage, but Savage went in Howard’s, came out the back door, and surprised Hatcher.”