Elmore Leonard's Western Roundup #2

by Elmore Leonard

  Stedman nodded. "He's all right."

  "How do they get along?"

  Stedman was calmer now and he said, "They quit sleeping together," and grinned. But he sa w Danaher's cold stare and looking back at Frye h e explained, "They're not getting along. But R. D.'s too goddamn scared to do anything about it."

  Danaher smiled. "Not the man of action you are, George."

  "Well, I thought why should I sit up there and--"

  "Shut up!" Contempt was in Danaher's eyes and in his voice when he said, "Prisoners speak whe n they're asked a question. No other time!"

  Frye said, "Sit down for a while, Mr. Stedman," a nd turned following Danaher out into the sunlight. Frye made a cigarette and stood next to Danaher looking up at the assay shack.

  "That's a long open stretch up that slope," Frye said after a minute.

  Danaher nodded. "Going up the off side of those ore tails we'd be covered all the way up to th e ledge. But you still have to go in the front door o f the shack once you get there."

  Frye was looking at the sandstone heights that towered above the shack. "Phil might be just th e one to try climbing his way out."

  "He might at that," Danaher said. "But it would have to be at night else we could run up close an d knock him off."

  "If he wanted to do it," Frye said, "Phil wouldn't let a little thing like nighttime stop him."

  "Well, we better have somebody get around there," Danaher said. "It would probably take a while."

  Frye called over Dandy Jim and told him what they had been talking about. The Coyotero looke d up at the heights, picturing the country behind i t and the roundabout trail it would take to reach it , and then he told that it would be near dark by th e time a man arrived there.

  Yes, he would be willing to go. Merl White agreed, and when he volunteered so did Goss an d Tobin and in less than ten minutes the four of the m were riding back down the canyon.

  "That," Danaher said, "closes the back door."

  "But there're two side doors," Frye said, meaning up and down the canyon. His eyes roamed over the deserted mine works. "And enough good place s to hide right here in the house."

  "Well, Kirby, that just takes it out of the commonplace."

  He looked at Danaher. "I think you're enjoying this."

  "Kirby, if I didn't like my job I'd get the hell out."

  "I can't picture you in anything else."

  "Which makes it all the easier." Danaher said then, "Aren't you having a good time?"

  "I don't know if you'd call it that."

  "Would you rather be back trading horses?"

  Frye shook his head. "No."

  "Then get to work and figure a way to pry that crazy bastard out of there."

  "We might go up and talk to him," Frye said.

  "Maybe he's calmed down. Take a white flag to show we're friendly."

  Danaher thought about it before nodding. "So we can say we tried." He took a handkerchief fro m his pocket and smoothed it out before tying it to th e end of his Henry rifle.

  Frye leaned his carbine against a support post and they started across the open area, Danaher motioning his men to follow. When they had crossed to the cyanide vats, the sheriff motioned again.

  They strung out in a line, their rifles ready, as Frye and Danaher started up the slope.

  They kept their eyes on the shack, going up slowly in the shifting sand, climbing abreast bu t with a few yards separating them. The shac k seemed deserted: the boards bleached gray by year s of sun and wind and there was not a sign of life i n the dark opening of the doorway or in the windows.

  They were fifty yards up the slope--

  "If he doesn't show in the next minute"-Danaher's breathing was labored--"we're gettin' t he hell back."

  Frye's eyes remained on the shack. "What would you give to know what he's thinking?"

  The answer came from the shack. On top of Frye's question the rifle shot whined down kickin g up sand almost directly between them. Danaher's men were ready; they began firing, keeping it up a s Frye and Danaher dove in opposite directions an d rolled. Danaher came up firing the Henry, the n turned and ran. As they reached the bottom of th e slope the firing stopped.

  Walking back, Frye said, "Now we know what George felt like."

  Danaher was untying the white cloth. "I burned my best handkerchief."

  "That's what you get for carrying a live truce flag."

  Danaher grumbled something, then looking back up the slope he said, "With a clean conscience , Kirby, we can say we tried. Now we sit back an d wait for Mr. Sundeen."

  "And judging by his short patience," Frye answered, "that shouldn't be too long a wait."

  Haig Hanasian warmed up their meat and made coffee on the stove inside the company building.

  The stove was almost beyond use and there was no stack on it to take out the smoke, but it didn't matter because they ate their meal outside under the veranda, watching the assay shack. Through the afternoon they played poker with matchsticks fo r chips or just sat smoking and talking, waiting fo r something that they knew would come sooner o r later. As darkness settled they moved across th e open area and paired off taking up positions alon g the base of the slope, then settled down again t o wait. By Danaher's timepiece it was a little afte r eight o'clock. Haig Hanasian was told to remain a t the company building and watch Stedman. It wa s to keep him out of the way. They knew Stedma n would not try to escape.

  At ten, Danaher ground the stub of his cigar into the sand, handed his timepiece to Frye, and rolle d up in his blankets to sleep. Frye would watch th e first part of the night; Danaher would then be u p until daylight. He had instructed his men to do i t the same way.

  Frye sat in the darkness listening to the wind high up the canyon. It would moan softly, then ris e to a dull hissing sound and he would hear the san d being blown against the deserted buildings. It kep t going through his mind: What would you do if yo u were Phil Sundeen?

  He smoked cigarettes thinking about Tindal up there with him; and from Tindal his thoughts wen t to Milmary. What would Mil be doing right now?

  He would light a cigarette and as the match flared look to see what time it was.

  Eleven o'clock passed. Then twelve.

  It was shortly before one (the way he figured it later) when he heard the revolver shot from up o n the slope, and the first thing he thought of wa s Jordan-GCo Twice in two days!

  Danaher was up, shaking off his blankets. Wide awake.

  "What is it!"

  Frye was standing now looking up the dark slope. The moon was behind the clouds and h e could see nothing. "Up there, John!"

  "That was a shot, wasn't it?"

  "A handgun."

  In the stillness they heard one of the men down from them lever a shell into his rifle.

  "John . . . Jordan pulled one that could be just like this."

  "What?"

  They heard a voice calling from up on the slope and there was no time to explain.

  Then the sound of the voice came to them clearly--

  "He's dead!"

  Still they could not see him, but now they knew it was Tindal standing out in front of the shack.

  "He shot himself!" The voice echoed in the canyon.

  Momentarily there was silence.

  "John, it could be a trick."

  Danaher cupped his hands to his mouth. "Tindal, you come down!" To Frye he said, "Let's get him out of the way first."

  "I can't!"

  "I said come down!"

  "I can't!" It came as a hoarse scream.

  "We better go up," Danaher said. He waved to the men over on his right to start up the slope.

  "John--" Frye hesitated. "Something's wrong."

  They heard Tindal scream again, "He's dead!"

  Danaher called again, "I said come down!"

  "I can't!"

  Danaher was suddenly at the end of his patience.

  He said roughly, "Come on!" and started up the slope.

&nb
sp; Frye looked to the left, toward two of the men.

  He ran a few steps toward them. "One of you stay down . . . keep your eyes open!" then turned goin g up the slope after Danaher. The other man followed him.

  Halfway up Danaher called, "Tindal!"

  No answer.

  Danaher muttered, "Damn him--"

  They could make out the ledge now as the clouds passed from in front of the moon and suddenly Tindal was screaming again--

  "He's getting away!"

  They heard the muffled sound of hoofs somewhere off to the left.

  "He's getting away! Stop him!"

  The horse whinnied, over beyond the hump of the ore tailing closest to them.

  "Phil's getting away!"

  Danaher bellowed, "Shut up goddamn-it!"

  He wheeled then, almost sliding in the sand, and called down to his men below, "Get him!"

  Now they were running down the slope as firing broke suddenly from below--three shots .. . a fourth. Then the firing and the echoes of it dissolved to nothing and in the stillness they could hear the hoofbeats of the horse dying away u p canyon.

  They knew without going any farther. Sundeen had gotten away.

  Now there was nothing they could do until morning.

  They waited for Tindal to come down and he described what had happened as they walked back to the company building.

  Sundeen had fired the revolver shot, he told excitedly, then had made him yell out that he was dead. "He had to get you all part of the way up th e slope before he could make a break. He led one o f the horses out of the mine entrance, then held hi s gun on me while I yelled . . . that's why I couldn't move. He'd a cut me down!"

  As they brought Tindal under the veranda they heard three shots spaced apart and sounding fa r off, coming from beyond the escarpment.

  "That's the others," Frye said.

  He walked out to the middle of the open area leading his horse. Then he fired three shots into th e air at ten-second intervals. That would tell the Coyotero there was no hurry. Then he mounted and rode up canyon almost half a mile and fired thre e times again. That would be the direction the y would take. He knew the Coyotero would understand. If there was no hurry then they would leave in the morning, traveling up canyon.

  He returned to the men in front of the company building after unsaddling and picketing his horse-GCo c igarette glows in the darkness and low murmur s of sound as they talked about what had happened.

  He saw Tindal sitting against the wall next to Stedman, neither of them talking, and Haig Hanasian standing over them. Danaher stood off by himsel f near the end of the veranda.

  He thinks it's his fault, Frye thought. Well, let him be. Don't interrupt a man when he's givin g himself hell.

  With first light they were saddled and making their way up canyon. The sandstone walls seeme d to shrink and become narrower as they followe d the road that was almost overgrown with brus h and in less than an hour they were out of th e canyon, descending a long sweeping meadow toward distant timber. Coming out of the rocks they saw riders far off to the right following an arroy o down out of the high country and by the time the y reached the timber they were joined by Dandy Jim , Merl White, Goss and Tobin.

  Merl White said, "What's the matter with you boys letting one get away?" then shut up as he sa w the look on Danaher's face.

  Frye explained to him what had taken place.

  Then-- "He angled across the meadow and right into the timber, Merl. That's almost due west. If h e keeps going he'll run right into Sun-D land."

  Merl nodded. "If I was him I'd at least want to take a look around home."

  "It makes sense," Frye said.

  "Well, let's go then."

  "We got something else for you, Merl."

  "What?"

  "Taking these two into Randado."

  "Not me."

  "You and Ford and Joe's been riding longer than the rest of us."

  "We got more of a reason to, Kirby; outside of you. Get somebody else to do it."

  There was no sense in arguing it. Frye asked two of Danaher's men and they said they would, gladl y in fact. He told Haig that he could go in also, bu t Haig shook his head and stated that he woul d rather stay out.

  Before separating, Frye moved his gelding next to one of the men who was going back.

  "Don't put them in jail."

  "Why not?"

  "They won't be going anywhere."

  Danaher's man shrugged. "It don't matter to me."

  Now they rode on toward Sun-D, watching the four horses move off, more to the southwest, toward Randado.

  When they came out of the timber Danaher pulled his horse closer to Frye's. For a while the y rode along in silence, but Frye knew what wa s coming.

  Finally--

  "Kirby, that was my fault he got away."

  "No, you can't take the blame for something like that."

  "I got impatient."

  "Well, you were anxious."

  "I got to learn to hold on to myself more."

  "You been doing all right for forty years."

  Danaher seemed not to hear. "Like with Digo . . . I beat the hell out of him and nothin g happens. You whisper something in his ear and h e runs off at the mouth."

  Frye felt embarrassed for Danaher and he wished that he would stop talking this way. It seemed out o f character, not like the rough-voiced, coarse-feature d Sheriff of Pima County. But that was Danaher. He was man enough to admit when he was wrong , even if it made him feel like a fool to do it.

  "John, why don't we just forget about it?"

  "I intend to," Danaher said. "I just wanted to make it clear that it was my fault he got away."

  And that was the end of it. After that, Danaher was himself again.

  Within two hours they had crossed the eastern boundary of Sun-D land and an hour and a hal f later they were in sight of the ranch house and it s outbuildings.

  They pulled up in a mesquite thicket a hundred yards behind the main building, then waited whil e Merl, Ford and Joe went on, keeping to the brush , until they were beyond the bunkhouse and corral.

  They saw Merl come out of the mesquite far down and as he did, they rode toward the ranch house , splitting as they reached it, circling around bot h sides of the house to meet in the yard. They sa w Merl and his two riders come around the corner o f the bunkhouse.

  A dog barked and came running toward them from the barn. The dog stopped, cocking his hea d to look at them, then went over to Merl as he dismounted and sniffed his boots. Merl reached down to pat him, then came up drawing his carbine fro m the scabbard. He looked at Frye, who was dismounted now, and Frye nodded toward the bunkhouse.

  They heard the screen door of the ranch house open and close. A Mexican woman came out to th e edge of the veranda.

  Merl called, "That's Digo's woman."

  Frye walked toward her touching his hand to the brim of his hat and he said in Spanish, "We ar e looking for the younger Sundeen."

  "He isn't here," the woman said.

  "When did he leave?"

  "Days ago."

  "His father is here?"

  "He is ill."

  "We won't disturb him . . . only long enough for a few words."

  The woman shrugged and moved aside, but as Frye stepped up on the porch, Danaher and Hai g Hanasian following him, she asked suddenly , "Where is Digo?"

  "He is in jail."

  The woman seemed to relax. "For how long?"

  "It's not for me to say."

  "Will they hang him?"

  "No."

  The woman half turned from them touching her breast and closing her eyes as they went inside.

  "Who is it?"

  They looked toward the sofa that was placed at a right angle from the stone fireplace. Phil Sundeen's father was lying there, a quilt covering him and a pillow at one end holding up his head. His face wa s still leathery brown, but the skin sagged from hi s cheekbones and his eyes, lusterless, were hal f closed. Fry
e would not have recognized him. He remembered Old Val as a robust, swaggering man always with a cigar clamped between the hard lines of his jaw, and with thick graying hair that alway s seemed to have a line around it where his hat fitted.

  Frey remembered that clearly.

  They walked toward him and he said again, "Who is it?"

  "Val, this is John Danaher."

  His eyes opened all the way. "What do you want?"

  "This is Kirby Frye. . . . He used to work for you about ten years ago."

  "I don't place the name." The old man's voice was hard, but with little volume.

  "Mr. Sundeen," Frye said, "I'm sorry you're laid up."

  "If you want a job you'll have to see Phil. I don't hire no more."

  "No sir. I didn't come for a job."

  Danaher said, "Val, that's who we're looking for.

  Phil."

  "You try De Spain's?"

  "Not yet. We thought we'd try here first."

  "He might give the boy a job, I don't know."

  "Val, was he here this morning?"

  "I remember now we lost some boys a few days ago, so maybe Phil'll be hiring again."

  Danaher exhaled slowly. "You didn't see him this morning?"

  "I don't know if it was this morning or yesterday."

  "Val, just try to think a minute. He stopped in here this morning to talk to you."

  The old man's head nodded. "I think he did."

  "Did he tell you what happened?"

  "He didn't say anything about hiring any more men."

  Danaher exhaled again. "Did he say where he was going?"

  "But if he was going to hire men, he'd a told where he'd be, so I could send 'em to him."

  Frye glanced at Danaher, then kneeled on one knee next to the sofa.

  "Mr. Sundeen, I certainly admired working for you that time. The first year we pushed 'em all th e way up to Ellsworth. You remember that?"

  "Two thousand head," the old man murmured.

  "Then the next year we went to McDowell and San Carlos and you let Phil trail-boss the bunch t o the reservation."

  The old man's eyes rolled to look at Frye. "I d on't remember you. You see Phil, though, tell hi m I said it's all right to hire you."

  "Well, I sure wish I could find him."

  "You got to know where to look."

  "Where do you start?"

  "When I wanted Phil I looked where there was women. That's where I'd start and that's where I'd end."