"Much farther. You are in charge?” the green guy asked.
"I'm Miles O'Malley, Town of Tombstone.” Although I regretted it immediately, I extended my hand as one would to a visiting dignitary.
"Welcome."
The creature nodded. “Ah handshake. We do this."
Behan showed no inclination toward shaking hands or getting any closer. “It killed Old Man Gantry,” he whispered.
"Gantry drew on him,” I pointed out. “He had no call doing that."
Behan wiped his forehead. “Never thought of it like that."
I pointed toward the trail. “Horsey. We ride back to town?"
"No horsey. We fly to the human settlement.” The creature pointed back at the glowing vessel.
"I was afraid you were going to say that.” I noticed I was now alone.
Behan was racing down the hill toward where the horses were. “Well, Sheriff Jackass is afraid of your, uh, whatever it is."
"Space vehicle. Follow please."
I did as instructed. “What's your handle?"
"Equi oc Toquit."
"Elbert?” The hatch closed up, and I tried to suppress a sudden sense of dread. Elbert climbed up on a stool, touched a few spots on a smooth console, then the hatch opened up again.
There had been no sensation of movement, but we were now parked behind a pile of hay off of Fremont Street, just in back of the O.K. Corral. The alien waddled along behind me as I led my new friend down the street. Everyone was staring. “I could use a cold one,” I muttered.
"Cold one?” Elbert asked.
I tried to explain. “Beer. A drink."
"Sounds good idea, yes,” my green friend decided.
The saloon went from noisy chatter to complete silence. Kate was still at the exact same location, near the edge of the bar. The barkeeper dropped a glass mug on the floor. No one seemed to notice.
"Two beers,” I ordered.
We sat at the first table, near the window. When Kate approached I explained, “This here's Elbert. He's from another planet. He's got some space vee-hickle parked down the street. Shot Old Man Gantry in a fair fight. Where's our beers?"
Clem, the stable hand seated at the next table, promptly extended a hand. “Pleased to meet ya, Elbert.” After shaking hands, Clem adjusted his suspenders and walked out the front door and turned for the boarding house. He roomed next door to me.
No one else in the room seemed quite so neighborly. “It's got horns sticking out of its head,” someone said.
"He's the devil,” some old guy announced. “Earps are in league with Satan."
I wasn't aware I was now an Earp. I guess it was guilt by association. “Where's our beers?"
Kate made no effort to fetch them. “He ain't human,” she finally said.
"Course he ain't human, woman. I done told you he's from some other planet.” I stood. “Hell, you speak Spanish, let's go where we can get some decent service.” I led Elbert outside and down the street. At the edge of town we reached a tent-like building. “This here's the Mexican cantina. They'll serve us.” I opened the flap. “Two beers.” I held up two fingers.
"Dos."
A twelve-year-old Mexican girl promptly placed two beers on the table.
Only the day before, I later learned, her uncle had said the Earps would come in there some day with El Diablo himself. She seemed to having never pictured the devil as green, but would from that day forth.
I took a swig, then watched Elbert do the same. “You like?"
"Good drink.” Elbert let out a loud belch, then downed the entire glass.
"Great.” Looking back, I noticed a familiar sight. A card game was in progress. “Order another round, I'll be right back.” I went over to the poker game. Three Mexican farmhands were playing with Jonathan T. Livingston.
"Howdy Sheriff,” Livingston greeted without looking up from his cards.
"Marshal. Thought I told you no saloons."
"You said no Oriental Saloon. This hea is a notha establishment, entirely,” he pointed out.
Before I could figure out what to do, Elbert was standing next to him.
"Is it customary to replace the card with another one concealed underneath the table? Most peculiar game."
The three men who spoke no English drew down on the riverboat gambler from New Orleans.
It took a few seconds longer for me to grasp the situation. “Hold on boys,” I warned.
Livingston's face turned a deep shade of crimson. He grabbed one of his gloves off his belt and smacked Elbert across the head. “No one acuzes Jonathan T. Livingston of bein’ a cheat. Suh, ah do not care if you are indeed the devil himself, ah demand satisfaction."
"Irrational? Sexual attraction?” Elbert asked.
"Elbert, I don't think you quite understand,” I explained. “He wishes to fight you. Have a shootout."
"Weah ah come from, gentlemen—” he paused and looked over Elbert for a moment, “and ah use tha term loosely—fight a duel, not a bahbaric shootout."
I nodded approval. “Like they do back east. Okay with you, Elbert?"
"Acceptable,” he agreed.
"Let's do it.” I led the group toward the door. Our exit was blocked as Sheriff John Behan stood in the way. He sort of flinched at the sight of Elbert. “Was wondering what happened to you,” I said.
Elbert pointed at Behan. “This is the one that ran away."
"I didn't run away. I get sick when I'm closed up.” Then he returned to the situation at hand. “What's that doing in the cantina?” Behan asked.
"Elbert here's gonna shoot it out with Riverboat, like they do back east, duel style. Heck, I'm actually glad you're here. You ought to count ‘em off. I don't like Riverboat too much. You'd be fairer."
"Fairer? I don't like this here Elbert. Gives me the creepies, all green and all,” Behan protested.
"Sheriff Jackass is acceptable,” Elbert announced.
The Mexicans, who didn't speak English, all roared. Behan's face grew three shades redder. “Sheriff Jackass?"
"I'll explain later,” I offered.
Behan calmed down a little. “Well, let's get on with it."
"Suh?” Livingston pointed to the lack of a gun belt.
"Oh.” Behan unbuckled his and handed it to the gambler. “Use mine."
I looked over at Elbert. “What about you?"
Elbert waved his hand. A familiar metal disk appeared.
"I don't know about this,” Behan cautioned. “He already killed Old Man Gantry."
"Suh, I have no fear of any devil weapons, foe ah have truth an righteousness on ma side,” Livingston declared. Then he stepped out to the middle of the street, cocked the pistol and held it tight against his chest. “Ahm ready."
I showed Elbert how to take a position with his back against Livingston. Then everyone cleared the street. I gestured to Behan.
"Ready. Now I'll call off ten paces, then you boys turn and fire."
Behan adjusted his hat and cleared his throat. “One ... two ... three ... four ... five ... six ... seven ... eight ... nine,” he swallowed, “ten."
Elbert showed incredible reflexes. He spun around much faster than his larger opponent, quickly raised his disk, then a blue flash left a six-inch hole where Livingston's chest had been. The gambler's pistol discharged on the way down, knocking out a window at the hotel. There was a moment of silence, then people rushed out into the street.
Behan retrieved his gun from the corpse. I ushered Elbert back inside the cantina. We each drank a beer in silence.
"Must leave now,” Elbert said. Then he belched. “Good drink."
"Well, come back anytime, Elbert. You're always welcome in Tombstone,” I said. I escorted Elbert back to his space vehicle. Behan sort of followed along. The other townsfolk showed no interest at all in going near it. We all shook hands.
"Goodbye Sheriff Jackass. Goodbye Miles O'Malley, Town of Tombstone.” Elbert climbed inside and the hatch closed. Then, with no sound at all, the
big sphere rose up into the air and shot off into the afternoon sky. In two seconds it was completely out of sight.
I asked, “Figure he'll be back?"
"Nope, I'd go to St. Louis.” Behan started sauntering back toward the county jail. “Trouble with you, O'Malley, is you're too dang stupid to know better than to get inside something like that. You could of gotten killed. They could eat human beings for all you knew."
I countered with, “Can't wait to tell the guys at the Epitaph how you ran away. Wyatt'll love it."
Wyatt and Virgil never really seemed to believe the story of the little green man and the duel, even though others confirmed it. I was never again asked to fill in as marshal. Of course, that may have been on account I cut some guy real bad during a shave and got fired from my barbering job.
I left town not long after it happened.
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Chapter 9
ANGELIC CHARMS
I was out somewhere in the Arizona Territory. We'd just seen the Grand Canyon and were camped out somewhere a few miles south of it. I'd discovered there was not an abundance of water in these parts, but had planned ahead with a few extra canteens to keep me and Paul going. I had just stretched out after a lackluster supper, when I heard a commotion in the nearby brush. A tall woman emerged, dressed all in white.
"Uh, can I help you?” I asked.
"It is I who can help you,” she said.
"How so?"
"Behold, I am an angel. I have come to earth to save you,” she answered.
Paul started fidgeting and shaking his head back and forth. “Uh, perhaps you best be moving on,” I suggested. “Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying."
She pointed a finger at me. “Most respond as you do.” She moved a little closer to me. “Repent and save your immortal soul."
"From what?” I asked.
"From sin,” she answered.
I shrugged. “I don't need you."
"I am an angel sent to seek your salvation,” she insisted.
"You are a disturbed woman in a white dress. I suggest you be on your way.” I wanted no part of whatever delusion she was peddling. I just wanted to relax and digest whatever it was I'd just eaten.
"Fear not, for I will not forsake you,” she said. “I will return to lead you to salvation.” Finally, she headed back into the woods.
I wasted little time saddling Paul and heading out in the opposite direction. Even though it was late, I wanted some distance between myself and this wannabe angel.
We'd ridden about a mile, when another horse began to approach us from a side trail. It was just after dusk, but I had no trouble at all recognizing the rider. “You didn't send that woman after me?"
"No, Miles, she's not my doing,” Nick insisted. “I could look into it. Perhaps she's escaped from an asylum somewhere."
"Perhaps.” I found his timing rather coincidental. “What brings you out here?"
"Well, Miles, sometimes I get tired of hell and just like to get away for a bit,” Nick said.
I shrugged. “Makes sense, I guess."
"I like you Miles. You never want anything, never try to get some favor, some advantage in business.” Nick was riding an all-white mare. “I wish more people were like you, Miles. I really do."
It seemed an odd compliment. “Thanks, I guess."
"Up ahead is a nice cabin. It has a small barn Paul can stay in. It's well made. Flagstaff is only a half-hour ride away. I think you'll like it,” Nick predicted. “I'm sure you will."
"Like it?” I asked. I had no intention of staying in the area.
"Yes, I'm sure you'll like it.” Nick made a sweeping gesture as we rounded a bend in the road. “It's a nice place, Miles. I'd like you to use it, as long as you like."
"Why?"
"Why what?” Nick responded. “You and Paul need shelter."
"Why do you want me to live here?” I asked. “What's the catch?"
"No catch, Miles. Use it as long as you like. I don't own it, precisely. Let's say it's under my control. No one's using it, so you should.” He pointed to a spot next to the house. “There's even plenty of wood chopped and stacked to keep you warm this winter. What do you say?"
The place was immaculate. And there was plenty of wood, all neatly stacked. “Can't you rent it out or something?"
That brought a laugh, an actual laugh out of him. “Miles, I don't need income."
"Well, it wouldn't seem right,” I said. Winter was coming and I didn't really fancy the notion of living in a mining tent somewhere. I was a bit tempted.
"Use it. I don't need it,” Nick insisted.
"Well, at least let me pay rent on it,” I decided.
"Uh, what did you have in mind?” Nick asked.
I fished around and found a silver dollar in my shirt pocket. I tossed it over to him. His face became quite intrigued. “Very well, Miles. It's agreed.” He pocketed the coin.
I was sure Nick had something up his sleeve. He was, after all, Nick.
Nick allowed me to look around and inspect the premises for a brief interval. Then he wished me well and rode off in the direction of town. And I had a really cheap place to live.
I settled off to sleep on the early side. And I'd even shed my clothes and was down to my Acme Union Suit. This was a really nice house and it was mine, at least for a while. One would think I could have gotten off to a decent night's sleep for the first night, at least. One might think a man could rest in his new, and remarkably comfortable, bed for just one night before something happens to him. But then, when you rent from the devil, you should expect a few bumps in the road of life, I suppose.
It was right around midnight. I heard a noise. My first inclination was that Paul was out running around or something. I could see the barn. Its door was nice and snug. But, I had definitely heard something rummaging around in the yard. I pulled on my boots, grabbed my six-gun, then ventured outside. A wind had picked up.
What I'd heard had been no blowing wind. Living under the stars tends to heighten a man's senses, and I'd lived outdoors plenty in recent times. One night in a comfy bed was not going to have sissified Miles O'Malley. Well, it didn't take long to figure out what I'd heard.
Paul had the woman I'd encountered earlier cornered against the woodpile. This time, she was not only dressed all in white, but she had white wings sewn to the back of her robe-like garment. “Well, we meet again,” I said.
"This horse, he won't let me by him,” she said.
"Where do you want to go?” I asked.
"To see you. To warn you."
I shrugged. “He'll let you by. He's a really good horse.” Paul snorted, then went back into his barn.
"I am angel from God,” she repeated. “I have come to warn you."
"Warn me? Let's go inside. It's getting cold out here.” I led her indoors and lit one of the many lanterns I'd found in the house. I sat at the kitchen table and motioned for her to do likewise. “Warn me about what?"
"This house for one thing.” She looked around. “I sense the devil in it."
"Yeah, so? It's his house. He rented it to me,” I said.
"The devil does not rent houses, Mr. O'Malley. That wasn't what I meant."
"Well, suit yourself."
Now she was the one having doubts. “You think your landlord is the devil?"
"I do. So what? I'm tired. I'd like to go back to bed,” I informed her.
"You worship the devil, then?"
"No. I simply rent a house from him. What's your name?"
"Angel."
"Figures."
"Mr. O'Malley, I did not come here to be patronized,” Angel said. “I came here to help you."
"Help me, from what?"
"To protect you from evil,” she insisted.
"I am going back to bed. If you feel the need to lurk around in my yard, more power to you."
"Spirits are most active at night,” Angel said.
"They may be. However, I am not.
” I went into my bedroom and stretched out on my extremely comfortable bed. Somehow, the woman with wings sewn on her robe just did not seem to concern me much. And I was tired.
I awoke in late morning. I might have even slept later, but Paul woke me. His big head filled my window. I'd figured he'd help himself to the barrel of oats if he were hungry. Nonetheless, I ventured outside to see what he wanted. My horse was very agitated. I noticed Angel was sitting at the door to the barn.
"I've been talking to your horse all night. He acts like he almost understands me."
I whispered to Paul, “I'll make it up to you.” I felt really bad. This woman was obviously disturbed. From what I'd heard about asylums and other official depositories of the insane, I wouldn't wish that on any madman I'd ever come across. Still, she was becoming a nuisance, and I had no real thought of what to do with her. While I was thinking, she wandered off somewhere.
Then, a really odd coincidence happened. There was a knock at my door. Opening it, I found a real angel on my porch. The Angel of Death—I'd never heard any other name for him—was standing there in his black Grim Reaper outfit.
"Hey Miles.” He sort of barged straight past me. “You got any bourbon?"
"Not really,” I answered. “I'm not much of a drinker, but there's some brandy in the kitchen, peach brandy or something."
He nodded. “Sounds good to me. Must've belonged to the old lady who used to live here."
"Used to?"
"Well, she's dead, Miles. How'd you think you got it?” Death asked.
"Some old lady lived here. Ethel something. She got murdered."
"Murdered?” I choked.
"People get murdered, Miles. It happens a lot.” He poured himself a glass of brandy, consuming an especially generous sip. “God doesn't like me drinking on the job. But, He doesn't appreciate the pressure I'm under.” Death finished the glass, then poured himself another. “What about that gal out there in the fake-looking wings? She a loony?"
"She's some crazy woman I can't get rid of."
"Well Miles, afraid I can't help you there. God just hates it when we reveal ourselves to mortals,” Death said. “It's too bad. The sight of me would run her off for certain. Runs everyone off.” He finished the second drink, then looked at the empty bottle. He placed the empty glass and bottle on the kitchen table. “Miles, you ever see any wings on me or Buffy or Mabel?” He gazed off at the ceiling for an instant. “Oh, Mabel. You've had something I always wanted, Miles.” Then he looked at me. “Ever see any wings, Miles?"
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