by Matt Braun
“I’m no lawman,” Starbuck replied, suppressing a smile, “but it never hurts to put yourself in the other fellow’s boots. Virge had just been bushwhacked, and Brocius probably figured you’d come looking for him. Way it worked out, he knew right where you’d start.”
Earp digested the thought, nodding. “You’re sayin’ we won’t find them in Charleston this time either.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“So where do we start?”
Starbuck warded him off with upraised palms. “Let’s take it step by step. After Charleston, where did you look next?”
“Everywhere,” Earp grumbled. “We hit the Clanton ranch that same day. Then we rode southwest.” He traced the route on the map. “The Huachuca Mountains and a swing along the border. Up to Bisbee and across to the Dragoons and Benson. Then we circled back to the border and kept on circlin’. Before it was over, I felt like a dog chasin’ his tail.”
“All that time,” Starbuck asked, “didn’t you ever once cut their sign?”
“Hell no!” Earp said bitterly. “Why do you think I finally called it quits?”
“You have to remember,” Holliday interjected, “we’re the outsiders around here. Brocius has friends all through the southern part of the territory. Nobody would give us the time of day, much less a tip on his whereabouts.”
Starbuck took a moment to light a cheroot. He puffed thoughtfully, studying the map for a long while. At last, he grunted to himself and blew a plume of smoke into the air.
“Here’s the way it looks to me. Charleston’s out, and I’d say the same thing goes for the Clanton ranch.”
Earp eyed him keenly. “You don’t think they’d have gone back there after killin’ Morg, is that it?”
“No, I don’t,” Starbuck said equably. “Even if they had, they would’ve been long gone by now.”
“I don’t get you.”
“Ike Clanton took off last night like his pants were on fire. By now, they know Stilwell’s dead and they know you aren’t.”
“Aren’t what?”
“Dead,” Starbuck said simply. “They were after you last night, not Virge. Probably three or four of them spotted around the depot waiting for a clear shot. Stilwell got careless and tipped their hand. That’s why Clanton lit out so fast.”
A puzzled frown appeared on Holliday’s face. “You’ve sure got the voice of experience for somebody that’s no lawman.”
Starbuck regarded him with an expression of amusement. “Doc, you get the same experience on the other side of the fence. Stays with you longer, too.”
“How so?”
“Because you live and learn, or you don’t live at all.”
“Judas Priest,” Holliday said scornfully. “You’re a cardsharp, and you served with Custer, and now you tell us you rode the owlhoot. You’re a regular jack-of-all-trades, aren’t you?”
“After a fashion.” Starbuck’s smile broadened. “Course, that don’t necessarily mean I’m the master of none.”
“The way you talk, you know a damnsight more than you ever let on before.”
“Hold on, Doc.” Earp gave him a reproachful look. “The way he talks makes sense. Damn good sense!”
“That’s my point,” Holliday countered. “Ever since we met him, he’s been playin’ the fool. Now, all of a sudden, he’s not as dumb as he acts. I don’t like it.”
Starbuck sensed danger. A cynic was always suspicious of change, and Holliday’s skepticism might very well prove contagious. He grinned, the cheroot clamped between his teeth, and put on a bold front.
“Doc, let me tell you something, one grifter to another. I choose my friends real careful, and even then, I wait a long time to let them know I’m swifter than I look. That’s a lesson I learned the hard way, and it’s brought me through many a tight scrape.”
He paused, staring Holliday directly in the eye. “Now, if that rankles your fur, then it’s me that misjudged you, not the other way round. You just say the word, and I’ll go on about my business. Adios and no hard feelings.”
The bluff worked. Earp gave Holliday the fish-eye, warning him to carry it no further. Then his glance shifted quickly to Starbuck.
“Doc didn’t mean nothin’, Jack. The last couple of days, you’ve just showed us more than we bargained for, that’s all.”
“No offense taken.” Starbuck rocked his hand, fingers splayed. “I just tend to get serious when the killing starts.”
“Who don’t?” Earp said agreeably. “Now, suppose we get back on track. You never did say exactly where you figured we ought to start.”
“It’s all guesswork,” Starbuck said earnestly, leaning over the map. “Just the same, it looks to me like there’s two possibilities. First, Brocius and his boys could’ve made a beeline for Mexico. Offhand, though, I’d say that’s the least likely.”
“Why?”
“Because McMasters and Vermillion work out of Nogales. They’re old timers down that way, and Brocius probably figures they’d get wind of it if he showed up below the border.”
“What’s your second guess?”
“I think Brocius has a hideout somewhere pretty close to home. Matter of fact, I’d be willing to bet that’s where he holed up the last time you went after him.”
“So where do we start?”
“The Clanton ranch.”
“Some tracker!” Holliday shouted. “You just got through tellin’ us they wouldn’t go anywhere near the ranch.”
“They won’t, but I’d be awful surprised if they just rode off and left the place to run itself.”
“That’s right!” Earp verified. “Last time we was by there, they’d left the cook to look after things.”
“Did you question him?”
“Why hell yes! We’re not that stupid, Jack.”
“I take it he didn’t tell you anything.”
“What’s there to tell?” Earp said sternly. “I damn near broke his arm off, but he didn’t know nothing about nothing.”
“He knows one thing.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“Unless I’m way wide of the mark, he knows which direction they rode.”
“Are you sayin’ you can track ’em just by knowin’ which direction they took?”
“That many horses,” Starbuck reminded him, “leave a ton of tracks. Ton of horseshit, too. Show me the way they went and I’ll follow them clean to hell.”
“By God, you’re not jokin’, are you?”
“I’ve got an idea the joke’ll be on Brocius this time.”
“You sound mighty—” Holliday began, but there was a knock on the door, and he stopped.
“We’re busy,” Earp called. “Come back later.”
“Wyatt!” The voice was muffled, and the knock more insistent. “It’s John Clum. I have to see you!”
Earp muttered something to himself, then nodded. Holliday rose, moving to the door, and admitted Clum. The mayor rushed into the room, scarcely glancing at Starbuck. His expression was harried and a sheen of perspiration covered his face.
“Wyatt, we’ve got trouble, big trouble.”
Earp waved him to a chair. “What’s wrong now?”
“There’s a warrant out for your arrest.”
Earp stared at him, dumbstruck. Clum doffed his hat, tossing it on the desk, and dropped into a chair. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. His hands were trembling.
“A wire just arrived authorizing Johnny Behan to arrest you on sight. Fortunately, the telegraph operator owes me a favor, and he brought the wire to me first. I got him to hold off an hour before he delivered it to Behan.”
“Warrant?” Earp asked in a froggy voice. “On what charge?”
“Murder,” Clum said gravely. “The sheriff in Tucson had that westbound train stopped in Prescott. He got depositions from the conductor and several passengers. They identified you and Doc.”
“By God, that takes gall! I’m wearin’ a badge and Frank Stilwell was
a wanted man. Where the hell does anybody get off chargin’ me with murder?”
“It won’t wash.” Clum’s tone was severe. “Those people say you executed Stilwell. All of them testified that he had his hands in the air, that he’d surrendered.”
“He was wanted!” Earp said angrily. “Wanted for murder!”
“Wyatt, you’re the wanted man now. You killed him like a hog in a charnel house, and there are eyewitnesses that will swear to it.”
“I’ve still got this badge, and anybody—Behan included—will think a long time before they tangle with a deputy marshal.”
“You were a deputy,” Clum said hesitantly. “The U.S. Marshal revoked your commission late this afternoon. That was in the wire, too.”
Earp shook his head violently. “We’ve still got connections! There’s people that owe me, owe me plenty. We’ll get’em to put in the fix and have it hushed up.”
“Not for murder, they won’t. Face up to reality, Wyatt! Once word gets around, all of them will wash their hands of you. You won’t even exist so far as they’re concerned.”
“They owe me!” Earp said, almost shouting. “I’ve been their goddamn lightning rod in this town. It was me that done the dirty work and they better not forget it!”
“For your own good,” Clum persisted, “you’re the one that better forget it. Politics is a rotten business, and I shouldn’t have to tell you that. Killing Stilwell was the last straw, Wyatt. You’re a liability to them now, and they won’t lift a finger to help you.”
“They’re tarred with the same brush! Either they help me or I’ll take’em down with me.”
“It’s too late for that,” Clum patiently explained. “We’re talking about murder, not politics. You might smear their reputations, but what would that accomplish?”
Earp’s mouth hardened. “It’d blow their plans sky high! Once I got done spillin’ the beans, they wouldn’t be able to show their faces in Cochise County.”
“On top of which,” Holliday said sullenly, “I’d make it my personal business to give every one of the sonsabitches a dose of lead poisoning.”
“Doc, please!” Clum sputtered. “Killing them won’t solve anything. You’d only make matters worse.”
“I ought to start with you,” Holliday said in disgust. “Way it looks to me, you’re the first rat off the ship.”
Clum suddenly appeared shaken, rigid with fear. “Good God, why won’t you listen? I didn’t have to come here tonight, and there’s nothing in it for me one way or the other. I’m trying to convince you to save yourselves.”
“We beat a murder rap once before,” Earp told him. “Hell, they had us up on three counts that time.”
“You won’t beat this one,” Clum said, voice low and urgent. “In Tucson, you wouldn’t have a friendly judge sitting on the bench. You wouldn’t even get a fair shake, much less an under-the-table deal. The case would go to trial and you’d be convicted. You know I’m right, too.”
He paused, emotionally drained, and lowered his eyes. “You’re through in Arizona, Wyatt. You have to get out as fast as you can ride. Otherwise, you’ll wind up at the end of a hangman’s rope.”
A thick silence settled in the room. Earp rose and paced to the window. He stood there a long time, staring thoughtfully down at the street. At last, with a heavy sigh, he scrubbed his face with his palms. When he turned around, he permitted himself a grim smile.
“I never much cared for Tombstone anyway.”
Starbuck marked again that his smile was a strange and chilling sight. It was more on the order of a rictus, some outward grimace that creased his mouth but never touched his eyes. Watching him, Starbuck briefly considered attempting an arrest, here and now. Then he put the impulse aside. Not only was he outnumbered, but he had no real faith in a judge and jury. He told himself there was a better way. A way that might still get Earp killed.
“You fooled me,” Starbuck said casually. “I never would’ve pegged you as a quitter.”
“Quitter!” Earp flared. “What the hell you mean by that?”
“Unless I heard wrong, you just got through saying you’re pulling out of Tombstone.”
“So?”
“So I didn’t figure you’d let Brocius off the hook, that’s all.”
“You figured right,” Earp said firmly. “I’m callin’ it a day in Tombstone, but nothing else changes.”
“You’re not leaving?” Clum asked anxiously. “I beg you to reconsider, Wyatt. Another day in the territory may be one day too long.”
“I’ll leave when my business is finished. Not before.”
“Then there’s a very good chance you’ll get yourself killed instead of Brocius. With a warrant in his pocket, Johnny Behan has you right where he wants you. He’ll deputize every two-bit gunman in town, and do his level best to bring you back draped across a horse.”
“You always were a worrywart, John. Have a drink and calm your nerves. Behan’s the least of my troubles.”
“I hope you’re right. I genuinely hope so.”
Earp’s gaze moved to Starbuck. “Jack, hustle on down to the livery and boot somebody in the ass. Get our horses saddled and bring’em on back here muy pronto.”
“We’re pulling out tonight?”
“That’s the general idea,” Earp nodded, turning quickly to Holliday. “Doc, go roust Warren and the boys. Tell’em we ride in half an hour.”
Starbuck and Holliday hurried from the room. When the door closed, John Clum was slumped in his chair, staring blankly at nothing. Earp, after folding the map into a neat square, got busy packing his saddlebags.
A short time later Earp descended the stairs to the lobby. His saddlebags were thrown over his shoulder and the sawed-off shotgun was tucked under his arm. Clum was beside him, and at the bottom of the stairs, they shook hands. Then he walked toward Holliday and the men, who were waiting near the front door.
“Everything ready?”
“All set,” Holliday noted. “Horses are outside.”
Earp led the way onto the veranda. The men trooped along behind him, moving in a tight phalanx to the hitch rack. There they mounted and sat watching him while he shoved the shotgun into the saddle scabbard. As he tied down his saddlebags, a voice suddenly sounded from upstreet.
“Earp! Wyatt Earp!”
Behan, flanked by a deputy, stepped off the boardwalk and rushed toward them. He halted a few paces away, darting a nervous glance at the men.
“Earp, I want to see you.”
“Behan, if you’re not careful, you’ll see me once too often.”
Behan squared himself up. “It won’t do you any good to run. I’ve got a warrant for your arrest, and I’ll be on your trail in the morning with twenty or thirty men.”
“You do that.” Earp’s tone was icy. “We’ll be lookin’ for you.”
Earp swung aboard his horse and reined sharply away from the hitch rack. The others brought their mounts around and rode off down the street. At the corner, where they turned west, Starbuck glanced back toward the hotel. He saw Behan throw his hat to the ground, then kick at it in an outburst of temper. Somehow, though he understood the lawman’s frustration, it seemed a fitting end to his long stay in Tombstone.
He laughed and feathered his horse in the ribs.
CHAPTER 15
The dawn sky was metallic, almost colorless. The men were crouched low in an arroyo, their eyes trained on the ranch house. Behind them, the San Pedro snaked southward, and the mountains to the east were limned in the first rays of sunrise. Alert, their nerves keyed to a fight, they waited for Starbuck’s signal.
Still very much in command, Earp was nonetheless relying on Starbuck for advice. Last night, shortly after departing Tombstone, he had summoned Starbuck to the front of the column. On the Charleston road, riding west toward the San Pedro, they had discussed the opening move in their search for Brocius. Starbuck had advanced the argument that a manhunt was not all that different from chasing Indians. Swift st
rikes, and the element of surprise, were everything to experienced Indian fighters. Their tactics were simple yet deadly effective. Hit fast, hit hard, and strike when least expected. With a poker face, he had then invented several fairy tales about his own days on the owlhoot. Hopping from lie to lie, he told Earp that he had survived only by reversing the tables on lawmen. His service as an army scout had taught him to deny them the tactical advantage of surprise.
Earp bought the argument. By midnight, when they turned north along the San Pedro, he’d begun thinking of Starbuck as his chief tactician. An hour before dawn, when they tethered their horses downstream, he had agreed to Starbuck’s plan for storming the Clanton ranch. Earp stood aside, nodding approval, while Starbuck handed out assignments. Holliday, Vermillion and McMasters would take the cook shack and the bunkhouse. Earp and Warren, along with Starbuck himself, would take the main house. The raid, Starbuck had informed them, would be carried out as though the entire Brocius gang was bedded down in the buildings. The likelihood of that was slight, but he’d warned the men to take no chances. Surprise and caution were the watchwords.
For his part, Starbuck had all he could do to keep a straight face. There was virtually no chance that Brocius would be caught napping at the gang’s customary headquarters. The sole purpose of this morning’s drill was to solidify his own position with Earp. That was essential to the vague plan already taking shape in his mind. Earp must not only trust him, but must become dependent on his advice. Then, somewhere down the line, the opportunity would arise for the wrong word at the right time. And Earp would go home in a box.
One eye on the ranch house, Starbuck pondered the thicket of possibilities open to him. The murder warrant, coupled with Earp’s decision to remain in Arizona Territory, presented several options. The most enticing was that Brocius and Earp could be maneuvered into a shootout. Stymied until now, it was his original plan and still seemed the most likely to succeed. Failing that, he would attempt to arrange a clash between the Earps and the Behan posse. After last night, he had every confidence the sheriff would be gnashing his teeth for another crack at Earp. Finally, as a last resort, there was the alternative of arresting Earp and delivering him for trial in Tucson. Yet that was the bottom of the barrel, the most chancey of the lot, and Starbuck’s expectations were still high. He thought today would put them on the road to the most satisfactory outcome. A permanent sort of good riddance.