the First Fast Draw (1959)

by L'amour, Louis

  Reaching up I took hold of the window bars and tried them with my hands. No man I'd ever met but one German in the mines of Colorado had been able to lift as much as I, or pull as much. Taking hold of the bars I tested them with my strength, for although set in stone such bars are often loose.

  They held firm, and I tried a litde harder, and nothing happened. Well, that was a remote chance, anyway. Prowling the square cell, which was about ten by ten, I tried to find some weakness, some way in which I could get out. The door into the space beyond the bars seemed the best chance, but I dared not try that with a guard in the outer office. It looked like the barred door might be set only in the wooden frame, and if that was true I'd have it out of there, door and all.

  Somebody had informed. Who? Katy? That was impossible. What about that schoolteacher, Warren? But he had talked so much about Katy getting hurt if the soldiers came, and it was unlikely. He had no real reason.

  Some time after that I fell asleep, and I opened my eyes with a rooster crowing next door, and I sat up.

  One thing I had ... the derringer.

  When they had taken my Colts and rifle they had looked only so far as the bowie knife, and no farther. But in this country derringers were relatively unknown, and they were considered a woman's gun. There was nothing very feminine about those two .44 slugs.

  The man who brought me food was a stranger wearing a blue uniform coat. He

  was tall, stooped and gawky. His big Adam's apple bobbed as he looked at me. "You that there Cullen Baker?"

  "I'm Baker."

  "They fixin' to hang you."

  "When?"

  "Maybe tomorry. I dunno." The guard eyed me thoughtfully. "You married."

  "I'm not so lucky," I said. "Only two things I'll leave behind are a mule and a corn crop."

  He looked at me and blinked his eyes. "A corn crop? They said you was an oudaw."

  "First crop I ever raised all to myself. I used to help my pa, but he died while I was out West. It's a good crop, only I couldn't do all I wanted, hiding in the swamps and all."

  "What about the mule?"

  "He's a buckskin riding mule with an ingrown disposition. Ornery most of the time, but once started he'll take you from here to yonder with less water and less food in more heat than any horse you ever saw."

  "I got me a team of mules in Pike County."

  From the front of the jail a voice raised. "Hey, Wesley!"

  The food he brought me was not bad. Side meat, eggs and hominy grits, so I ate it,

  thinking of the night. The coffee was strong enough to float a bullet.

  I'd not see that corn crop again. It was like my other dreams and would come to nothing, but one thing I did know, some way, somehow, I was not going to hang. The more I looked at that door the more I liked it, and the warmer I felt toward the slipshod carpenter who'd put it up. It did not look like it was bolted to the stones and if it was just fitted I could take it out of there like you'd take a picture out of a frame.

  Wesley brought in a newspaper. It was a week old but it had things to say of me. They were calling me "the swamp fox of the Sulphur" and they were calling it a "new rebellion" and writing wild stores of all I was supposed to have done.

  Standing at the window I saw Seth Rames out there. Seth was a hard man, and a close friend to Bob Lee. He had been through some fighting in that country, but he was not a known man in Jefferson. They knew him over west of here, and in Louisiana, but not right about here. He was standing on the street lighting his pipe.

  Nobody needed to tell me why he was there. Seth Rames was a tough man and he was no Reconstruction man, but dead set

  against them with at least one soldier killing held against him. If Seth was here it was because he was a friend to my friends, and was a man not known in Jefferson. So they were thinking about me, and they were planning. But I almost wished them away from there. I wanted no man in trouble because of me.

  While I was still figuring what Seth Rames might be doing out there, there was a footstep outside the cell door and I turned around to see John Tower standing there.

  He glanced back toward the cubbyhole of an office that was in front of the jail. Then he said quiedy, "Lacy was afraid of this."

  "She warned me."

  "She also," he spoke very low, "wants you out. And she'll still buy your land."

  "Is that what she wants to get me out?"

  John Tower's lips tightened and there was not much that was pleasant in the way he looked at me. "She's not that kind," he said, and his voice was mighty cold. "She wants you out, that's all."

  "We won't have any arguments there."

  "Have you any ideas?"

  Considering that, I decided I had none. All I knew was that somehow I was going to get out of here, but the walls were stone and

  they were thick and there was a guard around most of the time. The door frame was of two-by-sixes and they were fitted into the stone door in a mighty snug fashion, with the barred door hung on this frame. A man might take that frame out of there if he had time and there was no one around to hear. It would be a big job, but I was figured to be a mighty powerful man and might do it. But I didn't want my life to rest on that, but as a last resort I'd sure enough have a try at it.

  At noon Katy Thorne came to see me. Her face was pale and her eyes looked larger than I'd ever seen them. She was frightened, I could see that.

  "Now see here," I said, "what's worrying you?"

  "You ask that? Oh, Cullen! I've been afraid of this, so afraid!"

  Well, I looked down at my hands on those bars and then at her. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut, her going to marry him and all, but I'm no kind of a hero and a bad lot generally, and the way I figured it there was only one answer.

  "Chance told me somebody tipped them off. And it was right after Warren left your place."

  "Cullen!" she exclaimed. "You can't believe that! Oh, but that's absurd!"

  "Who else then?"

  That stopped her, and she stared back at me, as if thinking something out, then she said, "Maybe Judge Tom could stop this."

  "The hanging you mean?" At her surprised expression, I added, "I know all about it."

  We were quiet for a few minutes and then in a low voice I whispered to her to get hold of the boys, at all costs, and to warn them to stay away from Jefferson and me, that I was being used as bait for the lot of them. They were going to hang me, they'd said that, but one thing worried me. How were they going to do it? Now all they had to do was hang me, all right, but without a trial and all folks might start asking why, and some of those Reconstruction people might ask questions themselves. Some of them were honest, I'd heard.

  Right about then I had an idea that I didn't like even a litde: Suppose there was a jail delivery by Sam Barlow? No sooner did I have the idea than I was sure that was just how Chance would want it, and no blame could fall on anybody but a fight between oudaws. It was just the sort of thing Barlow

  would want to do and that Chance would think of.

  "Katy, you'd better get out of town. Go back to Blackthorne and stay there. There'll be trouble before this is over, but if you can stop the boys from trying anything I'll be forever grateful."

  We talked then as folks will, about much of nothing, but making talk because I didn't want to see her leave, and from the way she acted she wasn't overeager to go.

  Whatever happened now must happen here in town, and I could see trouble building around like the thunderheads piling up before a storm.

  "Cullen, I'm frightened."

  She was, too. Guess it was the first time since I was a youngster that anybody worried about me. Well, right now I was worried about me, too. I'd no idea of hanging to any tree for the pleasure of Chance Thorne and those others. But I didn't see much of a way out.

  Sure, I had the derringer. In one way it was less than good to have. It had two bullets. It would be fine if nobody called my bluff, but if I had to shoot with that gun and only two bullets . .
. well, it would be an

  invitation from them to mow me down, and they'd do it.

  "You'd best go home, Katy. I'm afraid there'll be trouble here, and if there's careless shooting you might get hurt."

  "I'm afraid for you."

  Well, I grinned at her, although I wasn't feeling too much like grinning. "Forget it," I said. "There's no use both of us being scared."

  When she turned to go she started to say something, but then she stopped and hurried out, and I stood there looking after her and I knew that no matter how she felt, that I was in love with her and had been for some time. Maybe I'd been afraid to admit it to myself, because I'm usually a man who speaks up for what he wants, and I back up for no man in trying to get what I want, but with her it seemed so hopeless that I guess I'd shied off from even admitting to myself that I was in love with her.

  When she was gone something inside me exploded. Maybe it was anger: I don't know about that, for a man has many emotions and they are not as easily catalogued as folks would have you believe. Anyway, something happened and I just busted wide open inside, and I was suddenly frantic to get out of

  there. Not that I was wild or anything. I'm not the sort to go off my head. Inside I was wild but outwardly I was cold as ice, and I really began thinking. Get a man or an animal in a trap and they really do some thinking. There had to be a way out of here, and I meant to go out, but I didn't want to die in the process. There was no difference to me between being hung or shot. I just had a healthy urge to go on living, for no matter how bad it was there was always a chance it could get better, and that I could make it better. Now, with the whole West opening out for me, I wanted out of here.

  So I paced the floor. Again I tried the bars on that window-nothing doing. So I went to the door and took hold of the bars of the door and I braced my feet. With all my strength I began to pull, not wanting to be free at the moment, but to test the strength of that door. Nothing stirred, yet somehow I had a feeling there was weakness there.

  The floor was solid stone and well fitted together. Circling the walls I could find no weakness there. The door was a slim chance and it meant going out through the front, and if I made too much noise that guard would be in on me, but tonight I was going to try it. Believe me, I was.

  So I went back to my cot and laid down. It was almost two in the afternoon, and it was hot.

  Wesley came to the door with a fresh bucket of water. He put it down and handed me a gourd with a handle long enough to reach the bucket through the bars. "He'p yo'self," he said. "A man gits mighty dry."

  Maybe I napped for a spell, but it couldn't have been long for the first thing I know Chance Thorne is there at the bars looking in at me. "Sleeping your life away?" he said. "If I had only a few hours to live, I'd be awake and enjoying it."

  Well, I got off that crummy cot and stretched myself, and took my time, looking bored all the while. Not that I was feeling that way. I was wishing I could get through those bars and have a try at him with my hands. "Don't let it bother you. I'll live to spit on your grave."

  He didn't like it. Chance wanted me to beg, he wanted me humble, but surprisingly enough, suddenly I felt very good. Maybe it was because no man really believes he's going to die at a time like that. Right up to the last minute he's hoping something will happen to save his bacon. Whatever was going

  to save mine had better happen pretty sudden.

  "Don't think you'll get out," Chance told me, "Bob Lee can't help you. Nobody can. Lee is too busy hunting a hole himself. This town is ringed with soldiers, and others are searching the swamps like they've never been searched. Peacock had men watching for Lee at his home, and you know how any Peacock hates a Lee, and Bob in particular. If he isn't dead within a few hours, he'll die within the next week or two."

  Right now I was thinking of tonight and I wanted to feel him out. Turned out it didn't take any careful words to get at the truth, he was too sure of himself, and of me.

  "You can't get away with hanging me without a trial," I said. "Folks will be down here investigating right off."

  He chuckled, and couldn't resist a good brag. "Not if you're hung by somebody who isn't authorized," he said. "Supposing the soldiers should all hear about Bob Lee being some place and take off after him. No telling what might happen here in town, you've made a lot of enemies, Cullen, enemies like Sam Barlow."

  Showed I could guess how he was thinking, anyway. The worst of it was, it could happen just that way.

  What happened next I never heard of until later. It was Katy herself told me of it, and Jane Watson told me some more that she'd overheard. Jane was the name of that girl I'd helped take out of Sam Barlow's camp, the one who was about to get whipped.

  If anybody was thinking of Jane Watson right then it wasn't me, and I didn't even know her name, to tell the truth. She was one person I'd forgotten all about, and never expected to see again, but the way it turned out she hadn't forgotten me. I like folks, but never expect too much of them. We're all human and most folks are apt to forget favors you've done them, fact is, they remember the favors they do for you far better. Right then I didn't know it, but Jane had come up to Jefferson with blood in her eye, wanting to do something for me, and later she came to see me at the jail, but first she heard a conversation that was repeated to me.

  Seems Thomas Warren, that schoolteacher, met Katy in a store. Jane Watson, who knew neither of them at the time, overheard what followed.

  Katy was looking at some yard goods when

  Warren came up to her. "Have you heard the news?"

  "News?"

  "They've arrested Cullen Baker. They plan to hang him."

  "He will be tried first, I think." According to Jane it didn't seem that Katy wanted to discuss it.

  "There are rumors that he will be taken out of jail and hung immediately."

  "You don't like him, do you?"

  "He's a common oudaw, a murderer. How could I like him?"

  "You know that I do?"

  Warren had shrugged at that remark. "You feel you should like him because he's from here and because your Uncle Will liked him. He will bring you nothing but trouble, and it will ruin your reputation."

  "My reputation is my own concern."

  "It may," Warren said stiffly, "some day be your husband's concern. That is why I feel concerned."

  From what Jane said, Katy looked star- tied, and she said merely, "You have no reason to feel concerned, Tom. I like you, but the idea of you as my husband, if that is what you mean, why that's impossible."

  "Why? Why should it be?"

  Katy drew away from him at this point and perfecdy composed she said, "Mr. Warren, I am afraid you are assuming an interest on my part that has never existed. As for Cullen, no matter what is said of him, I know him to be a good man."

  Warren was excited then, or so Jane told me. He was so excited that it didn't appear just right somehow, or maybe that he was a litde off balance. Anyway, he told Katy, "He won't look so nice at the end of a rope! He is an evil man! That's why I-"

  "Why you-what?"

  Abrupdy he walked away from her, but at the door he had looked back. "You will feel different when you're rid of him," he said, "and then I'll be back."

  Right then, as Warren went out, Lacy Petraine came in, and she walked right up to Katy. "Miss Thorne, we need your help."

  And that was when Jane Watson went up to them both and told them why she had come to Jefferson. She knew how they both felt, and she said right out what she had come for.

  There was one other thing Chance had said that stuck in my mind, and with good cause. Just as he was leaving he had said that he and Joel Reese and some others would be

  back before I was hung. They wanted, Chance said, a private session with me in the cell. They would, he promised, make it easy for me to die. They would make me want to die.

  And that was enough to give a man something to think about.

  Chapter VI

  Katy had told me a good bit ab
out Warren, and some of it I could sort of piece together, seeing how he shaped up to me. He'd been born, she said, into a house that was run by two maiden aunts, and what happened to his folks, I never did hear. Only those two aunts must have made much of him as a youngster and, from what he told Katy, they had taught him to study hard, to stay away from rough boys and rough play, and to avoid all the vices named and unnamed in this most wicked of worlds.

  A man brought up like that is likely to grow up but not out, and I expect the world he lived in at twenty-seven wasn't much different than it had been at seventeen. To me he seemed like a man mighty positive of his own lightness, and usually those sort are all torn up inside by a lot of petty worries and

  petty ideas. But with those aunts always telling him he would be somebody.

  Maybe like some others he figured when the war was over that Texas was the place to come. A lot of young men had been killed, and there should be a lot of girls around with money. I heard talk of that sort, myself, and I wouldn't be surprised if something like that had been in his mind when he met Katy Thorne.

  Right now he was probably mad clear through, but less at Katy than at me.

  Standing by the window I saw Katy come out of the store with Lacy Petraine and Jane Watson. Now there was something to think about, and I was hoping that I was the only one doing that kind of thinking. Only I wasn't. Thomas Warren was standing across the street under a tree staring at them.

  Why? Well, it sort of didn't fit, if you know what I mean. Three women might get together and talk, that's true, but Lacy wasn't considered a quite nice person and Katy Thorne was as much aristocracy as we had in that corner of Texas right then, and she would have been aristocracy anywhere else, too.

  Jane Watson? Well, she came of a poor family on a small place south of here. There was no likely reason for her to be in town, and less reason for her to even know Katy or Lacy. Maybe Warren was thinking what I was, that the only common tie those three had was me, Cullen Baker.