by Clark Casey
Two cowpunchers dropped to the ground at once, both with bullets in their hearts and mouthfuls of dust as their last meals. The fourth man got off a second shot. It shattered a window of the rooming house down the road and some fifteen feet above Buddy’s head.
“Ain’t ya even tryin’ to hit me?” Buddy scolded as he stepped forward with his gun at his side. “Let me get this straight. You got four on one, and you don’t even wait till the count of ten. Hell! I’m flabbergasted.” He looked at the man in disgust. “Clearly we can’t have any kind of— what’d the vampire call?—harmonious society with people like you around.”
With that, he fired two bullets into the rotten beef-eater’s face. Hardin wasn’t smiling any longer. He turned and went back into the bar before the Chinaman dragged the bodies to the pigpen.
A couple of newbies fought over the dead men’s guns. Sal just gritted his teeth, not being able to claim the weapons since then Buddy’d know he put them up to it.
“So, you decided if you wanna be sheriff or not?” I asked Buddy.
“I suppose I ain’t fit for the job,” he admitted. “Need somebody who drinks less and won’t get drawn into this kinda bullshit.” He turned and walked over to the hotel.
“Where’s he going?” Sal asked.
“I reckon he’s gonna consult the vampire,” Red said. “Everyone else in this town sits around drinking all day and fights over nothin’.”
Just after supper, Buddy returned to the Foggy Dew with a hammer and a cowhide under his arm. He unrolled it and nailed it to a beam beside the bar so that the fur was facing the wall. On the skin side was written:
Rules
1. Everybody eats.
2. No raping or killing Ms. Parker.
3. No shooting a man that ain’t heeled.
4. No back shooting.
5. No killing over dumb shit.
6. The vampire decides whether or not it’s dumb shit.
7. If the vampire ain’t around, Buddy decides whether or not it’s dumb shit, less he’s real drunk.
8. If Buddy’s real drunk, don’t start no dumb shit cause he’ll prolly kill y’all anyway.
Nigel wasn’t officially declared the sheriff or anything. He didn’t want the responsibility of policing men, but it let folks know the pecking order. Hardin glanced up at the rules. His bottom lip curled in disfavor, then he spat some chewing tobacco on the floor and went back to his dice game without a word.
Sal had hoped the notion of free grub would blow over, but it was hard to ignore it written in big letters as the first rule on the wall, and with the backing of the vampire. He wasn’t the first to vent his disagreement though. A squeaky voice chirped up from the back of the room, “The wolves are probably gonna come in here and tear us all to pieces any day now, and you’re posting rules!” We all turned, surprised to find Whiny Pete was doing the talking. The tears on his cheeks showed that the words weren’t spoke in anger, but fear. He did give voice to everyone’s main concern, and we were curious for a reply.
“Ah, them wolves might come after us in an hour, or it could be ten years…” Buddy said. “Ain’t mean we gotta live like a bunch a savages just ’cause we’re gonna go to hell eventually.”
The room remained quiet as folks considered it in earnest.
“Shit, for a lot of you fellas, this ain’t much different from when you was alive,” Buddy continued. “Y’all hid out among the willows most days with a bounty on your head and the prospect of a rope necktie not far off. What’s the use a goin’ on like this? Everybody shootin’ each other over nothin’. Ain’t no way to live… Or rather, ain’t no way to pass the time while you’re dead. Can’t get no peace! We might as well see if Tom’s on the right path with his pacifist ways. Hell, after a year’s time, we could all march through the gates of heaven together. Just think… a hundred rotten outlaws up there in the clouds, playin’ poker with the saints—and Sneaky Jim stealin’ sips from angels whenever they get up to piss. We’d shake things up!”
Red was the first to break the silence with a loud cackle, and the rest quickly joined in till nearly everyone in the room was doubled over in fits of laughter.
“Ah, suit yourself,” Buddy said. “Alls I know is I ain’t gonna listen to nobody beg for food no more.” He stormed out of the saloon. After the laughter died down, folks had to discuss the rules seriously. Couldn’t just disregard what the fastest gun and the vampire said. Sal was quietly collecting glasses around the room. He still hadn’t replaced Stumpy with a new barback. There were plenty of men willing to do the job, but he seemed happy for the excuse to get away from the bar.
“The way I see it, them rules only hold if someone’s around to enforce ’em,” Red said.
“Buddy’ll enforce ’em,” I said.
“Don’t be so sure,” Spiffy argued. “He’s making enemies a man who likes to bend his elbow can’t afford to have. Jack only lasted as long as he did ’cause he hardly drank in a town full of drunks.”
“He’s right,” Red said. “Sooner or later, Buddy’ll get sloppy, and the guy preparing the grub has a pretty good reason to see him sent to hell. Takes a lot of energy to be on the lookout for hired guns all the time.”
“Sal already tried that with them four cowboys and failed,” I said. “If he fails again, Buddy’s likely to figure it out.”
“So what’s Sal’s next move then?” Red asked. “You reckon he’s just gonna lay over and forget about how he was slighted?”
“Not sure what his next move is,” I said. “But Sal ain’t one to forget a slight.”
We reckoned nothing more was going to be said about the matter, at least for the night, so it wasn’t worth speculating about. Strong convictions often lost steam between the last whiskey of the night and the first beer of the morning. A short while later though, Sal climbed up on top of a stool. He reckoned he should get out ahead of the issue before folks started thinking he didn’t have no more authority in town.
“Gather ’round everyone. I have an announcement to make,” he called out. “From now on, there will be no charge for food.” Everybody cheered. “One more thing,” he added, “drinks will now be four bits instead of two.”
Chapter 20
The Whereabouts of Spiffy and Other Mysteries
“I recouped my losses from giving away all that grub,” Sal boasted. “And then some!” His voice hit a defensive pitch.
“That so?” I said.
“Sure. Fact is, dead men drink much more’n they eat. Shoulda changed things sooner, a lot sooner! I was considering it for some time. Long before Buddy came to town.”
Red rattled his lips in disbelief.
“Buddy mighta wrote up them rules, but we had words first,” Sal added.
“Was that before or after you heeled them four cowpunchers to go after him?” I asked.
“Say what you will, but I ain’t had no hand in any schemes against Buddy,” he declared and walked off before anyone could press him on the matter.
“Sal seems to have made his peace with the new rules,” Spiffy said between bites of free pork chops. He was on his third lunch.
“Don’t look good when the clientele decides the prices,” Red noted. “Next, some fella might walk in and decide whiskey should be free, too. Then where would Sal be?”
“He’s right,” Lucky interrupted. The boy didn’t say much unless the conversation pertained to cards or strategy, and it was usually worth hearing since he had a knack for calculating odds. “Sal don’t act soon, could be taken as a sign of weakness. Gotta raise a weak hand, same as a strong one. Otherwise, folks’ll get to thinkin’ they can bully you.”
Buddy and Ms. Parker came in and sat down at the faro table. They preferred the pace of it to poker, and the odds were a little better—if no one cheated. Ms. Parker proved a better gambler than Buddy. She was more prudent in her wagering
, while he threw money around willy-nilly. She didn’t spend any of her winnings on drinks on account of the baby, so she was sitting on a tidy sum.
Hardin took a keen interest in the couple, eyeballing them from across the room at the dice table. There wasn’t much cause for him to rub elbows with Buddy, and so long as they didn’t have women or gambling to argue over there was no reason for them to lock horns. At least until Sal closed down both the dice and the faro tables that evening. Said they needed mending.
“Mighty convenient,” Red winked, “both tables needin’ mendin’ at the same time.”
“General wear and tear,” Sal replied curtly. “They’re over forty years old!”
“Wouldn’t have anything to do with them rules Buddy put up, or how Hardin and his lady drink for free, would it?”
“Too many damn mouths to feed,” Sal grumbled. “I ain’t scheming nothing, but it sure wouldn’t hurt if the town got a little smaller. Don’t look at me like that! Alls I’m saying is if they happen to have a disagreement over cards and one shot the other, I wouldn’t lose no sleep.”
Hardin and Mabel had a late supper that Sal prepared special. Afterward, Sal showed them to a table where Buddy and Ms. Parker were already playing poker. Wasn’t easy finding people to play cards with Hardin. Folks feared he’d put holes in them if he lost. Sal knew Ms. Parker didn’t have the sense to fold though, and Buddy surely wouldn’t let her. It was a tense moment when they first sat down.
“Interestin’ rules up on the wall, fella,” Hardin said.
“Name’s Buddy Baker.”
“Baker, huh? I hearda you.”
“Really?” Buddy sounded flattered that the famous outlaw knew of him.
“Nah,” Hardin laughed, then looked over his cards like he was judging prize ponies on the auction block. Buddy barely glanced at his. Seemed more interested in the shine of the whiskey in his glass.
“Spend any time in the skillet?” Hardin asked, referring to his home state of Texas.
“Had me a little throat trouble in Fort Worth.” Buddy pointed to the rope marks on his neck. “Rangers gave me a necktie for it.”
After everyone had a chance to look at their cards, Buddy opened with a five-dollar bet, but it scared the others off and they folded one by one.
“Some of my kin caught hemp fever in Texas, too,” Hardin said. “Lynch mob broke into the jailhouse, strung up my brother and two cousins. Bastards made the noose hang too low on purpose so they’d die slower. When we cut ’em down, there was tuffs of grass between their toes from trying to clench the earth and keep from strangling.”
On the next hand, Hardin bet three dollars. It was still too big to open with and even those with halfway decent cards mucked their hands.
“I heard you did a spell in the crowbar hotel,” Buddy said to Hardin.
“Sure did. They got me for killing a deputy in Comanche. Did sixteen years on a twenty-five-year sentence,” he said plainly.
“That’s quite a stint.”
“Got me a law degree while I was in there. Read a mess a them religion books, too. They let me out for good behavior. Then I practiced law for a spell.”
“Well, I’ll be!” Mabel gushed. “I didn’t know we had ourselves a real lawyer here. Imagine that! Handsome and smart. Were you lawyerin’ for long, honey?”
“Nah, a man in El Paso bet me five bucks I wouldn’t shoot some brown belly who was loafing in the sun. By the time the sheriff found him, I dare say that fella had a pretty good tan.” Hardin snickered wickedly. “I was playing dice when the sheriff caught up with me. Just got on a roll when I saw him in the mirror behind the bar. Reckoned I could finish my roll before he drew. It kinda precluded my lawyerin’ career.” He fingered the bullet holes in his skull. “I don’t expect I’ll let that happen again.”
“Have you killed many men?” Ms. Parker asked.
Everyone within earshot hushed up, knowing Hardin had shot men for talking out of line.
“Well, ma’am, I ain’t never killed no one that didn’t need killin’.” He flashed a crooked smile.
The cards were dealt and everybody checked on betting till it came to Ms. Parker. She put in two bucks. Nobody must’ve had so much as a pair because they all folded.
“Say Buddy, with them rules you hung up, you aimin’ to make some sort of civilized society here beyond the grave?” Hardin asked.
“Reckon you could say that,” Buddy answered. “Just ’cause we’re dead don’t mean we can’t be civil.”
“I suppose a place without rules ain’t no good for raisin’ youngins neither.” Hardin eyed Ms. Parker. The coldness of his stare made her grip her tummy.
The cards were dealt again. Hardin didn’t want to scare anyone off, so he only bet a buck. Buddy saw it and raised two bucks. Then Ms. Parker bit her lip and raised it five more.
“It’s either feast or famine ’round here!” Mabel said, mucking her cards. “Too rich for my blood.”
Buddy and Hardin both saw the bet. There was over twenty-five dollars in the pot. Some of the newer boys gathered around to watch. Folks who’d been around a while took a step back, fearing the bet might be called with gunfire. Sal grabbed his shotgun from the umbrella stand and placed it below the bar.
“What’s he doing with the buffalo gun?” Lucky asked.
“Not sure,” I said. “If they draw, maybe he’s gonna take out the winner.”
“Be a smart move. Then he don’t have to worry about either of ’em cutting in on his take.”
Just then Nigel came through the swinging doors looking bored and restless. There hadn’t been a gunfight in days nor any more flashes in the sky to watch. Wasn’t anything else to do but drink. He saw Ms. Parker at the poker table, so to be cautious he stayed at the other side of the bar near the door. Sal set his shotgun down on top of the beer cases and poured Nigel a tall glass of gin. He might’ve been willing shoot Buddy or Hardin, but he wasn’t going to do it while Nigel was around, in case he didn’t approve.
“The thing about rules,” Hardin said abruptly, “is they make a place boring.” He laid his cards down, showing three jacks.
“Dang it all!” Buddy thumped down a pair of kings and slid his chips to the center.
Hardin was about to rake in the pot, but Ms. Parker laid her cards on top of his and said, “I think the true measure of a man is how well he can excel within the rules.” She had three queens.
“Well, I’ll be!” Buddy proclaimed.
An awful grimace came over Hardin’s face. Losing was hard enough for him to swallow. Losing to a woman tore him up. Ms. Parker quickly gathered up her chips.
“I clocked you while you was shooting them boys the other day,” Hardin told Buddy. “You’re pretty fast.”
“Thanks.”
“But if you’re gonna race a train, you better not show up on a pony.”
Hardin rose and headed to the bar. The men all cleared a path and a fresh beer was waiting for him by the time he arrived. After a respectable but not too noticeable pause, Mabel bid good evening and followed Hardin.
“What the hell did that mean?” Buddy asked. “Ain’t no trains in Damnation.”
“He means to fight you,” Ms. Parker explained.
“Well, why don’t he just put it plain instead a going on about trains and ponies.”
“He was trying to get your goat. Tell me something,” she asked worriedly, “and don’t lie to me. Is he fast?”
“Some say he’s faster than anyone. Can’t really know till you go against a man though.”
“But he said he clocked you!” Ms. Parker looked as jittery as a jackrabbit. “Does that mean he knows who’s quicker?”
“Dunno, ma’am. Ain’t never bothered to clock myself. Figured anyone who’d wanna do that is killin’ for the wrong reason.”
“Please, don’t go against
him, Buddy. He’s a wicked man. Promise me you won’t let him goad you into fighting.”
“With him speakin’ in code about trains and ponies, I don’t expect I’ll have to, ma’am. But if he comes at me directly, I can’t avoid it.”
As Ms. Parker sulked, her brown hair fell over her face, masking a pout. Wasn’t just protection for the baby she was after. Nigel could do that. Buddy was the closest friend she had in town—though he probably wished they were more than that.
“Don’t worry, ma’am.” Buddy reached out and tickled her elbow. She smiled and swatted his hand playfully. “Truth is, sometimes the guns come out of their holsters all on their own. Ain’t no time for thinking, and if you do, you might get shot on account of it. Guns prolly already decided the matter, so there ain’t no use in us frettin’ over it.”
“Oh, you’re a damn fool!” Ms. Parker smiled. She wanted to believe what he said just to keep from worrying. Buddy escorted her back to her room, and by the time he returned to the Foggy Dew, Hardin and Mabel had already left.
“Anyone seen Spiffy?” Red asked.
“Nope,” Sal said.
“Bastard still owes me five dollars, and he ain’t been in for three days.”
“Didja check the rooming house?” I asked.
“First place I checked after I saw he wasn’t preening himself in the latrine.”
“How about the outskirts of town?” Sal asked.
“What the hell’d he be doing out there for three days?”
“Maybe he messed with them Indians,” Buddy suggested. “Coulda picked a fight and got scalped. Anyway, that’s where I’d leave a body if I didn’t want nobody stumbling across it.”