A Hundred Miles to Water

by Mike Kearby

  “Who?” Pure fired back.

  “My oldest,” E.B. said.

  Pure rolled his eyes back over his left shoulder. “Nate?”

  “That’s who you’re looking for.”

  Pure turned his attention back to E.B. and raised the Colt slightly. He looked down the gun’s barrel. “Well, since I’m looking for him, where is he?” he asked and then backed up into the door frame.

  “No telling with that youngster.”

  Pure took a quick glance out into the street.

  “Probably off in some kind of trouble somewhere.”

  Pure nodded. “Sounds about right.”

  E.B. gestured at Pure. “Thought you was dead.”

  “What do you think now?”

  “That maybe, I should give the boy his due.”

  Pure turned his gaze back to E.B. “How’s that?”

  “He told me that you weren’t dead.”

  “I’d say that makes him smarter than his old man.”

  “You’re mighty brave when you’ve got the drop on a man,” E.B. fired back.

  “Not every man can be as honorable as Gunns, E.B.”

  “That sounds like smart talk.”

  “Probably,” Pure said.

  “Just what the hell do you want, Reston?” E.B. said. His voice betrayed his testiness. “Coming in here and holding me at gunpoint.”

  “You don’t know?”

  E.B. turned and looked at the store owner. “You’re a witness to this, Levi.”

  Edwards nodded and winked at Pure.

  Pure looked past E.B. to the storeowner. “Levi, have you seen Nate?”

  The storeowner made a slight nod of his head toward Pure and said, “No.”

  Pure glanced back through the door again and then moved forward toward E.B.

  “What now, Reston?” E.B. asked. “You gonna shoot me?”

  Pure moved with inches of E.B. and thrust the Colt into the elder Gunn’s chest. “Naw, I just feel less skittish standing over here beside you, E.B.”

  E.B.’s upper lip curled into a snarl. “I never took you for the nervous type,” he said.

  Pure grasped Buckshot’s spur with his left hand and removed it from his gun belt. He lifted the spur and dangled it in front of E.B.’s face. “Put it on,” he said.

  E.B. glanced at the spur and flushed red. Tiny specks of spittle emerged from the corners of his mouth. “You’ve gone loco, Reston,” he swore. “Crazy loco.”

  Pure pressed the spur into E.B.’s cheek. His mouth twisted unnaturally. He rolled the Snapping and Stretching gum between his front teeth. “Put it on, I said!”

  E.B. tensed and then grabbed the spur. In defying anger, he bent down and strapped the spur to his right boot.

  “Where’s the other one?”

  E.B. straightened and stood nose-to-nose with Pure. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Pure turned his attention to Levi Edwards. “He killed Buckshot Wallace and the kid.”

  The storeowner lowered his chin. “Hold on, Pure.”

  “I’m telling you he did, Levi.”

  “He couldn’t have.”

  Pure frowned, stunned. “He’s been wearing his spurs, Levi,” he said through clenched teeth. “He left the one strapped to his boot right now in Mexico not four days ago.”

  “Pure, on the day I first heard about Buckshot,” Levi paused. “E.B. got into a fight with one of Frank McElroy’s cowboys over in the saloon.”

  Pure inhaled. “Word about Buckshot couldn’t have got here for a day or so, Levi.”

  The store owner looked up. He stared into Pure’s eyes. “E.B. had been here drinking for almost the whole week.”

  E.B.’s eyes glistened. “Seems you’ve been found out for what you are, Reston.”

  “Shut-up,” Pure uttered.

  E.B. turned his head toward Edwards and smiled smugly. “And it ’pears you’re strong-arming days are done as well.”

  “Shut-up!” Pure screamed.

  “There’s witnesses now,” E.B. shouted.

  Pure trembled in rage. He pushed the gun further into E.B.’s chest.

  “Don’t do it, Pure.” Levi Edwards said.

  “He killed my brothers and my cowboys.”

  “That a ’nuther one of your stories, Reston.”

  A long slow screech sounded from the doorway.

  Pure froze at the sound.

  E.B. grinned.

  Levi Edwards made a face.

  E.B. glanced over Pure’s shoulder. A broad grin flashed across his mouth.

  Pure cursed to himself. A familiar voice crawled up his spine.

  “Best put down that Colt, Reston, or stand there and be killed,” said Nate Gunn.

  Forty-Four

  January 1879 - Dog Town, McMullen County, Texas

  E.B. reached out and eased the Peacemaker from Pure’s grip.

  “Careful, E.B., I’m a witness to all of this,” Levi Edwards said.

  Nate cast an evil smirk at the storeowner. “Watch your tongue, shop keep,” he said.

  E.B. scanned Pure from head to toe. “Well, look what we’ve got here, Nate. It’s the big-bug from the -R outfit.”

  Edwards leaned forward and placed his left hand on a shot gun under the counter. “I’m warning you, E.B.,” he threatened.

  E.B. brushed Edwards off with a wave of his hand. “Put that double-barrel away, Levi. Me and Nate are just gonna take big-bug, Reston here next door for a drink.”

  Nate smiled at Edwards and raised his brow. “You heard E.B., we’re just gonna try and talk some sense into this fella.”

  “Yeah,” said E.B. “We’re done feuding with the Restons.”

  Edwards looked up at Pure and waited.

  Pure raised his chin at the storeowner. “It’s ok, Levi. This pair relies on the dark of night or others to do their killings.”

  Edwards removed his hand from the gun under the counter. “If that’s how you want it, Pure.”

  Pure cocked his head to the left and glanced out of the corner of his eye toward Nate. “That’s how it’ll be for now.”

  Forty-Five

  January 1879 - Dog Town, McMullen County, Texas

  Five minutes later, Pure sat at one of three tables in Dogtown’s only saloon. Two glasses filled with half-a-finger of rot-gut rested in the middle of the table. E.B. took the chair opposite from Pure.

  Nate sat down three feet away and behind Pure. A Colt pistol rested across his lap.

  E.B. reached across the table and picked up one of the glasses of whiskey. “Reston, I ’spect it’s time we end this thing,” he said.

  Pure studied E.B. carefully. After a few seconds, he leaned forward and pushed the second glass toward the man. “Why now?”

  E.B. made a face, thinking, and then slanted his head to the right. “I dunno,” he said and lifted the whiskey glass to his lips. After a long drink, he said, “It just seems like the right time. I figure there’s been too much killing between us.”

  Pure took a long pause. His eyes narrowed on the elder Gunn. “I’ve got eleven dead,” he said.

  E.B. licked his lips and softly set the glass back on the table. “Only two family though.”

  Pure’s neck muscles tensed. “Not to me,” he said. “All eleven count.”

  E.B. shifted in his seat and glanced down at the table. “Yeah, we’ll I’ve got five sons, all family, all dead.”

  The air in the saloon changed.

  Pure lifted one of the empty glasses and stared at the cloud of whiskey grease that blocked the container’s transparency. “Four sons and a bastard, E.B.,” he said.

  Nate let out a muffled breath. He leaned forward and jammed his pistol into Pure’s spine. “Say one more word about Street that way, and I swear I’ll put one in your back.”

  E.B. raised a hand and patted the air. “Easy, Nate, he’s just trying to rile us.”

  Pure leaned back in his chair.

  E.B. picked up the remaining glass and motione
d it toward the barkeep. Looking back to Pure, he broke out into a belly laugh. “Well in strict interpretation, I’d say you were correct, Reston.”

  Nate clenched his jaw. “E.B., what are you saying?”

  E.B. pushed against the table and jumped to his feet. “I’m saying Street was the bastard son of C.A. Reston! And you know it to be true!” he growled, then lowered his voice and stared down his nose at Pure. “And you know it too, Mister high-and-mighty Pure Reston.”

  Pure sat unmoved.

  E.B. slapped at the table top. “Look at him, Nate. He’s a pretty smug bug right now.”

  Nate scooted his chair forward until it rested inches away from Pure. He leaned in close to Pure’s ear and hissed angrily, “How about my, ma, Reston? Where do you figure she rests in all of your number counting?”

  Pure inhaled and tightened his lips against one another.

  E.B. composed himself and sat back in his chair. He glanced at Pure and smiled. “The boy has a point, Reston. That’s why this thing needs to end now.”

  Pure exhaled. “From my side it sounds like you two are just all-of-a-sudden ’fraid of dying.”

  E.B. chuckled. “I don’t follow your logic, Reston. I mean you’re the one sitting unarmed and Nate’s pistol shoved square into your back.”

  Pure cleared his throat with little force. “You better go ahead and kill me then, E.B., because I’m not listening to you anymore.”

  “Don’t force my hand, Reston.”

  Pure looked around the saloon. His eyes drifted on the approaching bar keep. “I’m not too worried about dying, E.B.”

  “Why’s that?” Nate whispered in Pure’s ear.

  Pure lifted his eyes and turned his head toward Nate. “Because I realize it now…I should have seen it earlier…the both of you just have too much to lose,” he said.

  “What kinda nonsense is that, Reston?” E.B. grumbled.

  The bar keeps placed a glass of whiskey on the table and lifted his brow at Pure.

  Pure looked at the man and shook his head slightly. “Everything’s fine here,” he said.

  Nate tossed a hard gaze at the bar keep. “You heard him. Everything’s ok. Move along.”

  Pure glanced back at E.B. “What I mean is you’ve got gold coin now. My gold coin. Fourteen thousand of it.”

  E.B. sat back and waved a finger in Pure’s direction. “I always knew you were a smart one, Reston.”

  “I figure that’s more money than you’ve ever had in your pitiful life, E.B.”

  “Maybeso,” E.B. grinned, angry. “Maybeso.”

  “So, I going to stand up and walk right out that door.”

  Nate raked Pure’s back with the Colt. “You forgetting something, buckaroo?”

  Pure gripped both arms of his seat and slid the chair back into Nate. He rose to his feet with measured dignity. “You know what I’m looking forward to the most, Nate? The day I kill you.”

  Nate tossed Pure’s chair aside and sprang to his feet. “Why you son-of-a-dog!” he screamed. “I’ll shoot you down right now and enjoy the show of it!”

  “I don’t think you will, Nate.”

  E.B. roared to his feet. “Are you crazy, Reston?”

  Pure turned and started for the door. “Some think so.”

  Nate looked at E.B. anxious and bewildered. He raised the Colt. The hammer clicked back.

  E.B. placed his right hand atop the pistol and forced it down. “What makes you so sure we won’t shoot?” he shouted out.

  “Because of that gold coin, E.B.”

  “What?”

  “It’s what gives men like you a reason to live. Truth be told, it’s giving you fourteen thousand reasons to live.”

  “Reston! Don’t you turn your back on me!”

  “All that gold has got you fearing the possibility of hanging. That gold has got you all balled up.”

  “You’re loco crazy, Reston.”

  “Am I? Look at you, you can’t even shoot an unarmed man anymore.”

  “Don’t push your luck, cowboy.”

  “All because of some gold coin.”

  “You miserable—,” Nate spewed.

  Pure chuckled at the pair. “Because if you did, then you and Nate wouldn’t be able to spend any of that coin of mine.”

  “You just can’t let it go, can you, Reston? You’ve got to have your blood killings.”

  Pure walked for the door. “Killings?” he whistled. “You’ve tried a half dozen times with more than a dozen assassins to kill me, E.B.”

  “I’m offering a truce. I’m willing to put this thing behind us.”

  “Ain’t that just the way,” Pure said.

  “I’m warning you, Reston,” E.B. muttered, then in a much weaker tone said, “I’m warning you.”

  “Sorta funny though,” Pure said. “Because right now, I’m the one with nothing to lose.”

  “Reston…Why do this, this way?”

  Pure looked back over his shoulder. His eyes contracted. E.B. and Nate stood there amazed in disbelief. “Why? Because of something you’ll never understand, E.B., probably something you can’t understand. It’s the code…a man’s code.”

  E.B. trembled with rage. His hands balled into fists.

  Nate shoved the Colt back into his holster. He glared furious at Pure.

  Pure turned his head back and walked deliberately toward the street. “Watch yourself, boys. I’ve got less than a week to kill the both of you and get that gold back to Mexico, back to that caudillo you hired,” he called out and then disappeared out the door.

  Forty-Six

  January 1879 - Outside of Dog Town, McMullen County, Texas

  Twenty yards off the main trail and a mile out of Dogtown, Pure sat atop his horse. The Snapping and Stretching gum was pushed deep into the back corner of his jaw. Every few seconds he lifted the gum with his tongue, rolled it around his mouth, and then poked it back into his jaw. Contemplating.

  Deep in thought, he took no notice of the clop of a horse and rider approaching from his back.

  July slowed at the sight of the -R owner and walked his mount right up beside Pure’s horse. “And hello to you,” he said.

  Pure didn’t look over. Instead, he lifted a bladder from his saddle horn and held it out to his friend. “Might help cut the dust,” he said.

  July grinned and took the water. “You letting any rider come up behind you these days?”

  “I knew it was you.”

  “How so?”

  “Because trouble’s starting.”

  July swirled a mouthful of water in his mouth and then spit out the liquid. “Starting?” he laughed and raised the bladder back to his lips. “When did the last of it end?” he said and took a drink.

  Pure stared down the road. “E.B. and Nate will be coming down this road soon.”

  July cleared his throat and bit down on his bottom lip, contemplating. After three seconds he asked, “You haven’t mixed with them yet?”

  “We spoke.”

  July handed the bladder back to Pure. “Just spoke?”

  “Yep.”

  “No gun play or harsh words or nothing?”

  Pure chuckled inside. “It was downright civil.”

  “What was the cause of it?”

  “It seems the two of them are having some difficulty regarding the subject of their sudden wealth.”

  July slumped in his saddle. “I don’t follow.”

  Pure glanced over at his ranch foreman. “It appears that there is a certain level of wealth that makes a man more cautious about his possible demise.”

  July thought for a minute or so and then mumbled, “Hmmmph.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s amazing how fast men aspire to respectability when they get enough gold coin in their possession.”

  “Even more amazing when the coin is stolen,” Pure added.

  July leaned back and broke into a rousing fit of laughter.

  Pure grinned at July’s uncontrollable attack and ch
oked back his own laughter. “So, anyhow those two were all fired up to strike a deal with me.”

  “They wanted to make a deal with the son of C.A. Reston?”

  “Yep.”

  “What was the offer?” July asked, still choked.

  “End all of this right now.”

  July calmed himself. “Your sitting here tells me how that played out.”

  Pure turned his head toward July and shrugged. “That’s a deal couldn’t be made by me.”

  July nodded. “Well there’s Isa.”

  “And Paint.”

  “And my seven cowboys.”

  “And Buckshot and the kid.”

  “Seems like a lifetime ago.”

  “Yep.”

  Both men stared down the trail, remembering. The land turned unnaturally quiet.

  After minutes passed, July pushed his lips together and said, “Hey, what was the kid’s given name anyway?”

  Caught unaware, Pure stopped rolling his gum. His brow wrinkled. Five seconds went by. He glanced at July. “Billy…something.”

  July frowned, trying to recall. “Yeah, Billy. But what about his last name?”

  Pure started chewing the Snapping and Stretching gum in a deliberate, slow fashion. No answer came forthwith.

  July scratched the back of his neck. “Seems like something I should remember.”

  Pure considered July’s words. “Seems like.”

  July shook his head. “It’ll come to me.”

  “Most likely in the dead of a good night’s sleep.”

  July grinned. “Ain’t that the always the way?”

  “Seems so.”

  “Anyway, that’s eleven good reasons not to end this thing I reckon,” July said.

  Pure rolled the Snapping and Stretching gum to his front teeth. “Can I tell you something?” he said.

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “That’s why I feel like I need to tell you this.”

  “Won’t matter?” July said.

  “What’s that?”

  “No matter what you tell me, I’m still going to stay here with you.”

  Pure allowed the slightest of a glint of what might have been a smile to crease his lips. “Deep inside, I don’t figure to be doing this for the eleven,” he said.