Standoff in Santa Fe

by J. R. Roberts

  “Come on,” Clint said, “I’ll buy you a beer.”

  “A little early, isn’t it?”

  “Let’s just call it an extension of breakfast,” Clint suggested.

  “I can live with that,” Bat said.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Clint and Bat took up a place at the end of the bar and ordered two beers. They were halfway through them when the sheriff walked in. He joined them at the bar. The place still had only a few customers.

  “Beer?” Clint asked.

  “Too early for me,” Burle said. “Did you talk to Conlon?”

  “We did,” Clint said. “It wasn’t a very satisfying conversation.”

  “Well, I better go up and talk to him myself, then.”

  “Hey,” Clint said, “have you seen Thad today? What happened to him last night?”

  “Thad is a heavy sleeper,” Burle said. “He’s over at the office now.”

  As Burle walked to the stairs and started up, Bat Masterson looked at Clint and said, “I can understand that.”

  They heard Burle knock on Conlon’s door, heard it open, and after a few muttered words, they assumed he went inside.

  “I don’t think he’s going to get much satisfaction either,” Clint said.

  “I should’ve shot Conlon five years ago when I caught him cheating,” Bat said.

  “Is that your beef with him?”

  “I hate cheaters,” Bat said.

  “Why didn’t you shoot him?”

  “Because five years ago is when I started getting more civilized.”

  “Well, some people would say civilization isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Amen,” Bat said.

  * * *

  It only took fifteen minutes for Sheriff Burle to come back down. By that time Heck Thomas had joined Clint and Bat at the bar, and the place had started to fill up as people realized it was already open.

  Clint, Bat, and Heck all turned to face the lawman, a beer in each of their left hands.

  “How’d it go?”

  “It’s frustrating,” Burle said. “I warned him that his security force better not kill anyone else, but he does have the right to protect his property.”

  “Ready for that beer now?” Clint asked.

  “Hell, yes!” Burle said.

  * * *

  Craddock woke up and glanced at the naked girl next to him. He looked out the window and judged that he had slept too long. Well, but too long.

  He got up and walked to the window. There were already people on the street, having already started their day.

  He rubbed his hands over his face. He was getting old. He’d be forty on his next birthday, and he hadn’t slept this late in years. Not even after a night of sex with a whore.

  But they had quit early last night, he recalled, and gone to sleep.

  He walked to the bed, where the naked girl had somehow hiked her butt up in the air while still asleep. She was pretty, and his penis began to harden as he looked at her butt. However, he couldn’t afford to spend any more time with her.

  He walked to the dresser against the wall, used the pitcher and basin to wash his face, neck, chest, and pits. As an afterthought he soaked a cloth and washed his crotch. Then he got dressed and strapped his gun on.

  He walked to the bed, looked down at the whore again, then slapped her soundly on her raised butt.

  “Ow!” she howled, turning over. “Wha—”

  “I don’t know what time you have to go to work, but I thought you’d like to know it’s late.”

  “Wha—” she said again, looking around.

  “Last night was great,” he said. He took out some money and put it on the stand next to the bed. “There ya go. Enough?”

  She didn’t bother to look, just waved at him and said, “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.” She fell back on the bed and sprawled out, her arms wide. He stared at her taut breasts, the dark nipples, felt a stirring, and abruptly went to the door and left.

  * * *

  Burle left after one beer, while Clint, Bat, and Heck Thomas ordered a second one each. The saloon continued to fill up and the talk they overheard led them to believe that most of the people there expected the wake to take place that day.

  When Craddock came down the stairs, Clint saw him right away, nudged his two colleagues.

  “Well, okay,” Bat said, “Craddock’s still in town.”

  The bounty hunter went to the bar and ordered a beer. But this time John Wesley Hardin had already claimed his former place at the bar. The batwings opened and Jim Miller walked in. Clay Allison had not yet arrived.

  But the gang was almost all there!

  THIRTY-SIX

  In the next half hour Clint and Bass Reeves broke up two fights that threatened gunplay. Reeves had come in about five minutes before the first fight.

  Two cowhands got into it over a saloon girl and almost went for their guns. Clint and Reeves didn’t make them change their minds, just their location.

  “You wanna kill each other?” Reeves asked.

  “Do it outside,” Clint said, and they tossed both men out the door.

  Next, two cowboys started a fight over two bits somebody had left on the bar. Clint and Reeves threw them and the two bits out into the street.

  * * *

  Later, Bat Masterson said, “I’ve had more beer these last few days than I’ve ever had before.”

  “I know what you mean,” Clint said, swirling what was left at the bottom of his mug.

  Luke Short, who had joined them just a few minutes before, said, “Maybe we should just rush that room and get it over with.”

  “We’d have to go against Trench and his guards,” Heck Thomas said.

  “Do you think they could stand against us?” Luke asked. “What if we enlisted the aid of Hardin, Allison, and Miller? What then?”

  “A bloodbath,” Clint said. “Granted, we’d come out on top, but it would leave too many men dead.”

  “And Clint and I wouldn’t be able to go along with the act,” Bass Reeves said. “Not while we wear these deputy’s badges.”

  “So then what? We continue to wait?” Luke asked.

  “Any one of us can leave at any time,” Clint said. “If your only goal here is to make sure he’s dead, we can certainly pass the word on that.”

  “Well, speaking for myself,” Heck said, “I’d still like to see it with my own eyes.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” Luke said. “Keepin’ us waitin’ this way.”

  “Agreed,” Bat said, “but what can we do? Drag Conlon down from his office and force him to bring the body out?”

  “Bloodshed again,” Clint said.

  “Yeah . . .” Bat said.

  Clint looked farther down the bar.

  “I’m surprised those fellas are still here, waiting,” he said.

  “Hardin?” Heck said. “Allison and Miller? What’s the rush for them? None of them are wanted here.”

  “And then there’s Craddock,” Reeves said. “He’s still around, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Clint said. “We saw him this morning. He came down from upstairs, had a drink, and left.”

  “Could he have left town?” Luke asked.

  “I doubt it,” Clint said. “As long as there’s to be a wake, he’ll wait and see if Tom Horn arrives.”

  “So we all wait,” Bat said, “because of Conlon. And we drink his beer and whiskey and put money in his pockets.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “why didn’t we think of that before?”

  “Think of what?” Reeves asked.

  “Let’s take our money somewhere else,” Clint said. “We’ll drink somewhere else. That’ll take profit from his pocket.”

  “How so?” Reeves asked. “The five of us drinkin�
�� elsewhere will do that?”

  “Five men with reputations,” Clint said. “Don’t you think others will follow us? Wanting to drink where Bat Masterson drinks? And Heck Thomas?”

  “And the Gunsmith,” Luke said.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, okay, then,” Heck said. “Where to, boys?”

  “I know just the place,” Clint said.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Well, well,” the bartender, Kelly O’Day, said as they walked into the Buckskin, “is the wake over?”

  “Hasn’t even started,” Clint said.

  “Then what brings you and your friends here?” O’Day asked.

  “We decided to stop putting money into Ben Conlon’s pockets,” Bat said, “and do our waiting somewhere else.”

  “Well,” O’Day said, “I’m happy to have such distinguished gentlemen in my place. First round is on the house, gents.”

  He set five beers up for the five men. The few others in the small saloon stayed away from the five men with deadly reputations, but they did not leave the place. They still wanted to drink there, just not next to the famous lawmen and gunmen.

  And little by little, as the day went on, more men came into the Buckskin, having left the Crystal in search of the five famous men.

  The plan was working. The Buckskin was filled to the rafters, and the Crystal Queen was losing money it otherwise would have had.

  * * *

  Ben Conlon looked down at the saloon floor and frowned. He expected to see more people. And when he looked at the bar, his frown deepened.

  “They’re gone,” Alicia said, coming up alongside him.

  “Who?”

  “You know who,” she said. “Clint Adams, Bat Masterson, and the others. The men you were counting on to keep bringing people into your saloon.”

  “Where’d they go?”

  “Somewhere else,” she said. “What does it matter? They’re not here anymore. And others are following them.”

  “We still have those three,” Conlon said, indicating Hardin, Miller, and Clay Allison.

  “And the young lawman, Baca,” she said, “but it’s not enough.”

  Conlon could see that.

  “It might be time, Ben,” she said.

  “Time for what?”

  “You know,” she said, “the wake. Start the wake.”

  He looked at her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  The bartender looked up at his boss, and Conlon waved to him.

  “Go back to your room, Alicia, and mind your own business,” Conlon said.

  He turned and went into his office.

  Instead of going to her room, Alicia waited while the bartender came up.

  “What’s goin’ on?” he asked.

  “That’s what I want to know,” she said. “What do you know about the body?”

  The man shrugged. “Nothin’. I ain’t even ever seen it.”

  She nodded. He stepped to the door and knocked. When Conlon said, “Come!” he entered.

  Alicia went to her room, but not to stay there. She got her wrap, and left again. She went down the back stairs, and out the back way.

  * * *

  The bartender entered his boss’s office and didn’t have to say a word.

  “Get me Trench!” Conlon growled.

  “Yessir!”

  * * *

  Clint was surprised when he saw Alicia walk into the Buckskin.

  “Well, well,” Bat said. “What do you think she wants?”

  “Maybe,” Clint said, “she wants us back.”

  Alicia looked around the small saloon, spotted Clint, and walked over.

  “Can we talk?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said, “go ahead.”

  She looked around at his friends and said, “Alone?”

  Although the Buckskin was busier than it had ever been, there were still tables available. Clint walked Alicia to one in the back and they sat down.

  “You made the right move, you know,” she said.

  “Did I?”

  “You and all your friends,” she said. “You’re hurting Conlon where it matters to him, in his wallet.”

  “It’s his own fault,” Clint said. “A bunch of us are also on the verge of leaving town, figuring the wake is just a big hoax.”

  She did not reply.

  “Is it?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “You haven’t seen the body?”

  “Even if I did, I wouldn’t recognize it.”

  “But you have seen a body, right?”

  She hesitated, then said, “No—but I don’t want to see any dead bodies.”

  “So you don’t know what Conlon’s up to.”

  “He’s up to what he’s always up to,” she said, “makin’ money.”

  “Well, if he doesn’t start that wake soon, he may not have a place,” Clint said.

  “What have you heard?”

  “People are becoming impatient,” Clint said. “Evidenced by those three last night. There’ll be more bloodshed, and that’s if somebody doesn’t just burn the place down.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Have you heard someone threaten that?”

  “Right now people are just talking,” Clint said, since he’d never really heard anyone suggest that. He was just trying to scare her and, in turn, maybe Conlon.

  “Tell your boss he better get it started before he loses more customers.”

  She frowned and said, “I will.”

  He walked her to the front door under the eyes of most of the customers, who recognized her from the Crystal.

  “Come and see me later,” she said, touching his arm.

  “If I can,” he said.

  She nodded and left. Clint rejoined his friends at the bar again.

  “What was that about?” Luke asked.

  “Or was it personal?” Bat added.

  “Not personal,” Clint said, and told them about the conversation.

  “That was good thinking,” Heck said, “mentioning somebody burning the place down.”

  “Yeah,” Reeves said, “maybe somethin’ will get done now.”

  “I hope so,” Bat said. “I don’t know if I can drink another beer.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Craddock was sitting in front of the hotel when the man rode in on a roan pony. Craddock narrowed his eyes as he tried to see the man’s face beneath the pulled-down brim of his hat.

  He wasn’t sure, but he thought the man was Tom Horn.

  As the rider passed him—paying him no apparent mind—he stood up so he could watch him ride all the way down the street. As he watched, the man reined in his horse in front of the Crystal Queen, dismounted, and went inside.

  Craddock started walking toward the saloon, still watching the man.

  As the man entered the saloon, he looked around, saw two men he knew, but ignored them. He walked to the bar and ordered a beer.

  * * *

  Farther down the bar, John Wesley Hardin saw the man enter and thought he recognized him. He looked over at Miller and Clay Allison, wondering if they did, too.

  Miller nudged Allison and said, “Is that Tom Horn?”

  Allison turned his head to have a look.

  “I think so.”

  “First Craddock, now Horn,” Miller said. “I wonder who they’re after.”

  “With any luck,” Allison said, turning back to his beer, “each other.”

  * * *

  Craddock stopped in front of the batwing doors and looked in. He saw the man standing at the bar, but could only see his back. He still didn’t know for sure if this was Horn or not.

&nb
sp; He came through the batwings, figuring there was only one way to find out.

  * * *

  Trench entered Conlon’s office and stood in front of his desk with his hands clasped in front of him.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “I want you to double the guard on that room,” Conlon said.

  “Okay.”

  “But I want you to do something else.”

  “What?”

  “Sit down,” Conlon said, “and I’ll explain . . .”

  * * *

  Elfego Baca watched from his table as the stranger entered and walked to the bar, then saw Craddock appear at the door and walk in. He also wondered where Clint Adams and the other lawmen and ex-lawmen had gone.

  * * *

  A man came running into the Buckskin and shouted, “We think Craddock has found his man in the Crystal.”

  Clint and Bat exchanged a quick glance.

  “Horn?” Bat asked.

  “We better go and see.”

  “What if it’s a trick to get us back to the Crystal?” Luke asked.

  “Then I’d say it worked.”

  Clint and Bat left the Buckskin, while Heck Thomas and Luke Short stayed behind.

  * * *

  Craddock took up a position at the bar, about halfway between John Wesley Hardin and the stranger he thought might be Tom Horn. By using the mirror behind the bar, he determined that he was right. It was Horn.

  “Beer?” the bartender asked.

  “Whiskey,” Craddock said. He always had whiskey before he was going to kill a man.

  * * *

  Trench came out of Conlon’s office, looked down at the saloon floor, then went back to the office.

  “Hey, boss,” he said, “I think you better come out and watch this.”

  Conlon came out of his office.

  “What is it?”

  Trench pointed down and said, “Craddock. I think he found his man.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “He ordered whiskey,” Trench said. “Craddock always orders whiskey before he kills.”

  Conlon stared down with interest.

  THIRTY-NINE

  As Clint and Bat entered the saloon, they could feel the tension in the air. Everyone’s attention seemed to be on the bar. They looked that way and Clint recognized Craddock.