by Ralph Cotton
“I understand, Sheriff,” said Shaw, “and I appreciate it. I reckon we have something in common, you and me.”
“Yep,” said the sheriff, staring straight ahead of himself now. “There’s very few people I’ve ever talked to about my wife’s death, at least not in any personal way. I did notice that shortly after her death, it seemed like every available woman within miles wanted to do something to make me feel better…comfort me in my loneliness, so to speak.” He looked at Shaw, noting Shaw’s interest as he continued. “I know part of it was because of me being a lawman. It seems women have a powerfully high regard for lawmen and gunmen.” He smiled and shrugged. “I’ve never known why, but being a gunman I reckon you know what I’m talking about.” He nodded back over his shoulder toward the Desert Flower Inn.
“Sheriff, I’m not here with any designs on Della Starks, and nothing that belonged to her husband interests me in any way, especially his money.”
“I admire a man not easily taken in by a dead man’s fortune or a warm widow’s charm,” said the sheriff. After a second he said, “To tell you the truth I always had a soft spot of Della. When Purvis Starks died and I heard that his widow might be coming here to Eagle Pass, I had a wild notion that I might see how I fared with her.” He rubbed his cleanshaven chin. “I even bought this new shirt and all. Now it looks like you’ve plumb swept her off her feet.” He brushed a hand down the bib-front shirt. “Looks like I’m out thirty-five cents for nothing.”
“Sorry, Sheriff,” said Shaw.
“No need to apologize,” said Neff. “She is a beautiful woman…you are a gunman.” He sighed.
Shaw nodded. “I’m glad you understand.”
“Now then,” said Sheriff Neff, “let me tell you what I’ve got figured on Sidlow Talbert. The only charge I’ve got him on is public drunkenness and shooting out a string of windows along Front Street. There’s already been a couple of men showed up and paid for the damage he did. I’ve got him serving thirty days for the shooting and disturbing the peace. Those two fellows who paid his damages offered to pay a fine to get him released. I figured it best to make him serve the time, make him think twice before shooting up my town again.”
“Who were these two fellows?” asked Shaw.
“They said their names were Smith and Jackson,” said Neff with a disbelieving expression. “Ha! I recognized one right off as Willie the Devil but I didn’t let on right then. The other was probably Donald Hornetti. From what I hear they’re always together.”
“Are they part of Talbert’s gang?” Shaw asked.
“They’re a part of anybody’s gang whose got some dirty deeds that need doing,” said Neff. “But it’s safe to say they spend most of their time with Talbert. I don’t know that they were with him when your wife got killed.”
“If I see them, Cray Dawson can tell me. He saw Talbert and his men leaving after they killed Rosa,” Shaw said.
Sheriff Neff noted how Shaw’s voice softened when it came to saying his dead wife’s name. “I’d say that makes your friend Dawson a very dangerous man to Talbert and his bunch,” the sheriff speculated. “Does he realize how bad Talbert and his boys will want to kill him, knowing he can identify them?”
“Cray Dawson doesn’t care, Sheriff,” said Shaw. “He just wants to see them pay for what they did.” Changing the subject slightly, Shaw said, “How many days does Sidlow Talbert have left to serve?”
“Only eighteen days left,” said Sheriff Neff, “but he acts like it’s killing him. You know how these wild boys are…can’t stand a set of bars between them and anything they could destroy if they took a notion. He keeps thinking his brother Barton and Blue Snake and the rest is coming to bust him out—I thought it too the first few days. But they’re not coming for him. They sent Willie the Devil to pay his way out, but that’s all they’re going to do. They must figure thirty days ain’t going to hurt him none, and it ain’t worth getting me and a posse down their shirts. I probably couldn’t catch them, but I would sure cramp their style.”
“They must have big plans of some kind,” said Shaw, considering it.
“That kind of scoundrel always has some kind of big plans they’re counting on,” said Sheriff Neff. “But whatever it is, they ain’t coming to bust Sidlow out, so there’s no use in you waiting around here for them, hoping that will happen.”
“I see,” said Shaw, contemplating it further. The two grew quiet the rest of the way to the office. Then, before stepping through the door, Shaw said, “I still want to look this rat in the eyes…I’ll know whether or not he was there when my Rosa died.”
“I understand,” said the sheriff, eyeing Shaw’s tied-down holster, the big Colt close to his hand. Neff knew there was nothing he could do to stop Lawrence Shaw from drawing that gun and splattering Sidlow Talbert all over the wall of his cell if Shaw decided to. But Shaw had already given his word. Sheriff Neff couldn’t question it now. “Just don’t expect him to tell you much,” Neff added, reaching out and opening the door.
Inside the door, Shaw stopped and looked over at the two cells along the wall. One cell sat empty, its door open wide and a mattress rolled up on a wooden-framed cot. In the other stood Sidlow Talbert, a thin young man with his hair disheveled and a week’s growth of beard on his hard-edged face. He stood in his sock feet wearing dirty canvas trousers over his summer long johns, the buttons open down the front of his uppers. Before Sheriff Neff could say anything, Sidlow called out, grasping the bars with both hands, “Three more rats deserted this pus hole while you were gone, Sheriff. They said to tell you they wouldn’t be back until you cleaned this up and started feeding better.” His words ended in a short fit of harsh laughter.
“You’re a real funny man, Sidlow,” said the sheriff. “But if I was you I’d simmer it down and show some manners here. This is Lawrence Shaw. He came all the way from Somos Santos to see you. I expect you already know why.”
“No, I expect I don’t know why,” said Sidlow Talbert, showing an expression of contempt even as he gave a wary look at the big Colt on Shaw’s side. “If it’s about killing that Mexican woman, he’s wasting his time,” he said to the sheriff as if ignoring Shaw. “I didn’t have a damn thing to do with that.” He cast another short glance at the big Colt, then looked away from it.
“Sidlow Talbert,” Shaw commanded, “look at me when you talk.”
“Yeah? Why?” said Sidlow, defiant, showing nothing but contempt.
“Because if I see in your eyes that you had anything to do with killing my wife, I’ll be waiting for you when you get out. You have my word on that.” Shaw’s hand went to his pistol butt and rested there.
“Fast Larry gives me his word he’ll be waiting for me.” Sidlow chuckled, trying to sound unconcerned, but not doing a very good job of it. When he saw Shaw’s hand go to the pistol butt, a sudden look of fear moved across Sidlow’s face before he caught it and masked it behind his surly attitude. “Well, now, ain’t I just scared to death thinking about that.” He managed a nasty grin. “Looks like you’ve got a nice long wait. Meanwhile my brother might just sweep through here any minute and get me out of here. Now what do you think of that?”
Shaw fell silent, starring at him with a blank expression, his hand poised on the pistol butt.
Sidlow squirmed on the spot, but he held on to his bold front, saying, “Well, what about it, Shaw? Are you going to say anything else…or just stand there and eyeball me all day?”
Shaw stared, his face stonelike, his hand looking as if it were just a hairbreadth away from streaking the Colt up from the holster.
Unable to read what Shaw’s intentions might be at any second, and knowing there was no escape if Shaw decided to snatch the big Colt up and kill him before he knew what had hit him, Sidlow felt his devil-may-care smile turn waxen and tight with concern. A nerve twitched in his jaw. Without taking his eyes off of Shaw’s he said to the sheriff, “You can’t let him do this, Neff! This is murder, is what this is! Brother Barton
and the boys might have done a terrible thing, but this is even worse! You’re supposed to be a lawman, for God’s sake! You can’t let him kill me like this!”
Sheriff Neff had also grown concerned, unable to discern the killing-cold look on Shaw’s face. He whispered, “Shaw, you gave me your word.”
Shaw didn’t respond.
“What’s that? What did you say, Sheriff?” Sidlow asked, a thin sheen of sweat having formed across his forehead. “He gave his word? His word on what? That he wouldn’t kill me?”
Neither the sheriff nor Shaw answered him. Sidlow’s fear seemed to subside a bit, his smile coming back a little. “That’s it, ain’t it, Sheriff?” he said. “Fast Larry gave you his word he wouldn’t kill—”
Sidlow’s words were cut short as Shaw’s Colt appeared in his hand as if by magic and exploded. “Aiiieee!” Sidlow screamed, falling away from the bars with his right hand grasping his clipped ear. Blood spewed from between his fingers. He wallowed on the cot against the cell wall, throwing a terrified glance back and forth between Shaw and the sheriff, knowing Shaw could do whatever he pleased and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. “Jesus, Sheriff!” Sidlow sobbed, losing control, his tough exterior diminished to that of a whimpering wretch. “Please don’t let him kill me! Please don’t! I never touched that Mexican woman! I wasn’t there; I swear to God I wasn’t!”
“Get on your feet, Sidlow,” Shaw demanded. “I want another bite out of you.”
“Shaw!” said Sheriff Neff, powerless to stop him but having to make a plea for the sake of his station as a lawman. “You gave me your word!”
“That’s right, Sheriff,” Shaw said coldly and evenly. “I gave you my word that I wouldn’t kill him while he’s behind bars.” As he spoke, Shaw walked over and lifted the key ring from a peg on the wall and walked over to the cell door with it. He unlocked the door and threw it open. “Get out, Sidlow,” he hissed, “so I can keep my word to you too.”
“Huh?” Sidlow looked confused and shaken, blood flowing freely between his fingers from his clipped ear.
“I gave you my word I’d be waiting,” said Shaw, snatching Sidlow by his hair, yanking him to his feet and shoving him from the cell. Sidlow landed near the sheriff’s feet, sobbing, pleading. “And you can bet I will be, you murdering coward son of a bitch,” Shaw said.
Sheriff Neff stood helpless, staring, his hands chest-high, knowing better than to get between Shaw and Sidlow. “This ain’t right, Shaw!” he said, making a plea rather than a command. “I don’t know if he had anything to do with it or not, but this ain’t the way the law is supposed to work!”
“The law?” Shaw had a distant look in his eyes, as if he had somehow detached himself from what was happening. “There was no law to keep these sons of bitches from killing my Rosa. I’ll be damned if there’s a law to keep me from killing them.”
Shaw moved quickly, snatching Sidlow to his feet. At the same time he jerked the sheriff’s pistol from his holster and shoved it into Sidlow’s hand. Giving Sidlow a shove toward the door, Shaw holstered his big Colt and held his hand poised, ready to draw. Start shooting or start running, Sidlow Talbert,” Shaw said with finality. “It makes no difference. Either way, I’m going to kill you.”
“This ain’t fair.” Sidlow sobbed as he backed away, shaking. “I ain’t even wearing boots! I ain’t got a chance against a gunman like you!”
“Boots?” said Shaw. “It’s fairer than what you offered my Rosa. She wasn’t even armed,” Shaw whispered, taking a step toward him, “and there was all you big tough hombres, boots and all.” His voice had turned low and chilling.
Sidlow saw the slightest twitch of Shaw’s gun hand and became unnerved. He ran screaming out the door. “Help me! Somebody help me! He’s going to kill me!”
Taking his time, Shaw said to the sheriff, “I kept my word, Sheriff, but there was deceit in it. I’m ashamed of doing that…but this is where life has taken me. Sidlow is carrying your gun…tell whatever story suits you. I’ll understand.”
“Get out of here, Shaw,” said Sheriff Neff. “When this thing is over don’t ever come back.”
Shaw turned and walked out the door, paying no attention to the bullet that Sidlow had managed to turn and fire as he ran screaming and sobbing, blood running down his face from his half-moon-shaped ear. The shot hit the post no more than an inch from Shaw’s head. Yet he didn’t flinch even as splinters stung his cheek. His pistol came up, a shiny blur, and Sidlow screamed louder and longer as Shaw’s bullet clipped the top half off of his other ear.
“Look, everybody, please! He’s killing me! You’re all witnesses!” Sidlow sobbed aloud, stumbling to his knees and catching himself, his blood-covered hand going from one clipped ear to the other. Feeling warm blood pour down both of his cheeks, and seeing it drip to the dirt, Sidlow cursed in his hysteria and fired two more shots at Shaw. One shot grazed Shaw’s shirtsleeve; the other shattered a water pot hanging from a post beam along the boardwalk.
As Sidlow arose, Shaw effortlessly put a bullet through his left ankle, knocking his feet from under him and sending Sidlow to the ground, blood spewing from his dirty sock. “You cold-blooded son of a bitch!” Sidlow screamed, and fired again. “Everybody look what he’s doing!” Sidlow shouted. But he didn’t have to tell anybody. All heads had turned toward the shooting. The townspeople had gasped and watched in morbidly rapt fascination each time Lawrence Shaw put another bloody hole in Sidlow’s body.
“Oh, God!” Sidlow screamed as Shaw’s next shot nailed him through his left arm at the elbow. His arm flopped back and forth, broken and loose at the joint. Blood spewed. Sidlow held on to the pistol and recovered from the terrible surge of pain.
“Somebody stop this!” a lady’s voice pleaded from the boardwalk. But no one dared venture forward.
Sidlow yelled as he fired another round, “Why my left arm? Huh, Shaw? Why not my shooting arm? Why not in the head? Kill me if you’re going to kill me!” His shot sliced past Shaw, dangerously close. Shaw ignored it, walking slowly forward.
“Here!” said Sidlow, “I’ll make it easy for you!” He turned his face sideways to Shaw, saying, “Go ahead, get it over…right through the temple!”
Shaw’s pistol exploded. Sidlow fell sidelong on the dirt, his nose missing from the bridge down. The ground beneath his face quickly became a thick red puddle. He sobbed, half-conscious, trying hard to raise the pistol for one last shot, his eyes blinded by blood.
“Damn you, Shaw!” he sobbed, his voice distorted now with his nasal passages lying open and exposed, bleeding in the hot Texas sun. “Damn you to everlasting hell!”
Shaw stopped and stood over him, staring straight down, his pistol pointed and cocked. “That’s already been done…the day you devils came to my house.”
From down the street Cray Dawson and Jedson Caldwell came running, slowing as they neared, Dawson with his pistol out as he scanned back and forth, offering Shaw backup should he need it for any reason. But then, seeing Sidlow Talbert on the ground in a pool of dark blood, his ears and nose missing, his elbow shattered, Dawson whispered hoarsely, “Oh, my God, Shaw!” Then, seeing Shaw’s hand tighten on the pistol butt, Dawson said, “No, don’t kill him, Shaw, please!”
Shaw ignored him. Every onlooker winced as Shaw pulled the trigger and Sidlow Talbert’s body bucked in the dirt, then relaxed in death. Shaw raised his eyes level to the boardwalk and looked all around slowly as he opened the hot chamber of the smoking Colt and dropped out his spent cartridges on Sidlow’s body. Cray Dawson swept his Colt back and forth, providing Shaw cover while he popped fresh cartridges from his gun belt and began reloading, taking his time.
“Anybody here who rides with Barton Talbert,” said Shaw, “go tell him how I killed his brother, Sidlow.” As he shoved bullets into the chamber, he raised a boot and propped his foot callously on Sidlow’s dead face. “Tell Barton Talbert that his brother Sidlow died squealing and screaming. Tell him I would have killed h
im slower; I just didn’t have the time!” He studied face after face as his eyes searched for anyone who looked suspicious. “Take a good look, anybody riding with the Talbert gang. This is what I’m bringing to you sons of bitches. Let God bear witness here and now: I won’t stop until every last one of you has died by my hand.”
As Cray Dawson looked back and forth, backing Lawrence Shaw, he noticed the strange look of questioning curiosity on Jedson Caldwell’s face. Caldwell asked secretively, gesturing at the body on the ground, “Is he one of the men you saw that day?”
Cray Dawson only looked at Sidlow Talbert for a second, then whispered to Caldwell without answering him, “Shaw’s right in what he did. This is not the time for me to go second-guessing him.”
Dawson looked doubtful and whispered persistently, “Was this or was this not one of the men you saw that day? If he wasn’t then you better ask yourself what you’ve gotten into.”
“Mind your own business, Caldwell,” Dawson hissed, going back to scanning the street.
From near the boardwalk a portly man wearing a brown suit coat and a bowler hat stepped down from a dust-covered buggy and walked out into the street. He stopped a few cautious feet back from Shaw and Dawson, pointed a cane in Shaw’s direction, and said, “Sir, I’m Councilman Winston Burns, and I demand to know who you are and why you shot this poor fellow!” But his eyes widened and his face took on a ghostly white pallor when Shaw turned, facing him with his Colt half raised in his direction. Burns hadn’t been in town earlier when Shaw and his party rode in. Recognizing Shaw, the frightened man took a step back and appeared to be on the verge of bolting away at any second. “M-Mr. Shaw!” he stammered.
“What’s your complaint, Councilman?” Shaw said in a flat yet threatening voice.
“Easy, Shaw,” said Sheriff Neff, walking into the street from his office. “I’ll handle this.” He stopped a few feet from Burns and hooked his right thumb into his gun belt, showing no fear in front of the townfolk but at the same time letting Shaw know that he had no intention of going for his gun. He stared into Shaw’s eyes as he spoke to Councilman Burns. “Shaw just stopped a jailbreak.” Without taking his eyes off of Shaw’s he pointed down at Sidlow’s body and said, “That’s my gun in Sidlow’s hand. I let him out of his cell to escort him to the jake. He snatched my gun and took off. Luckily, Mr. Shaw was there.”