The Last Shootist

by Miles Swarthout

  “Don’t stick your chin out, pardner, or I might make it cleft.”

  Ease struck his pose and the lit cigarillo bobbled as he talked. “No fast draw now.”

  “Quiet. You requested a performance.” The Remington was in his outstretched right hand as Gillom closed his left eye, paused, and fired. The lit cigar half flew up in the air. The girls cheered and clapped.

  His pal let out a deep breath. “Damn. Ruint a good cigar.”

  “Stand against that ol’ shack and I’ll paint your portrait.”

  “Not me, pard. Already run through today’s luck.”

  Ease plunked down next to his girlfriend, who tousled his shock of red hair playfully. Gillom pointed his pistol at Red Jean, inquiring?

  “No thank you, sir. I’ve seen your crack shooting, but I’m nobody’s target practice.”

  “I try eet.” Anel’s offer surprised them.

  “Okay. Just stand there, back against those boards, and be very still.”

  Gillom replaced another cartridge in his pearl-handled revolver. The young Latina stood up and walked resolutely to place her spine against the weathered boards, gritted her teeth, and squinted her eyes closed. Gillom gave no warning as his first shot splintered wood about six inches from her right elbow.

  Anel flinched, but no splinters struck her and she didn’t jerk away. Four more shots banged out in fairly close succession, moving up her arm, over the curve of her right shoulder, alongside her rounded, light brown face.

  He reholstered his empty weapon, pulled the left-hand gun with the black handle, began reloading.

  Ease was consternated. “Gillom, enough. You’ve proved your skills today.”

  “This is a portrait in lead we’re all gonna remember.”

  Anel Romero opened her eyes to stare at the artist. Beads of sweat had formed, matting black hair on her forehead. Gillom focused on the small dark beauty mark on her left cheek, just below the prim line of her lips. I wonder if that mark is real or makeup? I’d like to lick it to find out.

  Anel squinted and gave him a slight nod. The young man fired again, using his right, dominant hand outstretched, to lessen the chance of deadly error. His next shot was a little close, sending a splinter through her long black hair into her left earlobe. She grimaced but didn’t let out a peep of pain, allowing him to continue, placing bullet holes around the curve of her left shoulder and down her other arm. One last shot, in the space between her legs, thigh-high, made her jump.

  “Done,” he exhaled.

  Anel stepped away from the sidewall, shaking her head and arms slightly to see if all her digits were still attached and not bleeding.

  “Outstanding,” said Jean, admiring the bullet-holed vaguely human figure. “Crazy, but outstanding.”

  “I wouldn’t have believed that kind of marksmanship,” agreed Ease. “Barroom lies.”

  Gillom smiled, loaded three more cartridges from his holster, and then completed the outline with his off hand, adding one hole over the crown of the head, another two a little indented, where her bare neck would have been.

  “You’re my silhouette girl, Anel. Brave one, too.” He walked over to playfully buss her lips, lick the spot of blood off her earlobe where the splinter had pierced skin.

  “This calls for a toast!” Ease rummaged in his burlap sack and pulled out shot glasses. He pulled the cork from a clear, unlabeled pint bottle with his teeth and poured light yellowish liquid into the little glasses.

  “This is what the Mexicans call tequila. Made from the heart of the blue agave. The most refined cactus liquor from Mexico we can get our hands on. Supposed to be good for your health. Three whole dollars a small bottle and it ain’t been watered. Ladies?”

  The bartender poured them all shots. Gillom seemed transported, larger than life. He raised his shot glass.

  “To our fearless, feisty ladies. Gunslingers and living targets. I’m mighty impressed.”

  Anel and Jean blushed at the compliment, raised their glasses, and grimaced as they sipped the fiery liquor.

  “This’ll put hair on your nipples, girls!” chortled the bartender.

  “Just what I need,” frowned the blousy redhead. Anel was slicing up a couple of Salt River Valley oranges on a plate, which she passed around to sweeten their mouths after the tart liquor. Then Anel, who’d tasted tequila before, pushed her shot glass forward for a refill.

  “Por favor. Calm mis nervios.”

  “You bet, honey. You earned it.”

  Gillom finished reloading the last of his cartridges into his pistols, just in case.

  “Do you have any lip paint I can borrow, ladies?”

  Jean looked at Gillom quizzically, but dug into her leather purse to pull out a tin of carmine rouge that complemented her flaming hair.

  Gillom took the tin and dabbed some on the tip of his finger as he walked to the bullet-holed silhouette on the old miner’s shack, where he smeared two curves of a heart right where his girlfriend’s would be. Anel came up when she saw what he was doing. Gillom took more rouge and printed his first name in red lip paint below the heart, added a plus sign, and handed the tin of lip polish to her.

  With a shy smile Anel daubed a fingerful and painted her first name beneath his. Impulsively, they sealed their signatures with a lingering kiss.

  “C’mon, loverboy. Help me hitch our matched mules.”

  Gillom let Anel’s slender hand slip from his grasp before ambling after his friend.

  When the boys returned in the wagon, the girls had packed up the picnic, except for the desserts. All four of them sat in the bed of the rented Jersey wagon under the shade of its leather top, enjoying Anel’s grapes and oatmeal cookies while the young men polished off their pails of warm beer.

  “I was reading about Colonel Hooker’s hot springs on his ranch up north around Sierra Bonita, below Mt. Graham,” said Gillom. “Anybody been there?” Headshakes no. “Well, newspaper said the colonel had a gospel minister come visit and this pastor said the hot mineral waters there had healed him. He believed those soothing waters would cure any ailment, even ‘wash away sin.’”

  The girls laughed. “Any sin?” inquired Jean.

  “I guess so,” said Gillom. “I think we should all plan a trip to Sierra Bonita.”

  The ladies helped themselves to the crystalized fruits, lemon slices Jean had bought from the candy store.

  “Boy, I could use a healing scrub.”

  “Might be a little hot for you, Ease, burning out all that sin,” smiled Red Jean, insincerely.

  “Scorch my tailfeathers for sure.” Her friend grinned back.

  “Would you go to the hot baths with me, Anel?” asked Gillom.

  She smiled fetchingly at her young gunslinger. “Sí. Manana es otro dia.” (“Tomorrow is another day.”)

  “Okay then! Spiritual refreshment for all!”

  They laughed as Ease slid onto the driver’s seat. He grabbed the reins and clucked to their mule team, a lemon slice stuck between his teeth.

  “I was reading, too, girls, that they’ve made a scientific discovery of alfalfa tablets that fatten human beings just like they work on hogs. We should get some of them pills for our next picnic.”

  “That’s just what we girls need, Ease, fattening pills. Then you can take us up to Hooker’s hot springs and boil the lard off us just like they render them hogs.”

  The mule driver chortled. “Sounds fun to me. A pinch and a squeeze and Ease always aims to please!”

  The four were laughing so hard they didn’t notice the horse nearly hidden in the small grove of trees they passed on their slow roll back to Bisbee. William Pascoe pushed back his derby and peeked around a couple entwined tree trunks with his binoculars as the merry wagonful made for home. His boss would want to know exactly who had enjoyed themselves out here this Sunday. After church.

  Twenty-nine

  After they’d dropped Jean off at her cottage and palavered with Fibber again, they left Ease at the Bonanza where
he had to pull a rare night shift. Gillom managed to drive the wagon back up Tombstone Canyon. The mules scented their bed ground and pulled the now lighter freighter with some urgency, anxious for their nightly feed.

  Anel was still with him. Gillom picked up the blanket and slipped the half-empty bottle of tequila into her dessert crate while the stablehand was unhitching the animals.

  “Come to my rooms up Youngblood Hill. There’s a nice breeze, so the smelter smoke won’t linger. The stars should be pretty.”

  “Need my esleep.”

  “Tomorrow’s Monday. You don’t work Monday night, right?”

  “Hokay. For a leetle time. Then I walk home.”

  “Sure. We just got to be quiet. My landlady doesn’t want me entertaining guests late.”

  They hiked up Youngblood Hill’s wooden stairways, whispering to each other in the milky moonlight, giggling often from a long afternoon of beer, wine, and tequila tasting. They climbed off the stairway halfway up to the highest landing, to cut across the grass hillside and sneak in behind Mrs. Blair’s house. Anel tried to keep her high-buttoned shoes from thumping the planks to Gillom’s back door, when he burped. The rude eruption set off more giggles and whispered sssshhh’s while he keyed his lock to slip inside his sparsely furnished rooms.

  He lit a coal oil lamp and made sure his window curtains were pulled, when he spotted Mrs. Blair next door, peeking out her lit window now she realized Gillom was home. He lit another coal oil lamp, showed his girlfriend his built-in living room and kitchen.

  “Nice home for you, Gil-lom. I need use, outhouse.” She squinched her eyes. “Too much wine.”

  “Me, too. But my landlady’s up, listening. So no light, no talking.” A finger to his lips, he opened his back door, but the dark-haired beauty had plopped down on one of his kitchen chairs to unlace her calf-high boots to lessen any noise. Gillom didn’t wait for her but left the door open as he tramped up the hillside in the dark to the one-hole privy, doing what his landlady might expect.

  He clomped back down to his doorway where his Mexican miss waited, backlit by smoky lamps.

  “Wait.” Following her inspiration, the kid from El Paso sat down on a chair to pull off his own boots and socks, dump his holster and hat, so that he could join his girlfriend on her barefoot trip up to the little privy. There he patiently stood guard while she relieved herself, then led her over to a grassier slope the other side of the wooden structure, far enough away from Mrs. Blair’s back door so they could quietly converse without being overheard.

  “Beautiful night.”

  “Sí.”

  “Full moon. Make a wish.”

  She was silent a moment, thinking of something good. She could hear change jingling in his pocket. “You’ve gotta jingle silver coins, to make it come true. Whatcha wish for?”

  “Us.… Just us.”

  Gillom smiled and nodded. “Breeze is freshening, blowing that smelter smoke away. A big, dark cloud headed this direction, though. Smells like rain.”

  The Latina followed his pointing finger. “Rain? You smell eet?”

  “Moisture freshens the air and a charge builds in the air from the lightning. Oh yeah, I can smell rain. It’s comin’.”

  She shook her head. “We weel see.”

  Gillom sat down and pulled the cork from Ease’s bottle of Mexican cactus liquor. He took a swallow to wake himself up.

  “Hooo. Care for a little more tarantula juice?” He passed the bottle over. Anel took a tentative sip of the yellowish liquor and gasped. She handed the bottle back, wiping her nose.

  “Why did you come to Bisbee, Anel?”

  “In Estados Unidos, I can make monies. I wish more to see. If Jean say right, Bisbee shut Red Light, I move. In Mexico, Zacatecas, the señors dig silver, drink, the women take care niños. I wish more.”

  Gillom took a pull on the bottle. “Feel the same. I was bored with high school, wanted to see more of the world. Then I had some shooting trouble in El Paso. Got out of Texas quicker than I planned, but here I am.” He bowed facetiously, but could hear her frown in the dark.

  “Guns bring mucho problema.”

  “They got me my bank job. I don’t want to shoot anyone, Anel. Really, I don’t. I was just showing off this afternoon, tricks.”

  “You play with guns, be fast, shoot good, you weel use them.”

  “Only to protect you, missy. Or the bank’s customers.”

  “You weel bore soon, estanding that bank house all day.”

  “Not with you as our prettiest customer.” He reached an arm tired from all the gunplay and pulled her into him. This time their kiss was more urgent, forceful. Whether it was the foreign liquor, the sudden chill in the night air, or the heat of their skin rubbing, they got into each other’s essence, entwining in the dry grass like snakes in heat, running their hands all over, inside each other’s clothes, nuzzling necks, arms, any bare skin. Gillom was sweating, moisture on his forehead, running down his underarms, staining his cotton shirt.

  Or maybe it was the electric charge in the night air? He came out of his sex haze to catch a breath and realized it had started to rain. Gillom stuck out his tongue to catch big fat drops on a stiffening breeze.

  “Rain.”

  She opened her eyes, trying to get her bearings, breathless. Anel rubbed her moist face.

  “Eet is!”

  “Sssshhh. It’s gonna get wet. Storm blew in fast. Come.”

  They were up and moving when the first lightning struck the hillside above them, flaring the darkness. They were inside Gillom’s cottage when the thunder banged, smothering Anel’s frightened squeal. He pulled her to him, covering her mouth with his. He hoped his landlady hadn’t heard her shriek? Gillom picked her up in his arms, swung her slowly around several times before depositing her gently atop the feather mattress and blanket on one of the single beds built into the wooden cottage’s wall. He rolled over on top of her, scrunching himself next to the wall. Just in time, too, as another lightning strike and clap of thunder hit the hillside nearby, making them both jump with the sudden bang.

  “Can’t go home now, honey. Not until this rain stops. This one’s gonna be a gullywasher.”

  Anel nodded in the flickering lamplight. “Scare me.”

  Gillom smiled. “We’ll just ride it out here.”

  Another thunderclap made her cringe, cling to him. They could hear the rain hitting the roof hard, his glass windows pinging as wind drove the water on a slant. He hoped to God there were no big leaks, wash them down this hillside. Be tough climbing back up here, he thought, through steep mud.

  Their wet bodies warmed the blanket and they were quickly kissing, groping one another again through their damp clothing, between moist sheets, helping each other undress. Gillom had to rise to get his jeans off, and he crabbed over her to blow out one of the lamps. Then he got up to take the other lamp around in his kitchen, see if there were any wet spots on the floor. Finding none of consequence, he turned down the coal oil lampwick, returned to their little bed to sink again into her arms. There, on that thin mattress, as the thunder rolled and the rain poured, they salved their lust, consummated their passion under a summer monsoon. He was awkward, not knowing quite how to proceed, not wanting to hurt her, but she helped fit him inside her. It was a little painful for her, but it was beautiful, and it was over fairly quick. No matter, it felt like love.

  He awakened in tangled sheets, just before dawn. He could see well enough to see her face, rouge running from her night sweat, her lip paint smeared beyond the corners of her mouth. Gillom did what he’d dreamed of and licked the beauty spot on her right near cheek. It was real, didn’t smudge.

  Anel opened a weary eye. “What?”

  “Lick you like a cat.”

  “Nooo. More esleep.”

  “Gotta use the privy. I’ll fill a bucket in the kitchen, you wanna wash.”

  “Come back … to me.…”

  “Momentito.”

  Gillom put on his
shirt to barely cover himself, padded out the back door into a wet dawn. He walked up to the outhouse, glad his landlady wasn’t up yet.

  Back in his kitchen, he filled a small basin and soaped up for a cold water whore’s bath. Anel was up wanting water so he poured them a couple glassfuls from a ceramic pitcher on a shelf. This was water from his outside barrel he’d taken time to boil, to kill any taint of typhoid from the local well. It tasted cool and sweet in his sex glow. Gillom stroked her bare shoulder like you’d pet a cat, admired her pouty breasts. Goddamn she’s pretty naked, he marveled. Anel padded out into the morning mist wearing nothing at all to hike up the hill herself.

  She came back to the bed, which he’d straightened, shaking out the sheets. It was even better this second time. They could see each other for one thing, and their loving wasn’t so rushed, fumbling in the dark. Most of yesterday’s liquor was out of their systems, so they could better feel each other’s hot, sensitive skin. Their coupling was easier and he quickly fell into a natural rhythm with her body. Soft moans inspired him and he built up to his coming by degrees—long, slow, long, fast—and finally, as she urged him on with her feet raking his bare buttocks, spurring and pulling him into her deeper with each thrust, an ecstatic release!

  After a moment catching his breath, nuzzling her smooth neck, Gillom rolled off her, fell back on his mattress and laughed. His new girlfriend was confused. “You laugh at me?”

  “No, honey. It just feels so great. What love is.”

  “Sex. You mis-take, for love.”

  “No. Sex. Love. Together. Now I know how love feels.”

  “Maybe you change your mind.”

  “Maybe. But it sure will be fun to find out.” He tickled her bellybutton, sending her into spasms. “They say making love during a rainstorm will produce a girl, but sex during sunny weather results in a boy.”

  “No, no niños. Not now. No need.”

  Gillom suddenly turned serious. “How come you stood up there yesterday, let me shoot at you?”

  “Because you need help, to show what you do. How good pistoletazo you are.”