Gun Work: The Further Exploits of Hayden Tilden

by J. Lee Butts

  Got to thinking as how maybe a few drops of frozen rain might’ve dribbled off my hat brim and slipped behind the collar of my shirt. But then, the hair on my arms stood, and a numbing cold seemed to seep into my bones. Tried to shake off Officer Bob Evans’s foolishness about Daisy Cassidy, but for some odd reason his words kept gnawing at my insides and ringing in my ears like Sunday morning church bells.

  “She’s one witchy woman, Tilden. True enough she’s young, good-lookin’ as hell, and all that, but there’s something on the scary side ’bout the gal, too . . . Can see it in her eyes, you take the time to really look. Made my blood run colder’n well water in January ever’ time I’ve been around ’er . . . Know unsolicited advice ain’t worth no helluva lot, but you’d best be mighty careful . . .”

  Man hadn’t really said a lot, but by the time we reached the El Paso’s lobby, he’d sure enough cocked my pistol.

  14

  “HE’S A BACK-SHOOTING SON OF A BITCH . . .”

  NATE COMPLAINED OF a stomach that he said was trying to gnaw its way through the waist of his pants and belt buckle. So, we threw all our gear in the floor of the hotel room and headed across Third Street for the restaurant in the White Elephant Saloon.

  Reporter for the Fort Smith Elevator once referred to the Elephant as “the most magnificent com-bi-nation gambling house, restaurant, and saloon in the entirety of the whole nation—bar none.” Man’s somewhat sensational opinion couldn’t be dismissed as much in the way of a stretcher, you ask me.

  As we approached the joint, sounds of music, laughter, and good times to be had seeped from beneath the Elephant’s bloodred batwing doors. Once inside, the eager visitor immediately found himself confronted by an impressive, carpeted staircase that led to the second floor and the most elaborate gambling setup in the whole of Texas.

  Nate stood just inside the door, rubbed wet hands together, grinned like a hungry raccoon, and said, “Hot diggity damn, boys. Place looks even better’n it did the last time we were here. Been hopin’ for a return visit for a whole year.”

  Off to the left, across an expanse of lustrous hardwood floor, the longest, most elaborate bar for five hundred miles in any direction gleamed like a freshly polished decanter of the best whiskey hard-earned money could purchase. Men who wanted to eat, drink, keep company with willing women, or put their fat pokes at risk would’ve been hard-pressed to do any better than Luke Short’s elaborate mixture of an eating, drinking, and gambling emporium. On that particular storm-tossed night in Fort Worth, anyway.

  We scraped our muddy feet on a thick chunk of braided hemp rug that was especially laid out for that particular purpose. Let ourselves drip a bit before we slipped out of our rain slickers and other gear.

  Carlton appeared truly taken by all the noise that flowed down onto us from the joint’s elegant staircase, like the water falling in the street outside. Knew from our previous raid on Fort Worth that the table right on the edge of the landing above was piled a foot deep in gold coin. Whole glittery shebang was easy to see from where we stood. Impressive. Mighty damned impressive. Remember standing there, as lightning flashed across the heavens behind me, and trying to imagine the Elephant’s impact on a first-time-to-visit, south Texas brush popper on his premier trip to the Kansas rail-heads, or the local Fort Worth cattle yards.

  Inviting sounds of gambling and easy companionship washed right over us. Above us, I could hear the heavy marble in a roulette wheel as it spun around, bounced, and clicked into place, along with the musical clacking of at least one wheel of fortune being touted by a barker who must’ve drawn quite a crowd. Friendly, metallic, rinky-tink-tinkle of a piano ebbed and flowed over the rest of the sociable noises that rolled down those stairs and beckoned to the prospective, tight-fisted, leather-pounding gambler to come on up and put his hard-earned fortune on the line.

  Good-looking gal from the restaurant, who reminded me some of my Elizabeth, took our rain gear and hats. She flashed Nate a smile that would’ve brought most men to their quaking knees. Boy’s mind was somewhere else at the time. Had a damned fine meal that night. Back in them days, a man couldn’t beat Fort Worth’s beefsteak with a stick. Three of us were more than satisfied when the evening’s repast came to an end.

  Rubbed our stomachs as we stepped up to Luke Short’s forty-foot-long, solid-mahogany filigree bar and ordered a drink to finish off a damned fine feed. Think we might’ve been well into our second beaker of Gold Label rye when Carlton leaned over and kind of secretlike said, “Take a gander in the mirror, Tilden. See them fellers sitting at the table over in the corner behind us?”

  Puckered up and took a nibbling sip from my glass, then said, “Which corner?”

  “Farthest one from us. One on our right. Far back as you can go. Kinda behind the piano.”

  “I seen ’em, Carl,” Nate said. Storms suddenly looked right determined, when he threw his drink down in one quick swallow, thumped the glass back onto the bar, then rubbed chapped lips on his sleeve.

  In an effort to get a look at whatever my friends might’ve seen, or thought they’d seen, I glanced into the Elephant’s pride and joy—a gigantic, beveled slab of reflective, highly polished glass that covered the entire wall behind the joint’s elaborate back bar. Spotted three shaggy, rough-looking types crammed into the corner like a bunch of hungry wolves all huddled up and checking out the sheep before they jumped out of hiding and killed one of them.

  Feller in the middle of the group had his back wedged into the corner like he thought Jack McCall might return from the dead and put a bullet in the back of his head. Bearded, moustachioed, hook nosed, with long, stringy, gunmetal gray hair poking from under his hat, the squint-eyed piece of scum looked somewhat familiar. Scratched an itchy spot in my brain for several seconds. Even so, couldn’t quite put a finger to a name for him.

  Carl said, “Uh-huh. That’s him alright, Tilden. The one and only C. W. Jemson. He’s a back-shooting son of a bitch extraordinaire.”

  “Yeah, well, ’course I’ve heard the name. Didn’t really know the man well enough to recognize him though. Ugly bastard, ain’t he,” I said, then took another run at the amber-colored liquid in my glass.

  Carl leaned over on one arm, hunkered up next to me, and twirled his drink around in the wet spot beneath it on the bar. “Skinny twist of rusted barbed wire on Jemson’s right hand is Bronson Staggers. Hear tell he covers Jemson’s backside if’n they have difficulties requiring the quick death of them folks impertinent enough to get in their way. Piggy-lookin’, fat-gutted slug on the left is Jasper Neely. Man’d just as soon rip out your guts as spit.”

  Eyeballed the mirrored images again, then said, “Empty chair at the table, Carl. You reckon Amos White’s around somewhere close? Or maybe one, or both, of the Coltrane boys?”

  Sounded like a dog growling when Nate said, “Even if White ain’t nowheres to be seen, Hayden, I’d be willing to bet the ranch, if’n I had a ranch, that Jesse and Leroy Coltrane are in absolute fact somewhere nearby. Probably out askin’ questions. Prowlin’ around tryin’ to locate Daisy Cassidy.”

  For fifteen or twenty seconds no one spoke, as we chewed on our drinks and studied the three thugs in the corner. Finally Carlton said, “Ain’t got no official wants or warrants on any of them skunks, as I’m aware of. But, hell, we could slap ’em with a John Doe, then drag ’em all back to Fort Smith for anything you can dream up, Hayden.”

  “Damn right,” Nate said. “No longer’n we’ve been standing here, pretty sure I’ve seen every one of them bastards expose his nasty-assed self at least twice to the cute little waitress that’s been carryin’ them drinks.”

  Couldn’t help but grin. “Well, not sure that’d stand up, Nate. Might work if we were back in the Nations, at a watering hole in west Arkansas, or, better yet, a saloon in Fort Smith. But, being as how we’re in the great Lone Star State, would bet that wagging your hoo-haw at a barmaid might not count for much in Judge Parker’s court.”

  Nat
e crooked a finger at the Elephant’s slick-pated, rail-thin bartender and pointed to each of our empty glasses for a refill. Appeared a bit on the anxious side when he dropped money on the bar, then said, “Well, whata you wanta do, Hayden? Ain’t gonna just stand here and guzzle whiskey all night long, are we?”

  Placed a calming hand on my friend’s shoulder. Could tell he itched for a fight. Man had been keyed up ever since the horrific death of Rachael Little Cloud. Nate hadn’t contributed much to that dustup, but he walked with a hitch in his git-along that constantly reminded him of the sorry event.

  “Why don’t we just stroll over and have a friendly talk with ole C. W. and his compadres,” I said. “Kinda shake the tree a bit. See what falls out when we rattle ’em around some, as it were.”

  Could see Carlton smiling back at me in the mirror, when he said, “Now, there’s a plan. ’Course, no matter how we handle this, them boys could get just a wee bit on the froggy side. Go to hoppin’ around, pullin’ pistols, shootin’, and such.”

  Nodded my agreement. Said, “Their kind of man does get nervous for little or nothing.”

  Carl snorted, then said, “Hell, we just might be forced to drill a couple of ’em, Tilden. Maybe even kill one or two. Damn near a certainty if we provoke ’em in just the right way. Kill hell outta all three of ’em, we’d be doin’ the Indian Nations—along with the states of Texas, Arkansas, Louisiana, and Mississippi—a by-God service, you ask me.”

  Nate slapped his empty glass down on the bar again. “Now that’s a helluva good plan. Discombobulate ’em a bit. Like it. Let’s get on over there ’fore they have a chance to jackrabbit on us. Move in on ’em and do ’er just like you said, Carl. Brace ’em where they sit. Any of ’em goes to reachin’ and grabbin’, we kill the whole sorry bunch. Bet that’d put a sizable crimp in whatever the Coltrane boys have planned for Daisy Cassidy.”

  Slipped the hammer thong off my belly gun, lifted the weapon, and let it settle into the well-used, oiled, leather sheath on its own. “Best limber up all your shooters, boys—belly guns and hip pistols. Sure wouldn’t want to waltz over there and have Jemson and his friends get all chute crazy and not be able to get our weapons up and out for the kind of gun work we might have to do in a few minutes.”

  Carl grunted. “Good idea. Jemson might not know you, Hayden, but he’s sure to recognize me ’fore we can get all the way across this room. Best all be ready for whatever they might want to throw at us. But, you know, sure wish I had my shotgun.”

  As surreptitiously as possible, Carl and Nate followed my lead. Loosed all the iron around their waists and got themselves primed for a fight. Didn’t take much effort on Nate’s part. Boy had blood in his eyes and murder in his heart. In a matter of seconds, everyone appeared ready. Three of us turned away from the bar at the same time.

  “I’ll go at them head on,” I said. “Carl, you take Staggers. Nate, you keep an eye on Neely. We’ll just stroll over. Ask them some questions. See what happens. Any of them goes and gets froggy, don’t hesitate.”

  “Damn right,” Nate hissed.

  Quirky smile played across Carl’s lips. “Don’t know ’bout you, but I’m screwed down and riding deep in the saddle, Tilden. Ain’t gonna find me sitting on my gun hand. So turn ’er loose and let ’er buck.”

  We stepped away from the bar as one man. Threaded our way between tables, chairs, and a packed crowd of noisy, happy, drunk, or near-drunk people, as we quickly moved across the room.

  Jemson spotted us less than halfway there. Saw him shift in his chair. Leaned slightly toward Bronson Staggers. Whispered something to Staggers behind one hand, then reached over and patted Neely’s arm. Swear ’fore Jesus the three of them looked like shocked puppies that had just discovered the first porcupine they’d ever seen sitting in the middle of their table.

  Made my way right up to a spot directly across the table from Jemson. Came to a rocking halt and flashed a friendly, although blatantly insincere, smile. Couldn’t have been more than five feet from the man. Hooked my thumbs on either side of the buckle of my pistol belt in an effort to try and put him at his ease. Hands on the grips of their weapons, Carlton and Nate took their positions, either side of and slightly behind me, and waited.

  The raggedy-bearded Jemson pushed a Montana-peaked hat to the back of his grease-encrusted head with two fingers. Let the hand slowly, deliberately drift back down to the tabletop. He glanced over at Carlton and said, “Helluva thang, boys. A man can ride all the way down to Fort Worth for a bit of fun and relaxation, and lo and behold if some of Parker’s favorite henchmen and killers don’t show up to ruin his much needed recreation. You law-bringin’ bastards are a long way from home, ain’t you, Cecil?”

  Carlton grinned, let out a contemptuous snort, then said, “Could say the same of a low-life bastard like you, C. W. Appears you boys are a right far piece from your regular stomping grounds up in the Kiamichi Mountains. Might find it a bit harder to rob, murder, and pillage amongst these Texicans. Folks around these parts don’t particular take kindly to such behavior.”

  Jasper Neely’s piglike snout twitched, he grunted, then said, “You sons a bitches got no reason to go a-causin’ us any trouble. We ain’t in the Nations right now, by God. Ain’t botherin’ nobody. Jus’ havin’ a sociable drink with friends. Relaxicatin’ in the finest waterin’ hole ’tween Tuskahoma and San Antone. So, why don’t y’all hair-covered walkin’ assholes shuffle butt yourselves on outta here and leave us the hell alone.”

  I hadn’t heard much, but it was enough. So, I said, “Damn, Jasper. Case you haven’t noticed it, these badges we’re lugging around signify that the three of us are deputy U.S. marshals. Comes to the heavenly climes of law enforcement, we’re a special breed of lawdog.”

  Carl took up the thread and added, “Our commissions allow us to go anywhere in the United States, or its territories, in pursuit of those who provoke our attention. Right now, we’re looking for the Coltrane brothers—Jesse and Leroy. Rumor has it you boys might’ve spent some time of late running with those murderous skunks. Wouldn’t happen to have seen either of them, have you?”

  Bronson Staggers’s cold, hard stare zeroed in on me. Man had his hands hidden beneath the table. Made me a bit uncomfortable because I couldn’t tell whether he was holding or not.

  “We ain’t seen the Coltrane boys. Either of ’em,” Staggers said. “Not sure I’d tell a trio of shit-kickin’ stargazers like you even if’n I had.”

  Jemson looked thoughtful and a bit perturbed at the same time. Rubbed his stubble-covered chin with the back of one hand. “Maybe I missed it, but I don’t think you mentioned Benny, Marshal. Would indicate to me as how you boys ain’t lookin’ for Benny. Why come is that? Coltrane boys never do anythang lest they do it together. Puzzles me a mite that Benny’s name ain’t come up?”

  “Already have that runny pile of cow flop in custody. He’s sittin’ on his bony bohunkus in the basement dungeon back in Judge Parker’s courthouse in Fort Smith.” Nate’s words sliced through the air like a freshly sharpened hay sickle.

  Subtle change spread over Jemson’s outward demeanor. “That a fact.”

  “Is indeed,” Nate continued. “If we can’t find his brothers, poor ole brainless Benny’ll likely have to stumble up those long, terrible, lonely steps to the Gates of Hell gallows alone. Face judgment ’fore a crowd of thousands of spectators, all of ’em eatin’ roasted corn on the cob and waitin’ to get a gander of him when he hits the end of Maledon’s oiled hemp noose, then messes all over hisself like a week-old child.”

  Staggers’s face and neck flushed. Man squirmed in his chair like his pants might burst into flame. “Didn’t have to go sayin’ nothin’ like that, damn your sorry soul. Sweet Jesus. Just ain’t nothin’ worse’n hangin’, you ask me. Sure would hate to hear as how the Coltrane boys done got theyselves strung up. What the hell you Parker bastards think they went and done, anyhow?”

  A nail-biting tension, soaked in a river of risin
g blood, kept edging up with every back-and-forth exchange. Staggers went to twisting his neck from side to side and blinking way too fast. Jemson kept rubbing at his jaw and chin like no-see-ums were eating him alive. Neely had begun to sway in his chair in the manner of a Baptist revival attendee caught in the slow rhythm of unheard music.

  Reckoned we had just about twisted their tails enough. Backed away from the table a step. “Way we heard it they murdered an entire family, name of Cassidy, up in the Nations near Dutch Crossing. Even men as evil as the Coltrane boys can’t go killing regular folks just for the fun of it and think they can get away with such a barbarous act.”

  Staggers twisted in his chair and mumbled, “Don’t believe a word of that load of horseshit.”

  “Doesn’t matter a single whit what any of you believe,” I said. “We have warrants for them, and you can bet the ranch we’ll serve them. So, you boys run across Jesse or Leroy, best let them know we’re on their trail and that we will catch them. And, once we’ve caught them, we’ll see they hang. Want some advice, I’d recommend you stay as far from Jesse and Leroy as you can get. Close proximity at this particular time could lead to an early grave.”

  “Heard ’bout the way you catch folks, Tilden,” C. W. Jemson, growled. “Not many as you go out lookin’ for come back breathin’. Yeah, I know you. Know you fer the cold-hearted killer you are.”

  Carlton glared across the table like he might reach over and snatch Jemson’s hooked nose right off his face. “Why don’t you go on ahead and say something else stupid and arrogant, C. W. That way I’ll feel more’n justified in reachin’ over this table, jerkin’ your sorry ass outta that chair, and slappin’ you nekkid.”

  Placed a hand on Carl’s arm, then flashed another tight, grinning smile at Jemson. Let a bit of steel creep into my voice when I said, “Trust me when I tell you, C. W., might be right dangerous to keep company with the Coltrane boys for any time in the foreseeable future. But if you should run across either of them, be sure to deliver my message exactly the way you heard it.”