Showdown

by Edward Gorman / Ed Gorman

  "Gentlemen, I give you the men you have been searching for for such a long time," Valdez said grandly.

  "About twenty-four hours, actually," Prine said.

  "The men you intend to bring to justice," Valdez said. "The men who sinned so gravely against your sister, Mr. Neville."

  "Does this asshole ever shut up?" Rooney said. Even in a suit that now resembled dirty rags, there was still the air of a sharper about him. The almost pretty face, the cunning eyes, the air of shabby sophistication."

  Valdez slapped him hard across the mouth. Blood stained the end of Rooney's lips. "A man who goes to mass every day does not want to hear language like this. I have told you that many times, Mr. Rooney."

  Valdez turned to Neville. "Here is my end of the bargain. I assume you have your ready for me."

  Neville laid ten thousand dollars on the desk. Once this was done, and without warning, he walked over to Tolan and smashed him in the nose. Crack of blood; spray of blood. But he wasn't done. He struck Tolan so hard in the sternum that Tolan shot backward, tripping over a chair and falling in an ungainly pile on the floor.

  "Hey, Mex," Rooney said to Valdez. "You can't let them do this to us."

  But it was too late to stop Neville. He used the toe of his Texas boot on Rooney, and judging from the screams, he used it effectively. Rooney tried to clutch his crotch, but the handcuffs made it difficult. He went to the floor in three folds, the last one giving him the freedom to slam his forehead hard against the floor. He was out.

  Neville was about to kick him in the head, but Prine yanked on his arm.

  "You've had your fun for the day," Prine said. "They're under my jurisdiction now and we're taking them back in one piece."

  Neville was not happy.

  "She wasn't your sister, Prine."

  Prine decided not to tell Neville what his sister really thought of him.

  They rode till late in the afternoon, covering about half the trek back home. Valdez had horses saddled and ready for the prisoners.

  Prine and Neville rode in the back. Tolan and Rooney said little. A few times they talked with each other. Prine told them to shut up.

  Neville was sullen. He was now more like the man Prine had met at recital the other night. When he did speak, there was an impudence to his tone that Prine resented. Neville was apparently under the impression that Prine worked for him.

  "I have to piss," Rooney said over his shoulder.

  "We'll make camp pretty soon," Prine said.

  "I can't hold it."

  "Then wet yourself, you bastard," Neville said. His had flew to his gun, but Prine was ahead of him. His Colt was aimed directly at Neville.

  "I thought we had an agreement, Neville."

  "Not that I know of."

  "Put that hand back on the saddle horn."

  "I can't take being around these two. All I see is Cassie."

  "Then maybe you should ride on ahead a ways so you don't have to see them."

  Neville sulked, said nothing.

  "You hear what I said, Neville?"

  "I heard."

  "Then do we have an agreement? We get these prisoners back to Sheriff Daly the same condition they're in now."

  Neville wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a verbal agreement. He just nodded his head.

  They rode on.

  The last two hours of the day's ride went slowly. Prine was eager to be back in Claybank. The curiously silent prisoners were risky enough, even when they were handcuffed, but Neville was the most dangerous of all. His rage over the fate of his sister, however understandable, kept Prine tensed up.

  They would occasionally come upon a farm that looked perfect—always from a distance, of course, denying Prine the view of what the hardscrabble places looked like close up—the sort of place he sometimes daydreamed about owning. A pastoral life. Wife, kids, eating off the land.

  But the grousing of the prisoners in front of him brought him back from his flights of idealized life. Neither Tolan nor Rooney appeared to be comfortable on horseback. Tolan complained about the horse wandering, the horse slowing, the horse speeding up—all defying Tolan's wishes.

  Rooney was simply afraid of his animal. A couple of times, when the horse started to buck a little, Rooney let go with a childlike cry. Daddy, please come take me down from this terrible beast.

  What a trio they were.

  At any moment, Neville could decide the hell with it and open fire on the prisoners. Backshoot them. Kill them. It certainly wasn't impossible. Prine wanted to salvage this whole shameful episode by making it as right as he could. He wanted to bring his prisoners in alive and legal. And then he wanted to tell Sheriff Daly everything. Prine was responsible for Cassie's murder. The guilt would always be with him. But maybe by bringing in Tolan and Rooney, and telling the truth, he could start to make amends for the stupid, selfish plan for riches and power that had resulted in a young woman's death.

  When they finally made camp within a small stand of elm trees, everybody got to stretch, piss, and give their saddle sores a rest. Tolan walked up a slight grassy incline. No reason a man couldn't run with handcuffs on. Men had done it plenty of times before. Prine decided to do a little law enforcement. He fired a single shot that chewed up dust right next to Tolan's wandering feet. Tolan, surprised and scared, jumped a quarter foot, then turned around and spat in Prine's direction.

  "Next time you go sight-seeing," Prine told him, "you check with me first."

  "Someday I'll have the gun," Tolan said. "We'll see how you like it then."

  Prine took care of the horses. Got them watered and fed and bedded down for the night. He liked the horses far better than the men he was with.

  Neville built a fire. It was a good one. Prine was surprised that Neville was good at the outdoors. He figured Neville would have all such things done by one of his manservants. He was probably being too hard on Neville. A man's sister murdered like that, he'd have one hell of a time keeping his hands off the killers.

  Rooney was saying, "You won't believe this, Deputy, but my father is a very important lawyer back in Cincinnati."

  "Good for him."

  Rooney laughed. "They tell everybody I'm dead. I'm told my dear mother fainted dead away when my brother told her that the reason they hadn't been able to find me was that I was in prison."

  "How many times I got to hear this stupid story?" Tolan said.

  "Now, Tolan here," Rooney said, sounding awful pleased with himself for a man in handcuffs, "Tolan here was born under a rock. No known parents. When he wants lawmen to feel sorry for him, he always trots out all his stories about his little sister. He wants you to feel sorry for him. But he just makes himself more pathetic than he already is." Prine wasn't paying a hell of a lot of attention. He was hungry and waiting for food.

  The grub they'd brought consisted of jerky and rolls. Neville had also brought some coffee and a tin pot. Prine was about the only one who could stand it. He'd been prepared for it by drinking Daly's coffee.

  "I want you boys to move a little closer to the fire tonight," Prine said.

  "Worried we might get cold, Deputy?" Rooney said. "That's right nice of you."

  "I want you in range so I don't have any trouble seeing you."

  "Gosh, and here I thought you were just worried about us getting cold."

  Prine walked over to his saddle and plucked out his Winchester. He came back to Tolan and Rooney and said, "Stick your feet out."

  "Why the hell should I?" Tolan said.

  "Because I'm going to start breaking your toes one by one if you don't."

  He took their boots off. Threw them in weeds a few yards from the campsite. Into the darkness.

  "What the hell you do that for?" Tolan said.

  "In case we try to make a break," Rooney said. "It'll take us some time to find our boots."

  Tolan grinned. "I knew you was afraid of us, Deputy. You're tryin' to stack the whole deck in your favor tonight, right?"

  "Sure,
I'm afraid of you, Tolan. I'm not used to being around men who'd do to a woman what you did to poor Cassie. I'll do anything I need to in order to make sure you're still here in the morning."

  Tolan grinned again. "I knew you was scared. You always try to act so cool. But you're scared. You know what we'll do to you if you give us half a chance."

  Rooney said, "Sometimes, Tolan here likes to hear himself talk. I'm afraid I'm guilty of that myself. Sometimes."

  "Go to sleep," Prine said.

  "God, those feet of yours stink, Tolan," Rooney said. "I can smell them way over here."

  "Don't start on me, Rooney. I could still smash your face in even with these cuffs on."

  "Both of you shut up," Prine said.

  He went over and poured more coffee into the tin cup. He sat staring into the fire, thinking of so many things and yet nothing at all.

  "Who gets first watch?" Neville said as the clouds sprawled golden and gray and wine-colored behind the snowy mountain peaks.

  "I do," Prine said. "I also get the second."

  "What the hell're you talking about?"

  "What I'm talking about is no way am I leaving you alone with those two."

  "You don't want to make an enemy of me, Prine. You've got to live in Claybank when this is all over."

  "So do you," Prine said. "I'm sorry about your sister, and I'd just as soon return the favor and cut those two up same as they cut Cassie up. But I take my job serious, Neville. I'm bringing them in alive. So you might as well take advantage of it and get yourself some sleep."

  Prine went over and checked the prisoners out. They still didn't talk much, not even to each other.

  They just watched him as he checked their handcuffs.

  "You don't let him at us," Rooney said.

  "That sonofabitch is crazy," Tolan said.

  "Yeah?" Prine said. "Well, if he is crazy, I wonder who made him that way? Most regular gents do go a little crazy when two pieces of shit like you murder their sister."

  "I want to see Daly," Rooney said.

  "He won't go any easier on you," Prine said. "He'll probably even hang you two personally. He liked Cassie. Everybody did. Now, shut up and go to sleep. We'll be rollin' out of here just after five."

  Neville made his peace with his bedroll and the ground, which was still damp from last night's rain.

  Prine sat nearby on a rock. He kept the fire going. He also kept swigging coffee. Staying up all night was never easy.

  "Thanks for that, Prine."

  "For what?"

  "For calling them pieces of shit like that. I was afraid you were forgetting about Cassie."

  "All I was doing was remembering that I have to bring them in alive unless they do something."

  "Well, thanks. I appreciate it anyway."

  Full night came, inking the sky, darkening the shapes of trees and foothills and the land itself. After a time, the world around him seemed unreal. Only the fire and the three men lying around it existed.

  The rest of the world was darkness, full of life noises and sometimes death noises, those odd quick struggles of night creatures.

  The fire wasn't up to keeping him warm. Most of the wood had been burned up. He kept telling himself he needed to get up and find some more wood. But he couldn't escape his thoughts, a sort of reverie. He needed to talk to Daly and set it all straight. If there was prison time ahead, so be it. Then he wanted to talk to Lucy and see if she'd take him back.

  He had just started to lean in for some more coffee when the rock hit him. There was just time enough to see the impossible—Tolan on his feet, one handcuff dangling free from his wrist, a fist-sized rock in his hand. And then the rock being thrown with great speed and efficiency right at him.

  Pain registered, and then a confusion of pain, momentary blindness, and a desperate attempt to find his Colt and fire.

  Nothingness was the last to come. Cold shooting through his body. Shivering, teeth-chattering cold, a damned good approximation of death. And then a distant sense of himself toppling over, hitting the ground hard enough to jar his teeth.

  And then—

  Nightbirds. Their cries. Wind. Its creeping coldness. Constriction. Steel on his wrists.

  Prine forced his eyes open.

  He lay on his side. The fire was out, ash.

  Despite the enormous headache that kept pressing him down, he managed to sit up high enough to see Neville's body on the other side of the dead fire. Neville lay flat on his face. Prine couldn't get much detail from here. Was Neville even alive? Was he handcuffed?

  Tolan and Rooney. Where the hell were they? What the hell had happened?

  The rock. The pain. The blackness.

  How Tolan had managed to slip out of his handcuffs was a question for another time. Now the important thing was to go after them.

  After he gained his wobbly legs, he found out just how difficult finding them would be. They'd either swatted away Prine and Neville's horses or they'd taken them with them. The horses were gone.

  He stumbled across the edge of the ash that had been the fire and dropped to his haunches next to Neville.

  "Neville. Wake up, Neville."

  Neville had also been handcuffed. A wound showed itself on the side of his forehead. A rock had no doubt hit him, too.

  Neville didn't respond. Prine leaned closer, listened for Neville's breathing.

  Faint. Ragged. But steady. That was one good sign, anyway.

  Prine staggered to his feet and went in search of the coffeepot. He needed some, and so did Neville. He'd drink it cold if he had to.

  He staggered toward the coffeepot, scrounged around for the tin cup, found it, and then stumbled back to Neville.

  "Neville, Neville, wake up."

  He shook him a little with his cuffed hands. He had to be careful. Neville might have had some kind of concussion.

  Eventually, Neville turned a mud-streaked profile to Prine. The damned ground really was muddy. "What happened?"

  "They had a key."

  Neville's rage shed some of his fuzziness. Holding his head miserably, he sat up and said, "That sonofabitch Valdez sold it to him."

  "Probably."

  "When this is all over, that's the bastard I'm going after. Valdez."

  "We're sitting out here in the middle of nowhere, Neville. Your threats sound sort of pathetic since we don't have guns or horses."

  "They took our horses?"

  "Afraid so."

  "What the hell're we going to do?" Neville asked.

  "We're not that far away from the Lattimore spread. About a morning's walk."

  "That's a hell of a long walk."

  Prine shrugged. "You think of a better way of getting there?"

  Chapter Seventeen

  Prine had either underestimated the length of the walk or overestimated their strength. They moved sluggishly through grazing land, their time not even improving that much when they reached the stage road. They'd had a hard thirty-six hours and it had cost them energy and resolve.

  "The only thing that's keeping me going," Neville said several times, "is knowing that they're going to hang soon."

  All Prine did was nod. If hatred was the fuel that kept Neville going, so be it. Prine had his own fuel. He wanted to admit what he'd done and try to put his life back together.

  At midpoint in their trek, Prine saw a wagon in the distance. He put all his strength into chasing after it, shouting, waving his arms. For nothing. He never came close to reaching it.

  For his part, Neville took to standing on large boulders and gazing off into the distance. He looked like a fake Indian in a Wild West show, his hand covering his brow so he could see better, his posture rigid as a pointer's when it spots its prey. It looked dramatic as hell but didn't get them anywhere.

  They reached the Lattimore ranch around three in the afternoon. Dave Lattimore was just coming out of the barn, a small, quick man in a flannel shirt and Levi's, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. When he saw the two men, he
started looking around for their horses.

  "Afternoon," he said.

  "Afternoon," Prine said.

  "Lattimore, we need some horses and a couple of rifles. I'll pay you double what they're worth."

  The old, familiar Neville was putting in an appearance again, and Prine wasn't happy about it.

  He gave Lattimore a quick version of everything that had happened.

  "You think they're still around here?" Lattimore said.

  "They are if they're headed to Denver," Prine said. "They'll be settlin' in for the night pretty soon. If we go all night, we might be able to find them."

  "No offense, Prine, but neither of you fellas look like you could last all night."

  "We didn't ask for any of your Farmer Bob wisdom, Lattimore," Neville snapped. "We asked for horses and rifles. Now, can you set us up?"

  Lattimore didn't like being talked to this way, obviously. But in order to help Prine, he nodded and said, "Yeah, I can set you up."

  "I appreciate this, Dave," Prine said as they headed for a small rope corral set off from the outbuildings. The shadows were long, heavy, now that the sun was beginning its descent. Lattimore's wife was getting supper ready. You could smell it on the air. Prine had thoughts of a home-cooked meal, a leisurely one, topped off with a good cigar and some good sipping whiskey.

  While Prine and Neville looked over the horses, Lattimore went up to the house for the guns. "Dave's a good man," Prine said.

  "I'm sure he is."

  "I'd appreciate it if you'd treat him that way."

  "What? I wasn't treating him that way?"

  For the first time, Prine realized that Neville here probably wasn't even aware of acting like a shit sometimes. His behavior was probably so ingrained—hell, he'd grown up rich and powerful, why wouldn't he just naturally assume that most people were put on earth to play subjects to his role as conqueror?—he didn't even hear himself. Or see the resentment in the eyes of the people he insulted.