by Ralph Hayes
Sumner sat there thinking. He touched his hand to the black, bruised place on his face. ‘I guess my first stop would be the Long Branch Saloon.’
Hartman glanced at the Peacemaker on Sumner’s hip. He had discarded the coat again now, and was wearing just the vest over his clean shirt.
‘Are you good with that thing?’
Sumner grunted out a laugh. ‘Oh, I know where to oil it.’
‘Luke Short may try to hire you,’ Hartman told him. ‘I think he intends to build a small army over there.’
Sumner rose from his chair. ‘Thanks for the sit down, Marshal. I might stop back in. Depending on how things go.’
Hartman rose, too. He liked the looks of Sumner, despite his rough appearance. ‘Good luck to you, mister.’
‘The name is Sumner.’
Hartman frowned at him. ‘The boy that killed Curly Quentin?’
Sumner sighed. ‘I guess I won’t ever get past that.’
‘I’ll be damned!’ Hartman took another look at the Colt.
‘I’ll be on my way, Marshal.’
‘I wasn’t going to mention this. But the money on the heads of them two deputies you’re looking for is pretty big.’
‘That’s not my business,’ Sumner said. ‘You keep safe now, Marshal.’
‘Son, that gets tougher by the day.’
Sumner found the local hostelry after he left the marshal, and got his mount bedded down and fed. Then he went to a small hotel near the Long Branch Saloon and checked in, just in case he would need to spend the night. He had a light meal in the hotel dining room, and then walked across the street to the saloon.
It was early, and there were just a few patrons present, town men sitting and drinking quietly. Sumner sat down at a table near the door, and looked around. He found it interesting that the newcomer to town was alone. But he spotted neither Pritchard nor Guthrie in the place at that moment.
A bartender came out to him and asked for his order and Sumner requested a bottle of Red Top Rye and a glass.
‘Yes, sir. Can I interest you in a couple of boiled eggs and a hot biscuit?’
‘No, thanks. Listen, have you had any strangers in looking for work here?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t know. You’d have to ask Mr Short.’
‘Is he available?’
‘I’ll go get him when I get your rye.’
He returned a moment later and deposited the bottle on Sumner’s table, and two shot glasses. ‘In case you have company. Mr Short is coming.’
It was just a moment later when Sumner was pouring himself a drink that Luke Short approached Sumner’s table with another man. Luke was tall and good-looking, wearing a fancy brocaded vest, and Sumner correctly picked him out from his companion. The other man was dressed in a black suit and black lariat tie and wore a short handlebar moustache. He looked more like an accountant than a gunman. But he also looked very physical.
‘Evening, stranger,’ Luke said, standing at the table now. ‘I’m the owner here. My name is Luke Short, and this handsome fellow beside me is Wyatt Earp.’
Sumner rose from his chair. ‘Mr Earp. Your reputation precedes you.’
Wyatt was staring at Sumner’s black eye. He wore a Peacemaker just like the one on Sumner’s belt. ‘Have you been brawling in one of our saloons, boy?’
‘My mount kicked me. Glad to meet you, Mr Short. I’m Wesley Sumner.’
The two exchanged a look. ‘Curly Quentin,’ Luke said to Wyatt.
Wyatt nodded. ‘And knew Clay Allison, I hear.’
‘I worked for him on his ranch for a while,’ Sumner admitted.
‘A damn good man with a gun,’ Wyatt said. ‘But if he’d shown up in Tombstone, I’d have had to arrest him.’
Sumner gave him a rare grin. ‘Will you sit with me for a drink?’
The two seated themselves at the table with him, and Sumner ordered a third glass and the bartender brought it. Sumner poured them all a drink.
‘To our mutual health,’ Sumner toasted, raising his glass.
They both knew what he meant. They swigged the rye.
‘I understand you’re looking for work,’ Luke Short said then.
‘No, no,’ Sumner said. ‘I was looking for a man that might have asked for work here.’
‘Why do you want him?’ Wyatt asked bluntly.
Sumner looked over at him. Earp was a presence at the table. He gave off an aura of authority. When he spoke, people listened. Sumner hesitated. ‘It’s a personal grievance,’ he finally said.
Wyatt laughed in his throat. ‘Sounds like the story of my life. In Tombstone.’
‘I heard something about that,’ Sumner said.
‘Wyatt’s brother Morgan was killed,’ Luke said. ‘So Wyatt took his badge off, rode out after the three shooters, and killed every last one of the murdering bastards.’
‘I turned lawless again,’ Wyatt offered, remembering. ‘I had a whole damn sheriff’s posse after me while it was happening.’
Sumner smiled. He was beginning to like this big reputation lawman. ‘You said “Again”.’
‘Oh, Wyatt was pretty wild as a youngster,’ Luke explained.
‘Didn’t you spend a spell in prison, Sumner?’ Wyatt asked curiously.
Sumner took a deep breath in. ‘A while, yes.’
‘You sound a lot like me, kid.’ Wyatt grinned.
Sumner met Wyatt’s eye. That was the biggest compliment he had ever received. ‘That honors me, Wyatt.’
‘Nonsense. Look, who is this man you’re looking for?’
‘There are actually two men,’ Sumner said. ‘But one of them might have ridden in here recently.’
‘Big man, with a scar on his face?’ Luke asked.
Sumner nodded. ‘That sounds like Pritchard.’
‘Yes, that’s the name he gave,’ Wyatt said.
‘He asked me for a job,’ Luke added. ‘But I didn’t like the way he looked. Or acted. I turned him down. Oh, he said something to himself then. He said he should have gone to Cimarron with another man. I can’t remember the name.’
‘Was it Guthrie?’
‘That was it. I got the idea they had had a falling out and went separate ways. Pritchard said he would try down the street, so he might have been hired by one of the other saloons. They’re afraid of the reformers.’
‘I’ll check it out,’ Sumner said.
‘You look like a man that can handle himself,’ Wyatt said, looking him over again. ‘Luke here could probably put you on right here at the Long Branch. You could join Masterson and me to keep a watch over this place. Our city marshal doesn’t have the gunpower to do it.’
Sumner shook his head. ‘I’m not looking for a job, gentlemen. But I appreciate the offer.’
‘You’re kind of single-minded right now.’ Wyatt smiled.
Sumner nodded. ‘That’s it.’
‘The same way I was in Tombstone,’ Wyatt recalled. ‘Did these boys kill somebody you knew?’
‘They did. And they did it under the color of the law. They were federal marshals.’
‘Over in the Territory?’
Sumner nodded.
‘Those boys are the worst,’ Wyatt told him. ‘They hire just anybody that applies over there. Because they’re always so short-handed. If this Pritchard is here, would you need some help with him?’
Sumner was impressed. He was being offered help by the most feared gunfighter and ex-lawman of the southwest. ‘Like I said, Wyatt. This is personal. But thanks.’
‘You’re turning down some big help there, boy,’ Luke said.
‘You don’t have to tell me that.’ He downed a second drink. ‘Well. The bottle is yours, gentlemen. I have some looking to do.’
‘Why don’t you ask at that hotel across the street?’ Luke suggested. ‘I think I saw Pritchard walk over there.’
‘Good idea. Thanks.’ He rose.
‘Listen, Sumner.’ From Wyatt Earp.
‘Yes?’ Sumner replied.
Again, Sumner was impressed. ‘I’ll remember that, Wyatt.’
Then he left them staring after him.
At the hotel across the street, where he had registered himself earlier, Sumner spoke to the same desk clerk who had registered him.
‘Would you like your room key, sir?’
‘No. I just heard that a friend of mine might also be registered here. Do you have a man named Duke Pritchard here?’
‘Why, yes, we do. I could send you up to his room, but he isn’t there now.’
‘Would you know where I can find him?’
‘He met up with a couple of other men that work where he does. I think he might have rode out to a cabin one of them owns. I heard him mention it.’ He pushed a pair of rimless spectacles up farther on his bony nose.
‘Where would that be?’ Sumner asked him.
‘I have no idea. But I think all of them work at the same place.’
Sumner frowned at him. ‘Well?’
‘Oh. They work at that saloon near the bank. It’s called the Lost Heifer. He would be there most any night. He’s a kind of security guard there. To throw out any of them reform people that might wander in.’
Sumner nodded. He paused, then took some coins from a pocket and laid them on the counter between them. ‘Here. For keeping the room open for me. In case I can’t use it tonight.’
The clerk eyed him curiously. ‘Aren’t you staying?’
‘I can’t say for sure right now. But maybe I will take that key after all. When do you serve the evening meal?’
‘That will be ready at six.’
Sumner thanked him and went up a flight of stairs to his small, spartan room with its iron bed and one straight chair in a corner. There was a sign hanging over the bed that announced House Rules and listed half a dozen.
Sumner flopped down tiredly on the lumpy bed and slept for three hours without waking up or even moving. He had had no idea how tired he had become. When he went across the hall to a bathroom to wash up, he found that the color around his eye and cheek was turning a light lavender, and yellow. It felt much better and he knew the break there would soon heal.
He had gotten the room number of Pritchard from the clerk, but when he stopped near it there was no sound coming from inside and he rightfully surmised that Pritchard was not there. He went on downstairs to eat his evening meal, and ate it leisurely, with a tension slowly building inside him. He remembered Wyatt Earp’s advice to him, and made a conscious effort to push the emotion back. He wondered if Pritchard would show up at the small dining room, but he didn’t.
At a quarter to eight he left the hotel and walked down to the Lost Heifer Saloon. It was dusk outside and lamps were already lit in the saloon. When he entered, he saw that there was just a small crowd there, drinking and talking quietly at several tables. He stopped just inside the doors and looked around.
At the center of the room, sitting at a table with two other men, was Duke Pritchard.
Sumner’s eyes narrowed down to a deadly-looking scowl. This was it.
The end of a very long trail.
Pritchard was laughing and joking with his comrades and seemed to be having a good time.
Then he spotted Sumner standing just inside the doors.
His hard eyes narrowed, and the two men sitting with him fell silent, following his stare. ‘What the hell!’ Pritchard muttered.
‘What is it?’ the tall, rawboned man on his right asked.
The second one was just staring sober-faced at Sumner.
Sumner felt something harden inside him. Memories flew through his head like birds of prey, ripping at Sumner’s psyche. Pritchard beating on Corey with that wicked club until Corey was senseless. He fought to keep the thing under control that was boiling at his gut. He moved a few paces toward the table, and stopped again.
‘Pritchard,’ he uttered in a deadly tone.
Pritchard squinted at him. ‘The kid from Fort Sill?’ He had no trepidation about Sumner’s presence. He remembered him as an awkward young man who didn’t even wear a gun.
‘The same,’ Sumner growled. ‘Corey Madison’s friend.’
Pritchard grinned and shook his head. ‘I remember you two now. Gabriel hanged your little friend, didn’t he?’
‘He never made it to the gallows,’ Sumner said. ‘You beat him to death.’
Suddenly all noise in the saloon had ceased. All eyes were now on the Pritchard table, and on Sumner.
‘Can I help it if he was a weak little bastard?’ Pritchard laughed. He glanced at the Colt on Sumner’s hip. ‘I see you finally decided to strap a gun on. Have you fired it yet? I reckon you’ll get the hang of it after a while, kid. When you learn where the trigger is.’
Pritchard laughed again, more loudly, and the slim man joined in. The third gunman, also a saloon hire, was still appraising Sumner carefully.
‘Hell, I’ll let bygones be bygones,’ Pritchard added then. ‘In fact, you can have a drink with us. If you’re old enough.’
More laughter. But only at Pritchard’s table. An almost palpable tension had crowded into the room and taken the breath away from many patrons.
‘You have to pay for Corey,’ Sumner said after a moment. He hadn’t moved from the place he stopped at, fifteen feet away. There was nothing in his line of fire.
Pritchard screwed his face up. ‘Good Jesus! Is that why you come all the way up here? To call me out?’ A slow grin. He still had no concern at all about Sumner’s presence. ‘Boy, do you know how good I am with a gun?’
‘I know your exaggerated opinion of yourself,’ Sumner said evenly.
Three men at a table behind Pritchard rose carefully and moved over to the bar. A fat bartender looked toward a back room. ‘Mr Cates! We might have trouble in here!’
Pritchard had been irritated by Sumner’s last remark. He answered the fat man. ‘Trouble? Why, this suckling won’t be no trouble, Gus. I already took the measure of him back in the Territory.’ He glared now at Sumner. ‘Why don’t you just take your butt out of here, Sumner, while you still can?’
The third man at the table, the one who had remained quiet through the exchange, looked over at Pritchard quickly. ‘Did you say Sumner?’
Pritchard returned the look. ‘So what?’
The man turned to Sumner. ‘Is that Wesley Sumner?’
Sumner was tired of talking. ‘Defend yourself, Pritchard.’
The one who had just addressed him, a bulky fellow, rose quickly from his chair. ‘Wait! I don’t want no part in this! This boy cut down Curly Quentin. He rode with Clay Allison!’
There was a hushed murmuring across the room. Pritchard’s ugly face went straight-lined. The fellow speaking settled a Stetson on his head. ‘See you later, boys. I got more healthy things to attend to.’ And he hurried past Sumner from the saloon.The lanky man still sitting with Pritchard shrugged. ‘We don’t need him, Duke. Just say the word.’ He considered himself fast with his Colt Navy.
‘Why don’t you take this outside, boys?’ From the bartender.
Pritchard was rising slowly from his seat, frowning heavily. His companion did likewise, and moved slightly away from Pritchard.
‘Are you calling me out?’ Pritchard growled at Sumner. ‘You think Quentin was good? I ain’t never been beat, boy. Do you really want to die tonight?’
‘That’s not in my plans,’ Sumner told him quietly. ‘Go for your iron.’
Pritchard’s face crimsoned, and the scar running through his eye turned pink in the dull light of the saloon. ‘You asked for it, boy.’
‘Let me take him, Duke,’ his companion said thickly. ‘I won’t break a sweat.’
‘You can join in,’ Pritchard grated out, grinning now.
‘Please, boys!’ The bartender’s final plea.
In the next moment, both Pritchard and the other gunman went for their guns.
Sumner saw the action begin in the first split second. Feeling cool now. In charge.
In seconds, the room erupted with the raucous roaring of their guns. Sumner had decided to go for Pritchard first, because of his importance. Sumner’s Peacemaker was out blindingly fast and firing at Pritchard’s chest while Pritchard was aiming his Colt at Sumner. Sumner’s hot lead struck first by a half second and clubbed Pritchard in center torso, exploding through him close under his heart and blowing blood, bone and matter out through his posterior ribs. Pritchard’s shot was jerked off target and ripped along Sumner’s ribcage as the other gunman’s weapon roared out just before Sumner’s hammer-fanned blast, with Sumner in a half-crouch. The shot tore at his neck and collar, grazing him there. But Sumner’s second shot hit the other man in the throat and destroyed his windpipe before tearing through his cervical spine.
Pritchard went flying off his feet, abject surprise on his thick face as he crashed over the table behind him and hit the floor so hard that nearby patrons felt it shake under their feet. Pritchard looked like he was trying to get up for a moment and his Colt went off again, smashing a lamp up front. The companion had hit the floor beside their table, his hands at his throat, gagging and gasping for air. Sumner watched as his eyes widened and he took his last strangled breath.
Sumner walked over to Pritchard. A patron standing nearby stumbled out of his way. The saloon was cemetery quiet. Sumner looked down on Pritchard and he was still breathing.
‘No, I ain’t dead, you little weasel,’ he coughed out. ‘I’ll make it. And then look out.’
Sumner aimed the Colt at his chest and fired a last time, making a couple of patrons jump. Pritchard twitched once there on his back, and his trousers grew wet at the crotch. Then he was finally lifeless.
Sumner looked around the room at the scared faces. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. He turned toward the door and started holstering his weapon when he heard a double click behind him, behind the bar.