The Christmas Trespassers

by Andrew J. Fenady

  Finally it appeared to Deek Keeshaw that the conversation between Hooter and Yellow Rose was close to the curtain. Hooter poured each of them a cup from the top shelf and they seemed to be drinking to something or other. Deek was pretty close to being in the drink himself.

  “Well, Rose, we both know that your share of the Appaloosa is worth more than that but on the other hand the reason it is, is because of you in the first place.”

  “It’s all right, Hooter.”

  “No, ma’am, without you around business’ll peter down to next to nothing.”

  “You’ll do all right, Hooter.”

  “What about you, Rose? That thousand won’t take you very far.”

  “That depends on which direction I go.”

  “You said something about San Francisco.”

  “Did I?”

  “Seems to me you did, more’n once.”

  “A lady can change her mind . . .”

  “Sure you won’t change it? About leaving, I mean. Tomorrow you might see things different. If you do . . .”

  “I won’t. Not about this. The Appaloosa’s all yours, Hooter, and welcome to it.”

  “Not yet, it ain’t. I still got to float a loan with Amos Bush.”

  “That’s his business, floating.” She smiled.

  “Yeah, even if he has to sink other people to do it.”

  “You won’t sink, Hooter. You’re too damn buoyant.”

  “Well, I been called a lot of things before but never that. How about one for the road?”

  “No thanks, Hooter, and I’ll tell you something else. That might’ve been my last drink.”

  “Next thing you’ll be singing in Reverend Groves’s choir.”

  “You never can tell, but not around here.”

  “When’ll you leave?”

  “No hurry. Next year, but the first part of next year. So long, stranger.”

  “So long, Rose.”

  Deek Keeshaw was up and waiting as Yellow Rose moved away from the bar.

  “Miss Rose.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Deek Keeshaw.” He even bowed slightly, courtly as a chevalier.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Oh, you do.” He seemed surprised and pleased.

  “Part of my business at the Appaloosa.”

  “I see. Well, that’s what I wanted to discuss with you . . . upstairs,” he oozed.

  “Well, Mr. Keeshaw, you’re a little late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean . . . I’m out of business.”

  * * *

  Elwood Hinge had been looking through the office window across at the Appaloosa ever since he saw Yellow Rose walk in nearly an hour ago. He had risen in his stocking feet from the chair in front of the rolltop and started for the cot when he glanced out and caught sight of her.

  Instead of continuing to the cot he went back to the desk, picked up one of the “fine ceegars” Pete Inghram had proffered a few days ago, and lit up.

  He had no halter around Rosalind DuPree and certainly not around Yellow Rose, but he had hoped that she would have continued to absent herself from the place as she had done the previous two nights. But he did notice even at the distance and through the darkness that there was something different-looking about Yellow Rose that night.

  He wasn’t eager for sleep anyhow so he lit up and leaned on the edge of the rolltop and blew out a few sets of smoke rings. Hinge could hear one of the two prisoners snoring in his cell. He knew it was Red Borden. Borden had snored every night since he took up lodging at the county facility. Slept like he didn’t have a worry in the world. He soon wouldn’t, at least not in this world.

  Hinge was getting close to the butt end of the “fine ceegar” and was about to douse it and hit the cot when he saw Yellow Rose coming out of the Appaloosa. He thought that she paused and glanced toward the sheriff’s office before she walked on to the Eden, but he couldn’t be sure. He had a notion to go out and talk to her, just a notion. He knew he wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to leave Charlie Reno and Red Borden even though they were both securely locked up and Borden was sawing away on his cot.

  But Elwood Hinge was pleased that Yellow Rose had not stayed the night at the Appaloosa. He had been thinking about a lot of things and wanted to talk about some of those things to Rosalind DuPree.

  As he took what he intended to be the last puff from the “fine ceegar” he heard the whispered voice.

  “Sheriff, hey, Sheriff . . . come back here a minute.”

  Elwood Hinge left the shotgun where it leaned, but was still wearing his .44 when he walked back close to the cell. Borden went on with his snoring.

  “What do . . .”

  “Shhhh . . . shhh.”

  “What is it, Charlie?” Hinge whispered. “You got a secret you don’t want to let Red in on?”

  “That’s right.” Charlie paused while he made sure that Borden was still snoring.

  He was.

  “How’d you like to make some real money, Sheriff?” Charlie breathed. “Sheriff?”

  “Already have.” Hinge breathed back. “Thanks to you boys. Two thousand.”

  “You can more than double it.”

  “How?”

  “Easy. Real easy.” Charlie continued to whisper while Borden continued to snore. “We got nearly six thousand stashed from that bank job in Garden City. It’s stashed outside of town, close by.”

  “How close?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Go on.”

  “One of us escapes, me. You come along, we split the six thousand, and nobody’s the wiser.”

  “What about him?”

  “He stays and you collect on him anyhow.”

  “Suppose he don’t want to stay?”

  “That’s easy, too. Kill him.”

  “You son of a bitch!” Red Borden roared and jumped up from his cot, springing toward Charlie Reno, who jumped back in his cell four feet. “I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch, if it’s the last thing I do!”

  “I hope it is, Red,” said Elwood Hinge as he walked away. “I sure as hell hope it is.”

  Chapter 22

  Ben extended his hand. This time Shad took it without hesitating, but still he did not smile. Esmeralda stood nearby. The boys were already on the loaded wagon in front of Shad’s cabin.

  Early that morning Esmeralda had fixed a hearty breakfast of fresh eggs, smoked ham, potatoes, and warm bread, with a pot of coffee for the men and plenty of milk for the boys. The conversation had been pleasant but guarded, with Ben and Es careful not to mention Molly O or the Shenandoah and Shad avoiding any reference to Ben’s health.

  Since the days were short this time of year Ben said he wanted to get an early start and cover as many miles as possible during the daylight hours. Shad agreed that that was a good idea.

  As Shad and Ben shook hands, each man knew that this would be the last time they would see each other, but each man did his best to act as if he didn’t know.

  “So long, Shad.”

  “Ben.”

  “Confusion to the enemy.” Ben managed a smile.

  Shad nodded.

  Ben turned and went to the wagon. Esmeralda came to Shad. She kissed his face. He stood motionless.

  “I’ll write when we get settled. Thanks, Shad . . . and God bless you.”

  His left hand moved only slightly, but he pressed some folded money into her palm and closed her fingers around it. Esmeralda started to protest, but before she got started his eyes stopped her. For just that moment they were the eyes of Shad Parker of the Shenandoah Valley.

  She smiled, turned away quickly, and went to the wagon. Benjie extended his hand and helped her up.

  The wagon started to move west. Both boys waved back toward their uncle, then Esmeralda waved. There were tears in her eyes.

  “Mom, what’s wrong? Why’re you crying?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Benjie.” Esmeralda turned away. “Nothing. Everyt
hing’s just fine.”

  From above, at the entrance to the cave, Austin, Peg, and Davy watched the wagon pull away, then saw the man turn and walk slowly to the cabin.

  “Austin, who do you suppose those people were?”

  “I haven’t any notion, Peg.”

  “Well, whoever they were, he let them stay the night.”

  “That he did, but it looks like they’re on their way to somewhere, with everything they own.”

  “Did you see the man?” Davy said. “He only had one arm.”

  “Yes, Davy,” Peg answered. “We saw.”

  “Wonder how he got it cut off? Do you think it was in that war everybody’s always talking about, Austin?”

  “Probably.”

  “Maybe Indians chopped it off.”

  “I don’t think so, Davy, probably the war.”

  “I don’t ever want to go to war,” Davy grabbed ahold of his left arm, “and get my arm chopped off.”

  “Talk about something else, Davy,” Peg said.

  “I’m hungry.”

  * * *

  “Sheriff! Sheriff! Come on back here!” Charlie Reno hollered. “I got to talk to you!”

  Elwood Hinge made his way back toward the twin cells.

  “Sheriff!”

  “What is it?”

  “You got to get me outta here, now!”

  “What do you propose I do, Charlie? Book you into the Eden Hotel?”

  “I don’t care what you do so long as you get me outta here. He kept me up all night.” Reno pointed at Red Borden, who stood in his cell glowering at Charlie, who stood bleary-eyed as far away as possible from his fellow inmate.

  “I didn’t hear anything.” The sheriff looked from Charlie to Red.

  “Whisperin’ . . .”

  “What?”

  “Kept whisperin’ all night long that he was gonna kill me . . . all night long . . . over and over again . . . wouldn’t stop all night long. Like to drive me crazy. Tell him to stop it.”

  “Red,” Elwood said nicely, “stop it.”

  “I will when I kill him.”

  “He seems determined, Charlie.”

  “This ain’t funny, Sheriff.”

  “That depends on where you’re standing. Out here I can see some humor in the situation.”

  “It’s your job to protect me.”

  “It is?”

  “Well, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is . . . and it isn’t.”

  “What the hell does that mean? He’s threatenin’ to kill me.”

  “It means I’m obliged to use my best effort . . . do what I can.”

  “Well?”

  “It doesn’t mean I have the right to gag him so long as he acts in a quiet and orderly manner. Now, Red, I’m warning you officially, if you persist in threatening your compadre, do it in a quiet and orderly manner so as not to disturb the peace of this here community, particularly these immediate environs. Otherwise I’ll knock your teeth out. There, that’s my best effort.” The sheriff turned away.

  “I’m gonna kill the son of a bitch,” Red Borden said in a barely audible voice.

  “See you boys later.”

  As Elwood reached his desk, Homer Keeler came into the office.

  “Morning, Sheriff.”

  “Morning, Homer. How’s the weather out there?”

  “Nice. Everything quiet last night?”

  “Might say that. Boys back there had a little falling-out. Charlie tried to bribe me into killing Red, then splitting the loot from Garden City and letting him escape, but Red overheard the plot and now he’s set on killing Charlie, so keep an eye on ’em. Other than that, everything’s quiet.”

  “Are you serious, Elwood?”

  “Yep.” Hinge nodded. “So’s Red.”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  “No need to blaspheme, Homer. Just keep an eye on ’em.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you have that talk with Kathy Lewis?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And?”

  “Well, the situation is all straightened out. Just like you said, we’re both gonna do some compromising. We’re gonna get married and I’m gonna stay in the law business, so I asked her daddy’s permission for her hand in marriage.”

  “And?”

  “He agreed.”

  “Good.”

  “And suggested that under the circumstances, New Year’s Day would be a good time to do it.”

  * * *

  Hooter had just settled into the chair near Amos Bush’s desk while Bush went about the business of lighting up a six-and-one-half-inch stogie. Somehow Amos succeeded in making a near ritual out of the procedure, drawing the match flame, slowly, ever closer to the cigar, but never quite touching it. He revolved the cigar grandiloquently in his fingers and mouth until the yellow flame ignited the far end, then savored the smoke against his tongue and through his teeth before exhaling a blue spume across his desk and toward the man in the chair.

  While Hooter, himself, was not a smoker, he was used to smoke, cigarettes, pipe, and cigar, although the cigar smoke he was used to came from far less expensive brands than Bush blew out.

  “Well, Mr. Hooten, what was it you wanted to see me about?” Bush’s voice and manner assumed a completely businesslike thrust.

  Gerald Hooten couldn’t remember the last time he had been called anything except Hooter, but he cleared his throat and attempted to match Bush’s business demeanor while being subjected to another outflow of premium vapor.

  “Well, Mr. Bush, as you probably know I have a partner in the ownership of the Appaloosa . . .” Hooter reached for a businesslike term “. . . enterprise. This, uh, particular party is interested in . . . as a matter of fact . . . is anxious to sell out . . . for I might add a very reasonable amount—one thousand dollars, to be precise—and I wanted to talk to you about a . . .”

  Hooter never quite got the word “loan” out of his mouth. Amos Bush cleared his throat, looked over toward Raymond Osgood and Henry Wordsly, rose from his chair, and pointed toward the entrance. For the moment, Hooter thought he was going to be dismissed and the business transaction was going to be terminated. Not so.

  “Mr. Hooten, I just recalled that there is a matter of some urgency that I need to attend to.” Bush was already taking his topcoat from the nearby clothes tree. “Would you mind walking with me outside while we continue this discussion?”

  “Why, no, I guess not. Sure. Sure thing, Mr. Bush.”

  “Good. Very good. After you, sir.” Bush ushered Hooter toward the door. “I’ll be back shortly, Raymond. Take care of things.”

  “Yes, sir.” Raymond Osgood nodded from behind his cage. “Don’t worry about a thing.” He was already in command of the exchequer.

  “Which way are we going?” Hooter asked when Bush closed the door behind them on the street.

  “Doesn’t matter, Mr. Hooten. Let’s just walk and talk. This way, please.” Bush indicated toward the west.

  Hooter walked alongside as Amos Bush’s voice lost some of its businesslike edge and assumed a more friendly aspect.

  “One thousand dollars.” Bush smiled.

  “That’s right.”

  “And what percentage does . . . your partner own?”

  “Fifty percent. Fifty-fifty.”

  “I see. Well, Mr. Hooten, I have a proposition that should be of interest. I might say of great interest to you.”

  “That so?”

  “Yes. Now you must understand that this has nothing to do with the bank. This is strictly between you and me. Man to man. You do understand that?”

  “Just so I get the thousand.”

  “You’ll get more than that. Let’s say fifteen hundred.”

  “Fifteen hundred?”

  “For twenty-five percent of the profits. I’ll be what is known as a ‘silent partner.’ Very silent. You run the business. You keep the books. At the end of each month we split the profits, seventy-five percent to you, twent
y-five percent to me. The fifteen hundred is yours to keep and you own seventy-five percent of the business instead of the fifty percent you now have. How does that strike you?”

  “Well . . . I didn’t expect . . .”

  “No, of course not. I’m sure it’s more than you expected. As a businessman, one to another, I don’t see how you can refuse. It’s a risk-free deal. You make a tidy profit going in and end up with more than you now have and a silent partner who will give you absolutely no interference in running the enterprise.”

  “Well, that’s something, all right. Of course it’s not like having Yellow . . . Miss DuPree. She’s quite an attraction.”

  “Yes, well, I’m sure that you can import another attraction, attractions . . . younger, even more attractive, from other places and without giving up ownership. You know, sort of upgrade the enterprise. Of course, that’s strictly up to you. You’re in charge. But since I’ll have a vested interest, I’ll do everything I can to help, from a distance of course. It would not be seemly for, let’s say a man of my position to be in any way connected or associated. As far as the community is concerned you are the sole owner and operator of the Appaloosa. Incidentally, as you know, I do own the building and I’ll reduce the rent, let’s say ten percent. Well, Mr. Hooten, yes or no?”

  “Well, since you put it that way . . .”

  “That’s the way I put it. The answer I presume is yes.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Bush looked up and down the street. “You’ll excuse me if we don’t shake hands, but we have a deal. Come in a half hour after the bank closes. I’ll have the necessary papers for you to sign and of course the fifteen hundred in cash. Good day, partner.” Bush started to walk back toward the bank.

  “Good day . . . partner,” Hooter mumbled, and scratched behind his ear. He couldn’t help wondering in how many other enterprises Amos Bush was a “silent partner.”

  * * *

  Yellow Rose, née Rosalind DuPree, lay naked where she had passed the night alone, atop her oversized canopied bed with the open book at her side. She picked up the volume and looked again at the words she knew so well.