Dead Man's Poker

by Giles Tippette

  The sheriff’s office was in a two-story brick affair. From the outside I could see bars over all the upstairs windows, and I figured that the jail took up a whole story by itself. I went into a big office kind of place with several young men sitting around wearing guns and badges. They didn’t any of them look to be the Sheriff Mills that Lew Vara had described, so I asked after him. He had a little office in the back, an office within an office and one all to himself. One of the deputies, as I figured him to be, took me back. The office door was open and the young man said, “Feller to see you, Sheriff.” He hadn’t asked my name or my business. But I figured they didn’t expect anyone would be fool enough to come walking into a nest of lawmen with the intention of starting trouble.

  Sheriff Mills was slouched back in a swivel chair turned half sideways to his desk. I couldn’t tell his age for sure, but from his lined face and the gray hair I could see under his pushed-back hat, I figured he’d been around for a time. Without looking up at me, he said, “Yep?”

  I said, “Sheriff Mills, my name is Wilson Young.”

  He was a man that chewed tobacco, and he took a second to lean over and spit in a cuspidor before saying anything. He said, “Wilson Young. I’ve heard that name off and on. Come to Galveston to rob one of our banks, have you?”

  He didn’t invite me to sit, so I stayed standing. I said, “Not this trip. I’ve come in to see you and make you acquainted with my presence in town and tell you my business.”

  “Take a chair,” he said, nodding his head toward a heavy wooden affair across from his desk. I sat down.

  I said, “Sheriff, a man shot me in this town five days ago. I’m here to press charges against that man for attempted murder.”

  That caused him to straighten in his chair and swing around to his desk. He looked faintly amused. He said, “I’m to understand that you, Wilson Young, are here to press charges against a man for attempted murder?”

  I said, “Sheriff, think what you will of me, of my past, of the stories you’ve maybe heard about me. But I can say I never shot nobody that wasn’t either trying to shoot me or fixing to try and shoot me. Every man that has died at my hand has done so in a fair fight. And some of them was more than fair.” I said, “This man was attempting to cheat me out of a fair-sized amount of money. I can also say that I never cheated nobody for a nickel.”

  The sheriff spit again. He said, “And I guess you never took money from folks that didn’t want to give it up. Banks and such.”

  I said, “I won’t argue that point. What I done I done. But I’ve reached an agreement with the state law officials, and I’m trying to live up to my part of the bargain.”

  He said, “Oh, I know all about your parole. So do most other lawmen around. They even say you’re supposed to be trying to pay restitution, or whatever that word is, to some of them places come out on the short end of your count when you left their bank.”

  I said, “Well, that is not generally known. And ain’t supposed to be. If it was, I’d have every bank in three or four states claiming I robbed them and lining up for their cut of the pie. I’m doing what I can in what little way I can.”

  And it was true that part of my agreement with the governor was that I would make an honest attempt to return some of the money I’d stolen. But it had to be kept secret for the reason I’d just given the sheriff. I’d never told anyone, not even Justa or Chulo or Evita. No one. But secrets are like silver dollars; they have a way of getting passed from hand to hand.

  Not that it really made any difference. I was doing what I could, but I wasn’t exactly busting a gut in the process. All the state law wanted me to do was not cause any more trouble than I already had. They had a state they were trying to get civilized enough to attract desirable settlers from other states, and outlaws like I’d been weren’t the best advertisement.

  I said, “But whatever the situation is between me and the state law ain’t got nothing to do with how you might feel about me being in your town. That’s why I figured to walk in here and let you know I was here and what my plans were.”

  He made a kind of dry chuckle. He said, “Well, I can see you’ve got enough crust for a young man. But then I reckon it takes a fair amount of that commodity to rob as many banks as you did.” He spit again. “Since you are goin’ to the expense and risk of making so bold as to walk into my office, I’ll tell you exactly what my position is. I ain’t got no quarrel with you being in this town so long as you don’t cause me no trouble. I got all the trouble, and then some, that I can handle. For thirty-five years I’ve been in the law business and I have worked some tough towns, all the way from Abilene, Kansas, to Tascosa, New Mexico, to Fort Worth in its day. But I never been in such a place as this. Yard for yard they is more crooks, cheats, killers, ruffians, thieves, whores, and just plain riffraff of any place I ever seen. I got me and eight deputies to try and keep the peace in this place, and if I wanted to, I could fill a jail ten times as big as the one I got upstairs. I’ll be wearing this tin badge for about another year and then I intend to retire with all my arms and legs and fingers and toes and no more holes in me than I already got. You get my drift? I don’t care what you done before, what mischief you been up to, just don’t do none in Galveston.”

  I said, “Well, I can’t say you ain’t made yourself clear, Sheriff. But I want to make it clear that I’m here to get some business done against a man who done his best to kill me. And if he’d have been a better shot, he’d have succeeded. If you want me to pull up my shirt, I can show you the bullet wound in my side that I’m still getting healed up from. I want to swear out a warrant against this man. That’s legal, ain’t it?”

  The sheriff sort of sighed. He said, “You expect me to thank you for bringing me more work?” He picked up a pencil. “Who is this man?”

  “Philip Sharp. I want to bring charges against him and three other unknown parties who tried to kill me in Sharp’s office.”

  The sheriff threw his pencil down. He said, “What condition did you leave these three other ’parties’ in?”

  I said, “Two was dead and one was gut-shot. Sharp had fired at me and then run out the back of his office. He hit me in the side.”

  “How did these three come to get shot?”

  I said, “Sharp got up and opened a door to the back of his office, and the three come in with drawn pistols. They fired at me, but I’d hit the floor first sight I got of them. They was wearing hoods over their heads with holes cut out for their eyes. I shot them in self-defense.”

  The sheriff sighed. He said, “Was three of them all you could get?”

  “What?”

  The sheriff said, “We found them three—I reckon it was them three—down on the docks about four days ago. So that was your work.”

  “They fired at me first. I had come to collect a gambling debt from Phil Sharp, and I reckon he didn’t want to pay.”

  The sheriff spit again. He said, “Pity you didn’t get more of them. Those three was some of these so-called vigilantes that Sharp organized. Give me a choice, I’d rather have the crooks. Least they don’t cover their heads.”

  “Who are these vigilantes?”

  The sheriff yawned. He said, “Mostly riffraff. Some of them work—or worked—for Sharp or some of the other shippers. They are mostly trash of one kind or another, some of them off the ships that dock here. Hell, some of ’em are furriners that can’t speak no lingo I ever heard.”

  I got up out of my chair. I said, “Well, I just wanted to make this matter legal. I’m accusing Sharp of trying to kill me.”

  The sheriff said, “Sharp ain’t here.”

  “I already know that,” I said. “I understand he cleared out the next day after the shooting.”

  “Near as we can tell. How’d you know that?”

  I said, “You had a visitor, the sheriff from Matagorda County. Lew Vara.”

  Sheriff Mills said, “So that was what that was all about. I hear he had Justa Williams with him. You a
friend of Mr. Williams also?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The sheriff gave me a steady eye. He said, “Don’t get the idea that changes anything. If you catch Sharp outside of my jurisdiction, you can do anything you want to him. But don’t start no trouble here.”

  I said, “I’ll be going around town asking a lot of questions. Somebody knows where Sharp has gone. I’m going to get them to tell me.”

  The sheriff looked at me for a long second or two. He said, “You stay off those docks. Don’t be going into any of those dives down there. You may be Wilson Young and you may be one hell of an hombre with a pistol, but yore back can get a knife stuck in it just like everybody else’s.”

  I said, “I got my back taken care of. Was Sharp married?”

  The sheriff shook his head and spit. “Don’t know.”

  “Where did he live?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Is this man Patterson in on the dirty end of his business?”

  “Don’t know. Like I said, I got too much trouble with out-and-out scalawags to watch the businessmen. They may steal more than the whole bunch of thugs down on them docks put together, but they don’t generally do it with a gun or a knife.”

  I put on my hat. I said, “I’m much obliged to you for your trouble, Sheriff Mills. I hope you’ll remember that I’ve made my intentions known legally.”

  He said, “You better stay away from those docks, Mr. Young.”

  “Good day, Sheriff.”

  I stood for a good half an hour across the road from the building that had SHARP SHIPPING COMPANY across the top of it. It was a little after five-thirty, and I was letting the place sort of clear out. I’d seen three or four young clerks come out of the front door, put on their derbies, and then stride off up the street. I hadn’t seen anyone answering the description of Mr. Patterson.

  Finally I decided I might as well have a few words with him in his office. I’d meant to catch him on the street because a man doesn’t feel so secure under such conditions as he would in the friendly confines of where he works. But it didn’t look like he was going to come out anytime soon, and I knew Chulo was probably getting restless back at the hotel, and one thing I didn’t want was Chulo getting restless.

  I crossed the street and opened the door. There was a big outer office with three desks on one side of the room and three on the other. At one a young man in tie and high collar and sleeve guards was working at a ledger. I asked after Mr. Patterson, and he pointed at a door at the back without much looking up. I figured if they were going to be that informal, I’d just go along with it, so I opened Mr. Patterson’s door without bothering to knock. Behind a desk that had a bunch of cabinets in it, where I reckoned they stored papers, was a tired-looking man that pretty well fit the description Justa had given me of Patterson. He looked up when I came into the office. He said, “If you’re a bill collector, you’re wasting your time.”

  I said, “In a way I am. But I’m looking for Philip Sharp.”

  He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand over his face. He said, “You and a lot of other folks.”

  I said, “Do you know where I can find him?”

  “Nope,” he said.

  “No idea where he went?”

  “Nope.”

  I went forward until I was right up against Patterson’s desk. I said, “Mr. Patterson, my name is Wilson Young. I aim to find Phil Sharp. He owes me twenty thousand dollars and a fair fight.”

  Mr. Patterson laughed slightly. He said, “I wish you luck, but I don’t reckon you’ll have it on either count.”

  I said, “I find it hard to believe that a man will just pull out and not tell his partner where he’s bound for. I don’t want to give you no trouble, but I will if you don’t help me.”

  Patterson took his hand away from his face. He said, “Mister, you couldn’t give me any more trouble than I’ve already got. You could shoot me, but I’d take that as a relief. Right now I’m trying to figure out who to pay with what little money we got and who not to. I am sitting here trying to clean up a mess that don’t seem to have no bottom. I am trying to figure out how I ever got in the shipping business and why in hell it had to be with a man like Philip Sharp. But most of all I’m trying to figure out how my name ever got on company papers saying I’m part owner of this disaster and partly responsible for its debts. Sharp owes you twenty thousand, you say? Fine. What would you say to me signing over the whole mess to you in return for that debt?”

  I said, “It’s Sharp owes me. Besides, I got the feeling that might be a losing proposition.”

  “You have that precise, sir.”

  I studied him a minute. I felt like he was telling me the truth. I said, “All right, who’s the ring leader of this bunch of vigilantes?”

  Patterson said, “Now that was a part of Sharp’s business I had nothing to do with. And don’t want nothing to do with it.”

  “Who knows about it?”

  He studied me for a moment. He said, “Mister, I don’t think you’ll kill me. But if I go to talking about that vigilante bunch, one of them will. So I think I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  I said, “How long y’all been shipping illegal Mexican cattle? Or how long was you shipping them?”

  He looked at me and then laughed shortly. He said, “Well, if you know so much, why do you need to ask questions?”

  I said, “I know your supply ran out in the north here not too long ago. Where was Sharp getting the cattle before then?”

  Patterson’s sleeves were rolled up. He took a moment to roll them down and button the cuffs. He said, “I don’t suppose it matters anymore. Besides, I had nothing to do with that part. I was just the bookkeeper before I signed some papers I shouldn’t have.”

  “Where?”

  “Originally Sharp was loading cattle out of Tampico, Mexico, for shipment to New Orleans and Cuba and Florida and even some to Houston and other ports. That’s when we had the two big oceangoing steamboats. We could carry fifteen hundred head a boat. But then I heard him complaining that he was having to look further and further inland to get decent cattle and they were costing more. I think he was paying around two or three dollars a head delivered to the docks in Tampico at first.”

  “What were you selling them for?”

  “Twenty, twenty-five dollars a head. Sometimes thirty. Of course those big ships cost money to run.”

  I said, “And then he run out of that supply and had to keep going further north. Up toward the border.”

  Patterson raised his eyebrows. “You are informed.”

  “And loading them at Bodega.”

  “No. We couldn’t load the big steamboats at the harbor in Bodega. It was too shallow. We had to take them on the coasters and try and transfer them to the steamboats. It just didn’t work very well.”

  “So Sharp was getting in trouble.”

  “Yes. The price of the cattle kept going up and up. It seems that all of a sudden these cattle could be driven overland. You see, Sharp’s whole scheme had been based on the fact that the only way to get these illegal cattle into the country was by ship. Then something happened. I don’t know what.”

  Of course I did and I told him. I said, “The drovers paid the right people more money to let the cattle through overland than Sharp and the other shippers were paying to keep them out so they’d have to go by water.” I said, dryly, “It’s considerably cheaper to drive cattle over good grass than it is to give them a boat ride.”

  “I would suppose,” Patterson said. “You seem to know more about this than I do. Mr. Sharp never told me more than he thought I needed to know.”

  I said, “But came a day and things went bad. That about it?”

  “If you mean we lost the steamboats, yes. Sharp said we simply couldn’t get enough cattle to keep up the payments. I asked him why we didn’t ship legal cattle, U.S. cattle.”

  “I bet that gave him a good laugh.”

  “No, that’s when he sold me a share
of the company for a very small amount of money. I should have realized . . .” He shrugged his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. I’m a ruined man. By law I’m an owner of this firm and responsible for its debts just as Sharp is. But I can’t run. I’ve got a wife and children to think of. I’ve got a home here.”

  I said, “How could the debts be that big? Don’t you still have three ships? Coasters I believe you call them.”

  “Those ships wouldn’t cover a tenth of what this company owes, Mr.—Uh, what did you say your name was?”

  “Young, Wilson Young. I own a gambling casino in Del Rio. Your Mr. Sharp left me with a promissory note for twenty grand. He also gave me a hole in my side that I didn’t particularly want.”

  A light was dawning in Mr. Patterson’s eyes. He said, “Were you here by any chance about five days ago? I was out when you visited, but I heard about it.”

  I nodded.

  Patterson smiled, grimly. He said, “I see now why you’re interested in the vigilantes. I understand you met three of them. They were with Mr. Sharp for your benefit.”

  “You help move the bodies?”

  He put up his hands, quickly. “Not me, sir. I have nothing to do with that crowd. But I saw them getting moved.”

  I said, “But I’m still trying to get at your finances. And I ain’t doing it to pry. I’m trying to figure out if there’s enough left of this business to fetch Mr. Sharp back.”

  Mr. Patterson leaned back in his chair. He said, “I can give you a solemn no to that one. I’d imagine criminal charges will shortly be pressed against Sharp. As well as every kind of civil suit imaginable.”

  “Well, what did he do, take off with the cash?”

  “He took off with a lot of people’s cash,” he said. “You ever heard of a shipping contract, Mr. Young?”

  “I suppose so. A contract is a contract.”

  “Not quite the same as a shipping contract. Let’s say you’re a cattle broker and you want to buy or have Mr. Sharp furnish you two thousand head of cattle at fifteen dollars a head. You give Mr. Sharp half of that or fifteen thousand dollars to go and buy the cattle and defray his other costs. Then you pay the balance when you get the cattle. Now that’s square and aboveboard, right?”