Vermijo

by Nelson Hunter

  The jailhouse and marshal’s office was set out conventionally: square, barred and shuttered windows; a wall cabinet that held a rack of chained carbines and short-barreled shotguns; a Vermijo county map and wanted papers tacked to the walls; a potbellied stove with a blackened coffee pot set on top and a desk with a couple of chairs that had all seen better days.

  With the rain still sheeting from the clouded sky, blotting out the stars, Vermijo was in permanent gloom. However, lamps had been lit inside the jail, casting a harsh light over the interior.

  Ben Hodges looked up from the newspaper he was reading when the front door opened. Jim Lockhart stepped in from the night and gazed around the office as he shucked off his wet slicker. If he was surprised to see Hodges sitting in the chair where he expected to see Carl, he didn’t show it. He shut the door behind him, removed his hat and dropped it on the desk. It was close to eleven o’clock at night, a chill invading the jail as heavy rain continued to fall.

  ‘How’s the prisoner been?’

  Hodges looked up. ‘Oh, him? No trouble at all. Ain’t even woken up since you an’ Carl dropped him on the bunk.’

  ‘He breathin’?’

  ‘Sure. I’ve checked on him a couple of times.’

  ‘Good boy.’

  ‘Had to poke him one time, though. Just to see him jump.’

  Jim smiled. ‘You done well, Ben. Say, why don’tcha get on home? You look done in. I’ll take over.’

  ‘You sure, Jim?’

  ‘Huh, huh.’

  ‘Then I’ll take you up on that. Carl’s been gone awhile and Ma will be wondering where I’ve gotten to.’ He rose from the seat and grabbed his hat off the door peg. Although he was just sixteen he was big for his age—six feet three with a wide face topped with dirty blond hair. And a little bit simple, if the truth be told.

  ‘Carl say where he was going?’

  ‘Just fixing to get hisself some food and a drink, was all.’

  ‘Been gone long, has he?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘No more’n an hour, I reckon.’

  Jim figured that his brother had gone to get a belly full of beer and grub. And perhaps to boast to anyone who’d listen about how they captured Luke Tyler, retelling the story in his favor, of course, and no doubt missing out the bit when he was dumped on his ass in the creek. He smiled at Hodges.

  ‘Hey has Deville showed his face?’

  Jim hadn’t seen the man since the funeral. With the weather turning so bad the man had most likely quit for the day and took himself to home, ignoring the fact he was supposed to be on duty. Jim would need to have words with him.

  ‘No, sir, I ain’t seen him at all. Reckon he was pissed at missin’ the wake.’

  ‘Never mind. He’ll get over it. Now you go ahead and get home. But find Carl first and tell him to get his ass over here.’

  Hodges crammed his hat on, saying, ‘Will do, Marshal.’

  Jim waited until Hodges had closed the door behind him, listened at his receding footsteps grow silent before turning on his heel. He looked down at his prisoner’s face. It was a mass of cuts, bruises and dried blood. His breathing came labored and ragged. And he smelled something awful. And yet the lawman didn’t have one ounce of sympathy for his prisoner…just a raw hatred that made the very marrow in his bones ache.

  Jim reached across the desk and picked up the heavy key ring and stepped over to the cell. He slowly walked along its length, rattling the keys against the bars. All the while he kept his eyes on Luke. When there was no reaction, he repeated the action. This time around the clanging noise got through to Luke and he muttered something incomprehensible.

  ‘This ain’t no flophouse, kid,’ the lawman said loudly.

  Luke cracked open his eyes and squinted against the brightness. ‘Wha…?’

  ‘There’ll be no rest for you just yet.’ Jim stopped his pacing and rested his hip against the desk. He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘But soon enough now, I reckon.’

  With a supreme effort, Luke got himself upright and swung his legs over the side of the cot. He grimaced as bolts of pain shot through his body. He opened his mouth to speak. His jaw ached and his tongue was swollen. His voice was barely louder than a whisper when he said to his jailer, ‘Listen, Lockhart. I didn’t set out to kill your brother.’

  ‘Yet you did, and we buried him.’

  ‘I’m sorry it happened but…he asked for it.’

  Jim jumped to his feet. ‘The hell he did. No man asks for a bullet.’

  The room spun around Luke. With every move of his head came a fierce pounding, like a hammer striking a blacksmith’s anvil. When he managed to get to his feet he was unsteady. ‘Goddamn it, will you listen to me? He was drunk and on the prod. He just wouldn’t be told.’

  ‘Says you.’

  ‘Yeah, we fought but when he hauled iron I knew he wanted me dead. He didn’t give me no choice. Ask that bartender. He was there an’ saw it all.’

  Jim tucked his thumbs into his gunbelt and when he laughed, there was genuine humor in it. ‘Miller? That waste of space? Says he didn’t see what happened.’

  Luke rubbed his face and flinched when the broken nose pained him. ‘Then he’s a goddam lying sonofabitch,’ he yelled. ‘He was there, all right. He was the one who told me who I’d killed. He was the one who told me to run. You gotta ask him again. Understand?’

  Jim slowly shook his head. ‘Don’t make no never mind. It won’t bring my brother back.’

  ‘An’ neither will hangin’ me.’

  Jim stepped in closer and locked eyes with Luke. ‘No,’ he said, ‘but it’ll make me feel a damn’ sight better about it. And besides…’

  Luke waited for the lawman to finish his sentence but when it didn’t come he prompted him with, ‘Besides what?’

  Jim moved over to the window, opened the shutter and stared out through the dirty glass across the street. It was lit by moonlight and the yellow glow coming from the cantina. As he watched, the doors opened and two men spilled out onto the sidewalk. It was too dark for Jim to recognize who they were but whoever it was, they were drunk. After stumbling around they moved off through the rain. A deathly silence enshrouded the town. It was if the place was holding its breath, waiting to see what came next. He turned away and twirled the key ring around his index finger as though he was spinning a gun. He stopped during mid-spin and then dropped it down saying, ‘Oh, nothin’.’

  Luke slumped against the bars. He gripped them to stop himself falling down. There was a bit more steel in his voice when he tried to reason with Lockhart. ‘Marshal, I’m tellin’ you it was a fair fight. Your brother shot at me an’ I shot back. He missed. I didn’t. Simple as that.’

  Anger got the better of Jim Lockhart and in two long-legged strides he was at the cell, and pushed he left arm through the bars to grab Luke by the throat. He smoothly drew his pistol with his right and pointed the barrel between Luke’s eyes and said, ‘Then you tell me this, since you know it all. How could a man who always kept five shots in his piece fire one…and still have all five in the wheel after you say he shot at you? You tell me that.’

  He jabbed the pistol hard into Luke’s forehead and pushed him away.

  Luke stumbled backward and fell onto the cot. He felt faint and let his head drop back until it met the wall. A cold sweat had broken out on his face and he closed his eyes for a second, breathing deeply. When he opened them again after a few moments he looked down at his hands. They were still manacled even though he was locked securely behind bars, his wrists rubbed raw. He was angry with Jim not wanting to listen to reason. But he had no doubt what the truth was.

  He remained silent for a minute or two before he said, ‘I ain’t got no answer for that, but I’m tellin’ you right here an’ right now, there were two shots…as clear as glass.’

  Jim shook his head, dismissing the claim out of hand. His face was set, with very little emotion showing. There was a squint in his eyes hinting at what might have been beh
ind them.

  He sat himself down behind the desk and pulled out a small sack of tobacco and rolled himself a smoke. He knew his brother better than the drifter. Whilst he hadn’t been the brightest of men, Ace had not been foolish enough to have kept the hammer set on a live round. He hadn’t been the fastest on the draw, and depending on how much he had drunk that morning, Luke Tyler could have beaten him to getting the first shot off. Ash fell off the cigarette and drifted like snow down on to his leather vest. He brushed it away and turned up the wick on the Rochester lamp. He picked up the paper and began to read the front page.

  Carl pushed the door open and slouched into the jail, took off his hat and slicker, shaking off the rain before he hung it from a peg. Luke’s spurs jingled with every step he took and Luke was unable to hide his disgust at seeing them. Carl allowed a sneer to show when he saw the prisoner’s reaction.

  ‘I reckon it’s gonna be a fine day for the hangin’, Jim. Rain’s already slackin’ off.’

  Jim nodded, threw at glance in Luke’s direction.

  ‘Hear that, killer? Nice day out there. Ain’t no one gonna rain on your parade come morning.’

  ‘That how you do things here, Lockhart?’ Luke asked. ‘No judge, no jury, just you, decidin’ who lives an’ who dies, an’ forget the reason why?’

  ‘You got that right, killer,’ Carl said. ‘Pretty much how it’s gonna be.’

  ‘And the town lets you get away with it?’

  Jim stood and crossed to stand in front of the cell, a taut grin on his face. ‘Pretty much how it is,’ he said. ‘Town don’t have any say how we run things.’

  ‘Then I guess I don’t understand how it is.’

  ‘You don’t need to, Tyler.’

  ‘You wanted to settle with me, you could have done it out on the trail, and no witnesses to see you do it. Why fetch me all the way here just to hang me?’

  Jim sighed expansively. He seemed to be in a rare good mood. Maybe that was because he had the hanging to look forward to. ‘Day we showed up here we found Vermijo was a wide open hellhole,’ he said. ‘Town was running wild and the council had no control. That’s why they sent for us. So we stepped in and took over running the place. All it needed was firm handlin’, an’ that’s what we gave it. Run out the hardcases, calmed the place down and before you knew it, we had us a nice, quiet town. On’y as soon as things were under control the council figured it didn’t need us anymore. Started getting’ uppity. So we had to lead them into the light. Hell, they didn’t like it.’ He grinned. ‘But there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it. They had to understand one thing.’

  ‘What?’

  Jim’s face hardened. ‘That Vermijo is my town now. They hired me an’ my brothers when they needed us, and I’ll be damned before I let ’em fire us now they figure otherwise. So I keep ’em in line, make sure they behave themselves.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Carl said. ‘Anyone crosses us, there’s hell to pay.’

  ‘And I crossed you? Is that it? By defendin’ myself when your brother drew iron on me?’

  ‘Carl,’ said Jim, ‘this feller is smarter than I figured. He got it in one.’

  Luke nodded as realization hit. ‘And you hangin’ me... it’s not so much for what happened to Ace…it’s meant to be an example to the town. That’s what you nearly let slip yesterday.’

  Jim shrugged the remark off.

  ‘These folks been gettin’ uppity of late,’ he murmured almost to himself. ‘They need a lesson to keep ’em in line. Now, Ace wasn’t exactly the best brother a man could’ve wished for, but it strikes me he might just do me more good dead than he ever did alive.’

  Luke took in the words, hardly believing what he had heard. He was being used as a pawn in Jim Lockhart’s game. His bad choice coming to Vermijo had landed him in the middle of a power struggle between the oppressors and the oppressed. Misfortune was ready to hang him out to dry. The moment the thought entered his head Luke took a dislike to it, and despite his current position he understood the only way out had to be brought about by himself.

  Jim stood up, hitching his gunbelt into a more comfortable position. He pulled his slicker and hat on.

  ‘Carl, you keep an eye on things here while I go get something to eat. Mebbe get some shuteye. I’ll see you come morning.’

  ‘You take your time, brother. I’m fine. Got our killer here for fine company.

  Laughing, Carl took the vacated seat, making himself comfortable as his brother left.

  ‘Hey, killer, just you an’ me now. So you take care, lest I take it in mind to shoot you like the dog you are.’

  Luke stretched out on the cot, trying to figure how he was going to get himself out of the situation he found himself in. In his weary state even thinking was hard. Without knowing it he drifted into a half-sleep and it was only when the first light of dawn brightened the cell that he roused himself.

  Across the office Carl was still slumped back in his chair, hands folded across his stomach, drowsing himself.

  Luke eased himself off the cot. He moved slow and it was no act because his body was still aching from the treatment he’d received earlier. Despite the physical hurt his mind was working fine and the possibility of escape was active. With Jim gone he was being offered a chance, risky as it might be, and with the threat of a neck-rope he had to do something. When he crossed the cell his move alerted Carl and when he saw Luke staring at him he showed a wide grin. There was no doubt he was enjoying the situation.

  ‘Hey,’ Luke said.

  Carl offered no response.

  ‘Hey, I know you can hear me.’

  This time Carl stared directly at him. ‘What the hell do you want?’

  ‘I need the outhouse.’

  Carl’s slow mind reacted sluggishly before he said, ‘Shit scared are we? Guts startin’ to squirm?’

  ‘Just let me use the damn’ outhouse.’

  Carl considered the request, still enjoying the moment, before he said, very definitely, ‘Nope.’

  ‘I always figured a condemned man’s allowed a last request.’

  ‘Well you can forget that, killer. Ain’t no allowance for you.’

  Luke pulled a face. ‘Too bad. Me spoiling your brother’s big show right at the last minute, by messin’ my britches, I mean. Reckon that could make him look right foolish, what with the whole town watchin’. Hangin’s a bad enough show without something like that…’

  Indecision creased Carl’s unshaven face as he considered what Luke had said. Jim sure wouldn’t be too pleased if the hanging was spoiled by something like that. And Carl knew without a doubt he would get the blame if anything embarrassed Jim. Against his better judgment he decided to play safe and let the prisoner have his last request. He pushed to his feet and took the cell keys from the wall hook.

  ‘All right. But don’t you try some foolish move, Tyler, ’cause I’ll sure enough shoot you if you do. Think on, killer, I’ll ony’ wound you so there’ll still be enough left to hang.’

  He unlocked the cell door and stepped back to a safe distance.

  ‘You step out here easy,’ Carl was saying as he pulled the cell door open, his .45 Remington plain to see. ‘Don’t give me no damn excuse to shoot you, ’cause I don’t need much of one, Killer.’

  That word again.

  Killer.

  Like he was some kind of lesser being to the man.

  Luke had to let the insult slide. He couldn’t afford to lose control. Not right now.

  He shuffled forward, giving out a submissive attitude. Anything to make Carl feel in full control. Luke almost smiled. Hell, Carl was in control, as long as he had that gun pointed at Luke. In control and enjoying his moment.

  ‘C’mon, you raggedy-ass son of a bitch, move it on.’ Carl managed a low snigger. ‘Way yore walkin’ mebbe you already gone and done it in yore pants?’

  He found that really amusing, a sneer curling his lips.

  Luke saw the muzzle of the Remington ease off him a sl
ight as Carl moved to step aside. It was the chance he had been waiting for and regardless of the risk he took it. He swept his manacled hands across, the chain links slamming down over Carl’s gun hand with enough force to jar the pistol free. It dropped, hitting the floor and Luke kicked it aside.

  Carl swore loudly, reacting faster than Luke might have anticipated, his hard left fist bouncing off the side of Luke’s head. Luke tipped sideways against the bars of the cell, fighting the surge of pain that rose, knowing he was going to have to resist the hurt. Even as he registered Carl’s first blow he took a second punch that slammed against his cheek, splitting the flesh and spilling warm blood down his face.

  The burn from the gash jolted Luke out of his moment of inaction and he brought up his clenched fists and hammered a solid blow to Carl’s body that made the deputy fall back as he sucked in a ragged breath. Luke followed up by slamming both fists up beneath Carl’s jaw. The blow landed hard, snapping Carl’s mouth shut with considerable force. He let out a muffled yell as his teeth bit into his tongue and he tasted the brassy blood that filled his mouth. In the moment Carl was off balance Luke struck again, pounding his manacled fists into Carl’s face, sending the man stumbling back. Luke grabbed at his shirt, swinging Carl off balance and bouncing him off the cell bars. As the back of his head rapped against the metal Carl lashed out with both fists, catching Luke across his shoulders, pushing him back briefly. Carl launched himself forward, slamming into Luke and they fell to the floor in a tangle, each attempting to land another blow.

  Luke was hindered by his manacled wrists, the chain restricting his movement, but as they flailed about on the grubby floor he managed to hook the chain under Carl’s chin and shoved his opponent away from him. Carl gasped for breath as the chain bit into his flesh. Luke kept up the pressure, doing his best to avoid Carl’s fists. He managed to a degree but still took some hard knocks. There was no finesse to the struggle. Simply two men, each attempting to overpower the other, trading wild blows. Some landed while others missed the mark as they scrambled to gain the upper hand.