City of Bad Men

by Ralph Cotton

  Shaw didn’t bother looking up as Dorphin sat down on a rock a few feet away and gazed out at the firelight with him.

  “You figure those are the ones who tried taking the woman?” Dorphin asked, gesturing a nod out across the darkness.

  “Like as not,” Shaw said, judging the fire to be a good three miles away, across a stretch of rocky valley between the two steep hillsides.

  Dorphin sipped his hot coffee. “I’ll be on guard until morning. No need in you being up. Elvis said you sat watch all through his guard. Can’t sleep, eh?”

  Shaw didn’t answer. Instead he continued staring out at the distant firelight. When he spoke it was still in reply to Dorphin’s first question.

  “If it is them, they’ll be late sleepers come morning,” he said.

  Dorphin considered the amount of time it had taken Shaw to answer. Peculiar....

  He gave Shaw a curious stare and said, “Oh? How do you come to that?”

  “Nobody keeps a fire stoked that high at night unless they’re all still awake.”

  “Only a damn fool would build a fire that big out in the open at night.” Dorphin looked back over his shoulder, judging their own fire. “Ours is higher up and sheltered behind these rocks. Whoever they are, we can see them but they can’t see us.”

  Shaw continued to stare out in silence like a man in a trance.

  Dorphin sipped his coffee, but Shaw’s quiet was beginning to unnerve him. Then, as if he’d hit upon Shaw’s reason for being awake at such an hour, he said, “So . . . if you want to get some sleep, I’ve got everything covered here.”

  “What’s the story on the woman?” Shaw asked out of nowhere.

  It caught Dorphin by surprise. “Oh, the woman,” he said. He offered a slight chuckle. “Yeah, I see you looking her way an awful lot.” He grinned in the darkness above a curl of steam from his tin cup. “Don’t think Mr. Readling doesn’t see it too.”

  “What’s the story on her?” Shaw asked again, this time more demanding.

  “She’s not what you think she is,” said Dorphin. “So don’t trouble yourself thinking about her . . . .”

  Shaw stared at him.

  “All right,” Dorphin said with a shrug. “Men as rich as Mr. Readling don’t like sleeping alone, that’s all. He gets the best his money can buy, whether it comes to gunmen or whores.” He shrugged again. “I don’t blame him. I’d do the same.”

  “Why do you say she’s a whore?” Shaw asked.

  “Why . . .?” Dorphin was taken aback by the question. “Because he paid cash in advance for her, bought her from Madam Javelina’s Sporting House in Matamoros.”

  “You were there? You saw him pay Madam Javelina for her?” Shaw asked.

  Dorphin only stalled for a second, but his slight hesitation was enough to convince Shaw that he wasn’t telling the truth. “Yes, I was there. I saw him buy her. I loaded her travel bag onto a buggy. I helped her onto her seat. I even—”

  “You’re lying,” Shaw said flatly, cutting him off. They were both aware of what Shaw’s accusation meant. Calling a man a liar was no less disrespectful than spitting in his face. Shaw stared at him, coolly, the rifle across his lap, his hands hidden beneath the faded striped poncho.

  Dorphin stiffened at the words. He dropped his cup from his hand. He started to grab for the big revolver on his hip. Though he’d barely moved, Shaw saw Dorphin’s reach in his eyes. But Shaw also saw the gunman rethink his actions. He clenched his hands tight on both knees to keep from making what he must’ve decided would be a deadly mistake.

  Shaw continued to stare at Dorphin. His gaze was both a dare and a warning. The thing Dorphin did not see in Shaw’s eyes was any trace or fear, hesitation, anger or even excitement. These were the eyes of some stone-cold killer, ready to do what he no doubt could do. Dorphin knew the look. He’d felt that same expression on his own face, always when someone was about to die. In the past, Dorphin always knew that someone wasn’t going to be him.

  But this time was different, Dorphin told himself. Shaw hadn’t called him a liar or bad-mouthed him in front of the others in order to show his toughness. Shaw was ready to kill him, here and now; he was sure of it.

  Dorphin eased his clenched hands and let them lay at rest on his knees. The imprint of his fingers still lingered on his trousers. Shaw’s eyes stayed locked on his.

  “All right, just hold on here, Shaw,” he said, keeping his voice low and level. “You’re right. I didn’t see it . . . I wasn’t there. But Mr. Readling told me where she came from, and he had no need to lie about it.”

  “Neither did you,” Shaw said quietly behind his iron-like stare, “but you did.”

  “I did,” Dorphin said. “I shouldn’t have, but I did. This is the best job I ever had, Shaw. I’m not doing anything to mess it up.”

  “There’re other jobs,” Shaw said.

  “For you, sure there are,” said Dorphin, a trail of envy and disdain in his voice. “You’re the fastest gun alive. But this is all I get. Leave it alone. I’m asking you—” He paused, then said humbly, “Please.”

  “I heard about Mexico City,” Shaw said, recounting his own version of the story. “About Readling holding Rosa’s father and brother there, about him having them killed after he left with her.” He watched Dorphin’s worried eyes, sounding them for the truth.

  “I heard that too,” Dorphin said, sounding as though he was coming clean. “But I don’t think it’s true. What’s true to a rich man isn’t always the same as what’s true to the rest of us.”

  Shaw stared at him intently.

  “I mean, yes, he was holding them there, but I don’t think he had them killed.”

  Shaw’s stare wouldn’t let up.

  Even in the chill of the night, Dorphin sweated.

  “All right, it might be true . . . I—I think maybe it is.” He swallowed, looked off in the direction of the tent and tried to judge if Readling was listening. “Hell, it’s true . . . he had them killed—it wasn’t me who killed them, though. I swear it wasn’t.”

  Shaw finally relented. He let out a breath and nodded slightly, letting Dorphin know he had accepted his answers at last.

  Dorphin also breathed easier. “If he finds out I told you this . . .” He shook his head and let his words trail.

  “He won’t hear it from me,” Shaw said. He turned and looked back out across the purple night toward the distant fire glow. “I’m taking the woman,” he said over his shoulder.

  “He’ll turn the three of us loose on you,” Dorphin said, noting that Shaw hadn’t said how or when.

  “I know,” said Shaw, “that’s why I’m telling you now. It’s time for you to decide how much this job is really worth to you.”

  Dorphin stood up, knowing that he’d just received as much warning as Shaw intended to give him. After a moment of silence, he said, “Shaw, I have to tell you . . . the way you handled those two fellows in Angels’ Rest. I never seen anything so—”

  “Get out of my sight,” Shaw said, cutting him off. There was neither threat nor anger in Shaw’s voice. Dorphin stood behind his left shoulder looking down at him. Shaw seemed undisturbed. His eyes didn’t so much as flicker when he heard the gunman turn to walk away.

  “One thing, Dorphin,” he said without turning. “If Readling does hear about this, guess who I’m going to kill?”

  Chapter 11

  As the first silver glow of dawn wreathed the eastern horizon, Shaw still sat on the edge of the cliff overhang, his rifle still across his lap, his hands still hidden beneath his poncho. But his eyes had been closed for the past hour—sleep had finally crept up and found its way inside his stalled, trancelike condition.

  A rock landed on the ledge near his left boot, then rolled forward off the edge.

  “Hell, is he dead?” Elvis Johnson asked his brother, Witt. The two stood atop the short rock wall behind Shaw and observed how still and unguarded he looked sitting there.

  “I don’t know,” Witt sa
id. He called out, “Shaw, wake up. It’s morning.”

  Shaw still didn’t stir.

  “If he’s not dead, a man who wanted to kill him would never get a better chance,” said Elvis.

  Shaw’s eyes had snapped open at the sound of the rock thumping near his boot, but he remained as still as stone. Wherever his dreaming mind had wandered to, it had come back to him and the sound of Witt calling his name. Yet he remained motionless, unsure whether or not he could move even if he wanted to.

  Elvis gave a short grin, staring at Shaw, his hand resting on his holstered revolver. “If I killed ‘the fastest gun alive,’ think what that would make me.”

  Witt cut a sidelong glance at his younger brother. His arms were hanging at his sides, his right hand holding his rifle.

  “The new fastest gun alive?” he replied.

  “No,” Elvis said, his hand sliding down from his holstered revolver. “It’d make me a back-shooting son of a bitch.”

  Witt gave a trace of a proud smile. “That’s what I was thinking, but I didn’t want to say as much.”

  “Hey, you shoulda known better,” Elvis said, giving his brother a mock shove on his shoulder.

  “I did know better, damn it,” said Witt shoving back at him. “Had I thought you meant it, I would have bent this rifle barrel over your head.”

  “Shaw! Wake up,” Elvis shouted loudly, clapping his gloved hands together. “We’re getting ready to pull out of here and head to the mines.”

  They both watched as Shaw began to rise shakily to his feet, swiping his sombrero up off the ground. “I’m—I’m up,” he said, in a strained, cloudy voice.

  “Are you, now?” said Witt. He and Elvis looked at each other and chuckled.

  “You sure as hell don’t look like it,” Elvis said, laughing. He gave his brother a nod back toward the camp and the two turned and walked away.

  Shaw stood for a moment to collect himself. Then he turned and walked back through a break in the rock wall to the campfire, where the others had gathered.

  Stopping a few feet before the group, Shaw stared back and forth as if sobering up from a night of heavy drinking. A dull pain pounded deep inside his head. He didn’t notice Doc Penton approaching him, leading both Shaw’s horse and his own, until Doc held the reins out to him.

  “Hard night, eh?” Doc said.

  “Yeah, hard enough,” Shaw managed to reply thickly, his eyes still not completely focused.

  “I thought so,” Doc said between the two of them. “I got your horse ready for you.”

  “Obliged, Doc,” Shaw said, taking his horse’s reins from him.

  Readling stood near the fire, eating from a plate in his hand. Beside him, Rosa was sipping coffee from a tin cup.

  “Glad you can join us for breakfast, Shaw,” Readling said. Shaw noted that Readling had dropped the Mister and begun calling him Shaw. But he didn’t care.

  He led his horse closer to the fire and lifted his rifle from the saddle boot. As he lifted the rifle, he saw Dorphin walk away from the fire as if he’d just thought of something he needed to do. The others didn’t seem to notice.

  Shaw said to Readling, “It looks like I’ll be leaving you this morning.”

  “Oh,” said Readling. “That means you won’t be riding for me.” He shook his head in disappointment. “That’s too bad. I don’t like hearing it.”

  Shaw thought he caught a slight threat in the man’s voice. He watched Readling bend over and set his plate on a rock.

  “Here’s something else you’re not going to like,” Shaw said. “The senora is coming with me.”

  “What?” said Readling, taken aback. He took a side-step closer to the woman.

  “What?” the woman echoed with a stunned look on her face. She actually moved closer to Readling.

  “You can stop playing this man’s game, senora,” Shaw said. “I hate telling you like this, but your father and brother are dead. Readling had them killed soon after you left Mexico City with him.”

  “What are you saying?” the woman said in a shaky voice. “What are you trying to do?”

  “I’m setting you free,” Shaw said. Seeing Witt Johnson’s hand move close to his holstered revolver, Shaw quickly levered his rifle with one hand, swinging the tip of the barrel toward Witt and his brother. “Don’t do something stupid,” Shaw warned them.

  The Johnson brothers looked at Doc Penton, who stood with his gun hand chest high. “You heard the man,” Penton said. “Don’t get stupid.”

  The brothers seemed to settle.

  “My God, Mr. Shaw,” the woman said tearfully. “You don’t know what you are doing!” She cut her frightened eyes to Readling. “Please! This is not my idea. I knew nothing of this!”

  “Take it easy, Rosa,” Readling said, now standing close beside her. He looked at Shaw and said, “You need to take it easy too.” With his hands chest high, he gave a slight snap of a finger. Shaw turned at a sudden sound coming from the brush and rock surrounding the campsite. He saw a circle of mounted Mexican federales encircling them, rifles up and ready to fire.

  “Surprise, Shaw,” Readling said with a crafty, chuck-ling grin. “Look who happened to join us just before dawn, while you were stargazing.” He gave a nod toward the young captain sitting atop his horse, holding out a big Remington revolver.

  “Howard, don’t, please,” the woman said. “Don’t kill him. Can’t you see he does not know what he is doing?! He is out of his mind!”

  But Readling ignored her and said to Shaw, “This is Captain Fuente and his men. They’re here to see to it I have no difficulty taking over the mines.”

  The captain stepped his horse forward, boldly. He kept the big Remington revolver pointed toward Shaw.

  “Lower your weapon, senor!” he demanded, staring at Shaw from less than ten yards away. “Or my men will cut you down where you stand.”

  Shaw felt the dull pain begin to throb harder inside his head. “The woman’s coming with me, Readling,” he insisted, “even if I have to kill you first.”

  “Shaw,” Readling said in a confident, bemused tone, “stop being a fool. Look around you. If I say the word, you’re done for. Give it up. Don’t make me do it.”

  “If I die, you die first, Readling,” Shaw said, his gaze moving all around, as if he’d found himself stuck in some sort of mental haze. He pointed the rifle toward Readling, the hammer cocked, his finger on the trigger.

  Doc Penton said calmly to the others, “A dollar says he pulls the trigger.” The Johnson brothers stood up, staring at Shaw.

  “You’ll get no takers here, Doc,” Witt said. “He’ll pull it.”

  Shaw watched them start to edge forward. There was no fear in their eyes, only a knowing look.

  “It’s over, Shaw,” Readling called out.

  “Please, stop this!” the woman begged both Readling and Shaw.

  “Stop it? No, I don’t think so,” Readling said with a thin smile. “It’s just getting interesting. Well, Fast Larry, what’s it going to be? Are you going to die alone, or take me with you?”

  Shaw pulled the trigger, ready to take what the soldiers threw at him, so long as he could kill Readling and set the woman free. But when the hammer fell and no shot exploded from the barrel, he stood in surprise for just a second, seeing the widening smile on Readling’s face.

  “You’ve got sand, Shaw,” Readling said. “I’ll say that for you.”

  Shaw dropped the rifle to the dirt and drew his Colt so quickly that nobody could make a move to stop him. The Colt shot up toward Readling. But as Shaw pulled the trigger, he heard the same hollow metal-on-metal sound. His gun was empty.

  “Need these, Shaw?” Dorphin called out as he came walking back toward the campfire. He held out his hand, and let Shaw’s six bullets fall to the rocky ground.

  Shaw could only stare coldly at him, realizing how badly he’d been duped.

  “That’s right, Shaw,” Dorphin said. “I eased your gun out and unloaded it while yo
u were off somewhere dancing with the angels.” He stopped and stood back far enough to be out of the line of fire. “Doc emptied your rifle before he brought your horse over to you.”

  Shaw swung his cold stare toward Doc Penton, who only smiled slightly.

  “Ready, Captain . . .,” Readling said, raising his right hand. He nodded, letting the captain and his men know to fire when he dropped his hand. Rifles’ hammers cocked with a resounding metallic click.

  Shaw saw the end coming; he slapped his horse’s rump to send it out of the way, saving it, since he couldn’t do anything to save either the senora or himself.

  “Please, no, Howard!” the woman begged tearfully. She grabbed Readling and pressed herself to him. “I will do anything you want! I will do everything you ask of me! But don’t kill him!”

  “Anything and everything?” he said. Grinning, he stared tauntingly at Shaw as he spoke, using the woman’s plea for his life as a means to further his control over her. “How can I say no to something like that?”

  Instead of giving the signal to fire, Readling called out, “Captain, order their rifles down.”

  “Lower your weapons!” the captain called out to his men.

  The woman relaxed, her fear and tension easing up. “Thank you, Howard,” she sighed under her breath.

  “Don’t thank me yet, Rosa,” said Readling. “I still want to know how Shaw knew about your father and brother in Mexico City.” He stared at Shaw as he asked her.

  “I—I told him,” Rosa admitted hesitantly.

  “Oh, did you, now?” Readling said slyly.

  “Yes, I told him. I didn’t mean to.” She turned a scornful look to Shaw. “He has a way of making you tell him things. I was scared. I thought you might have ordered him to ask me. I—I wasn’t thinking clearly. I made it sound like you were holding my father and brother against their will, even though I know it is not true.” She looked at Shaw with fearful eyes.

  “Shame on you, Rosa. Of course it isn’t true,” said Readling. He chuckled under his breath.

  “I’ll vouch for her in that regard,” said Dorphin. “Shaw coerces you into saying whatever he wants to hear. Who’s going to argue with some crazy man carrying a big Colt?” He stepped forward and knocked Shaw to the ground from behind with a hard, roundhouse swing of his pistol barrel.