Gunpoint

by Giles Tippette

  The dining room was about half full. I took a careful look around, but didn’t see anyone that looked to be my watchdogs. Of course, for that matter, I’d never seen them up close and doubted I’d recognize them. But I was also looking for J.C. Flood, and wouldn’t have been surprised to see him sitting at a table looking genial and innocent. My memory of him was that he was a polite, friendly man, even when he was trying to get a knife in your back. If he’d been there he’d of probably invited me to sit with him and have been alarmed at my trouble, aghast that such business could be taking place.

  I got a table, and pretty soon a waitress come over and I ordered the biggest T-bone steak they could find and whatever vegetables they had.

  The waitress said, “Honey, I can give you tomatoes and onions and a baked potato. That’s the bill of fare for tonight. You can order anything else you want but that’s what you’ll get.”

  I said that was fine with me and asked her to bring me two cold beers. She said, “You expecting somebody else?”

  “Just saving you a trip,” I said.

  “Maybe I better bring you three then. I’m gettin’ old an’ my feet hurt.”

  “Bring me three.”

  I ate and paid my reckoning and then wandered out into the lobby. It was pretty nearly empty, just an old couple of cattlemen sitting around talking prices or weather or feed, the subjects all cattlemen automatically talked about. It was still too early to check with the telegrapher, being only about eight o’clock, so I wandered into the bar. It was at the back of the lobby, a long, narrow room with few tables. I got one at the back where I could see anyone coming in the door. A poker game was going on at one of the other tables, but I had no interest. You can’t play poker and keep a watch at the same time. You’ll lose one way or the other and the cheapest is the money.

  Most of the customers were at the bar. They were a rough-looking lot for the biggest part, and I saw a fair number of gun rigs set up in that way gun hands have of doing. I also noticed several cutaway holsters. My three companions could have been any of the men at the bar, but none of them had paid me the slightest bit of attention other than to give me a quick glance as I’d come in. I imagined I wasn’t the only one in the bar that was checking faces and looking over his shoulder. I figured a sheriff could have made a pass through that bar with a sheaf of wanted posters in his hand and run out of ways to say, “You’re under arrest,” before he’d circled the room once.

  There was nobody waiting tables so I walked up to the bar, got a beer and a shot of whiskey, and went on back to my table and sat down. At the table where they were playing poker a man suddenly slammed his hand down and said, “Sonofabitch! Goddamit, Coy, that’s the fourth straight fucking hand you’ve won. If I didn’t think better I’d think—”

  The man who was raking in the chips pulled his hands back and said, “Yes? You’d think what?”

  The other man backed down, muttering.

  It occured to me that I was sitting mighty close to a possible gunfight. I didn’t really care to catch a stray bullet, so I drank up and walked out of the bar. I was no more than out the door when I heard some yelling and then a real squabble broke loose. I was expecting to hear a gunshot at any second but none came. Nevertheless, I was glad to be out of the place. I took a seat in the lobby, watching the front door.

  About ten that night the telegrapher called across to me that my telegram had come in. I walked across and he handed me the message. It said:

  ALL NORMAL HERE STOP WHY THE CONCERN STOP LOOK AFTER YOURSELF STOP NORA DUE HOME IN TWO DAYS STOP

  It was signed Norris. I was glad to hear there had been no threat against the ranch, though it left me greatly puzzled why they’d gone to so much trouble to get me off the place. I was also mighty worried about Nora arriving so much in advance of me. I’d never been gone over two weeks on a business trip before and I had no idea what she might think. I calculated in my mind that it would take me four days to reach Blessing—two days on the trail to Uvalde and then two more days by train. I wrote out a telegram to that effect and gave it to the telegrapher. Only, this time I didn’t mark it urgent. That cost us two dollars every time we did it.

  After that business was tended to I walked out of the hotel and took a good look up and down the street. The several saloons were going full blast, but I didn’t see anybody lurking about like he might have been watching my comings and goings. My saddlebags were still in my room, but I had left them there deliberately. I had also lighted both kerosene lamps.

  When I was sure nobody was watching I slipped back into the shadows at the end of the hotel and walked back to the stables. There was a dim light glowing from within and the big double doors were only partially open. I slipped inside. The big kid who was on duty was lying on a cot in a kind of little office. He came awake with a start when he saw me come in. He rolled up to a sitting position. “Yes, suh,” he said. “You be wantin’ yore livestock?”

  I shook my head and got out a five-dollar gold piece. I said, “I was wondering how bad you’d like to make some money.”

  His eyes were all over the coin. “Somp’thin’ like that would suit me jest fine, jest fine.”

  “I’ll give you five dollars to stay awake all night while I sleep on your cot. Is it worth five dollars to you?”

  “Yes, Sir!” he said.

  “But you’ve got to stay on watch and you’ve got to wake me if anybody comes poking around. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir!” he said. Then he suddenly thought of something and gave me a quick look. “Beggin’ pardon, suh, but you ain’t in no trouble, be you?”

  I shook my head. “None that would concern you or involve guns. But I need you to stay on watch while I get some sleep. Can I count on you?”

  “You mighty well kin,” he said.

  I nodded and gave him the gold eagle. “If you do your job and stay awake I might add to that in the morning.”

  “Yes, suh!” he said.

  I sat down on the cot and took off my boots and hat and gunbelt and loosened my pants belt. The little open office was right up at the front of the stable. It was just a little rough desk and a straight-back chair. Just before I lay back on the cot I said, “Remember, I’m counting on you.”

  “Yes, suh,” he said. He sat down in the straight-back chair. After a pause he said, “You shore ain’t gonna be no shootin’?”

  “No shooting,” I said. “It ain’t got nothing to do with shooting.” I hesitated like I was letting out a confidentiality. “It’s a woman.”

  “Ooooh!” he said, as if that made all the sense in the world to him. I didn’t imagine he’d had a great deal of experience with women.

  For the first hour I just dozed lightly, keeping an occasional eye on the boy. He sat rigidly in the chair. He had his back to me so I couldn’t really tell if his eyes were open, but if he was sleeping he was doing it bolt upright without his own back touching the back of the chair. He’d told me earlier that it wasn’t a strain for him to stay awake all night since he generally slept a good deal during the day.

  Only once did we have a disturbance. Just after midnight a man came in to stable his horse. The boy hissed at me and I came full awake. I was lying on my back, my arms crossed with my right hand on the butt of my revolver, which was lying up by my left shoulder. I kept my eyes half lidded, but it only turned out to be a late arrival who was dead tired and only wanted to get to a bed. He just handed his horse over to the boy and went stumbling toward the hotel.

  The next time I opened my eyes the boy was shaking me lightly by the shoulder. I started slightly, but then relaxed as I realized where I was. The stable was not quite so dark. The boy said, “Mistuh, it’s jest comin’ light. The day man will be here directly. I figured you wanted an early start.”

  I got up yawning and stretching. There was a rain barrel just outside the front door and I went out to it, taking off my shirt as I did. I washed my face and hands, and then dipped my shirt in the water and gave my uppe
r body as good a cleaning as I could. Then I went back and stowed away the damp shirt and got out a clean one. I hadn’t been real particular about changing clothes on the trip so I was way ahead on the clean ones. The boy was standing there watching me put on the clean shirt. He’d brought my hat from the office, and handed it to me as soon as I had buttoned my shirt. I put it on and then went into my pocket and came out with another five-dollar gold piece. His eyes got as big as saucers when I handed it to him. He said, “Gawaalleee! I never seed so much money.”

  “Son, you done a good job. Now do you know how to rig a pack on a horse?”

  “Yes, suh! I shore does.”

  “All right, you pack the black and saddle the roan. Give them both a little grain and add some oats to that bag of corn I’ve got in the pack. Make sure you get their blankets nice and smooth before you saddle them or pack them. Nothing will give a horse a sore quicker than a wrinkle in his blanket. And be sure and get those girths tight. When I come back I want to be able to pull out.”

  “Yes, suh!”

  I walked away from a mighty pleased youngster and went on into the hotel. I wanted a good breakfast before I set out. I wasn’t planning on taking the time to buy any extra provisions. Me and the horses were just going to go Johnny quick to Uvalde without any stopping or fooling around.

  As I walked through the lobby I was pleased to see the barbershop just opening up. My whiskers were scraggly and itchy and I was glad for the chance to get a shave. I hoped the next one would be on a train bound for Blessing.

  I was the first customer of the day and the barber was done with me in good style. I give him four bits, and then went on into the dining room and ordered up biscuits and four fried eggs and ham. I also asked the girl that was waiting tables if she could sell me a sack of biscuits, maybe two dozen. She thought she could as it was not an uncommon request.

  I finished my breakfast and then dawdled over a last cup of coffee, smoking a cigarillo. The dining room was pretty nearly empty. I reckoned I was the slowpoke because it was getting on toward seven o’clock. But I wasn’t in any hurry. It was going to take two days to get to Uvalde no matter what time I started. It would be my last two days on what had become a too long trail and I would be plenty glad to get off it. If Mister Flood wanted any further business with me it would have to be conducted in my territory.

  The girl brought me a small flour sack full of biscuits and I paid my reckoning and give her four bits for her trouble, and then went to the desk and paid for the room I hadn’t used. After that I went upstairs to that room. I approached it cautiously, looking to see if the door was about as I’d left it. I had the key in my left hand. I stood behind the wall and unlocked it and then swung the door open. I stood behind the wall because I didn’t want to get shot through the door.

  After the door was open I stood a moment before I peered around the jamb. The room was empty unless there was somebody hiding under the bed. I stepped in quickly and picked up my saddlebags, taking a moment to see that everything in them was just as it had been left.

  I swung the bags over my shoulder, walked downstairs, went out of the hotel, and headed for the stables. The boy was still on duty. He saw me coming and ducked back inside the stable and came out leading my animals.

  He said, “They be watered and grained, suh.”

  “I’m obliged to you, son.”

  I give him a little salute and then rode out on the street. At the first corner I turned left and headed for the open country. Uvalde was due south and that’s where I was headed. My business in Rocksprings was done.

  As far as I could see, the prairie was level. It was a little hard to think of it as a prairie, not as high up as it was. But it was flat and it had grass and mesquite trees on it so I reckoned it to be a prairie.

  But I also knew that there was rough country ahead. After about ten miles the terrain would start down, and pretty soon the grass would give way to sand and rocks and clay and the prairie would break up in barrancas and canyons and ravines and craggy cliffs. However, I’d have at least ten or fifteen miles to get the black used to being a packhorse again. Leaving town he’d balked a little, but then a few jerks on the lead rope had improved his memory, and he was coming along quite nicely at the brisk canter I’d set the roan to. I looked around at the black. It was astounding to see just how much he’d improved on less than a day’s good feed and care. In a week or so, given good feed and some exercise, he was going to begin to look like he was supposed to. I was itching to ride him, but I knew he’d resent a range saddle and my weight. I had not the faintest idea what I was going to do with him once I got him home. I tried to figure up the date, trying to think how far it was to the Fourth of July. If I got him home in time Ben could put that little racing saddle on him, swing Josalito into the saddle, and probably bring home the money.

  Though it would be kind of a dirty trick to play on our friends and neighbors.

  I went jogging along, feeling good and relieved to be heading home, though truth be told, I hadn’t really accomplished anything except to identify my tormentor and kill one of his hired hands. But I felt like knowing it was Flood was enough. I knew the man would be somewhere along the border, and I had friends enough down there and money enough to spend that I felt sure of routing him out. And then was I going to give him a hell of a time. Every new dawn he saw he’d be grateful for. And every night he’d sleep like a cat in a hot skillet.

  I was thinking these thoughts and not paying much attention to my surroundings when I suddenly became aware of five riders going hell for leather from my right side and gradually swinging left to intercept my line of passage. I was so used to three men that I did not immediately connect them with Flood. They had apparently started from west of Rocksprings and then ridden southeast in a great curving line.

  Now they suddenly came to a stop about a mile from me. I stopped also and stared at them. I could distinguish the buckskin horse, but that was the only idea I had that they wanted business with me. They started their horses toward me at a slow walk. I watched them. I couldn’t figure out if this was the showdown or not. Maybe they’d held off attacking me because they’d figured that three men weren’t enough, but now that they were five it was time to finish me off. I pulled my carbine out of its boot, trying to think what to do. I could cut loose the packhorse and make a run for it, or I could hit the ground and try and do them as much damage as possible when they came into range. Then I became aware that the man on the western end of the line was holding out his arm. It appeared he was pointing, pointing west

  Hell, I didn’t want to go west. That was the direction to the border. And if they thought I was going to let them drive me into Mexico they had another think coming.

  I stopped my horses. The distance between us had narrowed to less than half a mile. They were still coming. My carbine’s range was barely a quarter of a mile, and really wasn’t accurate at much over two hundred yards. I damn sure didn’t feel like facing five rifles with no cover at two hundred yards.

  Then they were a little over a quarter of a mile away and I could plainly see that the end rider was emphatically jabbing his hand toward the west. I stared at them for a moment more, thinking. I was pretty sure I could outrun them if I left the black, but I was going to have to swing either far east or west before I could get around them and make another start for Uvalde. But then there I’d be, fifty miles short of my goal and without any supplies. On top of that all the canteens were on the back of the black, who’d picked this time to get as far away from me as the lead rope would let him. And I would have them chasing me all the way. And the roan would be tired after a hard initial run. I didn’t like any of the options I could think of.

  At about four hundred yards they stopped again and two of the riders dismounted. I could see rifles in their hands. They knelt, and a second later I heard the whine of two bullets going over my head, followed an instant later by the boom of their rifles. They weren’t using carbines. They might not have b
een Sharps, like Buttercup’s buffalo gun, but they were a hell of a lot more powerful than anything I had. The sound of the rifles, even as distant as they were, made the black tremble and dance a little. Now I could plainly see the man motioning me to head west. There was no doubting what he meant.

  I glanced in the direction he was pointing. Del Rio was that way. Perhaps that was where they wanted me to head. But I didn’t want to go. I wanted to go to Uvalde. As emphatically as I could I shook my head no.

  The long-range, powerful rifles spoke again, and this time they kicked dirt up no more than ten feet in front of me. It even startled the roan and made him jump back a step. I shook my head again.

  They seemed to be talking amongst themselves. It seemed I could almost hear them. I was calculating my chances on a run back into Rocksprings where I might fort up and hold them off until it came to the attention of the sheriff that he had a gunfight going on in his town. I figured it at a mile and a half. I’d have to leave the black, of course, and would probably end up losing him and the balance of my gear as well. But that hardly seemed a consideration. It appeared they had stopped talking, for one of the riflemen walked forward about ten yards and then knelt down on one knee. My roan was fidgeting about and I patted his neck to soothe him down while I watched the rifleman. He aimed for a long time and then, suddenly, I heard the whizz of a bullet so low over my head that I instinctively ducked. I could have sworn that it brushed my hat, but I wasn’t going to take it off to see. The roan was trembling under me and the black was dancing around. It was becoming damn apparent that the gentlemen in front of me intended me to go one of two directions, either west or down. I figured the best idea was to appear to go along with this and look for the best opportunity to shake them loose.

  I turned the roan’s head and started west. For a while the men just sat on their horses watching me. Finally they began to move. To no great surprise to me they split up into two parties. Three of them took a route on my left, laying off my side about that same half mile. The others did the same to my right. I figured they were the ones with the long-distance rifles. Their coming was a turn of events I hadn’t counted on and didn’t much like.