Gunpoint

by Giles Tippette

  But later, sitting out on the porch, we were much more serious. Wilson said, “I hate to see you run that roan a mile race. That’s pushing him kind of hard.”

  “You’ll be in the saddle. Set your own pace. Hope Bank Money throws a shoe or goes lame.”

  “That’s what it will take.”

  “I . . .” I was about to say something, but stopped as Lupita brought us out a cup of coffee each. I watched her going back in the lighted house. She had some figure. The girls had not been quite as lively as they had been on my last visit. I reckoned they could sense my mood and had dropped theirs to match mine. I said, “I’m damned if I can think of a way out of this mess. And it’s about to start to irritate me.”

  “There ain’t no way out. You’re in a race you can’t win short of a miracle. You could leave, but trouble would just follow you home. Hell!”

  I said very lowly, “I may have to kill him, Wilson.”

  He looked around at me. “What?”

  “I may have to kill him.”

  He shook his head. “That wouldn’t be too smart, hoss. You’d have a hell of a time claiming self-defense, and the first one they’ll look for will be you. Too many people know about this little fracas between you and Flood. Besides, unless you just walk up and shoot him in cold blood you might have trouble getting close to him. He’s got to know he’s finally backed you into the last corner and you ain’t exactly pleased. He’ll be on his guard.”

  I nodded. “I know. I’m just running out of options. It’s either that or give in to the bastard.” I stared out at the night. “I never thought the day would ever come when I’d consider shooting a little frog like Flood. Much less an unarmed little frog. Hell!” I shook my head and stood up. “I got to get.”

  “Hell, stay the night. Ain’t nothing back at the hotel.”

  “I got some thinking to do, hard thinking.”

  “You can think here.”

  I smiled. “No, the guitar player might show up and then the girls would have to dance and you know how watching them dance affects me.”

  He stood up and laughed softly. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “Gets me the same way.” He gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder. “That boy sleeps in the barn. Kick him awake and make him saddle your horse. Lazy little bastard.”

  As I walked off toward the barn he called after me. “Don’t do anything sudden. Plenty of time left.”

  I looked back. He was outlined against the light from the house. I said, “If I see the guitar player I’ll tell him to hurry on.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Except for going down for meals I spent most of Thursday in my rooms just thinking and having a light drink every now and then. I was wishing mightily for Ben and Norris, Norris to talk some sense to me about the arithmetic of the situation and Ben to figure a way to win a horse race with the slowest horse.

  But they weren’t there and I was riding bareback on a blind horse. No matter how much I thought, no solution would come. I was either going to have to kill Flood and take my chances with the law and my own conscience about that, or give him the money, with or without the benefit of a horse race I couldn’t win.

  After supper that evening I wandered out of the hotel and strolled up and down the street, bypassing the saloons and other diversions, just walking and thinking and looking at the people I met. I felt that at least one or two of them were some of Flood’s boys keeping their eye on me. Gave me a kind of comforting feeling knowing I had my watchdogs around. I reckoned if some brawler was to pick a fight with me he’d find himself with more on his hands than he’d bargained for. I was sure Mister Flood wanted me all nice and healthy for that expensive horse race come Saturday.

  Finally I turned back for the hotel. It was about half past eight and the number of people on the streets was starting to thin. I was about to go in the hotel when, on a whim, I decided to look in on my roan colt. Tom was on duty as I came through the big double doors, sitting on a stool just outside the stable office. He touched his hat with his finger and said, “Evenin’, Mister Williams. You be wantin’ yore horse?”

  “No, Tom. I’m in for the night. I just came over to see to my colt. Tuck him in.”

  “What’d you ever do with that old packhorse you had, sir? That skinny black. Sell him?”

  “Yeah,” I said sort of disgustedly, “I sold him all right.”

  I was walking toward the back of the stable, passing between the rows of stalls. The light was dim, but there was plenty to see by. Tom followed me back. I got to the roan and patted him on the rump. He stomped his foot and looked around at me as if to tell me he was through for the day and I could just keep my hands to myself.

  Tom said, “Boy, howdy, that shore is some horse, Mister Williams. Lord, I hope the day comes when I own me a horse like that ’un.”

  I smiled. He was a good, ambitious kid. I hoped he’d never have to worry about losing thirty-two thousand dollars of his family’s money. I gave the roan another pat on the rump and then turned and walked out of the stable. I bid the boy, Tom, a good night and he did me the same. I was about halfway to the street and the front of the hotel when a thought struck me. Ben was on my mind, but the sudden idea that came into my head had nothing to do with Ben, or at least it was nothing he’d ever done. But it had come, the thought, when I’d remembered how he’d been able to work mares in heat around stallions, something nobody else could do. There had been no reason for that particular memory to suddenly pop into my mind, it just had.

  I stopped and stood there staring toward the street, thinking. The thinking was not whether the idea was a good one, I knew it was. The thinking was how could I best put it into action. And it would have to be done quickly because there was a lot to arrange, and the idea was not so much a good one as my last hope, so I had to be dead certain I got it right.

  I suddenly turned around and walked back to the stable. Tom promptly got up again. “You fergit somethin’, Mister Williams?”

  “No,” I said. “I wanted to talk to you. You’ve lived around Del Rio a pretty good while, ain’t you, Tom?”

  “Ever since I was borned. Eighteen year ago.”

  “So you know most of the folks around here and their livestock?”

  “Yes, sir. I reckon I’d have to say I do. Course on the big ranches, now, they turn them cattle over pretty regular so I ain’t as up on thet as I’d be on them small places like our’n.”

  I said, “Do you know of anybody that’s got either a mare or a filly that’s in heat? Or that will be in heat come Saturday?”

  He said slowly, “Wa’l, I got a filly just come in season. But you don’t want nuthin’ to do with her, Mister Williams.”

  “Why not?”

  “Wa’l she’s jest a poor stock, even if she is mine. She ain’t the kind of animal you’d want to be breedin’ that roan stud to.”

  “No, no,” I said, “that wasn’t what I had in mind. I . . .” Then I stopped, realizing it was going to be a little hard to explain to this boy just exactly what I did want. I finally said, “Look here, Tom, how’d you like to make some cash money?”

  He whistled. “That’s near about what I’d most like to make. That’s what I be doing up at this stable near every night, tryin’ to make cash money. Shore ain’t none to be made off’n that little operation Dad and me an’ my brothers is scratchin’ at.”

  “How’d you like to make fifty dollars.” I chose the sum because I wanted to make it enough to claim his undying loyalty, but not too much to scare him. Too much money could scare a boy like him. But fifty was just about right. It was more than he’d dreamed of having in a lump sum at one time, but not too much so that it seemed out of reach.

  Well, his eyes got big and he whistled again, only this time the whistle was one of bewilderment and awe. “Fifty dollars! Cash money?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You won’t be working Saturday afternoon, will you?”

  “Well, yes, sir, I will.”

  “I thought you got off
at six in the morning.”

  “Oh, that,” he said. “Yessir, I’ll be through here. But they’ll be work around the place, the ranch.”

  “But you can get off for a couple of hours from that, can’t you? For fifty dollars?”

  “For fifty dollars?” He shook his head and whistled again. “I reckon I could get off from anything for fifty dollars. Lord! Fifty dollars! What be you wantin’, Mister Williams, because I am yore man.”

  “You can ride that filly, can’t you?”

  “Yessir. She’s saddle-broke, but Pa has said I ought to be careful with her right now or I’s likely to have a stud horse climbing up her back and gettin’ in the saddle with me.”

  “So she’s in good season?”

  “Lord, yes. She’s even got the mules tearin’ round and cuttin’ up.”

  Of course that was a joke because mules are sterile and not susceptible to the passions of the stallion, a feature that makes them valuable as work animals.

  I got out my roll, making sure he could see it, and gave him a ten-dollar bill. He took it gingerly and looked awed, just staring at it, holding it with both hands, making no move to put it in his pocket. I said, “There’s a little something towards the balance. There’ll be another one tomorrow. That’ll make twenty dollars. When the job is done I’ll give you the other thirty.”

  It took him a long minute to speak. “But you ain’t told me yit what I’m to do.”

  “I’ll tell you Saturday morning.”

  He looked worried. He still hadn’t pocketed the ten spot. He said hesitantly, “’Scuse me, Mister Williams, but it ain’t—I mean, it ain’t nuthin’ agin the law or nuthin’ like that?”

  “No,” I said. “It ain’t against the law.”

  “Or, or, against church stuff kind of thing?”

  I smiled. “No, it ain’t immoral. And it will be fair. It only involves you riding your filly a few miles. Keeping her in one place for a few minutes and then riding her home.”

  He looked blank. “An’ fer that I get fifty dollars?”

  “Yes. Put your money away.”

  “Lordy! I bet you I know one overgrowed boy who is gonna puzzle his head until Sat’iday ’bout this matter.”

  “But you’ll do it?”

  “You better reckon I will!”

  I put up a warning finger. “One thing, and this is mighty important. You can’t say a word about this to anybody. Not your pa, not your brothers, not your mother—”

  “She be daid.”

  “All right, I’m sorry. But you understand you can’t speak of this to anyone. Not a soul.”

  He looked worried. “Then how am I gonna tell my pa where I come by fifty dollars? He’d whip it outten me. An’ I got to give him the money. The place needs it too bad.”

  I smiled. “You can do that when it’s over. After I pay you Saturday you can give him the whole fifty and tell him exactly what happened. But on Sunday. Not as soon as you get home. You can give it to him on Sunday. So that means you’ve got to hold on to that ten-dollar bill until then. All right?”

  “Yessir!”

  “I have your word on this?”

  “You shore do, Mister Williams. A tree stump will do more talking than I will.”

  I left him in a mighty heavy state of bewilderment and surprise. I figured he’d be scratching his head all night long. But he was a good kid. I just had to hope he could ride a filly into town and handle her while she was in season.

  I slept good that night. What I had planned might not work, but at least I was doing something and not just sitting back all docile and allowing Mister Flood to run up and down my back in hobnailed boots.

  I had breakfast next morning and then went and got my horse. Tom was long since gone, it being nearly eight o’clock, but my business with him was complete for the time being. I rode out of Del Rio and headed for the bridge, hoping Mister Young hadn’t danced the night away and wasn’t still abed.

  But when I got in sight of his house I could just make him out sitting under his porch roof. I pulled up and got down and hitched my horse. Without saying anything to me Wilson yelled at the open door, “Lupita! Bring your boyfriend some coffee. And put some brandy in it.”

  I was just stepping up on the porch. I yelled instantly, “Never mind about that brandy!”

  Wilson said, “You just don’t know what is good.”

  He appeared to have had it good the night before since he seemed to have just got up. He wasn’t wearing anything but a pair of jeans and he hadn’t shaved or put on his boots. I got the other cane-bottomed chair and dragged it up near his. I said, “I see some dancing went on last night.”

  He sipped his coffee and nodded. “Boy, you missed it. We had some kind of a fandango.”

  “Guitar player showed up, huh?”

  “Aw, yeah. He was here. Come not too long after we’d give you up and had supper without you. Girls was cut up something awful you didn’t show. So was the guitar player, though he asked after your health.”

  About then Lupita brought me a cup of coffee. She looked as bright and pretty as a new penny. She handed me the cup and said “Sí, con Fundador. ”

  I told her thanks and sipped the coffee, planning on nodding to show her my thanks. But the smell of brandy hit me right in the nose. I said, looking at Wilson, “What the hell! You trying to get some of that stuff past me? What the hell is Fundador?”

  “Brandy,” he said. He gave Lupita a wink as she went back inside.

  I got out a cigarillo and lit it. “You didn’t work the black this morning?”

  “Already done it.”

  “Like that? Half naked?”

  “A man can take boots off just as easy as he can put them on. And you probably didn’t know this, but you can ride a horse, even a racehorse, even a Thoroughbred racehorse, even a high-toned, upper-crust racehorse, without a shirt on.”

  We drank coffee in silence for a few minutes and then Wilson said, “You know what an awl is?”

  “An awl? Of course I know what an awl is. Little sharp-pointed punch you use to stitch leather and such. Why?”

  He was a while in answering. “Man can take the point of an awl to the tendon of a horse’s front leg, just get the point in. Don’t make a big enough hole to bleed. But there’s been more than one owner of a racehorse who’s thought his runner has suddenly come down with a bowed tendon when instead it was some gentleman visiting his horse in the middle of the night with an awl in his hand. Good thing is, horse don’t go lame right off. Owner generally finds it out when it’s too late, say in the first quarter of a mile of a mile race.”

  “You better lay off that brandy, especially in the morning. You got any idea how many pistoleros Flood will have guarding that horse night and day?”

  “I figure two.”

  “So you figure we go in there and plug them and then you fix the horse, and next day Flood will figure it was just somebody breaking in to steal chickens.”

  Wilson stretched. “I was thinking more of a distraction. Something that would draw them guards out of the barn, give an honest man time to slip in and do a little doctoring on that horse’s tendon.”

  “You have gone loco.”

  “Flood would never know. We could make it look like the guards scared off whoever it was come calling.”

  “I got to get back to town. What you got might be catching.”

  “Hell, what’s the rush? You got to stay for lunch. Soon as I seen you coming I yelled for Evita to set another place.”

  I looked at my watch. “That’s two hours, at least.”

  “We eat early. Besides, what’d you ride all this way for if you ain’t going to eat lunch with us?”

  “I wanted to give the colt a little exercise. He’s running in a horse race tomorrow.”

  Wilson pulled at his lip. “Seems like I heard something about that. I hear Junior Borden is offering five to one against your roan colt. And ain’t getting no takers.”

  “Word seems to have
got around mighty fast.”

  “Well, ain’t that always the way it is with a catastrophe in the family? I tell you, Justa, providence just don’t seem to be smiling on us right now.”

  I said grimly, “Well, I may have to give providence a hand.”

  Wilson gave me a quick look. “I hear shooting little twisted unarmed men is still against the law. Even when they got you by the short hairs.”

  I stood up. “I got some errands to run. You going to come in to Del Rio later on?”

  “Might,” he said. “Might.”

  “Maybe we can scout up a poker game. Kill some time.”

  He was lighting a cigarillo. He looked at me through the smoke of the first puff. “That’ll be all we kill.”

  * * *

  A little after lunch I left the hotel and went scouting around town for a general mercantile. There appeared to be three of them, which was a goodly number even for a town the size of Del Rio. I picked the biggest of the lot and went in. The place was cool and dim. General mercantiles were always dim. I couldn’t remember ever being in a general mercantile that wasn’t. I calculated that was because you wouldn’t be able to see how shoddy the merchandise was until you’d bought and paid for it and got it into a good light. And by then it was too late. Of course I knew that wasn’t true. Mercantiles were dim because they were generally so big that the light coming through the front windows wasn’t enough to brighten up the whole place. And no merchant with any sense was going to waste kerosene by setting around a bunch of lamps in the middle of the day.

  The place was nearly empty. There were a couple of ladies going through bolts of cloth over at one counter with a lady clerk waiting on them. There was a man that I took to be the owner standing by the cash register. It seemed that owners of mercantiles always stood by the cash register; even my father-in-law did so.

  I walked on to the back, looking for the patent medicines. The owner asked me if I needed some help, and I told him I just needed to look through the cures and nostrums. He waved me toward a side wall that was pretty well stocked from floor to ceiling with jars and boxes and bottles of stuff that was guaranteed to cure everything from mange to gunshot wounds. I was looking for something that I’d seen Ben use. I finally got down into a section that appeared to be in the line I was thinking about. I picked out a bottle of something called Oil of Peppermint, unscrewed the cap, and had a whiff. Smelled like a candy store. I screwed the top back on and put the bottle on the shelf. About that time a voice over my shoulder said, “You lookin’ fer somethin’ to clear out yore head?”