The Sunshine Killers

by Giles Tippette

  Tomlain was sitting on a bunk, still drinking coffee. He turned slowly to look at the man. “What?” he asked flatly.

  “That goddam hunter’s horse is out there. Right behind Schmidt’s.”

  Without another word Tomlain got up, found his gunbelt, put it on, and then led the others as they trooped through the door. As they went he spoke to Billy, “If that sonofabitch is back we’ll see who’s head it’s on now. Wouldn’t let me kill him. Well, we’ll see what Mister McGraw says.”

  They trudged through the snow, staring hard at the horse as they came. The animal, looking drawn and sorry from his long night in the freezing weather turned his head and stared back. They ranged up along his side and Billy went to his head and took up the reins. “Hell,” he said, “this horse came back in here on his own. Look at that.” He pointed to the heavy crust of snow on the saddle. “He’s been standing out here all night. And these reins are just hanging loose. Nobody rode this horse in here. He wandered in.”

  “By the lord,” Barney said, “I do believe you be right.”

  Tomlain looked at the horse and then the snow around him. He licked his lips. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Sure,” Billy said, “it’s plain as paint.” He pointed. “Horse is still saddled, but the saddlebags and that old boy’s rifle are gone. He got off that horse somewhere up the line to try and make him a camp. Probably weak as skimmed milk. He got his rifle and his saddlebags off and then the horse got away from him. Maybe he even collapsed.”

  “I don’t know,” Tomlain said again. He rubbed his black-whiskered jaw. “Could be.”

  “Looks likely,” one of the other men said. “Horse ain’t dumb. He wadn’t gonna stand out in that cold and freeze. He made back for the only place he knew where they was a barn and hay.”

  “Maybe so,” Tomlain said again.

  “Hell,” Billy insisted. “Ain’t no maybe about it. That man is laying up the line somewhere makin’ a hump under the snow.”

  Instinctively they all walked to the front of Schmidt’s and looked up the road. It was all snow as far as they could see. Nothing to break the whiteness. “Nothing could live out in that,” Billy said. “Not no man on foot and hurt.”

  “We still ought to look around a little,” Tomlain said. “Make sure he didn’t ride back in and hole up.”

  “That can’t hurt nothin’,” Billy agreed. “Well, we know he ain’t in the bunkhouse or Schmidt’s or the women’s house. That just leaves the barns and them two other buildings over yonder. Barney, you take that horse and put him up in the barn back of the women’s place. They got more room and they ain’t no point in lettin’ a good animal stand out here and freeze. Then have a look around while the rest of us look them other buildings over.”

  At an upstairs front window of the women’s house, a girl looked out at the men beginning to disperse for the search. She watched for a moment and then turned away. The room was still dim, the morning’s sun not having fully illuminated it yet. Letty was lying in one chair, asleep, and Juno in another. Saulter was lying on the bed, also asleep. He stirred restless from time to time with the pain. The girl at the window went over to Letty and shook her by the shoulder. “Letty . . . Letty . . .”

  Letty came awake with a start. She looked first at the girl and then across at Saulter. She straightened in the chair and yawned. “Goddammit, Brenda, don’t startle me like that.”

  “Tomlain and that bunch have come out and seen his horse.” She gestured to Saulter. “They look like they fixin’ to search.”

  Letty got up and went to the window, but the men had disappeared by then. “They won’t come in here,” she said with assurance.

  “Wonder what they’ll think?” the girl asked.

  “What the hell do I care what they think,” Letty answered irritably. “They’ll think what they ought to think. That he fell off his horse and froze and the horse came back here.”

  “What if they don’t?” Brenda was a young, pretty, slightly dumb-looking girl. “Why, they’re terribly bad. No telling what they’d do to us if they knew that man was here.”

  Letty was gruff from having awakened from a nearly sleepless night. “Why should they think he’s here? This is the last place they’d look. And they wouldn’t come in Juno’s room. They ain’t gonna think a bunch of whores would take a man in off the street like that.”

  “Well, why did we take him in? I don’t really understand that.”

  Letty frowned at her for a moment, then shrugged and half smiled. “Maybe I ain’t a whore at heart. Who knows? What the hell difference does it make? So long as everybody keeps their mouth shut we ain’t got any worry.”

  “Oh, I ain’t gonna say anything, Letty,” Brenda promised. “You don’t have to worry about that.” She stole a glance over at Saulter. “My goodness, he is kind of good-lookin’, ain’t he? So handsome and genteel and all.”

  “Looks like a man,” Letty said grimly. She walked over to Saulter’s bed. “And I’ve seen enough of them in my lifetime to last me through all my years in hell.”

  “Then I still don’t understand,” Brenda began. But Letty cut her off with, “Oh, shut up about it, Brenda. There’s lots you don’t understand.” She put her hand on Saulter’s brow. “Wake Juno up and let’s have a look at him now he’s lasted the night. One of ya’ll fetch some hot water and clean cloths and some scissors.”

  Across the street, Tomlain and the others had gathered on the front porch of Schmidt’s. They stood around, looking off in the distance and smoking.

  “Well, he might’a come back in on that horse last night,” Barney said, “but he left again on foot cause he ain’t in this here town. Nowhere.”

  “Maybe,” said Tomlain.

  Billy made a disgusted sound. “No maybe about it. The man is laying out yonder froze like an icicle.”

  “Maybe,” Tomlain said, “somebody ought to ride out the road and see if they’s any sign of him.”

  “Under two foot of snow?” Billy asked. “It snowed all night, Tomlain. What you want to do, dig up every mound?”

  “I don’t know,” Tomlain answered slowly. He rubbed his jaw. “With McGraw due in I don’t want no slipups. I’d like to be sure.”

  “What’s the matter, Tomlain? Think you’re slipping? Them licks you gave that man I’m surprised he didn’t die on the spot. You figure he was still in shape to take off cross-country? Didn’t it fall out just about the way you’d figured?”

  Tomlain smiled slowly and licked his lips. “Well,” he said, “I guess that’s right.”

  Billy said, “I never seen you worry over some old boy like you’ve done over that hunter. Did you figure he was more than you could handle?”

  Tomlain gave him a look. “I figure he got handled. I figure they’ll find him the first spring thaw. Just like I planned it.” He turned and spit. “Hell with it. Let’s get a drink.”

  In Juno’s room Letty was bending over Saulter. She had opened his shirt and cut his undershirt away. The exposed bandage was soaked and crusted with old blood. She began cutting it away with the scissors. “Damn fool men,” she muttered under her breath.

  Juno and Brenda were by her side and the other three women were crowded in just at the door. They all looked like Letty: half-pretty, young women, fancily dressed in a cheap way, but hardened long before their time by their profession. They watched intently, not unkindly, but with an apprehension about Saulter’s presence. “Goddammit,” Letty said over her shoulder, “don’t all you stand there gawking. One of you go down to the parlor. One of them fools from across the street is liable to get the urge even this early in the morning and I wouldn’t want them wandering around the house looking for company.” Nobody moved. “Go on, goddammit!” Letty said angrily. She glared until one of the girls disengaged herself unwillingly and went down the stairs.

  Letty cut the bandage through in two places and then tugged it loose with an effort. It came off hard, stuck to Saulter by the dried blood. He was st
ill asleep or unconscious, but he stirred restlessly with the pain.

  “Oh, it’s hurtin’ him!” Brenda said.

  Letty paid her no attention, just went on stripping off the bandage. When she’d exposed the wound all the other women gasped. It was ugly. The bullet wound itself would not have been too serious. It was far enough to the side to have missed his vital organs. But the flesh around it was massively bruised and purple and the skin was shriveled and sick looking. The bullet hole was clean, with ragged edges that would have healed themselves.

  Letty shook her head. “Ain’t that a mess,” she said disgustedly. “Fool got himself shot and then that Ray Tomlain give him a little fist doctoring. Wonder he’s alive.” She felt around the wound with tender fingers. Saulter groaned and thrashed. “Broken ribs in there, but there’s nothing we can do about that. Let’s get it cleaned up. Juno, get me that hot water and some lye soap. Then I want some of that rotgut whiskey to pour in the wound. That ought to finish him off. Then we got to turn him over and get at it from the back. So I’ll need some help.”

  Brenda pointed at the gunshot hole. “Wonder how he came by that?”

  “Oh, shut up, Brenda. Men don’t need no reason to do things like this to one another. If they ain’t a reason they’ll think of one or else do it out of meanness.” She began to probe around the wound, feeling the extent of the ribs Tomlain had broken.

  As she worked, Saulter stirred in pain. His eyelids flickered a little, but they didn’t open. Somewhere inside his head his mind was working and he was remembering, remembering the same feeling of pain when he’d got the wound.

  It was a big saloon tent, the kind you’d find in a forward line camp of a railroad that was laying transcontinental track. It was like the many others scattered around the work site at the rail head. There were other saloon tents, a few cook tents, and one whorehouse under canvas. They were there because the men who were building the railroad knew that you couldn’t take men out across a desolate wilderness and work them in satisfaction without fulfilling basic needs that they had besides food and water. The tents moved as the work did, never staying so far behind that a man couldn’t easily reach them from the dormitory cars. During the day they were mostly slow, quiet enough so that you could hear the distant ring of iron hammers driving iron spikes to nail the rails together. But then at night, after the men had cleaned up and had supper, they were smoky noisy hells where the rules were what you might expect.

  Saulter wasn’t often found in the tents for he was mostly out on a meat hunt. But when he was in camp he would sometimes drop in for a drink or a game of cards. Not that he mixed much. He wasn’t a man who had many intimates.

  The tent he entered that night was smoky and dim from the poorly trimmed kerosene lanterns. There was a makeshift bar, a number of rickety tables, and a large crowd. Most of them were railroad workers, tired after a hard day’s work. But mixed in were a few hard-looking dance hall women and the inevitable gamblers. There was a poker layout, a roulette table, and several faro layouts.

  Saulter made his way easily through the crowd, not having to push or shove for the men, turning and recognizing him, made way instinctively. He was wearing his heavy coat and carrying his big rifle and you could see, from the dried blood on the front of his deerskin leggings, that he’d just returned from a hunt. He nodded briefly to one or two men and went to the bar and ordered whiskey. Two men at a faro table in a back corner were watching him intently. They had no players at their table though the other games did, and the dealer sat flipping the top of his faro box up and down idly. When they saw Saulter they whispered together briefly for a moment and then the man sitting across from the dealer, who was his confederate, his shill, leaned back in his chair and called to the hunter. “Hey, Saulter!” he yelled over the noise. “Saulter! Over here, Saulter.”

  Saulter took a long moment acknowledging the call. Finally he turned his head toward the corner and looked at the man. He didn’t say anything.

  “Hey, Saulter! Com’on over. Com’on over and play.” They were only twenty feet apart, but the noise and the crush were such that it was difficult to hear.

  Saulter looked at the man, then his eyes shifted to the dealer behind the table.

  “Aw, com’on,” the man yelled. “Jack here’s running cold. We can take him easy. Com’on and let’s get a game started.”

  “No,” Saulter said. He turned around now and faced the men because he had sensed something, had sensed it as soon as the man first called to him. He expected there would be trouble of some kind, he just didn’t know how far it was going to go.

  “Let him go, Charlie,” said Jack, the dealer. “Can’t you see Mister Saulter doesn’t want to play?”

  But Charlie was insistent. “Aw, com’on, Saulter. Com’on and play.”

  Saulter didn’t respond, nor did he take his eyes off the dealer.

  “No, Charlie, that ain’t the way.” The dealer smiled sarcastically. “Don’t you know Mister Saulter is a fine southern gentleman? You don’t want to be yellin’ at him like that. Take him a handwritten invitation on a lace doily. That’s what Mister Saulter expects.”

  It was as if someone had held up a hand to the crowd to quiet them. Men near the confrontation heard the words and stopped talking and then others further away caught the sense and they too became quiet.

  Jack went on. “But, Mister Saulter, how come you come in a nice place like this in them stinking clothes covered with stinking buffalo blood? Ain’t you got no manners, Mister Saulter?”

  Saulter said, slowly, “You kill buffalo for meat and you’re going to get some blood on you. But it’s a lot harder on the buffalo.”

  The shill put in, “Aw now, com’on, let’s be friends. Com’on now and play, Saulter.”

  “Let it be, Charlie,” Jack said evenly. “Mister Saulter has opinions about the way I deal this game. Opinions he hasn’t kept to himself.” He was still playing with the faro case, raising and lowering the lid with one hand while his other hand was out of sight behind the box.

  “Now see,” Charlie said earnestly, “there it is right there, Saulter. See how these misunderstandings get started? See, folks won’t play in Jack’s game because they think you’ve been going around saying he runs a crooked game. And you know that ain’t so. And folks pay such a considerable attention to what you say that you’ve got to be extra careful. That’s just the way these little misunderstandings get started. So why don’t you come on over and play and let everybody see that’s what it is, a little misunderstanding. Come take a hand or two and that’ll clear the whole mess up.”

  Saulter didn’t bother to speak.

  Charlie went on, insisting, “You never said old Jack run a crooked game, now did you, Saulter?”

  Saulter looked at him a long moment. “No,” he finally said.

  Charlie looked around triumphantly. “See? See there, folks? You heard it yourself.”

  But Saulter continued. “I said he cheated.”

  It somehow got even quieter in the place. The dealer stopped flipping the box lid. “You calling me a chat?” His voice was dangerous.

  “No,” Saulter answered easily, “I can’t call you a cheat because I’m not around you at all times. All I can say is that every time I’ve seen you deal you’ve cheated.”

  “Then you’re calling me a cheat.”

  Saulter shrugged. He had expected this when the man, Charlie, had first called to him, had indeed expected it for some time. It could only end one way. He said slowly, “Have it your own way.”

  At the words the gambler suddenly flipped the faro case aside. He was holding a pistol behind it, the barrel pointed straight at Saulter. There was an instant, as his finger tightened on the trigger, that gave Saulter a chance to flinch to his side. It wasn’t much, but it kept the bullet from taking him square. He had his own pistol drawn, drawing even as he moved, but the gambler fired first, the gun making a huge roar against the canvas walls. The force of the bullet knocked Saulter b
ack against the bar and down to one knee. Grimacing at the pain he thumbed off a shot that took the gambler full in the chest. He went over backwards in his chair, disappearing underneath the table. Then Saulter was swinging to the left. The shill had his pistol out and was aiming. But Saulter fired first. The first bullet took the man in the shoulder, spinning him around, the second caught him in the left chest and he went down in a heap. For a second, in the sudden quiet, Saulter peered through the blue smoke. Then, grimacing, he put his hand to his ribs and looked at the blood that came off his palm. Slowly he went down to one knee, his head tilted back, his eyes shut.

  They had him in the hospital tent, lying on a cot. Someone had taken off his coat and shirt and a doctor was finishing bandaging his chest and sides. A man in whipcord riding pants and boots and a Stetson hat was standing at the foot of the bed. He nodded when Saulter opened his eyes. “How you feel?”

  Saulter grunted, letting his body gingerly feel itself out. “All right,” he answered.

  “Doc here says it ain’t too bad. Didn’t hit your lungs or nothing vital. Just going to be sore as hell for a while. Ripped out some of your white meat and you lost a good bit of blood.”

  Saulter didn’t smile.

  The doctor went on working. In a moment he was through. He stepped back and told the man in the whipcord breeches, “He’ll be all right in a few days. All he really needs is rest. He’s got a hole in him that needs to plug itself up.”

  “Thanks,” the man said. He waited until the doctor had departed and then came around and sat down on the cot next to Saulter’s. He looked at the hunter intently. “I got a bad piece of business to do and I’d just as soon get it over with. Do you feel well enough?”