Head West (The Collected Western Stories of B.J. Holmes)

by BJ Holmes

  ‘Hi, Sheriff. What can I do for you this fine morning?’

  ‘It’s not quite so fine, Ike. Had a mishap. Belle broke a leg out on the flats. Had to put her away.’

  The man stopped work, ‘Jeez, I’m sorry, Jonathan. She was a beautiful animal.’

  ‘Yah, near broke my heart to do it.’

  ‘Had her a long time too.’

  ‘Yeah. Bought her when I ran the store. Remember?’

  The old man nodded. ‘Of course I remember. You bought her from me. Now you sit yourself down, pardner. I’ve got some coffee brewing.’

  A minute later they’d each got a steaming cup of Java in front of them. ‘And what were you doing out on the flats?’ Ike asked.

  ‘Couple of homesteaders out there were butting heads over water rights. One of the hands rode in at sun-up to tell me about the fracas. By the time I’d made it out there the heat had gone out of the argument. So, I got ‘em to shake on an agreement and now they’re old buddies again.’

  He chuckled and added, ‘At least at the moment. When I left ‘em they were splitting a bottle of rye. You know what drink what can do to a guy’s brain. Still, if they can survive a night of slowly becoming become paralytic together and ain’t killed each other by sunup, they’ll be able to stay pals.’

  ‘And you had the accident on the way back?’

  Jonathan nodded. Then, ‘Listen, Ike, I’d like to ask you a favor. I need to go back to the flats to bury her. Can I borrow Star?’

  ‘Of course you can. Come out and see him.’

  Jonathan followed the old-timer out to the lodge-pole corral. The young black stallion ambled over to the fence and took the carrot that his owner offered.

  `You know, from a distance they could be the same animal,’ Jonathan said.

  `Well, as mother and son––there ought to be some similarities!’

  The lawman stroked the animal’s muzzle. `A horse is just supposed to be a tool. But Belle was more than that to me. Something special.’

  Ike patted the neck of the young stallion. ‘And so’s he.’

  ‘I’m gonna be needing a new mount. Would you consider selling him?’

  The hostler pondered. ‘Suppose I would be aiming to sell him eventually. I’m gonna have to pull up my picket pin sometime. Don’t need to have much of a brain to know the town’s on its last legs.’

  ‘How much would you be asking?’

  ‘I gotta be frank, Jonathan. He’s a good horse and represents my grubstake to get out of here. So I would need a hundred.’

  Jonathan whistled. `A hundred?’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you he’s a horse in a thousand. He’s got speed and staying power––just like his dam. He’s good breeding-stock too.’

  Jonathan couldn’t argue with the reasoning but the figure was a shock. He patted the horse once more. ‘I’ve got to see the missus and attend to things. I’ll be back directly.’

  ‘Meantimes, I’ll get Star ready.’

  Ethel Shuker was working in the kitchen. She turned her head away in rejection of his greeting kiss and carried on with her chores.

  He’d relayed his sad news.

  ‘You think more of that damn horse than you do of me,’ she said.

  ‘Is that all you got to say?’ he asked.

  She ignored his question, ‘Well, what you gonna do now? What good’s a sheriff without a horse?’ She pondered on her own question. ‘Huh,’ she continued, ‘about as good as a storekeeper without a store, that’s what.’ He’d failed at running a store and she never let him forget it.

  She knew that barb would get to him and she looked at him for a reaction but he gave none. ‘Well, what you gonna do?’ she went on. We haven’t got any spare cash for no darned new horse, that’s for sure!’

  ‘First off, I’m gonna see Peplow,’ he said. ‘He’s not only mayor and chairman of the council but he holds the money strings in the town. I’ll see what he can come up with. He set up this job of sheriff. He’s my boss. It’s up to him to solve the problem.’

  She made a dismissive noise. ‘Huh. Mr Peplow’s not interested in you and your job. You’re window-dressing. That piece of tin on your chest is just for show.’ She laughed. ‘He doesn’t want you to actually do anything as the sheriff.’

  ‘Yeah, I know the job is largely a front of respectability for his town council. Having our own law gives the county authorities an excuse for not taking over. Gives him a free hand in controlling the town’s monetary matters.’

  ‘That’s right. You’re just a convenience. He could have appointed anyone but in you he saw a sucker who wouldn’t make wrinkles.’

  ‘But it is a job,’ he went on, ‘and as long as I hold the post I’m gonna do it properly. And I have to have a means for getting about. That needs money.’

  He made for the door and opened it.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

  ‘To see him. He does run the bank after all, so there’s dough there.’

  ‘Mr Peplow won’t thank you for bothering him with your petty concerns.’

  ‘Mebbe I can come to some arrangement with him.’

  ‘What kind of arrangement?’

  ‘A loan, something like that,’ he said as he crossed the doorway.

  ‘Oh no,’ he heard her shout after him. ‘No loans, Jonathan Shuker. That’s tantamount to spending our money before we get it.’

  The owner of Junction City’s one and only bank was standing at the counter drumming his fingers. His stomach rumbled, prompting him to look at the clock. Nearly lunch time.

  Some years ago J. P. Peplow, wheeler-dealer extraordinaire, had acquired inside knowledge on the planned route of the Sante Fe Railroad. A onetime accomplice ensconced in head office had allowed him access to the plan of the projected route. It had meant slipping a small fortune into the guy’s back pocket, as the details on that paper were as guarded as the crown jewels of England. On the strength of it Peplow had moved out in advance and established Junction City. Up till then there’d only been a scatter of dirt-farmers scratching a living from the bleak terrain, but some folks believed in his dream and followed him out. He thought up the grandiose name for the site and the once deserted stretch of sand became a hive of activity with building upwards and outwards. Word of the boom spread and others came in their droves.

  Only snag was, it looked like the two-timer had been finally two-timed himself. Somebody had been pushing even more dollars into back pockets because, when the railroad eventually did come, it skirted some twenty miles to the north, leaving Junction City once more a nowhere place. And the boom, which had thrived solely on expectation, now only had itself to feed on. Then, just as quickly as the balloon had been pumped up, it burst. Junction City’s version of the old saying––from shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations––was more merciless. From shirtsleeves to holes in the elbows in a mere two seasons. Folks drifted, moved on, to leave a shell whose only raison d’être was supplying dirt farmers.

  Peplow had been in a quandary. He couldn’t just move out with his belongings in a wagon like the others. Maybe the place was a hollowed-out shell––but it was his. The way he saw it he had invested too much to quit. Aiming to make the best of a bad job he changed tack and set about using strong-arm methods to make it a one-company town. A town in which he owned all the businesses, lock, stock and peppercorn barrel. The way he saw it, what little cash there was to make would be his.

  At the time Jonathan Shuker had run a dry-goods store and was the only tradesman who held out against the big man. He’d learned about bookkeeping and handling supplies during his army stint in the quartermaster’s store. He enjoyed the work and, although it didn’t make much, he owned the store outright and it provided a living. So he refused to sell or be scared off. The situation stayed that way till one day his store got burned down, leaving him destitute. Like everybody else in town, he knew it was Peplow’s doing but he couldn’t prove it. Peplow even used the circumstance to raise his
own public image. If there’d been a sheriff, Peplow had said sanctimoniously, it wouldn’t have happened. Under the auspices of the town council and, feigning pity for the hapless couple, he offered Jonathan the post of sheriff. The man wasn’t awed by the prospect. He could ride and had learned how to handle a gun during his soldier days. The pay was peanuts but Jonathan had a wife to look after. So with nothing else going for him, he accepted.

  As the banker caressed his rumbling stomach, the door clattered open.

  ‘Ah, Jonathan,’ he said when he saw the sheriff coming through the door. ‘Come into the office,’ he went on, ‘I been fixing on seeing you.’ He crossed to the door, locked it and turned the sign to CLOSED. ‘I was closing for lunch anyhows.’

  When they were seated opposite each other in the back office he appraised his visitor. `You’re looking a mite trail-dusty.’

  `Yeah. Fact is, Mr Peplow, I’ve had a mishap. Lost my horse. Out on the flats. She took a tumble down a gopher hole. Leg broke. Had to put her out of her misery.’ He sighed at the thought. `So, I’m looking for a replacement. That’s why I’m here. I was wondering if the town council would stand the bill for a new mount. You being the head of the council and a banker and all.’

  The moneyman studied his visitor further. ‘Jonathan, I’m sorry to say, it just ain’t your day. We, the town council that is, had an emergency meeting this morning. With times being bad and folks still leaving, our tax revenue is down. That’s why I wanted to see you. You know that it’s taxes that are the source of your wages. With the take declining, there’s nothing for it but for you to take a wage cut.’

  Jonathan threw back his head. ‘Jeez, it never rains but it pours.’

  ‘We can manage to pay you at your present rate for the next month,’ the banker added, then pulled a wry face. `But after that––’

  ‘Cut by how much?’

  ‘We figure ten per cent. But I’m afraid it could be more.’

  ‘Hell’s teeth, Mr Peplow. Ethel and I can hardly manage as it is.’

  ‘I can imagine. But, Jonathan, times are bad for all of us.’

  The lawman glanced around the plush office, then appraised the large cigar the banker was just lighting, and he tried to figure out who the ‘us’ was for whom times were bad.

  ‘So you see,’ the man said after he’d successfully fired his tobacco, ‘there’s no way we can foot an unexpected bill for a new set of horse legs.’

  The other ruminated on it. ‘OK, what about a loan? I do need a horse.’

  ‘Even if you got the money, where you gonna get another horse? Ain’t any available horse left in town that I know of. It’d mean travelling half-way across the territory to buy one’––and paying a fancy city price too.’

  ‘No. There is one in town. The only one left. Old Isaac’s got a young stallion over at the livery. The last piece of horseflesh in the place. In fact the son of the mare I’ve lost. He’s asking a hundred dollars.’

  ‘A hundred bucks!’

  ‘It’s a good horse, Mr Peplow. And the only one in town.’

  ‘This is a bank, Jonathan. Run on banking principles. What could you put up as collateral? You ain’t got no property now your store’s gone.’

  The lawman thought about it. ‘The horse itself. That would be what you call collateral.’

  `Jonathan, I can see you don’t know much about the practice of banking. That wouldn’t constitute collateral. What would happen to the bank’s investment if you put it down another gopher hole?’

  ‘That’s unfair, Mr Peplow. Today’s mishap It was a very rare accident and you know it.’

  ‘What’s happened once can happen again. I run a business. I’ve got to have security. And a horse ain’t security. Plus, I’ve got to show some kind of profit on the arrangement. On top of that, with your forthcoming cut in wages I figure you’d have the devil’s own job trying to meet the interest charges, never mind the repayments.’

  Jonathan said nothing and the banker, with a tone of finality in his voice, added, ‘It’s a harsh world––but that’s the way it works.’

  The lawman stood up and paced the room. ‘Well, I’ll tell you something else about the way the world works: in a territory like this a sheriff ain’t no good without a horse.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jonathan, you’ll just have to do the best you can with what you’ve got.’ He rose. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ve got an appointment with my lunch over at the eats house.’

  Jonathan accompanied the man outside onto the boardwalk. He waved his arm along the main drag. ‘And what if some opportunist desperado comes riding in, pulls a gun and makes you clean out your safe. As the sheriff, how the hell am I expected to light out after him without a horse?’

  The banker locked the door, ‘An opportunist bank robber? Unlikely. Even I have to admit it––this place is nowheres-ville. Nobody’s gonna ride out here looking for easy money. You know it’s never happened before. What’s more, nobody can get in that safe other than me. Have you seen the size of it? On top of that, I’ve got a gun in my drawer, and one in the safe. With two guns I should be able to get to one weapon. Yes, I think I could cope with such an unlikely eventuality,’

  ‘Bank robbing ain’t unknown even in off-the-beaten-track places like this, Mr Peplow. And what happens if you didn’t cope and I need to get on the varmint’s trail?’

  ‘Jonathan,’ the man said, shaking his head condescendingly, ‘we’ll cross that bridge if ever we should come to it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my ulcer’s rumbling.’

  Jonathan returned home and relayed the conversation to his wife. Eth sat down and clenched her hands. ‘I married you when I thought you were going somewhere. But you can’t do a darned thing right. No matter which way you cut it, you always come up with empty hands. You lose the business, the only chance we had. Now look at you. Just about enough money to put beans on the table. A sheriff with no horse, and now you tell me your pay’s going to be cut.’

  ‘I still need a horse, Eth.’

  ‘Well, you can’t get a loan, and we wouldn’t be able to handle the debt anyway. You gotta face it, Jonathan; we haven’t even saved enough to have a bank account. All we got is a few dollars in a pot at the back of the cupboard.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, sweet.’ He sighed deeply, then added, ‘Anyways, listen. I’m gonna be gone for a few hours. I got some burying to do.’

  Over at the livery stable, Star was saddled up and Ike was dressed for riding. ‘I’m coming with you,’ the old man said. ‘You’re gonna need another pair of hands. No mean task, burying a horse.’

  ‘Two of us? How we gonna get out there? There’s only one horse in town.’

  The elder man grinned. ‘Star is a strong animal. He can carry two, no sweat.’

  Hours later the job was done. As Ike had said, it was no mean task burying several hundredweight of horse––even with a pair of shovels wielded by two sets of hands.

  It was nearly nightfall when Jonathan Shuker got back home after another hard day as Junction City’s horseless lawman. He called out a few times but no reply signified the house was empty. He stood in contemplation for a moment and rubbed his chin. The stubble reminded him, heading out so early that morning he’d not had a chance to shave. He boiled some water. He was just finishing when he heard Eth arrive.

  ‘What are you cleaning yourself up for?’ she asked, coming into the kitchen as he was toweling his face.

  ‘Just making myself presentable, is all, ma’am,’ he said, trying to lighten the exchange with a chuckle. ‘Can’t look like a bum all my life,’

  ‘Huh,’ she grunted. `Seems to me a bum should look like a bum. Ain’t honest otherwise.’

  He let the jibe slide and packed away his shaving-tackle.

  ‘Suppose you’re going drinking,’ she sniffed. ‘Won’t be the first time you’ve looked for solutions to your problems in the bottom of a bottle.’ Jonathan shook his head. She had a way of making things up, saying the first thing that came into he
r head because it sounded good or fitted some view of the world that she had.

  ‘You know that’s not true, Eth. I ain’t no drinker.’ He made to kiss her but she stiffened and pulled away.

  ‘Hell, Ethel, I’m just trying to be affectionate,’ he said. ‘You allus complain when I try to kiss you when my chin’s stubbly.’ He stroked his cheek. ‘See that! Soft as a baby’s bottom.’

  `Affectionate?’ she snorted. `You don’t know what the word means. Anyways, you do what you want, Jonathan Shuker. I’m going to Pat’s for the evening.’

  ‘Hell, Eth. You spend a lotta time with your sister these nights.’

  ‘Huh. What is there for me here?’

  Soon he was alone in the house: She hadn’t even said goodbye, just noisily slammed the door.

  He dropped into an easy-chair and stared at the embers of the fading fire. His dear Eth had become one hell of a nag. But it wasn’t all her fault––she’d had her disappointments. She’d had to face their losing the store, the money it provided, and the security of its capital value. The mess had worn him down too. He’d wanted to cut their losses and move out. That was his reaction: start again someplace new, a place with prospects. But Eth living in Junction City kept her very close to her sister Pat and she didn’t want to move too far from her. He could understand her reluctance to move. He liked his in-laws. With no remaining family of his own he appreciated the way they made him feel at home. Should they move, he would miss them too, especially their little boy. Seeing his nephew was a perpetual reminder of how he had wanted kids of his own. But kids hadn’t come, one of those things. But now he was glad they had not been blessed in such a way. Given their financial straits, children would have been an added burden. Kid? Hell, he couldn’t even afford a horse.

  So, with one thing and another, he’d become distant in his manner and that, in turn, had put extra strain on their relationship.

  And now the loss of his mare. Jeez, he thought to himself as he mulled over these things. When you thought the shit things had finally finished, yet another bastard comes rolling down the hill.