The Gunfighter

by Robert J Conley

  The Gunfighter

  Robert J. Conley

  © Robert J. Conley 2001

  Robert J. Conley has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 2001 by Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  This edition published in 2015 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter One

  Asininity had come once again to be a peaceable little town, and me, I come to like it thataway. You see, I was town marshal there, and while I was a-living on a reputation as a tough son of a bitch (partly on account of what that silly-ass writing fella Dingle had writ about me), one what had put away the Bensons once, and when they come outa prison had kilt them all, and one what had done in the Marlin Gang all by his lonesome, to tell you the stone truth of the matter, I was feeling just a little old and tired. I come to like it peaceable. I had my marshaling job what paid me okay, and I had my business interests what, being marshal, I had been able to create a monopoly for, and I had my Lillian and our snot-nosed little brat. I also had ole Bonnie Boodle on the side, and if Lillian knowed that for sure, why, hell, she never hardly said nothing about it.

  It was the middle of the day, and I had done drunk me a pretty fair amount of good whiskey and gone on upstairs in the Hooch House to have a midday romp with ole Bonnie. We was just laying around a-taking it easy after a little spree, you know. I was kinda toying with her great floppy titties, but that was just about all. I decided that it was time to have me another drink, and I said, “Sweets, why don’t you get up and pour me a little glass of that good brown whiskey?”

  “Why don’t you get your lazy ass up and pour it for yourself?” she said. Bonnie never had been over-full of the milk of human kindness. “I done all the work. And while you’re up, pour me another one.”

  Well, hell, I heaved my old ass up and outa that bed and started to walk over to the table where the bottles and glasses was at, but I just happened to glance out the winder, and that was when I first seen him. I didn’t know who the hell he was, but I sure as hell took note of him. He was a-riding a big black horse what was wearing a fancy black saddle with silver stuff decorating it all over. And he was a-wearing a black suit. It was a warm day, and he had took off his coat and throwed it behind him on the saddle, so he had on just the black vest and a white shirt on top. His hat was black too. And he wore two six-guns. I seen that right away, as I’m always suspicious of a man what totes two guns.

  “What the hell are you doing just standing there nekkid at the winder?” Bonnie said.

  “Come on over here and take a look for yourself,” I said.

  She flopped around on the bed like a great female walrus and come on over to stand beside me, and then she looked down, and she seen him too. He was just getting off his horse right down below us at the hitch rail in front of Harvey’s Hooch House, what me and Bonnie owned together. We was business partners, you see.

  “Who’s that?” she said.

  “Hell if I know,” I said. “I never set eyes on the son of a bitch before, but he’s a mean one, I can tell you that just by looking.”

  “How do you know that if you don’t even know who he is?” she asked me.

  “By his guns and his clothes,” I said. “By the way he rides and the way he moves. Hell, if that ole boy ain’t a professional gunfighter, I’ll kiss your puckering ass three times a day for the next month. Hell, it’s my business to know them kind. Pour them drinks, will you, sweets?”

  I went to pulling my clothes on then, and ole Bonnie went on over to pour the drinks. She was still nekkid when she handed me mine, but I had my britches on. I took a slug of that good stuff and set the glass down. Then I finished dressing. Bonnie had commenced to flouncing around, pulling her own clothes on. She was about as anxious as me to find out who the sinister stranger downstairs was. I was a-wondering what kind of trouble he might be, and I could only imagine what the hell she was a-wondering about him. I had me a few ideas on that subject, though.

  Final I got my gunbelt strapped on and put the hat on my head, and I took my glass up again and drained it down all in a gulp. I set the glass down and started for the door.

  “Hold on, Baijack,” Bonnie said. “Wait up for me.”

  “Well, goddamn it,” I said, “get a wiggle on.” Then I thought that was a silly thing for me to say to her, ‘cause ever’ time she moved she wiggled all over. If ole Bonnie had ever been slim, it had been way before I ever knowed her. She was ample, and I liked her thataway. It was just all that much more to get ahold of and to fool around with. And she did enjoy the fooling, I can tell you that. I pulled a cigar outa my pocket and stuck it in my mouth, mainly so I’d have me something to do while I waited for her to cover up all of her bulk, and then I pulled out a match and struck it and fired up my smoke. Final, she was dressed.

  “Okay,” she said, flouncing over towards me. I turned around and pulled open the door, and we headed on out into the hallway, down to the top of the stairs, and started down into the main room of the Hooch House. I seen him right away. He was setting all by his lonesome at a table in the back of the room, and he was a-drinking coffee. I could tell he was watching the room real careful-like, too. Me and Bonnie went to the bar, and ole Aubrey come over to us.

  “You want your regular?” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Her, too.”

  I was looking in the mirror at the gunfighter across the room. Aubrey brung us our drinks, mine in a big tumbler, and I picked it up and turned around, putting my elbows up on the bar. I made sure that my coat was open so that the star on my vest was a-showing. I couldn’t tell though that the stranger was paying no mind about it.

  “Let’s go say howdy,” I said to Bonnie.

  She smiled real wide and twitched around a bit and said, “Okay.”

  Me and her walked back toward the gunslinger’s table. He seen us, all right. He didn’t make no moves nor nothing, but I knowed that he was ready for anything what might happen. He was eyeballing us over the edge of his cup as he sipped his coffee. We come on up to the table and stopped.

  “Howdy,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “My name’s Baijack,” I went on. “I’m the town marshal of this here town, and I’m also part owner of this establishment you’re a-setting in. This here lady with me is Miss Bonnie Boodle. She’s my business partner here.”

  “Howdy, ma’am,” he said, giving a slight nod to Bonnie.

  “We’re pleased to have you here,” she said.

  The stranger looked over at me.

  “Is that a unanimous sentiment?” he asked me.

  His big words kinda throwed me for a second, so I just said, “If you mean am I glad to have you here too, well, now, that all depends on a few things.”

  “What does it depend on?” he said.

  “Well, if you’re a-talking to me as a businessman,” I said, “I’d have to say that a new customer is always welcome here. If you’re a-talking to me as the town marshal of Asininity, then I’d have to know your name and what your business is in our little peaceable town.”

  “My name�
��s Herman Sly,” he said, “and I’m just looking for a place to rest up for a while. That’s all. I’m glad to hear that it’s a peaceable town. Does that satisfy the marshal in you?”

  I harrumphed a bit and hitched my britches. “Well,” I said, “I reckon it does. For now.”

  “Now may I speak to the businessman?” Sly said.

  “Well, yeah,” I said. “Sure. Go ahead. Shoot.”

  It come to me that I had picked a unfortunate word for my last one just then, and it also come to me that I was likely acting more than a bit nervous. I tried to get ahold of myself.

  “Do you have rooms to rent in this establishment?” he asked.

  “Well, yeah,” I said. “We got rooms. They ain’t exactly fancy hotel rooms, though, if you get my meaning.

  “That’s all right,” he said. “I have simple tastes. Where can I get a good meal?”

  “Over across the street at the White Owl Supper Club,” I said. “It’s my wife’s... establishment. Well, uh, Bonnie, why don’t you take care a the gentleman’s needs? I got me some work to do over in the marshaling office.”

  I give the “gentleman” a quick tip of the brim of my hat and turned around and hurried outa there. I walked fast down to the office, thinking all the time that I had ought to know who the hell that bastard was. Like I done said, I had never saw him before, but then the name he give was a-buzzing in the back of my head. Herman Sly. Herman Sly. I went into the office, and my depitty, ole Happy Bonapart, jerked his legs offa my desk real quicklike and jumped up outa my chair. He moved out from behind my big desk and over against the wall.

  “Howdy, Baijack,” he said.

  “How many times I got to tell you to set in your own chair?” I grumbled at him. He never answered, but then, I never really expected him to. I went on behind the desk and set my ass down. I jerked open a drawer and took out a bottle and a glass and poured myself a drink. I took a healthy swig and set the glass down. Then I jerked open another drawer and pulled out a big stack of dodgers and commenced to looking through them. I never seen no picture of Herman Sly, though, and I never come across his name neither.

  “What you looking for, Baijack?” Happy asked me.

  “Herman Sly,” I said.

  “Herman Sly?” Happy said.

  “Goddamn it,” I said, “you heard me. How come you always repeat something like that? I’m a-looking for Herman Sly, or anything on Herman Sly I can find out, but he ain’t in here nowheres.”

  “That’s’cause nothing’s never been proved against him,” Happy said. “He ain’t never been charged with no crime.”

  “You know about him?” I said.

  “Well, yeah,” Happy said. “I heard some things.”

  “Well, tell me, you silly little runt,” I said. “Do I got to drag it outa you or what?”

  “He’s a killer,” said Happy. “A real professional gunfighter. He don’t kill no one but only when he’s been paid to do it. And then, they say, he always goads the other feller into pulling first, so he can claim self-defense. No telling how many men he’s kilt, but he ain’t never been charged with nothing. It’s always self-defense. The other feller’s always drawed first. Hell, Baijack, he’s famous. Why, they call him the Widow-maker, and the Undertaker, and a whole bunch a other such-like names. Ain’t you never heard of him?”

  “A course I have,” I said. “That’s how I come to be looking for information on him.”

  “Well, you ain’t going to find none,” Happy said, “on account of all what I just told you. He ain’t wanted nor nothing like that.”

  “I just couldn’t quite call it all to mind,” I said. “That’s all.”

  “How come you to be a-looking for him like that?” Happy asked me.

  I picked up my glass and took me another drink. “He’s here, Happy,” I said. “He’s right over there at the Hooch House right now, setting there bigger’n hell.”

  “The Widowmaker’s at the Hooch House?” Happy said.

  “There you go again,” I said. “I wouldn’ta said it if it weren’t true. He’s over there all right, and he’s a-getting hisself a room. He means to stay for a spell.”

  “How long?” Happy asked me.

  “He wouldn’t say,” I told him. “Just for a spell.”

  “Well, what’s he doing here?” said Happy.

  “He’s a-looking for a quiet place to rest up, he says,” I said.

  “Do you believe him?”

  “I ain’t sure.”

  “I wonder who he’s come after,” Happy said, but he said it like he was a-talking to hisself, like as if he was just a-thinking out loud.

  “He never said he come after no one,” I said. “Even a killer’s got to rest, don’t he?”

  “Not the Undertaker,” Happy said. “He’s come here to do a job. I bet you. He’s got someone to kill. Reckon who it might be?”

  “Hell,” I said, “even if you’re right, it could be anyone. Ain’t no way we could figger that one out. Ever’one’s got enemies somewhere. And he sure ain’t going to tell us, even if we was to ask him.”

  “It’d have to be someone with enough money to pay what he gets,” Happy said, “and from what all I’ve heard, he don’t work cheap.”

  “Happy, you little son of a bitch,” I said, “I don’t want to hear no more of that kinda talk. You hear me? Goddamn it, I mean it. If I hear any more of that kinda talk outa you, I’ll stomp the crap outa your dumb ass. You hear me?”

  “I hear you, Baijack,” he said, but by the look on his silly face, I knowed he was still a-trying to figger out just who it was what ole Sly had come to town to kill.

  I picked up my drink and took myself another slug of it. Goddamn, it was good stuff. ’Course, I only bought the best, and always my favorite brand, too. Most usually I done my drinking down at the Hooch House, but just in case I was to have to go to work at my marshaling office, I always kept me a bottle stashed in there, too. I was taking me another good drink when I seen ole Happy a-moving toward the door. I brung the glass down quick-like and swallered hard.

  “Where the hell you going?” I asked him.

  “Thought I’d just stroll over to the Hooch House,” Happy said.

  “And get yourself a look at that widow-making son of a bitch?” I said.

  “Well,” he said, “I would kinda like to get a look and see for myself just what he looks like,” said Happy.

  “All right, you go right on ahead,” I said, “but you just keep in mind — well, hell, I ain’t sure you got no mind — you just remember what I said. No more talk about who is it that the Undertaker come to town to kill. He’s just here to take hisself a rest. That’s all. Keep your goddamn mouth shut, or I’ll squash your head in — and I mean it, too.”

  “Hell, Baijack,” he said, “I know you that well. I know you mean it. I won’t say nothing. I just want to get me a look. That’s all.”

  Ole Happy, he went on out, and I set down heavy in my chair. I sure as hell didn’t want to create no panic in Asininity, what with the Widowmaker hisself in town. Herman Sly. Herman Sly hisself in person. In the flesh. I took another drink, and I set my glass down. Who the hell, I said to myself, just who the hell has he come to town to kill? Why, hell. It could be me. I had damn sure made me a passel of enemies over the years. There was them Five-Pointers from New York City from way back when I was just a snot-nosed kid. And there was kin and friends of the Bensons. Well, I modified that one a bit. I couldn’t believe that they’d ever had no friends, but they could sure enough have more kin. Same way with them Marlins. And then there was my own former deppity, ole Texas Jack, what I had been forced to kill that time.

  Then I commenced to thinking closer to home. Ole Bonnie hadn’t never really forgive me for getting married up to Lillian, and if I was to get knocked off, why, she’d have the whole entire Hooch House all to herself. And Bonnie had tried to kill me more than once. I didn’t really think that Bonnie woulda hired no damn Undertaker to do me in, though. I fig
gered Bonnie to do the job her own self if she was to ever take it in mind again. But Lillian, now there was a lady what wouldn’t want to get her own hands bloody, and I reckoned that she had reasons aplenty to want to have me put away for final.

  Just to begin with, why, she’d wind up owning ever’thing what I owned. And then, she likely weren’t too happy with my dallying around with ole Bonnie right there under her nose, so to speak, even though she never let on she knowed nothing about it. Yeah, I begun to think that just maybe ole Lillian had somehow or other got ahold of the Widowmaker and paid him to make a widow outa her, and that was the reason that ole Herman Sly had come a-riding into town. The thought made me just a mite nervous till I brang back to mind what ole Happy had said. The Undertaker never draws first. He goads his victims into drawing on him, and then he kills them and calls it self-defense. Well, hell, I told myself, I just won’t draw on the son of a bitch. I’ll stand right there and let him call me five hundred kinds of coward and chicken, and the only thing I’ll do is just only take me another drink of whiskey. I can handle that all right. Ain’t no slick gunfighter going to buffalo me. No sir.

  I took another drink and then left the office. I was headed back for the Hooch House, but outside I seen Happy headed for the White Owl. I changed my course so as to intercept him. “Where the hell you going now?” I asked him.

  “They told me at the Hooch House that ole Sly had come over here for a steak dinner,” Happy said. “I ain’t got me a look at him yet.”

  I turned to walk along with Happy. “You just remember to keep your damn mouth shut,” I said. Whenever we walked into the White Owl, right away I seen ole Lillian a-hovering over a table and ole Sly a-setting there a-drinking coffee. I led Happy right on over to that table.

  “Well, Mr. Sly,” I said, “I see you’ve done met my wife there.”

  “I’ve had the honor,” Sly said. Oh, he was a slick one, a real smooth talker.

  “This here is Happy Bonapart,” I said. “He’s my depitty.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Bonapart,” Sly said, and I remember thinking that I hadn’t never in all the years I had knowed ole Happy knowed anyone else to ever say that there mister word in front of Happy’s name. Well, ole Happy, he whipped the hat offa the top of his head and grinned.