The Sunset Trail

by Alfred Henry Lewis

  CHAPTER VI

  THE FATAL GRATITUDE OF MR. KELLY

  It was at the election following the one which made Mr. Mastersonsheriff of Ford County that Mr. Kelly, proprietor of the Alhambra,became mayor of Dodge. Mr. Masterson, aside from being a natural captainof men, had had his genius for strategy ripened as a scout-pupil of thegreat Ben Clark during the Cheyenne wars, and on this ballot occasioncontributed deeply to the victory of Mr. Kelly. Mr. Masterson cameforward and withstood certain Mexicans, who otherwise would haveexercised the ballot to Mr. Kelly's disadvantage. The Mexicans belongedwith the Cross-K brand, which had its range across the river; and sinceMr. Walker, proprietor of the Cross-K, was an enemy of Mr. Kelly, theywere rightfully regarded by Mr. Masterson as tools of the opposition.

  Mr. Masterson urged, and with justice, that an extension of thefranchise to Mexicans would be subversive of good morals, and offensiveto the purer sentiment of Dodge.

  "This is, or should be," said Mr. Masterson, "a white man's government,and how long, I ask, will it survive if Mexicans be permitted a voice inits affairs? If we are going to take the limit off in this ridiculousfashion we might as well send for Bear Shield's band of Cheyennes andtell them to get into the game. To grant Mexicans the right to vote isto make preposterous that freedom for which our fathers fought and bledand died, and should republican institutions be thus trailed in thedust, I see nothing for it but an appeal to arms."

  This long speech was made to the judges of election, who were fair menand friends of Mr. Kelly. There were ten of the Mexicans and the contestwas close; the judges remembered these things, and the position taken byMr. Masterson, in defence of an unsullied suffrage, was sustained.

  "It wasn't worth a battle," explained Mr. Walker in later comment on Mr.Masterson's oration, "or I might have called that bluff of Bat's aboutan appeal to arms."

  When Mr. Kelly was inaugurated in the discharge of his high trust, hisearliest feeling was one of favour to Mr. Masterson; for his majorityhad been but five, and Mr. Kelly was a grateful man. The situation at afirst blink baffled the friendship of Mr. Kelly. What could he do forMr. Masterson? The latter, as sheriff of Ford, already held an officesuperior even to that of Mr. Kelly's. Clearly, Mr. Masterson was beyondand above the touch of his gratitude, as though it stood on tiptoe; hemust sit down and suffer a sense of obligation which he could notdischarge. These truths came home to him after hours of profoundthought, and he sighed as he reflected on his helplessness.

  But Mr. Kelly was enterprising, and gratitude is as apt as necessityitself to sharpen the edge of invention. That debt he owed Mr. Mastersonhad not borne upon him two days before he began to see a way in which hemight return the other's friendly deeds upon his head. As mayor Mr.Kelly, under the State law just passed, could construct the post ofmarshal. The town had never had such an officer. Thus far it had needednone; Mr. Masterson, in his good-natured way, had stepped outside thestrict duties of his place as sheriff and, without money and withoutprice, acted the part of marshal. In the latter role, as honourable asit was perilous, Mr. Masterson's six-shooters were already looked uponby Dodge as the local paladium.

  Mr. Kelly, mayor, decided that he would create the post of marshal at around stipend to him who should hold it. Also, he would name as suchfunctionary Mr. Masterson's brother Ed. When Mr. Kelly had completedthis plan he rewarded himself with four fingers of Old Jordan; a glowoverspread his countenance as he considered that he might thus requitethe generous interference of Mr. Masterson concerning those Cross-KMexicans, who, if their pernicious purpose had not been frustrated,would have defeated him of his mayoralty.

  Mr. Masterson was not in Dodge when this kindly resolution was reachedby Mr. Kelly, being over on Crooked Creek in quest of stolen mules. Itthus befell that Mr. Kelly could not consult with him touching thatmarshalship, and the exaltation of his brother. On second thought Mr.Kelly did not regret the absence of Mr. Masterson; that marshalshipwould be a pleasant bit of news wherewith to greet him when, weary andsaddle-worn, he rode in with those lost mules and the scalp of thatcriminal who had cut their hobbles and feloniously taken them tohimself.

  Still, Mr. Kelly would seek advice; this was only caution, for thejealous West is prone to resent a novelty in its destinies whichdescends upon it as a surprise. The word, therefore, was sent throughoutDodge by our careful magistrate that he meditated a marshal, with EdMasterson as the man.

  Mr. Wright approved the scheme; likewise did Mr. Short and Mr. Trask.Mr. Webster and Mr. Peacock were understood to disparage the design. Asfor Mr. Walker of the Cross-K, his condemnation became open and he washeard to loudly proclaim it to Mr. Webster across the Alamo bar.

  "And," concluded the bitter Mr. Walker, replacing his empty glass on thecounter, "if the Masterson family is goin' to be sawed onto thiscommunity in a body, I for one am ready to pull my freight."

  "Well," casually observed Mr. Short, who had dropped in from the LongBranch to note how a rival trade progressed, "I've always held thatpullin' your freight was safer than pullin' your gun."

  "Perhaps I'll pull both," retorted Mr. Walker.

  Mr. Walker, however, did not press the conversation to extremes. Mr.Short was a warm adherent of Mr. Masterson; moreover, he had killed agentleman in Tombstone for merely claiming the privilege of counting thecards. True, that person of inquiring mind had set forth his desire forinformation with a six-shooter, and as Mr. Short was back of the box atthe time, and the bullets were addressed to him personally, his retortwas upheld by all impartial men. None the less, the ready completenessof the reply made for the dignity and western standing of Mr. Short, andMr. Walker, who knew the story, felt no ambition to go with him to thebottom of Mr. Kelly's new policy of a marshal.

  When Mr. Kelly heard how Mr. Wright and Mr. Short and Mr. Traskapplauded, he said that the affair was settled; those gentlemen were hisfriends. Messrs. Walker and Webster and Peacock were of the opposition,and Mr. Kelly was too good an executive to listen to his enemies. Hewould name Ed Masterson marshal; in order that Mr. Masterson mightwitness his brother's elevation he would defer it as a ceremony untilMr. Masterson's return.

  It was four days later when Mr. Masterson came in with those wanderingmules and the particulars concerning the last moments of the bandit thatstole them, and who had opposed a Winchester to Mr. Masterson in thedischarge of his duty. Following his return Mr. Masterson strode intothe Alhambra with the purpose of restoring himself and conquering afatigue incident to his labours. It was then that Mr. Kelly laid openthose changes contemplated in the official list of Dodge, which were towork advantage for his brother. To his amazement Mr. Masterson, onreceipt of the information, became the picture of dismay.

  "Why, Bat," exclaimed Mr. Kelly, alarmed by Mr. Masterson's evidentdisturbance, "ain't the idee all right?"

  "Worst in the world," groaned Mr. Masterson. "Has Ed heard?"

  "Shore," replied Mr. Kelly; "I nacherally told him the first flash outo' the box. Bob Wright says it's a beautiful scheme; so does Short."

  "I know, Kell," said Mr. Masterson, wearily, "and no doubt Bob and Lukebelieve it's the thing to do. But they don't know Ed; he's no more fitto be marshal than I am to join the church."

  "Oh come, Bat," cried Mr. Kelly, evincing a critical disbelief, "nogamer hand than Ed ever buckled on a gun!"

  "That's it," returned Mr. Masterson, "Ed's too game. He's so game itobscures his judgment. Those outlaws from below will study him, and inthe wind-up they'll outwit him. If you make Ed marshal he won't last theyear. Some of those murderers will get him sure."

  "I can't understand, Bat; you told me yourself that when you an' Ed waskillin' buffalo down on the Canadian for Billy Dixon, Ed was the bestshot that ever went on the range; an' the quickest."

  "Quick and as dead to centres with either a Sharp's or a Colt's as youcould put your finger. There's no discount on Ed's gun play, and so Itell you now. The trouble lies inside Ed; he's too easy, too ready for atalk. And he can't read his man. Indians and Mexicans? yes; I'd t
rust Edto take a six-shooter and report favourably on twenty of 'em at aclatter. But a white man is too cunning; those Texas killers that comeover the Jones and Plummer trail will throw him off his guard. There'sthe loose screw, he's guileless; if it's a case of white man, he doesn'tknow when to shoot. As I tell you, make Ed marshal, and he'll never seeanother summer."

  "But what can I do? I've already told him."

  "Yes," returned Mr. Masterson with a sigh, "and he's as obstinate as abadger. You've got the notion planted in Ed's head, and you couldn'tshoot it out with a buffalo gun! The way you've put the cards in thebox, Kell, there's nothing to do but appoint him. I can see the finish,though!"

  Within the fortnight following Mr. Kelly's investment of Ed Mastersonwith authority as Marshal of Dodge there arose an incident which wentfar to uphold the fears of Mr. Masterson. It was made plain, even to thedullest, that Marshal Ed was too thoughtless to secure a best and, forhimself, a safest result in the discharge of his official duties.

  The proof came in the broad glare of an afternoon, when the unblinkingsun was still four hours high. A lonesome stranger had sought the DanceHall; finding that theatre of mirth deserted, the desolation of theplace weighed heavily upon him.

  Smitten of the hope of adding vivacity to the scene and rendering itmore cheerful, the lonesome stranger pulled his pistol and shot into theupright piano which reposed at the far end of the room. The lonesomestranger put three bullets through and through the instrument; and, aseach cut a string, the deficiencies thus arranged were found later tomar the production of those gallops and quicksteps and mazurkas uponwhich Dodge depended in hours of revelry.

  Mr. Peacock, who took to the sidewalk when the lonesome strangerproduced his pistol, called aloud upon Marshal Ed for aid. That officerresponded, and stepped into the Dance Hall just as the lonesome onefired the third shot.

  "Here, here!" exclaimed Marshal Ed, his thumbs jauntily in his belt, andnever a move toward his weapon, "here, you horse-thief! what do youfigure now you're doing?"

  By way of reply the lonesome one sent the fourth bullet into the leftshoulder of Marshal Ed. The latter, upon this hint, got his ownartillery to bear and, while the shot in his shoulder knocked him offhis feet, the lonesome one also went to the floor with a bullet in hiship.

  Marshal Ed was up in a flash; the lonesome one was making an effort torise. At this, Marshal Ed fell upon him in the most unofficial spiritand beat him with his pistol. When Mr. Masterson came upon the field hislively relative, weapon back in its scabbard, was surveying the lonesomeone where he lay bleeding on the floor.

  "Two of you pack that party to the doctor," quoth Marshal Ed, addressingthe concourse of citizens that arrived with Mr. Masterson. Then, inreply to the latter's inquiry: "No, he didn't do anything in particular;he was simply shaking up the joint, I reckon, under the head of good ofthe order."

  Nothing could exceed the indignation of Mr. Masterson when, fifteenminutes later, he learned of the bullet in Marshal Ed's shoulder. It wasthen that the outrageous scandal of it began to break upon him.

  "You find a bandit shooting up the Dance Hall," cried the discouragedMr. Masterson, "and all you do is enter into conversation with him!Then, when he's plugged you, and you on your side have dropped him witha bullet in his leg, you beat him over the head!--him, with twocartridges left in his gun! What do you reckon those other five shotswere put in your own six-shooter for? And you call yourself Marshal ofDodge!"

  The doctor, having repaired the lonesome one, began a hunt for thebullet in Marshal Ed's shoulder, while Mr. Masterson, after freeing hismind as recorded, retired to the Long Branch to hide his chagrin.

  "Ed's new to the game, Bat," observed Mr. Short, as he joined hisdepressed friend at the bar. "Give him time; he'll make the round-up allright. What he went ag'inst to-day will be proper practice for him."

  "It won't do, Luke," responded Mr. Masterson, hopelessly, "Ed never'lllast to go the route. Did you ever hear of such a thing? A party hasplugged him, and lies there organised with two more loads. Ed, with fiveshots in his gun, can't think of anything better to do than beat himover the head. If I wasn't so worried I'd feel ashamed."

  Dating from that uprising of the lonesome stranger there befell a seasonof serenity, the peace whereof was without its fellow in the memory ofDodge. The giddy and the careless paid no heed, but pessimists and onesgrown old on the sunset side of the Missouri took on brows of trouble.The latter, counting on that inevitable equilibrium which natureeverywhere and under all conditions maintains, looked forward to an eraof extraordinary explosiveness, when bullets would fly as thick asplover in the fall. These folk of forecast could not tell when thispowder-burning would take place, but they felt that it was on its smokyway.

  True, that period of deep quiet was occasionally rippled by sometenderfoot who, made foolish of whiskey and the liberal lines laid downby Dodge for the guidance of visitors, was inclined to go too far. Ornow and again a Mexican became boisterous beyond what a judicious publicsentiment permitted to his caste, and offered a case where the dignityof Dodge required that he be moderately "buffaloed." These slightebuillitions, however, were as nothings, and came under the caption ofchild's play. It was not until the taking place of what stirring eventsare to be recounted that those pessimists and ones of prophecy, beingjustified of their fears, gathered at the Long Branch, the Alhambra andthe Alamo, and over their liquor reminded one another how they hadforetold the same.

  It was brown October; the fat beef herds came winding in from thelowing, horn-tossing south, and Dodge in its shirtsleeves was busy withprosperity. The genial boys of cows, their herds disposed of, were eagerto dispense their impartial riches upon monte, whiskey and quadrilles,and it was the chosen duty of Dodge to provide those relaxations.

  On the fateful day which this history has in mind, Mr. Walker of theCross-K brought in a bunch of nine hundred steers. They came troopingand bellowing through the Arkansas with the first dull lights ofmorning, and, before Dodge sat down to its prandial meal--which with asimplicity inherited of the fathers it took at noon--had been turned overto certain purchasing gentlemen from the East, for whom they had beengathered. Their task performed, the weary riders who brought them up thetrail gave themselves freely to those metropolitan delights which Dodgearranged for them. They went about with liberal hands, and Dodgerejoiced in profits staggering.

  Among those who rode in with the Cross-K herd was Mr. Wagner. In momentsof sobriety no danger had its source in Mr. Wagner. Endowed of strongdrink and a Colt's pistol in right proportions, he was worth thewatching. Indeed, within the year Mr. Wagner, while thus equipped, hadshot himself into such disrepute in the streets of Mobeetie that hedefeated a popular wish to hang him only by the fleetness of his pony.It was then he came north and attached himself to Mr. Walker and theCross-K.

  Throughout those daylight hours which fell in between that transfer ofthe Cross-K herd and the lighting of what kerosene lamps made gay thebarrooms of Dodge, nothing could have been more commendable than thedeportment of Mr. Wagner. He imbibed his whiskey at intervals not toobrief, and distributed his custom with an equal justice between theAlhambra with Mr. Kelly, the Alamo with Mr. Webster, and the Long Branchwith Mr. Short. Also, he drifted into the outfitting bazaar of Mr.Wright and spent fifty dollars upon an eight-inch Colt's six-shooter,calibre-45, the butt of which was enriched and made graceful with carvedivory. This furniture Mr. Wagner would later swing to his hip by meansof a belt, the same corrugated of cartridges.

  It was not observed that his drinks had begun to tell upon Mr. Wagnerinvidiously until the hour of eight in the evening when, from the familycircle of the Dodge Opera House, he roped the first violin of a dramaticorganisation called the Red Stocking Blondes. It was during the overturethat Mr. Wagner pitched the loop of his lariat into the orchestra, andas the first violin played vilely the interruption was well received bythe public.

  The management, however, came before the curtain and said that the showwould not proceed while Mr. Wagner r
emained. With that, Marshal Ed ledthe disturber forth, took a drink with him to prove that his removal wasmerely formal and nothing personal meant, and bid him return no more.Mr. Wagner, acting on the suggestion of Marshal Ed, at once surrenderedevery scrap of interest in the drama, as expounded by the Red StockingBlondes. It should be remembered that at this moment Mr. Wagner, indeference to the taste of Dodge, which frowned upon pistols in places ofpublic entertainment as superfluous and vulgar, was not wearing thatbrand-new Colt's with the ivory butt.

  It was roundly the hour of midnight, and Mr. Peacock's Dance Hall shonewith the beauty and the chivalry of Dodge. Marshal Ed had come over tothe Dance Hall to hold the chivalry adverted to in decorous check andkeep it to paths of peace.

  Mr. Wagner arrived and took his place in a quadrille. It was observedthat the belt of Mr. Wagner now upheld that Colt's pistol of the ivorybutt. Aroused by this solecism, Marshal Ed descended upon Mr. Wagner andcaptured his unlawful embellishments. He was holding the six-shooter inone hand and Mr. Wagner in the other when Mr. Walker, sober and suave,drew near.

  "If you'll give him to me, Ed," remarked Mr. Walker, "I'll take care ofhim."

  Since the proposal provided for the peace of Dodge, Marshal Ed acceptedit. He made over Mr. Wagner and the weapon of ivory butt to thesoft-speaking Mr. Walker. Thereupon Mr. Walker conducted Mr. Wagneroutside.

  Taking Mr. Wagner to the rear of the Dance Hall, where no ear mightlisten and no eye look on, Mr. Walker perfidiously readorned him withthat ivory-butted treasure of a Colt's-45.

  "Now," observed Mr. Walker, as he buckled the belt and its dependentordnance where they would do the most harm, "if I was you I'd go surgin'back into the Dance Hall an' if any jimcrow marshal tried to pounce onmy gun I'd blow his lamp out."

  Marshal Ed had emerged from the Dance Hall into the glare of light whichissued from its front windows when Mr. Wagner, walking deviously, hisbroad-rimmed hat cocked at an insulting angle, the offensive six-shooterflapping ostentatiously against his leg, brushed by. Mr. Wagner wore achallenging glance and was snorting defiance of the law.

  It was now that Marshal Ed displayed that want of caution andindifference to precedent whereof Mr. Masterson had warned Mr. Kelly.Under the conditions presented _vide licet_ the sudden, not to saywarlike, return of Mr. Wagner, it was officially the business of MarshalEd to shove the muzzle of his own gun into the face of Mr. Wagner and,to quote the words of Dodge as it digged the graves next day, "stand himup." In case Mr. Wagner did not hold his hands above his head, MarshalEd was to officially unhook his gun and put a period to Mr. Wagner'scareer.

  So far from following this rule of conduct, Marshal Ed reached out withboth hands and seized Mr. Wagner by the shoulders. Thereupon Mr. Wagneryanked the Colt's pistol of ivory butt from its scabbard; as acounter-move, Marshal Ed, while retaining a right-hand grip on Mr.Wagner's shoulder, grabbed the pistol with his left hand and held themuzzle to one side. There the two stood, Mr. Wagner powerless to bringhis weapon to bear, and Marshal Ed unable to wrest it from his grasp.

  At this juncture Mr. Walker, who, in anticipation of what might occur,had privily provided himself with a pistol, came out of the darkness tothe rear of the Dance Hall and thrust the weapon in the face of MarshalEd. Mr. Walker pulled the trigger, the hammer descended, but instead ofthe expected report there came nothing more lethal than a sharp click.The cartridge, ashamed of the treachery in which it found itselfemployed, had refused to explode.

  Before Mr. Walker could cock his weapon for a second trial threesplitting flashes burned three holes in the night. Bang! bang! bang! Thethree reports were crowded as close together as the striking of a Yankeeclock. Mr. Masterson, from sixty feet away, had put three bullets intoMr. Walker before the latter could fall. It was like puffing out acandle. Mr. Walker of the Cross-K was dead.

  Mr. Masterson, from where he stood, would not chance a shot at Mr.Wagner; Marshal Ed was too much in the line of fire. Acting a next bestpart, he came up to the two on the run. But he came late. While he wasstill ten feet away Mr. Wagner, in the twists and turns of conflict,felt the muzzle of that new ivory-mounted Colt's pistol press for oneinsignificant moment against the other's breast; he pulled the triggerand Marshal Ed fell, shot through the lungs, his clothes afire from theburning powder. As Marshal Ed went down, Mr. Wagner followedhim--dead--with a bullet in his temple from the revengeful pistol of Mr.Masterson.

  Mr. Wright and Mr. Short carried Marshal Ed into the Long Branch. Mr.Masterson, who with unfluttered pulse had looked death in the eye ascore of times, began to cry like a woman. Mr. Kelly, mayor, united histears to Mr. Masterson's.

  "It was my fault, Bat," wept Mr. Kelly; "I only wish I might havestopped that bullet myself."

  "It has turned out like I told you, Kell," said Mr. Masterson; "thosemurderers out-managed him!"

  Mr. Short reappeared and laid a sympathetic hand on Mr. Masterson'sshoulder.

  "Bat," said Mr. Short, "do you want to see Ed? He's dyin'; he's down tothe last chip!"

  "Poor Ed! No; I don't want to see him!" said Mr. Masterson, tearsfalling like rain.