Cemetery Jones 5 Page 2

  Feeling uneasy, Sam ordered a beer, which he nursed at the small table near the piano reserved for Renee between sets. Sam loved to watch Renee’s long fingers do their tricks; he enjoyed watching other people have a good time. It was all a part of settling down, he thought to himself. Perhaps that time had come and he had better make the most of it.

  It was then that Charlie Storms burst through the swinging doors. One glance revealed the man was not completely sober.

  Shaky, the bartender, said from behind the bar, “Get his gun.”

  Sam moved slowly, blocked the way. “Hey, Charlie, remember me?”

  Through an alcoholic daze Storms said, “Sure I do. I ain’t got no quarrel with you, Sam Jones.”

  Sam took his arm, turned him sideways, and in one lightning grab removed the gun from his holster. “No offense, Charlie. It’s the rule in this town.”

  “Offense?” Storms blinked, confused. Finally he slapped at his holster and realized what had happened. “Why damn you, Sam. How’d you do that?”

  “Magic trick,” Sam told him. “If you hadn’t been drinkin’ it up you’d have caught on.”

  “Would I?” Charlie Storms shook his head. “Sure I would. I know you can’t tote an iron in a class joint. I know that.”

  Sam put the .45 Colt in the rack. “Always said you were a gent. Now how about sittin’ down and listenin’ to some pretty music.”

  “Luke Short,” said Storms darkly. “I heard Luke Short was in here.”

  “So what of it? He’s a friend of mine.”

  “Damn little swin ... swind ... cheat. He crooked me in Dodge. By God, I’ll kill him.”

  “Not now,” said Sam. “You wouldn’t want to raise a fuss in a nice place like this. Besides, if you killed Luke I would be forced then and there to do away with you. That wouldn’t be nice, now, would it?”

  Storms straightened up. He shook his head once and said in a different tone, “Hey, Sam Jones.”

  “It’s all right.” Sam grinned. “You get these notions about Luke when you’ve had a couple too many. You know his reputation. Why don’t you cool it down?”

  “The sumbitch did it to me in Dodge,” insisted Storms. “When I called him he buffaloed me. That damn law in Dodge was on his side.”

  “You keep sayin’ that and it’s not so,” Sam said. “Bat was there. He’s your friend, Bat Masterson.”

  “Bat don’t know everything. The little sneak’s got Bat fooled. You, too, seems like.”

  “The whole world.” There were times to temporize with drunks, Sam knew.

  Storms turned to Shaky. The music played and the dancers danced. Across the room the card game seemed to have come to a pause and Luke was talking, the deck in his hands; he wasn’t looking directly at Storms, but Sam knew he was alert to every nuance. Charlie Storms said, “I need a drink.”

  “Right,” said the veteran barkeep. He put a cup of steaming coffee in front of Storms.

  “What the hell is this? Whiskey’s what I want.”

  Sam said, “Coffee’s what you want, Charlie. Be a good old boy now and don’t scald your tongue.”

  There was a moment when it seemed the drunken gambler would rebel. Then he laughed as at a joke and sipped the hot brew.

  Renee finished her set and stopped playing. Into the silence came Luke’s voice, mild and conversational:

  “Dealin’ seconds is tougher’n dealin’ off the bottom. But any time you got that kind of a cheater you can check his third finger. It’ll flash plain as day if you watch close. I knew a feller once, had a knuckle amputated to make his work cleaner.”

  Charlie Storms spilled coffee on Shaky’s immaculate bar. “There. You see? Braggin’ about it, the cheatin’ little bastid. I’ll kill him!”

  Dog, Sam’s hound, had been lying peacefully beneath Renee’s table. Then his head came up, the nose quivering. Renee started playing again. The dancers danced. Sam watched, twang-taut.

  When Charlie Storms made a lunge for the gun rack, Dog came swift as an arrow from the bow.

  Shaky had his sawed-off shotgun ready. Storms almost reached the rack.

  Sam and Dog arrived on the spot at the same time. Sam spun Storms around. The dog stapled his ankle with bared teeth.

  Sam struck with his elbow—always careful of his hands. He connected with the nape of the neck and Storms perforce leaned forward, yelping at Dog.

  Sam lifted a knee. It connected with the chin of the belligerent Storms, who dropped clumsily flat with a crash, stunned.

  Sam said, “All right, Dog. Leave him for the marshal. He can sleep it off in the hoosegow.”

  “He’s plumb lucky,” said Shaky. “Anything I hate is a man can’t handle his booze.”

  Sam said, “Give Dog a hunk of that jerky and put it on my bill.”

  The hound had already returned to its warm spot beneath the table. It accepted the treat as a matter of course.

  Luke came from the card table and looked down upon the half-conscious drunk. He said in his quiet manner, “Thanks, Sam. This feller, he’s goin’ to be the death of me if somebody don’t convince him he’s all wrong about that time in Dodge. Bat’s a friend of his. Bat told him. He’s just plain stubborn as a mule.”

  Sam said, “He’ll have himself a nice snooze. I didn’t mark him any. Hate to hit people—hurts a feller’s hands unless he’s real careful. You ready for a snort?”

  They repaired to the bar. Marshal Donovan came in and said, “I been followin’ that jasper around. He hit all the joints. Rafferty gave me some lip and I got behind.”

  “He’s no real trouble,” Sam told the young officer. “Just take him and keep him till morning.”

  The matter was attended to with little fuss; no one paid particular attention as Charlie Storms was hauled away. Sunrise was civilized, but not that sensitive to small encounters. Renee played again, the girls danced, and Luke returned to the poker table, this time with Sam in attendance.

  Mayor Wagner said, “I apologize for the disruption, Luke. We’ve just got to get Donovan a deputy. Last one quit in a hurry on us.”

  “No apology necessary. Things happen.” But Luke was somewhat subdued. “Where was I?” He spread the deck of cards, revolved them, dealt a fast hand around. Everyone held good cards, but he showed his own: a straight flush. “That’s called a runoff. Hard to spot. But you can always tell a cheater if you watch his right hand long enough.”

  “And that’s enough lecturin’,” Sam said. “Luke came to visit, not to open a school.” He could see his friend was in a low mood; he drew Luke away from the table.

  Casey Robinson followed Sam and Luke across to Renee’s corner. They waited at the table for the beautiful lady to finish playing her tunes. Casey said, “Luke, I could open a faro layout, you dealin’. What with your name and all, we could clean up. We’re growin’ all the time here.”

  “Thank you kindly.” Luke shook his head. “Bat says there’s trouble in Tombstone. I’m on my way there.”

  “You and Bat Masterson,” Sam said. “I mind the shenanigans you two put on Dodge in the old days.”

  Luke brightened. “It was good times, wasn’t it, now?”

  “You remember the baby contest?” Sam turned to Casey Robinson. “Dodge was gettin’ civilized. Babies were bein’ born. So the church ladies and all those people had a contest to see which was the prettiest baby.”

  “Two bits a vote.” Luke chuckled.

  “Bat and Luke purely bought it up,” said Sam. “Came the big day. Church is full. The winner walks down the aisle, proudest lady in the land.”

  “Had the prettiest baby, too,” Luke said. “Woman ran a decent cathouse below the tracks.”

  “Thing was,” said Sam, “the woman and the baby were as black as coal.”

  Casey’s bark of sudden laughter illuminated the room. Sam grinned, remembering it.

  “Never did draw the color line like some,” said Luke. “Sure did annoy the good folks, though.”

  “The good f
olks runnin’ the town now, Luke?”

  “Well ... not quite. Seems like your town here is further along. Dodge is sort of in the doldrums now, I hear. The big noise is Tombstone.”

  “I dunno,” said Sam. “I always got along good with Wyatt and his brothers. Never could stomach Doc Holliday, but he’s Wyatt’s man and you respect a man’s friendships. From what I can gather, you’re goin’ into a hornet’s nest.”

  “The money’s good,” said Luke.

  That wasn’t it really, though. It was really because Bat Masterson had called upon him, Sam knew.

  Over at the pianoforte Renee played a fast chorus of “Buffalo Gals” to wear down the dancers. She ended with a flourish. Casey went across to the bar; Sam and Luke stood by as she returned to her table.

  “A bit of trouble?” she asked.

  “Just a drunk pilgrim,” Sam told her. “Donovan’s got him.”

  “I thought I saw you hit him.” She cocked a lovely onyx eye at Sam. “Can’t leave you alone for a minute.”

  “Man broke the rules.” Sam shook his head.

  “Talked too much with his mouth,” said Casey Robinson from behind the bar.

  “Threatened an innocent citizen,” said Sam. “Man lookin’ for trouble, you got to give him what he asks for.”

  Luke Short said, “Sam, you know and I know we haven’t seen the last of Charlie Storms. And I expect the next time I see him it’ll be all of a sudden.”

  I expect you are right, Sam agreed silently.

  “And one other thing I near forgot,” Luke added. “Bat reminded me to tell you. John Ringo’s down there.”

  Sam felt his bones go still. “In Tombstone?”

  “In Tombstone. Settin’ himself up against Wyatt and the brothers. You had a run-in with Ringo, didn’t you?”

  “Not exactly a run-in.” Sam ventured a tight little smile. “I never actually met him. Understand he was in Dodge the mornin’ after I had the misfortune to kill that fellow. He didn’t seem to like it when the boys started sayin’ I was the fastest they’d ever seen—faster even than Ringo.”

  “Knowin’ his reputation, I can see how he’d rear back at that,” Luke said. “Ringo’s more’n a little crazy in the head, notwithstandin’ those gentlemanly manners o’ his. Smart as a whip, most ways, but he just can’t stand any talk suggestin’ Ringo ain’t the fastest gun ever born.”

  Sam nodded. “I had an errand over in Denver. You probably recollect? I left Dodge that mornin’ and I must’ve been gone by the time Ringo went lookin’ for me. Guess he must’ve thought I was tryin’ to get away from him. Somebody told me he actually lit out for Denver hopin’ to face up with me. I didn’t know anything about that until I got back to Dodge. We must’ve passed each other somewhere along the trail but, neither of us knowin’ what the other looked like, Ringo never got his chance to prove whether he was faster than me.”

  “He ain’t forgotten,” Luke adjured. “Last I heard, he said if he ever saw you he’d shoot on sight. Just to get the stink of those so-called lies out of his nostrils.”

  Sam shrugged. “I never lied to the man.”

  “That may matter to you. It don’t matter to him. He aims to prove he’s faster’n you, Sam.”

  “Faster ain’t always what wins the race,” Sam said. “Main thing’s to hit what you aim at.”

  Luke grinned. “Well, you come on down to Tombstone with me and you’ll get your chance to find out.”

  Sam didn’t share his good humor. Sam said gravely, “Let John Ringo fight with his own demons. I won’t be prodded one way or the other by what John Ringo thinks or what John Ringo wants.”

  He meant it, every word. But it didn’t still the uneasy shadows he felt gathering around him. John Ringo was said to be the deadliest gunman in the history of the west. To be on Ringo’s personal vendetta list was to be a dead man. It had been a while since Sam Jones had given the legendary gunman a thought, but now that Luke had raised the matter, he had the feeling the issue was going to have to be settled, one way or another.

  Either Ringo comes to me or I go to him.

  Two

  The morning stage southbound was ready. Sam shook hands with Luke Short.

  Sam said, “Sure hope you’re not goin’ into something too big to chew.”

  “Wyatt’s got the biggest show in town. Bat’s dealin’ for him. Fifteen thousand citizens, miners makin’ four dollars a day. There’s gold in silver country.”

  “And a war brewing, the way I hear it.”

  “We been through wars. We’re still around.”

  “Lots of them we knew didn’t make it. Hell, why am I talkin’ like this? It’s been fun. You, me, and Bat—we had fun before now.”

  “Didn’t we?” The dapper little gambler laughed. “If it’s no more’n Charlie Storms to fret about.”

  “Wyatt once said Charlie was fast. Real fast.”

  “Not as fast as Ringo, I reckon. But all I’m goin’ to do is deal, faro or poker. That’s my game, dealin’ the cards. Everything’s goin’ to be all right.”

  The driver called, “All aboard now.”

  “You’ll be hearin’ from me. Wish you could go along. After seein’ that lady of yours I know you’re right. You got a fine town here. Maybe I’ll be back some day.”

  Luke climbed in. The driver cracked his whip and the stage started south. Sam watched until it was out of sight. Something deep down inside him, far from the first time, was uneasy. Luke Short was one of his best friends. The word about Tombstone was that it was the last of the truly rough towns, that there were conflicting parties at each other’s throats and Wyatt Earp, who had been early on the scene, was in the middle of it all.

  Marshal Donovan came from his office, behind which were the jail cells. “Hey, Sam. The prisoner’s askin’ for you. He’s all quieted down. Seems a decent sorta feller, now that he’s sober.”

  “Man can’t drink he should stick to sass’prilla,” said Sam. He went through the office and into the cell. Charlie Storms was sitting on the edge of a bunk. He lifted a hand.

  “No hard feelings, Sam. Wanted you to know.”

  “Luke’s gone. You’re wrong in the head about him, y’know.”

  Storms shook his head. “He cheated me in Dodge. Nobody’s gonna tell me different. I shouldn’t’ve started anything in your town, though. I ’pologize.”

  “Well, whenever you want to leave. Goin’ up to Dodge?”

  “Nope. Goin’ down to Tombstone.”

  “Lordy me, I should’ve known,” Sam said.

  “Short’s gonna meet with Masterson and Earp, is he? Him and Bat, they’re a pair.”

  “A pair to draw to,” Sam said. “I’d keep my nose clean when they’re around.”

  “There’s others down there ain’t scared of them,” said Storms. “There’s two sides to everything. Wyatt, he can walk a wide line. Not that he’s a crook exactly, but I seen him sellin’ gold bricks off a tripe and keister once, in Kansas. Him and his brothers, they’re always on the make. You know that’s true.”

  “I wouldn’t want to cross ’em,” said Sam.

  “Never did cotton to Wyatt. Bat, now, he’s a heap o’ fun.”

  “And Luke’s his pardner.”

  “Bat didn’t see it when Luke dealt me out of that hand.”

  “Luke never dealt a crooked hand in his life,” said Sam. “You got a bug in your head. Best you get your horse and think about it a lot before you make a useless trip all the way to Tombstone.”

  “I know what I know.”

  Sam gave up. “Well, so long, Charlie. Can’t wish you luck. Luke’s my good friend. Just a warning. You may be fast, but Luke’s faster. Keep that in mind.”

  He left the building. Dog arose from a spot in the bright sunlight and trotted at Sam’s heels. He crossed Main Street to the adobe building that sheltered the Enterprise.

  Spot Freygang was at his desk. A boy named Dink was laboriously setting type.

  Spot said, “Plenty of ne
ws from Tombstone. I think your friend is walkin’ into a beehive. One report here says Apaches under Victorio stole some cattle from people named McLowery, the other says it was done by rustlers. One says Wyatt Earp represents the law, another says he’s got nothing to do with it, that Sheriff Behan’s on the job. Seems like Mayor Clum’s on the side of the Earps. Sheriff Behan says nothing, just laughs at the reporters down there. He’s got John Ringo on his side. Luke’s sticking his neck out.”

  Sam was watching Dink, who not long ago seemed to have one goal in life, to roll a hoop the length of Main Street. Sam said, “Nothing in this world more important than friends. Luke went to Tombstone on account of his friends.”

  “Well, I know about that,” Spot said quickly. “Wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here runnin’ this newspaper.”

  “Then run it. I’ll get outta your way.”

  He walked to the post office. There was nothing interesting in either his mail or Renee’s. He crossed the busy street to El Sol. Mayor Wagner was having his morning coffee. Sam joined him.

  The mayor said, “Looks like Missy’s gonna marry the preacher. Her ma’s dancin’ with joy.”

  “Nothin’ wrong with Clayt Lomax,” Sam said. “He’s done a great job here, both with preachin’ and buildin’. I swear, give the man a hammer and nails and some lumber and he’ll build you anything you can think of.”

  “That’s what makes the mare go, a man of many parts.”

  “And people to back him.”

  “We been lucky here, people hangin’ together. It made the town. Some thanks to you, Sam. I mind when it was touch and go till you saved our bacon.”

  “Not me, my friend. If I hadn’t sold the Long John Mine to a couple of crooks the big trouble wouldn’t have happened.”

  “If you hadn’t thought of the cannon, they’d have taken over the town.”

  “If Abe Solomon hadn’t backed us with money, if Adam Burr hadn’t come from Jersey, if Donkey Donovan hadn’t stepped in as marshal ... if, if, if.”

  Wagner grinned. “If the dog hadn’t stopped to take a dump he’d’ve caught the rabbit. If Renee hadn’t been in town you’d’ve gone on your way. I know what you mean. Providence? Luck? Who knows?”