Gunman's Rhapsody Read online

  A well informed merchent from Green River, who arrived here on business, brings further particulars of the Indian scare in Southern Utah, and Western Wyoming. In regard to the Sintah-Utes and Snakes being on the war path, he says Washakies’ band of Snakes were never more peaceable, except a few ringleaders who stole some horses and cattle on Brusby Creek and Ashley Fork, and thus created all the excitement.

  * * *

  Washington , October 25-

  The following was received at the Indian bureau this evening.

  Los Pinos, October 21

  Arrived at 2 p.m. Everything quiet at present. Had a talk with Ouray, and with two couriers just arrived from a hostile camp fifteen miles this side of Grand River, about halfway between here and White River Agency. Mrs. Meeker, Miss Meeker, Mrs. Price, and her two children are prisoners in Johnson’s camp. The couriers met General Adams last night, one day’s march from the hostile camp. Ouray believes the prisoners will be delivered to General Adams…

  Pollock, Inspector

  * * *

  Washington , October 25-

  General Meyer, Chief of the Signal Service, has submitted his annual report. He says 170 stations have been maintained during the year to fill the system of observation from which reports are deemed necessary to enable proper warning to be given of the approach and force of storms and of other meteoric changes for the benefit of agricultural and commercial interest.

  * * *

  Washington , October 25-

  In a report to the Secretary of the Navy, concerning affairs in Samoa, Commander Chandler who was sent to the Island to protect American Interests, says that the condition of affairs is very complicated. There are three governments, so called-one old government party, occupying a portion of the territory, and another, opposition, occupying another portion, and the government of British, American, and German consuls over the territorial portions. Captain Chandler has succeeded in protecting many American interests, though obstacles have had to be overcome. He understood that the old government party which was once virtually overthrown, and the opposition, which to some extent succeeded, were going to war again. He has stated publicly that he will recognize neither, but will protect American interests. He also understands that a British man-of-war, commanded by the plenipotentiary, was on its way to establish a British protectorate over the island. In this case he would protest against Pago-Pago, which has been ceded by treaty with Samoa to the United States, being occupied and would proceed there to protect the station. It is a very important position, he says, for a cooling station, and recommends that it be at once occupied by the United States as such.

  * * *

  London , October 25-

  A Capetown dispatch states that the Boers, the original Dutch settlers of South Africa, who have never submitted with good grace to British rule, have, since the conclusion of the Zulu war and the occupation of a larger portion than ever of the country, shows (sic) increasing dissatisfaction with the situation, and they are now actively engaged in fomenting disturbances.

  * * *

  New Bedford , October 25-

  In Fall River today, the first ball game for the championship for Fall River and New Bedford took place. On the last half of the ninth inning, Fall River being at bat, Umpire Ryan of Fall River called the game on account of darkness, setting it back to the eighth inning as a tie.

  Errors- Fall River 14; New Bedford 134; Base hits-Each, 12.

  * * *

  EXPORTATION OF CATTLE-

  Most everybody has a vague idea, at least, that the exportation of cattle to foreign countries is a business of considerable importance and magnitude, and one that is constantly growing in extent. Cattle raising on the western plains is now recognized as a specific industry and one that bids fair to increase in volume and become an important factor in the trade between the old world and the new. Hundreds of young men have left comfortable homes in the east, for the west, to engage in it, being able and willing to “rough it,” as the saying is, and buffet the hardships of the prairie in hopes of obtaining a competency.

  * * *

  “BUCKS” AT THEIR TOILET-

  The gigantic warriors of the Osage tribe, who realize one’s ideal of the typical Indian, decorate their person in the highest style of barbaric art. Painting their faces in the prevailing fashion of the tribe was the first thing done, and took precedence of every other matter of dress. As a consequence of this reversed order of things, the herculean Osage brave stalked about before the high heaven, clad only in a calico of an abbreviated pattern, and perfectly nude as to the remainder of his body.

  * * *

  LADIES

  We have a large job lot of Ladies ALL WOOL Scarlet underwear at $1.45, which we find is a much better quality, than anything else in Boston for $1.50. RAYMOND & CO. 6 and 8 Tremont St.

  * * *

  GUNS

  2000 nearly new UNITED STATES RIFLES (small caliber) $1.75 each.

  In lots of 20 or upwards $1.50 each.

  Sent by express, C.O.D. if desired

  A. D. PUFFER & Sons

  46 & 48 Portland St.

  Seven

  Behind his house, down the slope, maybe half a mile, amidst the hardscrabble desert scrub, Wyatt stood and fired at an old whiskey barrel set upon a rock. He had drawn a target on it, and several times a week he would walk down there and fire at it. First from ten yards. Then twenty, then fifty. If you were shooting at someone beyond fifty yards, with a handgun, in Virgil’s phrase, you might do better to call him names. It was his second barrel, the first one having been, finally, shot to pieces. He used a single-action Colt.45 with a walnut handle. Wyatt liked to shoot. He liked the control. He liked the sudden expansion of energy when he fired and the Colt didn’t so much buck as levitate slightly, as if the restraint of gravity were momentarily removed. He fired five rounds, sighting carefully each time. He’d known for a long time that accurate was more important than quick. Then he flipped open the cylinder, ejected the spent shells, and loaded five fresh rounds, leaving the chamber empty under the hammer. He moved back ten yards and fired carefully again.

  It wasn’t until he finished firing that he was aware of Mattie.

  “Wyatt,” she said.

  He looked around at her, as if he were waking from a light sleep. His hands were already unloading and reloading, taking the thick Remington cartridges from a tin box that said “.45 Colt” on it, and, in smaller letters, “50 Central Fire Cartridges.”

  “Milt Joyce is looking for you,” Mattie said. “He came by and asked if you’d stop in and see him.”

  “All right,” Wyatt said.

  “What do you suppose he wants?” Mattie said.

  “When I stop by,” Wyatt said, “I’ll ask him.”

  “Ain’t he on the Democrat side?” Mattie said.

  “I guess so,” Wyatt said.

  He slid the reloaded gun, with an empty chamber under the hammer, into the worn holster he’d brought with him from Dodge. He picked his coat up from the rock where he’d folded and put it on and put the box of cartridges into the side pocket.

  “Isn’t it awful warm to be wearing a coat, Wyatt?”

  “I like to carry my gun,” Wyatt said. “But I don’t like people seeing me walking around heeled.”

  “Even though you’re a deputy?”

  “If I’m going to get somewhere in this town, it don’t help if people think I’m a gunman.”

  Mattie nodded silently. But that’s what you are, she thought, that’s exactly what you are. But she didn’t say it. Wyatt wasn’t good at listening to her. He wasn’t too good at listening to anyone, except sometimes Virgil. So she followed him silently up the hill, and put out a clean shirt for him to wear when he went to see Mr. Joyce.

  When Wyatt went into the Oriental, Milt Joyce came out of his small office at the end of the bar. He stepped behind the bar and took a bottle and two glasses and led Wyatt to a table at the far end of the bar. He set the bottle and glasses on the
table and gestured Wyatt toward a seat. Before he himself sat down, he tilted all four chairs at the next table up against the table so no one would sit there. Then he sat next to Wyatt and poured a drink. He gestured toward the second glass and Wyatt shook his head.

  “Don’t drink, Milt.”

  “By God, that’s right, you don’t,” Joyce said. “Want some coffee? Soda pop?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Not so many men around here don’t drink,” Joyce said.

  Wyatt shrugged. Joyce turned his glass in small compass on the table.

  “See where you got to be a deputy sheriff,” Joyce said.

  Wyatt nodded. His hands were folded quietly on top of the table. His body seemed at ease in the straight chair. His white shirt was freshly starched under the dark coat and he was clean-shaven except for a mustache. He looked healthy and strong, Joyce thought.

  “Virgil going to run for city marshal?” Joyce said.

  “Might,” Wyatt said.

  There’s a lot of space around him, Joyce thought.

  “How ’bout you?” Joyce said. “Be interested in buying into the saloon business?”

  “Got a faro table ’cross the street,” Wyatt said. “At the Eagle.”

  “You can keep that. I’m talking about a piece of the whole thing.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes. I’m offering to sell you a quarter interest in the Oriental,” Joyce said.

  “Don’t probably have that kind of cash right handy,” Wyatt said.

  “We could work out a deal in services,” Joyce said.

  Wyatt sat silently, his hands at peace on the tabletop. Joyce turned his glass some more. For a moment there was no expression on Wyatt’s face, and then there was the hint of a smile.

  “You having trouble with somebody?” Wyatt said.

  Joyce stared into the top of his glass as he turned it on the scuffed tabletop. Then he picked it up and drank half of its contents and put it down. He opened his mouth and let out his breath.

  “John Tyler,” Joyce said. “Your friend Holliday got into it with him a while back.”

  “I know him,” Wyatt said.

  “You know what he does for work?” Joyce said.

  “He’s a gunhand,” Wyatt said.

  “He’s told people in town that he’s going to put me out of business.”

  “Why?” Wyatt said.

  “Doesn’t say. My guess is he’s been hired by some people who’d like me out of the way so they could take over my customers.”

  “How’s he planning on doing that?” Wyatt said.

  “Come in here, talk loud, make trouble. Whiskey is whiskey,” Joyce said. “Cards are cards. Lot of other places to get them in this town. Man makes trouble here, people will go where there’s no one making trouble.”

  “And you want me to deal with Tyler.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ll give me a quarter interest.”

  “Better you get a quarter than Tyler gets it all,” Joyce said.

  “I expect that would be better,” Wyatt said. “On the other hand, you could probably get Doc Holliday to shoot him for nothing.”

  Joyce shook his head.

  “I know he’s a friend of yours, Wyatt, but Doc’s crazy.”

  “And you think I’m not,” Wyatt said.

  “Not like Doc.”

  Wyatt smiled.

  “No,” he said. “Not like Doc.”

  “You game?” Joyce said.

  “Our politics are pretty different,” Wyatt said.

  “This ain’t a political deal,” Joyce said.

  “Suppose it isn’t,” Wyatt said. “I’ll talk with my brother.”

  “I need a quick answer,” Joyce said. “I’m already having trouble with Tyler.”

  “Let you know tomorrow.”

  “I guess I can hang on until then,” Joyce said.

  Wyatt shifted in his chair.

  “I’ll take that coffee now,” he said.

  Joyce spoke to the barman, and he brought a cup. Wyatt held it with both hands resting on the table.

  “Saw Johnny Behan with a new woman,” Wyatt said.

  “Yes. He brought her back from Denver.”

  “I think I saw her last year in a show came through here,” Wyatt said. He wasn’t looking at Joyce. He was looking disinterestedly around the room, which in the early afternoon was nearly empty.

  “Could be,” Joyce said. “She’s supposed to be some kind of actress.”

  “Name was Josie something,” Wyatt said.

  “Marcus,” Joyce said. “Josephine Marcus. Jewish. Johnny introduced me to her.”

  “Nice-looking woman,” Wyatt said.

  Eight

  All of the Earps were there, around a table in Hatch’s Saloon. Two cowboys were drinking beer and playing pool behind them, while several of their friends drank beer and watched. The bar was lined nearly solid with a mix of cowboys, miners, and townsmen. At a table near the front four bullwhackers played cards while they waited for their wagons to be loaded. Some whores, dressed for work, were having late breakfast at another table. They looked kind of tired in the daylight, Wyatt thought.

  “Be a nice foot in the door at the Oriental,” James said. “Frank Joyce is an up-and-comer.”

  “You know Tyler?” Virgil said.

  Wyatt nodded.

  “You know his reputation?”

  “Gunhand.”

  Virgil nodded slowly.

  “Wyatt’s a pretty fair gunhand himself,” Morgan said.

  “ Tyler won’t back off,” Virgil said. “You go against him, you have to mean it.”

  “I always mean it,” Wyatt said.

  “Quarter interest in a place like the Oriental is worth something,” James said.

  “And we can handle Tyler,” Morgan said.

  “I think ‘we’ ain’t getting the quarter interest,” Virgil said.

  “Oh hell, Virg. You know if one of us is in, all of us are in,” Morgan said.

  As he had at the McLaury ranch, Morgan brushed his gunhand up and down his shirtfront, as if drying the tips of his fingers. Trouble’s like a carnival for Morgan, Wyatt thought.

  “All of us ain’t always going to be around,” Virgil said. “You ready to go against Tyler alone, Wyatt?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s a back shooter,” Virgil said.

  “I’ll try to keep him in front of me,” Wyatt said.

  “I say he takes the offer,” Jim said.

  “Me too,” Morgan said.

  “You want to do it, Wyatt?”

  “Might as well.”

  “Well, then I guess you will. No reason to go against Tyler alone, though, if you don’t have to. He starts trouble, send for me and Morgan.”

  Wyatt nodded. His hands rested motionless on the tabletop. His eyes moving, as they always were, taking in the room: whores, pool players, drinkers, cardplayers, the sound of glassware, the clink of pool, the smell of whiskey, the economical, practiced movements of the bartender. He liked the rhythm of saloon life very much.

  “You do it, Wyatt,” James said. “It’s why you got brothers.”

  Wyatt smiled slowly, almost as if his mind were somewhere else and had just refocused.

  “Yes,” he said. “I know.”

  Nine

  John Behan’s white frame house on Third Street had a slant-roofed piazza across the front. There were two straight chairs to the right of the front door. Behan opened the door.

  “Wyatt,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”

  Wyatt nodded and stepped into the house. The front room was papered in beige with a European landscape the featured motif. Josie Marcus stood behind Behan, and when he saw her, Wyatt took off his hat.

  “This is my fiancée, Wyatt, Miss Josephine Marcus.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Wyatt said. “I remember seeing you in Pinafore on Wheels a while back.”

  “Well, how nice of you to remember,” she said. “It wasn�
��t a very big part.”

  Wyatt didn’t say anything. She was aware that his gaze rested on her, and she felt its weight. She noticed at once how tall he was, taller than Johnny, who was regarded as tall, with a hard look of muscle to him, harder than Johnny, and much quieter. Johnny was a talker. This one was not. This one was quiet to his soul, she thought. And, perhaps, quite dangerous.

  “Sit down, my friend,” Behan said. “Josie, maybe you could make us some coffee.”

  There were four upholstered chairs with wooden arms in the front room. Josie went to the kitchen; Wyatt sat in one of the upholstered chairs. Behan sat in another one. There was a small oak table with claw-and-ball feet between them, and through the front window they could see out onto Third Street.

  “Wyatt, why I wanted to talk with you was about the deputy sheriff’s job.”

  Wyatt waited. A Wells Fargo stage, the horses lathered from the uphill pull into town, went by on the way to Sandy Bob’s. Morgan sat up front beside the driver, one foot cocked on top of the floor rail, the trail-issue shotgun in his lap.

  “Been talking to Charlie Shibell,” Behan said. “Maybe you know this already, but they’re thinking that Pima’s too big to be one county. So they’re going to keep half of it like it is, and make the other half, including Tombstone, into Cochise County.”

  “I heard that,” Wyatt said.

  “Well, that will mean a new sheriff, and Charlie and I think it should be a Democrat.”

  Josie Marcus came back into the front room, carrying a tray with coffee in three blue and white cups. There was also a bowl of sugar and a small pitcher full of condensed milk. She placed the tray down on the table, took a cup of coffee and seated herself on the couch. Behan looked at her, and for a moment seemed about to say something. But he didn’t. Instead he carefully measured three spoonfuls of sugar into his cup and added condensed milk.