Elmore Leonard's Western Roundup #2 Page 9

  Now it's coming, Frye thought, holding himself still in the doorway, making himself relax. He didn't know what to say, so he kept his ja w clenched and his eyes steady on Sundeen.

  "Jordan says I won't get one 'cause you're not man enough to serve it. He says when a sheriff's go t a yellow streak then he's got no authority to serv e warrants."

  "Do you want it right now?" Frye asked.

  "You can try," Sundeen grinned.

  "But you'd rather see me try for my gun."

  "You might just as well. If your hand went inside your coat how's Jordan to know whether it's for a warrant or a gun. He'd have to protect himself."

  "What's he got to do with this?"

  "I told you, he's my lawyer. Digo's too." Saying this he glanced at the Mexican. "That's right?"

  "Nothing but the best," Digo said, taking the cigarette from his mouth.

  "So if you got something to take out of your pocket," Sundeen added, "it's for Mr. Jordan."

  Frye's gaze shifted to Jordan, then returned to Sundeen. He hesitated before saying, "You won't try to stop me because that would be resisting arrest, but there's no warrant for him and if I put a hand in my pocket he'll draw and you'll all swea r he shot in self-defense . . ."

  "This boy's a thinker," Sundeen said to Digo.

  "That's if he shoots first," Frye added, and immediately, in the silence that followed, he was sorry he had said it.

  Sundeen was grinning again as he turned to Jordan. "You hear what he said?"

  Jordan's gaze remained on Frye. "I heard him."

  This was the first time he had spoken; his voice was calm and his eyes watched Frye almost indifferentl y though they did not leave him for a moment.

  "He thinks he's faster than you are," Sundeen said.

  "Maybe he is."

  "Only one way to find out."

  Jordan nodded, still looking at Frye. "Let's see those warrants."

  "They're not for you."

  "I didn't ask who they were for."

  "I'll serve them when I'm ready."

  Jordan nodded slowly. "How's your mother?"

  "What?"

  "Did she ever get married?"

  Frye held back, not answering.

  "I hear she works in a can house."

  You know what he's doing, Frye thought, and he said quietly, "You're wasting your time."

  Sundeen glanced at Digo, his gaze taking in the people standing off beyond Digo, and as his hea d turned slowly he saw the men gathered on D e Spain's porch and in front of the Metropolitan, an d on this side of the street the people standing watching as far down as the bank, then his gaze returned to Digo.

  "If a man said that to me I'd be inclined to stomp him."

  "Unless it was true," Digo said.

  "Even then," Sundeen said. "Just on principle."

  Frye stepped down from the doorway. He was looking at Sundeen and moved toward him quickly.

  Then he was standing in front of him, and looking straight ahead, over Sundeen's shoulder, he sa w that Jordan had not moved.

  "What if I said it to you, Phil?"

  "Find out."

  "I'll say something else--" Frye's hand brushed into his open coat. "You're under arrest!"

  Close to him Sundeen was moving, shifting his weight, and as Frye drew his Colt he swung his lef t hand against Sundeen's jaw, Sundeen fell away an d he was looking straight at Jordan, seeing the gu n suddenly in his hand, half seeing the people scattering on De Spain's porch as he brought up his own gun, and he was conscious of himself thinking: Go down! as the rifle report filled the street. He saw th e dust flick at Jordan's feet and Jordan suddenly going to the side, firing at the jail, at the doorway and then at both windows.

  Get him! It was in Frye's mind as he swung the Colt after Jordan, but Digo moved. He was out o f Frye's vision but less than three steps away and i n the moment Digo's pistol was out and had choppe d down savagely across Frye's wrist.

  Stepping to the side Digo looked at Jordan eagerly. Jordan was standing still now watching the jail. "Where is he?"

  "He's quit," Jordan answered.

  Digo seemed disappointed, saying then, "Let's make sure." He raised his pistol and fired at th e front windows, shattering the fragments of glas s that remained, and when the gun was empty h e called out in Spanish, "Mendez, you son of a whore, show your abusive face!"

  Harold appeared in the doorway hesitantly. Seeing him Frye breathed with relief. He heard Jordan say, "Leave him alone."

  "We should teach him a lesson," Digo said.

  Sundeen picked up Frye's pistol. "We're going to teach both of them a lesson . . . like we did Mer l White and his hardhead friends." He grinne d watching Frye holding his wrist, bending it gentl y and opening and closing the hand.

  "Digo, help the man off with his boots."

  Frye turned to face Digo, who moved toward him with his pistol still in his hand. "Don't try it," h e warned the Mexican.

  "I've got something to convince you," Digo said.

  "Not without bullets--" Frye lunged toward him, but Digo was ready, side-stepping, swingin g the long-barreled .44 at Frye's head, but missing a s Frye feinted with his body and dodged the blow. He was crouching to go after Digo again when Sundeen's forearm closed over his throat and jerked him off balance. Digo stepped in quickly an d swung his free hand into Frey's face, then waited a s Sundeen threw him to the ground and straddle d him, sitting on his chest.

  Digo holstered his pistol. "He's something," he said, shaking his head; then pulled off both o f Frye's boots and threw them toward the jail.

  Harold Mendez sat down in the street and removed his boots without a word.

  From the window directly above the Metropolitan Cafe sign, Merl White watched them get up as Dig o and Phil Sundeen, mounted now, came into vie w reining their horses behind the two men.

  "They better walk faster'n that," Merl said. The two men who had stayed with him were at the win-130 d ow. Haig Hanasian was in the room, but he wa s seated, not wanting to witness this again. Neithe r of the men at the window answered Merl. The y watched solemnly: Digo yelling now, taking hi s quirt from the saddle horn and lashing it at Frye's back, forcing him to go into a run, then lashing a t Harold Mendez and Harold, starting to run , hunching his shoulders ludicrously and lookin g back and up toward Digo as if to escape the quirt.

  Merl White said, "Which one would you rather have?"

  One of the men, Ford Goss, said, "I'd take Digo, with a Henry rifle."

  The other man at the window did not answer. He was older than Ford by ten years and was almos t completely bald. His name was Joe Tobin.

  "I'd take Phil," Merl White said. "I think with an empty whisky bottle."

  Ford nodded thoughtfully. "That'd be all right."

  "I wouldn't cut him none, not on purpose, but I'd sure as hell bust it over his head."

  Joe Tobin said now, "You notice the others aren't in it."

  He was referring to the four Sun-D riders who had backed Phil Sundeen a few minutes before, bu t who were not in sight now.

  "They're having a drink," Merl said.

  "You can stand just so much," Tobin said. "I d on't know how I ever worked a day for a man lik e Phil Sundeen."

  "It was different with Old Val," Merl told him.

  "Old Val worked you, but he paid pronto at the end of a drive. Sometimes even a bonus."

  "Phil won't have any men left now," Tobin said.

  "He's gone too far."

  "I think he's drunk," Merl said, squinting after the two horses nearing the end of the street now.

  "He was drunk Saturday," Ford said. "He can be drunk and not show it."

  "Everybody was drunk Saturday," Merl said, "but they didn't all go crazy."

  "Many of them did," Haig said now, quietly.

  Merl White nodded slowly. "I almost forgot about that."

  "Jordan's gone too," Joe Tobin told them. "Try and figure him out."

  Ford nodded. "It's got to be something aga
inst him personally, or something he's paid to do else h e won't have a part of it."

  "Just to have around," Tobin said, "a man like that would come high."

  "He can afford it," Merl said. "Phil could pay us and still afford a dozen men like that."

  "But why does he want him?"

  "For days like today."

  "I'll bet he pays him a hunnert a month."

  Merl shrugged. "I guess a gunman comes high . . . just for the good feeling he gives you bein g around."

  Ford was watching the street, pressing his cheek to the glass pane. "They're about out of sight."

  "Will you go out and get them tonight?" Merl asked Haig.

  "I was going to take you to La Noria."

  "We can wait. Fact is," Merl went on, "I w ouldn't mind waiting just to have a talk with thi s Kirby Frye. I think we got something in common."

  Milmary Tindal moved out to the edge of the walk as they started down the street. She would catc h glimpses of Kirby, then Phil or Digo's mount woul d side-step and she would not see him. When Digo's quirt went up she flinched imagining the rawhid e sting and now she could not stand still. She move d along the edge of the sidewalk stretching and leaning to the side to see Kirby. Less than an hour before she had told him to get out of the store. She continued to think of that and even the quirtin g would not jolt it from her mind. And she was thinking that if she had been kind to him this would not be happening now. There was not time to reason i t carefully; it was in her mind in a turmoil watchin g them move down the street. There was nothing sh e could do. She could make promises about the future, but right now, even though her nails dug int o the palms of her hands and her knuckles showe d white, there was nothing she could do.

  "Do you think he'll come back?" Edith repeated.

  She was in front of the Metropolitan now. Edith Hanasian stood a few feet away on the sidewalk.

  Milmary looked at her. "What?"

  "Do you think he'll come back," Edith repeated.

  Milmary was looking down the street again, but now her glance went suddenly to Edith. She ha d not asked herself that question and uncertainly , fearfully, she heard herself answering, "I don't know."

  Edith said, "If you don't know then you haven't been treating him right."

  Milmary said nothing. Edith moved to the edge of the walk and stood close to her and lookin g down the street they saw the horses at the far en d now.

  "He'll come back," she heard Edith say, and she could feel Edith looking at her closely. "Maybe i t won't be for you, but he'll come back."

  Kneeling, Frye looked through the pine branches down the slope to the dim outline of the road, the n glanced at Harold Mendez hearing him moving toward him.

  "What is it?"

  "A wagon," Frye said. They could hear the creaking and the labored sound of a pair of horse s in harness and Frye was thinking: It couldn't b e them, because they wouldn't come out in a wagon.

  And they wouldn't come out after dark when there are other things to do.

  Now they could see the shape of the wagon below them, but there was not enough moon to make out the man on the seat. He moved the team slowly , letting him have their heads going up the grade tha t rose gradually between the pine slopes.

  Frye felt the ground in front of him until his hand found a small enough stone. He waited unti l the wagon was even with them, then threw th e stone. It struck the wagon bed, a sharp sound in th e darkness, bouncing out and almost immediatel y the creaking and the harness rattle stopped.

  There was silence. Then from the wagon, "This is Haig Hanasian--" the words carrying clearly i n the stillness.

  Harold murmured, "That's his voice."

  "Up here!" Frye called. He rose and stood at the edge of the jackpines waiting for Haig to reach them.

  "I didn't hope to find you so quickly."

  Frye took his hand as he reached them. "You came out just to find us?"

  Haig nodded.

  "We're obliged to you."

  "How are your feet?"

  "About worn through."

  "I brought your boots."

  "You found them?"

  "They were still in front of the jail."

  Frye was smiling. "We're really obliged."

  "Perhaps," Haig said, "the boots will not fit now." He pulled two pairs of socks from hi s pocket. "These will help some. But put them o n quickly, it isn't good to delay long on this road. I t leads to Sun-D."

  "Haig," Frye said. "We appreciate this--"

  "Quickly now--"

  "You go on back, Haig."

  "What?"

  "Danaher," Frye explained, "is due to ride by Wednesday sometime. We figured to go back i n with him."

  "Well," Haig said, "I can't blame you for that, but it's a long time to have to sit here."

  "We'd have to hide out anyway, even in town, till we got our bearings."

  Haig's dark face was serious, even saying something in a light vein. "That is done every day. This man, White, and his companions have been ther e since Saturday night."

  "Where?"

  "In my rooms."

  Frye shook his head. "Right across the street."

  "I was going to take them to La Noria tonight--"

  "We appreciate this, Haig." Frye had spoken to Haig only a few times before this, but suddenly h e felt very close to him. But he felt sorry for him a t the same time and he wasn't sure why.

  "Merl White is anxious to meet you."

  "I guess we have something in common."

  "He said the same thing." Haig lifted a .25-caliber revolver from his coat pocket and handed it to Frye. "Take this. I'd better get the wagon moving."

  He started to go, but stopped. "You don't have any food."

  Frye shook his head. "We figured we'd grub around and make out. There's a spring back a ways." He nodded toward the deep pines.

  "Tomorrow you'll have food," Haig said. "And I'll bring something for your feet." He hesitate d again. "You don't have blankets."

  "Or clean sheets," Harold Mendez said.

  "Wait a moment," Haig told them. He hurried down the slope and returned with a rolled tarpaulin over his shoulder. "This will help some."

  "Haig," Frye said, "we owe you a lot."

  "You don't owe me anything. God forgive me, but I would like to see something bad happen t o this Sundeen." He started to go. "You say Danahe r comes Wednesday?"

  Frye nodded. "That's what he said."

  "To make sure, I could go to Huachuca tonight and wire him."

  "He'll come," Frye said.

  "I want to be there when he does," Haig said, and after that he left.

  As they strung up the canvas shelter they could hear his wagon far down the grade, the faint creaking fading to silence as they gathered wood for a fire. And when the fire was burning they sat close t o it, listening to the silence, then becoming aware o f the night sounds, the crickets and the soft hissing o f the wind through the pines.

  "I'm going to quit," Harold murmured, staring into the fire. "I don't have to take this."

  Frye watched the fire and said nothing.

  After a moment Harold asked, "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm not sure," Frye answered. "Right now, sleep."

  But he did not sleep, not for some time, thinking of Danaher coming and what would happen whe n they rode into Randado. He knew what he woul d do. He was sure, even though he told Harold h e wasn't sure. There was no sense in arguing wit h Harold. If Harold wanted to quit that was hi s business.

  You don't have to do it though. You don't have to do anything. But you will, huh? You'll g o through with it and have it out with Phil Sundee n and Digo . . . and Jordan, if that's the way it has t o be. And Tindal and the others. Don't leave the m out. "You're under arrest . . . Mr. Tindal." Wha t do you call a man when you arrest him?

  You should have stuck to mustanging.

  Danaher will back you, but probably he'll give you another chance to do it by yourself if you want.

&n
bsp; He'll say, "Kirby, this is your jurisdiction. If you see fit, handle it your own way, with your ow n deputies. I'll only make suggestions." The Danahe r let's-see-what-kind-of-a-man-you-are test. And i f you're smart you'll say, "John, you can take thi s job and--" But something won't let you say tha t and you'll see it through now. Are you mad enoug h to see it through? Danaher said he just had to loo k at your beat-up face. And after what they did thi s morning--You're damn right I'll see it through.

  Something will happen soon now to end it . . . o ne way or another. And that's good because i t should never have started. A silly damn thing that's grown . . . no, it wasn't silly, not hanging two men , but it was stupid . . . and now there's a chanc e more will be dead before it's over. Sundeen wil l fight. Maybe he doesn't want to; maybe he know s he's gone too far, but he's not the kind who'd admi t it. Like Harold said, a man who rides his horse int o a saloon doesn't have to have a reason. And h e didn't hire a gunman out of humility. It's too ba d there isn't a way he can back down and still hold o n to his self-respect. No, you have to beat him, bea t him once and for all.

  Tindal and the others, that's something else.

  They might give themselves up. If they did, Judge Finnerty would probably go light. Maybe just a fine, because he's known them all his life. The y know they did wrong, else they wouldn't have ru n this morning. So maybe there isn't any problem . . . e xcept living with them after. "Mr. Tindal . . . s ir . . . you're under arrest." "Mr. Tindal, I wonde r if I might marry your daughter . . . while you're i n jail."

  Wouldn't that be just fine.

  You better ask Mil first.

  But most of the time, until he fell asleep, he thought of Phil Sundeen, his horsebreaker and hi s hired gunman.

  Sundeen came to Randado again late Wednesday morning. He brought with him Digo and Jorda n and they went directly to De Spain's. Many of hi s riders had left during the past two days, includin g the four who had been present when he ran off Fry e and Mendez, and he believed that if they were stil l around he would find out at De Spain's.

  Sundeen stood at the bar, but Jordan and Digo took a bottle and glasses to a table.

  "He drinks too much," Jordan said.

  Sitting down at the table, Digo shrugged. "He holds it . . . and it's his money."

  "And the more he drinks, the less you have to work."