Kill Crazy (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-three

Because the two men had been freight wagon drivers, their caskets were open and lying in the back of the same wagons they had driven in life. The two wagons, with Walt's wagon in the lead, were decorated with black bunting, pulled by horses that were draped with a black pall. The wagons were driven slowly through town in a funeral cortege that grew in numbers as it proceeded toward the cemetery.

At first, people were puzzled as to why so many people would want to attend the burial, then someone suggested that perhaps it was because the boys had no family of their own to mourn for them. Their graves were side by side because, as Fred Matthews said, “They were friends in life, they will be friends through eternity.”

Elmer came into town for the burial. He knew both men on sight and had even had a few drinks with them. But he didn't come because he knew them. He came because he had seen a lot of men—friends, acquaintances, enemies, even perfect strangers, buried in unmarked graves a long way from home. And as the two graves were being simultaneously closed, he remembered another burial. Not a burial, really, but a committal of a body to the sea.

The ship's company turned out for the burial, but there was no clergyman on the three-masted
Baltic Trader,
so the captain read the rites of burial.

It was one week after Dillon and Goodman were buried, and Duff and Elmer were up on the roof of the barn replacing shingles when Marshal Ferrell came riding up.

“Hello, Marshal,” Elmer called down to him. “Get yourself a hammer and come on up and help.”

“If there is anything you don't want, it's me climbin' around on a roof,” Marshal Ferrell said. “Duff, have you got a minute?”

“Aye,” Duff said, starting toward the ladder.

“Now, damn it, you two had that all cooked up, didn't you?” Elmer said. “You prob'ly told him, ‘come on out tomorrow 'bout nine or so and say you need me so's I can get Elmer to finish with the roof.'”

Duff chuckled as he stepped onto the ladder to climb down. “Aye, Elmer, what can I say? Sure now, and you have it all figured out.”

“I knew it, I knew it,” Elmer said, though his complaining was ameliorated by his laughter.

“Good Morning, Jerry. What brings you to Sky Meadow?”

“Johnny Taylor,” Marshal Ferrell said.

“There hasn't been another killing, has there?”

“No, but the town is awfully uneasy.”

“I expect it would be,” Duff said.

“Duff, maybe I should have checked with you before I did this, but I was hoping that you would agree to it. And if you don't agree, I'll understand. On the other hand, if you do agree, why, then it won't take no time because it's already set.”

“Here now, Jerry, and would you be for tellin' me what it is you are trying to say? Sure 'n' you're talkin' in riddles.”

“I'm talkin' about deputyin'.”

“Deputying?”

“Yes, deputying. In particular, I'm talkin' about you deputying.”

“Marshal, there's nae need for you to appoint me a deputy. Sure 'n' haven't I always come to your aid when asked? And didn't I do the same thing for Marshal Craig, before you?”

“I'm not talkin' about being a deputy town marshal, which truth to tell don't give you much more authority than to bring in a fella for takin' a piss in the street. No, sir, I'm talkin' 'bout you bein' a deputy with some real power. I been thinkin' about this for a couple of days, so yesterday I sent a telegram to the sheriff down in Cheyenne and told him what I wanted.”

“And what is it you want?”

“What I wanted was for him to make you a deputy sheriff, and that's what he's done. That gives you authority all over Laramie County.”

“How can he make me a deputy? Don't I have to be sworn in?”

“You will be. I've already got things all set up for it. That is, if you are willing to accept the appointment.”

“I don't know, Marshal, you know my history. 'Twas a sheriff's deputy that killed my fiancée back in Scotland. I don't know how I could bring myself to callin' myself such.”

“You can call yourself anything you want, Duff,” Marshal Ferrell said. “But I need your help. The town needs your help. Because I'll be honest with you, with a man like Johnny Taylor out there, I don't know where this is going to end. The town is now divided into two parts, one part wants us to hang Emile right now, and the other part wants us to let him go.”

“Take the man up on his offer, Duff,” Elmer called down from the roof of the barn. He had come down to the edge and was sitting there now, with his legs hanging down from the eves. “In the time I've known you, I've never known you to walk away from a fight. And seems to me like this Johnny fella is making it some personal. If you're worried about leavin' the place, don't be. I'll take care of things here.”

“Elmer, there is much to be done out here. 'Twould not be right for me to leave you out here alone.”

“Alone? Hell, Duff, this ain't no two-man operation no more, not like it was when me 'n' you first built that little ol' one room cabin. You have fourteen men workin' for you now. It ain't as if I'm goin' to be doin' physical labor all by myself. Go on. Like the marshal said, the town needs you. And I don't have to remind you that Vi and Miss Parker live in town. And I'd feel a heap better about 'em, knowin' you was there to sort of look after 'em 'n' all.”

Duff nodded. “Aye, you may have a point,” he said. He turned toward the marshal. “What now?”

“Come back to town with me,” Marshal Ferrell said. “I can't swear you in because bein' a deputy sheriff is a county office. But Justice of the Peace Norton can. We'll go see him.”

“You're goin' to see the justice of the peace?” Elmer asked. “Hey, Duff, that would be a good chance for you to stop by and pick up Miss Parker on your way.”

“And why would I be for doing that?”

Marshal Ferrell chuckled. “He's giving you a hint, Duff. Here, a justice of the peace can perform marriage ceremonies.”

“Sure 'n' isn't that something I should discuss with Miss Parker first?”

Duff rode back to town with Marshal Ferrell. As they rode by Fiddler's Green, Marshal Ferrell asked if he wanted to stop for a beer.

“It might be good to get the dust of the ride out of our mouths,” he said.

The two men dismounted then went into the saloon. Duff was surprised to see that Meagan, Fred Matthews, and R.W. Guthrie were there, along with Justice of the Peace Norton. A sign was stretched across the back wall.

“Here, now, 'n' what is all this?”

“We knew you wouldn't turn the offer down,” Biff Johnson said. “So we thought we'd have a bit of a celebration with the swearing-in. In celebration of the occasion, Rose cooked up a batch of haggis, taties, and neeps.”

At the mention of some of his native food, Duff smiled broadly. “Did she now? Sure 'n' 'tis a foine woman you have married, Biff Johnson.”

“Let's get to the swearing-in so we can celebrate,” Norton suggested. “Mr. MacCallister, if you would hold up your right hand please?”

Duff did.

“Do you solemnly swear that you will faithfully perform the duties of the office of deputy sheriff for Laramie County, Wyoming?”

“I do.”

“You are now a deputy sheriff.”

Meagan pinned the badge onto Duff's shirt.

“You know, when Biff asked me to come over here to see you and the justice of the peace, I wasn't exactly sure what he wanted,” she said quietly.

Duff looked surprised by her comment, and she laughed and put her fingers on his lips before he could say anything.

“Don't worry, I'm just teasing.”

“Oh, what is the awful-tasting stuff?” Cindy asked from the table, where such things as boiled eggs, bits of ham and cheese, cookies, and the haggis, taties, and neeps had been laid out. She had just tasted some of the latter.

“Bless her heart,” Meagan said. “I'll bet she has no idea how many feathers in her cap she lost with you by that comment.”

“Sure now, Meagan, and why would you be for thinking the lass had any feathers to lose?”

After a brief celebration, and congratulations from all, Duff went down to the marshal's office with Ferrell.

“I've put you a desk back there,” he said. “Of course, you are sort of on your own, but I thought, just in case you wanted to check the latest reward posters, or news about any sightings, you could have a place to come.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Duff, have you ever heard of the town of Bordeaux?”

“It's just north of here, isn't it? I've nae been there, but I have heard of it. Why would you ask?”

“The town of Bordeaux has a reputation of being rather lawless.”

“I see. And would you be for thinking that Johnny and the others might be there?”

“Not according to Marshal Cline. I sent him this telegram.” Marshal Ferrell showed the telegram to Duff.

“And this is what he sent back.”

“Do you think the marshal is nae telling the truth?”

“I don't know. I've never met this fella, C.F. Cline, but I have heard of him. And from what I heard, he would seem more likely to be a snake oil salesman, or maybe even a chicken thief, than a marshal. Anyway, it was just a thought.”

Chapter Twenty-four

“You don't want to go to Bordeaux,” Elmer said that evening as he and Duff had supper together.

“Why would I nae want to go there?”

“Bordeaux is an outlaw town.”

“What is an outlaw town?”

“They are towns where there is no law.”

“But this town has law. It has a marshal, a man by the name of C.F. Cline.”

“I know Cline.”

“You know him?”

“We did a couple of jobs together back in Kansas.”

“By jobs, you mean?”

“We held up a stagecoach once. And we robbed a train.”

Duff chuckled. “Elmer, please tell me that we'll nae be sitting here someday when a member of the constabulary will come in, bearing a warrant for some long-ago crime.”

“I can't tell you that, Duff,” Elmer said. “Though I will say that it has been so long since I done anything that would set the law after me, that ever'one has more 'n likely forgot by now.”

“Have you ever been to Bordeaux?” Duff asked.

“I've never been to Bordeaux, but I've been to towns like Bordeaux . . . robbers' roosts, we used to call them.”

“Marshal Ferrell says he believes Johnny might be there, but when he sent a telegram to the marshal over there, Cline telegraphed him back saying that he was nae there.”

“If you ask me, a fella like C.F. Cline saying he's not there just makes me believe all the more that he would be there.”

“Does it now? Then, perhaps I'll just make a visit up there and have a look around.”

“I wouldn't advise that, Duff,” Elmer said.

“Oh?”

“Do you know what Johnny Taylor looks like?”

“I'm nae sure I have ever encountered the gentleman.”

Elmer laughed. “You seen him more than once, you've captured his brother, and you've kilt three of his men.”

“Aye, but they were all masked. So I would nae recognize Mr. Taylor if he were to approach me and ask me directions.”

“Right, and that's my point. You wouldn't recognize him on sight, but he damn sure knows who you are. And he has a really big reason for wanting you dead. I'd be thinkin' twice about goin' to Bordeaux, if I were you.”

“And if I don't go, would you be for tellin' me how I might go about finding this man?”

“I'll go.”

“What? You'll do nae such thing, Elmer Gleason. 'Tis not your job to go.”

“How much are they paying you for being a deputy?”

“Why, they are nae paying me anything.”

“Uh-huh. Then it's not your job either, is it?”

“Elmer, I . . .”

“I use to run in that world, Duff. and I probably still have a few friends remaining, that is them that hadn't done been carted off to prison or hanged or the like. If anyone is going to go up to Bordeaux to have a look around, it's going to be me. Don't try and talk me out of it.”

“All right, Elmer, I'll nae talk you out of it.”

“Damn,” Elmer said. “Hell, you mean you aren't even goin' to try and talk me out of it? Just a little bit?”

“I thought you did nae want me to talk you out of it.”

“Well, I wanted you to try a little bit to talk me out of it. That way it makes me seem like more a hero when I go.”

Duff laughed. “I'll ask you nae to go.”

Elmer held his hand up and shook his head. “I'm thankin' you for your worry, but I'll be goin' all the same.”

“Do I have to try and talk you out of it any more?” Duff asked.

“Lord no, if you ask again I just might back out. Now, tell me what you need to know.”

“I want you to see if you can find this man, Johnny Taylor. All I know is his name. Also, if you can, see who the others are who are with him. I do nae mind goin' up against one or two, even more men. But if such thing is to happen, I'm sure I'd be for wantin' to know who it is that's the enemy.”

“I'll get back whatever information I can find out,” Elmer said.

“You're sure you don't want me to come with you? Maybe to just be there to help out, should you be needin' any.”

“Don't get me wrong, Duff, but I don't want you with me. They'll recognize you, sure as a gun is iron. And if they recognize you, then see me with you, where does that leave me?”

“Aye, I see your point,” Duff said. “Elmer, find out what you can, but I do nae want you to try and be a hero.”

“Believe me, Duff, I ain't the hero type.”

 

 

Bordeaux was a scattering of flyblown, sun-bleached, weathered, and unpainted buildings laid out on both sides of a quarter-mile-long road, which was the only street in the town. Its reputation as a “Robbers' Roost,” or “Outlaw Haven” was well earned.

Marshal Cline was a lawman in name only, and visitations by law officers from elsewhere in the territory were discouraged. They were so strongly discouraged that there was a place in the town cemetery prominently marked as L
AWMAN'S
P
LOT
. Here, tombstones marked the graves of three lawmen: two deputy sheriffs and one deputy U.S. Marshal.

The two tombstones for the deputy sheriffs read exactly the same. It wasn't clear whether there really were three lawmen buried there or not. The very presence of the tombstones tended to keep curious lawmen away . . . and that was their intended purpose.

 

 

Though it had been a while since Elmer had been in a place like Bordeaux, there was a strong sense of familiarity to it, and an even stronger attraction. Such towns were a part of his heritage, and he could no more turn his back on them than he could on the life he was living now.

Inside the Red Eye Saloon, Kid Dingo, Creech, and Phelps were sitting at a table near the front window. One week ago, they, along with Simon Reid, had robbed a general store of two hundred and twelve dollars and since that time had spent their money so freely on drinks and whores that, by now, the money was nearly gone.

“Too bad Reid ain't still cowboyin',” Phelps said. “Takin' them cows and sellin' 'em like we done was the easiest money we ever made.”

“Except he got hisself fired,” Kid Dingo said.

“And he sure ain't done nothin' for us since he's come here. All he does is lay around with whores all the time,” Phelps said.

“You know what we need to do, don't you?” Creech said. “What we need to do is rob a bank. That's where the real money is.”

“Banks ain't that easy to rob,” Phelps said. “That's why they're called banks.”

“I don't know. They're sayin' that Johnny Taylor got a lot of money from that bank down in Chugwater,” Creech said.

“Yeah, and Jackson, Short, and Blunt got themselves kilt and Johnny's own brother is in jail,” Phelps pointed out.

“Short wasn't killed during the bank robbery, and Blunt wasn't even a part of the holdup,” Creech said.

“Hey, lookie here,” Kid Dingo, pointing out the window. “Look at that old son of a bitch coming up here. What do you think he's doing in a town like this?”

“I don't know,” Creech said. “Maybe he stole a pair of false teeth somewhere.”

The other two laughed.

“I think I'm going to have a little fun with him,” Kid Dingo said. “Watch.”

“Better watch it, Kid. If he really actually stole them false teeth, he might bite you,” Creech suggested.

 

 

Elmer stopped in front of the Red Eye Saloon, dismounted, then took off his long duster, rolled it up, and began to tie it to the back of his saddle. As he was securing the duster, someone spoke to him.

“Old man, you may as well get back on your horse and ride out of here. We don't like strangers here.”

Elmer turned to see a young man with beady eyes and a wild shock of hair. He returned to the task of tying off his duster.

“Didn't you hear what I said? Climb back up on your horse and get. An old man like you is liable to get run over by a horse or something. Don't you turn your back on me, you gray-haired old son of a bitch!”

Elmer continued to tie off the rawhide cords, without so much as an acknowledgment of the irritating young man. That was when he heard the sound of a revolver being cocked.

“Maybe I had better introduce myself,” the punk said. “Folks call me Kid Dingo. I reckon that name means something to y—”

That was as far as Kid Dingo got, because quietly, and unobserved, Elmer had snaked his shotgun from the saddle sheath. And when he turned, he didn't just turn. He whirled around much faster than the kid would have expected an old man to move. The butt of his shotgun caught the kid in the jaw, and blood and teeth flew from his mouth as he went down, falling face first in a pile of recent horse droppings. The kid's confrontation with Elmer had brought Creech and Phelps out of the saloon.

“Hey, old man, you goin' to leave him like that? He's facedown in horse shit. He could smother.”

Elmer looked back at the kid. “Yeah, you're right,” he said.

Walking over to him, Elmer kicked him in the side. Kid Dingo groaned and rolled over onto his back. His face was covered with horse dung, but he was no longer in danger of smothering. When he started back toward the saloon, Creech and Phelps moved to block his way.

Elmer, who was still carrying his shotgun, raised it. It wasn't until then that the two men noticed the barrel had been sawed off to about twelve inches.

“There are two of you,” Elmer said quietly. “And I've got two barrels.”

The two men stepped out of his way, and Elmer went on inside.

The clientele of the Red Eye was composed of men and women who had, long ago, stepped out of mainstream society, so while Elmer's reaction to the three young punks who had confronted him gained him enough recognition to be accepted, they weren't overly impressed by it. The more experienced of them had seen men like Elmer before, and knew that age was not the determining factor in a man's mettle.

There were at least four bar girls working the saloon, but it was difficult to tell how old they were. Their years on the line had taken so much from them that even the most artful use of face paint could not reverse the dissipation of their profession.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked.

“What's the cheapest whiskey you got?” Elmer asked in a gravelly voice.

“Hell, the cheapest is also the most expensive,” the bartender replied.

“Really? Well, then give me the best you've got,” Elmer said, putting a quarter on the bar. “I don't often get to drink the most expensive whiskey.”

The others in the bar laughed. None of them realized that by most measuring standards, Elmer was a wealthy man who could, if he wished, buy this saloon, and just about every other business in town.

“What's your name?” the bartender asked as he poured the drink.

“Why do you need to know?” Elmer replied. “Are you making up a list?”

“No, just curious is all.”

“That a fact? No offense, mister, but I don't like people who are curious.”

“Mister, look out!” one of the bar girls shouted, and Elmer swung toward the front door with his shotgun in hand.

“You son of a bitch!” a shit-faced Kid Dingo shouted. He fired at Elmer, the bullet crashing into the bar right beside him. Elmer fired back, the roar of the shotgun sounding like an explosion. The blast of double-aught shot opened up Kid Dingo's chest and propelled him back through the batwing doors with such force that one of them was ripped from its hinges.

Even as the gun was still smoking, Elmer broke the barrel down, pulled out the expended shell, and replaced it with another.

Creech and Phelps came running into the saloon then.

“Better hold it, boys! He reloaded!” the bartender shouted.

The two men stopped. Creech pointed a finger at Elmer. “That old son of a bitch killed our friend!”

“Yeah, I did. And I'm about to kill you two as well.” Elmer raised the gun to his shoulder and pulled back both hammers.

“No!” Creech shouted. He and Phelps turned, and ran from the saloon, chased by the laughter of all the patrons. A moment later, they were on their horses, galloping out of town.

Elmer took his glass of whiskey to one of the tables and sat down to peruse the room. Most of the others in the saloon were in pairs or in groups of no more than three. But at one table in the corner, he saw seven men sitting together.