The Complete Western Stories of Elmore Leonard Part 36

"Banderas. I just left Whipple Barracks yesterday. Discharged."

"I thought so," the woman said. "Just the way you stand."

"I suppose some of it's bound to rub off, after twelve years."

"You don't look that old."

"Older'n you. I'm almost thirty-one."

"Were you an officer?"

"No, ma'am. Sergeant."

"You're going home to your folks?"

"Yes, ma'am. My dad has a place near Banderas."

"They'll be glad to see you."

Mitch.e.l.l half turned as Hyatt said, "How do we know you're from Whipple?" "I just told you I was." "What proof you got?" "I don't have to show you anything." Hyatt's hand hung close to his holster. "You don't think so, huh?" "Look," Mitch.e.l.l said. "Why don't you quit standing on your nerves." "Let's see your proof," Hyatt said. Mitch.e.l.l glanced at the woman. "You ought to keep him locked up." The woman half smiled. "Do you have discharge papers?" Mitch.e.l.l's hand slipped into his open coat and patted his shirt pocket. "Right here." "Why don't you show him?" the woman said. "So we'll have a little peace."

MITCh.e.l.l SHOOK his head. "It's a matter of principle now." A matter of principle. And a matter of twelve years someone telling you what to do. You can take it when you're being paid to take it. But this one isn't paying, Mitch.e.l.l thought. Take that handgun off him and bend it over his head? No, just get out. You don't have any business here.

The woman said, "Men are always talking about principle, or honor."

"Well, I'm through talking about it tonight," Mitch.e.l.l said. He handed the empty cup to her. "Much obliged. I'm moving on now." She looked at him, but said nothing.

He saw her eyes shift suddenly.

Behind you!

It snapped in his mind and he heard the movement and he wheeled, bringing up his arms, throwing himself low at Hyatt who was almost on top of him. His shoulder slammed into Hyatt's knees and he drove forward as the pistol barrel came down against his spine. His arms clamped Hyatt's legs and he came up suddenly, His boots digging into the sand, throwing Hyatt's legs over his shoulder. Hyatt landed on 361 361 his back, rolling over almost as he struck the ground, frantically reaching for the revolver knocked from his hand, almost touching it as Mitch.e.l.l dropped on top of him.

They rolled in the sand, Hyatt's fingers tearing through Mitch.e.l.l's shirt, clawing at his throat. Mitch.e.l.l's hand found the revolver. He threw it spinning across the sand and his fist came back to slam against Hyatt's face. He pushed himself free, rolling, rising to his feet, and as Hyatt came up he swung hard against his jaw. Hyatt staggered. He started to go down and Mitch.e.l.l hit him again, holding him momentarily with his left hand as his right clubbed into the upturned face. Hyatt's head snapped back and he went down.

Mitch.e.l.l turned to the woman. He was breathing heavily and his left hand was pressed to the small of his back. "Are you married to him?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not really."

Mitch.e.l.l hesitated. If he turned away he'd never see this woman again. Something made him ask, "Do you love him?"

She looked at him, her face softly impa.s.sive in the firelight. "You'd better move along," she said quietly.

For a moment Mitch.e.l.l's eyes remained on her, as if he were reluctant to leave. He turned to the sorrel, then hesitated again and walked over to Hyatt.

"Mister, you brought this on yourself. Your man out there thought I was somebody named Cliff and he brought me in because he was too scared to do anything else. I don't care who you are. ...I don't care who Cliff is-" Mitch.e.l.l broke off. "If you want to know the truth, I think you're crazy." He glanced momentarily at the woman before telling Hyatt, "Maybe you got some good points, but if you do you keep them a secret."

Hyatt's head came up slowly. He watched Mitch.e.l.l go to his sorrel and mount. He watched him silently, his hand covering a folded piece of paper on the ground beneath him. A square of paper folded four times just to fit into a shirt pocket.

Mitch.e.l.l urged the sorrel into the trees, letting it have its head, but holding it enough to reach the road farther down from where Rady would be. The woman stayed in his mind: standing in the firelight, her eyes meeting his and not lowering even when he continued to stare at her.

Some woman.

HIS BODY CAME alive as the shot sounded behind him and his hand instinctively went to the booted carbine. He turned in the saddle drawing the Springfield, the sorrel sidestepping nervously, kicking the dry leaves, throwing its head. There were other sounds in the leaves and suddenly a man's voice: "Throw up your hands!" And almost with the words Mitch.e.l.l was dragged from the saddle. Men were all around him in the darkness, two holding his arms, and as he tried to rise a fist came from nowhere, stinging hard against his face.

A rifle barrel jabbed into his back and he was taken through the trees, a man holding each arm. There were more men at the clearing and the nearest ones stepped aside as Mitch.e.l.l was brought in. One man was building the fire. Another was climbing the wagon wheel, now looking inside. The rest stood in a semicircle around Hyatt and the woman.

The man holding Mitch.e.l.l's left arm shouted, "d.y.k.e, we got the other one!"

Mitch.e.l.l saw one of the men turn and nod his head, then beckon them to come closer. He stood relaxed, a tall man wearing a stiff-brimmed hat low and straight over his eyes, and a tawny tip-twisted mustache that in the firelight blended with the weathered cut of his features. His coat was open, a dark coat . . . and then Mitch.e.l.l saw it. The deputy star against the dark cloth and everything was suddenly perfectly clear.

Hyatt was saying, "What're you doing! We're camped here and you barge in, shooting-"

A man said, "You scrambled for that gun quick enough."

"How'd I know who you were?"

"You know now." The man laughed. Mitch.e.l.l looked from this man to the others. There were perhaps a dozen in the group, but only d.y.k.e and two or three more wore deputy stars.

"Listen"-Hyatt's voice calmed-"I think you could've announced yourselves, that's all. You're looking for somebody and you want to ask some questions, that it?"

363 363 d.y.k.e shook his head. "I don't have any questions."

Hyatt's eyes shifted along the line of men. "We're on our way down to Tucson. I'm going in business with a man down there." d.y.k.e said nothing. His eyes were on Hyatt, studying him. "In the freight business," Hyatt said. "This man's already got contracts."

"Are you through?" d.y.k.e said then.

Hyatt frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'll tell a story now," d.y.k.e said. "It starts the day before yesterday when the Hatch & Hodges was held up an hour out of Mojave. One of the pa.s.sengers, Mr. J. A. Hicks, was shot and killed when he raised an objection. Now, this Mr. Hicks was owner of the Mogollon Cattle Company-Slash M-of which I'm foreman. Mr. Hicks, besides being boss, was my best friend . . . which doesn't mean much to the story aside from it's the reason I was deputized to take out a posse."

Hyatt said, "I'm sorry to hear that, but-"

"I'm not finished," d.y.k.e stated. "You see, these holdup men separated after the robbery. We spent a whole day scratching for sign and finally we got on one we were pretty sure of. Last night we caught up with a man named Cliff something. Now, at first he said he didn't know anything about it."

d.y.k.e'S EYES HADN'T left Hyatt's. "I hit this man twice. The second one broke his jaw and after that he wrote down what we wanted to know. How he was to meet his friends tonight, and where. A woman and two men posing as travelers. A man named James Rady; another by the name of Hyatt Earl."

"Well?" Hyatt said. His voice was controlled, and it told nothing of what he might be thinking.

d.y.k.e brought a match out of his vest pocket and wedged it into the corner of his mouth, shaking his head as he did. "That's all there is to the story."

Hyatt hesitated. "Now what?"

"Now, Mr. Earl," d.y.k.e said mildly, his eyes lifting then, "we're going to hang you right on that cottonwood over there."

"What're you talking about, hanging! You don't even know-" Hyatt broke off. He looked at d.y.k.e and at his men and for a long moment he was silent, gaining control of himself. He said then, calmly, almost defiantly, "You got to take us to trial. That's what the law says."

The matchstick moved under d.y.k.e's full mustache. "Mr. Earl, are you telling me what I have to do?"

That was it. The futility of arguing showed briefly on Hyatt's face. He asked, "What about the woman?"

d.y.k.e shook his head. "This Cliff said she didn't want any part of it, but you forced her into it. We're not bothered about her. Just you and Rady there." He nodded directly at Mitch.e.l.l.

Mitch.e.l.l frowned. Hurriedly then his eyes swept the clearing. Rady wasn't here! He called to d.y.k.e, "I'm not Rady! He's the one with the Remington . . . was out by the road."

d.y.k.e studied him before answering. "There wasn't anybody out there."

"Then he got away, but I sure as h.e.l.l ain't Rady!"

"Who're you supposed to be?"

"Dave Mitch.e.l.l. I just rode in a little while ago looking to camp." He saw Hyatt watching him, a grin softening the dark bearded face.

"Rady," Hyatt said, "are you drunk or something?"

Mitch.e.l.l stared at him with disbelief. "What's the matter with you? Tell them who I am!"

Hyatt shook his head. "There's no use in that, Rady. Let's own up...take our medicine like men."

Mitch.e.l.l's eyes went to d.y.k.e. "Listen. This man's crazy. I suspected it before. Now I'm sure."

"If I was in your shoes," said d.y.k.e, "I might pull the same stunt."

Mitch.e.l.l paused. "All right"-his glance went to the woman-"ask her."

She looked at Mitch.e.l.l, then shook her head. "He's not Rady. His name is Mitch.e.l.l."

d.y.k.e said, "Uh-huh, and you're Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l."

"I never saw him before this evening."

"Claire," Hyatt said sympathetically, "there's no use. Rady's got to take his medicine just the same way I do."

365 365 The woman's face was cold and showed no emotion. "He had a fight with this man Mitch.e.l.l and lost. That's why he wants to see him hang."

"Claire! . . . Rady and I were just kidding! You thought we really meant it?"

Mitch.e.l.l looked at d.y.k.e again. "You said that holdup was day before yesterday. I can prove I was at Whipple then. I was just discharged yesterday."

"What's your proof?" d.y.k.e asked.

"Ask anybody at Whipple!"

"Rady," Hyatt said, "delaying it a few days ain't going to help any, they'll still hang you. Let's get it over with."

Mitch.e.l.l's expression changed suddenly and his hand went to his chest. "My discharge order! It's dated yesterday!"

"Keep your hand out of that coat!" d.y.k.e snapped. He nodded to one of the men near Mitch.e.l.l. "Take a look."

The man stepped in front of Mitch.e.l.l. His hand went over the shirt, then to the inside coat pocket. "Nothing," he said over his shoulder.

Mitch.e.l.l's hand came up. He felt the empty pocket, and the part of his shirt that was torn- "Listen, while we were fighting my shirt was ripped. The paper fell out, that's what happened. Look around there, right where you're standing!"

d.y.k.e continued to study Mitch.e.l.l, but some of his men moved about, looking at the ground and scuffing the sand with their boots. A man said, "I don't see nothin'," and another said, "Not around here." Watching them, the tension building and becoming unbearable. Mitch.e.l.l suddenly tore himself from the men holding him. They started after him and d.y.k.e called, "Let him go!"

Mitch.e.l.l came on, his eyes searching the ground, then dropped to his hands and knees, his fingers brushing the sand, smoothing it, and carefully he covered the area where the fight had taken place. He came up slowly and sat back on his heels. "It's not here," he said wearily. Then: "Wait! When I was pulled off my horse-" He came to his feet quickly.

d.y.k.e asked, "You ever on the stage?"

"I'm telling you the truth!" Mitch.e.l.l screamed. "Can't you see that!"

"I see a man fighting awful hard," d.y.k.e replied, "for a life he don't deserve."

"What do you expect me to do!" Mitch.e.l.l paused then. He breathed in and out and said, more calmly, "I swear to Almighty G.o.d I had nothing to do with that holdup."

"That's what this Cliff said," d.y.k.e answered. "Before I broke his jaw."

"Rady," Hyatt spoke up, "you don't want that to happen to you, do you?"

Mitch.e.l.l ignored him. Still looking at d.y.k.e he said, "Isn't there a doubt in your mind?" d.y.k.e didn't answer and in the silence their eyes held.

Then, behind Mitch.e.l.l, a man said, "Let's have some coffee first." d.y.k.e's eyes lifted. He nodded and walked toward the fire, finished with Mitch.e.l.l.

HYATT AND THE woman were moved over by the wagon. Then Mitch.e.l.l was brought over. They tied Hyatt's and Mitch.e.l.l's hands behind their backs and made them sit down, the woman between them.

There was nothing to be said. In silence they watched d.y.k.e's men build another fire close to the cottonwood tree they would use. Two men entered the clearing carrying riatas, uncoiling them as they crossed to the tree. Mitch.e.l.l saw his sorrel and a bay brought in and the saddles were taken off both horses.

Now what do you do? he thought.

Tell him! him!

I did tell him! He's hard-sh.e.l.led and mean because Hyatt killed his friend and that's all he can think about. But he's calm about it, isn't he? Judge and jury wrapped into one hard-bitten weathered face. His mind is the law and he can be as calm as he pleases, knowing his way is the only way.

Twelve years of campaigning and you're going to die under another man's name. n.o.body knowing . . . no, two people knowing who you are. The woman-Claire-and Hyatt.

Two feet away and you can't even touch him. Get up quick and b.u.t.t his face in with your head! No . . . come on, think straight now. Now isn't a time to think about revenge. Forget about him. You're going to die and that's all there is to it.

367 367 He said it in his mind, feeling each word: I'm going to die. More slowly then: I am going to die.

All right, now you know it. You always knew it, but now you know it. Come on, think straight. I am am thinking straight. Go to h.e.l.l with that thinking straight business! There's no thinking straight. Go to h.e.l.l with that thinking straight business! There's no straight straight way to think when you're going to die. What did you think about the other time? The first and only and supposedly last other time. way to think when you're going to die. What did you think about the other time? The first and only and supposedly last other time.

Nervous and not liking it, not believing that it was happening to him, but holding himself together nevertheless and thinking over and over again that it was a shame to die alone. Alone, because the Coyotero tracker didn't count. You couldn't talk about last things in sign language. Dos Fuegos had taken out a buckskin pouch in which he carried his hoddentin, hoddentin, the sacred pollen made from tule that would ward off evil, and with that he had readied himself. the sacred pollen made from tule that would ward off evil, and with that he had readied himself.

CORPORAL MITCh.e.l.l then, Corporal Mitch.e.l.l and a Coyotero tracker called Dos Fuegos-the two of them riding point and cut off from the others and their mounts shot from under them. Then holding flat to the ground, lying behind the mound and looking across to the rock-scrambled sand-glaring dead-silent slope where the Mimbres were. Lying unmoving-wondering if the patrol would find them.

The Mimbres came-a few at a time, running, dodging, firing carbines; and they drove them back to cover. The second rush came before they had time to reload-but so did D Company, brought by the firing, and that was that.

Sergeant Mitch.e.l.l, the next month, and less talkative.