Way of the Gun Page 5

  ‘What the hell is going on here, Weeks?’ he growled.

  Weeks began sobering up fast. ‘Oh. This here is a boy from town,’ he offered with a tight grin. ‘I just brought him out here for a taste of our up-north rye.’ Lying quickly and easily.

  Ira Sloan walked over to Weeks and, without warning, threw a fist into his face. Weeks went flying across the room, did a somersault over an overstuffed chair, and landed on his back against the far wall. He was stunned. Blood ran from his nose and mouth and he spat out a tooth as he tried to assess what had happened.

  Latham went over to Seger, where he still stood next to Dulcie. ‘What do you think you’re up to?’

  Latham’s proximity was menacing to Seger. He, too, was sobering up fast. ‘Why, we just come out here to meet up with the girl. Just to say hello, you know?’ He swallowed hard. ‘We didn’t mean no harm, mister.’

  Latham looked over at Dulcie. ‘What did he do?’

  Dulcie shook her head. ‘Nothing. He didn’t have time.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to do nothing,’ Seger said quickly, glancing over to where Weeks was sitting up and wiping at his mouth.

  ‘What the hell, Ira!’ Weeks mumbled past a swelling mouth.

  ‘I’ll take your gun,’ Latham said easily to Seger.

  Seger’s face showed new fear. ‘Hey. Now wait a minute here!’

  ‘Your gun,’ Latham repeated.

  ‘Let him go,’ Dulcie said from a few feet away. ‘He’s drunk.’

  ‘Shut up and get into the kitchen,’ Latham said in a monotone. ‘You know what will happen if that place don’t shine in there.’

  Dulcie looked from him to Seger, then obeyed orders and disappeared into the other room.

  Latham held his hand out, and Seger reluctantly drew his revolver and turned it over to Latham. Latham gave it over to Sloan.

  ‘You came out here for a little fun with the girl, didn’t you?’ Latham said then, in a calm, quiet voice.

  ‘Oh, no! Like Weeks said, we was just going to top off our drinking here. Then I was leaving.’

  Latham shook his head. ‘Boy, you’re brash as a fry cook doing brain surgery. Thinking you can come in here and take my woman.’

  ‘He wasn’t doing that!’ Weeks cried out, getting weakly to his feet. ‘I wouldn’t let nobody touch Dulcie, Duke. You know that!’

  ‘Get out of my sight before I shoot you,’ Latham growled out. Weeks hesitated, then left the house.

  ‘Well, I’ll be on my way, too,’ Seger said, dry-mouthed.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Latham said. ‘And you don’t have any say-so in this. Understand?’

  ‘I just want to go back to town,’ Seger said weakly.

  There was a table and chairs over at the end of the room, and now Latham pointed at them. ‘Why don’t you take a seat over there?’

  ‘Look, mister. I don’t want any trouble. To be honest, I’m just a drunk that don’t know what he’s up to half the time. I wouldn’t never hurt your girl.’

  Latham guided him to a straight chair and Seger reluctantly sat down. Latham joined him, and Ira Sloan seated himself comfortably in a soft chair near the sofa. Watching but not speaking. Neither man had drawn his gun.

  Sloan began paring his nails with a penknife.

  ‘How long have you known Weeks?’ Latham asked pleasantly.

  ‘Oh, we just met this afternoon,’ Seger said quickly. ‘It was his idea to come out here. I just come along because it was a slow afternoon.’ He tried a grin. ‘I’d never come if I was sober. I reckon I should have give up John Barleycorn years ago.’

  ‘You just met at the saloon?’ Latham said.

  ‘That’s right. I’d still be sitting there if he didn’t invite me out here.’

  ‘Did anybody else know where you were going?’ Latham pursued.

  ‘No, not a soul. It was just the two of us.’ He searched Latham’s face. ‘Anyway, I’m real pleasured to meet up with you boys, but I got things to do in town now.’ He started to rise, but Latham stopped him.

  ‘I’ll tell you when you can get up.’

  Seger sat back, looking more afraid now.

  ‘You live in Pawnee Junction?’ Latham continued.

  Dulcie came to the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Nothing happened, Duke. Just let him go.’

  Sloan turned to her. ‘Better keep out of it, girl.’

  ‘One more word from you, and I’ll have a session with you tonight,’ Latham warned her in a brittle tone. He had already beaten her once at the house.

  She disappeared back into the kitchen. Feeling responsible for Seger.

  ‘You didn’t answer me,’ Latham then said to Seger.

  ‘Huh? Oh, I’m just passing through. Look, mister. I ain’t no danger to nobody. I’m just a boy that minds his own business, you know what I mean?’

  Over in his chair, Sloan was shaking his head. Latham began rapping his fingers on the table in front of him. He looked up at Seger. ‘I got no hard feelings for you, Seger. You can rest easy on that score.’

  Something that had grabbed Seger’s insides like a clammy hand now released its hold on him a little.

  ‘I’m actually a little sorry you came out here,’ Latham went on. ‘Considering the situation it puts you in that’s irreversible.’

  Sloan let a quiet, grunting grin move his face. Seger turned quickly and stared at him then turned a puzzled look at Latham.

  ‘Situation?’ Seger managed.

  Latham arched his brow. ‘Why yes. It’s pretty obvious you can’t leave here now. Whatever happened with the girl. It’s our privacy, you see.’

  Seger frowned heavily at him. ‘Can’t leave? But I have to leave.’

  ‘It’s too bad. You’re just a clabber-for-brains nobody that don’t deserve this. Would you like a cup of coffee? I’m sure Dulcie has a pot ready out there.’

  Seger was beginning to understand. He tried to speak, but his tongue clicked on his mouth. ‘No, thanks. But. About leaving.’

  ‘I’ve often wondered,’ Latham said, as if Seger had not spoken, ‘if I was shot, where I would prefer it. You know, if it was a fatal shot. In the head, or right over the heart. Both would be fast, of course. But maybe the head shot would be a little faster for you. On the other hand, some men might have an objection to getting it in the face. What do you think, Seger? How would you like to receive that fatal shot?’

  Seger couldn’t speak now. He tried twice and failed.

  ‘Just mention your preference to Ira, and he’ll remember your choice,’ Latham added. ‘I’m going to have a cup of coffee. You sure you won’t join me first?’

  ‘Don’t – do this,’ Seger croaked out.

  ‘Well, OK.’ He rose. ‘Now you can get up.’ He turned to Sloan. ‘Go find Weeks. After it’s over, let him do the dirty work. There’s a shovel in the shed.’ He helped Seger to his feet. ‘You go along with Ira. You and he and Weeks can talk about your afternoon at the saloon.’

  ‘Please,’ Seger said thickly.

  ‘Go on now.’

  Sloan took Seger by the arm, and Seger almost collapsed from his grasp. A moment later they left together, and a couple of minutes after that a shot rang out from behind the house.

  In the kitchen, Dulcie jumped slightly, and a shiver passed through her. Then Latham was there, looking relaxed and casual. ‘Now. What’s on for supper, girl?’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sumner had been on the trail for several days. He was riding a route that he figured Latham would take as he was headed for the Oklahoma Territory. He had inquired at saloons, hotels and marshals’ offices in Sioux Falls, Keamey and Wichita, but without any evidence that Latham had been in any of those places. Now he had ridden into Dodge City.

  He had been there on other occasions. The last time there he had tracked down a serial killer who called himself The Mortician, and had killed him in a wild gunfight in a saloon there. The marshal L. C. Hartman didn’t like him, and had ordered him not to come back. But
Sumner paid no attention to the wishes of marshals or sheriffs. Many of them disliked bounty hunters as much as outlaws.

  Sumner checked again at two hotels and three saloons without luck, and was beginning to wonder if he had been right in his assessment of Latham’s destination. The last saloon he stopped at was the Long Branch, run by Luke Short who was a personal friend of Wyatt Earp, and had helped Earp recently end the Dodge City War with reformers peaceably. Earp and Doc Holliday were now long gone. But Sumner had met Earp in that very saloon a few years ago.

  After having a quick drink with Short at the bar that evening, and being told he had never seen or heard of Latham or his men, Sumner joined three drifters at a nearby table who were playing One-Eyed Jacks.

  They were all strangers to him, and a rough-looking bunch. The tallest of them sitting directly across from Sumner eyed Sumner’s neat black attire with obvious disdain, thinking Sumner was a New Orleans or Natchez gambler.

  ‘You from around here?’ he asked Sumner as he dealt the cards for the first time to Sumner.

  ‘No,’ Sumner responded absently, receiving his hand and fanning the cards out.

  The other man grunted. His face was lean and bony, with a badly broken nose. He wore a soiled neckerchief and a crushed-in, weather-mauled Stetson over shaggy hair. Hearing Sumner’s curt response, he turned and exchanged a look with the drifter on his left, who was a short, stocky man with rheumy eyes. The third fellow, on Sumner’s left, didn’t look like he was with the other two. He was fairly well dressed and had a round, pleasant face.

  ‘Pleasured to meet you, mister. I didn’t catch your name.’ Adjusting his cards.

  ‘I didn’t pitch it,’ Sumner responded.

  The tall one was studying Sumner’s face. The friendly one beside Sumner wasn’t deterred yet by Sumner. ‘I wouldn’t ask where you’re headed.’

  Sumner laid his cards down and looked over at him. ‘Do you really need to know that, to play a few hands of cards with me?’

  Round Face was embarrassed, finally. ‘Sorry, mister. I didn’t mean to get crossways of nobody.’

  Sumner’s face softened. ‘I don’t have a destination, boy. I just ride the trail. Trying to survive. Now can we play cards?’

  ‘Just keep your hands above the table, Fancy Dan.’

  Grinning at his companion. They had ridden in together at noon, and were hoping to make some quick cash at Luke Short’s card table.

  Sumner ignored the jab. He just wanted to pass the time for an hour or two before he returned to his hotel down the street. Winning or losing meant almost nothing to him. The tall man put his ante in and there was small betting around the table, and the tall man won the pot.

  ‘I’ll bet that surprised you, didn’t it, New Orleans?’ A harsh grin at Sumner.

  ‘Why should it surprise me?’ Sumner said evenly.

  ‘You know why,’ the tall fellow replied.

  Sumner gave him a sombre look. The man on Sumner’s right, the stocky, rather pudgy fellow, dealt the cards and the hand was played out rather quickly, and Sumner won. He raked in the pot as the tall drifter watched sullenly. Now it was Sumner’s turn to deal, and he saw the tall fellow watching him closely as he dealt. Another hand was played, and the tall man bet big, and Sumner showed three jacks and won again. As he started to rake in the pot, the tall man stopped him.

  ‘Just leave it there, New Orleans.’ His hand was out over the Remington Army .44 on his belt.

  Sumner released his hold on the pot. ‘Anything the matter?’

  ‘I think you stacked the deck on your deal.’

  Sumner grunted out a short laugh. ‘I’ve never cheated at cards in my life. Frankly, I wouldn’t be any good at it.’

  ‘I say you cheated, and I say that pot stays there, and you leave while you still can.’

  Sumner just shook his head. ‘Look. I came over here to relax for a while, not get into a big hooraw with anybody.’

  ‘I’ll just bet you don’t want trouble,’ the drifter grinned harshly. ‘You just thought you’d clean us out and walk out of here like nothing happened. Well, that don’t work at our table, Dandy. Now, if you reach for that pot again, I’ll blow your liver out past your backbone.’

  The round-faced fellow looked tense. ‘Mister, I didn’t see this man do no cheating.’ Tentatively.

  ‘Just keep out of it,’ the tall man growled at him.

  ‘Yeah, keep out,’ his stocky companion echoed.

  The other tables around them had gone suddenly quiet. Sumner was becoming impatient with the whole situation. ‘I don’t think you ought to push that saucy line too far, String Bean. You’re getting right into my craw.’

  Meanwhile, Luke Short had come around the bar and was heading for their table. He hadn’t heard any of the exchange. ‘How are the cards running, boys?’ He saw the scowl on the tall drifter’s face, but paid no attention to it. Before anybody at the table could speak, he turned to Sumner. ‘There’s a man up at the bar says he has something that might interest you, Sumner. When you’re through here?’

  Both the tall man and his cohort looked quickly towards Short.

  ‘What did you call him?’ the tall fellow said slowly.

  Short smiled. ‘Oh, I thought you’d introduced yourselves. This here is Wesley Sumner. Sometimes known as Certainty Sumner. Because of what he does for a living.’

  But Sumner was looking towards the bar and the man Short had gestured towards. ‘Is that the man?’

  ‘Yes, the one nursing the glass of rum.’

  Now the tall card player was frowning hard towards Sumner, and then he caught Luke Short’s eye. ‘Wait a minute. Did you say this is Certainty Sumner?’

  Short nodded. ‘The same, gentlemen. The one and only.’

  ‘Holy Mother,’ the stocky man muttered, turning towards Sumner with an awed look.

  ‘My God!’ Round Face whispered, looking at Sumner as if he had never set eyes on him before.

  The tall drifter brought his gunhand up to his face and slid it across his mouth. Still smiling, Short left to return to the bar. The drifter cleared his throat.

  ‘You’re Certainty Sumner?’ In a hollow voice.

  Sumner regarded him soberly. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Good God. Forget what I said, Sumner. I know you’d never cheat at cards. What the hell was I thinking?’

  ‘You don’t know what I’d do or not do,’ Sumner responded, raking the pot in. He rose from his chair. ‘But you’re one lucky card player, mister. Luke Short just saved your life.’

  Then, with the three men staring slack-jawed after him, Sumner walked over to the bar, the Peacemaker on his hip suddenly looking like a cannon to the men at the table.

  Sumner came up beside a very thin, lean-faced cowboy wearing ranch clothes and riding chaps. Sumner ordered a drink and the cowpoke looked over at him. ‘I heard you talking to Luke. Sorry. Didn’t mean to steal no privacy. I guess you’re after three men.’

  Sumner received his drink from Short’s bartender and threw a coin on to the bar. ‘Yes. And a girl.’

  The cowboy swigged a beer. ‘I heard about you. You worked for Clay Allison for a while.’

  Sumner didn’t pick up the shot glass before him. ‘Is that why you got me over here?’

  ‘No, no. My boss knew Allison. Said after his wild days he become a Webster on cattle.’ He grinned. ‘But he was a hard case for a while there.’

  Sumner picked up the shot glass and downed its contents. ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me.’

  He started to leave, but the cowpoke stopped him. ‘No, wait, Sumner. I got something that might be important to you.’

  Sumner sighed. ‘Then spit it out. I want my mount bedded down.’

  The cowboy turned to face him. ‘I reckon you ain’t had no luck asking about your three men here. Or elsewhere.’

  ‘Your time is running out,’ Sumner said curtly.

  A quick nod. ‘Well, yesterday I was out looking for quail, for the supper table. South
and a little east of here. I stumbled on a camp site where some riders had made hardship camp for the night.’

  Sumner’s eyes narrowed down. ‘Go on.’

  ‘The camp was a few days old. But there was still the tracks of several horses in dried-up mud. It could have been four.’

  Sumner’s face settled into pensive lines. ‘Are you pretty sure it could have been four?’

  ‘Pretty sure. And that matches the number you’re watching for. Right?’

  Sumner responded abstractedly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I figure your party to be avoiding towns altogether,’ the other man went on smugly, ‘and are camping out every night to get where they’re going.’

  Now Sumner’s face softened. That idea had occurred to him, but he hadn’t pursued it. ‘That might be very helpful. I’m much obliged. Exactly where is this camp site?’

  ‘Take the main trail south for a half-hour till you come to a tall cottonwood. Turn off the trail there to the east, and ride a short distance to a small stream. You should find it within a few hundred yards along that stream bank.’

  Sumner nodded, and laid a double-eagle gold coin on the bar. ‘Here. You earned it.’

  After some weak objections the cowboy accepted the reward, and Sumner was on his way out the door.

  Outside he stood on the porch for a moment, assessing what had just transpired. It was dark now and he would find lodgings in Dodge for the night, then head out early tomorrow to find the camp site the cowboy had mentioned. He hadn’t looked around him because of his musing on the new information. But then he heard the soft cocking of a sidearm behind him.

  Sumner drew, whirled, and fell into a half-crouch in one fluid motion. And there was the tall drifter from the card table, revolver already out and aimed at Sumner’s chest. But he didn’t fire. Seeing the Colt levelled at him, he threw down.

  Sumner hesitated. The man’s companions were gone. He shook his head and dropped the Colt to his side. ‘What the hell were you thinking?’

  The tall drifter grinned, embarrassed. ‘I got this crazy idea. To be the man that took down Certainty Sumner. Go ahead, shoot me. I deserve it.’