Frontier of Violence Page 3

  “What about giving ’em back their guns?”

  “Not their handguns, no. They likely have rifles as part of their saddle gear. That’ll be good enough for up in the mountains. Make sure they understand that if they come back to town for any reason in the future, they’re to confine their dealings to Gold Avenue. And at the first sign of any more trouble out of them or if I see them down here again in Old Town, I will toss ’em in the clink and throw away the key.”

  Deputy Fred nodded. “Got it, boss. I’ll go on over to Doc Tibbs’s office now and stick with the Macys until we’re sure those skunks are on their way out of town.”

  After taking a final furtive glance at the voluptuous Maudie (and blushing faintly once he had), Fred turned and threaded his considerable bulk out through the crowd that had now gathered inside Bullock’s.

  Watching him go, Maudie said with a fond smile, “He reminds me of a totally dedicated puppy dog whenever he’s around you.”

  “He’s dedicated, true enough. Which I’m glad of and better off for,” Bob said. “As far as the puppy part, he’s proven more than once—to the surprise and misfortune of a few hombres who made the mistake of also seeing him that way—that he’s got a bulldog side to him, too, when the need is there.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that,” Maudie replied. “I meant nothing disparaging by what I said. Fred has truly come into his own as a reliable lawman for our town, especially after all that trouble with the Sanders gang last spring. And the way he looks out for your two newer deputies, the Macy brothers, is equally impressive.”

  A half hour had passed since Bob had drawn his gun against Jax and his two companions. The sound of the shots blasting out of Bullock’s in the still afternoon had quickly drawn attention. Not to mention a gathering of those hungry to hear all the gory details and thirsty to sample some of the fare from behind the saloon bar while they were being regaled. There was nothing like an outburst of trouble to draw a good crowd.

  And none other than Mike Bullock himself, taking over duties behind the stick, was happy to provide these details, complete with colorful embellishments—and even happier to provide a steady flow of shots and beers to his listeners. Joining in this follow-up were Delbert Carey and the other card players whose game had been interrupted by the ruckus. They were now benefiting from said interruption via the drinks being bought them in exchange for also hearing their eyewitness accounts of the events that had occurred. Nor, as it turned out, were any of them shy about also laying things on a little thick.

  Only Bob and Maudie were exhibiting any reluctance when it came to participating in the rehash. When his deputies showed up in response to the shooting, Bob had naturally related to them what had happened. After that, once his men took charge of the troublemakers, he didn’t figure he owed a whole lot of explaining to anybody else. In fact, he probably would have taken his leave at that point if he hadn’t seen how Maudie appeared a little shaken up in the aftermath of the trouble. So he steered her off to a table on the fringe of the pack and then stuck around to help her get settled down and to ward off her being bombarded by those wanting still another account of what had happened. A couple of the hostesses had come down from upstairs, and one of them had brought over a brandy for Maudie and a cold beer for Bob.

  “If I wasn’t already full up with deputies,” Bob said now, trying to lighten the mood a bit, “I might approach you about pinning on a badge. The way you tossed that whiskey bottle and distracted everybody so I had an opening to disarm Jax, you sure showed you’ve got enough grit for the job.”

  Maudie shook her head. “Don’t tell me about grit. The only reason I did what I did was because I was scared—scared that either that piece of trash Jax was going to shoot Mike or that you were going to do something reckless enough to get your own self shot. Plus, I have to admit, I was worried about my own hide in case too much lead started flying around.”

  Bob shrugged. “Call it whatever you want. What you did was still brave and it for sure helped things turn out better than they otherwise might have.”

  “If you insist,” said Maudie. Then, after taking a sip of her brandy, she added, “But I still don’t recommend placing me on a list for future deputy candidates.”

  “Probably just as well,” Bob responded with a wry smile. “In order for me to be able to pin a badge on you, you’d have to start wearing a shirt or some such. If you took to doing that on my account, I’d have half the men in town wanting to string me up.”

  Maudie’s expression clouded. “After the crude way Jax came on to me—and he was hardly the first—maybe I would be better off dressing different, covering up more.”

  “Do what you think is best,” Bob advised her. “But don’t be in a hurry to let a piece of crud like Jax influence your decision.”

  Maudie finished her drink. “You’re right. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Then she smiled somewhat coyly. “Especially now that I’ve found out you take notice of the way I dress.”

  Bob felt his ears burn a little. Meeting her gaze, he said, “I’ve got eyes and a pulse, don’t I? Fella’d have to be lacking both not to take notice of you, Maudie.”

  Her smile widened. “With you, I’ve too often been left wondering.”

  Before Bob could respond further, a ripple of increased excitement and a surge of louder voices ran through the crowd gathered in the middle of the room. It didn’t sound like a sign of serious trouble but it nevertheless was something different, some new development. It piqued Bob’s curiosity enough so that he stood up to peer over and through the bobbing heads that filled the room until he was able to spot what was taking place. Maudie stood up, too, but she was too short and the mass of bodies was too thick for her to make out anything.

  “What is it? What’s going on?” she asked.

  “August Gafford and a gaggle of his followers just came in,” Bob told her. He arched a brow. “This could turn out to be real interesting.”

  “It could be interesting or it could turn ugly,” Maudie said with a concerned look on her face. “I’d better get over there behind the bar with Mike and try to keep him from saying or doing something rash. Wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to work your way out into the crowd, either.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “You’ve got a lot of brass showing up here,” Bullock growled as soon as he saw Gafford shouldering his way up to a spot in front of the bar.

  Gafford was a tall man of about fifty, impeccably dressed in a swallowtail coat and matching vest of powder blue. A modified, short-crowned top hat of the same color perched rakishly on a headful of wavy gray hair. His most memorable feature of all, however, was a set of big, bright teeth that he flashed at every opportunity.

  He did so now, in response to Bullock’s greeting, beaming a wide smile. “Yes, I suppose it does take a certain amount of brass to enter an establishment that regularly serves as a shooting gallery for the low-life ruffians it attracts as part of its clientele. But never let it be said that August Gafford is lacking in nerve or a spirit for adventure.”

  “In the first place,” Bullock said in a strained voice, “my joint is as safe and free of riffraff—present company excepted—as any you’ll find on the frontier. In most cases, I take personal responsibility for making sure of that. And, in the second place, that wasn’t what I was talking about in the first place.”

  Gafford lifted his eyebrows. “Then what were you talking about? Could it be you were you referring to my mere presence here?”

  “You hit the nail on the head, bub. That’s exactly what I was referring to!”

  By this point, all the other chatter in close proximity to the two men had died down and every ear and eye was focused on what would be said next.

  “I find it rather surprising,” Gafford remarked smugly, “that you would object to anyone inclined toward spending money instead of shooting up the place. Take some friendly advice, friend, and rake in all the income you can over the next few days. Because, in less than a w
eek, after my establishment the Crystal Diamond opens up, I predict you’ll be desperately watching a sad decline in paying customers of any stripe.”

  “That does it!” Bullock roared. “Out! Get the hell out of my place, you showboating windbag, before I come around this bar and fling you headfirst into the street!”

  Gafford and those clustered closest around him surged backward at Bullock’s outburst. But before it could escalate further, Maudie quickly moved up beside her boss and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  “Hey, take it easy, Mike,” she said in a firm, soothing voice. “Haven’t we had enough excitement in here for one day?”

  “I got room for more,” grumbled Bullock stubbornly.

  “Then you ought to also have room for a little friendly competition. If Mr. Gafford wants to come in here and spend some of his money—like he’s been doing practically everywhere else in town—what’s the harm in letting him throw some our way?” Here Maudie’s voice rose a bit higher and louder and her eyes cut challengingly to Gafford himself. “In fact, if you let him stick around, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was willing to really demonstrate his brass and that spirit he spoke of a minute ago by offering to buy a round of drinks for everybody.”

  This sent a new ripple through the crowd, one of anticipation. Attention was quickly locked on Gafford to see what his reaction would be. For a brief moment, the showy businessman appeared to be caught off guard. But then, with another teeth-flashing smile and a sweep of one hand in acknowledgment of Maudie, he said, “I’ve got to hand it to you, friend Bullock, your associate is every bit as fetching and shrewd as I have heard. But what the hell—go ahead and set up a round of drinks on me!”

  What had been a ripple of anticipation now turned into a raucous swell of appreciation and shouted drink orders. Bullock found himself as trapped by Maudie’s sly maneuver as Gafford was, having little choice but to start filling and shoving glassfuls of beer and whiskey across the bar and into grabbing hands. Maudie did the same, and the two hostesses swooped in to help as well, distributing drinks farther back into the crowd. At the same time, Gafford, struggling a bit to maintain a tolerant grin, produced a roll of bills from which he kept peeling off payouts.

  By the time everybody in the room had been served at Gafford’s expense (a few probably more than once) and the frenzy was dying down, Bob stepped up and leaned on the bar next to the big spender.

  “Well now,” Gafford greeted him. “I may be the man of the moment, albeit fleetingly, but here is truly the man of the hour and the day by virtue of the way you shot it out with those scoundrels earlier. I was hoping I would run into you.”

  “I usually ain’t very hard to find,” Bob replied.

  “No. Of course you aren’t.” Gafford gestured. “I see you don’t have a drink in your hand. Did you get in on the round I just bought?”

  “I passed, actually. But I’m good.”

  “Ah, of course. On duty and all that. Correct?”

  “Something like that. Although it’s a rule I’ve been known to bend on occasion.”

  “As you have every right to do,” Gafford proclaimed. “I hope you’ll be partaking from time to time at my new establishment when it opens. And, needless to say, whenever you do, it will be gratis. It’s the least I can do—and the offer extends to your deputies as well—considering your service to our community.”

  “That ain’t exactly a new concept on your part,” Bullock said from his side of the bar. “The marshal and his boys are treated that way by most businesses in town.”

  “As they should be,” said Gafford. “Nevertheless, my invitation as far as the Crystal Diamond still stands. Which leads me to another invitation I want to be sure and extend—the one, as a matter of fact, that brought me here seeking you out, Marshal.”

  “Oh? And what would that be?”

  Gafford beamed another one of his toothy smiles. “I assume you’ve heard of the shooting match I am promoting as part of the grand opening of my Crystal Diamond?”

  “Hard to miss hearing about it, what with all the flyers circulating around town and the talk they’re generating.”

  “Talk is cheap. Takes money to buy whiskey,” Bullock muttered to no one in particular.

  “Not all talk is cheap,” Gafford countered. “Ever since arriving in Rattlesnake Wells I’ve been hearing talk about its highly regarded marshal, how he is a quiet, unassuming family man except when hardcases show up to try and cause trouble. The incident here from just a little while ago, I think you’d agree, would be a good example of that. An example of the kind of incident that brings out the Sundown Bob persona, if you will, and the blazing gun skills that come with it.”

  Bullock shook his head. “Gafford, you can use more words and say less than anybody I ever heard or heard of. What the hell are you driving at?”

  “And just for the record,” advised the marshal, “I ain’t exactly crazy about that ‘Sundown Bob’ moniker.”

  “Very well. I’ll keep that in mind,” said Gafford. “But the perception—and proof, you can hardly deny—of your gunmanship remains. That is the point I’m trying to get to. Simply put, if you aren’t already planning on it, I am in hopes that I can encourage you to sign up for the upcoming shooting match.”

  “Hey now,” said Bullock. “Much as it pains me to agree with any part of all this grand opening hoopla, that ain’t a half-bad idea. You sure got the credentials, Bob. Hell, the event is bound to take place—you might as well win it as anybody.”

  “Had you thought about entering?” Maudie said, joining in the discussion. With the details of the shooting having been told and retold and the round of free drinks now history, the crowd was starting to thin out again in a steady trickle.

  Bob pushed his eyebrows up. “To tell the truth, no, I haven’t given the contest much thought one way or another. After all, the flyers and the announcement only just came out this morning.”

  “So go ahead and start giving it some thought, then,” urged Maudie. “You really should enter. You’d be certain to win.”

  “Odds-on favorite, that’s for sure,” agreed Bullock.

  “And,” said Gafford, “think how much excitement it would add to have Sundown Bah . . . er, I mean, the town marshal entered as one of the contestants.”

  A thoughtful expression tugged at Bob’s face. “Now that you’ve all mentioned it, I gotta admit that the idea is sort of intriguing.” His expression gave way to a somewhat sheepish grin. “But say I did win, what the heck would I do with a pair of fancy gold-and-diamond six-shooters? Wouldn’t be like I could wear ’em on the job or anything.”

  “Why not?” said Gafford. “It only enhanced Wyatt Earp’s reputation when he started packing the Buntline Special that was presented to him.”

  Bob’s sheepish grin twisted wryly. “That’s only because Earp’s reputation was mostly just hogwash to begin with. Way I hear tell, other than that fracas at the O.K. Corral, he used a gun more for clubbing rowdies over the head than for doing any actual shooting. I suppose that long-barreled Buntline might have come in handy for something like that, but it sure as hell wasn’t practical for much else. Certainly not for drawing quick and firing in a shoot-out.”

  Now it was Maudie’s mouth that curved into a grin, a decidedly impish one. “If you resorted to that method around here, it could result in men lining up to purposely get clobbered over the head with a diamond-and-gold gun. They might see it as the closest they’d ever get to striking gold, in hopes some of the plating from the barrel scraped off on their scalp.”

  “If you’re worried about packing around those fancy shooters, I got the perfect solution,” said Bullock. He jabbed a thumb to indicate the large painting of a plumply voluptuous nude woman that hung on the wall behind the bar, centered amidst the display of liquor bottles. “Think how grand they’d look up there, bracketing Luscious Lucille. They’d look great and even add a classy touch.”

  “Now see here,” Gafford was quick
to sputter. “They’d add a touch of class this place could surely use, no doubt about that. But, if they’re going to be put on public display anywhere, it rightfully ought to be my establishment. After all—”

  “They can rightfully be displayed wherever the winner of the contest takes a mind to,” Bullock said, cutting him off.

  “Don’t get started again, you two,” Bob said, quelling any buildup of an argument. “Especially not since you’re getting the cart way ahead of the horse. I haven’t even signed up for the contest yet, let alone won it. Keep in mind there are plenty of good shooters besides me around these parts. And when news of this contest spreads, it’s bound to draw the best of ’em.”

  “When are you going to start signing up shooters?” Maudie asked Gafford. “And when are you going to hold the contest?”

  “Sign-ups, which will require a twenty-five-dollar entry fee, will begin first thing on the day after tomorrow,” Gafford said. “A booth will be erected on the front steps of the Crystal Diamond and will be open for two days. The contest itself will be held on Friday, five days from now. At its conclusion, the doors of the Crystal Diamond will be opened for business.”

  “What about the big prize, the two jeweled guns?” Bob wanted to know. “Where are you keeping them and what steps are you taking to keep them safe? You haven’t approached me or my deputies about anything regarding them.”

  “The guns will be here on tomorrow’s train from Cheyenne,” Gafford explained. “The same train will also be carrying Miss Alora Dane and her Diamond Dollies. All will arrive, I assure you, with a good deal of fanfare.”

  His tone growing annoyed, Bob said, “And when were you gonna advise me about any of this so me and my men could be on alert? You start parading around gold-and-diamond-encrusted guns, you don’t recognize the chance for attracting the attention of some who might be inclined to make a grab for ’em without waiting to try their luck in a fair contest?”