Trail of the Apache and Other Stories

  “Ben,” he said, “you take Dobie with you and

  cut for that back street yonder and come up behind

  the livery. Don’t let anybody see you and hush the

  stableman if he gets loud about what you’re doing.

  Maybe Butzy’ll come along, Ben—if he isn’t there

  already.”

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  I looked at Emmett watching Ben Templin and

  Dobie Shaw cut off, and there it was. His old face

  again. All closed and hard with the crow’s feet

  streaking from the corners of his eyes. And his

  mouth tight like it used to be when he thought and

  ordered men at the same time, because he always

  knew what he was doing. You could see Emmett

  knew what he was doing now, that he’d set his

  mind. And when Emmett Ryan set his mind his

  pride saw to it that it stayed set.

  Emmett walked his mount down the left side of

  the narrow main street with the rest of us strung

  out behind. When he veered over to a hitchrack

  about halfway down the second block, we veered

  with him and tied up, straggled along before two

  store fronts.

  Em stepped up on the boardwalk and moved

  leisurely toward the Senate House hotel almost at

  the end of the block. He stopped as he crossed the

  alley next to the hotel and nodded to Lloyd Cohane, then bent his head toward the alley and

  moved it in a half-circle over his big shoulders.

  Lloyd moved off down the alley toward the back of

  the hotel.

  “Go on with him, Ned,” Em whispered. “Stick

  near the kitchen door and if anybody but the cook

  comes out shoot his pants off.”

  Ned moved off after Lloyd, both carrying carbines. Em looked at Gosh and me, but didn’t say

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  anything. He just looked and that meant we were

  with him and supposed to back up anything he did.

  Then he turned toward the hotel and slipped his revolver out in the motion. Gosh moved right after

  him and pointed the barrel of his Winchester out in

  front of him.

  Two idlers sitting in front of the hotel stared at

  us trying to make out they weren’t staring, and as

  soon as we passed them I heard their chairs scrape

  and their footsteps hurrying down the boards. A

  man across the street pushed through the saloon

  doors without even putting his hands out. A rider

  slowed up in front of the hotel as if about to turn in

  and then he kicked his mount into a trot down the

  street.

  In the hotel lobby you could still hear the horse

  clopping down the street and it made the lobby

  seem even more quiet and comfortable, feeling the

  coolness inside and picturing the horse on the dusty

  street. But there was the clerk with his mouth open

  watching Emmett walk toward the café entrance,

  his spurs chinging with each step.

  It seemed like, for a show like this, everything

  was moving too fast. The next thing, we were in the

  café part and Jack Ryan and Joe Anthony and the

  other man were looking at us like they couldn’t believe their eyes.

  None of them moved. Jack’s jaw was open with a

  mouthful of beef, his eyes almost as wide open as

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  his mouth. The other man had a taco in his fingers

  raised halfway to his mouth and he just held it

  there. Didn’t move it up or down. Joe Anthony’s

  right hand was around a glass of something yellow

  like mescal. His left hand was below the level of the

  table. The three of them had their hats on, pushed

  back, and they looked dirty and tired.

  Jack chewed and swallowed hard and then he

  smiled. “Damn, Em, you must have flown!”

  The other man looked at us one at a time slowly,

  then shrugged his shoulders and said, “What the

  hell,” and shoved the taco in his mouth.

  Joe Anthony wiped the back of his hand over his

  mouth and moved the hand back, smoothing the

  long mustaches with the knuckle of his index finger. The other hand was still under the table.

  Emmett held his revolver pointed square at Joe

  Anthony and seemed to be unmindful of the other

  two men. Lloyd and Ned came through the kitchen

  door and moved around behind Emmett.

  “Get up,” Em ordered. “And take off your

  belts.”

  Somebody’s chair scraped, but Joe Anthony said,

  “Hold it!” and it was quiet.

  Anthony was staring back at Emmett. “Do I look

  like a green kid to you, Ryan?” he said, and half

  smiled. “You’re not telling anybody what to do,

  cowboy.”

  “I said get up,” Em repeated.

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  Joe Anthony kept on smiling like he thought Emmett was a fool. He shook his head slowly. “Ryan,

  the longer you stand there, the shorter your chances

  are of leaving here on your two feet.”

  “You’re all mouth,” Emmett said. “Just mouth.”

  The outlaw’s expression didn’t change. His face

  was good-looking in a swarthy kind of way, but

  gaunt and hungry-looking with pale, shallow eyes

  like a man who forgot where his conscience was, or

  that he ever had one.

  His smile sagged a little and he said, “Ryan, let’s

  quit playing. You ride the hell out of here before I

  shoot you.”

  “I’m not playing,” Emmett said, leveling the revolver. “Get up, quick.”

  “Ryan,” Joe Anthony whispered impatiently,

  “I’ve had a Colt leveled on your belly since the second you come through that doorway.”

  I thought I knew Emmett Ryan, but I didn’t

  know him as well as I supposed. His face didn’t

  change its expression, but his finger moved on the

  trigger and the room filled with the explosion. His

  thumb yanked on the hammer and he fired again

  right on top of the first one.

  Joe Anthony went back with his chair, fell hard

  and lay still. His pistol was still in the holster on his

  right hip.

  Emmett looked down at him. “You’re all mouth,

  Anthony. All mouth.”

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  Nobody said anything after that. We were looking at Em and Em was looking at Joe Anthony

  stretched out on the floor. I heard steps behind me

  and there was Dobie Shaw tiptoeing in and looking like he’d dive out the window if anybody said

  anything.

  Emmett waved his gun at the other man and

  glanced at his brother. “Who’s this?”

  Jack spoke easily. “Earl Roach. We picked him

  up for a trail driver. He didn’t know it was rustled

  stock.”

  Roach was unfastening his gun belt. He shot a

  look toward Jack. “Boy,” he said, “you take care of

  your troubles and I’ll take care of mine.”

  Dobie Shaw moved up behind Emmett hesitantly

  and waited for the big foreman to look his way.

  “Mr. Ryan—Ben’s holding Butzy over to the livery.” He went on hurriedly trying to get the whole
>
  story out before Em asked any questions. “Butzy

  walked right in and didn’t move after Ben throwed

  down on him, but there was another one back a

  ways and he turned and rode like hell when he saw

  me and Ben with our guns out. Me and Ben didn’t

  even get a shot at him ’fore he was round the corner

  and gone.”

  “All right, Dobie. You go on back with Ben.”

  Emmett hesitated and glanced at Jack like he was

  making up his mind all over again, but the doubt

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  passed off quickly. He said, “We’ll be over directly.

  You go on and tell Ben to keep Butzy right there.”

  ✯ ✯ ✯

  Frank Butzinger was flat against the boards of a

  stall, though Ben Templin was standing across the

  open part of the stable smoking a cigarette with his

  carbine propped against the wall. Ben wasn’t paying any attention to him, but even in the dim light

  you could see Butzy was about ready to die of

  fright.

  Gosh Hall pushed Jack and Earl Roach toward

  the stall that Butzy was in and mumbled something,

  probably swearing. Jack looked around at him with

  a half smile and shook his head like a father playing

  Indians with his youngster. Humoring him.

  Emmett stood out in the open part with the rest

  of us spread around now. He said, “You sell the

  stock yet?”

  “A few,” Jack answered. “We got almost a hundred head.”

  “You got the money?”

  “What do you think?”

  The foreman motioned to Gosh Hall. “Get some

  line and tie their hands behind them.”

  The little cowboy’s face brightened and he

  moved into the stall lifting a coil of rope from the

  side wall. When he pulled his knife and started to

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  cut it into pieces, the stableman came running over.

  He’d been standing in the front doorway, but I

  hadn’t noticed him there before.

  He ran over yelling, “Hey, that’s my rope!”

  Gosh reached out, laughing, and grabbed one of

  his braces and snapped it against his faded redflannel undershirt. “Get back, old man, you’re interfering with justice.” Then he pushed the man

  hard against the stall partition.

  Emmett took hold of his elbow and pulled him

  out toward the front of the livery. “You stay out

  here,” he said. “This isn’t any of your business.”

  He turned from the man and nodded his head to

  the stalls where three horses were.

  The stable was large, high-ceilinged, with stalls

  lining both sides. The open area was wide, but

  longer than it was wide, with heavy timbers overhead reaching from lofts on both sides that ran the

  length of the stable above the stalls. The stable was

  empty but for the three horses toward the back.

  “Bring those horses up here.” Em said it to no

  one in particular.

  When Dobie and Ned and I led the mounts up, I

  heard Lloyd ask Em if he should go get our horses.

  Em shook his head, but didn’t say anything.

  Lloyd said, “Shouldn’t we be getting out to the

  stock, Em?”

  “We got time. Neal’s watching the cows,” Em reminded him. “The man that was with Butzy spread

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  his holler if there were any others out there. They’d

  be halfway to Santa Fe by now.”

  He turned on Gosh impatiently. “Come on, get

  ’em mounted.”

  I picked up one of their saddles from the rack

  and walked up behind Gosh, who was pushing the

  three men toward the horses.

  “Look out, Gosh. Let me get the saddles on before you get in the way. You can’t throw ’em on

  with your arms behind your back.”

  Gosh twisted his mouth into a smile and looked

  past me at Emmett. There was a wad of tobacco in

  his cheek that made his thin face lopsided, like a

  jagged rock with hair on it. He shifted the wad, still

  smiling, and then spit over to the side.

  “You tell him, Em,” he said.

  Emmett looked at me with his closed-up, leathery face. He stared hard as if afraid his eyes would

  waver. “They don’t need the saddles.”

  Gosh swatted me playfully with the end of rope

  in his hand. “Want me to paint you a picture, Charlie?” He laughed and walked out through the wide

  entrance.

  Gosh didn’t have to paint a picture. Ben Templin

  dropped his cigarette. Lloyd and Ned and Dobie

  just stared at Emmett, but none of them said anything. Em stood there like a rock and stared back

  like he was defying anybody to object.

  The boys looked away and moved about uncom- 124

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  fortably. They weren’t about to go against Emmett

  Ryan. They were used to doing what they were told

  because Em was always right, and weren’t sure that

  he wasn’t right even now. A hanging isn’t an uncommon thing where there is little law. Along the

  Pecos there was less than little. Still, it didn’t rub

  right—even if Em was following his conscience, it

  didn’t rub right.

  I hesitated until the words were in my mouth and

  I’d have had bit my tongue off to hold them back.

  “You setting yourself up as the law?” It was supposed to have a bite to it, but the words sounded

  weak and my voice wasn’t even.

  Emmett said, “You know what the law is.” He

  beckoned to the coil of rope Gosh had hung back

  on the boards. “That’s it right there, Charlie. You

  know better than that.” Emmett was talking to

  himself as well as me, but you didn’t remind that

  hardheaded Irishman of things like that.

  “Look, Em. Let’s get the law and handle this

  right.”

  “It’s black and white, it’s two and two, if you

  steal cows and get caught you hang.”

  “Maybe. But it’s not up to you to decide. Let’s

  get the law.”

  “I’ve already decided,” was all he said.

  The stable hand crept up close to us and waited

  until there was a pause. “The deputy ain’t here,”

  the old man said. “He rode down to Lincoln yester-The Rustlers

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  day morning to join the posse.” He waited for

  someone to show interest, but no one said a word.

  “They’re getting a posse up on account of there’s

  word Bill Bonney’s at Fort Sumner.”

  He stepped back looking proud as could be over

  his news. I could have kicked his seat flat for what

  he said.

  Gosh came back with two coiled lariats on his

  arm and a third one in his hands. He was shaping a

  knot at one end of it.

  Earl Roach looked at Gosh, then up to the heavy

  rafter that crossed above the three horses, then

  Jack’s head went up too.

  Gosh spit and grinned at them, forming a loop in

  the second rope. “What’d you expect’d happen?”

  Jack kept his eyes on the rafter. “I didn’t expect

  to get caught.”

  “Jack’s always smil
ing into the sunshine, ain’t

  he?” Gosh pushed Earl Roach toward his horse.

  “Mount up, mister.”

  Roach jerked his shoulder away from him. “I

  look like a bird to you? You want me up on that

  horse, you’ll have to put me up.”

  “Earl, I’ll put you up and help take you down.”

  When he got to Butzy and offered him a leg up,

  Butzy made a funny sound like a whine and started

  to back away, but Gosh grabbed him by his shirt before he took two steps. Butzy looked over Gosh’s

  bony shoulder, his eyes popping out of his pasty face.

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  “Em, what you fixin’ to do?” His voice went up

  a notch, and louder. “What you fixin’ to do? You

  just scarin’ us, Em?”

  If it was a joke, Butzy didn’t want to play the

  fool, but you could tell by his voice what he was

  thinking. Em didn’t answer him.

  Gosh finished knotting the third rope and

  handed it to Dobie, who looked at it like he’d never

  seen a lariat before.

  Gosh said, “Make yourself useful and throw that

  rope over the rafter.”

  He went out and brought his horse in and

  mounted so he could slip the nooses over their

  heads, but he stood in the stirrups and still couldn’t

  reach the tops of their heads. Emmett told him to

  get down and ordered Ben Templin to climb up and

  fix the ropes. Ben did it, but Em had to tell him

  three times.

  Before he jumped down, Ben lighted cigarettes

  and gave them to Jack and Earl. Butzy was weaving

  his head around so Ben couldn’t get one in his

  mouth. Just rolling his head around with his eyes

  closed, moaning.

  Gosh looked up at him and laughed out loud.

  “You praying, Butzy?” he called out. “Better pray

  hard, you ain’t got much time,” and kept on

  laughing.

  Ben Templin made a move toward Gosh, but Emmett caught his arm.

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  “Hold still, Ben.” He looked past him at Gosh.

  “You can do what you’re doing with your mouth

  shut.”

  Gosh moved behind the horses with the short end

  of rope in his hand. He edged over behind Earl

  Roach’s horse. “Age before beauty, I always say.”

  Butzy’s eyes opened up wide. “God, Em! Please

  Em—please—honest to God—I didn’t know they