“The same day you left.”
“You’re sure?” He kept staring at the front of the jail.
“I saw them take him inside,” Edith said calmly. “I haven’t seen him come out.”
“Edith, if you’re pullin’ a joke—”
She smiled. “What will you do, Phil?”
Sundeen did not answer her. The side of his face was pressed against the glass pane and he was looking down the street. Edith studied him for a moment not understanding, then she moved closer to the window and looked in the same direction. She saw then, halfway down the block, Frye and Danaher riding side by side and a line of riders strung out behind them.
“Mr. Sundeen—”
Edith heard the voice behind her, recognizing it, seeing Haig even before she turned. Phil wheeled, drawing his gun, and stopped dead seeing Haig Hanasian standing in the door. He carried a rifle in the crook of his arm, but it was pointed to the floor.
“Your father said I might find you here,” Haig said.
“What? He didn’t even know I was home.”
“You don’t know your father.”
“Haig, do you aim to use that rifle?”
“Why should I?”
“Then set it against the wall.” Sundeen grinned. “I thought you had designs of using it on me.”
“Not now,” Haig said quietly.
Edith moved toward him hesitantly. “How long have you been here?”
“For a few minutes,” Haig said. “I believe I came in when you were reminding Mr. Sundeen that you weren’t used to having outlaws in the living room.”
“Oh—”
“I agree, Edith.”
She looked at him surprised, then dropped her eyes again.
Sundeen shook his head. “I feel sorry for you, brother.”
“I think you’re the one to feel sorry for,” Haig said.
“Why?”
“You’re all alone. Now you have to run all by yourself.”
And as if this brought it back to mind, he said, angrily, “Where’s Digo?”
“He’s in jail.”
“He can’t be.”
Haig shrugged. “Go see for yourself.” He watched Sundeen go to the window, then turn from it abruptly and start to make a cigarette. His fingers seemed clumsy and rolling it he tore the paper, spilling the tobacco. He threw the shreds of it to the floor and walked over to the whisky bottle.
“That Frye—” he mumbled. He picked up the bottle and drank from it. “That goddamn Frye…he’s the one—” He sank into the chair then and hunched over, leaning on his knees holding the bottle between them, and for a time he seemed deep in thought and did not speak.
He took another drink. Frye was the one. Frye started it. A kid who thinks he’s something. Well maybe we ought to show this kid. Maybe we ought to throw it in his face and see what kind of a man he is—
What’re you doing runnin’ from a kid!
And suddenly it was no longer a game.
He stood up, looking at Haig. “You get ahold of this Frye. Tell him I’ll be in De Spain’s. Tell him in front of everybody I want to see him there…and if he says he won’t come, tell him then he better ride out of Randado before the hour’s up else I’ll gun him the hell out!”
18
As they entered the street, Danaher sidestepped his chestnut closer to Frye’s dun. “Are your friends in jail?”
Frye glanced at him questioningly.
“Tindal and Stedman,” Danaher said.
Frye shook his head. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“I didn’t see any reason for it. I told your man to let them go home.”
“You didn’t see any reason for it once before.”
Frye grinned. He was tired, but relaxed, and for a while he had even stopped thinking of Sundeen. He was looking forward to a good meal and a bed with sheets. After that he would start worrying about Sundeen again. He’d send wires to every major town in the Territory. Never finding him would be just as good, perhaps better than bringing him back. Frye sat in the saddle loosely following the walking motion of the horse. It felt good for a change not to be sitting on the edge of his nerves.
“I think they’ve had enough punishment for right now,” he said to Danaher, “without being locked up.”
Danaher shrugged. “They’re your prisoners.” He said then, “That reminds me, what are you going to do with Dandy Jim?”
“I’ll have to hand him over to the Army.”
“What was he doing, just drinking tulapai?”
“That’s all, though he caught his wife with somebody while he was drunk and fixed up her face.”
“They don’t care about things like that,” Danaher said. “Somebody will give him a lecture on the evils of tulapai and that’ll be the end of it.”
Along both sides of the street now Frye saw people stopping and turning to watch them ride by. Some of them waved; a few called out a welcome and he heard Danaher say, “They’re a little friendlier this time.”
Frye nodded thinking of the morning they had brought in Earl Beaudry.
“Maybe letting Tindal and Stedman go was a good idea after all,” Danaher said pleasantly. “Now all you have to do is nail Sundeen’s ears to the door and you’ll have their respect.”
There were more men under the wooden awning at De Spain’s. A hand went up here and there and Frye nodded to them. He was reining toward the jail when he saw Milmary Tindal standing in front of the store. She was watching him, her eyes remaining on him even as he returned her stare.
Go on in the jail, he thought. You don’t owe her anything. Let her wait a little bit if she’s got something to say. But he hesitated. What good would that do? He flicked his reins back again and turned away from Danaher, urging his gelding toward her now.
She looked up at him and for a moment neither of them spoke. Then he said, “Mil,” and stepped out of the saddle.
“Are you back for good, Kirby?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t get Sundeen.”
“Maybe he’ll turn himself in now.”
“Maybe.”
She hesitated, not knowing what to say, and her eyes left his.
“How’s your father?”
She looked at him again. “Fine. He’s resting. Kirby…we appreciate you not holding him in jail.”
“That’s all right.”
“Mama says he must’ve lost ten pounds.” She smiled and said this as if to make all of what had happened seem light and of little importance.
“He might’ve at that,” Frye said.
She hesitated again and for a moment neither of them spoke.
“Mil…I thought I’d call on you this evening.”
She smiled. “That would be fine, Kirby.”
He could see relief in her eyes and she looked suddenly as if she might cry.
“Why don’t we have supper together?” he said.
“All right—”
“Call for you at the store?”
“Fine, Kirby.”
He smiled at her, then turned away leading his gelding across the street. They’d have a long talk tonight; and in the darkness it would be easier for both of them.
Harold Mendez opened the door for him, stepping aside as Frye entered. Danaher was seated, swiveled around with his back to the desk.
“Everything all right, Kirby?”
Frye nodded. “It’ll take a few days to get back to normal.”
Harold Mendez said, “Everybody’s talking about you letting Tindal and Stedman go.”
“They still have to face the judge,” Frye said.
“But you could keep them locked up,” Harold said. “That’s what they’re talking about.” Harold’s gaze went to the open door, then shifted quickly to Danaher. “I thought you said Haig had disappeared?”
“He did,” Danaher said.
“He’s coming across the street.”
Frye turned to the window and Danaher came out of the chair.
Su
ddenly Harold said, “My God…look!”
De Spain’s doors were open and men were hurrying out, separating both ways along the adobe fronts, but most of them coming out to the street, then stopping to look back at De Spain’s. They were forming groups, talking, still keeping their eyes on the open doors. A man came out of the Metropolitan and called something and from the crowd someone called back to him, “Sundeen—”
Now Haig Hanasian came into the jail office. His eyes sought out Frye.
“Did you hear?”
“You mean he’s in De Spain’s?”
Haig nodded. “I have a message from him. He wants you to meet him inside.”
“You were talking to him?”
“For a few minutes. He came to find Digo.”
“Where?”
“In my living room.”
“Oh—”
“He was talking to my wife.”
Frye said quickly, “He came to find Digo and when you told him he’s in jail he asked for me?”
Haig nodded. “I think he finally realizes this is not a game…and he holds you responsible for what has happened. I think he enjoyed it when he had others with him, but now he is alone.”
“No, it’s not a game,” Danaher said mildly. He went to the gun rack and took down a Henry. “I’ll round up the others.”
Frye hesitated. “John, I better do this myself.”
“You don’t get extra pay doing it alone.”
“He’s calling me.”
“All right, you’ll show with a full house.”
“Remember, you said before I’d have to nail his ears to the door to get everybody’s respect.”
“I was just talking. What you did to Clay Jordan is enough. After that spreads around you’re good here for life.”
“John, I’m going over to talk to him.”
Danaher studied his deputy. He took a cigar from his breast pocket and bit the tip off. “Kirby, as far as I’m concerned you’ve got nothing to prove. Phil’s crazy enough to start shooting.” Danaher hesitated. “It wouldn’t be worth it.”
“He’d like to back me down,” Frye said. “Just to look good one last time.”
“Taking men with you isn’t backing down,” Danaher insisted.
“It would be to Phil,” Frye said. “And it might be to all those people outside.”
Harold Mendez said, “The hell with them.”
“It’s not that easy,” Frye said.
Harold shrugged. “It’s as easy as you want to make it.”
Frye started for the door and Danaher said quickly, “Kirby, he doesn’t use his head. You watch his gun now!”
“I will, John.”
He was outside then, going down the three steps and the men in the street were turning to look at him, those in his way stepping aside as he started across. He saw Milmary in front of the Metropolitan and he looked away from her quickly, his eyes returning to the dark square of De Spain’s open doorway.
His right hand hung at his side as he stepped up onto the porch and he felt his thumb brush the grip of the Colt. Take it slow, he thought. Don’t try to read his mind.
He walked into the dimness of De Spain’s.
Phil Sundeen stood three quarters of the way down the bar. He was facing the front, his left elbow on the edge of the bar and a three-ounce whisky glass was in his hand held waist high. His eyes stayed with Frye.
Behind the bar, De Spain waited until Frye stopped, ten feet separating him from Sundeen now. Then De Spain moved toward him.
Sundeen’s eyes shifted momentarily to De Spain. “Pour him a drink.”
Frye watched Sundeen and said nothing. He could see that Phil had been drinking. And now he watched him gulp the shot of whisky he was holding.
Sundeen brought the glass down on the bar. “Go ahead…drink it.”
“Why?”
“We’re seeing what kind of a man you are.”
“Then what?”
“I think,” Sundeen said, slowly, “you’re scared to raise the glass.”
Frye hesitated. He half turned to the bar, lifted the shot glass with his left hand and drank it in one motion. His eyes flashed back to Sundeen and he saw him grinning now.
“You thought I was going to draw on you,” Sundeen said.
“That can work both ways,” Frye said.
“If you’re man enough.” Sundeen grinned. He glanced at De Spain and the bartender filled their glasses again. Sundeen raised his, looking at Frye coolly, then drank it down.
“Why didn’t you try?” Sundeen said.
Frye said nothing.
“Maybe you’re not fast enough.”
Still Frye did not speak.
“Maybe you’re just a kid with a big mouth.”
“I’m not saying a word.”
“A kid with a big mouth and nothing to back it up,” Sundeen said evenly.
Frye hesitated.
“Take a drink!”
Frye half turned and drank the shot, using his left hand, taking his eyes from Sundeen only long enough to swallow the whisky. He watched Sundeen signal again and De Spain refilled their glasses.
“Kirby, you look nervous.” Sundeen lounged against the bar with his hip cocked.
“I’m just waiting for you,” Frye said.
Sundeen raised his whisky and drank it slowly, then turned to the bar to put the glass down, taking his eyes from Frye for a full five seconds before facing him again.
“There you had plenty of time,” Sundeen said. He grinned again. “Plenty of time, but not plenty of guts.”
Frye raised his glass unexpectedly and drained it. He saw the look of surprise on Sundeen’s face, then saw De Spain fill the glasses again, this time without a signal from Sundeen.
“Now he’s drinking for guts,” Sundeen said. “A couple more of them and he’ll be taking that goddamn warrant out.” He drank off his shot quickly. “Kirby, did you bring that warrant with you?”
“Right in my pocket,” Frye said. He saw De Spain fill Sundeen’s glass again.
“Let’s see you serve it.”
“Right now?”
“It don’t matter when. It’s no goddamn good anyway.”
“It’s got Judge Finnerty’s name on it.”
Sundeen grinned. “What else you got?”
“A witness outside. Merl White.”
“I can handle Merl any seven-day week.”
“What if Merl was standing right here?”
“That’d be his second big mistake.”
“Everybody’s wrong but you,” Frye said. He watched Sundeen take another drink. He did not touch his, but said quickly, “We let Tindal and Stedman go, but we’re going to lock you up tight until Judge Finnerty’s ready for you.”
“You’re not locking anybody up.”
“You’ll sit about three weeks waiting for the trial. Then Finnerty’ll send you to Yuma for a few years.” Frye glanced at De Spain and the bartender slid the bottle along the bar to Sundeen and filled his glass to the top. “Be the driest years you ever spent,” Frye said.
Sundeen raised the glass and drank it off, slamming the glass down on the bar. “I’d like to see Finnerty with enough guts to send me to Yuma!”
“You’ll see it.”
“He’s got guts like you have,” Sundeen said. “In his mouth.”
“Phil,” Frye said mildly, “how long have you been bluffing people?”
Sundeen grinned. “You think I’m bluffing?”
“You can shoot quicker, ride faster…drink more than anybody else.”
“You sound like you don’t believe it.”
“Well—”
Sundeen reached to the inside edge of the bar and picked up two of the shot glasses that were lined there and placed them next to the one he was using. He pulled the bottle from De Spain’s hand and filled them himself. And when the whisky was poured he raised each shot glass in turn, drinking the three of them down without pausing. His eyes squeezed closed and he belched, the
n he relaxed and rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth.
He looked at Frye. “Now it’s your turn.”
“I never made any claim as a drinker.” He saw Sundeen start to smile and he said to De Spain, “Go ahead,” then watched Sundeen again as the bartender filled the glasses. Sundeen lounged against the bar staring back at him.
Frye took his eyes from Sundeen momentarily, picking up the first glass, making himself relax. He glanced at Sundeen, then tossed it down, breathed in as he picked up the second one and drank it, feeling saliva thick in his mouth as he raised the third glass, then gulped it and made himself place the glass on the bar again gently. He breathed slowly with his mouth open, then swallowed to keep the saliva down, feeling the whisky burning in his chest and in his stomach. Nausea that was there momentarily passed off.
Now he felt more sure of himself, but he knew that it was the whisky and not a feeling he could trust. He could take more, if they did it slowly; but not many more even then. If he had to drink three consecutively again he knew he would not get the last one down. And thinking this he was suddenly less sure of himself. God, help me. Help me to hold on to myself. He breathed slowly, making himself relax. He’s had more than you have, but he wants to make a fool out of you and that’s all he’s thinking about. He watched Sundeen steadily and it stayed in his mind: He’s drinking more than you are. De Spain was filling the glasses without waiting for a nod from Sundeen and this also stayed in his mind.
He watched Sundeen take another drink.
Sundeen set the glass down, blowing his breath out slowly, then nodded to Frye. “Your turn.”
He lifted the glass, smelling the raw hot smell of the whisky as it reached his mouth and he started to drink.
“Frye!”
The glass came down and he choked on the whisky, coughing, only half seeing Sundeen in his eye-watered vision. He dropped the glass, blinking his eyes, rubbing his left hand over them and now he saw Sundeen. He was laughing, still leaning against the bar. Frye stopped, picking up the glass.
Sundeen said, “You thought that was it, didn’t you?”
For a moment Frye watched him in silence. Then he said, “You want the warrant now?”
Sundeen straightened slowly. “Let’s see you serve it.”
“Without Jordan to help you?”
“I don’t need Jordan.”