Standoff in Santa Fe (11 page)

“Well, well,” the bartender, Kelly O'Day, said as they walked into the Buckskin, “is the wake over?”

“Hasn't even started,” Clint said.

“Then what brings you and your friends here?” O'Day asked.

“We decided to stop putting money into Ben Conlon's pockets,” Bat said, “and do our waiting somewhere else.”

“Well,” O'Day said, “I'm happy to have such distinguished gentlemen in my place. First round is on the house, gents.”

He set five beers up for the five men. The few others in the small saloon stayed away from the five men with deadly reputations, but they did not leave the place. They still wanted to drink there, just not next to the famous lawmen and gunmen.

And little by little, as the day went on, more men came into the Buckskin, having left the Crystal in search of the five famous men.

The plan was working. The Buckskin was filled to the rafters, and the Crystal Queen was losing money it otherwise would have had.

*   *   *

Ben Conlon looked down at the saloon floor and frowned. He expected to see more people. And when he looked at the bar, his frown deepened.

“They're gone,” Alicia said, coming up alongside him.

“Who?”

“You know who,” she said. “Clint Adams, Bat Masterson, and the others. The men you were counting on to keep bringing people into your saloon.”

“Where'd they go?”

“Somewhere else,” she said. “What does it matter? They're not here anymore. And others are following them.”

“We still have those three,” Conlon said, indicating Hardin, Miller, and Clay Allison.

“And the young lawman, Baca,” she said, “but it's not enough.”

Conlon could see that.

“It might be time, Ben,” she said.

“Time for what?”

“You know,” she said, “the wake. Start the wake.”

He looked at her.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing's wrong.”

The bartender looked up at his boss, and Conlon waved to him.

“Go back to your room, Alicia, and mind your own business,” Conlon said.

He turned and went into his office.

Instead of going to her room, Alicia waited while the bartender came up.

“What's goin' on?” he asked.

“That's what I want to know,” she said. “What do you know about the body?”

The man shrugged. “Nothin'. I ain't even ever seen it.”

She nodded. He stepped to the door and knocked. When Conlon said, “Come!” he entered.

Alicia went to her room, but not to stay there. She got her wrap, and left again. She went down the back stairs, and out the back way.

*   *   *

The bartender entered his boss's office and didn't have to say a word.

“Get me Trench!” Conlon growled.

“Yessir!”

*   *   *

Clint was surprised when he saw Alicia walk into the Buckskin.

“Well, well,” Bat said. “What do you think she wants?”

“Maybe,” Clint said, “she wants us back.”

Alicia looked around the small saloon, spotted Clint, and walked over.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, “go ahead.”

She looked around at his friends and said, “Alone?”

Although the Buckskin was busier than it had ever been, there were still tables available. Clint walked Alicia to one in the back and they sat down.

“You made the right move, you know,” she said.

“Did I?”

“You and all your friends,” she said. “You're hurting Conlon where it matters to him, in his wallet.”

“It's his own fault,” Clint said. “A bunch of us are also on the verge of leaving town, figuring the wake is just a big hoax.”

She did not reply.

“Is it?”

“I honestly don't know.”

“You haven't seen the body?”

“Even if I did, I wouldn't recognize it.”

“But you have seen a body, right?”

She hesitated, then said, “No—but I don't want to see any dead bodies.”

“So you don't know what Conlon's up to.”

“He's up to what he's always up to,” she said, “makin' money.”

“Well, if he doesn't start that wake soon, he may not have a place,” Clint said.

“What have you heard?”

“People are becoming impatient,” Clint said. “Evidenced by those three last night. There'll be more bloodshed, and that's if somebody doesn't just burn the place down.”

Her eyes widened.

“Have you heard someone threaten that?”

“Right now people are just talking,” Clint said, since he'd never really heard anyone suggest that. He was just trying to scare her and, in turn, maybe Conlon.

“Tell your boss he better get it started before he loses more customers.”

She frowned and said, “I will.”

He walked her to the front door under the eyes of most of the customers, who recognized her from the Crystal.

“Come and see me later,” she said, touching his arm.

“If I can,” he said.

She nodded and left. Clint rejoined his friends at the bar again.

“What was that about?” Luke asked.

“Or was it personal?” Bat added.

“Not personal,” Clint said, and told them about the conversation.

“That was good thinking,” Heck said, “mentioning somebody burning the place down.”

“Yeah,” Reeves said, “maybe somethin' will get done now.”

“I hope so,” Bat said. “I don't know if I can drink another beer.”

Craddock was sitting in front of the hotel when the man rode in on a roan pony. Craddock narrowed his eyes as he tried to see the man's face beneath the pulled-down brim of his hat.

He wasn't sure, but he thought the man was Tom Horn.

As the rider passed him—paying him no apparent mind—he stood up so he could watch him ride all the way down the street. As he watched, the man reined in his horse in front of the Crystal Queen, dismounted, and went inside.

Craddock started walking toward the saloon, still watching the man.

As the man entered the saloon, he looked around, saw two men he knew, but ignored them. He walked to the bar and ordered a beer.

*   *   *

Farther down the bar, John Wesley Hardin saw the man enter and thought he recognized him. He looked over at Miller and Clay Allison, wondering if they did, too.

Miller nudged Allison and said, “Is that Tom Horn?”

Allison turned his head to have a look.

“I think so.”

“First Craddock, now Horn,” Miller said. “I wonder who they're after.”

“With any luck,” Allison said, turning back to his beer, “each other.”

*   *   *

Craddock stopped in front of the batwing doors and looked in. He saw the man standing at the bar, but could only see his back. He still didn't know for sure if this was Horn or not.

He came through the batwings, figuring there was only one way to find out.

*   *   *

Trench entered Conlon's office and stood in front of his desk with his hands clasped in front of him.

“You wanted to see me?”

“I want you to double the guard on that room,” Conlon said.

“Okay.”

“But I want you to do something else.”

“What?”

“Sit down,” Conlon said, “and I'll explain . . .”

*   *   *

Elfego Baca watched from his table as the stranger entered and walked to the bar, then saw Craddock appear at the door and walk in. He also wondered where Clint Adams and the other lawmen and ex-lawmen had gone.

*   *   *

A man came running into the Buckskin and shouted, “We think Craddock has found his man in the Crystal.”

Clint and Bat exchanged a quick glance.

“Horn?” Bat asked.

“We better go and see.”

“What if it's a trick to get us back to the Crystal?” Luke asked.

“Then I'd say it worked.”

Clint and Bat left the Buckskin, while Heck Thomas and Luke Short stayed behind.

*   *   *

Craddock took up a position at the bar, about halfway between John Wesley Hardin and the stranger he thought might be Tom Horn. By using the mirror behind the bar, he determined that he was right. It was Horn.

“Beer?” the bartender asked.

“Whiskey,” Craddock said. He always had whiskey before he was going to kill a man.

*   *   *

Trench came out of Conlon's office, looked down at the saloon floor, then went back to the office.

“Hey, boss,” he said, “I think you better come out and watch this.”

Conlon came out of his office.

“What is it?”

Trench pointed down and said, “Craddock. I think he found his man.”

“How can you tell?”

“He ordered whiskey,” Trench said. “Craddock always orders whiskey before he kills.”

Conlon stared down with interest.

As Clint and Bat entered the saloon, they could feel the tension in the air. Everyone's attention seemed to be on the bar. They looked that way and Clint recognized Craddock.

Elfego Baca came up alongside Clint and said in a whisper, “He is drinking whiskey.”

“Oh,” Clint said.

“What does that mean?” Bat asked.

Clint looked at his friend. “He always drinks whiskey before he kills somebody.”

“Really? That's what he's known for?”

Clint nodded. Baca went back to his seat and looked on with interest.

“You're wearing a badge,” Bat said. “That means you can't just stand by and watch.”

“I know.”

Clint studied the backs of the men at the bar, stopped when he saw one in particular.

“Is that Tom Horn?” Clint asked.

“I don't know him from the back,” Bat said, “but it could be.”

“Bat,” Clint said, “cover me from here. We don't know who'll take Craddock's side.”

“Gotcha.”

Clint walked toward the bar, and the man he thought might be Tom Horn. Several men moved away to give him room.

He stood alongside the man, who appeared to be engrossed in his beer.

“Hello, Tom.”

“Adams,” Horn said without turning his head. His trail clothes were covered with dust. He'd been on the trail a long time.

“What brings you here?” Clint asked.

“Same as you, I suspect,” Horn said. “A wake. Did I miss it?”

“It hasn't started yet.”

“Good. I want to see for myself if the bastard is dead.” Horn looked at him. “Buy you a beer?”

“Craddock is here.”

“Craddock? The bounty hunter?” Horn asked. “Why should that interest me?”

“He says he's after you,” Clint said. “He's got paper on you from Arizona.”

Horn frowned.

“The Pleasant Valley thing?” he said.

“That's my guess.”

“I didn't do anythin' wrong there.”

“I don't think he cares.”

“Where is he?”

“About fifteen feet to our right.”

“What's he doin'?”

“Drinking whiskey.”

“Hmm.”

“Horn!” Craddock snapped.

The men at the bar between them quickly darted away. Craddock turned to face Horn, but Clint was still between them.

“Step aside, Adams,” Craddock said.

“No.”

“Do it, Clint,” Horn said.

“No,” Clint said. “You're not a gunfighter, Tom. He'll kill you.”

“Probably.”

“He may not be a gunfighter,” Craddock said, “but he's a killer. I'm takin' him in.”

“I'm the law here, Craddock,” Clint said. “You're not killing him.”

“I didn't say I was gonna kill him,” Craddock said. “I'm takin' him in.”

“We all know what it means when you take somebody in.”

“So you're gonna stop me, Adams?” Craddock asked. “You're gonna fight me?”

“If I have to.”

Craddock raised his voice.

“I'll share the bounty on Horn with any man who stands with me.”

Nobody moved, or replied. Then suddenly, one man stepped forward.

“I'll take a piece of that,” Clay Allison said.

“Me, too,” Killin' Jim Miller said. They moved away from the bar and spread out. The saloon's patrons flattened themselves against the walls, but nobody tried to leave. This was the kind of thing they'd been waiting for.

“Count me in,” a third man said. And then a fourth. Soon, Clint and Horn were facing eight men.

“I don't like these odds,” Horn said.

*   *   *

Upstairs, Trench said to Conlon, “What do you want me to do?”

“You want to side with someone?” Conlon asked. “Who?”

Alicia appeared at the rail and asked, “What's happening?”

“Watch,” Conlon said. “This is gonna make us famous.”

Clint watched Craddock. He was the key. The action was his to call. Allison and Miller, and the others, wouldn't move until he did.

But the fact remained it was two against eight, until . . .

Bat Masterson moved up alongside Clint and said, “The odds just got better.”

Three against eight.

“We've got them right where we want them,” Clint said.

“
Perdón, amigos,
” Elfego Baca said, “but two-to-one is much better odds, don't you think?”

Better, Clint thought, but Allison and Miller were fast guns. There was no way to know who was faster, them or Clint or Bat. Horn was not a gunfighter. Baca was good with a gun, but not a gunfighter.

Clint looked up and saw Conlon, Alicia, and Trench, who were watching the proceedings, then looked around at the others who were watching.

“Just hold on,” Clint said.

“What for?” Craddock asked.

“Just look around,” Clint said. “All of you. Look around. We're putting on a show for the rest of these idiots. And for them, up there.” He pointed.

Craddock looked up, as did Allison and Miller.

“That's Conlon up there, in the middle. He owns this place. And we're about to make it famous. Some of us are going to die here, and he's going to make money because of it.”

Craddock looked back at Clint.

“You've got at least five or six of us here who know what we're doing with a gun,” Clint said. “Who's faster, we don't know, but we're all deadly. Yet you've got some men on your side we know nothing about. That makes for stray bullets. Stray bullets make for dead innocent bystanders—innocent bystanders who are too stupid to leave because they want to see the show.”

Craddock, Allison, and Miller stared at Clint. Behind them Clint could see John Wesley Hardin smiling. He obviously had a brain.

“I get it,” Hardin said. “You all might as well be dancing monkeys.”

Clint could see the men he was facing thinking about that. He assumed that the men on either side of him were also thinking about it.

Finally, Clay Allison spoke. “I ain't nobody's monkey.” He spread his hands and stepped back, took up a position next to Hardin, who handed him a beer.

“What do you suggest?” Craddock asked.

“Everybody just step back,” Clint said. “This doesn't have to happen today. Not in here anyway.”

He could see Craddock considering his words.

He raised his voice.

“We're all here for a wake,” Clint said. “Why kill each other while we're waiting? And why wait any longer?”

The batwings opened at that point and Sheriff Burle walked in, flanked by Bass Reeves, Thad, and Billy. They were all carrying rifles.

“Nobody's killing anybody today!” Burle called out. “Not in my town.”

After a moment of silence Craddock said, “Relax, Sheriff. It's all just been a misunderstanding.” He turned to the bar and picked up his beer. A collective sigh was heaved by the customers—for half of them it was relief, and the other half disappointment.

Craddock's supporters backed off. Miller went back to his beer. The other, lesser known men who had tried to get involved went back to their tables. Men peeled themselves off the walls and went back to their tables and drinks.

Horn looked at Clint, Bat, and Elfego Baca and said, “Appreciate the support, gents.”

“De nada, amigo,”
Baca said, and went back to his table.

Sherriff Burle came over to them, leaving his deputies at the door—except for Reeves.

“Tom,” Reeves said.

“Hello, Bass.”

Reeves looked around.

“Where's Heck? He missed the action.”

“Luke, too,” Bat said.

“Luckily,” Clint said, “there didn't turn out to be much action.” He looked up at Conlon, who was still watching. “Much to the disappointment of Mr. Conlon.”

“What was this about?” Burle asked.

Apparently, he'd not connected Reeves's “Hello, Tom” to Tom Horn yet.

“Just another tense moment,” Clint said. “The wake is way overdue.”

“I agree,” Burle said. “Let's see what I can do about that.”

“You going to talk to Conlon again?” Clint asked.

“I am.”

“Want company?”

“Naw,” Burle said, “you and Bass stay here, keep my two young deputies out of trouble.”