Elmore Leonard - Gunsights

“And they killed them?”

Maurice nodded.

“But if he knew you were a witness-”

“He'd forgotten I was along by then, other things on his mind.”

Bill Wells was thoughtful, then asked, “Was Moon up there, in the trees?”

“Somebody was. Shots were fired and Sundeen divided his men to come at the timber from two sides. That was when Gean was shot.”

“And you were considering you might keep it a secret?”

“I wasn't sure how I felt. I mean I've never handled anything like this before,” Maurice said. “Though I know we're sworn to print the truth, letting the chips fall where they may.”

“Or stack the chips against the company's hand,” Bill Wells said, the idea bringing a smile. “Yes, I can see Vandozen squirming and sweating now.”

There was a framed slate in the Gold Dollar, back of the bar, that gave the betting odds on a Sundeen-Moon showdown:

2-1 one week

5-1 four days

10-1 two days

It meant you could bet one dollar to win two if you thought Sundeen would track down Moon and bring him in dead or alive within one week. The house was betting against it ever happening. When a week passed and Sundeen hadn't returned, you lost your dollar. For shorter periods you could bet the higher odds that were posted.

When Sundeen returned a few days ago with four men face-down over their saddles and the rest of his troop worn raw and ugly, they erased the old odds and wrote on the slate:

4-1 one week

10-1 four days

20-1 two days

100-1 one day

A miner at the bar, who had not seen the new odds before, said, “I'd hide that thing I was you. Case he comes in here.”

“Who, Mr. Sundeen?” said Ed O'Day, who ran the Gold Dollar and sometimes served behind the bar. “He wants to bet on himself we'd be glad to cover it. Or, he wants to bet against himself I'm sure there some takers. Making a wager isn't anything personal. The man is not gonna bet against himself and take a dive, is he? No, not in this kinda contest. So, he thinks he's gonna come out the victor, let him put up his money.”

Ed O'Day was a known high-roller; he ran faro, monte and poker tables in the back of his place and would bet either side of an issue depending on the odds.

Bren Early stepped toward them, moving his elbow along the polished edge of the bar. He said, “You're betting against him finding Moon is all you're doing.”

“Mr.Early, how are you? Sorry I didn't see you there. The usual?”

Bren nodded. The slight-not being noticed immediately-was as much an insult to him as the odds board: putting Sundeen against Moon and ignoring him completely. Bren had a hard knot inside his stomach. He wanted to cut this barkeeper down, level him with a quiet remark that had an eternal ring. (Something to do with, serving these miners and tourists, “What would you know about putting your life on the line?” Or, “…What would you know about facing death?”) But he couldn't think of the words when he was on edge like this. God-damn it.

Pouring him a whiskey, Ed O'Day said, “Finding Moon is ninety percent of it, yes. If that ever happens it would be a different story.”

“How would you set the odds then?” Bren asked, satisfied that his tone did not show the edge.

“Well, I'm inclined to believe they would favor Mr. Sundeen. I don't mean as a shooting contest. I mean if he runs him down the game's over.”

“How do you come to that?” Bren asked the know-it-all, feeling the knot tighten.

Ed O'Day looked both ways along the bar and leaned closer as he said, “You take a person raised on sour milk and make him look dumb in front of his fellow man-You see what I mean? He ever sets eyes on Moon he's gonna kill him.”

“You know that as fact,” Bren said.

“No, but I'd bet on it.”

“You heard right now that Sundeen had located him-you'd put your money on Sundeen?”

“I'd say it would be the safer bet.”

“Turn the same odds around?”

Ed O'Day hesitated. “You said if he locates him-”

“Gets Moon to stand still and fight.”

“Just Sundeen, or his men too?”

“His men, anybody he wants to bring along.”

The miner standing next to Bren said, “Anybody or everybody? The way he's signing up people, he's gonna be taking a army next time-saying up at the works the next time's the last time. Though I don't want to mess up your bet none.”

“That's talk,” Ed O'Day said, but looked at Bren Early to get his reaction.

“No, it's fact,” the miner said. “Sundeen sent to Benson, St. David, Fairbank-twenty a week, grub and quarters. Most the miners want to quit and join up; but Selkirk told him no, he couldn't hire no miners. See, he's gonna take all the men he can find and not come back till it's done.”

The miner's heavy mustache, showing fine traces of gray, reminded Bren of Moon. He wondered what Moon was doing this minute. Squinting at heat waves for signs of dust. Or tending his guns, wiping down Old Certain Death with an oil rag. Damn.

“I don't care how many people he raises,” Bren said, “I want to know what odds you're giving if both sides stand to shoot and you want Sundeen…ten to one?”

“Ten to one?”. Ed O'Day said. “Talking about if the two sides ever meet.”

“No bet less they do.”

“Doesn't matter how many men Sundeen has?”

“He can hire the U.S. Army,” Bren said.

“Ten to one,” Ed O'Day said and thought about it some more. “Well, it's interesting if we're talking about real money.”

“Give me a Maricopa bank Check,” Bren said.

Ed O'Day went over to the cash register and came back with the check, and ink pot and a pen.

Bren leaned over the bar and scratched away for a minute, picked up the check, to blow on it, wave it in the air, and laid it on the polished surface again.

“Seven thousand Sundeen goes out and never comes back.”

Ed O'Day, who wore the same expression drawing a pair of aces he did picking his teeth, said, “Is this the bet we been talking about all along?”

“I'm cutting out the only-if's and what-if's,” Bren said. “Sundeen comes back for any reason after he leaves-if it's just to go to the toilet, this check is yours. But when he doesn't, and you learn he's dead, you pay off ten to one. Which is what?”

“Comes to seventy thousand,” Ed O'Day answered, like it was no more than a day's take.

“This man here is our witness,” Bren said.

“Have him write his name on the check somewhere.”

The miner looked from Bren to Ed O'Day with his mouth partly open. “You're paying him seventy thousand dollars if Sundeen gets killed?”

“No different'n writing life insurance,” Ed O'Day said and winked at Bren-

Who felt good now and didn't mind at all the man's cocksure coyness.

“I'll even pay double if he gets struck by lightning,” Ed O'Day said.

Bren let an easy grin form, as if in appreciation, though there was more grin inside him than out.

He said, “You never can tell.”

“All the people,” a reporter sitting on the Congress front porch said. You would think the circus was in town. It is, another reporter said; featuring Phil Sundeen and his wild animal show. Christ, look at them. Bunch of range bums and bushwackers trying to pass as Quantrill's guerrillas.

Bren found Maurice Dumas sitting in the lobby staring at nothing. When he asked what was the matter, Maurice said he was thinking of going home; watching innocent people get shot was not his idea of covering a war. Bren said, no, when men fought without honor it was a sorry business.

“But we're gonna teach them a lesson, partner, and I sure hope you're here to see it.”