Elmore Leonard - Gunsights

“Why does he have to go tonight?”

“Because he's childish,” Vandozen said. “He has to go out and kick rocks, or run his horse till it lathers.” He reached over to place his glass on the end table and sat back again.

“He is like a little boy,” Janet said.

“Yes, he is…Why don't you come over here?” Vandozen watched her turn from the window. “Come on…sit here.”

When she was next to him, on the edge of the settee, he put his hand on her shoulder and brought her gently back against the cushion. His hand remained as he said, “Tell him you're leaving.”

She looked at his face that was lined but not weathered, the skin on his neck loose, crepe-like, in the starched white collar.

“I admired you when you admitted you'd made a mistake.”

“Not a mistake, a misjudgment. Come to Lordsburg with me.”

“Don't you have a wife?”

“In New Jersey. Not in New Mexico, Colorado or Arizona.”

“I admired the way you never raised your voice, even when you said things with feeling.”

“Yes,” Vandozen said, drawing her against his shoulder, “in certain areas I have firm convictions and feelings.”

Bren sat at a corner table in the Oriental. He let Sundeen take his time and look around. When Sundeen finally came over he pulled out the chair across from Bren and sat down.

“Now then,” Sundeen said, “where were we?”

“They're trying to call the game.” Bren sat with his hands flat on the table. “Vandozen says he's had enough of your monkeyshines. He's gonna fire you tomorrow, and all those hoboes you got riding for you.”

Sundeen nodded, not surprised. “You would think he had something personal to do with this.” He sat back in his Douglas chair saying, “Shit.”

“There's hope,” Bren said, “if you can get your misfits out of town before morning. He can't find you, he can't fire you, can he?”

“I don't know-don't many of 'em snap to as they should,” Sundeen said. “There's some mean Turks, but most of 'em ain't worth cow shit.”

“How many you need?…How many does Moon have?”

“Who in the hell knows? All I seen was women and little kids.”

“Some Mexicans with their hands tied, I understand.”

“And their eyes open. They knew what they were doing. I cut the ropes, let 'em hold their old cap-n-balls, they'd still be dead, wouldn't they? I lost men blown to hell from a distance. Are we talking about rules of some kind or what?”

“We're getting off track,” Bren said.

“You're the one called this,” Sundeen said, his snarly, ugly nature peeking through. “We can settle up right now, you want, and quit talking about it.”

“You got spirit,” Bren said, “but save it and let's do this show with a little style. You don't want to meet in some back alley; you got a reputation to think of-as poor as it is.”

“Jesus,” Sundeen said, on the edge now, hands gripping the arms of his chair.

Like working a wild stallion, hold him on the line, but don't let him break his neck. Bren said, “If you're big enough to handle your men, gather 'em and head up to White Tanks. I'll get Moon, whatever people he's got…You come up the draw and we'll meet at his place.”

Sundeen said, “Through that steep-sided chute? You must believe I'm dumb.”

“Scout it. Turn all the rocks over, you want. I'm talking about we meet at the top, have a stand-up battle like we had in Sonora. Quit this tracking around and do the thing right.” Bren paused. Sundeen remained silent. “Unless you lack the gristle.”

Sundeen said, “You don't need to prod, if that's what you're doing. I'm thinking.” And said then, “Why don't we meet at White Tanks?”

“Moon won't do it, I'll tell you that right now. He'll fight for his home, but not for any government layout. He doesn't look at this the way you and I do.”

Sundeen was thoughtful again. “It would make some noise, wouldn't it?”

“Hear it clear across the country,” Bren said. “Get your name in the history book.”

Sundeen grinned then, tickled. “Jesus Christ, is this the way it's done?”

“Why not? Better than maybe we meet sometime maybe we don't.”

“Well…Moon's place then. I guess it's as good as another.”

As Sundeen got up, Bren said, “Whatever happened to that old segundo of yours?”

“Ruben Vega,” Sundeen said. “He tried to change sides and didn't make it.”

“That's too bad. He seemed a good one for his age.”

“Yeah, he was quicker than most,” Sundeen said, “but in this game there ain't any second prize, is there?”

The sound jolted Bruckner awake: something dropped on his desk. Somebody standing there.

Maurice said, “The printer over at the paper asked me to give these to you.”

“What?” Bruckner said. “The hell you want?”

Maurice stepped back from the man's stale whiskey odor. “You're supposed to post them around right away. Printer said it was ordered from the county.”

Bruckner rubbed a hand over his face, opened his eyes and the squirt reporter was gone. He looked at his watch: twenty past twelve; heard horses outside and turned to his window.

Three horses out there…the squirt news reporter mounting and another fella already up, leading a packhorse with gear and a wood crate lashed to the cross-buck. Bruckner watched them head down LaSalle Street into darkness.

When he turned to his desk again he frowned and said out loud, “What in the hell-” Bren Early's photo was looking at him from a stack of “wanted” dodgers that said:

$5,000

REWARD

(Dead or Alive)

for information leading to

the arrest or seizure of

CAPT. BRENDAN EARLY

wanted for the killing of

P. Sundeen (and probably others)

Approach with utmost caution!!!

Kate said to Moon, “What do you need all those enemies for when you got a friend like Bren Early?”

Moon said, “How long you want to live in a line-camp and cook outside in the weather? It's a way to get it done and move back in our home.”

“If you win,” she said.

Moon said, “I don't worry about that part till I'm there.”

“Do you think it makes sense?”

Moon had taken his wife aside for this chat, away from the others sitting around the tents and brush wickiups of the camp, one of the high-up Apache rancherías.

He said to Kate, “Don't look at it as a sensible person would. Try to see it through Bren's eyes first, the chance to do battle and win some medals.”

“Who gives him the medals?”

“You know what I mean-add to his stature. He missed the war and he's been moaning about it ever since. Now he sees a chance to win fame and get his picture in the paper, big.”

“At whose expense?” Kate said.

“You got to look at it another way too,” Moon said. “Sundeen is gonna dog us till we put an end to him. I'd rather meet him across the wall than keep looking over my shoulder…worrying about you at home the times I'm gone.”

“Now you make it sound like a just cause,” Kate said, “but I believe the idea tickles you as much as Bren.”

“No, not that much,” Moon said, feeling itchy, excited, but trying not to show it. “Come on.”

They walked back through the pines to the ranchería, past the children and the squat Mimbre women at the cookfires, to where Bren was sitting on his bedroll, Maurice Dumas next to him. The Apaches had sighted them early this morning and brought them up to the camp. The case of whiskey had been opened and a bottle passed around as they discussed this business of meeting Sundeen. The whiskey was good after nearly a month of sour corn-beer. The talk was good. The idea seemed good, too. But did it make sense? Or didn't it have it?