Rudolph Wurlitzer - The Drop Edge of Yonder

"She gave it to me long before you had it," Zebulon said.

"What ends up, ends up with whoever it ends up with," Hatchet Jack insisted. "That's my say, and that's the way it is."

Delilah handed him the necklace.

Hatchet Jack hesitated, looking from Delilah to Zebulon.

Finally he shrugged and handed the necklace back to her.

"From you to me, and me to you."

"You're mixed in with him?" Zebulon asked.

"He was in the cantina when Ivan killed a man in Calabasas Springs," she said.

"Did he smoke someone over you?" Zebulon asked.

"Over a card game," Hatchet Jack explained. "When I saw her in that cantina in Calabasas Springs, she was playin' sevencard stud with that Rusky Count and a few others, a gold sniffer and a stagecoach driver. The Count was bettin' wild and crazy from all the gold he scooped up that week. I came downstairs after a little rendezvous of my own, and there they were, like when I first laid eyes on them, and then there was that shoot-out in the cantina in Panchito. I could see it all comin' like I'd been there before. I sat down at the table, bein' flush and wantin' to high-roll everything. You know how it is. It all came down to one hand. I had a full house and I swear to Wakan Tanka, the lady you're lookin' at pulled a queen-high straight flush. And then some drunk comes in yellin' that I stole his horse. Truth is, I had taken his horse to give to your Pa. And then all hell breaks loose — everyone duckin' for cover and shots fired from god knows who or where.

"I woke up in a ditch thinkin' I was dead. The Count had run off, havin' shot some poor bastard who called him out on his claim. When I come in, Delilah was sittin' at the bar. One thing led to another. That's why I come down here, to make it straight with the Count before he swings. He's a hard case, that Count. Wouldn't throw me a bone. Said it was my fault, which it weren't. Said I plugged the Aussie, which I didn't. Delilah is another story."

He paused. "Life dances on, don't it, little brother? I'll take you to where they got the Count locked up, and then I'm done with both of you."

"You ain't my brother," Zebulon said.

Hatchet Jack raised his shot glass. "Maybe not by blood. Maybe somethin' thicker than blood. Never mind. Here's to bein' on this side of the grass, brother or no brother, Count or no Count. The three of us yoked up and here we sit."

After they finished off the bottle, they rode off to witness Ivan's fate in Calabasas Springs.

N THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE TOWN THEY WERE CONFRONTED by five drunken Australian prospectors who had arrived that morning from their diggings to witness the hanging of Count Ivan Baranofsky, who had killed one of their own in a card game. When one stationed himself along the flank of Delilah's horse and put his hand on her thigh, she lashed him across the face with her quirt.

Before his companions could react, Zebulon grabbed her horse's reins and all three galloped side by side into the town, where most of the population was still inside the eighteenthcentury Spanish church celebrating the end of Lent. A few women in the square were preparing tables with platters of enchiladas, frijoles, tamales, grizzly steak, venison, and apple, mince, and cherry pies.

Hatchet Jack led the other two through a cluster of red-tiled buildings, then down a narrow alley behind the church to an adobe shed marked by a barred window In front of the shed, a deputy sat on a bench with a shotgun across his lap.

"No one allowed inside," the deputy said. "Only one of you can speak through the window"

Hatchet Jack and Zebulon stood across the alley while Delilah approached the window

Ivan sat leaning against the far wall, one of his ankles manacled to a long chain.

"Ivan," she called, peering through the bars.

He looked up. "I didn't want you to come."

"I had no choice."

He hobbled to the window and reached through the bars, one finger touching hers.

"You should have left me a long time ago."

"I tried."

"That's true. How you tried. I kept hoping…. Did you know they're hanging me tomorrow?"

"The day after tomorrow," said the deputy, who was listening from his bench.

"Can't you hurry it up?" Ivan asked the deputy. "I'm more than ready to depart. Anything to end all the drama."

"I'll ask," the deputy said. "But it's hard to rush a good party."

"Even without the gold we had enough to save ourselves," Ivan said to Delilah. "That's the great irony. We could have gone anywhere — Egypt, Tasmania, Brazil. Anywhere but this country…. But enough supposing and wishing and ailhat if '-. I prefer the hangman to those speculations."

He suddenly noticed Hatchet Jack and Zebulon standing across the alley, smoking cigars as they looked over at them.

"They came with me," she explained. "Or Zebulon did. We met the other one outside of town. Hatchet Jack. He said he had already seen you."

"He certainly did see me. Quite sloppy, he was, expressing his need to be free of blame or guilt. For what? I asked him. I was appalled at his whole approach. It made me feel that he actually might have shot the man they said that I shot. I didn't feel like granting him absolution. Or anything, for that matter. Not that that's in my power. And I certainly have no need to see Zebulon. If you hadn't gotten him thrown off the boat, I would have pushed him. I suppose now you'll go off with him. Hopefully he won't be as deviously sentimental as the other one. What's his name? Hatchet?"

"I'm not going off with anyone."

"Don't be absurd," he said. "You'll never survive alone."

"I've always been alone, and I've always survived."

"If you want to think that, go ahead. If that helps you."

"Forgive me, Ivan," she said. "I'm… I'm trying…."

"Oh dear god," he interrupted. "Spare me a pitiful goodbye. I thought you were better than that. Can't we just chat about the weather or the awful music they play in the town square, or say nothing at all?"

"There's no time, Ivan," she replied. "Please."

"Time? I'm yawning through time. I refuse to be consoled or offer reparation. I loathe that rubbish." He shook his head. "I won't forgive you or myself. There's nothing to forgive, and if there were, I'd lie and say I forgave you"

"Ivan…. Please."

She removed a long oblong root from inside her blouse and slid it to him through the bars.

"Chew on it before they come for you," she whispered.

"What a curious benediction," he replied, lowering his voice so the deputy couldn't hear. "It's easier for me, you know. All I have to do is die. You have to go on. Not that I wouldn't change places with you."

The deputy rapped on the wall with the stock of his shotgun. "Time's up."

"I'll come tomorrow," she said.

He removed a gold pocket watch from his shirt and slipped it to her through the bars. "Speaking of time. A reminder."

"I love you," she said. "I always have, even when I didn't."

"I know, I know," he said, his voice cruelly impatient, as if he was trying to drive her away. "Come tomorrow But no slop"

"All right," she agreed.

He watched her walk down the alley with Hatchet Jack and Zebulon until they disappeared around a corner.

"Gone," he said to the deputy. "Gone before she ever arrived."

S THEY WALKED PAST THE CHURCH, PARISHIONERS WERE streaming down the front steps towards the town square. Most were Mexicans, the women wearing ankle-length embroidered dresses and black shawls covering their hair, along with a few Chilean and Peruvian prospectors in red ponchos and leather chaps.

"I need a drink," Delilah pleaded. "Some whiskey Anything."