Robert Randisi - Bullets & Lies

“My way of equaling the odds,” Roper said. “You don’t like it?”

“I don’t like it,” the third man said.

“Me neither,” said the second man.

“Fine,” Roper said. “Walk away.”

The two men did not waste any time. They stepped into the street, then hurriedly turned and rushed the other way.

The remaining man went to step in the street and Roper said, “Not you, friend.”

“Hey, l-look, friend, all I did was buy you a beer.”

“I want to know,” Roper said, “did you follow me, or pick me out in the saloon?”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” the man said. “I didn’t follow you from nowhere. Anybody can tell you I been in this town for a month.”

“So you just figured when I walked into the saloon, I was easy pickings?”

“Well…yeah.”

“You picked the wrong man.”

“Yessir.”

“You were going to kill me,” Roper said. “You think I should let you walk away for that?”

“Y-You let them walk away.”

“They were flunkies,” Roper said. “You’re the head man.”

“I ain’t no head man,” the man said. “You just came and stood next to me.”

“Just coincidence, huh?”

“Y-Yessir.”

Roper still wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to let this man go until he was.

“What’s your name?”

“Stark.”

“Okay, Stark, where’s your horse?”

“I-In front of the saloon.”

“Walk to it.”

Stark started to step into the street.

“First drop your gun. Take it out careful like, with two fingers.”

He stopped, took his gun from his holster, and dropped it to the ground.

“Okay, let’s go,” Roper said, “and if I find anything in your saddlebags that makes me think you followed me, I’m going to kill you, so tell me now if White sent you, or if you came from West Virginia.”

“West Virginia?” the man said. “I ain’t never been to West Virginia. And who’s White?”

“If you’re acting, you’re doing a good job,” Roper told him.

“Mister, I’m tellin’ you the truth. I’m just a plumb terrible actor.”

“We’re going to see,” Roper said. “Which horse is yours?”

“Th-The mare next to the Appaloosa.”

“Walk to it, my friend,” Roper said. “The next few minutes are very important to you.”

36

When they reached the horses, Roper said to Stark, “Empty it all out.”

“What?”

“The contents of both saddlebags. Empty it all out onto the ground.”

“B-But…my stuff’ll get dirty.”

“Your stuff can get dirty or you can get dead,” Roper said. “Your choice.”

Word had gotten around that something was happening on the street, so it was clear, but faces were pressed up against windows, and that included the saloon.

“A-All right, wait,” Stark said. He went to his horse, removed both saddlebags, and started to put his hand in one.

“How stupid do you think I am? You go for a gun in there and I’ll shoot you in the face.”

It had been Roper’s experience that nobody wanted to get shot, but the prospect of getting shot in the face seemed to be worst of all.

Stark pulled his hand out of his saddlebags. He took them off his horse and dumped the contents on the ground.

“Back up,” Roper said.

Stark obeyed. Roper kicked the contents around on the ground, saw a dirty shirt, a coffee cup, a pot, some letters, some loose bullets, and the extra gun Stark had been reaching for.

“If you had pulled that gun, I would have killed you, son,” Roper said.

“Yessir.”

“Now I’m going to ask you for the last time,” Roper said. “Did anyone hire you to brace me?”

“No, sir, we wuz just gonna rob you.”

“Rob me and kill me, is more likely. I’m leaving town, so you better get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

“My things,” Stark said, “my horse, and guns—”

“You come back for them later, if they’re still here,” Roper said. “Right now, just get the hell out of my sight.”

Stark hesitated, then turned and ran off down the street.

Roper holstered his gun, left Stark’s belongings on the ground, where anybody could go through them. He took a quick look at the letters, but they weren’t anything of concern to him.

He picked up the extra gun and stuck it in his belt and went back into the saloon and up to the bar.

“Still say you don’t know those boys?” he asked the bartender.

“That’s a fact, mister. Why’d you let them go?”

“I don’t have time to have them arrested and go to court. I’ve got to get moving.” Plus, he’d already killed three men this trip who had intended to rob him. He wasn’t looking to repeat the experience.

“Well, have another beer, on the house.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Roper nursed his beer and talked to the bartender about who the law was in Sedona.

“Name’s Hardesty, Al Hardesty. Been sheriff here for a few months.”

“First-time lawman?”

“Naw, he’s wore a badge in other towns. Must be about forty, ol’ Al. It’s only this job that’s new to him.”

“You know a fella in Jerome named Henry Wilkins?” Roper asked.

“Sure, I know ol’ Henry. Stops in here when he comes to town for supplies.”

“You know when he was here last?”

The man rubbed his jaw and said, “Must be a few weeks now. He usually comes in once a month. He’s got him a small ranch, raises some horses.”

“Is there a telegraph office in town?”

“Yeah, but if you’re thinkin’ of sendin’ one to Jerome, forget it. They ain’t got one.”

Roper wasn’t thinking about sending one to Jerome. He was thinking of sending two to Denver.

“Okay,” he said, “thanks for the beer, and the information.”

“Come back if you’re stayin’ in town.”

“I’m not staying, but I may be back. How about directing me to the telegraph office?”

He left the saloon and started toward the telegraph office, following the bartender’s directions.

Roper had some men in Denver he used when he needed extra help. He was going to send telegrams to two of them, get them moving on a new plan he had, and then head for Jerome.

If someone was using him to find these men so they could be killed, or if they were ahead of him, he was going to take steps to protect the remaining three.

Telegraph office first.

37

Having sent his telegrams to Denver, hoping there’d be a reply by the time he got back to Sedona, Roper mounted up and rode to Jerome to find Henry Wilkins.

Jerome was about twenty miles from Sedona. Roper rode the horse hard and made the ride in two-and-a-half hours. There wasn’t much to Jerome, which had fallen on hard times. Many of the buildings were boarded up, but there was a saloon, a hotel, a livery, and the sheriff’s office. However, the bartender in Sedona had already told Roper that Wilkins had a ranch on the outside of town, so he rode through Jerome without stopping.

Hoping he wouldn’t arrive to find Wilkins dead, Roper rode up to the ranch, which consisted of a house, a barn, and a corral. There were a few horses in the corral, but nothing to indicate that anyone was raising them for sale.

He rode up to the house and dismounted.

“Wilkins,” he shouted. “Henry Wilkins!”

He looked around, anxiously waiting for someone to appear from the house or the barn. Whoever had killed Quinn had only just beaten him to the man, so he drew his gun, just in case.

“Stand fast, friend,” he heard a voice say from behind him. Roper put his hands up.

“What are you doin’ here?”

“I’m looking for Henry Wilkins,” Roper said, hoping he wasn’t talking to the man who had killed Quinn, and maybe Wilkins as well.