Derringer, p.9
Derringer, page 9
“All right,” Derringer told him, “you’ve been followin’ me up and down the street since I left Dawkin’s and now you caught up with me. So what the hell do you want?”
Lost in a complete state of shock, Crowe’s brain was unable to function properly. All he could think to blurt out was, “You broke my arm!”
“I sure as hell did,” Derringer said, still holding the heavy piece of lumber Leon used to lock the back door. “Who the hell are you and what were you plannin’ to do with that pistol?” He kicked the weapon across the floor, in case Crowe tried to pick it up.
“You broke my arm!” Crowe repeated frantically, his brain still cluttered as he stared at his right arm, bending between his wrist and his elbow, where there was no joint. Aware now of the pain coming from his arm, he confessed helplessly. “You killed my sons,” he accused.
“I don’t know your sons,” Derringer replied. “Who are you?”
“Arthur and Caleb,” Crowe said, ignoring the question. “It weren’t none of your business. It was between them and the deputy sheriff, but you stepped in behind ’em and caused ’em to get arrested. Now they’ll hang, so you killed ’em, the same as, anyway.”
Derringer just looked at him for a few seconds, trying to decide what he would do with him. “So you’d be Mr. Crowe,” he finally said as the injured man slumped in obvious pain. “The acorns sure didn’t fall very far from the tree.” Seeing a bale of hay on the side of the alley, he said, “Sit down on that bale and I’ll take a look at that arm.” Unable to resist, Crowe sat down on the bale. “Now, let’s get your coat off.”
“Why? What are you gonna do?” Crowe protested, completely confused now.
“If you was a horse, I’d just put a bullet in your brain, but since you ain’t, I’ll see if I can’t put that bone back in place. Your brain woulda been an awful small target to shoot at, anyway.” He unbuttoned Crowe’s coat when Crowe found it difficult to do with his left hand. Then when his disillusioned patient managed to pull his left arm out of the sleeve, Derringer took hold of the right sleeve and pulled it off the injured arm. The sudden action caused a howl of pain from Crowe. Derringer tried to pull the shirtsleeve up past the broken bone but it wouldn’t come, so he drew his skinning knife and cut the cuff of the sleeve. Then he ripped it apart until it was out of his way.
“That was a good shirt!” Crowe complained.
“Oughta teach you a lesson,” Derringer replied. “Don’t wear your good clothes when you go to murder somebody.”
“It weren’t murder,” Crowe protested. “I was fixin’ to call you out to face me man-to-man.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Crowe. I’ve been called out a time or two and it was always in a saloon or outside in the open. I ain’t ever been called out by somebody sneakin’ in a barn or a stable behind me with their gun already out. I think I’d have to classify that as murder.”
“What’s goin’ on back there?” Leon Draper called out from the front of the stable. “I heard somebody yell.”
“It’s me, Leon, Jesse Derringer. That was Mr. Crowe you heard yell. He broke his arm. Come give me a hand and we’ll try to set the bone back in place.”
Leon walked back to the end of the stalls, puzzled to find Alvin Crowe sitting on a hay bale with Derringer standing over him. “Well, I’ll be . . .” he started. “How’d he break his arm?”
“That two-by-six you use to lock the door,” was all the explanation he got. “Come here and help me put this bone back in place,” Derringer directed, so Leon walked over to the bale. “Grab his upper arm and hold it back.” Realizing then what Jesse was going to do, Leon took hold of Crowe’s upper arm and set his feet in position to resist his efforts. “All right, everybody ready?” Jesse asked. No one answered, but Leon tightened his grip and Crowe released a faint sigh of despair. So Jesse grabbed Crowe’s right wrist and pulled with all his strength until he could feel the broken end of the bone pass beyond the other broken end. Then he let up enough to let the two ends settle back together. Looking at the arm, he could tell that the two ends were not perfectly mated, so he said, “Let’s do it again.” This time, they pulled the break apart over Crowe’s seemingly dead body, for he passed out during the procedure. “Hell, that ain’t half bad,” Derringer said as he examined their work. “I’ve seen worse jobs than that in a field hospital durin’ the war. You got some rags or something we can tie that arm up with and maybe make him a sling?”
“Yep, I’ve got plenty of rags that’ll do for that,” Leon replied, but he didn’t go to get them right away. Instead, he stood looking down at the unconscious man on his stable floor, then he looked at the six-gun lying over against the side of the stall. “Jesse, who the hell is that?” He paused to look up at Derringer. “And what are you and him doin’ in the back of my stable?”
“I was just going to check my packs to see what else I needed to take about a week’s trip up toward the mountains tomorrow or the next day. His name is Crowe. I don’t know as I’ve ever heard his given name. But that’s his two boys, Arthur and Caleb, that Deputy Crenshaw put in jail for killin’ a man and his son.”
Leon didn’t need any further explanation. “So he figures he owes you for the capture of his two boys and he came after you for revenge, right?”
“Well, he followed me in here with a drawn gun. I don’t reckon that was just to make sure I paid attention to his complaint.”
“You want me to go get the sheriff while you stay here and watch him?” Leon asked.
Derringer hesitated before answering, still debating the issue in his mind. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know if I want to put him in that jail with his two sons or not. That broken arm is gonna be a good reminder for a while that it was a foolish thing he was trying to do. Let’s get him bandaged up while he’s takin’ a little nap. Then when he comes to, I’ll have a little talk with him. All right?”
“If that’s what you think is best,” Leon said. “I know I’d like to have him outta my stable before he decides to shoot somebody again. Are you gonna take him to the doctor?”
“No, hell, I ain’t takin’ him to raise. I think we’ll bandage him up nice and tight and he won’t need a doctor. He’ll just have to let that bone heal up.” He picked up Crowe’s pistol then and emptied the cartridges out and put the gun back in the holster. When he did, the movement seemed to stir Crowe back to consciousness.
“My arm!” he blurted, and tried to sit up, but when he did, his right arm was in a sling and he couldn’t put his hand on the floor to push himself up. “What the hell?”
“Your arm’s broke,” Jesse said, “but the bone’s set and you’re bandaged up. If you don’t try to use it, it’ll heal up. I shoulda just shot your sorry butt when you came after me, but I thought it woulda been a waste of a cartridge. So here’s what you need to learn. You tried to dry-gulch me like a damn coward and you got a broken arm for your trouble. The next time the notion strikes you to come after me, you get a shot in the chest and another one in the head. I don’t tolerate fools like you but once. It’s best you remember that because there won’t be any warning. So I just saved your life when I decided not to shoot you. All business is done between you and me, right?” When Crowe didn’t answer, Jesse repeated it more forcefully. “Right?”
“Right, we’re done,” Crowe replied, his attitude a little more sullen now. “Let me outta here now.”
“Ain’t nobody holdin’ you,” Leon said, anxious to see him leave his stable.
He got up from the hay bale and stood for a moment before plopping back down. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Maybe you ought to go to Doc Bell’s office,” Leon advised. “Maybe he’ll give you something to ease that pain. That’s got to be hurtin’ like hell.” He turned aside and whispered to Jesse, “Why didn’t you just shoot the son of a gun? That woulda took care of everything.”
“Things don’t always work out for the best,” Jesse replied. He looked at Crowe and asked, “Where’s your horse?”
“At Dawkin’s Saloon,” Crowe answered. “I’ll be all right if I can get to my horse.”
“I’ll get you to your horse,” Jesse said. “Can you sit in the saddle?”
“I think so,” Crowe replied. So Jesse went to the stall where his horses were and saddled Clem. He led the gray gelding back to Crowe and he and Leon lifted Crowe up into the saddle. He told Leon he’d be back to leave his horse in a few minutes. Leon nodded, then shook his head slowly, finding it hard to believe the bizarre incident taking place in his stable had actually happened.
Since it wasn’t that far to the saloon, Derringer walked and led Clem. When they got to Dawkin’s, he helped Crowe off Clem and left him standing beside his horse, tied at the hitching rail. Before he rode away, he looked down at Crowe and said, “You’d best remember what I told you. If you ever come near me again, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.” Crowe just stood there, his head down, holding on to his saddle horn with his one good hand, the picture of a defeated man. Derringer wheeled his horse and returned to the stable at a lope, halfway expecting a shot in the back at any second, even though he knew Crowe’s .45 was empty. I just did the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, he thought. I stopped the man who came to kill me and then I set him free. “Maybe I need a new line of work,” he told Clem.
Behind him, Alvin Crowe took a tighter grip than before on the saddle horn. He discovered that he was not feeling as bad as he was in the stable. Maybe, he thought, the thing I really need right now is a drink of likker. He released his grip on the saddle horn and stood without holding on for a couple of minutes. Satisfied that he could make it without stumbling, he stepped up on the boardwalk and walked very carefully into the saloon. As he had hoped, Jeb Massey and the boys were still occupying a table.
“What tha . . .” Sly Parker started when he saw Crowe making his way toward them through the crowded saloon. “Massey! Look comin’ yonder.” Massey looked where he pointed. “He’s about to fall over and it looks like he’s got his arm in a sling.”
“Damn if he ain’t,” Massey said. “He musta fell off his horse.” The others at the table saw what they were looking at then, so Tiny confiscated another chair from a nearby table.
“I thought he went after Derringer when he followed him outta here,” Ace said.
“Looks like he musta caught up with him,” Lester said with a chuckle.
“Set down, Alvin,” Massey said. “You look like you fell off your horse. The way you lit outta here when Derringer left, we thought you mighta been thinkin’ about settlin’ up with him. What’s wrong with your arm?”
“It’s broke,” Crowe replied.
“I swear,” Sly said, “how’d you do that?”
“He done it with a two-by-six,” Crowe answered simply.
“How the hell did he do that?” Massey asked. “Pour him a drink, Ace.”
“He ain’t got no glass,” Ace said.
“Well, let him use yours,” Massey ordered impatiently.
“Right,” Ace responded. “Here, Alvin, you can drink outta my glass.” Then he poured him a drink. Crowe tossed it back at once, having a great need for one.
“Who bandaged your arm up like that?” Massey asked. “That don’t look like nothin’ a doctor would do.”
“Derringer,” Crowe answered, and held his glass out for another shot of whiskey.
“I swear, Alvin, you ain’t makin’ no sense a-tall,” Massey said. “You sure you ain’t got a bump on your head, too? You sayin’ he broke your arm with a two-by-six, then he bandaged it up and made a sling for it? You sure your arm is broke?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I saw it. The bone was bent up where it ain’t supposed to bend. He set the bone. It hurt so bad I passed out.”
Massey turned serious for a moment. “I reckon you’re lucky he didn’t kill you,” he said. “You sure he knew you came after him to kill him?”
“Yeah, he knew it,” Crowe said, “that’s why he broke my arm.”
“Why didn’t he kill you if he knew you came after him to kill him?”
“I don’t know,” Crowe replied. “He said if I tried it again, he’d kill me.”
“That don’t make no sense,” Lester said.
“Maybe he’s one of them Bible-thumpin’ religious nuts,” Sly offered, “wantin’ to forgive everybody for their sins.” He thought about it for only a second or two before adding, “Except for the part about killin’ him if he tried it again.”
“One thing I guarantee you,” Massey declared, “there ain’t a religious bone in that man’s body. I’ve been thinking about it and it bothers me when I know he works for the Union Pacific. They call him a scout. But the folks building the railroad are all gone, for three months anyway, and they left him here. What for? The only thing I know of that he’s done after he surprised us at that caboose is to step in and arrest Arthur and Caleb Crowe.”
“He ain’t the only one left,” Lester said. “There’s two fellers that stayed here to build the Union Pacific building.”
“They’re in charge of gettin’ the building up and takin’ care of the train station,” Massey said. “That don’t count. Derringer ain’t got nothin’ to do with that. The more I think on it, the more I believe his main job is to keep an eye on us, and that could be trouble. I don’t cotton to havin’ that hungry lobo prowlin’ around our campfire.”
CHAPTER 9
Massey’s comments about Jesse Derringer created a discussion among the gang of five men and their one injured acquaintance sitting around the saloon table. The more they talked about him, the more mysterious he became, especially when Sam, the bartender, told them that Derringer was a special scout for General Grenville Dodge. Massey and his gang had big plans for several robberies in Cheyenne, plus one train robbery as their final score. It was decided that Jesse Derringer was going to be a severe threat to their success and consequently had to be eliminated.
“That don’t seem like a problem to me,” Ace Barnes remarked. He got up from the table and whipped his six-gun from his holster and performed his little show of spinning the weapon on his finger to demonstrate his skill and his speed. It was a trick none of the others could do. He was anxious to put his skill up against that of Jesse Derringer. He didn’t know how fast Derringer might be, but he knew how fast he was. He kept the names of four men in his memory, whose cold corpses were pushing up daisies. They thought they were faster than he. They found out the hard way. It was time the other four members of the gang showed him a little respect. “I think it’s time I called Mr. Special Scout Derringer out,” he announced.
“Are you crazy?” Sly responded. “You don’t know nothin’ about that joker. He might be faster’n greased lightning.”
“I know he carries that Henry rifle most of the time,” Ace replied, “and he don’t wear a fast draw holster. And I know that I’m faster’n greased lightning. The hardest part might be gittin’ him to face me man-to-man. Looks to me like he didn’t even wanna face Alvin Crowe face-to-face. Hit him with a board when Alvin weren’t lookin’.”
Massey looked at Lester and they both shrugged in response, both thinking the same thing. Why not? It would be no great loss if Derringer was faster than Ace. On the other hand, Ace was pretty fast. It would be a hell of a thing if he could take Derringer out. So with a sense of nothing to lose and everything to gain, they decided to encourage Ace to call him out. “You sure you’re ready to call him out?” Massey asked Ace. “There must be some reason the Union Pacific Railroad would pay a man to stay here in Cheyenne with nothin’ to do. He might be quicker than a rattlesnake with a handgun, even if it does look like he favors that rifle.”
“He ain’t nothin’ but another jasper that wears a sidearm to kill snakes and rabbits,” Ace insisted. “I can tell a fast gun by the way he walks and the way he wears his holster. That feller is built too solid to move fast. His shoulders is too wide to let his hands drop to his hips quick enough to draw his gun. He might beat a feller like me if we was arm-wrasslin’. But I ain’t aimin’ to arm-wrassle him.”
“You might be right, Ace,” Massey said. “I reckon I ain’t studied him the way you have. But I see what you mean. He is kinda wide shouldered at that. Looks like he druther fight with an ax.” He paused to look over at Crowe. “Or a two-by-six, right, Alvin?”
Crowe didn’t respond to the question. Well dosed with alcohol by that time, he was picking away at his bandaged arm and complaining that it was hurting. “I need to see the doctor,” he slurred drunkenly.
“You oughta left that bandage alone,” Tiny told him. “It’da healed up all right if you’da left it alone.”
“I need to see the doctor,” Crowe insisted. “It ain’t tied up right.”
Tired of messing with him, Tiny said, “Well, go to the damn doctor, then; he oughta still be open. It ain’t even suppertime yet.”
“I ain’t got no money and I don’t know where the doctor is,” Crowe complained.
Tired of hearing him complain, Massey said, “Tiny, you and Sly take him down to the doctor’s office and leave him.” They both protested and said they didn’t know where the doctor’s office was, or if there even was a doctor in Cheyenne. “It’s down near the dry goods store,” Massey said. “I saw it when we first rode into town, a house with a white picket fence around it. When you get back, we’ll go back to Vera’s and eat supper.”
