“Duval, who killed George Brewer?”
“That I don’t know.”
“Don’t trifle, boy. Who killed him?”
“I heard what the doctor said, what Mr. Rocco said, what these other witnesses said. They say I shot twice at this unidentified man, and that one of those shots killed Mr. Brewer. They say I took cover back of the roulette equipment then, and shot the big man Hoke Irving. They say I got the little man as he was leaving, and the other one outside. So I guess if anybody killed Mr. Brewer, it had to be me. But if I leave guessing out and tell it like I remember it, all I know is this man here started to draw and I started to shoot. From there on I’ve got no clear recollection of anything until I saw that horse go running down the street, and I never even knew Mr. Brewer was dead until I got back inside. Nobody regrets it more than I do. But I’m under oath to tell you the truth, and I’m telling it as well as I can. And I’m certainly not trifling with you.”
“That all you got to say?”
“Yes sir, it is.”
It was the City Marshal, and he started his inquest as soon as the wagon came back with the man the horse had dragged down the street. First he put me under arrest and detailed a deputy to guard me. Then he picked six men out of the crowd to serve as a coroner’s jury. Then he sent for the same doctor that wanted to cut off my arm. Then he told everybody to hold up their right hand and swear that the evidence they would give before him would be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Then he began examining witnesses, first the doctor, to get him to pronounce the dead men dead, and tell what they died of. Then Raymond Brewer, to identify his brother. Then a whole flock of people, practically everybody in the place, and a fellow that had just got in a few days ago from Nebraska got all excited when he identified Hoke Irving, but nobody had names for the other three. Then he had all five bodies laid out in front of the bar, and drew over them one of the oilcloth covers for the roulette tables. Then he began taking testimony. He was cold, tough, cold, and official with everybody, and you couldn’t tell what his opinion was, if he had one. When I got done, he asked the jury if there were any questions they wanted to ask, and after some stuff they got me to explain, about where I was when the shooting started, where Irving was, and where I took cover, he told them to consider their verdict. They whispered a minute or two, and then the one he had appointed foreman got up and said: “We the jury empaneled to consider the deaths of George Brewer, Hoke Irving, and three unidentified men, find that the first-named came to his death by gunshot wound inflicted by one Roger Duval in an unintentional, unavoidable, and accidental manner connected with the discharge of his duties as guard in the Esperanza gambling hall, and that the other four were killed by the same Roger Duval as a lawful and necessary measure to prevent murder, larceny, and other crimes the deceased had conspired, intended, and attempted to commit on the said premises which Duval was hired to guard.”
“Do you order the said Duval held?”
“We do not.”
“Release your prisoner.”
The deputy gave me a clap on the back, and right away the place went into the craziest hullabaloo you ever heard. They yelled for me, stomped on the floor, shook my hand, and hollered at the bartenders to give me a drink. I didn’t want any drink. I wanted to be alone. But they wouldn’t have it that way, and I had to stand there at the bar pretending to believe I was a hero. And then all of a sudden you could hear a pin drop. The men from Brewer’s mine had picked him up and were carrying him out when Raymond Brewer must have said something, because the Marshal called him over.
“Mr. Brewer, say that over again and to me, what you just now said to your men, about the jury’s verdict on your brother.”
“I said it’s a disgrace.”
“And how is it a disgrace?”
“Roger Duval meant to kill my brother, that’s how.”
“You mean—he murdered him?”
“He saw his chance when this thing started tonight, and I say it’s shameful that he be exonerated, and treated like a public hero, instead of being held for trial like the rat that he is.”
“Mister, this is a serious charge.”
“You think I don’t know it?”
“You got any proof?”
“The idea that Roger Duval could kill somebody by accident is just about as silly as the idea he wouldn’t kill him if he had a reason. He’s the best gunman in town, he’s here because he’s a dead shot, and he doesn’t hit what he aims to miss, and he doesn’t miss what he aims to hit.”
“That just says he done it because he done it.”
“He did.”
“What might this here reason be?”
“A woman.”
“Just that?”
“Isn’t it enough?”
“A man kills a woman over a man, and a woman kills a man over a woman, but a man kills a man over a woman so seldom that I’d have to know a little more about it if I really meant to believe it. Can you tell me who this woman is, and why one man would kill another on account of her?”
“Yeah, she’s a—”
I don’t know if my hand twitched, or if one of his men gave him a sign, or what. The deputy had let me clean and reload the gun while the inquest was going on, and it was in its regular place under my arm. Anyway, he cut it off in the middle of a snarl, and finished off with: “—a resident of this town.”
“That don’t prove nothing to me.”
“It does to me.”
He started out after the body, but every two or three steps he’d turn and look at me and lick his lips, and from the way the whole crowd looked at the both of us, I knew I had that man to kill or he’d do the same for me.
11
WHEN THEY’D BEEN HOLLERING for me as a hero I didn’t want any drink, but now they were staring at me as a killer I had to have it. Because maybe nothing could be proved, but they knew from the way it was said and the way it was heard that what had been said was true. And even if it meant nothing to them, except one more thing to bet on, as which man would get it when the shooting began, it did to me. I hadn’t got used to it, this Western idea that a man’s life was the cheapest thing there was, and I had killed a man that had never done anything to me but take off my hands the worst girl in the world for me to have, and I’d shot him in the back of the head without even giving him a chance to turn around. Eyes were looking at me, and my face felt like it was hanging off my cheekbones in pouches. I ordered wheat, because it gets there quicker than rye, and I guess I had a dozen slugs. Then I must have looked queer, because Rocco came over and said take the rest of the night off, so I went home. But I didn’t sleep. I lay there, and it got light, and the bugle sounded, and the flag went up on Mount Davidson, and still I lay there, staring out at the sky. I tried to think of Raymond Brewer, and what I had to do to him, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t take any interest in him, or what I was going to do next, or Morina, or anything. It was like I had turned numb all over.
I must have dropped off, though, because when the knock came I jumped and gave some kind of a moan. It was Mrs. Finn, to tell me a Mr. Arthur Haines was in the front parlor, waiting to see me. I washed up, strapped on my gun, and dressed. When I went in there he had on a new checked suit, and got up and shook hands, though until then he had never shown any great interest in me. He was a good-looking Irishman, in a flashy kind of way, with round, pale face, and light blue eyes that were warm and soft and friendly, specially when he was singing a song, and he picked some girl out there to smile at. I asked him how everything was, and he said fine, and then I asked how he’d like to step out and have a cup of coffee with me, but he said he was due at the International in a few minutes for lunch and wouldn’t have time. “Well, Art, what’s on your mind.”
“Just a friendly warning, Roger.”
“Is any warning friendly?”
“This one’s supposed to be.”
“What’s it about?”
“Renny. And Biloxi. Both of them.”
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“They’re friends of mine.”
“They were.”
“Well, Art, say it.”
“On account of Brewer, they’re sore at you, Roger. They were close to him, you know. And then another thing, now he’s gone, it’s mixed up the house question the worst way. He gave it to her, you know. He gave Biloxi the house, and had it built so there’d be a wonderful music room for Renny, and had all that furniture sent up, some of it from San Francisco, so it’s still on the wagons and hasn’t been unloaded yet—but not one deed, check, or draft has been signed yet, and Biloxi’s going crazy. She’s sold out on D Street, and she’s lost out on A Street, and Renny’s out to get you.”
“Why me?”
“The brother says you killed George.”
“The brother’s a goddam fool.”
“And Renny says you did.”
“Was he there?”
“He claims he didn’t have to be.”
“And what have you got to do with it?”
“Roger, it’s just like I said. It’s a friendly warning, that’s all. He says he’ll get you, and I don’t know if he will or not, but he might try. I’m a good hombre. I don’t like to see nice people in trouble.”
“Meaning me?”
“And him. And her. All of you.”
He lit a cigar, sat back, gave a nod, and that little smile. I tried to get my mind on Renny, but it was like the night before, when I had tried to get my mind on Raymond Brewer and what I was going to do about him, and all I could think about was nothing. But this little smile was going all the time, and all of a sudden it struck me there was something funny about it. What was he doing here, talking to me? I didn’t mean a thing to him, and if he was just somebody that knew something why didn’t he get on a stage for Carson or Reno or some place like that and get as far away from it as he could? And if he was such a friend of Renny’s, why was he telling me, and giving me the one thing I would need to take care of myself, which was a tip in advance? “Upsets me about Biloxi.”
“I can understand that, Roger. She’s nice.”
“Good-looking, too.”
“Yeah, those Creoles have got something.”
“How is she?”
“How do you mean, how is she?”
“In bed.”
“Good God, Roger, how would I know?”
“She’s got it for sale. Haven’t you bought any?”
“Roger, you’re quite mistaken. Sure, Biloxi’s in business. All her life she’s been in business, it’s the only thing she knows. But since Renny moved in, down in San Francisco after she went there in ’52, she’s been strictly one man’s woman. That was nice, that was. He showed up one night, with a message from her sister, that lives up in Shreveport. He’s a little younger than she is, you know, and at that time he was nothing but a nineteen-year-old kid. And he just moved in. I mean, just like that. He took one look at Biloxi, and a few minutes later, when she started upstairs with a colonel from the Presidio, he pulled a rapier out of his walking-stick and said there’d be nothing like that. Biloxi, of course, she loved it, and when she heard him play, that clinched it. No, don’t jump to conclusions, Roger. I’m just a friend.”
“But you could be more?”
“In what way?”
“If Renny got it.”
I didn’t expect him to jump out of his skin, or do anything, as a matter of fact, except what he did do, which was to act hurt, and smug, and tell me I’d hung around too many gambling saloons to know what real friendship was like. Just the same, for one second he was caught by surprise, and there came this little flicker in his eye, so I knew I wasn’t talking so foolish as he said. I thanked him for his warning, and he left. On my way back from breakfast I stopped at a bar and got a pint of wheat.
I don’t really like liquor, but all afternoon I lay in bed and drank, trying to get up some interest in what was going to happen to me, and by six o’clock I had a bellyful of booze, but I didn’t any more give a damn than I had before. I shaved and washed up, and walked over to the International for dinner. As I walked through the bar it fell quiet as a church, and in the dining room I don’t think there was one person that wasn’t watching me as I went to my table. There was something about the way they acted that told me things were going on that I didn’t know about, and still it seemed to me my whole insides were made of lead. I was due for work at eight, and at a quarter of I stopped in the lobby for a cigar, then started down the street.
As I turned the corner of C for the Esperanza I noticed men standing all up and down the boardwalk on the other side, like they were waiting for something. Then, on my side, I noticed not one human being was in sight. I had the boardwalk to myself as far as the Esperanza, but in front of that Raymond Brewer was walking, with Red Caskie beside him, and two other men following behind.
I stopped. From things being said on the other side I knew they had spotted me. I don’t know if I felt scared, or how I felt. Since killing that man I hadn’t felt anything, except some horrible sense of guilt, and for the rest of it just this vacant pain. I stood there, trying to make myself go on. My feet wouldn’t move. I turned around, started back to Union. “Well, that yellow son of a bitch.”
I climbed up Union to B and walked home. But when I felt in my pocket for my key, a rifle shot popped down the street and raw splinters jumped out of the front door, where it was lit up by the gaslight on the corner. I drew and turned as quick as anybody ever did, but there was nothing there but brick. I looked at every doorway and window, but couldn’t see anything. I went inside and clumped up the long board tunnel to the floor where the rooms started. Mrs. Finn came out of the front parlor. “What was the shooting, Roger?”
“I couldn’t see.”
“Was it intended for you?”
“It might have been. Your door got ventilated.”
“Don’t you think it would be safer for you—just so they can’t keep track so easy where you are—if you moved somewhere else?”
“No I don’t.”
“I’ll have to have more for your room.”
“How much more?”
“Instead of six dollars I want ten.”
“All right.”
I went in the room, lit the lamp, and started to undress. Then I figured the lamp was a little too much of a good thing, if anybody happened to be watching, so I blew it out. Then I felt around in the dark for my pint of wheat, and had the last drink out of it. Then I lay down on the bed. I lay there quite a while, without dressing or undressing, except pretty soon I took off my coat. I tried to be ashamed I had run out on Raymond Brewer, and to be afraid of Renny, if he was the one that had shot at me. I couldn’t get up any interest about either one. They didn’t seem real and they didn’t seem to have anything to do with me. And then all of a sudden I was off that bed like I had shot up on springs and pulling the door shut after me. If it was imagination I didn’t know, but it seemed to me I had seen something coming through that window, from the sidewalk. I took a chair from the landing, jammed it against the door, and went down to the street. Mrs. Finn was looking at me from the landing as I went downstairs with no hat, no coat, and no gun. When I started to undress, I had hung it where I had always hung it, on the bedpost, so it was less than a foot from my head. But when I jumped, I didn’t have it.
On Taylor Street, up from the Enterprise, was a miners’ hangout, and I went in there and ordered beer. But from the way they acted when I came in, I knew some of them had been in the crowd in front of the Esperanza, and when a couple of them went out, it was no trouble to figure what they were up to, and that wasn’t so good. Because by then I had figured out pretty well why I had been acting like I had, which was a pretty funny way to act when you stop to think about it, because up to then I had faced a few slugs, and while I own up I was just as scared as anybody, I claim I wasn’t a hell of a sight scareder. The thing was, Brewer meant nothing to me, and Renny didn’t, and Biloxi didn’t. But Morina did, and no matter who hollered I wa
s yellow, I had to face her, and tell her what I had done, and why I had done it. And yet she was on her way to San Francisco, and couldn’t get back for a week, and here I’d got myself in a hole where if I didn’t do something pretty quick I wouldn’t even live through the night.
The sergeant came in, the one that had talked to Brewer and got called down for forgetting that getting rich for your country is more important than fighting for it. He gave the miners the old recruiting spiel, about how wonderful the army grub is, and how the new uniforms have just come in, and how good-looking they are. He let them feel of the one he was wearing, to see what fine wool it is. And then I thought of the United States Government, and how it doesn’t let its soldiers get killed until the proper time comes. “Well, Bud, where do you take these rookies of yours, after you get them?”
“First we bed them down in our recruiting office in Gold Hill, in a back room we got, then when we get a bunch we take them to San Francisco.”
“That back room, is it under guard?”
“That’s not for a soldier to worry about.”
“I want to know.”
“There’s a sentry out there.”
“Then let’s go.”
And an hour later, when I sat on the edge of a bunk with the stuff they’d given me, I knew I was as low as I could get, that I would put this uniform on, instead of the one that was mine, for the sake of one more look at something that had brought me nothing but misery since I’d seen her. And next day, when Raymond Brewer saw me with a squad in dungarees, and laughed at me, and I did nothing about it, for the first time in my life I felt yellow.
“Duval?”
“Yo.”
“Visitor.”
She was out there in the dark, still in her travelling dress. I could feel a drawstring tighten around my stomach as I went over to her, because I knew my piece by heart, but I didn’t know what hers was, or whether it was engraved on a bullet. But when I got to her, it looked like there were two drawstrings out there, the tightest one around her face. It was all twisted, like she was in pain, and it was hard to remember she’d ever been pretty. She took hold of me and looked in my eyes, like she was trying to see in them something she had to find out about. It was quite some time before she spoke, and when she did it was in a whisper. “You did it, didn’t you, Roger?”