“He said he wouldn’t be home till late. Kirby, what can you do about it now?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s over now.”
“Part of it is.”
Milmary said, wearily, “If you don’t understand, there’s no use talking about it.”
“Maybe your dad can explain it to me.”
Milmary did not answer. She went up the porch steps and into the house.
Harold Mendez could feel that his nose was still swollen. Now he was touching it gently, as he had been doing all afternoon and evening, still not sure whether or not it was broken, when Frye opened the door.
“I saw you tie up a while ago,” Harold said, “but by the time I got to the door you were across the street.”
“I was hungry.”
“Did you get them?”
“No.”
“Well—”
“Everybody’s more concerned with whether we got those tulapai drinkers than with what happened right here.”
“You heard then.”
“Milmary told me. Where’re the bodies?”
“We took them down. There were two men here from La Noria who helped me. No one else I asked would.”
“Did you try to stop them?”
Harold shook his head slowly. “I couldn’t see any point to it. Even if I’d tried, they still would have hung them.” His fingers touched his nose.
“It looks like you told somebody no,” Frye said.
“Digo was showing his authority. Do you think it’s broken?”
Frye looked at Harold’s nose closely, feeling the bridge of it with his finger. “I don’t think so.”
“They came in like a flood once it started. At first only a few were doing anything. Tindal, Beaudry, Stedman…and Sundeen. But once it started you would have thought everybody in town was in here.”
“The place looks all right.”
“They didn’t break anything. I don’t know why, but they didn’t break anything.”
Frye said suddenly, “What about Dandy Jim?”
“He’s still upstairs. How long are you going to hold him?”
“I don’t know. It was out of their way to come back here, so they went straight to Huachuca. They’ll send for him when they get ready.” He was referring to the Fort Huachuca Cavalry Patrol.
“Like Danaher sending for the two cattle thieves.”
Frye moved to the window thoughtfully. “Do you know if Tindal’s across the street?”
“I think so. What are you going to do?”
“Talk to him, or one of the others.”
“Wait a while.”
“I’ve got to sooner or later.”
“Not tonight.” Harold Mendez shook his head as he spoke. “They’ve been over there drinking and playing poker. They even had their dinner brought in so they wouldn’t have to leave.”
“They’re really celebrating—”
“Listen, why don’t you go to bed? Then tomorrow you can talk to them one at a time.”
But you don’t come home, find out something like this has happened and just go to bed, Frye was thinking. They must have been drunk to do it. No…Sundeen. This was probably Sundeen’s idea and those men would go out on a long limb to look good in his eyes. “Harold, who was the leader?”
“They say Tindal at the meeting. But he’d make speeches in an outhouse if someone would go in with him to listen.”
“Sundeen then.”
Harold nodded. “Tindal might think he organized it, Stedman might think his weight influenced the others…but it was Sundeen behind it. Sundeen drinks too much and he talks loud, but I think he watches, and he understands these men.”
“When did he get back?”
“Yesterday. He came to town last night just before you left. He was in the Metropolitan with the committee heads for a long time.” Harold studied Frye for a moment standing by the window. “Listen, I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, this Tindal might be your father-in-law someday…but you know how he talks: ‘Sure, General So-and-so, I remember a humorous account he told at dinner one time…’ Or the way he looks off in the distance sucking his teeth like he’s calculating a weighty problem, and all the time he doesn’t know a goddamn thing. I don’t like to say that, but that’s the way he is. You haven’t been here long as a grownup, but you should know it yourself by now.”
“You can’t pick your father-in-law,” Frye said.
“Like he’s trying to pick his son-in-law,” Harold said. “He’d give his right one to have her marry Sundeen.”
“Well, that’s something else. Was De Spain there?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Or Hanasian?”
“I don’t think he was either.”
“And they’ve been in there ever since—”
“They came out just the once.”
“When?” Frye looked at him.
“I thought you’d heard.”
“No.”
“Did you hear about Merl White being there earlier?”
Frye shook his head.
“Merl and some others wouldn’t join Phil. Merl said they’d quit because Phil hadn’t paid their trail wages.”
“Why not?”
“Why does Phil need a reason? Like riding his horse into De Spain’s. He does what he feels like doing. Right out in front of everybody Phil told Merl to come over to De Spain’s after and he’d settle up. Well, Merl went over. He and two others walked into De Spain’s and a few minutes later they were carried out. The story is, Sundeen threw whisky in Merl’s face, then Digo hit him. The other two stood there until Digo started at them. They each took one swing before they were on the floor. Then Digo pulled their boots off and carried them one at a time to the porch and threw them out in the street. I saw what happened after that. Sundeen came out and this new man with him—”
“Who’s that?”
“Jordan. Clay Jordan.”
Kirby shook his head, not knowing the name.
“They stood on the porch until Digo came with horses, then Sundeen and Digo made them run, shooting at their feet. Sundeen went back inside, but Digo and some other Sun-D riders went out after them and made them keep running until they were out of sight…without any shoes on.”
“No one sided with Merl then?”
“Of course not.”
“And nobody’s gone out to find them?”
“About two hours after it happened I took a wagon and started out. I wasn’t even beyond the last house when Digo rode next to me and said ‘Where are you going?’ ”
Frye’s eyes were on Harold, but he said nothing.
“I told him nowhere and turned the wagon around.” Harold sat down and his fingers touched his nose, stroking it gently.
Frye was leaning against the window frame, watching him. After a moment he said, “It’s all right, Harold.”
“I’m not apologizing,” the jailer said.
“You don’t have to.”
“What if I had tried to stop them? I mean before. I would be dead now. I couldn’t see where it would be worth it.”
“It’s all right.”
“You’re goddamn right it is,” Harold said.
“Why don’t you go home now?” Frye said.
Harold looked up at him. “I’ll go over with you if you want me to.”
“No, you go on home.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Just talk.”
“Don’t try to arrest them They’ll laugh at you.”
Frye was silent. Then he straightened and walked away from the window. “It’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it?”
Harold nodded. He watched Frye open the door, then he rose slowly and followed him.
4
Clay Jordan saw them first, because he was facing the open doorway. Sundeen was on Jordan’s left, then around the table, Stedman, Tindal and Beaudry; Sundeen dealing cards over the stacks of poker chips in front of him, the other three watching. They were in De S
pain’s cardroom.
Past Tindal’s right shoulder, through the doorway, down the length of floor in front of the bar to the double doors, Jordan was looking straight ahead and he saw one of the doors push in. He recognized Harold Mendez, and from that knew who the younger one, the one who came first, must be. He said nothing to Sundeen, but watched them come down the length of bar, passing Digo standing midway at the bar, Digo realizing they were there and turning to look after them. As Frye neared the doorway, Jordan’s gaze went unhurriedly from the stiff-brimmed hat and the shadowed eyes to the Colt on the right hip and the hands hanging loose, then back to the eyes as Frye stopped inside the doorway.
“Mr. Tindal—”
Tindal looked over his shoulder, then smiled turning in the chair. “Kirby! Come on in, boy!”
Frye moved closer to the table. “Mr. Stedman…Mr. Beaudry—” He only nodded to Phil Sundeen because it had been a long time since he had seen Phil and he wasn’t sure what to call him. He glanced at Jordan, then looked at Tindal again.
“Could I speak to you a minute?”
Tindal frowned. “What about?”
“This afternoon—”
“Oooh, that.” Tindal’s narrow face grinned. “You heard about it, uh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well…I’ll explain it to you tomorrow, Kirby. We’re right in the middle of a hand. Sit down there and order what you want. Put it on my bill.”
“I thought this might be important enough to talk about now,” Frye said. He heard Stedman say, “I call,” and saw him push two chips toward the pot.
“Sure it’s important,” Tindal said, “but it’ll keep till tomorrow.”
Stedman said, “What do you do, R.D.?”
Tindal glanced at his cards. “How much to stay?”
“Two dollars.”
“I’m in.” Tindal had less than ten chips in front of him. He took two off the top of the stack and dropped them on the pile of chips in the middle of the table.
“Mr. Tindal, I want to find out your side—”
Beaudry threw his cards down. “I fold.”
Frye glanced at Beaudry, then to Tindal again whose back was toward him now. He moved to the side so he could see Tindal’s face. “I’d like to know how you could do a thing like that.”
Clay Jordan pushed two chips away from him. “Some people don’t know enough to go home,” he said mildly. He glanced at Sundeen. “You’re called.”
Tindal turned his head, but did not look up at Frye. “Kirby, I said tomorrow!”
“Mr. Tindal, I can’t find out something like this has happened and just go to bed and forget about it.”
Jordan looked at Frye momentarily. “Maybe you better try.”
Sundeen’s hand slammed down on the table spilling the chips in front of him. “Goddamn it, we’re playing poker!”
“All right, Phil,” Stedman said quickly. He glanced at Frye. “Just a minute, Kirby.” Then to Sundeen, again, “What’ve you got, Phil?”
Sundeen showed his hand. “A pair of ladies over,” he said sourly.
“That beats me,” Stedman said. He threw in his hand watching the others and saw that they were beaten too. “All right,” he said then, “let’s just take a minute and explain to Kirby what we did. Now I think being deputy sheriff he’s entitled to some explanation.” No one spoke.
Stedman took his time now. He said, “Kirby, briefly…the committee met this morning. We used our own God-given authority to set up a judicial system for our city. R.D. was elected public prosecutor and I, I was honored to accept as municipal judge. Then, under the power vested in us, we tried the two outlaws you brought in. Twelve men found them guilty, Kirby. Twelve men, after R.D. presented the evidence against them. I then felt it my duty to prescribe the death sentence. For the main reason, to let it be known how we deal with outlawry and that way discourage any future crimes against Randado. Kirby, this was done with clear conscience and, as I said before, through a God-given authority.”
“Mr. Stedman,” Frye said, “you know better than that.”
Stedman looked at him surprised, then his eyes half closed to a squint. “We’re not going to argue with you, Kirby.”
Suddenly it was clear and he should have known it before, but this brought it out into the open without any words wasted. They considered him of little importance. Of no importance! Standing by the table he had felt self-conscious with no one paying any attention to him, but now he was suddenly angry realizing why. These were older men who didn’t have to listen to a boy who’d only been deputy a month and before that never in his life had an ounce worth of authority. He felt his face flush and he said, “I’m not going to argue either. Tucson gets the report first thing in the morning. You can argue with them.” He turned to leave.
“Kirby!” Tindal was around in his chair. He waited, sucking his teeth, making sure Frye would stay. He saw Harold Mendez just inside the room and Digo lounging in the doorway. “Kirby…you’re a good boy. You work hard and you keep yourself presentable…but”—Tindal looked him up and down carefully—“maybe you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”
Frye waited, with his respect for this man fading to nothing.
“We’ve been on this earth a little longer than you have,” Tindal said, and nodded, indicating the men at the table. “And I think maybe we’ve collected a little more common sense and judgment. That’s nothing against you, Kirby, it’s just you’re young and got a little bit to learn yet.”
Frye said, “Yes-sir.”
“Now, Kirby, I want to remind you of something. We passed on your appointment as deputy. We could have gotten someone else, but we talked it over and decided you had the makings of a good one. Technically, you work for Danaher up in Tucson, but not if we hadn’t passed on you. We used our judgment, Kirby…and our authority. Remember this, boy, as long as you’re deputy you work for the people.”
Frye said, “And all the people hung those two men?”
“A majority is all that’s necessary,” Stedman said.
“After you hung them,” Frye asked quietly, “did you bury them?”
“Mendez took care of that,” Beaudry said.
Frye looked at him. “Didn’t your authority cover that?”
Tindal chuckled softly. “Kirby, now you’re talking foolish.”
Frye turned on him suddenly. “Doesn’t killing two men mean anything to you?” He felt the anger hot on his face again.
Sundeen, sitting low in his chair, was fingering the chips in front of him. He said to no one in particular, “You picked yourself a beauty.” He looked sideways at Jordan. “Why does he pack that gun if he’s so against killin’?”
Jordan said, “Maybe it makes him feel important.”
“Now if it was me,” Sundeen said, “I wouldn’t pick a deputy that whined like a woman.”
Jordan was looking at Frye. “Maybe that’s what this deputy is…only dressed up like a man.”
Sundeen grinned. “Maybe we ought to take his pants off and find out.”
Tindal chuckled. “Come on, Phil…don’t be rough on him.”
Frye held his eyes on Sundeen. Keep looking at him, just him, and don’t let him think you’re afraid. He’s not an animal, he can’t smell it, he has to use his eyes. Just Sundeen—he felt his anger mounting—and don’t look at the other one, don’t even think about him. He looks like he would fight with a gun, not with his fists, and you don’t know anything about him. One thing at a time.
“Sundeen, if you want to try, stop by the jail tomorrow.”
“Clay,” Sundeen grinned, “did you hear what he said?”
Jordan was still looking at Frye. “Why would you wait till tomorrow?”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Sundeen said. He looked past Frye to Digo who still lounged in the doorway. “You hear what he said, Digo?”
Digo straightened. “I heard him.”
“You think we should wait till tomorrow?”
??
?What for?”
Sundeen was grinning. “Can you do it alone?”
“Sure.”
“All right. Get his pants off in two minutes and I’ll buy you a drink.”
“All the way off?”
“Just down.”
Frye heard Digo behind him. Suddenly no more could be said because it was handed to Digo and Digo wasn’t a talker, and with it there was hardly time to think about being afraid, only that you had to do something fast, without waiting.
He took a half step back turning, cocking his right fist, starting to swing at Digo who was almost on him, and Digo was seeing it, rolled head and shoulders out of the way. There it was. Frye shifted and jabbed his left fist hard into Digo’s face. The face came up exposed for part of a second and Frye was ready. He swung hard with his right and Digo went back against the wall, his head striking the adobe next to the door frame. He started to go down, but he held himself against the wall and shook his head, clearing it and now wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
Frye was on him again. He feinted, jabbed and swung, his fist landing solid against Digo’s cheek, then the left, the right again, now to the stomach and a cross over to the face as Digo’s guard dropped. Digo was covering, hunching his shoulders, but suddenly he swung.
His big fist came up from below grazing Frye’s chin, making him go back, and there was Digo’s moment. Frye was open and Digo bore in, missing with his left but catching Frye’s jaw with his right. Frye counterpunched with the ringing in his head, hitting Digo’s face, but now Digo did not go back. An animal grunt came from him and he waded into Frye taking the stinging jabs, then swinging hard and now finding Frye’s face with most of his blows. His guard went up and Digo’s fist slammed into his stomach. Then the wall was behind him hard against his head, jolting his back, Digo swinging and the soft smacking sound of his fist against Frye’s mouth. He tried to cover himself and Digo hammered through his guard, a grunting jab to the stomach. Frye’s forearm went up for the blow to the head that would follow but it didn’t come and again his body slammed against the wall as Digo went after his stomach.
He swung right and left backing Digo off, but only for a moment. Digo came again, taking jabs to the face and body as he closed in. He swung once, grazing Frye’s head but his follow through was hard against Frye’s cheekbone sending him back off balance. He kept after him until Frye was against the wall again and then he swung with every pound of his body behind it. Frye started to go down, but Digo held him by the front of his shirt and hit him again and again and again and each time he did Frye’s head slammed against the adobe wall.