Kinsman of the Gun Read online

  ‘What kind of trouble?’

  ‘Rose, one of the girls that work at the Two Rivers, shot herself.’

  Eloise imagined that Lawrence Byrd already knew. He was probably already writing the article.

  ‘How is your prisoner?’

  ‘He’s all right, I guess. He didn’t eat much breakfast. He doesn’t say much. He just stares at the wall.’

  ‘May I talk to him?’

  Stuart hesitated.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘He’s news. I need to put in my story what he has to say. I promise I won’t try to help him escape.’

  ‘Escape is not on his mind.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I don’t see that it’d do any harm. But he may not want to talk.’

  ‘If he doesn’t want to talk, then I’ll put that in the story.’

  Stuart opened the heavy wooden door and she walked into the cell block. Andrew stood next to the back wall.

  ‘I’m Eloise Endicott. I was here last night when you came in.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘I’m the editor of the newspaper.’

  ‘I know who you are.’

  ‘I’d like to ask you some questions.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk. Not now anyway.’

  ‘I want to ask you some questions about Cliff Darton’s lynching.’

  ‘Ma’am, you need to leave.’

  ‘What made you decide to turn yourself in?’

  ‘I had to.’

  ‘What made you think you had to?’

  ‘I just did.’

  ‘Do you think you should hang for what you did?’

  ‘That’s not for me to decide.’

  ‘Does your father know you’re here?’

  ‘I reckon he’ll know soon enough. I’m not answering any more questions.’

  Stuart leaned back in the chair behind the desk. The idea of deputizing Ezra McPherson and Owen Chesterfield at first did not appeal to him, but now he wished they would come back. Andrew Swearingen behind bars. Of his own volition. Stuart still couldn’t believe it. Old man Swearingen will come for him, Stuart thought. He’ll probably ride into town with an army of men, trained killers.

  Eloise emerged from the cell block. She looked at her notepad and shook her head.

  ‘I guess you’ve got a story for the next edition,’ he said.

  ‘I was hoping to get more out of him. He doesn’t want to talk. Something’s happened to him. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but he just doesn’t seem like the Andrew Swearingen the town has come to love and admire.’

  ‘I guess killing does something to a man,’ Stuart said. ‘I’m sure he learned how to shoot by blasting tin cans off a fence post. That’s how I learned. But tin cans don’t shoot back. And when you hit them, they don’t bleed. He learned that in the Two Rivers.’

  Eloise walked onto the sidewalk. Marcus and Owen were crossing the street.

  ‘I can take one quick look at you gents and tell you didn’t get much sleep last night. How’s Anne Swearingen? How’s the baby?’

  ‘Both are doing well,’ Marcus said.

  ‘That baby took his time, but Luke did a fine job.’

  ‘That’s good news. I’ll print something about it. I guess you’ve heard about Andrew Swearingen.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, we have,’ Owen said. ‘It came as a surprise.’

  ‘I’m sure it did. Where are Ezra and Doctor Tisdale?’

  ‘They’ll be along directly,’ Owen said.

  ‘Would you like me to have somebody bring breakfast for you?’

  ‘Ma’am, not only are you a newspaper publisher,’ Owen said, ‘but you’re an angel. We ate a long time ago. Riding across the Wyoming prairie builds up an appetite.’

  She walked toward Lou’s Restaurant across from the hotel. Shoppers – and there were not many early in the morning – smiled and went in and out of the stores. Everything seemed normal, yet something was different. She felt uneasy.

  She stopped at the playhouse. Playbills announcing the upcoming performance of Hamlet were nailed to the wall on either side of the door. The troupe had performed in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Chicago. And now they were in Cheyenne. ‘We’ve gotten culture,’ she said. ‘We’re not the West we once were.’

  Even as she said it, she did not believe it. And she thought about Hamlet and old Hamlet and Hamlet’s uncle and Hamlet’s mother. She thought about the rottenness. Yes, she said to herself, there was rottenness in Denmark. And she looked up and down the street. Benjamin Payne stood outside his clothing store. Even though he was across the street, she could see the concern on his face. He probably wished he was not the mayor. Yes, there was rottenness, and he did not know how to deal with it. He raised his hand, but she did not return the greeting.

  ‘No, we’re not the West we once were,’ she said again. ‘We’re not. There has to be an end to the killing. There simply has to be.’

  She continued toward the restaurant. She kept telling herself that Cheyenne had changed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ezra stood outside the jail cell and stared. Andrew sat on his cot. He looked small, vulnerable.

  ‘Look at me,’ Ezra said.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re here.’

  ‘That’s what I should be saying. Didn’t your mother tell you to get far away from Cheyenne?’

  ‘My mother—’

  ‘Andrew, why did you come back?’

  ‘I had to. I couldn’t run. What I did was wrong. I can’t run from it.’

  ‘What you’ve done will get more men killed.’

  ‘I came back to prevent more men from being killed.’

  ‘Well, I reckon we’ll see soon enough who’s right.’

  Ezra closed the door and sat in one of the straight chairs near Stuart’s desk. Luke, Marcus, and Owen sat next to the far wall.

  ‘Swearingen is going to come for him,’ Ezra said.

  ‘I figured he would,’ Stuart said.

  ‘You fellows need to get some rest,’ Owen said.

  ‘You do, too,’ Stokesbury said.

  ‘I’m all right. I’ve gone without sleep plenty of times before,’ Ezra said.

  ‘Yeah, but you’re not as young as you used to be,’ Owen said.

  ‘When do you think Swearingen will come?’ Stuart asked.

  ‘This afternoon. He’ll wait to see if Andrew returns.’

  ‘Why don’t we move Andrew to another town?’ Luke said.

  ‘Swearingen and his men would probably catch up with us. If we’re going to deal with them, I’d rather do it here than in the middle of the prairie.’

  ‘Just unlock the door and throw him out into the street,’ Luke said.

  ‘I wish we could,’ Ezra said, ‘but he’s confessed to a crime. We have to keep him. A judge and jury will decide what to do with him.’

  ‘This is one hell of a mess,’ Owen said. ‘Maybe Swearingen will decide not to come. After all, he’s got a new grandbaby.’

  ‘Do you believe that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Luke, why don’t you go to the hotel? There’s nothing for you to do here.’

  ‘I want to stay.’

  ‘Suit yourself. But when Swearingen comes, you stay in here. No matter what happens, don’t go into the street. Stokesbury, this is not your fight. You’re a newspaperman, not a lawman. I’ll say the same thing to you that I said to Luke. Go to the hotel – or go to Miss Endicott’s newspaper. You don’t belong here.’

  ‘You’re wrong, Ezra. I do belong here. You’re going to need all the help you can get.’

  ‘What kind of help can you give?’

  ‘I’ve fired a shotgun and rifle a time or two.’

  ‘At a man who’s firing back at you? Go see Miss Endicott.’

  ‘I’m staying here.’

  ‘There’s a shotgun in the rack on the wall. When the time comes, if you insist on standing with us, I want you to take it. We’ll do everything we can to pr
event a shootout. But if shooting starts, aim at somebody who’s firing at us. With a twelve-gauge, you’re bound to hit something. I just hope it’s not one of us.’

  The afternoon hours crawled. The heat was relentless. Shadows inched their way across the floor. Stuart lay on a cot in one of the cells. Owen sat in a chair, his head tilted, and snored. Luke read the most recent copy of the Cheyenne Daily Times. Marcus said he needed some air, but Ezra knew what he was doing. He was going to keep an eye out for Swearingen.

  At the end of the lower veranda, Swearingen admired the barn, the corral, the bunk houses. All this is mine, he thought. I’ve built it from nothing. And it’s going to be Andrew’s. This is not the kind of life Peter wants. But Andrew is cut out for it. Nobody is going to interfere. Not Ginevra, not Zeke Stuart, not McPherson.

  McPherson.

  I know, I know, I know. You may think I don’t, but I do. You and Ginevra. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. I saw how concerned you were about her. It was touching. Damn touching. I thought I was going to cry. She’s the one who’s going to cry – when your worthless body is buried beneath this merciless Wyoming sun.

  Two ranch hands walked past the veranda and tipped their hats.

  ‘Afternoon, Mr Swearingen.’

  ‘Afternoon, boys. Don’t let this heat get you down.’

  ‘No, sir. We’re managing.’

  ‘Let us know when you want us to teach that baby how to lasso a calf.’

  ‘You betcha. Maybe next week. I have to tell you – that baby is going to be as ornery as his grandpa.’

  The men laughed and made their way toward the corral. Peter came onto the porch and lit a cigarette.

  ‘Want one?’ Peter asked.

  ‘Sure. Why not? How’s Anne?’

  ‘Sleeping. She’s doing fine. Doctor Tisdale did a good job.’

  ‘Yeah, he did a good job. Like his brother, he’s a professional.’

  ‘You miss John, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do. He was a fine lawyer. More than that, he was a fine man. We didn’t always see eye to eye on some things, but I always respected his opinion. I hope we catch the scoundrel who killed him.’

  ‘Is there much chance of that happening?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Father, I was talking with Mother. She’s in the parlor. She can’t sleep. She told me about Andrew.’

  ‘It’s quite a surprise, isn’t it? Life’s full of surprises. I should know by now. Who would have thought Andrew would get it in his head to go to jail? What kind of a fool thing was that to do?’

  ‘I wish I could say Andrew and I are close, but we’re not. He doesn’t confide a whole lot to me. But maybe if I ride into town and talk to him and talk to the sheriff, I can straighten this thing out.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s beyond straightening out.’

  For Swearingen the cigarette was good. It eased his mind.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Some of us are going to ride into Cheyenne and bring Andrew back. He’s just a little confused. Something has gotten into his head. That doesn’t mean he belongs in jail. Hell, half the country is confused. The Congress of the United States of America is confused. What are we going to do? Put handcuffs on all of them? No, sir. Being confused is not a crime. Andrew should not be in jail. He should be here. If the law doesn’t see it my way, then I’ll deal with them accordingly.’

  Peter realized his father was wearing a gun belt.

  ‘I’ve never seen you carry a pistol.’

  ‘Sometimes situations demand that we carry one.’

  ‘Father, don’t cause trouble. I know this business with Andrew can be worked out without violence. Obviously Andrew went to jail because he thought it was something he needed to do. We have to respect that.’

  ‘You think I’m the cause of his problems, don’t you?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘But it’s what you think.’

  ‘Father, like I said, Andrew doesn’t confide in me, nor do you. I’m an outsider in this family. I don’t know the extent of my brother’s problems, and I don’t know their cause.’

  ‘Well, you know business. You know the ins and outs of finance. I’ve never told you this, Peter, but you know more about finance than I do. No matter what happens today, the firm back in New York is yours to run.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that. Go inside. See Mother. She needs you.’

  ‘She doesn’t need me. She needs comforting from someone else.’

  Peter did not understand, but he knew asking questions would clarify little. He finished the cigarette and went back inside.

  Rayburn leaned against the front wall of the bunkhouse. He stared at the large house with the double verandas, and he wondered what Swearingen and his older son could be talking about. The old man had never had much to say to the boy, so why was he talking to him now?

  Rayburn went inside the dark bunkhouse. Already Simmons, Bradford, Weekes, and Gilman were in their chaps. Simmons and Bradford were from Texas, Weekes from Nevada, and nobody knew where Gilman was from. That was something he never talked about. They were good, highly recommended, more proficient than the men who tried to rob the train. Rayburn knew their previous bosses. Their opinions meant something.

  And then there was Treutlin. He was the youngest of the bunch, but also the fastest. Perhaps a little too confident.

  ‘So we’re breaking Andrew out of jail,’ Weekes said.

  ‘It may not come to that,’ Rayburn said.

  ‘I haven’t broke anybody out of jail since I was in Arizona,’ Bradford said. ‘I went to a passel of trouble to do it. When we were hightailin’ it out of town, somebody shot him in the back. All that trouble – nothing to show for it.’

  ‘Is it true that fellow McPherson is a deputy?’ Simmons asked.

  ‘McPherson?’ Gilman echoed. ‘Are we going up against him?’

  ‘What’s the matter, Gilman?’ Treutlin asked. ‘Are you afraid? McPherson is getting up in years. Just leave him to me.’

  ‘We’re paying you men to follow orders,’ Rayburn said. ‘If you’re afraid, then you can get the hell out of here.’

  ‘We ain’t afraid.’

  ‘Nobody said anything about being afraid.’

  ‘It’s just Treutlin running his mouth.’

  ‘Yeah, his mouth is going to get him in trouble.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Rayburn said. ‘Go to the barn and saddle up. Saddle Swearingen’s horse too.’

  Rayburn left the bunkhouse and walked up to the big house. He saw the gun belt.

  ‘It looks like you’re prepared for trouble.’

  ‘It’s best to be prepared.’

  ‘There’s no sign of Andrew.’

  ‘Then it’s time to ride into Cheyenne and fetch him home. Have you picked out reliable men?’

  ‘Indeed I have. They’ve got your horse ready.’

  Swearingen and Rayburn joined the others in the barn, and they rode down the drive in the bright afternoon sunlight. From a window in the parlor Peter watched. Ginevra came into the room.

  ‘What are you watching so intently?’

  ‘Father is riding into Cheyenne. He’s going to try to bring Andrew home.’

  ‘He doesn’t know what he’s doing.’

  ‘He thinks he does.’

  ‘He’s never encountered a man like Ezra McPherson.’

  ‘You sound as if you know him well.’

  ‘Have someone saddle my horse.’

  ‘Surely you’re not—’

  ‘Just do as I say.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ezra heard the footsteps before the door knob turned. The footsteps were light, so he was not concerned. Still, he put his pistol on top of the desk. His hand rested on the grip.

  Eloise walked in. Ezra had never looked at a magazine devoted to the latest fashions. Somehow he suspected that if he were to look at a copy, he would probably find a blue silk dress like the one she w
ore. He had to admit she was lovely, and for a moment he wondered why a woman as lovely as her was not married. Well, it’s none of my business, he said to himself.

  ‘Owen knows how to snore,’ she said. ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Zeke is asleep. Luke was reading your newspaper. It made him sleepy, so he’s on a cot in one of the cells.’

  ‘If my newspaper makes readers sleepy, I’ve got work to do. Where’s Marcus?’

  ‘Stretching his legs.’

  ‘Aren’t you tired?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She sat and picked up the newspaper and fanned herself.

  ‘This is some of the worst heat we’ve had,’ she said. ‘How can you stay in this jail? It’s suffocating.’

  ‘You get used to it.’

  ‘Nothing seems to bother you.’

  ‘Interviews bother me.’

  ‘I’m not going to interview you. Don’t worry. By the way, I’ll have supper brought to you men.’

  ‘That’s not necessary. You had breakfast brought over.’

  ‘It’s something I want to do.’

  ‘Well, thank you. But there may not be an opportunity to eat supper.’

  ‘You can ask Swearingen not to cause any trouble until after you’ve eaten your supper.’

  ‘I’m sure he’d be willing to accommodate.’

  ‘Ezra, I have to ask a question – and, no, I’m not interviewing you. What do you think Jesse would say if he were alive and if he knew you’re wearing a deputy’s badge?’

  ‘I haven’t given any thought to it.’

  ‘Give some thought to it. What would he say?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be something you could print in your newspaper. And then he’d probably try to kill me.’

  ‘But he wouldn’t be successful.’

  ‘No, of course not. I’d kill him first.’

  ‘All this talk of killing. There’s no end to it, is there?’

  ‘Sure doesn’t look that way.’

  Stuart opened the door and left the cell block and rubbed his eyes and walked past Owen. Ezra stood.

  ‘This chair is yours,’ Ezra said.

  ‘No, you keep it. You look more at home in it than I do. I’ve been awake for a while. I heard talk about Jesse. Did you know Jesse James?’

  I should not have let Zeke know, Eloise said to herself. I should not have asked the question.