Sliphammer

“Listen,” Tree said, “you two just get back in your goddamn buggy and drive back to Arizona. There’s nothing here for you.”

Caroline scowled at him but did not speak. Rafe, his face red, said, “Damn it, when you go

“When you quit acting like one.”

Caroline said, “That’s not fair.”

He looked at her. “Shut up.”

Rafe sat up straight. “Who you tellin’ to shut up?”

Tree ignored him; he said flatly to Caroline, “You put him up to this-you filled his head with notions. If you don’t want him dead, you’d better change his mind.”

Caroline gave him a savage mock-sweet smile. “Rafe’s a man-he makes his own decisions.”

“In a pig’s eye. Now grab him by the ear and get him out of here-or I’ll do it myself.”

“You just try,” Rafe growled, eyes flashing. “You just try that little thing, Jeremy.”

Tree snorted, walked around the foot of the bed and picked up a newspaper from the little lamp table. He went over to the bed and lay down, crossing his muddy boots on the coverlet, and held the newspaper up in front of his face.

Caroline said, “What do you think you’re doing?”.

“Reading,” Tree said.

“And just what are we supposed to do?”

Tree lowered the newspaper and looked at her. “I couldn’t care less what you do,” he said, and lifted the paper.

Caroline said, “We haven’t got the money for a hotel room.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you came all this way, shouldn’t you?”

“You bastard,” she said.

Tree said, “There sure as hell isn’t room for all three of us on this bed, Caroline.”

“Jerr, you’re a first class A number one son of a bitch.”

“Uh-hunh,” he muttered, reading.

Rafe got off the corner of the bed, assembled his dignity, and said, “Come on, honey, let’s you and me go get something to eat. To hell with his majesty.”

“Enjoy yourselves,” Tree intoned, without looking away from his reading matter.

Caroline said in a stifled, angry little voice, “You just wait till you need our help arresting Wyatt Earp. You’ll come begging on your knees, Jeremiah Tree.”

“All right,” Tree drawled. “You two just stay out of trouble until I do.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” said Rafe, yanking the door open. He stopped. “You coming?”

Caroline came away from the window. “You just wait,” she fumed.

The two of them went out; the door slammed angrily. Tree put the paper down on his chest and frowned at the ceiling. The frown turned to a scowl.

Wyatt Earp said to him, “I’ve got a skittish brother too, amigo, but I can handle him. You put hobbles on that kid or he’ll get hurt.”

Tree glowered down at the man in the rocking chair. “What’d he do?”

“Came right up here and told me he wasn’t scared of me. Now, I don’t mind a man not being scared of me. I never asked him to be scared of me, did I? But I don’t like it when a man sneers at me.”

“You won’t kill him for a sneer.”

Earp gave a loud bark of laughter. “Hardly-hardly. But I’ll tell you something, it’s the kids you always have to watch. They’re the ones who haven’t got a layer of sense grown onto their hides. At thirty you start counting up the odds, you start recognizing consequences. At twenty you don’t believe a damned thing can ever happen to you. A tough kid is a lot more dangerous than a tough grown-up man. Which is to say I won’t give your brother as much leeway as I’d give you, because I don’t trust him half as far as you. If that kid makes the wrong move in front of me I won’t wait to find out whether he’s bluffing. I state that as a warning between friends, not a threat to scare you. Understand me?”

“Aeah.”

“Then hobble him,” Wyatt Earp said, got up from his chair and went inside.

Tree stayed put, scowling. Across the street, Sheriff McKesson ambled into sight and gave him a courteous look of mild inquisitiveness. Tree yanked his hat down tight and strode away up the street, breaking out into the brass afternoon sunlight with long-legged strides, tramping his shadow into the ground, heading with enraged aimlessness toward the telegraph office, where he knew there would be no message for him.

Eight

“Look at him,” Rafe complained. “Sittin’ up there on that porch like an old lizard lazy in the sun, actin’ like he owned all of Creation. I’d like to bring him down a peg.”

Caroline said, “You couldn’t beat him in a fair fight and you know it. It’s not smart to needle him, Rafe.”

“What the hell am I doing here if I can’t lick him? Hell yes I can lick him. He ain’t so tough. Look at him, he’s half asleep-he’s tired and he’s gettin’ old.”

“He’s thirty-four years old, Rafe.”

“Which means I’m a dozen years faster than he is. Listen, whose side are you on?”

They sat at the window table in a miner’s lunchroom. Empty plates sat before them gathering flies. They had wiped up every last drop of gravy with hunks of stone-ground bread. They had almost no money and they had eaten meagerly the past three days, sleeping outside town underneath their wagon; luckily, the afternoon they had arrived the rain quit.

“I’m on your side, Rafe,” Caroline said. She was using that persuasive tone of voice that always made him pay attention. He took his eves off Wyatt Earp across the street and settled his attention on her face. She said earnestly, “You’ve got to be realistic. You’re no gunfighter. But if Jerr decides to arrest Earp, he’ll know how to go about it so there won’t be a big gunfight. Hell get the drop on the Earp brothers somehow.”

“He would,” Rafe said flatly.

“It’s the only smart thing to do. And that’s where you’ll come in. Jerr hasn’t got a soul in this town to take his side, outside of you and me. Once he arrests them he’ll need someone to guard his back against the Earps’ friends. He can’t get them out of town without help. And once you’ve helped him that way, they’ll have to pay you the reward.”

“Yeah,” Rafe said. “Sure, I guess you’re right. I was just making bluff talk anyway. I know my limitations. I wouldn’t really pick a fight with Earp. Jesus.” He gri

“I never thought you were.”

A fat waitress brought two cups of coffee to the table and waited to be paid for the meal. Rafe dug in his pocket and counted out coins with care. The waitress took the money impassively and waddled away. Rafe picked up the steaming cup of foul brew and held it in both hands, blowing across the surface and looking out the window. A small group of men-three or four-had come out onto the porch of the Inter Ocean and ranged themselves alongside Wyatt Earp. He recognized Warren Earp and the mountain-sized strikebreaker, Reese Cooley. A bartender had told Rafe about the big fight in the Inter Ocean Hotel bar, where Sliphammer Tree had wrestled Cooley down. Rafe didn’t like Cooley’s looks at all.

The group on the porch was looking across the street at something Rafe couldn’t see, something on this side of the street but down the block in the other direction. Cooley and Warren Earp were talking. Wyatt Earp hadn’t stirred in his rocking chair. Cooley walked forward and stood on one leg with the raised second boot propped against the porch rail; only a very big man could do that without losing his balance. Cooley’s right hand wag thumb-hooked over his holstered revolver. His face had narrowed down to a mean stare directed at whatever was on the sidewalk down the street.

Rafe gulped his coffee down and stood up, pushing his chair away with the backs of his knees. “You stay put,” he said. “I want to see what the fuss is all about.”

“Be careful,” she said.

“Sure-sure.” He-headed for the door, weaving a threaded path among tight-crowded tables.

Warren had come out onto the porch feeling sour-mouthed and unhappy. He was remembering last night, and still feeling hung over from it. He’d made a fool of himself, he’d admitted that, but he still felt rage against the world in general.