Book Cover  •  Table of Contents  •  < PREV Chapter  •  NEXT Chapter >

CHAPTER 12

      THE NEXT day was still cold and damp with morning mist when Purdy left his room and walked over to the livery to get the sorrel. He reflected that things had gotten a lot friendlier after Amhearst had accepted him as a hired killer.

      The three of them had drunk whiskey without paying for it until mid-afternoon, then they rode to Hopper's house. The Mexican gravedigger was already waiting for them with the mules in harness and the hearse parked by the door of the business part of the house.

      While the others stood outside, Hopper and the Mexican went into the front room to nail the lid on the coffin and soon carried it out and slid it into the hearse. Standing at the door, Purdy looked into the room and saw the fancy clothes the deceased had been wearing carefully folded on a chair.

      Purdy and Amhearst followed behind the hearse while it bumped about a quarter of a mile to the cemetery, which already had a population numbering more than thirty, and was as desolate a place as Purdy had ever seen. He and Amhearst got off their horses and removed their hats while they watched Hopper and the gravedigger unload the coffin and drop it in the hole where it landed with a crunching sound. The Mexican then began replacing the dirt he'd removed and Hopper drove the hearse back to the shed, followed by the two men on horseback.

      Purdy, beginning to sober up a little, thought of other funerals he'd seen, and he pitied the poor dead man, dumped so unceremoniously in such a shallow grave, with nobody there to speak well of him, and probably bare-assed naked in the box to boot. He thought of the trim cemeteries in the East, where people were put to rest under leafy trees with friends and loved ones to say goodbye, and a preacher there to make it all official with kindly,reverent words. Purdy had thought for a while earlier in the day, that he would get such a raw funeral, and he was glad things hadn't turned out that way.

      When they got back to Hopper's place, and Hopper had unhitched the mules and they'd pushed the hearse into the shed, they went inside the house where Hopper pulled out a couple of bottles of whiskey and they began drinking again. Ellie looked at the three of them with undisguised disapproval and retired to the bedroom.

      As Amhearst got drunk he began talking about all the men he'd killed, although he left out the massacre at the creek, and Purdy, who was equally drunk but still retained a measure of caution, decided not to mention that Amhearst had forgotten to include them. To hear Amhearst tell it, part of his job as Sheriff was to kill people, all of whom, he assured Purdy, were guilty as sin, and would have died by hanging anyway.

      The drinking had gone on into the night, and when Purdy had left them he could hardly find his way to the livery where he stabled his horse. And in the morning after a night of anguished dreams about dead men, he went back to get the sorrel, his head pounding like a hammer on an anvil, and his stomach so queasy he could hardly swallow the black coffee he'd had for breakfast. When he walked across the footbridge, his steps sounded like snare drums in his head.

      But he'd won them over, he thought with satisfaction. Surely they must consider him the meanest, killingist man they had ever met outside of their own little group. Why, they had even urged him to repeat his description of how he had killed Feeney. How the fat deputy marshal had cried for mercy on his knees, and how, after Purdy had shot him, he had begged for a preacher and screamed like a baby until he had, as Purdy had delicately put it, "passed over."

      Purdy thought it had been an excellent performance. Especially since he had never met Feeney — had no idea if he was fat or skinny as a nail, and didn't even know he was dead until Amhearst told him.

      When he got to the livery no one was in sight, but he heard snoring coming from the loft. After saddling the sorrel, Purdy rode back across the footbridge and up the hill to Nugent's house. He knew that Amhearst and Hopper were probably watching him go up the hill. Before he left last night they had agreed that after he killed Nugent this morning, they'd give him another thousand to do away with Weitnaur. That would, they explained, double his profits, since counting the thousand he'd said Weitnaur paid him.

      Despite his headache, Purdy was proud of himself, because somewhere between the terrible dreams and his wakeful tossing and turning, he had come up with a plan.

      He tied the horse to the porch railing, strode up the stairs and rapped smartly on the door.

      Nugent answered it himself. "What brings you up here so early in the morning, Billy?" He asked, putting aside the rifle he had held behind the door.

      "I've got to talk to you about something, Frank."

      "You want some coffee first?"

      Purdy nodded, and followed Nugent into the kitchen. The house was quiet and the Chinaman was nowhere to be seen, but there was coffee hot on the stove, and it went down smoother than the stuff he had drunk earlier.

      As they left the kitchen, Nugent said, "All right, Bill, what do you want to talk about?"

      "It's about some business I got into."

      "Shall we go into my office?"

      "Why not?" Purdy smiled his friendliest smile. He followed Nugent to the room he used as an office. Nugent sat behind the large desk, and Purdy took a chair in front of it.

      "Now, what's this business you mentioned?" Nugent clasped his hands on the desktop like a man patiently waiting to be asked for advice.

      Purdy cleared his throat and said, "I'm not what you think I am, Frank."

      Nugent nodded. "I sort of doubted you were exactly what you said. Go on."

      "Okay if I pull my gun out and lay it on the desk?" Purdy asked in a gentle voice.

      Suddenly wary, Nugent nodded.

      Purdy slowly removed his gun and broke the cylinder, emptied out the bullets, and laid the gun down. "That's so you're don't get nervous about what I got to say, Frank."

      "Must be mighty strong business you want to talk?"

      "It is." Purdy hesitated a moment, then his eyes met Nugent's and he said softly, "You see, Frank, I've been hired by friends of yours to kill you."

      Nugent's expression didn't change. "And who might these folks be?"

      "Well, there are three of them that I know of. Can you guess?"

      "Three close friends?"

      "Maybe not such close friends as you thought, Frank."

      Nugent shrugged. "I know a lot of people."

      "Weitnaur made up the robbery to get you to come to Central City, so I could run into you two and get off to a good start. Then, yesterday when Euc Hopper took me out to the gold camp, Tom Amhearst was waiting for us there. We were talking pretty as pie, when Amhearst asked me when I was going to get on with the job. I didn't even know what he meant, because I'd thought it was Weitnaur acting alone. But Hopper and Amhearst knew all about it and asked me what I was waiting for." He felt a twinge of regret for implicating Hopper, but — the man was as much a murderer as the others, no matter how likable he was now.

      Nugent looked thoughtful. "I think you're stretchin' it a little, Billy. Weitnaur's no angel, and there's no love lost between us, but he needs me a lot more than I need him. Besides, why would he break his own fingers just to bolster his story about a robbery?"

      "He didn't," Purdy said. "His fingers were broke when I met him in Denver, the day before we went to Central City. He said a horse kicked him in the hand."

      Nugent shook his head sadly, as though he had heard about the death of a friend. He slid open a drawer and pulled out a couple of cigars, handed one to Purdy, and bit the end of the other and lit it. He pushed the matchbox over to Purdy, who took a long time lighting up.

      "You're a gentleman, Frank," Purdy said, puffing on the fragrant tobacco.

      "And maybe you're not. You're telling me my friends, the people I've made rich, hired you to kill me . . . and that's hard to believe, Bill."

      Nugent reached into his pocket and pulled out a small irregular coin, and began fidgeting with it. He tossed it in the air. For a long moment, they said nothing. Purdy stared in facination at the moving coin.

      As Purdy's eyes followed the coin, his voice hardened. "Believe it. They told me they do all the work and you get all the money. They're a bunch of ingrates, Frank!"

      "They're blood-sucking leaches, living off of me for years. There's not a one of them that could make it on his own," Nugent said. "I've always known how they feel about me." Then his voice softened and he smiled. "But inasmuch as you unloaded your gun, I figure you don't intend to get on with it. You want to talk business instead."

      Purdy nodded.

      "Now, let me guess," Nugent said. "I think they paid you a certain amount of money, and said they would pay you more after I'm dead. But you know the truth — after you did the job, they'd kill you. Right?"

      "I believe so."

      Nugent smiled, warming to the subject. "And I'm betting you think I'm gonna offer you a whole lot more money to go out and kill them instead of me, right?" He gave the coin a snap of his fingers and it began spinning on edge, staying in one spot on the desk.

      Purdy could not take his eyes off the coin. "I was sort of hoping you might do that, Frank."

      At last Nugent said, "How much would you want to kill 'em all. Not just Weitnaur and Amhearst and Hopper, but Gaines and Watson, too. Just supposin' I wanted to be shed of the lot of them."

      "A thousand dollars each,"

      Nugent's eyebrows shot up. "That's a lot of money."

      "Not for you."

      "No, that's right. But . . . then who would I get to run my establishments?"

      "Me."

      Nugent smiled and shook his head. "You've got real guts, Billy. I do believe you could do it. But aren't you afraid that maybe I'd gun you down after you finished the chore?"

      "Not really. Five thousand isn't much to you . . . and it's not all that much to me, either, except it's quick money and I like that. And you'd have the comfort of knowing there was nobody else who was going to pay me to kill you. You could feel safe."

      Nugent shook his head. "Soon as you got a handle on the business, you'd come after me, Bill."

      He picked up the coin and passed it to Purdy. "You see this? It's my lucky coin, and reminds me that men always act the same. This coin is 2,000 years old, maybe older."

      Nugent continued. "It's funny. When I first got this coin, I didn't appreciate its significance. But I learned a little about it over the past few years. . ."

      "The man on that coin is an old Roman Emperor. One day when he was walking along, his friends came and gunned him down. Now I know they didn't have guns back then, but they had knives that did the job of guns. That coin tells me you'd try to get me just like they got him."

      "No I wouldn't, Frank. Anyway, you're too smart — I couldn't get away with it. Not with you." Purdy reached for the coin. He held it in his hand for a minute and rubbed his thumb along its edge. "Lucky coin — interesting — how did you come by something like this anyway?"

      Nugent frowned. "Pardon me for askin clarification on this — you going to try and kill me, Billy?"

      "I'd give you my word — if that would help."

      "Didn't you already give your word you'd kill me, and then you came to me to strike a better deal? Billy, don't get offended by this, but you're something of a liar."

      "Maybe so, but I'm not lying' now, Frank." Purdy grinned and blew a plume of smoke across the desk. "You know, this is one good cigar. I like that. I really like a good smoke."

      Nugent laughed. "You're a caution, Billy. But — if what you say is true — you're only sure that three of them are in on the plan. What about Watson and Gains? How do I know they're not loyal to me."

      "Ask them," Purdy said. "Tell them about what I said, and ask them to kill off the others for you. Then if they try to kill you themselves, then you'll know."

      "But I might be dead." The prospect of that did not seem alarming to Nugent.

      "Not if I'm covering you."

      "And suppose they did kill off Hopper and Amhearst, would you come down on you price?"

      "I might."

      Nugent drummed the fingers of his left hand on the desk and looked reflective. "I'll tell you something, Bill. I'm a rich man, and I've got everything I always wanted. You've met Luna — a finer woman there never was. But I've got no real love for Tres Marias. And if I stay here I'm riding for a fall. Because a lot of folks have put money in my railroad idea, which, just between you and me, isn't worth a horseapple in a stewpot."

      He shook his head. "If I was to shut things down out here, I could retire to New York and live in a fine house and never have to work again. But I couldn't do that dragging these others like a millstone around my neck. They'd all want more than their share. They'd kill me — or get somebody like you to do it for them, since it's true that they are yellow snakes — just to get my part too.

      "Even my lucky coin wouldn't protect me, if that happened."

      Nugent held out his hand. Purdy contemplated the open hand, and then the coin. After a moment, he dropped it into Nugent's palm.

      Nugent had slid a gun out of the drawer and put in his lap when he got the cigars. Now he placed it beside Purdy's gun on the desk. "I thought about killing you, but I do believe I might have use for your services after all. Didn't you think I'd have a gun in easy reach everywhere in the house?"

      "Sure," Purdy said, taking the little two-shot out of his lap. "That's why I kept this one on you." He laid it on the table.

      They both started laughing. Then Nugent got up and poured them each a glass of whiskey and wiped his eyes, he had been laughing so hard. "You know, you're a clever fellow, but I got to tell you something. Those boys are waiting down there for you to kill me — and if you leave this house while I'm still upright, they'll sure as hell know we made a deal. So I think you ought to stay here and enjoy my hospitality.

      "Why, Frank? I should just ride down the hill and start picking them off."

      Nugent shook his head. "No, Billy, I've got a better way. You stay up here for a day or two while I take care of things." Nugent smiled, thinking about some inward joke. "I'll tell Clay, my hired hand, to move your horse into the barn."

      "No, have him move it around back," Purdy said. "Because if you don't come back, I'm going to skedaddle."

      "If that's what you want, Billy."

      Purdy walked into the sitting room with him and watched him strap on his gunbelt and put on his coat. "If you're here when I get back, that's fine. If you're gone, that's fine too. We got a deal Billy . . . I'll pay you $5,000 if you get 'em all, but if they all start getting each other, I'll only pay you $1,000 for each one you get. That fair?"

      "That's fair," Purdy said.

      "Just don't embarrass yourself by asking for money before you've earned it, Billy. If that's what you were thinking."

      Nugent walked down the end of the porch toward the horsebarn. Clay came out to meet him, and Nugent cocked a thumb toward where Purdy stood by the door. Clay looked like a well set-up man, but the face he turned toward Purdy was as simple-looking as a child's.

      "Put this horse around back where nobody can see it," Nugent said. "And . . . let me ask you something, son. If I told you to kill somebody, would you do that for me?"

      Clay looked confused. "A bad man?"

      "Oh, a very bad man. Remember, I've taken good care of you. Would you do that?"

      Clay grinned at him like a happy ten-year-old. "Sure I would. I would like to."

      "That's a good boy," Nugent said. He slid an old Colt out of his coat and handed it to Clay. "Know how to use one of these?"

      Clay's eyes gleamed as he fingered the worn metal. He broke out the cylinder and emptied out the bullets, them replaced them and clicked the cylinder back in place. "I know how to use this," he said.

      "Well, make sure you don't shoot yourself — or me! Or anybody else unless I tell you. Understand?"

      "Yes, Mr. Nugent."

      "Good. Now saddle up my horse so I can get out of here."

Cover  •  Contents  •  < PREV Chapter  •  NEXT Chapter >  •  Page Top