Friends (23 page)

"It
was
Wilson you had reference to, wasn't it?" Bullock asked after he took a sip. "Concerning our mutual friend from Montana?"

"He'll, we chased Palmer Wilson out of town before I had a chance to ask him where he hailed from," Clete said. "No, I was talking about old Hank Wormwood from Miles Town. You deputied for him, I understand. Worked for him
before
he was the marshal, too, I believe?"

Bullock kept his voice low, but he sounded excited. "What do you want, Shannon? Money? How much?"

Clete started to shake his head before Bullock even stopped talking. "No, no, it's not like that. I didn't come here to put the squeeze on you. Shit, I'm glad there's at least one lawman in this Territory who's getting rich by doing nothing worse than gouging prices in a store or a hotel."

Bullock looked like he didn't quite believe him.

Clete pushed his hat back. "All I want is what I should have got from you a couple hours ago, your help finding the killer we're chasing. Give us that and we never heard of old long-haired Hank Wormwood and his crew who used to rustle government beef, change the brands, and then sell them back to Uncle Sam for more than he paid for them the first time." Clete kept a straight face for a minute, but then he started laughing.

Bullock was surprised for a second, but then he begun to chuckle and pretty soon he was laughing right along with Clete. "Where'd you ever hear a lie like that?" Bullock asked, laughing and talking together.

Things had got a whole lot more relaxed in that room all of a sudden. You could tell those two men had reached some kind of a understanding.

Clete took a sip of his whiskey. "Straight from the horse's mouth. Hank came to Abilene while I was deputying there for Marshall McKee and him and Wormwood got to swapping yarns about the old days over a bottle. That lazy bastard McKee had spent his share of time in the outlaw trade, too. Hank Wormwood was real proud that one of his boys was doing so well for himself, and he bragged you up good, how you got yourself one of the fattest gold towns in the West." Clete was smiling though all of this, and you could see he wasn't trying to tell Bullock the error of his ways.

"That was a long time ago," Bullock said, still nodding his head. "And I was a lot younger and hell of a lot more foolish in those days."

"Well, hell, who wasn't? But those were wild days right after the War, weren't they? I hate to say it, but I miss them sometimes."

"Goddamned if I do," Bullock said. "Living in the dirt and not knowing who was going to take the next shot at you." They each stopped talking for a while, lost in their memories, I guessed, different as they was. Wasn't uncomfortable, like it is sometimes when men talk and then run out of words. Just quiet. After a minute Bullock looked at Clete real close. "What's the name of this man you're after?"

"It's DuShane, but that's about all we know about him," Clete said.

"Yeah, I know him," Bullock answered. "Mean bastard, enjoys killing. He came here to shoot Hickok, like a lot of men did. Only this one might have done it-beat Hickok, I mean. But he was too late. Jack McCall had put a bullet in Hickok's back before Whitey got here. Don't know where he is now, though. He cleared out-"

"No, it's not
Whitey
DuShane we're after," Clete said. "I know where
he
is-Two Scalp's bone yard. He came gunning for me last fall, but he didn't get the job done. The man we're after-"

"You shot Whitey DuShane?" Bullock asked, showing surprise and admiration both. "Why was he out for you?"

"Long story," Clete said, waving away the rest of an answer. I guess he didn't want to talk about that mess. "The man we're after is kin to Whitey, but damned if we can figure out how. Some folks we run into tell us he's Whitey's father and others say he's Whitey's brother. Don't know his name-his first name."

Seth Bullock got up and walked over to the window and looked down the street. "Just what I need in Deadwood, another DuShane." I saw then that deputying in this town would be a whole lot different than locking up drunks in Two Scalp.

"I'll be happy to take him off your hands if you help me find him, and Ill save the citizens of Deadwood the expense of a trial and a hanging too."

"Fine, you do that," Bullock said, turning away from the window and toward Clete. "Personally, I don't give a damn how you do it, but the decent people of this town won't stand for another back-shooting, even if it's done by a lawman. Gives the town a bad reputation and it's bad enough already. Just make sure he's facing you when you take him."

He caught Clete off guard with that.

"You got no call to be talking that way," I told him straight out. "Clete shot Whitey DuShane in a fair fight. I saw it. Any man who says otherwise is a lying sonofabitch who oughta be gelded."

It was Bullock's turn to be pushed off balance and it was my strong words that done it. I had got to my feet and went over to him, for I ended up talking right into his face. And that's where I was when he looked at me so queer and then started smiling.

Clete chuckled, and I seen that what was so funny to both of them was me. I suppose my face colored up pretty good. I set back down without saying nothing further.

"You've got a loyal deputy there, Mr. Shannon, a rare beast. I doubt many of my men would stand up for me like that. Oh, they'd shoot somebody if I told them to, no questions asked, but … I'd value him if I were you."

"Well, I do, mostly," Clete said, looking right at me. "He's got some damn peculiar ideas of how men ought to act, though, especially lawmen, even more especially how they should act towards women. But nobody ever questioned his doing the right-"

I looked around and seen why Clete'd run out of words so sudden. A tiny woman had come in through the archway carrying a pitcher of water on a silver tray. She walked so slow across the room and her hair was so white, I thought she was an
old
woman for a second. But then you saw how smooth and fair her skin was. She didn't no more than set that silver tray on the table before I seen what a bang-up, well-favored creature she was. Didn't look bleached, either, her hair-the way it was on most women I had already saw in Deadwood-just as blonde as snow. You'd expect a gal as fair as that to have them pale blue eyes you see on Swede girls up Minnesota way, but hers was reddish brown, the color of raw cedarwood. She was young, too. Couldn't be no older than Mandy, I said to myself,
maybe even younger.
Maybe I thought her younger than she was.

Seeing us there-me and Clete-her face looked all fluttery and disturbed for just a flicker of a second, 'til she put it back to being empty.

"Thank you, Sarah," Bullock said after she'd set her tray down on the table and stood beside him. Bullock noticed Clete looking her over good and then glanced at me, and I guess he seen I'd been doing about the same thing my pardner still was. Seth Bullock, instead of being mad, though, seemed pleased she interested us so.

She turned to go, but Bullock caught her by the wrist and she stopped, just stood there. She took us each in slow, Clete and me, and then looked down, like she was shutting a door on us in her brain. After that, she kept her eyes glued on that silver tray.

"This is Sarah, gentlemen, my princess," Bullock said, pouring us each a glass of water to go with our whiskey. Reminded me of a man showing off his prize mare. He looked up at her face and then reached behind her and put his hand on the small of her back, but she didn't move when he did it. "She lives here in the castle I built for her and never goes outside. Do you, dear?"

I waited for her to speak, but after a few seconds it was clear she wasn't going to say nothing.

Bullock let his hand slide down her back and it was pretty clear what he was doing there with her, though I couldn't exactly see.

Clete noticed too, and he shifted some in his chair.

"Show the gentlemen your lovely hands, Sarah," Bullock said, and after a time she lifted them from her sides and held them out in front of her, palms down, though her eyes she kept on that silver tray. That girl's hands was something to see, all right, delicate and fine as they was, but I felt uncomfortable looking her parts over, right out in the open like that and she not even paying attention. Some of it was Bullock's way of showing them off, too. Clete glanced at the girl's hands, I saw, but he looked back at Bullock right away. He didn't seem to be enjoying the show no better than me, pretty as it was.

That Sarah girl kept her hands held out in front of her, quivering a little, I noticed, and might of kept them there all night, I had the feeling, if Bullock hadn't of told her she could drop them.

"If you think that's something, look at this." He reached up and unbuttoned the collar of her long blue dress and then worked his way on down the front, unbuttoning those tiny pearl buttons. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, and her standing there so quiet and calm, almost like she was asleep with her eyes open.

"That's far enough," Clete said.

Bullock looked at him real surprised. "Why, I was about to offer you a taste of my choicest-"

"That's enough of that!" Clete yelled, standing up quick and knocking his chair over backwards into the bargain.

Bullock looked froze, his hand still on that girl's buttons. After a minute he smiled and waved her away. She went back through that fancy archway as slow as she come out, fastening herself up as she went. I figured it probly wasn't the first time Bullock'd entertained his guests that way, and it probly wouldn't be the last, either. I just wondered how the show ended. I was just curious, you understand, and I felt about as low as a snake for being so.

"Sit back down, Shannon," Bullock said, that big mustache of his spread out over the lower part of his face, so you couldn't see much what his expression was. "You're making too much out of nothing." He laid his hands flat on the table and waited for my pardner to do as he said.

But Clete just stood there and glared at him.

After a minute, Clete pulled out his makings and rolled one, taking his time about it. Then he leaned over the lamp to light up, sucked the smoke in deep, and blew a big tobacco cloud across the table toward Bullock. "I've had about all the entertainment here I have the stomach for. And I've burned all the time I intend to trying to get your help."

Bullock stood up and faced Clete. "Of course, Mr. Shannon. Come downstairs and rn see what I can do." I wondered how Sheriff Seth Bullock could just forget about that business with that girl Sarah so quick, but he appeared to close his mind on it like a banker slamming shut a big steel vault.

He went to the stairs and we followed him down. At his desk, Bullock pulled a green ledger out of a drawer, flipped the pages 'til he come to the one he wanted and read for a minute. "No, no claim registered under DuShane's name, as I expected. He's no miner-or speculator. This record is pretty accurate," he said, rapping the page with with his knuckles, all business. "I could send someone around to check the hotel registrations-this week's. And your man here could read the hotels' books from last week and before, going backwards. A woman who works for me goes around every Friday and collects them. The hotel owners complain like hell because they have to keep two sets, but I just let them. I like to know who's come into my town and who's left." He got a tall stack of bigger books from a cabinet and dropped them on his desk. "These things aren't exactly what you'd call reliable. Some places do pretty well, but others don't keep very good records–even though I threaten to close them down. Still, it's worth a try. I guess you realize how men drift in and out of here. Women too. It's a gold town, you'll recall."

"Yeah, I know," Clete said. "Abilene had a lot of saddle tramps, so I know you can't keep track of everyone."

"Well, most of them I can," Bullock said, and it didn't sound like bragging. "If they stay at a hotel or buy anything, that is." The sheriff put his book away and smiled at Clete. "Have you eaten yet, Mr. Shannon?"

Clete'd looked a little surprised when it appeared Bullock was going to help us, but being asked to dinner was more than he was set for. "If you're buying, I'm eating," he said, sort of testing the water.

"We'll let the Merchant's Association buy your supper," Bullock said, then got his hat from the rack.

He set that hat just so on his head whilst looking in a mirror, such a dandy he was. "I will pay for my own meal, however. The President of the Merchant's Association must set a good example, especially if he has an election coming up." He done a little bow then. "'ne hand scratches the other, you see? You'll describe the man you're looking for to the merchants and they'll have their clerks keep an eye out for him. Agreed?"

Clete nodded. "Agreed." He looked a long minute at Bullock, rubbing his stubbly, squared-off chin. "I hope you'll excuse me being curious, but how come you changed your mind and decided to help us?"

Bullock looked more pleased with himself than took unawares. "Why, I never decided not to. I thought at first you were trying to blackmail me, but now that I see you're not … And I sure as hell don't want another DuShane loose in Deadwood, and neither do the townspeople, the folks who elect me to office." He walked over and opened the door. "Pay attention, Shannon. You might pick up a few pointers on how to run a town like this-at a profit, certainly, but entirely within the law. "Shall we go, Sheriff? Supper's not for another half hour, but the drinking generally starts a little earlier. A good time for you to meet the members and tell them about your man."

"All right," Clete said, and then he come over to me. "You have a good time with these hotel books, Willie. I'll be back after we eat and then you can get something. That suit you?"

"Yeah, sure, you go suck oysters with a bunch of bootmakers and clabberdashers and let me rustle through these. I'll see what I can find."

They went out the door and I sat at Bullock's big oak desk and looked at all the books lying there. Took me more than two hours to comb back through two weeks of names in the hotel records. Pretty busy town, Deadwood. But DuShane's name was not there. I took the books back over to the cupboard where Bullock'd got them from and found a lot more. Instead of going back any further than two weeks, though, I got the ones from last fall, when Whitey DuShane was here to shoot Hickok, before he come to Two Scalp. And I found something, all right.