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High Hander

<h2>V</h2> "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Mr. Jay said when he answered the knock on the door of his suite at the hotel. "Take it easy," Pete Madrid said, pushing past him. "I'm the one who got hurt." Mr. Jay's beard jerked angrily. "Did you have to come straight here? Don't you know he'll be watching you?" "I'm not that stupid. He's having breakfast at the restaurant." They went into Mr. Jay's little parlor. Madrid eased himself into a chair. Mr. Jay stood glaring at him. "So he let you out. Hobson too?" Mr. Jay said. "He and Hobson are having breakfast together." "Will Hobson talk?" "Maybe. But all he can say is that Pinky promised him ten dollars if he'd break some bones. Pinky had a grudge from back in Idaho, so there's nothing to point to anybody else." Mr. Jay considered that. When he spoke, his tone was milder. "We've all been stupid. We underestimated the man. How bad are you hurt?" "Busted rib. It isn't so bad since Doc strapped me up." "Vickers' doctor?" Madrid nodded. "I can still draw a gun." Mr. Jay's beard jerked sternly. "We won't have any of that." "Seems like the only way left." "It's what we should have done in the first place, maybe. But after what's happened it would be too raw. We'd have the railroad down on us, the county sheriff up here. No, for the time being well play Tesno's game." "That means a clean-up." "We'll go through the motions. We'll enforce a curfew for a while, send a few gamblers packing. The important thing is for us to do it, not him." Madrid scowled, as if he didn't understand or didn't agree. Mr. Jay walked to a window and stared out, hands behind his back. "In the meantime," Mr. Jay said, "you're to get along with him. He's top-dogged you, and you're going to have to live with it. Do you understand that?" "I try to get along with everybody," Madrid said. "It makes things easier." Mr. Jay turned his back to the window, moving in the quick irritable way that he had. He studied the marshal a moment, then he sighed. His manner suddenly became paternal. "You're young, Pete—which is a polite way of saying you're a fool. Pride, being top dog, paying off a grudge, these things are a waste of energy unless there's money involved. Maybe you'll learn that some day." Mr. Jay faced the window again, looking across the patch of woods toward Vickers' camp. "If you live long enough." <hr class="tb" /> Tesno found Ben Vickers at the tunnel. Ben had heard about his jailing the marshal and was in a jubilant mood. After he had slapped Tesno's back innumerable times, they entered the portal and he enthusiastically explained his method of tunneling. There were a lot of niceties to it, but the basis was the digging of an eight-foot heading in advance of the lower part of the bore. Shoring was put in behind the heading crew, then replaced by another set of timbers as the bench was removed. "Most expensive procedure ever devised for tunneling through rock," Ben said, grinning. "But damn it, it's the fastest, too. At least in theory. In practice—well, we have to get those Ingersoll drills working, that's all." When they emerged from the dim, dust-filled chamber, the world had taken on a strange new vividness, Tesno thought. The panorama of men and horses at work on the side cuts seemed a distant creation. The sunlight itself and the nagging mountain wind had a foreign quality. It was as if he had strayed onto some unsuspected reality that he could observe but never be a part of. He noticed that the slashing was in progress in the timber high above, and he remembered hearing that the railroad would use a switchback over the mountain till the tunnel was completed. He asked Ben who was building it. "Three different contractors," Ben said. "I have a piece on this side. Mr. Jay has one of the far sections." It seemed a cumbersome, impatient bit of railroading. And in that curious moment of detachment, Tesno felt that he was watching a race of madmen at play. Obsessed with money and mechanics, they wouldn't rest till they had driven steel toys over this ragged sea of mountains to a remote corner of the land. And why? Was it really an accomplishment to bring the thing called civilization to Puget Sound? "All this to reach a little bay tucked away between the fingers of land on the West Coast." The thought amused him and he laughed aloud. "What's funny?" Ben demanded. Tesno grinned uncomfortably. "Sort of a private joke." Ben shot him an impatient look and went to consult with a pair of engineers who were studying a diagram, holding it between them with their backs to the wind. Hearing a chuckle behind him, Tesno turned and found himself confronting a tall, hawk-faced man leaning on a shovel. "A gun tough who's a philosopher," the workman said. "Now that is something." "And a shovel bum with educated diction. That's something, too." The man hesitated, then extended his hand. He was bone thin, a little stooped, and his smile was sad. "Name's Dave Coons. Itinerant actor, confidence man, peddlar, phrenologist, and what have you. Currently a shovel bum, doing a bit of soul-saving on the side." Tesno shook hands without heartiness. "A preacher?" "Somebody has to carry the word to these poor bastards." Coons waved a hand to indicate the workmen around him. "And take up a collection?" "No. I sweat for my pay like everybody else. Mostly I just sit in a corner of the bunkhouse and talk about God. Those who want to listen join me. There are damn few, of course." "You don't talk like a preacher." "I make it a point not to. I've been known to get a snootful, too, and last week, I had a fist fight with a heckler. He thumped the daylights out of me. You here to boss Tunneltown?" "Depends," Tesno said. "The booze is rotten and the games crooked. The town brings Vickers' payroll right back to him." "What do you mean by that?" "He and the Parker girl are in together, aren't they?" "Then why would he hire me?" "How do I know? He's a cagey man." "You're badly informed," Tesno said. "Tunneltown is a thorn in his side. It's slowing down his operation and he wants it cleaned up." Coons' hollow-set black eyes were skeptical. "I'll believe it when I see it," he muttered. "Believe what you please," Tesno growled. He started to turn away, but Coons drew himself up with mock solemnity, placed a hand against his chest and recited: "'Oh, it is excellent To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant." He smiled and said, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Tesno. I have a feeling I'll be seeing you later." He wandered off, shovel on his shoulder, and joined a crew working on a small fill. Ben came up, his eyes following Coons. "What did that crackpot want?" "I don't know," Tesno said. "He usually has complaints about the food or working conditions. He considers himself a spokesman for the men. That kind can make trouble." "I liked the man," Tesno muttered. He rode back to camp alone, letting the company mule pick its way down a steep trail that clung to the gulch wall. Ben was a slave-driver, he thought. What successful contractor wasn't? Somewhere in the process of clawing and gambling his way up from the ranks, he had lost the capacity to understand a man who sat around the bunkhouse and talked about God. We were all crackpots, Tesno thought, each man in his own way. He left the mule at the company corral, lunched at the cookhouse, and made the short walk to town. He found the saloons already busy with cooks, freighters, and a few night-shift men having a midday drink or a try at the games. He counted fifteen faro tables in town, not all of them operating at this hour. He spotted one game that was definitely crooked and he suspected there were more. He visited the Pink Lady last, finding Madrid at the bar in conversation with Pinky Bronklin. They drew apart as he approached, and customers turned to watch. Tesno stepped a few feet away, glad of a chance to face the marshal before witnesses. Madrid was freshly shaved and had put on a clean shirt. This one had broad green stripes. Its sleeves were encircled by red garters. "My god," Tesno said. "You look like a Christmas tree." "What's the matter with a little style?" Madrid said defensively. His tone was not that of a man looking for a showdown. "Black is for corpses," Pinky muttered. His eyes raked Tesno. "It will look nice on you." "Hobson sang, Pinky," Tesno said, stepping up to the bar. "What's that to me?" "You know what it is, but I'll say it. You paid him to pick a fight." "He said that? He's a liar," Pinky said. "I'll bring him in here. You can say it to his face." "No chance of that," Madrid put in. "Hobson left town. Took the Ellensburg stage." The marshal swung away and idled over to a faro game. Tesno eyed Pinky silently. "Hobson lied," Pinky said desperately. "He must be covering for somebody else." "You protest too much," Tesno said. He caught Pinky by the hair, pulled him forward, and slapped him resoundingly on one cheek and then the other. He suddenly shoved him away and Pinky staggered into the back bar. The customers watched in silence. Madrid made no move; he scarcely looked up from the faro game. Pinky glared, his face flushed. There would be a gun behind the bar somewhere, Tesno thought. But the saloonkeeper made no attempt to go for it. Tesno spun on his heel and walked out of the saloon. As he pushed through the swinging doors, there was a tide of low talk and uneasy laughter. A muffled comment met his ears: "Damned high-handed troublebuster! Due for a takedown." Loneliness stung him like a mountain wind as his bootheels drummed the boardwalk. Pinky had got off easy. Didn't the crowd understand that? The words Dave Coons had quoted rang in his memory: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Oh, it is excellent To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant. </div> </div> Tyrant, he called himself. Damned high-hander! And Ben Vickers is a slave-driver. And Coons a crackpot. And we are all working hard at it. As he reached the hotel, someone called his name from across the street. It was Whisky Willie Silverknife, who fell into a dog-trot and arrived waving a folded paper. "M-m-message for you. From M-Miss Persia." Tesno had the note unfolded by the time Willie got the words out. <blockquote> Dear Mr. Tesno: The council meeting is at seven. Will you join me for dinner afterward? Persia Parker </blockquote> "S-she s-said to t-tell me yes or n-no," Willie said. "How come you're running her errands?" "I hit her for a j-job, like you s-said." Willie blushed under his freckles. "She d-didn't have one, not right away, b-but she s-said maybe she'd think of s-something. She s-said if I was b-broke, which I am, to come around to the k-kitchen for m-meals. After l-lunch she g-gave me that n-note." Willie slid the flask from his hip pocket and took a short drink. Tesno re-read the note, searching for the sound of Persia's voice in every word. "Tell her yes." Willie nodded, taking a deep breath to chase the whisky. "She's r-right interested in you. When she found out I rode up here with you, she asked all about you. I told her when I first s-seen you, you was laying in the grass naked as a p-pup p-possum." Tesno gave him a murderous look. Willie grinned. "She l-laughed like hell," he said. <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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