CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bo Willis had never actually seen Lucien Critchlow, but he did have a good description of him, and when he stepped into the Bottom Dollar Saloon in Carrizo Springs, Texas, he saw someone standing, alone, at the far end of the bar. The man standing there had a narrow face with hollow cheeks and very thin lips. His eyes were dark, and deep—set beneath sparse eyebrows.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked, stepping up to Willis.
“I’ll take a whiskey.”
The bartender poured a shot from an unmarked bottle.
“That man standing at the other end of the bar,” Willis said quietly, as he paid for the drink. “Would that be Lucien Critchlow?”
“It might be. Who are you?”
“The name is Willis. I work for Mr. Atwood over in El Paso County, ’n he wants to make Critchlow an offer.”
“What kind of offer?” the bartender asked.
Willis glared at him. “The offer is for Critchlow,” he said.
“Yeah? Well, I wouldn’t make ’im mad, if I was you,” the bartender said as he walked away.
Willis tossed down his whiskey and looked over toward Critchlow. Nobody knew for sure how many men Lucien Critchlow had actually killed. Seventeen, some said. Twenty-three, others insisted. Critchlow knew, but he never spoke about it. He didn’t have to; his reputation spoke for itself.
Willis set the glass down on the bar, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, then screwed up his courage to approach the gunfighter.
“Mr. Critchlow?”
“Yeah?” Critchlow replied without turning around.
“I work for a man named Silas Atwood. He wants to make you an offer.”
“An offer?”
“He wants to hire you for a job.”
“I don’t come cheap.”
“Mr. Atwood isn’t a cheap man.”
“What is this job I’m supposed to do?”
“Have you ever heard of a man named Smoke Jensen?”
“Smoke Jensen? Yeah, I’ve heard of him. He come down here not too long ago and got into a little brawl with that Mexican feller that was raisin’ so much Cain here about. Keno, I think his name was.”
“Is that all you know about ’im?”
“Folks say that he’s good with a gun,” Critchlow said.
“Yeah, that’s what I heard, too.”
“What about Jensen? Why are you askin’ me about ’im?”
“I’d rather let Mr. Atwood tell you about ’im,” Willis said. “I can tell you this, though. He told me to tell you that if you can do the job, it’ll be worth a lot of money to you.”
Critchlow said nothing, but turned back to the bar and stared down into his whiskey glass. Willis, not quite sure what he should do now, stood there for a moment, then turned to walk away.
“Where are you goin’?” Critchlow asked with a low growl.
“Well, I, uh, am goin’ to go back ’n tell Mr. Atwood you ain’t interested.”
“Did I tell you I wasn’t interested?”
“You didn’t say nothin’ at all.”
“Then don’t be tellin’ ’im nothin’ if you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“You mean, you will come see Mr. Atwood?”
“Yeah, you can tell ’im I’ll be there.”
“When?”
“When I get there,” Critchlow replied.
* * *
A couple of Atwood’s Mexican employees were replacing shingles on the barn the next day when they saw someone ride in and dismount in front of the big house.
“Pistolero,” one of them said.
“Si, hombre asesina,” the other replied.
The two men spoke so quietly that it was impossible for Critchlow to have overheard them, but as he looped his horse’s reins around the hitching post, he looked up toward them.
“Madre de Dios,” one of them said prayerfully.
“It is all right, Ramon. He goes to see Señor Atwood.”
Critchlow was shown into the library where, without being asked, he sat in what appeared to be the most comfortable leather chair to wait for Atwood.
When Atwood came into the room a few minutes later, it was obvious by the expression on his face that Atwood had chosen his chair. Critchlow made no effort to relinquish the chair.
“Mr. Critchlow, thank you for coming,” Atwood said, finding another, less comfortable chair.
“Yeah, well, this ain’t exactly what you might call a social visit,” Critchlow said. “I was told that you might have a job for me.”
“I do,” Atwood said. “That is, if you are willing to take it.”
“So, you want me to kill Smoke Jensen, do you?”
Atwood coughed. “You, uh, do get to the bottom of things very quickly, don’t you?”
“You said you have a job for me. I don’t punch cattle, and I’m no handyman. You know who I am, and what I do, so there’s only one reason you would want to hire me. Your man asked me about Smoke Jensen, so I figure he’s the one you want me to kill.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
“Why do you want him killed?”
“I have personal and business reasons for wanting Smoke Jensen out of the way.”
“Reason enough to pay for murder?”
“It won’t exactly be murder.”
“How will it not be murder?”
Atwood showed Critchlow the recently printed poster stating that Smoke Jensen was wanted, dead or alive, and that a reward of ten thousand dollars was being offered.
Critchlow studied the poster for a long moment. “Ten-thousand-dollar reward?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a lot of money.”
“Yes, it is. Do you know this man, Jensen?” Atwood asked.
“Yeah, I know who he is,” Critchlow replied. “I didn’t know there was any paper out on ’im, though.”
“This is new,” Atwood said. “If you know him, then you also know that he is a man who, shall we say, enjoys somewhat of a reputation as one who is quite skilled with a gun.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” Critchlow replied.
“Will you take the job?”
“What do you mean, will I take the job?” Critchlow held up the poster. “From the way I’m seein’ it, this ain’t exactly a job. There’s a reward out for him, so what you’re sayin’ is that you want me to compete with all the others who are going after him.”
“No,” Atwood replied. “This poster hasn’t been issued yet. You are the first one to see it, so you won’t be competing with anyone.”
“Once I kill ’im, who’ll be payin’ the reward?”
“It’s like the poster says. The reward will be paid by the marshal up in Bury, Idaho. I’ll see to it that the body is properly identified and reported, though. I’ll have the local marshal and the judge verify it. You won’t have any problem proving that you killed him. And of course, because Jensen is wanted, dead or alive, there won’t be any unpleasant charges brought against the man who dispatches him.”
“Who does what?”
“Who kills him.”
“And you say that you’ve got personal reasons for wantin’ ’im dead?”
“Yes.”
“One thousand dollars.”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“No, the reward is for ten thousand dollars, and in order to collect that, I’ll have to contact some marshal up in Idaho. That means it could be a real long time before I get anything, if I ever get it at all,” Critchlow said. “So when I say I want a thousand dollars, what I mean is, I want that thousand dollars from you, in addition to the reward. And I want it as soon as the job is done so I’ll have some money while I’m waitin’ for the ten thousand dollars to be paid.”
“A thousand dollars? That’s . . . uh . . . a lot of money.”
“Yeah, well, if you want me to do the job, then that’s what it’s goin’ to cost.”
Atwood stroked his chin for a long moment before he replied. “All right, I’ll meet your price. Just get the job done. Do you think you can handle Jensen?”
“I can beat ’im.”
“You’re sure you can?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“The reason I ask is, if, for some reason, you can’t beat him, it might well come back that I’m the one who hired you.”
“What do you mean, you hired me? Ain’t you just showed me that there’s paper out on him?”
“Yes, but still, I’m taking somewhat of a chance here.”
Critchlow chuckled. “You’re takin’ a chance? I’m the one that’s goin’ to go up against him.”
“Yes, I suppose that is true, isn’t it?”
“I want the money now.”
“I’ll pay you when the job is done.”
“Then you can get someone else to do the job.” Critchlow turned to leave.
“Wait!” Atwood called to him. “What if I gave you one hundred dollars now and the rest of the money after the job is done? I promise you, I won’t cheat you.”
Critchlow moved his thin lips into what might have been a smile, though with a face like his, it was hard to tell. And if it was a smile, it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Tell me, Atwood, do you really think I might be worried that you would cheat me?”
“No, I . . . I guess not.”
“It’s not ’cause I think you might cheat me. I just want a little walkin’-around money up front is all.”
“All right,” Atwood agreed. “I’ll give you a hundred dollars now. But this one hundred comes off the one thousand.”
“No. This one hundred dollars is what you might call expense money,” Critchlow said.
“All right, all right. Kill Jensen, and I’ll give you the entire one thousand dollars.”
Ramon and Carlos saw Critchlow again as the pistolero rode away.
“He goes to kill someone, I think,” Carlos said.
“Si,” Ramon said. “I think so, too.” Ramon crossed himself.
Gomez, Texas
“Really?” Rusty said as a huge smile spread across his face. “I’m not wanted anymore?”
“Judge Turner has overturned your conviction and has freed Katie as well,” Pearlie said. He smiled at his nephew. “We’ve come to take you home to your mama.”
“Thank you, Uncle Pearlie! Thank you!”
“I don’t know about you two, but I’m kinda hungry,” Pearlie said. “What do you say we find us a restaurant?”
Five minutes later Pearlie, Rusty, and Cal were enjoying their lunch at a café on Center Street called Susie’s.
“Is Atwood still trying to take over Mom’s saloon?” Rusty asked.
“He may try, but he won’t get it,” Cal said. “We’ll make certain of that.”
“By the way,” Pearlie said. “Some of the customers at the Pretty Girl are wondering when you’ll be back. It seems that they miss your piano playing.”
Rusty smiled. “I miss playing it, too.”
“Yeah, well I’d like to hear you play, so you can . . . damn!” Cal said. He had just started to take a bite when he spilled food all down the front of his shirt.
“Savin’ some of your lunch for later, are you?” Pearlie teased.
“You think we have time for me to get a new shirt before we go back?”
“I think we need to; I sure don’t want to be seen with a slob like you,” Pearlie said.
* * *
“Hey!” someone called to them when the three men stepped out into the street. “You’re Rusty Abernathy, ain’t you?”
Rusty didn’t answer.
“Yeah, I know you are. I’ve seen you play in the saloon over in Etholen.”
Rusty smiled at the man who had called out to him. “Yeah, I’m Rusty. I hope you enjoyed . . .” that was as far as he got before the man, unexpectedly, drew his pistol and pointed it at Rusty.
“That’s what I thought,” the man said. “You’re worth five hunnert dollars,” he said.
“No, he isn’t,” Pearlie said. “A federal judge has set aside his guilty verdict. That means that the reward has been pulled back. He’s not a wanted man anymore.”
“Who the hell says so?” the man holding the gun replied.
“I say so,” Pearlie said. “I was in the judge’s office when he did that.”
“Well, I’ve got a document in my pocket that says he’s worth five hunnert dollars, ’n I intend to collect on it.”
“I told you, that reward poster is worthless.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Rusty’s uncle.”
“Yeah? Well that tells me you’re lyin’ to save him. Only it ain’t goin’ to work, ’cause I’m pointin’ this gun directly at him.”
Pearlie drew so fast that he was holding a gun in his hand before the man realized it.
“And I’m pointing this gun directly at you,” Pearlie said.
“Are you crazy, mister? Can’t you see I’m already pointin’ my gun at Abernathy? I told you, he’s worth five hunnert dollars to me.”
“And I told you, the reward has been withdrawn.” Pearlie smiled. “And even if it hasn’t been, how are you going to spend five hundred dollars if you’re dead?”
“I, uh . . .”
“Get his gun, Cal.”
Cal reached out for the gun, which the man surrendered without resistance. Cal took out the cylinder, then handed the pistol, without the cylinder, back to the would-be bounty hunter.
“My friend is going to buy a shirt,” Pearlie said. “When we’re gone, you can pick up your cylinder over there, in the mercantile store.”
“I want a red one,” Cal said easily, as they headed toward the store, leaving the frustrated bounty hunter standing in the street, holding a useless pistol.
* * *
Back in Etholen, Sally and Kate were having lunch together.
“It has been a long time since I last saw my brother, but I must say he has made some wonderful friends.”
“Pearlie has been almost a part of our family since we first met him,” Sally said. “And over the years we have had to depend upon him more times than I can possibly count. He and Cal have been such a blessing to us.”
“Yes, well, I don’t know what would have happened to Rusty and me if he, you, Smoke, and Cal hadn’t come along when you did. In fact, I don’t want to know what would have happened.”
Sally reached out across the table to lay her hand on Kate’s hand. You don’t have to wonder about it, because nothing bad is going to happen. We’re here now, and Smoke told me he has no intention of our going back home until he is sure that you will be safe and not bothered.”