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Short Stories & Tall Tales
The Big Job
Tom Sheehan
From a mountainside rim looking down on the town of Silver Ridge, his very presence forecasting danger and evil of heavy odds, Burkes Candler shouted wildly to his band of five ornery-looking trail hands, “Shootin' and scarin’ our game right from the first bite, if we play this right, boys, we’ll own that place down there in a month; maybe some’at less ‘n that.” He let that sink in, then let his real thinking show: “But we got to find all their weak parts. All of ‘em!”
Tall and wide at the shoulders, he openly came on to people like a bull, but his movements were not smooth; they sent signs of danger. Often he grimaced, hunched his shoulders involuntarily, and twisted his fingers in odd maneuvers, all of which reflected little control. His mean eyes, high-lighted by black, bushy eyebrows, left a hairy and spidery pattern across each eyeball, and settled on his companions with the same level of ferocity. The sense of evil pervading them, easy to fathom, came locked in his words. He watched to see how far his words carried, to see what attention they commanded. When slowly, slyly as a targeting snake, he slipped his pistol free of the holster, each of the gang centered their attention on the pistol.
The sudden shot made all of them leap in fright as well as surprise. And one of them crumpled to the ground without a sound, a hole dead center in his head.
Candler said, in the same tone of voice, “The other night, in the Three Mule Saloon, Blackie Bulger there shot off his mouth about us ‘comin’ on to somethin’ so big he couldn’t begin to talk about it.’ He was sayin’ that to two strangers. It’s all I been thinkin’ about for two days. His name should have been ‘Blackie Bugler.’” He laughed in his wholly nervous manner and continued, “Don’t you think that’s great? When you bury him make sure his marker says ‘Bugler.’ Serves him right.”
The gang leader and his men, trail-busted and worn, not a fresh apple in the picking, laughing in forced unison, were not Silver Ridge’s only arrivals this day.
From different directions others came into Silver Ridge, Nevada on that same afternoon of June 19, 1874, the high azure sky and the deep blue run of the river sharing the bright celebration, ending the long journeys, with the majestic mountain peaks of the western horizon touching the heavens like lost friends coming together again. Such a setting might have promised a perfect day.
They did not know each other, these odd lots, but it was not a foregone conclusion, to any particular on-looker, that the strangers were bound to meet, with cross interests.
Seventeen-year old Abby Turner said again for the umpteenth time the continual prayer that she had leaned on for the whole trip from high Canada. Her father, sad at one hand that his wife and Abby’s mother had died on the trip, was happy that his daughter and he had arrived safely, their well-worn wagon marked with the remnants of trail situations and obstacles. Those tell-tale remarks told stories of trail dangers galore, and Austin Turner more than once thought of parking it beside the barn he’d build someday and let it float off into wagon eternity … meanwhile, stories kept coming to him that the railroad had made constant east-west connections and that Canada would not remain untouched for long: movement, history, improvement and general growth granted such unwritten promise.
On the river where they first noticed the roof tops of Silver Ridge catching and matching streaks of sunlight as fateful as contests, while excitedly talking to his two brothers on a three-man boat about the dream of meeting the love of his life, Kurt Sparks was overpowered by his dreams’ heavy realism. Images were as real as the smell of spent gunpowder. He’d seen her, appearing to him as a phantom, as though an image had affixed his mind like yesterday’s memory.
The older brothers, by spans of three and six years, were quite obvious in their attention, care and all-out protection of the younger sibling … though anyone who might have been allowed a look at the travel of the trio might have garnered a different thought; about the youngest Sparks, Kurt, seemed to shine not only his outlook and dreams, but his personality and top-hand actions, all formed in him for the west coming to meet them on each day of travel.
Some might say it was a heat built by slow degrees.
Burkes Candler, like an on-stage presence hanging thick as darkness, real but untouched, was a sorry part of a real equation. He flourished with anger and direction, gun pointing or finger pointing making no difference to him … he could and would carry out any threat, promise or gloating boast as soon as reacted to by men or women in his presence; it had been that way since he was a boy when his family was burned out by Indians, his family killed, him being taken prisoner for two years, his eventual escape and the lingering hate for all living creatures running through his blood in a constant flow. Mean, bloody, rapacious, he had no feelings for any living thing, which included the horse he was bound to ride to get anyplace.
Such an equation element would fester on any level, on any side of the fulcrum.
“Each squash-head here must make believe like you was from all different spreads or drives or other places up or down the river or for that matter from the other side of the mountains. Don’t look like you know each other, don’t bunch up like trail hands cutting loose of hard-earned coin. If you want to get drunk, do it like you got a brain in your head or I swear I’ll collect every damned cent I give you. There’s ladies, there’s good and bad whiskey, there’s a hundred mugs of beer. There’s also the chance to own a town for our very own, but I’ll kill the first one of you that screws it up for me or the rest of us. If we’re mean and ornery and finger-threatenin’ on a trigger with a look, we’ll own our own place. Wrap your dim brain around that; see what you can get out of it.”
He sounded like the grandfather of good odds and riches, and for a flash his eyes filled with surprise, like an assayer measuring up a new poke on the scales.
It was contagious on the hard-looking lot he had gathered under his shadow. And his ulcerous seed, vermin at the best and at the worst, finally sifted plague-like into Silver Ridge, each one setting out on his due course … to get inside some element of the town’s skin, of its backbone, of its mode of protection.
Candler wandered by himself off to one end of town, eyeing the ladies in turn, checking wagon traffic, the busiest shops or storefronts, noted the neat setting of the bank and the gun hand sitting out front, saw Abby Turner before the other new arrivals. He noted the golden hair as the sun set it afire, the glow leaping off her skin, both elements snapping at his attention and appetite, and the ever-sought advantage in the whole scene tipping all things in his favor, the edge he often depended on. This he found immediately in the slight impairment spotted in her father as he dismounted their wagon in front of the general store, clumsily, without solid support.
Any odd edge Candler found or determined in others became for him an advantage to be used for his own gain.
At the same time, as if odds and edges were being formally battled in place, from the shadows cast by two buildings across the street, Kurt Sparks noted the strangers on the dusty road. The beautiful blonde girl without any sense of effort sent his heart in an immediate whirl, while the nervous, big man appeared ready to grab an advantage. And Sparks was aware of the older man in the scene, piecing all the parts together for him.
Sparks knew he would not let that advantage be gained, and brazenly rode right toward the girl. His heart was leaping as he did so, and the nervous jittery big man spun about to see who was intruding on the scene, even as the elder Turner himself immediately sensed something odd and fearful in the air.
As Turner faltered in his descent from the wagon, Sparks leaped off his horse and said, “May I help you, sir?” He was at the old man’s side in a bound and supported the man with a firm hand.
The old man said, “Thank you, son, I’ve had a long ride, a hard ride. I guess I didn’t know it at the time.” His daughter smiled. Candler, the jump evident in his body, the nervous fingers flashing, caused him to study all about him. A curse sat in his mouth with the chance spoiled by a young pup intruder.
He said, with venom, “This ain’t over, sonny boy. When I set my eyes on somethin’ I want, they stay fixed. You damned well remember that next time we meet.”
The nervous man, yanking on the reins of his horse, slipped away down the street, the curses stinging the air.
In a short order, the Turners were settled in a rooming house at the end of town, Sparks saw them to their new quarters and bowed in his departure, and Candler did not miss a beat of the sudden favor that the good looking young man had gained.
“I’ll take care of him soon enough,” he muttered, and almost in the same voice, with a slight inflection change, added, “and her too.”
Meanwhile, in the whole of town, not all people were sleepy, not paying attention to newcomers, strangers in their middle.
Sheriff Calmly Burkridge, sitting on a bench in front of his office, enjoying the early sun in its slanting warmth, its invigoration, was visited by several of his observant citizens.
“Sheriff,” said the banker Longweather, “You know I keep that slick gun hand out front at most hours spotting new faces, strange turns round the block, and says several new faces have come on the scene. He says, ‘They ain’t pretty customers, not a one,’ and that tells me he knows his own kind when they hang around. I pay him good money and he’s getting some comfort out of it. Thinks they’re connected and planning something.” He shook his head and added, “I don’t suppose a man like that is much wrong at identifying things he used to know, blowing the horn for us.”
“Colin Hellfort said the same thing about a man he saw studying the bank from the livery where he was playin’ around at buying a horse and never did. Was all eyes down the street ‘ccordin’ to Ditmore and his stable boy. Said he ain’t seen him before, like there was another one he ain’t seen afore at the saloon last night, off in the corner like he was paintin’ up the place in a picture.”
The sheriff thanked each one, and two more citizens who sidled up to him while looking over their shoulders, which made Burkridge think each of them was afraid of being seen by at least one stranger in town. “Takes all kinds,” the sheriff said to himself, ‘so you can’t toss away any fluff and flax. Just take it all in and add it up.”
When a young blond stranger sidled up, the sheriff somehow knew there was at least a basic separation in strangers in town. This young fellow was clean-cut, alert, handsome and real pleasant looking. He introduced calmness in the air with his approach that relaxed Burkridge already comfortable sitting in the sun.
“Sheriff, the young stranger said, “I’ve been watching from down the street as some of your townsfolk gabbed with you this morning, and I suspect that they’ve told you about real strangers groping about, checking out the town for some purpose I don’t read as good. I’ve seen the same lot and have seen the one I’d assume is their leader, a real nervous type who’s jittery as an eel on the line. He ran his eyes on a real pretty girl who came in with her elderly father and took a room down the street at Tillie Oh’s Place. Thought he was going to muscle right in on her and her old father who looks to be in tough shape after a long ride. I was ready to step in. Fact is, I might have prevented it by shooting my mouth off. I know much of this might be none of my business, and then it might be if my plans fall into place.”
His voice paused, as if sorry for n intrusion, and added, “I know your deputy is out of town, so if you need another badge, I’d be obliged to give a hand. I’ve mixed it up with a few bad hombres in the past when I had to. Likely I already took a fair shine to that new girl and I’d hate to see her tangled up with that jittery fellow who looks like a caged snake getting ready to work on a mighty tiny mouse.”
He looked off at the sun on the peaks, and said, “That’s about all I can spill from my poke right now, Sheriff. My name’s Kurt Sparks.”
The Sheriff, his long experience giving a nudge to his thoughts and measurement on the young man, said, “You’re hired, son, repeat the oath, and keep this in your pocket until the time is right.” He flipped a deputy’s badge at him. The sunshine leaped a reflection off the badge’s bright surface, as though both elements were new.
Just at that moment another man friendly to the sheriff walked in, looked quizzically at Sparks to which the sheriff waved off any doubt about allegiance. The newest arrival said, “The gent that Longweather has sittin’ around the bank all day, that slick-lookin’ one, used to ride with him in the old days. At suppertime every night he draws down a couple of beers at the saloon, gets a meal at Fat Betty’s and disappears. I know for a fact he sleeps in the back of the general store all night and slips out the back in the mornin’. It’s like Longweather and Cuthbert at the store know somethin’ s in the air, or are scared hell of somethin’ we haven’t seen. Or heard about.”
He shook his head in consternation and said, “Somethin’ weird’s afoot.”
“Second time today I heard that this morning,” the sheriff said. “Must be something to it.” His deep gaze swung full-up at the man, as if his next words were loaded, “And we’ll be needing more bodies from it, looks like. I know you’re not saddle-ready for law work, Pete, but we got to call on you sometime. The kid here is full-blown on our side, you can believe. And it ain’t even his town yet, but I got a sneaking hunch his idea runs that way, which is broke-horse good for me.”
The three men shook hands, and the sheriff, an old hand at law work, nodded that an alliance had been started. He just needed more members, said as much, to which Sparks responded in a hurry, “I got two brothers who broke me in this way, Sheriff, and they’re spoke for with my word. Oldest one is Ned and next is Lon and I wouldn’t trade them for a whole regiment at the ready.”
The three men, Sheriff Calmly Burkridge, the youngster Kurt Sparks and Pete Hashley, started a three-way patrol of the town, with sharpest intent at seeking Burkes Candler in his comfort zone for once. Each one began a casual stroll on the tight streets of Silver Ridge, all the parts shining in morning’s revelations.
And with the ornery lot of Candler’s gang out and about on their own, it was one loudmouth who spoke to soon to one man who walked too close to him on the boardwalk by the store. “You runnin’ me, mister?” he ripped in his arrogant manner.
Not a second word came from his mouth as a hand as strong as a pulled knot closed down on his gun hand too near his pistol, and the second hand of Ned Sparks grabbed him by the throat and rushed him down the alley beside the general store. Candler’s man, nameless yet and still, was crowded against the side of the general store as the banker’s and store owner’s hired gun hand came out of the store.
“You got the best of one of the mean one’s in town, mister. That makes you friendly in my eyes. I do some watchin’ on the bank and the store for old, old friends, if that interests you. You of that thinkin’?”
“Sure am,” offered Ned Sparks. My kid brother has lined us up with the sheriff. There’s three of us Sparkses. Have any ideas on this fellow?”
“I know the perfect place, tight and dry and good as a cell.”
The unknown Candler man was securely trussed and locked in a small storage place at the back of the general store by Cuthbert’s man. “Best we keep him out of sight, away from the jail or any public place. The sheriff and your brother will ‘preciate the effort.” They shook hands, Ned Sparks and Red McKinley, each on the side of the law, at which McKinley added, “That mean gent who runs the sneaky outfit that just hit town ought to see his gang disappear as easy and one by one like we did this one. Looks like fun comin’ all the way. You favor this kind of fightin’ and messin’?”
“Sure do, Red. I got a baby kid brother all puffy with dreams and I don’t want to spoil any of it.”
“He sweet for that new girl, the Turner girl, Abby, who just come in from Canada with her old pa? Girl’s one in a million, you ask me, and the whole town noticed her soon as she landed here.”
“She sure looks that way, and the kid brother’s on his first manly move I ever saw. Been slow that way.”
“Good ones gen’rally are,” Red added, as if he was a long-time observer of fix-it romances.” He felt comfortable with the new alliance, finding the Sparks family like a throwback to his early days down in Oklahoma bracing renegades of all kinds with some good pals, most of which had passed over the long peaks of the trail. He missed their kind.
As that thought hit him, he spotted Candler approaching the bank with two of his ill-lot and looking around as if seeking the rest of them. One, of course, was trussed and locked away, and one wandered up from the other side of the road, Kurt Sparks directing him at gun-point to a sitting position in the alley beside the bank, the side Candler couldn’t see into. He could not see his man, meekly and with alacrity, pass his gun belt into an open window of the bank, at which hidden hands accepted it.
Kurt Sparks ushered him out onto the main street in front of the bank.
Candler, happy at first to see his cohort, and still seeking another, suddenly noticed the man’s weapons were missing.
“Where’s your damned pistols, Gus? You goin’ in like that?”
Gus looked over his shoulder, back at Kurt Sparks just coming out of the alley, and said, “He took ‘em from me. Gave ‘em to the banker. There’s a whole crowd waitin’ on us. We ain’t robbin’ anythin’ today or ever.” Gus made a run for it and Candler shot him dead in the street.
“No one runs out on me!” he screamed as gunfire opened all around them, from the quickly gathered army, from inside the bank, from Ned Sparks and Red McKinley, and from the sheriff and Pete Hashley who had come up behind Kurt Sparks.
As Candler and his men fired into the bank, two of them fell wounded, one man broke and only got about 100 feet before he plummeted from his horse.
Candler, the planner, sat alone on his horse in the midst of Silver Ridge, knowing it had all gone down, that the easy way had eaten him up, and he kept thinking about the one chance he had when he wanted to rough up the best looking girl he had ever seen.
He didn’t have a chance to hear Kurt Sparks say to Abby Turner no more than two weeks later, Candler and three men safely locked in jail after the three exposed all the plans for taking over Silver Ridge, “When all the bad parts are gone and forgotten, love doesn’t come running back; it’s already here. It was here the firt time I looked at you.”
Kurt Sparks said that to Abby Turner at a great wedding party the Sparks family threw for their kid brother and his lovely bride.
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