Gunman's Rhapsody

Behan turned the beer glass slowly on the tabletop in front of him. The bubbles rose briskly through the beer. Earp always made him feel uncomfortable. Johnny thought of himself as a politician. He thought of the sheriff’s job as a political job. Before he said something, he tried to figure out how other people would react to what he said. He tried not to offend. He tried to accommodate. Politics was compromise. Life was compromise. The way you succeeded was figuring people out, and using what you’d figured, to get them on your side. Johnny couldn’t figure Earp out. He seemed disinterested in what other people thought. He showed no interest in compromise. He just went in a straight line toward wherever he was going and didn’t pay much attention to what other people said. Johnny felt almost wistful for a moment. What would that be like?

“So tell me about Curley Bill,” Behan said.

“Brocius? He’s a pretty likable fella,” Wyatt said. “Word’s good. Polite around women. Laughs a lot. He wasn’t a damn rustler, he might amount to something. Except when he’s got a problem, the first thing he does is shoot at it.”

“He looks pretty dangerous.”

“Got a cute spin move with a gun,” Wyatt said. “Offers it to you dangling on his finger, butt first, like he’s going to surrender, you know, then spins it on the trigger guard and plonks you in the chest. You ever ask for his gun, have him drop it on the ground.”

Behan nodded.

“I was a sheriff in Prescott, you know,” he said.

“Fred White done some police work too,” Wyatt said.

Behan nodded again.

“You sound like you like Brocius,” Behan said.

“I do, but I ain’t confused about him.”

“How about John Ringo?” Behan said.

“He don’t talk much either,” Wyatt said.

“But he’s dangerous,” Behan said.

“Yes.”

“Dangerous as Curley Bill?”

“More.”

Behan stared thoughtfully into his beer glass for a moment. Then he lifted his head and leaned back a bit in his chair. Wyatt noticed that Behan hadn’t drunk any of the beer. A careful man, Wyatt thought.

“Dangerous as your friend Holliday?” Behan said.

“Never been put to the test,” Wyatt said.

“More dangerous than you?” Behan asked, and smiled as if to apologize for so brazen a question.

“Same answer,” Wyatt said.

“Explain to me about you and Holliday,” Behan said.

“I like him,” Wyatt said.

Behan waited. Wyatt didn’t say anything else.

Finally Behan said, “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Behan thought about pushing the issue and decided not to. He had plenty of time to learn about Doc Holliday.

“What do you know about the rustling?” Behan said.

“Same thing everyone knows,” Wyatt said. “It’s back and forth across the border. Steal horses in Arizona, sell them in Mexico. Steal cattle in Mexico, sell them in Arizona.”

“Ringo and Brocius are involved?”

“Yes.”

“They have a headquarters?”

“Hear they got a camp in the Mountains.”

“Chiricahuas?”

“Yes.”

“You know where?”

“No.”

“Could you find it?”

“Sure.”

“But you have no reason to,” Behan said.

“I deal cards,” Wyatt said. “I’m in business with my brothers.”

“Of course,” Behan said. “Who else is involved?”

The bubbles had stopped rising in Behan’s beer glass.

“The McLaury brothers got some holding pens down on the White River,” Wyatt said. “Ike Clanton’s got some pens at his place.”

“They steal ’em or just receive ’em?” Behan said.

“McLaurys mostly receive. Clanton does both. Hell, Ike raids down in Sonora, steals two thousand cattle at a time.”

“McLaurys dangerous?” Behan said.

“We’re a fair piece down the danger scale from Ringo and Brocius,” Wyatt said.

“Tell me about them.”

“McLaurys and Clantons?”

Behan nodded.

“Well, Tom McLaury’s all right, I guess. Quiet. Works hard. Probably works harder than he should, ’cause Frank don’t work hardly at all. Frank’s a strutter. Talks a lot. Don’t do much. Think’s he’s a ladies’ man. Ike Clanton’s a blowhard.”

“How about his brother?”

“Billy?” Wyatt shrugged. “Billy’s a dumb kid. Does what Ike tells him.”

“Think I can get along with them?” Behan said.

“Seems like you can get along with anybody, Johnny.”

“If I can get them smoothed down, it will be good for everybody, don’t you think?”

“Sure.”

“You think it can be done?” Behan said.

“If it serves them it can,” Wyatt said. “Those boys mostly do what serves them.”

“Anything you can do to help?” Behan said. “Your name means something.”

“Might mean something to Ringo,” Wyatt said, “or Curley Bill. McLaurys and the Clantons don’t think much of us, ever since we caught ’em stealing mules from the Army.”

“Nobody ever proved that,” Behan said.

Wyatt smiled.

“So can you talk to any of them?” Behan said. “Ringo? Curley Bill?”

“That’s lawman work,” Wyatt said. “I’m in business with my brothers.”

“Well, at least,” Behan said, “I can count on you if there’s trouble.”

“Depends on the trouble,” Wyatt said.

“Well, of course,” Behan said. “ ’Course it would, Wyatt. And thanks for your help. Nice of you to give me your time.”

Wyatt didn’t say anything. Behan stood.

“Good to talk with you,” Behan said.