“And he caught you with his wife,” Moon said.
“Not outright,” Bren said. “I believe he only suspected, but it was enough.”
What happened, Greta began coming to Bren's tent late at night. The first time, he tried in a nice way to get her to leave; but as she took her robe off and stood bare-ass, she said unless he did likewise she would scream. There was no choice but to give in to her, Bren said. But it was ticklish business, her moaning and him saying shhh, be quiet, his nerves alive as another part of him did the job at hand. Five or six nights, that was the drill.
The morning of the final day of the hunt, Bert Grumbach walked up to Bren, slapped his face with a glove and said, “I assume you will choose pistols. May I suggest twenty paces?”
Moon had an idea what happened next, since Bren was sitting here telling it; but he did not interrupt or even pick up his whiskey glass as Bren continued.
Bren said to the man, Now wait a minute. You know what you're doing? The man said he demanded satisfaction, his honor being abused. Bren said, But is it worth it? You might die. Grumbach gave him a superior look and had his assistant draw up a paper stating this was a duel of honor and if one of the participants was killed or injured, the other would not be legally culpable, hereby and so on, attesting with their signatures they were entering into it willingly and pledging to exonerate the other of blame whatever the outcome.
Bren said they stood about sixty feet apart, each with a revolver held at his side. Bo Catlett would fire his own weapon, the assistant holding a rifle on Bo to see he fired up in the air, and that would be the signal.
“Yeah?” Moon said, hunching over the plank table.
“Aiming at a man and seeing him drawing a bead on you isn't the same as shooting chipmunks,” Bren said, “or even wilder animals.”
“No, it isn't,” Moon said. “He hurried, didn't he?”
“He dropped his hand from his off hip, stood straddle-legged and began firing as fast as he could. Having to protect myself, I shot him once, dead center.”
“What did Greta do?”
“Nothing. We rolled Grumbach up in a piece of canvas, had a coffin made in Willcox and shipped him home with his legal papers. Greta said thank you very much for a wonderful and exciting time.”
“Well,” Moon said, “you have come to be a shooter, haven't you?”
“Not by choice,” Bren said. “There was another fella at Bowie tried his luck when I sold my wagon and string. Announced he was an old compadre of one Clement Hurd. How come they all tracked after me and only one of them tried for you as a prize?”
“You advertise,” Moon said. “Captain Early, the great hunter and lover. When did you get promoted?”
“I thought it sounded like a proper rank to have,” Bren said. “Well, I've bid farewell to the world of commerce and won't be advertising any more. It's a good business if you have an agreeable nature and can stand grinning at people who don't know hotcakes from horseshit.”
“I'm leaving my business, too,” Moon said. “Gonna try working for the government one more time.”
Bren Early was off somewhere in his mind. He sighed, turning in his chair to sit back against his shadow on the plaster wall.
“Down in Sonora that time, we stood at the line, didn't we?”
“I guess it's something you make up your mind to,” Bren Early said, “if you don't care to kiss ass. But my, it can complicate your life.”
1
Young Maurice Dumas of the Chicago Times looked at his list of THINGS TO DO:
Interview W.A. Vandozen, LaSalle Mining v.p. staying at Congress.
How? The only chance would be to run into the man accidentally, as he did with Early, and show the man he was courteous (took his cap off), industrious and did not ask personal or embarrassing questions or make brash assumptions.
And then kiss his heinie, why don't you? Maurice Dumas thought.
It had been pure luck with Brendan Early, the timing, catching him in a talkative mood. Then being invited out to the desert to watch him shoot: amazing, studying the man as he calmly blazed away with two different sets of matched revolvers: one pair, Smith & Wesson, big and mean-looking; the other, ivory-handled, nickle-plated Merwin & Hulberts that Early said were given to him by a wealthy and grateful lady from Chicago. Not saying why she had been grateful. At first-out there shooting at saguaro and barrel cactus that were about the girth of a man-Early seemed troubled about the accuracy of his weapons. But within an hour his confidence was restored and as they rode back to Sweetmary Early told about the Sonora Incident and what he knew of Phil Sundeen. Which covered the next item on Maurice Dumas' THINGS TO DO.
Find out about this Sundeen.
Early said he had assumed the man was buried beneath Mexican soil and was surprised to learn he was alive and kicking. Different other LaSalle Mining people said that Sundeen had been hired by the company as Supervisor in Charge of Protection and Public Safety and was to see that no one infringed on company leases, destroyed company property or exposed themselves to harm or injury in areas related to company mining operations.
What?
The news reporters in the Gold Dollar said what it meant in plain English: Phil Sundeen had been hired to bust heads, shoot trespassers and run them off company land. And that included all the Indians, niggers and Mexicans living up in the Rincons. For months the two sides had been threatening and calling each other names. Finally, as soon as Sundeen arrived, there would be some action to write about. Yes, the company had called him in, a spokesman said, as an expert in restoring order and maintaining peace.
Good, the newsmen said, because it certainly wasn't much of a war without any shooting.
“I said restore peace,” the company spokesman said. And a reporter said, “We know what you mean.”
But wait a minute. Why hire Sundeen? Why not let Bren Early, known to be a shooter, restore order and maintain peace?
Because Mr. Early had his own responsibilities as Coordinating Manager of the Southwest Region, the company spokesman said.
According to the journalists that was a pile of horseshit. Not one of them, including Maurice Dumas, had yet to see Bren Early sitting at a desk or coordinating much other than a draw poker hand. Bren Early had been hired as part of the deal when the company bought his claims, and his executive title had been made up out of thin air. They could put him to work if they wanted. Otherwise Early was to keep himself available to show visiting dignitaries and politicians the Works: which meant the local whorehouses and gambling parlors and-if the visitors were inclined-take them out hunting or to look at some live Indians. It was said the company was paying Early a guaranteed $100,000 over ten years, plus a one-percent royalty on all the milled copper sent to market. He was a rich man.
O.K., but now Early and Sundeen were on the same side. What about the bitterness between them-as reported by Maurice Dumas? How would it affect the Early-Moon Feud? Would it be like a preliminary event, winner getting to go against Dana Moon?
The journalists sat down to have a few drinks and think about that one, see if they could develop a side issue cross-plot to lay over the main action. They fooled with possible headline themes such as:
Prospect of Preliminary Showdown Delays War
Will New Man Live to Take Command?
Shoot-Out Expected on LaSalle Street
All this even before Phil Sundeen arrived in town. If he had the least intention of gunning for Bren Early he would find the atmosphere most conducive.