Nowhere Ch 6 - Virgil Gets the Flour

Virgil got into Bisbee late in the afternoon. Outside of Fetterman’s a drunk cowboy was staggering around the street running his mouth at passer-bys. He was young, dumb and mostly harmless, with spurs set low so they would jingle to announce his swagger. From time to time, his friends would hand him a liquor bottle and egg him on to greater stupidity.Virgil didn’t like him, mostly because he was jealous of carefree youth. He was sure whatever ranch or cattle drive this cowboy had been on had been hard. He was even willing to believe that this kid was brave and diligent on the job. But Virgil had never had a chance to be that young and foolish; to drink without care. If he had let his guard down when he was that age, he wouldn’t have gotten any older.“And he’s right to walk away,” the young cowboy barked as a scared man in a town suit skittered away from him. The Young Buck strutted in the street in front of the ramshackle bar across the street way Fetterman’s.“Few men, and none in these parts, can tangle with the likes of me without regretting it.” He wheeled and stared at Virgil, “Ain’t that right, mister?” He gave the Young Buck a tight smile and said what the kid wanted to hear, “When I see you coming, sir, I step aside.” Virgil made a show of stepping out of the Young Buck’s gaze. The kid turned his head to follow Virgil, staggered a little and recovered.“See, Bill? Man’s got good sense,” said the Young Buck. And by the time the kid turned back, Virgil was already in Fetterman’s. As the door closed behind him he heard Bill say, “Don’t you get it kid? He’s toying with you.”Ezra Fetterman looked up from behind his desk of fat pine boards on a trestle stand. “Virgil Miller! Well sir, what can I do for you?”“Release the seven tons of flour you owe me and I’ll be on my way.”“About that…”“Fetterman, they were due at my store two weeks ago.”“Well sir,” said Fetterman, pulling on the bottom of his vest, “As my note made clear, there has been an increase in price since last we conferred. And I’ll be needin’ more for that flour.”“Mr. Fetterman, we have a contract. So many tons of flour at such a price, and I expect you to honor it.”“Well, of course, Virgil,” said Ezra, “I wouldn’t dream of breaking a contract with you. You just show me where it’s written and I’ll honor it.” It had been a handshake agreement. Up ’til now Virgil thought a handshake was good with this man. He thought about pistol-whipping the man and taking what was his. But he didn’t need trouble. What he needed was flour. Fetterman saw the dark look on his face, and started speaking quickly, “We had a contract, yes. But the market broke it. Douglas is booming. Yes sir, just booming. They got hungry miners there too. And the Phelps-Dodge company has outbid you.”“I thought I had your word.”Ezra smiled and flinched like a hand shy dog. “I’m sorry. I don’t control the prices. It’ll be weeks before we could bring this before a judge. Be my word against yours. I expect you need flour to sell now, so seems to me best thing for you to do is pay the overage and be done with it.”“What’s this overage?” Virgil asked through his teeth. “Well on 5 1/2 tons of flour –““Seven. The contract was for seven.”“Now, Virgil, just calm down. All I got is 5 1/2 tons and that the God’s honest truth. I see you looking at me like that, and I wish I’d done things different. But I didn’t, and I’m sorry, and that’s that.”Through a red haze, Virgil saw the faces of the men he had killed earlier in the day. How many years had it been since the last time? He didn’t like to think of it. Who was the last man he killed before those “Indians?” Crawford? No. He had killed more since him. But he was the last one who had meant something.It scared him how easy it had been to kill those men. He would have thought that skill would have gotten rusty. But it hadn’t. Mostly nerve, he guessed. For all their bluster, most men were afeard of killing, deep down. With Virgil, it hadn’t made a dent. He was ashamed to have enjoyed it. Not with the cruel satisfaction of a sadist or a murderer, but with the quiet satisfaction that comes from a job well-done.He remembered a time when he would have gunned this Fetterman down for less than this. Then taken all he could carry of the man’s property and left the building in flames behind him. But that had been back East. Where there were trees to hide in and mountains to escape to. Where he knew the secret ways and the safe places like the back of his hand. Most of all there had been water. He thought about where he could run. Where there would be water and safe haven here in the desert. Mexico maybe. “Virgil,” said Fetterman, with fear in his eyes, “Are you okay?”“Some trouble on the road,” said Virgil. Then he thought of Laura and Mack and Penelope. If he went to Mexico, there’d be no going back home to them. They’d be ashamed to know their father was a murderer. And when he’d married and come West, he’d promised Laura and himself that he’d put all behind him. Virgil buried his rage, swallowed his pride, and paid Fetterman what he asked. When the transaction was complete, Fetterman said, “Thank you very much. We’ll see you next time.” “I expect not,” said Virgil.He walked through Fetterman’s warehouse to the back lot where he had parked his wagon. He found the bags of flour stacked in the middle of the room. As he threw the first bag over his shoulder, one of the stock boys said, “You’re not pullin’ out tonight are you?”Virgil carried the flour to his wagon without answering. The stock boy fell in and the wagon filled quickly. Still, by the time they were done, it was almost dark and Virgil was ready to be gone. As he heaved the last bag into the wagon, he heard a voice say, “Well there he is!” Framed in the alleyway was Young Buck and Bill, drunker than before. The Young Buck kicked his boots so his spurs would jangle extra loud as he came down the alley. This was trouble Virgil didn’t need. He ignored the kid and cinched the canvas cover tight over his wagon bed. “Mister! I’m talking to you!”Virgil turned to get onto the wagon, but the kid blocked his path and jammed a finger into his chest. “My friend over there says you’re making fun of me,” slurred the kid, reeking of liquor, “And I said that can’t be because there’s no man in this town foolish enough to make fun of me to my face.”“I’m not making fun of you, sir. I’m just about my business,” Virgil said. Then tried to step around the Young Buck, but the kid was having none of it. He staggered to the side and blocked Virgil’s path.Virgil said, “I’m taking that flour to the hungry people of Grantham, that’s all.” “Who, you hear that Bill? He’s haulin’ flour! What are you some kind of Baker?”“I keep a store,” said Virgil, seeing Penelope’s face from that morning as she had bounded out of the back of the wagon. He’d be no good to his family in jail. Best to take the abuse, he told himself, not quite believing it. He shook as he tried to contain his pride and his rage, and the anger at Fetterman came rushing back, this time twice as hot.“Look at that Bill, he’s terrified!” said the Young Buck in mock concern. “It’s okay shopkeep. I never do you no harm. But let me show you what a daisy like me can do when I get riled.” The kid put his hand on his pistol and then Virgil moved fast. He stepped forward and grabbed the kid’s wrist before he could clear the pistol from his holster. Virgil slammed his forehead into the kid’s nose and the Young Buck cried out in pain as blood gushed down his chin.Virgil jerked the kid’s gun hand, spinning the Young Buck around 180 degrees and pointing the firearm down the alley at his friend Bill. Virgil slammed his palm into the back of Young Buck’s hand, folding the kid’s wrist over on itself and causing his fingers to pop open and release the gun. In one smooth motion, Virgil seized the gun, pointed it at Bill and cocked the trigger, still holding the kid by his wrist with his left hand.It had all happened so fast that all Bill could do was stand there with his mouth hanging open, trying to make sense of it. But when he heard the cocking of the gun he blinked rapidly as he realized he was in real trouble.Virgil’s eyes were wide and filled with madness as he said, “I’m expected back home, you understand?”The Young Buck made a feeble grab for Virgil. Without taking his eyes from Bill, Vigil slammed the Young Buck in the head with the pistol. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground, where blood from his head wound soaked into the dirt.“I’m going home,” said Virgil, “And nothing and no one is gonna stop me.”Bill nodded, still not thinking to close his mouth.“Now, walk forward slow,” said Virgil. Bill turned and ran away. As he disappeared around the corner, Virgil heard him say, “I think he’s killed Joe!” “Goddamn it,” said Virgil. He looked down at Young Buck, unconscious and bleeding on the ground, and said, “God damn you too. Dumb kid with dumber friends.” He walked to his wagon and looked up at the seat on its metal leaf springs. Sitting on that seat, he judged that his head would be maybe fifteen feet off the ground. And his good dray horses couldn’t manage much above a trot, even with an empty wagon. He’d be a fat target all right, like in one of those newfangled shooting galleries. And not much harder to hit. He sighed and looked at the buildings around him. He might be able to climb up that corner and run across the roof, but the wagon was boxed in by the buildings and the stout fence across the back. Virgil wasn’t about to abandon his rig and the flour. Between those cowboys and goddamn Bisbee in general, he was pretty certain he wouldn’t ever see the wagon or the flour again. If nothing else, Fetterman would re-sell them as a package deal. Out in the street, the rest of the Young Buck’s outfit and the curious spectators had formed a crowd and were trying to decide who was going to take a peek down the alley. Bill heard the clop of hoof and jingle of harness from behind Fetterman’s and said, “I think he’s coming.” Pistols cleared holsters and Bill’s hand wasn’t the only one shaking as he aimed at the opening of the alley.At first, all Bill saw was two dray horses pulling a wagon. But as the wagon came out into the street, then he saw the top of Virgil’s head sticking up between the horses. He was walking between them, using them as cover. It had seemed like a good plan, but now Virgil couldn’t turn the horses while he was walking between them. “All RIGHT!” boomed a man’s voice from behind the crowd. “I’m comin’ through and if I see a naked firearm, I”m arresting the man who bears it!”Bill shouted, “But he kilt our friend!” without taking his eyes off what little he could see of Virgil. A mutter of agreement went up from the crowd. A shotgun blast rang out. And in the silence that followed it, the man’s voice again bellowed, “It ain’t open for discussion!” Weapons were holstered all around and Bill followed suit. A large man in a long, dark coat and slouch hat pushed his way through the crowd, with a shotgun leaning against his shoulder. When he saw Virgil and his wagon, he chuckled. “Sir, that is an entertaining predicament you’ve gotten yourself into.”Virgil, still not showing his face, said, “I advise you to seek entertainment elsewhere.“‘Fraid I can’t do that.” said the man, hitching back his coat lapel to reveal a silver star that read Sheriff. “I’m tasked with keeping the peace.”“You showed up late for that,” said Virgil.The Sheriff smiled again. “Well, you know, this town kind spreads its wickedness around. Not hardly convenient. They say you killed a man. But since this lot don’t look too reliable. I thought I’d get your thoughts on the matter before I go shootin’ horses to get to you.”“He’s alive. Back there behind Fetterman’s. He pulled his gun and I took it away and hit him on the head with it.” “And what’d you do to him to get him so mad?” asked the Sheriff.Bill said, “He weren’t mad he was just funnin’ is all.” Virgil said, “Drunk and fulla sand, looking for someone to push around,”“And he pushed the wrong man, is that it?” asked the Sheriff. “I’m expected at home. Not about to let a drunk accidentally shoot me.” said Virgil. The Sheriff rubbed his chin and thought about it. “Yeah, I’ll allow it makes for a poor epitaph.” He turned to another man in the crowd and said, “Go have a look, see if he’s tellin’ the truth.”The man came back, helping the Young Buck stagger, bloody-faced into the street. The Sheriff asked, “Did you draw on this man?”Young Buck looked around, confused. All he saw was the Sheriff and what appeared to be an empty wagon. “What man?”Virgil stepped out from between the horses. Young Buck flinched when he saw him. Then he looked to the Sheriff and said, “Yes, sir, I started to.” The Sheriff shook his head. “Go see the Doc.”“That it?” asked Virgil.“No, sir, I’m gonna see you to the edge of town, make sure that nothing happens. And I don’t want to see you come back.” “Fetterman’s a crook, that kid’s a fool,” said Virgil. “I’m sorry to see a like-minded man go, but you are going,” said the Sheriff. Virgil nodded and led his horses and wagon out of town. As he went, the Sheriff walked beside him and asked, “What’s your name? What’s your business?”“Virgil Miller. I own the General Store in Grantham.”The Sheriff laughed, “You’re a shopkeeper?”“I married into it,” said Virgil.The Sheriff said, “That makes even less sense.” He looked back and saw that no one was following them. Then he held out his hand and said, “Sheriff Dunston. I appreciate you not shooting that cowboy in my town.” Virgil looked Dunston’s hand and said, “If I see either of them again, I’m gonna assume…”The Sheriff nodded. “I would too. All I ask is just don’t go shootin’ anybody in Bisbee. Beyond that, it’s between you the Lord Almighty.”Virgil shook his hand, climbed into his wagon, and rode off into what was left of the sunset. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit patrickemclean.substack.com