I Can’t Spend Money I Ain’t Got Yet If I’m Dead

Chugwater, Wyoming

1888

The three riders stare silently as Micah Tomlin’s ramshackle home catches fire.

“Think anybody’s gonna see the smoke?” Harmon asks.

“Nope. You and Jumbo are my closest neighbors. The others hate me too much to care.”

“Never get in bed with a lawyer,” Jumbo says.

“You tryin’ to be funny, Jumbo?”

Pulling his soiled hat down around his grey eyes, twenty-six-year-old Harmon Jones looks away. He won’t miss Micah’s wife, Enid, any more than his cousin will, but their partner, Jackson St. John, treated Harmon square because he worked harder than Micah and Jumbo combined.

Jumbo Leake thinks about the thirteen percent share he’s going to get now that St. John is dead. The pot-bellied, grey-haired, forty-four-year-old former Union Army grunt from Massachusetts has been chasing his fortune since he was mustered out for insubordination. He tried gambling, running a livery stable, and riding shotgun on a stage before realizing he was just lazy. Meeting St. John and Micah two years ago was the best thing to happen to him. He never understood how the hot-headed Micah and the even-tempered lawyer became partners, but none of that mattered now. Last week they’d discovered a large deposit of silver.

Micah grimaces as he watches the flames envelop the roof. “Two years of blood and sweat, and she throws it away for a tumble in the mattress with that sidewinder,” he mutters. But things had been strained between Micah and Enid even before they’d found the silver. No matter how many times Jackson insisted there was nothing going on between him and Enid, Micah saw the coy looks they gave each other.

The ruddy-faced thirty-four-year-old former drover rubs the kerosine off his grubby hands with his neckerchief. “A nice, cleansing fire. The only thing I want left standin’ on this hell hole is my favorite apple tree. They had it comin’. Either one of you wanna deny it, speak up.”

Harmon and Jumbo look at him stone-faced.

“I wish you’d talked to me before you done this,” Harmon says.

“Why? So you could try and talk me out of doin’ what needed to be done? Jackson owned forty percent of the mine. You tellin’ me you don’t want your thirteen percent of his share?”

“I want the money, but…”

“Don’t but me, Harmon. And remember, if anybody asks, I caught Jackson with his draws down assaultin’ Enid. Now let’s ride into town. I gotta wash that cheatin’ biddy outta my mind.”

Few words pass between the three men as they make their way into Chugwater. During the day, the town of 80 residents bustles with salesmen cattle men, drovers, and farmers plying their craft, but at night only a few grifters, gamblers, and regulars inhabit Tanner Stalling’s Stall Saloon, a one-room, tumbledown watering hole known for the toughest steaks and customers in town.

“Here comes trouble,” Stallings says to ranch hand Jude Rand as Micah and Jumbo breeze inside.

Micah slams his hand on the bar. “Whiskey ‘till I’m full as a tick!”

The stocky barkeep feigns a grin, his teeth barely visible beneath his bristling, broad mustache. Jude Rand slides down to the end of the bar.

Stallings pours the drinks. “Unusual seeing you boys in here during the week. What’s the occasion? Did Enid parole you for a night?”

Micah’s expression twists into a frown. “Good thing I know you’re ribbin’ me, Tanner, otherwise I might have to hobble your lip. No one runs me, least whys that horse-faced critter I call a wife. St. John pulled out. He just sold his share of the mine to me, Harmon, and Jumbo.”

“Really? I was in Jackson’s law office yesterday. He never mentioned it.”

“Well, he’s as gone as Custer’s hair, which gives the three of us more spendin’ money.”

“Enid must be happy.”

“Yeah, she’s all fired up.”

After renting three rooms at the hotel, Harmon trudges toward the saloon.

A figure moving in the shadows across the street catches his eye.

Pulling out his gun, Harmon ducks behind a post.

He sees a man hiding in the shadows. The man steps forward.

The skin on his face is horrendously burned and scarred. His pained, hollow eyes glare vengefully.

The disfigured man strides toward Harmon.

Screaming, Harmon runs down the street to the Stall Saloon.

Harmon’s hand tremors as he gulps down his third whiskey.

“Your conscience conjured up that nightmare,” Micah insists.

“I know what I saw! His face was hideous, burnt down to the bone!”

Micah grabs his cousin by his shoulders, shaking him. “Shut your big bazoo! You wanna spend the rest of your life sharin’ a cell with rats, eatin’ one maggot-filled meal a day like my daddy did?”

Whispering to each other, Stallings and Jude Rand give the trio questioning looks.

“He got rolled by some road agents on his way here,” Micah offers.

“Then you ought to tell Marshal Bourne,” Stallings replies.

“They was poor, old codgers. Harmon don’t wanna turn them in.”

Turning to Jumbo, Micah whispers, “Go back to the house. Make sure there’s two bodies inside that pile of ash.”

“Me? Why me? I’m celebratin’. ‘Sides, I promised Betsy a rest.”

“You and that horse. Sometimes I think you like her better than women.”

“I do. Send Harmon. Maybe the ride’ll clear that nonsense outta his head.”

Micah pokes Jumbo in the chest with his finger. “I’m sendin’ you ‘cause you don’t believe his malarky about avenging angels.”

“That’s right. The war taught me that. I saw close-up that when a man’s heart stops, they’re crowbait. Ain’t no such thing as a spirit. Dead is dead. Like I always say, ‘The show’s over.’”

“Thank you, Reverend Leake. Now get goin’. And bring me back proof. Them pearl-handled guns of Jackson’s’ll do just fine.”

Jumbo belches loudly as he lifts his girth into his saddle. Looking down the empty street he sees a man on horseback watching him.

The horse slowly moves forward until it’s alongside a streetlamp.

Jumbo curses at the sight of the rider. His scorched features appear to be sliding off his skull. The apparition reaches for a pearl-handled pistol, aiming it at Jumbo.

“GIT!” Jumbo yells, kicking Betsy in the side.

Betsy gallops out of town. Looking back, Jumbo can see the disfigured rider chasing after him.

The wilted summer scenery passes by Jumbo in a blur. Jumbo manages to steer Betsy clear of the many ruts in the road, but the rider continues to gain on him.

Jumbo turns Betsy into the woods, hoping to lose the relentless rider by the Chugwater River.

“SHOWS OVER, JUMBO!” a voice yells behind him.

It’s Jackson St. John’s voice.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to rethink my position on ghosts,” Jumbo says.

Betsy gallops toward the cliffs overlooking the rushing Chugwater River.

“I need you to jump this cliff, Betsy. You can do it, girl. We done this a dozen times.”

Jumbo feels confident, remembering how he’d once bet Harmon that Betsy could jump a chasm, and how she’d cleared it with ease.

Jumbo gently kicks Betsy in the side and his horse responds, picking up speed as it heads for the cliff.

“C’mon, girl. This is the most important jump you’ll ever make.”

Jumbo looks back, laughing triumphantly as St. John and his horse stop at the cliff's edge.

Jumbo can feel Betsy soaring, stretching out to reach the other side.

Betsy chuffs, her front legs kicking wildly. The cliff is a scant foot away when Betsy lets out a frightened whinny.

Betsy and Jumbo plummet toward the rocks lining the river.

Jumbo’s doomed scream cuts through the valley, but there’s no one around to hear him.

“Get down off that horse!” Micah yells at Harmon.

“He ain’t comin’ back! You know what that means!”

“Means he took his share of the silver and skedaddled. Besides, Jumbo’s only been gone a few hours. Betsy may have finally gone lame on him.”

“That horse is stronger and has got way more savvy than him. It only takes forty minutes to get to your place and back. I’m tellin’ you, Jackson got him.”

“So, you’re willin’ to give up your share of a silver bonanza ‘cause of some spook?” Micah says.

“I can’t spend money I ain’t got yet if I’m dead.”

“So, where you gonna go?”

“Back.”

“That don’t make no sense, Harmon. You’re goin’ back to face the dead man you think killed Jumbo?”

“I gotta apologize. I gotta tell him I’m sorry for what we done to him.”

“Listen to yourself, Harmon. Dead is dead. Tomorrow, when I tell Marshal Bourne what happened, the story might go that you had a fight with Jackson, ‘cause you was jealous he was gonna run off with Enid. So, you shot them both and set fire to my place to cover things up. With you sittin’ under the apple tree mopin’, who’s the Marshal gonna believe, you or me?”

“You didn’t see him, Micah.”

“You remember the nightmare you used to have as a kid?”

“Yeah, the one with me holdin’ a pistol to my head?,” Harmon asks “The one where I kill myself? And the star. There was a yellow star in the sky blindin’ me.”

“You know that’ll dream’ll never come true. It’s bunk, just like St. John’s ghost.”

Micah pats his stomach. “Great breakfast. I ain’t had vittles like that since, well, never. You hardly touched yours.”

Harmons runs his hands through his abundant dark hair. “Don’t know how you can even eat.”

“You could use some groomin’, boy,” Micah observes.

“What, now?”

“No better time to relax in a chair and get prettied up. Maybe later we can call on them painted cats at The Flower Garden.”

“You mean it?”

“Sure. Kate, she’s sweet on you,” Micah replies. “Here’s a chance to show her you’re her type of man. I’ll go talk to Marshal Bourne and tell him I was out at our place and Enid and St. John are dead. You go get spruced up. And if anyone asks, Jumbo done the shootin’, okay?”

“Yeah, but what about Jackson?”

“C’mon, Harmon. You know ghosts don’t come out in the daytime.”

Harmon relaxes in the barber chair as Clyde Conway’s sharp razor slices through the stubble on his chin.

“You seen Jumbo lately?” Harmon asks.

The pencil-thin barber who lives for gossip replies, “I thought he rode into town with you and Micah.”

“Yeah, but he rode back out last night. He was supposed to be back by now.”

 “Maybe he’s out at your mine snatching up all the silver he can before you boys catch on. I never trusted that beady-eyed porker. There, I’m finished. You want a hot towel? They’re medicated.”

“Sure. I can use all the medication I can get.”

Clyde wraps a towel around Harmon’s head. “I’ll be right back. I have to pick up something for the misses at the general store.”

Harmon is on the verge of falling asleep when he hears the sound of shoes scraping against the floor.

“That you, Clyde? You weren’t gone very long. Clyde?”

Harmon unwraps the towel, pulling it off.

His eyes gravitate to the mirror in front of him.

Jackson is standing behind him, his pearl-handled revolver drawn and pointed at the back of Harmon’s head.

“I thought we were friends,” Jackson says, his voice a raspy whisper,

Shrieking, Harmon vaults from the chair. He runs face-first into the mirror, which shatters into dozens of deadly shards that rip into his head and body.

Gasping, Harmon falls over backward.

Marshal Bose Bourne kneels next to the pool of blood surrounding Harmon’s corpse. Originally from Arkansas, the forty-three-year-old lawman is only 5’ 4” but is renowned for his toughness, having been one of the few from his regiment to survive the Battle of Spotsylvania Courthouse in 1864. He sports a long scar on his cheek from a Yankee cutlass and sometimes treats the world as if the wound was fresh.

“You know, if you’d told me this had happened I’d’a called you a liar. He run headfirst into the mirror. Question is, what made him do it?”

“Like I told ya, Marshal, he took the news of St. John’s death real hard,” Micah offers.

“I reckon that piece of glass stickin’ out of his belly had somethin’ to do with his demise,” Marshal Bourne states.

“It was that piece in his neck that killed him. It cut his jugular vein,” Clyde observes.

“Are you a doctor now as well as a barber, Clyde? But you may be right. I’m sorry for your loss, Micah.”

Micah stares at his cousin’s body, finding Harmon’s final look of fright particularly unnerving.

“Looks like Micah’s gone into shock,” Clyde says.

“Thanks, Doctor Clyde. Look, I don’t mean to be cruel, Micah, but I don’t recall you and Harmon bein’ that close. If you didn’t tell me you was kinfolk, I’d swear Jackson was his cousin. What I mean to say is, accordin’ to you, you got a wife to bury too, so you better get yourself right…”

His eyes glossed over and his expression a blank, Micah shuffles toward the door.

“Where’s he going?” Clyde asks.

“Probably for some air. You wanna be useful, Clyde? Go get the doc, I mean the real one. I need to certify Harmon’s death, that is unless you wanna keep playin’ sawbones.”

The two men head for the door. Marshal Bourne scans the streets for Micah as Clyde runs to the doctor’s office.

He sees Micah riding out of town.

Sitting under the apple tree in his front yard, Micah opens the brass box containing the silver from the mine.

He smirks to himself. “…One hundred percent... It’s all mine now.”

Hearing the sound of hooves coming up the road, Micah closes the box. He looks up at the midday sun, squinting to make out a rider coming toward him.

“I’ll bet it’s that meddlesome Marshal.”

The rider’s horse gallops past, circling around the tree.

The rider passes by again. Micah cringes, shuddering when he sees the rider’s disfigured face. Their eyes meet and Micah’s heart pounds when he realizes it wasn’t a shard of glass that killed Harmon... He was frightened to death.

Jackson continues to circle the apple tree.

“You cuckold my wife. We do all the work, and you get a bigger share. Now you think you’re so powerful you can cheat death!”

His heart pounding, Micah faints.

Marshal Boune slaps Micah, bringing him around.

“While you were takin’ your beauty rest I looked at what’s left of your place,” Marshal Bourne says. “You said Jackson and Enid were inside.”

“Yeah. Like I said, Jumbo and me caught Jackson maulin’ Enid. Jumbo and Jackson got into a fight and Jackson pulled his gun. Jumbo went for it and in the tussle, Enid was shot, and a lamp was knocked over. Jumbo got the gun away from Jackson and shot him. We had to get out of there because the house was goin’ up like a paper chicken coop.”

“Try again.”

“What do you mean, Marshal?”

“I never thought you was a genius, but that story has more holes in it than a prospector’s underwear. Your wife is in the house all right, but the other body belongs to Tanner Greene, one of Jack Fuller’s wranglers. And there’s no bullet hole in him either. He died in the fire.”

Micah looks up at Marshal Bourne. The reflection off Bourne’s gold-colored badge blinds him. “Jackson ain’t in there?”

Micah looks over Marshal Bourne’s shoulder. Micah can see Jackson sitting on his horse, watching them.

Micah points in Jackson’s direction.

“…. Jackson… Jackson…”

Marshal turns around. “You see somethin’ I don’t?”

“I reckon I do.”

“Tell me what really happened, Micah. Maybe then whatever your guilty conscience is seein’ will go away.”

“We’d struck a vein. Jackson and me argued about how to divide the silver. Jackson had financed the operation and he wanted his forty percent. That meant we’d only be gettin’ twenty percent apiece for breakin’ our backs. I told him he could have Enid, but he wasn’t gettin’ most of the money. He wouldn’t budge. I saw red and hit Jackson in the back of the head with a bottle as he was leavin’. I shot Enid ‘cause we done nothin’ but fight since day one, and she kept lyin’, sayin’ there was nothin’ between them. Then I set fire to the place.”

Jackson’s horse moves toward them.

“NO, JACKSON! THIS TIME I’M TELLIN’ THE TRUTH!”

Marshal Bourne turns to look at Jackson.

Micah quickly pulls out his gun. Placing it next to his temple, he presses the trigger.

“Consarn it!” Marshal Bourne shouts, checking Micah’s condition.

Jackson steps down from his horse.

“I didn’t count on him killing himself,” he says.

“Or Harmon and Jumbo killing themselves either. I should never have gone along with your cockamamie plan.”

“It got him to confess.”

“And now you’re gonna tell me how Tanner Greene ended up dead instead of you.”

Jackson pulls off the ghastly disguise covering his face. “Enid and I were talking. She was telling me that she and Tanner were planning to run away and that Tanner was on his way over. Then Micah came home and accused me of cheating him out of his share of the strike and wanting to run off with Enid. When I turned my back he hit me, then shot me in the side. Tanner heard me moaning, because he dragged me outside, where I passed out again. Tanner must’ve gone back in to retrieve Enid’s body. He was so in love with her that he didn’t want her body to burn up.”

“Looks like the mine is all yours. What’s the first thing you’re gonna do?”

“Bury my former partner under his favorite apple tree.”