The Sunset Trail

by Alfred Henry Lewis

“Well,” said Mr. Masterson, in tones of relief, “you see, Bob, that I was right when I resigned. I’d be in a box now if I were Sheriff.”

“What is your idea of a course?” asked Mr. Wright. “It stands to reason that the camp can’t go dry; at the same time I wouldn’t want to see it meander into trouble.”

It was thought wise by Mr. Wright, after exhaustively conferring with Mr. Masterson, to call a meeting of the male inhabitants of Dodge. There might be discovered in a multitude of counsel some pathway that would lead them out of this law-trap, while permitting them to drink.

Mr. Wright presided at the meeting, which was large. There were speeches, some for peace and some for war, but none which opened any gate. Dodge was where it started, hostile, but undecided. Somebody called on Mr. Masterson; what would he suggest? Mr. Masterson, being no orator and fluent only with a gun, tried to escape. However, over-urged by Mr. Wright, he spake as follows:

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Masterson, “I was so recently your Sheriff that the habit of upholding law and maintaining order is still strong upon me, and it may be that, thus crippled, I am but ill qualified to judge of the wisdom of ones who have counseled killing and scalping these prohibition people who will favour Dodge to-morrow afternoon. My impression, however, is that such action, while perhaps natural under the circumstances, would be grossly premature. It would bring down the State upon us, and against such odds even Dodge might not sustain herself. All things considered, my advice is this: Close every saloon an hour before our visitors arrive, and keep them closed while they remain. Every man—for there would be no sense in enduring hardships uselessly—should provide himself in advance with say a gallon. The saloons closed, our visitors would be powerless. What a man doesn’t see he doesn’t know; and those emissaries of a tyrannous prohibition would be unable to make oath. In the near finish, they would leave. Once they had departed, Dodge could again go forward on its liberty-loving way. Those are my notions, gentlemen; and above all I urge that nothing like violence be indulged in. Let our visitors enter and depart in peace. Do not put it within their power to say that Dodge was not a haven of peace. You must remember that not alone your liberty but your credit is at stake, and play a quiet hand according.”

While Mr. Wright and that conservative contingent which he represented approved the counsel of Mr. Masterson, there were others who condemned it. At the head of these latter was the turbulent Bear Creek Johnson. After the meeting had adjourned, that riot-urging individual branded the words of Mr. Masterson as pusillanimous. For himself, the least that Bear Creek would consent to was the roping up of the visitors the moment they appeared. They were to be dragged at the hocks of a brace of cow-ponies until such time as they renounced their iniquitous mission, and promised respect to Dodge’s appetites and needs.

“As for that Masterson party,” said the bitter Bear Creek, who being five drinks ahead was pot-valiant, “what’s he got to do with the play? He got cold feet an’ quit ten months ago. Now he allows he’ll come buttin’ in an’ tell people what kyards to draw, an’ how to fill an’ bet their hands. Some gent ought to wallop a gun over his head. An’ if some gent don’t, I sort o’ nacherally reckon I’ll about do the trick myse’f.”

Since Bear Creek Johnson reserved these views for souls who were in sympathy therewith, meanwhile concealing the same from such as Mr. Masterson and Mr. Wright, there arose no one to contradict him. Made bold by silent acquiescence, and exalted of further drinks, Bear Creek drew about him an outcast coterie in the rear room of Mr. Webster’s Alamo. It was there, with Bear Creek to take the lead, they laid their heads together for the day to come.

There be men on earth who are ever ready for trouble that, specifically, isn’t trouble of their own. They delight in dancing when others pay the fiddler. Numbers of such gathered with the radical Bear Creek; and being gathered, he and they pooled their wicked wits in devising fardels for those expected enemies.

When, next day, our executives of prohibition came into Dodge, they were amazed, while scarcely gratified, to find every rum shop locked up fast and tight. The Dance Hall, the Alhambra, the Long Branch and the Alamo, acting on the hint of Mr. Masterson, had closed their doors, and not a drink of whiskey, not even for rattlesnake-bite, could have been bought from one end of the street to the other. Not that this paucity of rum-selling seemed to bear heavily upon the community. There were never so many gentlemen of Dodge whom one might describe as wholly and successfully drunk. The boardwalks were thronged with their staggering ranks, as the visitors made a tour of the place.