Ralph Compton Bullet For a Bad Man

by Ralph Compton

  ‘‘By then it might be too late.’’

  Sassy kneed her horse next to his. ‘‘You gnaw on a thing like a pup gnaws on a bone. I will stay close until Old Man Radler makes camp for the night. Then you can slip away and join me and we will go off and be together for as long as we draw breath, so help us God.’’ She giggled.

  ‘‘I do not find it funny.’’

  ‘‘Are you going to be this way the rest of our lives? Because if you are, I should go back to Pa. I do not want a man who is grumpy as he is. I do not want a fretter.’’

  ‘‘I can’t help it. Not after w—’’

  Sassy held a hand up. ‘‘Stop right there. That was special and we will not talk about our special times, ever. Talking about them spoils them.’’

  ‘‘How in God’s name—?’’

  ‘‘Stop right there, again. If I am to stop cussing like you want me to, then you can’t take the Lord’s name in vain. I may not amount to much, but that is one thing I have never done and I am proud of it.’’

  Boone stared at her.

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘There is more to you and me than I reckoned. I know so little about you and you know so little about me.’’

  ‘‘Have you changed your mind?’’ Sassy asked, her voice quavering slightly. ‘‘It all happened sort of sudden, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you have come to your senses.’’

  ‘‘Hush,’’ Boone said.

  Sassy’s horse stamped and she appeared ready to kick, herself. ‘‘This is a fine note. You said you are not bossy. You said I am free to think what I want and say what I want.’’

  ‘‘You are. But I am not ten years old. I do not change my mind with the changing of the wind. We have pledged to stick by each other, so stick I will until you pry me loose and throw me away.’’

  Sassy smiled sweetly. ‘‘That was downright poetical.’’

  Boone opened his mouth to say more, but someone snickered behind him. Whirling, he stabbed at his Colt.

  ‘‘It is only me, senor.’’ Galeno snickered again. He had come unnoticed around the bend and his hands were empty of anything save reins. ‘‘I do not mean you or the senorita any harm.’’

  ‘‘How much did you hear?’’

  ‘‘Enough to know you have snuck her away from her father. Ben Drecker will want you dead, and Old Man Radler will not be happy either.’’ Galeno laughed and slapped his thigh. ‘‘I admire your grit, senor. You spit in the face of death.’’

  ‘‘Are you fixing to tell Radler?’’

  ‘‘Why should I?’’ Galeno retorted. ‘‘That would make you mad, and I would rather have him mad at me than you. I have seen you draw, remember?’’

  ‘‘Then what?’’ Boone said.

  ‘‘I will keep my mouth shut and you two can carry on.’’ Galeno’s expression became crafty. ‘‘But it would help to still my tongue if you were to give me, say, a hundred dollars out of your cut after we divide up the money.’’

  ‘‘I could shoot you and not have to pay you a cent.’’

  ‘‘True, senor. But how would you explain it to Old Man Radler? That I was mad and tried to shoot you? But what would I be mad about? No excuse you make will be believed. He knows me too well.’’

  Sassy offered her opinion. ‘‘I say give him the hundred dollars. It is not much to pay for our happiness.’’

  ‘‘Listen to the senorita, senor,’’ Galeno coaxed. ‘‘A hundred dollars is—how do you gringos say it?—a pittance. It is nothing. Your cut will be much more. Do we have an agreement?’’

  ‘‘I think it is a mistake.’’

  ‘‘Please,’’ Sassy coaxed.

  ‘‘Yes. Please,’’ Galeno said. ‘‘What do I care if you two want to be together? There is no reason for me to tell Radler if I do not want to.’’

  ‘‘A hundred dollars,’’ Boone said. ‘‘And you are not to mention what you saw or heard to a living soul.’’

  ‘‘You have my word, senor.’’ Galeno wheeled his pinto.

  Boone lowered his voice so Galeno couldn’t hear. ‘‘I don’t trust him, but I reckon we have no choice. Stay close. I will sneak away first chance I get and we will light a shuck.’’

  Galeno was waiting at the bend. ‘‘I suspected you were up to something, senor, when you came back from your walk yesterday. You could not stop smiling, and you are not a man who smiles much.’’

  ‘‘Does anyone else suspect?’’

  ‘‘No one has said anything to me.’’

  They used their spurs and soon came on two of the stolen horses. The animals had stopped and the herd had gone on without them. Boone and Galeno reined to either side and drove the pair on. They had not gone far when Vance Radler appeared.

  ‘‘Where the hell have you two been?’’

  ‘‘I don’t like your tone,’’ Boone said.

  ‘‘And my pa won’t like that you two dropped back. You are supposed to be riding drag.’’

  ‘‘We dropped back after these two.’’ Boone nodded at a pair of horses. ‘‘Or would your pa rather we let them run off?’’

  ‘‘It took both of you to catch them? What do you use for brains? Didn’t my pa make it clear that one of us must be on drag at all times?’’

  Galeno acted sheepish. ‘‘We made a mistake, for which I apologize. We would be grateful if you keep this to yourself. And we promise it will not happen again.’’

  ‘‘It better not.’’ Vance gazed past them. ‘‘Have you seen any sign of Apaches?’’

  ‘‘No, senor,’’ Galeno said. ‘‘But you know how Apaches are when they do not want to be found.’’

  Vance grunted and turned his mount. ‘‘Remember. One of you always stays on drag no matter what.’’

  ‘‘Damn,’’ Boone said.

  ‘‘Your senorita is safe. Vance believed us.’’

  ‘‘But if he tells his pa—’’

  ‘‘What if he does? We caught the two horses. They are all Old Man Radler will care about.’’

  Boone rode uneasily on. About two in the afternoon Drub trotted back to spell him, but Boone said he was fine.

  ‘‘You can spell me,’’ Galeno said. ‘‘I have eaten enough dust for one day.’’ He touched his sombrero.

  ‘‘It is you and me now, Lightning.’’ Drub beamed. ‘‘What would you like to talk about to help pass the time?’’

  Boone did not answer right away. When he did, he chose his words with care. ‘‘Do you like this kind of life, Drub?’’

  ‘‘Like it how? I don’t much care for the heat. Cold is better, but Arizona is short on cold unless you go up in the mountains and play in the snow.’’

  ‘‘Do you like stealing horses and cattle and being wanted by the law?’’

  ‘‘It is all I have ever done.’’

  ‘‘But do you want to do it?’’

  Drub rubbed his chin. ‘‘No one has ever asked me that before. Pa decides what I want to do, not me.’’

  ‘‘If it were yours to choose,’’ Boone persisted, ‘‘would you go on rustling or start a new life?’’

  ‘‘You mean be on my own? Without Pa? Without Vance? Just me and only me?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  Drub squirmed on his saddle. ‘‘Would you go along, pard? I wouldn’t want to go alone. It would scare me to be on my own.’’

  ‘‘A big man like you?’’

  ‘‘Sure, I am big. Bigger than most and stronger than most. But I’m not very smart.’’

  ‘‘You are smart enough,’’ Boone said.

  ‘‘That is kind but it is not true. And not just because my pa has always told me how dumb I am. I know I’m not smart. I know it by how I think and how I talk. I am slow as a turtle and other people are rabbits.’’

  ‘‘Don’t be so hard on yourself.’’

  ‘‘It is not being hard. It is seeing things as they are. You wouldn’t want me to lie to myself, would you?’’

  ‘‘No, Drub, a man should never li
e.’’

  ‘‘I would start a new life if we started it together. You and me and no one else? We could go to California. Pa keeps saying it is awful nice out there. There is an ocean and everything. I am not much at swimming, but I think it would be fun.’’ Drub was growing excited. ‘‘What do you say? You and me, pard?’’

  ‘‘Drub, listen. I would—’’

  ‘‘We can cut our fingers and mix our blood and be blood brothers. How does that sound? That way you will be my brother and not Vance.’’ Drub chortled. ‘‘It would serve him right. He doesn’t deserve a brother, as mean as he is.’’

  ‘‘Drub,’’ Boone said again. ‘‘I would like nothing better than to go to California with you. But I can’t.’’

  ‘‘Why not?’’ Drub was upset and didn’t hide it. ‘‘Was all that talk about being my pard just talk?’’

  ‘‘You are my pard. But things are complicated. I have plans. Plans that involve someone else.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’

  ‘‘Don’t look like that. You can come with us. We will all go to California. Once we get there you can srike off on your own and live your life as you see fit and not as your pa makes you live it.’’

  ‘‘No, thanks,’’ Drub said.

  ‘‘Don’t be so contrary. I wouldn’t ask you to come if I didn’t want you along.’’

  ‘‘So you say. But you are just like all the rest. You pretend to be nice but deep down you aren’t really my friend. You only say that so I will be nice to you.’’

  ‘‘You are mistaken.’’

  ‘‘And here I was so happy. I thought I had a real friend at last. But you want nothing to do with me.’’

  ‘‘Damn it, Drub. That is not what I said. You are putting words in my mouth.’’

  ‘‘We are not pards anymore.’’ Drub jabbed his spurs and broke into a gallop, leaving swirls of dust in his wake.

  Boone called to him, but Drub did not answer or stop and presently Boone was alone. He almost reined around then and there. Instead, he said to himself, ‘‘Night will be better. We will be far away before they realize I am gone.’’ He patted the palomino. ‘‘Between you and me, I hope I didn’t just make the worst mistake of my life.’’

  Accident Prone

  The first time was an hour after dawn.

  Dan Morgan ate breakfast with the punchers. Most continued to be glum over the deaths of Ned and Lillian, and Dan did what he could to lift their spirits. He talked about how well the ranch was doing. The cattle were fattening nicely and the next bunch they sent to market promised to bring in more money than ever. He talked about how although it was hot, as every summer in Arizona was hot, they weren’t suffering from drought, and for that they should give thanks. Dan had lived through two droughts and he hoped to God he never had to live through another.

  Dan talked about Boone Scott. The punchers all liked the boy. His disappearance had affected them as deeply as the deaths. Dan mentioned that they still might hear from him, and that maybe, just maybe, Boone would get homesick and drift back to the Circle V.

  It was at that point that a puncher called One Thumb Todd spoke up and said how he hoped Dan was right and Boone came back and put an end to the jinx the Circle V was under.

  That got Dan good and mad. He cussed One Thumb and said that all of Todd’s brains had been in the thumb Todd lost when a bull tromped on it and smashed it to pulp. Dan reminded them that a jinx was nothing but superstition. Jinxes did not exist. He had warned them a while back that the next man to mention a jinx would be fired.

  At that, One Thumb Todd blanched and said how sorry he was.

  Dan forgave him, but he was not in the best of moods as he walked to the stable to saddle his horse. His habit of late had been to spend a couple of hours out on the range right after breakfast. It showed the men he was devoted to his job and to the Circle V. That he was not one of those foremen who sat around doing next to nothing while everyone else did the work.

  The stable doors hung open, but that just meant the stable hand had been in to feed the horses and sweep out their stalls. Dan moved down the center aisle to the stall that held his favorite horse, a dun as easy on the backside as an easy chair. He gave it a pat and was turning toward the tack room when something struck him on the shoulder so hard he was sent staggering and nearly fell.

  There was a tremendous thud.

  ‘‘What the hell!’’ Dan recovered and stared at the bale of hay that had missed his head by a few inches. Then he jerked his head toward the hay loft above and dropped his hand to his revolver. ‘‘Who’s up there?’’

  No one answered.

  Dan stepped to the ladder. His shoulder was throbbing and it throbbed worse as he climbed, but it wasn’t broken as near as he could tell. He reached the loft and peered over and for the second time said, ‘‘What the hell?’’

  Dozens of bales were neatly stacked, as always, but otherwise the loft was empty.

  Dan climbed all the way. Drawing his Colt, he went the entire lengh of the loft, searching among the bales, but did not find a soul. Perplexed, he went back to the ladder. As he was standing there trying to make sense of how the bale fell on him, he noticed that the hay loft door was open. He went over. The rope to the winch was down. Ordinarily, it was kept coiled on the loft until the winch was put into use.

  Dan poked his head out. Several punchers were moving about, and over at the ranch house a servant was hanging out newly washed clothes. He saw no one who should not be there. He saw no one slinking from the stable.

  ‘‘Damn it,’’ Dan said. He pulled up the rope, closed the loft door and descended. His shoulder stayed sore, but it didn’t pain him when he moved his arm. Soon he had the dun saddled, and rode out of the stable.

  The glare of the morning sun caused Dan to squint. He trotted to the south, still mulling the problem of the bale. Once he was clear of the buildings and on the open range, he slowed to a walk.

  For over an hour Dan checked on cattle and talked to the hands he ran into. One puncher mentioned how he had liked Dan’s talk at breakfast, and he agreed with Dan that the jinx business was so much nonsense.

  Dan was happy to hear it. They parted company, and Dan drifted in the general direction of the ranch buildings. He passed a knot of cattle and had just brought the dun to a gallop when the world was yanked out from under him.

  It happened without warning. One moment Dan was tall in the saddle, riding hard. The next, he and his saddle were pitched headlong to the hard earth. He threw up his arms and managed to hit on his shoulder and roll. But it was the same shoulder the bale fell on, and when he sat up he could barely move his arm.

  Next to him lay his saddle and saddle blanket. Dumbfounded, Dan pushed to his knees and rolled the saddle onto its side. The cinch was busted. It had not come undone; it was split clean through. The edges were frayed, as they should be if it broke and wasn’t cut.

  Even so, Dan bent lower. He ran a finger over the break. It was hard to tell, but he was willing to swear that someone had cut the cinch just enough to ensure that it would come apart on him when he rode hard.

  ‘‘First the bale. Now this.’’ Dan stood and brushed at his clothes. Thankfully his hat had stayed on and his Colt was still in his holster.

  The dun came back to see what was going on. Dan patted it, then shucked his rifle from the saddle scabbard, transferred his saddlebags to the dun and climbed on bareback.

  The first puncher Dan came on, he sent the man to fetch his saddle and blanket. He also instructed him not to say anything. Word of the busted cinch would only fuel the jinx talk.

  Dan glowered as he neared the buildings. He did not reply to a hail from a cowboy and he did not return a wave from the blacksmith. Instead of going to the stable, he rode to the house and dismounted with the sharp movements of a man close to losing his temper. He climbed the steps and knocked on the front door.

  A servant answered. Dan was admitted and waited with his hat in hand. It was several minutes be
fore Epp Scott came down the hall.

  ‘‘Dan. Good to see you again. What can I do for you?’’

  ‘‘You can stop trying to kill me.’’

  Epp stopped and glanced behind him as if to make sure none of the servants had heard. Putting a hand on Dan’s shoulder, Epp opened the front door and ushered him out on the porch. Only after Epp had closed the door did he say, ‘‘What is this nonsense about killing you?’’

  ‘‘You have tried twice since daybreak. If there is a third time I will come for you with my revolver out.’’

  ‘‘Have you been drinking?’’

  ‘‘Don’t you dare,’’ Dan said. ‘‘I rarely touch liquor and you know it. So does everyone else. Try to spread a rumor that I have turned into a drunk and no one will believe you.’’

  ‘‘Why else would you talk so crazy?’’

  ‘‘The barrens,’’ Dan said.

  ‘‘What about them?’’

  ‘‘I know about Blin Hanks. I know about the stolen cattle.’’ Dan allowed himself a grim smile. ‘‘I went there. Snuck right in and right out and your rustler friends never caught on.’’

  ‘‘I don’t have the slightest idea what you are talking about.’’

  ‘‘Pretend if you want but it will not fool me.’’

  Epp motioned toward the bunkhouse. ‘‘If all this is true, why haven’t you told the men? Why keep it to yourself?’’

  ‘‘Are you complaining? Would you rather I did?’’

  Epp did not reply.

  ‘‘I have not told them yet because it will crush them. On top of all that has happened, to find out you are a rustler will be the last straw. No puncher worth his salt will ride for a brand-blotting outfit. They will pack their war bags and go. Word will spread, and that will be the end of the Circle V.’’

  ‘‘Your devotion to the ranch is a trait I have always admired.’’

  ‘‘Go to hell.’’

  Epp straightened. ‘‘I will overlook that because you are upset. You have jumped to conclusions and accused me falsely, and I forgive that too.’’

  ‘‘Go to hell twice over.’’

  ‘‘Think for a minute. Here I am, the owner of one of the biggest and best spreads in the territory, with plenty of cattle and plenty of money. Why would I jeopardize all that by rustling?’’