Ralph Compton Bullet For a Bad Man

by Ralph Compton

  ‘‘That doesn’t make me feel any better,’’ Boone said. ‘‘But I will try to kill you if there is no other way.’’

  ‘‘That is all I ask. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’’

  No sooner were the words out of Sassy’s mouth than the palomino whinnied and shied.

  The next moment a shape swiftly sprang out of the night at them.

  Devil’s Brood

  Sassy started to scream and clamped a hand over her mouth.

  In a twinkling Boone had his Colt out and level. He came within a whisker of firing.

  Then the young buck went bounding past, and with a startled snort it was gone.

  ‘‘I’ll be!’’ Sassy declared.

  ‘‘Just a deer.’’ Boone let out a long breath and slid the Colt into his holster. ‘‘He must have happened by and we spooked him.’’ Deer did most of their foraging at night, making it harder for predators to prey on them.

  ‘‘He sure spooked me,’’ Sassy said, and laughed. ‘‘I thought we were goners.’’

  Boone spread his arms and held her, her face pressed to his shoulder. He breathed deep of her scent.

  ‘‘What now?’’ Sassy asked.

  ‘‘We get you a horse.’’

  ‘‘But the only horses to be had for a hundred miles are those with Old Man Radler.’’

  ‘‘Then that is where we will get it.’’

  Sassy pulled back, her face a mask of anxiety. ‘‘Can’t we wait and get one somewhere else? So what if we have to ride double for a few days?’’

  ‘‘If that face you saw was really an Apache, we stand a better chance if we both have mounts.’’

  Sassy nuzzled his neck with her warm lips and said softly, ‘‘I am a burden, aren’t I?’’

  ‘‘We do what we have to, and right now that means getting you a horse, pronto.’’

  Boone reined back the way they came. Sassy had one arm around his waist and was holding her Spencer between them, her head on his shoulder blade.

  ‘‘It doesn’t seem real at times,’’ she said.

  ‘‘What doesn’t?’’

  ‘‘This. Us. Together.’’ Sassy sighed. ‘‘I dreamed of the day when a man would come along and claim my heart, and now that my dream has come true, I am so happy I could bust.’’

  ‘‘I will do the best I can by you. I want you to know that.’’

  ‘‘I do,’’ Sassy said. ‘‘You’re not no-account like my pa.’’ She sighed again. ‘‘I will miss him but not that much, and less as times goes by.’’

  ‘‘It is a shame I can’t take you to meet my folks. They would like you a whole lot.’’

  ‘‘Why can’t you?’’

  ‘‘I told you about Ranson, about what I did. I imagine my pa is sorry he ever sired me. And Ma must have cried until she did not have tears left to shed.’’

  ‘‘We could stop long enough for you to say your good-byes.’’

  ‘‘And put them through more pain?’’ Boone shook his head. ‘‘No, thanks. I would spare them that.’’

  They lapsed into silence. The dull clomp of the palomino’s hooves were punctuated now and again by the yip of coyotes. Once a mountain lion screeched, far off, the cry so much like a woman’s, it brought goose bumps to Boone’s flesh.

  The North Star made it easy for him to tell direction. He had to watch for boulders and other obstacles and twice reined aside just in time. Every now and then he rose in the stirrups and scoured the sea of dark for a pinpoint of light.

  They had been riding for half an hour when Sassy said in a small voice, ‘‘Boone?’’

  ‘‘I am right here.’’

  ‘‘Thank you.’’

  ‘‘For what?’’

  ‘‘For saving me.’’

  ‘‘Shucks. I did not want Radler to get his hands on you. He claimed to want to protect you, but he is as trustworthy as a rabid wolf.’’

  ‘‘No, not that,’’ Sassy said. ‘‘I want to thank you for saving me from the emptiness. I was so lonely.’’

  ‘‘You had your critters and your woods and your secret place in the cliff,’’ Boone reminded her.

  ‘‘Critters can’t hug like you do, and woods do not make me laugh, and those Indian ruins only made me lonelier. So thank you.’’

  ‘‘I am the one who should do the thanking. I have drifted from the straight and narrow, as my ma calls it, and might have gone completely bad if you had not come along when you did. You brought me out of myself. You reminded me there is more to life than feeling sorry for oneself.’’

  ‘‘We were meant to be. God brought us together at just the right time. Maybe it is him we should thank.’’

  A sound off in the dark caused Boone to draw rein. ‘‘Did you hear that? It was a hoof on rock.’’

  ‘‘Apaches,’’ Sissy whispered, her body tensing against his. ‘‘If they have heard us we are in for it.’’

  The sound was repeated, and multiplied. Horses were coming toward them from several directions. Boone placed his hand on his Colt and was about to jab his spurs when a raspy voice called out.

  ‘‘Lightning? Is that you?’’

  ‘‘Oh God!’’ Sassy whispered. ‘‘Old Man Radler.’’ Skelman’s voice came from their right. ‘‘It is him. He has the girl.’’ Seconds later he materialized at their side. ‘‘We have been looking all over for you.’’

  Old Man Radler, Drub and Wagner converged, the former saying, ‘‘It is good to see you safe, girl. You pulled a damn fool stunt, following us like you did.’’

  ‘‘What the hell happened?’’ Wagner asked Boone. ‘‘Where did you get to?’’

  ‘‘We hollered and hollered,’’ Drub said. ‘‘But you didn’t answer.’’

  ‘‘An Apache got her,’’ Boone lied. ‘‘He was on foot and I chased after him, but Lordy, could he run!’’

  Sassy’s fingers tightened on his arm in a reassuring squeeze.

  Old Man Radler grunted. ‘‘They say an Apache buck can go sixty miles in a day and not tire. I don’t know as they can, but they sure as hell can outlast a white man.’’

  ‘‘They aren’t human,’’ Wagner remarked.

  ‘‘I finally got close to him,’’ Boone said, continuing his lie, ‘‘and he dropped Sassy and ran.’’

  ‘‘They will do that when there is a chance they will take a bullet,’’ Old Man Radler said.

  ‘‘They are yellow,’’ Wagner declared. ‘‘They only attack when they have an advantage.’’

  ‘‘I can see my sons aren’t the only idiots in my gang. That isn’t yellow. That is smart. Apaches are as brave as you or me and maybe more so in your case.’’

  ‘‘Here, now,’’ Wagner said.

  Drub kneed his horse in close to the palomino and reached over to touch Sassy’s shoulder. ‘‘I am glad you are all right. I was scared for you.’’ He looked at Boone coldly.

  ‘‘Is something the matter?’’ Sassy asked.

  ‘‘No,’’ Drub said, but he was a terrible liar.

  ‘‘Enough of this jawing,’’ Old Man Radler said. ‘‘I want to get some sleep tonight and we have a ways to go.’’ He reined about and the rest of them brought their mounts into step on either side.

  Sassy gave Boone another squeeze, then said to the old curmudgeon, ‘‘It was kind of you to come after me. You have always treated me decent and for that I am grateful.’’

  ‘‘Why wouldn’t I?’’ Old Man Radler rejoined. ‘‘I had a wife once. She bore me my two boys and never gave me much cause to complain. Then she went and died on me. Consumption, the doc said. At the last I held her hand for three days straight while she slowly wasted away. It was an awful way to go.’’

  ‘‘Do you ever miss her?’’

  ‘‘If a man asked me that I would shoot him,’’ Old Man Radler said in disgust. ‘‘There are some things a person should not talk about, and losing a wife or a child is one of them.’’

  ‘‘I never saw this side of you.’’
<
br />   ‘‘What side? The side that brought up two sons? We are all of us more than we seem to be. I rustle and I have killed, but that does not make me worthless.’’

  ‘‘May I ask you something?’’

  ‘‘So long as it is not about my wife.’’

  ‘‘Why did you take up horse stealing for a living? Why live on the wrong side of the law when it is less trouble to live on the other side?’’

  ‘‘That is a fair question and I will answer you.’’ Old Man Radler paused. ‘‘When I was Drub’s age I didn’t know any better. I took up with a rough bunch. They made their money the easy way. They stole it or rustled it. That is where I learned the trade and I have stuck with it in part because I do not know how to do anything else and in part because I like it.’’

  ‘‘You like taking stock that doesn’t belong to you?’’

  ‘‘Careful, girl. I am fond of you but I will not be pricked. As for the rustling, it is root hog or die in this world. A man does what he has to or he doesn’t last.’’

  ‘‘You never feel any guilt?’’

  ‘‘Hell. Let me tell you something. Ravens and jays steal eggs and hatchlings from the nests of other birds. Do you think they feel guilt? Rabbits help themselves to the vegetables in a garden. Do they feel guilt? A wolf will leap into a pen, take a lamb in its jaws and leap out again. Does the wolf feel guilt? It is the same with me.’’

  ‘‘You are mixing people and animals.’’

  ‘‘So? It is in their nature and it is in ours. If you ask me, we are nothing more than animals in clothes.’’

  ‘‘It is not in my nature to hurt things,’’ Sassy said.

  ‘‘Oh?’’ Old Man Radler bared his teeth in a grin.

  ‘‘Tell that to your pa. You ran out on him, didn’t you? Left him there all alone with his bottle. If that is not hurt, I don’t know what is.’’

  Wagner laughed.

  ‘‘I left him. I didn’t kill him. And we were talking about rustling. What I did is not anywhere near the same and don’t pretend it is. You are only saying that to annoy me.’’

  ‘‘I am saying that deep down people are more alike than those like you are willing to accept. We are none of us perfect. Yet you make up excuses when you do something that you don’t think is right so you can pretend to be.’’

  Drub said, ‘‘You sure do think good, Pa.’’

  ‘‘Someone in our family has to. Your brother never thinks of anything except himself, and you are lucky if you have a thought a day.’’

  ‘‘Ahhhh, Pa.’’

  That ended the talk for a while. Until Sassy started it up again by clearing her throat and saying, ‘‘I want to ask you something else, Ezekiel.’’

  Old Man Radler rounded on her with a low growl. ‘‘Don’t ever call me that again, girl. Only my wife could.’’

  ‘‘It is just a name.’’

  ‘‘It is my name and it will not be used if I don’t want it used. Go ahead and ask what is on your mind.’’

  ‘‘What are your plans for Boone and me?’’

  ‘‘Who?’’

  Boone felt Sassy stiffen. He looked over his shoulder and smiled to show he was not upset.

  ‘‘Lightning, I mean.’’

  ‘‘That is not what you called him.’’ Old Man Radler focused on Boone. ‘‘Is that your real name?’’

  ‘‘I don’t use it much, just like you don’t use yours.’’

  ‘‘I have heard it somewhere.’’

  ‘‘It is not uncommon,’’ Boone said. ‘‘Maybe you are thinking of Daniel Boone. Everyone has heard of him.’’

  ‘‘I’ve heard it somewhere else, and not all that long ago.’’ Old Man Radler shrugged. ‘‘If it is important it will come to me.’’ He turned back to Sassy. ‘‘My plans for you, you asked? I don’t have any. Once we sell the rest of the horses we will divide up the money. You and Lightning or Boone or whatever you want to call him are free to go where the wind carries you.’’

  ‘‘How long will it be?’’

  Old Man Radler chuckled. ‘‘Don’t worry. It won’t take a month of Sundays. We have one more ranch to visit. Ten days or so to get there, another two or so to collect our money and off you can go.’’

  ‘‘I can’t wait,’’ Sassy said.

  ‘‘That is, if all goes well,’’ Old Man Radler amended.

  Boone decided to take part. ‘‘Why wouldn’t it?’’

  ‘‘The man we have to deal with is one of the worst I have ever come across. I don’t trust him any further than I can throw a buckboard.’’

  ‘‘Worst how?’’

  ‘‘People think I am bad, but I am an angel compared to him. He works in secret, letting folks think he is upright and law-abiding. If they knew the truth they would take the law into their own hands.’’

  ‘‘How is it I have never heard of him?’’

  ‘‘Didn’t I just say he works in secret? You would never know it to look at him that he is wicked to the bone. He practically runs a town called Ranson—’’

  ‘‘Ranson?’’ Boone repeated.

  ‘‘Heard of it, have you? As vicious a nest of sidewinders as you will ever find, and the man I have been telling you about is the top serpent. When we meet with him let me do the talking and don’t turn your back on him or anyone who is with him.’’

  Sassy chuckled. ‘‘Does this demon have a name or should we call him Satan?’’

  ‘‘Poke fun if you want, girl.’’

  ‘‘His name,’’ Boone said when Old Man Radler did not go on. ‘‘I would like to know his name.’’

  ‘‘The worst hombre in all of Arizona Territory goes by the name of Epp Scott.’’

  Claws of the Schemer

  For the third funeral they did not have much to bury. The head was in the coffin, minus the scalp. So was one arm, without the hand, and both legs, with the feet. Some of the chest had to be scooped up with a shovel.

  The scalping pointed the finger of blame at the Apaches, exactly as Epp knew it would. Poor Dan Morgan, he told everyone.

  Only two people came from Tucson, and they were old friends of Morgan’s. The punchers attended, to a man, and Maria was there, dressed in a black dress she now kept at the ranch, along with her family and cousins.

  The parson spoke about how Dan Morgan was now in the hands of the Lord and would be smiling down on them from beyond the pearly gates.

  Epp said a few words, but only because they were expected. About how awful it was that a good man like Dan Morgan had been jumped by stinking red-skins. About how lucky they were that a puncher had noticed buzzards circling out on the range and gone to see why. About how the Circle V now needed a new foreman and he had picked a man named Blin Hanks, and he hoped the hands would treat Hanks with the same respect they had treated Dan Morgan.

  The punchers were puzzled. When cowhands weren’t herding cows, they talked about cows, and everything that had to do with cows. They talked about roundups and what made a good cow horse. They talked about other outfits and the big sugars of those outfits. They talked about cooks, and argued over who was best. They talked about the men who made good foremen and the men who did not.

  The Circle V punchers were puzzled because in all their talk none of them had ever heard of a cowhand or a foreman or anyone connected with cows by the name of Blin Hanks.

  Hanks installed himself in the foreman’s shack. He ate with the men that evening and stood up to say that he was looking forward to working at the Circle V, and how he heard that the hands there were some of the best anywhere. When a puncher asked what other outfits he had worked for, Hanks smiled and said he would tell them all about himself in due time.

  The next day Hanks called all the cowhands together and Epp Scott came from the ranch house to address them. Epp had an announcement to make.

  ‘‘To continue to prosper the Circle V must grow. Before Dan Morgan’s untimely end, he and I had talked about how best to do that. He agreed with me that a good start w
ould be to bring in more cattle. We don’t use nearly enough of our range. I intend to use more. Every square foot will be put to use from here on out.’’

  The punchers looked at one another. To overgraze a range was to risk disaster. But they did not say anything.

  ‘‘More cows means more work for you,’’ Epp continued. ‘‘It also means I will be hiring new hands to help out, and I trust you will make them feel at home at the Circle V.’’

  The punchers assumed it would be a while before the new hands showed up. Normally, an announcement was placed in the Tucson newspaper, and as word spread, men looking for work drifted in. But the very next day two new men were added, and three more the day after. Four more were signed on a bit later, from where the punchers couldn’t guess.

  Right away the Circle V hands noticed a few odd things about the newcomers. They kept to themselves and always worked and ate together. The new foreman did not mind. In fact, when a herd of new cattle was brought in, Hanks put the cows in charge of the new hands.

  Resentment flared. The old hands did not like the special treatment given the new hands. They especially did not like it that some of the new hands put on airs and swaggered around as if they owned the Circle V.

  Then something happened that took their minds off the new punchers and set tongues to wagging about their boss.

  A woman arrived at the Circle V. She came in a buggy early in the afternoon, a pink parasol shielding her from the sun. She wore a dress that was much too tight and showed too much cleavage. Several trunks came with her. To the collective amazement of the punchers, she was promptly installed in the ranch house, in the very bedroom Lillian had slept in.

  Her name was Alice Thorpe and she hailed from New Orleans. That much Maria the cook learned, and passed on the information. How and where Epp Scott met Alice Thorpe was a mystery until Maria overheard Alice say to Epp that she had her doubts about giving up the excitement Ranson offered for the boredom of ranch life.

  The discontent grew when Blin Hanks did not do as much work as the punchers felt he should. Hanks certainly did far less than Dan Morgan. He seldom ate with them and seemed to take it for granted that they knew what to do and would do it without bothering him. Hanks spent a lot of time at the ranch house.