Savage

by Richard Laymon

  McSween took the lead, and we headed for the strangers. When we got within hailing distance, he waved his arm and called out, “Howdy, boys!”

  One nodded. The other touched a finger to the brim of his hat. They were riding side by side, going slow as if they weren’t in any rush to get somewhere. From the looks on their faces, they were neither glad to meet us nor unhappy about it. They didn’t rightly have expressions, at all. They just watched us approach.

  The older of the two was a slim fellow with grim eyes and a mustache that was just as black as his outfit. His hat was black, same as his string tie and frock coat, trousers, gunbelt and boots. I didn’t care at all for the looks of him.

  The bloke he rode with wasn’t just younger, but heavier. He looked as if the heat didn’t agree with him. His face was red and sweaty, his shirt collar open, his tie hanging loose. He had a black coat like his friend, but it was tied down behind his saddle.

  I wondered if they might be a pair of preachers or undertakers, dressed in black that way.

  If it’d been up to me, I would’ve passed them by.

  But McSween rode straight toward them. “Hate to be a bother,” he said, “but you boys look like you’ve got a horse to spare.” The last word wasn’t out of his mouth before a Colt was in his hand, cocked and pointed at the skinny fellow.

  Emmet, Chase and Breakenridge all pulled at once. On both sides of me, hammers went snick-clack. Snooker took a while to come out with his Winchester. He worked its lever and shouldered it.

  Both the strangers hoisted their arms.

  “Climb on down,” McSween said.

  They dismounted and stood beside their horses. Each had one hand in the air, the other holding reins.

  “Willy, get on over here.”

  I slid off the back of Emmet’s horse and walked toward the two fellows. The way they glowered at me, I rather shriveled up inside. But then their eyes turned to McSween as he swung to the ground. He stepped in front of them, one at a time, and took their pistols. They never said a word to him. The fat one, his chin was trembling. The mean one looked like he wanted to bite McSween.

  After collecting their sidearms, McSween fetched their rifles out of the saddle scabbards. He handed one of the Winchesters to me, then toted the other weapons over to a thicket of prickly bush and tossed them in among the nettles.

  Coming back, he said, “Let’s have your boots off, friends.”

  They sat on the ground and tugged their boots off.

  “Try ‘em on, there, Willy.”

  “I’d rather not, actually.”

  “Go on, now. You need a pair what fits, don’t you?”

  Well, this didn’t seem a good time to argue the matter, so I gathered the boots. I sat down with my back to the fellows so I wouldn’t have to look at them, then pulled off the boots I’d taken from the conductor. I tried on the new ones. The first set felt too tight, the second too loose. The loose boots belonged to the fat chap. They felt a sight better than what I’d been wearing, but I had no wish to keep them on. They were hot and juicy inside so I felt like my feet were sliding about in swamp slime.

  So I yanked them off and shook my head. “They’re altogether too large,” I said, and got into my old familiar boots.

  “Well, that’s a shame,” McSween said.

  I carried the boots back to their owners and dropped them.

  “Too bad, friends,” McSween told them. “You lost out on a sale.”

  “A sale?” the fat guy asked.

  “Why, we ain’t here to rob you. Nosirree. Willy here, he’ll pay you fair and square for what he needs.” After saying that, McSween checked the horses over pretty good. He looked inside their mouths, ran his hands down their legs, studied their hoofs, and such. Then he came around front and said to the thin fellow, “He’ll give you eighty dollars for your mount, friend. Throw in an extra ten for the tack, and ten for the Winchester. Willy, you owe the man a hundred dollars.”

  I wasn’t eager to do it, but figured I hadn’t much choice. So I counted out my money. I stepped closer to the man, who was still on the ground with his legs stretched out. He just glared up at me. I tossed the money at his feet.

  “You take my horse, boy, and I’ll kill you sure.”

  A chill started to rush through my bones, but then I flinched as a couple of gunshots bashed the silence. The slugs missed him. They kicked dust onto the legs of his black trousers.

  “You best watch your tongue, mister,” Emmet said. I looked up at him in time to see smoke drifting away from the muzzles of his Colts.

  McSween drew his own pistol. Crouching, he aimed it at the fellow’s face and thumbed back the hammer. “You wanta take back them words?”

  “Take ‘em back, Prue,” the fatty blurted. “They’ll shoot us both sure.”

  “It’s my horse.”

  “No call to threaten a boy’s life,” McSween told him. “He’s my buddy. You look like the sort to follow through on a thing like that, so I reckon you either repent your words or die right here.”

  “Prue! Good God, man!”

  Prue, he looked fit to bust. Not scared at all, but just in a rage, all red in the face, his breath hissing through his gritted teeth.

  “What’s it gonna be?”

  Prue took to nodding.

  “What’s that?”

  “I take it back.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I won’t kill him.”

  “I don’t reckon I believe you. Goes against my grain, though, to shoot a man down in cold blood. So I’ll tell you this. Listen good. We ain’t taking nothing we ain’t paid for. We’re leaving you a horse and your weapons. No law says we gotta, but it wouldn’t be right to do otherwise. You keep that in mind. We treated you fair and square. Now, if you or your pal take it into your heads to come after us, know this. Next time I catch sight of either one of you, I’ll figure you come to make good on your threat to the lad. Lead’ll fly. It’s that simple.”

  After having his say, McSween unsquatted and holstered his gun. He led the horse forward between the two men. While I held the reins, he unloaded the bedroll, saddlebags and such so we wouldn’t be taking anything we hadn’t paid for.

  Then I mounted up and slid my new Winchester into its scabbard.

  I was awful shaken by the whole affair, but it did feel good to be sitting up high in the saddle of my own horse.

  We rode off at a trot. I wanted to dig my heels in and light out fast, but the others just weren’t in that much of a rush. Except for me, Snooker was the only one who even looked back to keep an eye on those fellows.

  They were watching us. Not even heading for the bush to retrieve their guns.

  Well, I reckon they were too smart for such a play.

  If they’d fired just a single shot, I’ve no doubt at all but what McSween would’ve wheeled around and led the gang in a charge.

  The pair was still in sight when we slowed our horses to a walk. Me and Snooker were at the rear. I rode over closer to him and said, “Do you reckon they’ll be coming after us?”

  “Never can tell. I’d rest a sight easier if McSween’d shot ’em. Now we’re gonna have to watch our backsides.”

  “They don’t seem at all worried, do they?” I asked, nodding toward the others.

  “Them rascals is nothing we can’t handle. Just gotta watch they don’t take and bushwack us. If they do that, though, they’ll wind up dead. We ain’t a bunch of gals, you know.”

  “I rather suppose you’ve dealt with worse rascals,” I said.

  He gave me a weasely grin full of sharp, yellow teeth. “None that’s still above ground.”

  “Who’s the best of the lot?”

  Patting the stock of his rife, he said, “Why, I reckon I could knock the left eye out of a gnat at a hundred yards in a sandstorm. Chase and Emmet, they’re mighty sharp with their six-guns, though they can’t hold a candle to McSween. You take Breakenridge, now, he’s having a lucky day when he can hit the air. But I o
nce seen him get shot twice by a card-sharp, then lay one punch that turned the bastard’s head clean around backward. They never bothered to untwist him, either. Saw him in his casket.”

  “Which side up?” I asked.

  Snooker laughed. “Face and ass!”

  “You’re having me on.”

  “It’s the plain truth, just ask Breakenridge.”

  I thought I might pass on that, as Breakenridge wasn’t one for talking much and generally seemed rather solemn. “Is that how he came to be on the wrong side of the law?”

  “Oh, he got himself acquitted on that one. A fair fight, you know. The way I hear it, he was just a kid in Missouri when he laid an ax into his schoolmaster on account of the fellow called him a name. Went home to fetch it, first. Then came along with it and chopped him up right there in front of everyone.”

  “I say,” said I. “What did the schoolmaster call him, do you know?”

  “Called him Meriwether.”

  “But that’s his name, isn’t it?”

  “He don’t care to be reminded of the fact.”

  “I heard McSween call him that.”

  “Well, I reckon McSween can call him anything he likes.”

  “They’re great chums, is it?”

  “Not hardly. They only just tolerate each other. But Breakenridge, he knows you don’t fool with McSween.”

  “That dangerous, is he?”

  “Only if you rile him.”

  “He seems quite friendly, really.”

  “Oh, he’s as sweet as pie, mostly.”

  “Is he the leader of the gang? I’d rather assumed it was Chase, but…”

  “Chase pretty much runs things. But he don’t run McSween. It’d been up to Chase, I reckon we would’ve let them fellers alone, back there, and you’d still be riding double. Looks to me like McSween took a notion you oughta have a horse of your own, that’s all. He thinks highly of you, Willy.”

  Well, it didn’t come as a surprise to hear that, but it made me feel mighty good.

  “With a friend the likes of him, you ain’t got much to worry about. He’ll look after you and see no harm comes your way.”

  Later on in the day, McSween broke off from the rest of us and rode to the top of a hill. Up there, he raised a pair of field glasses to his face. He studied the direction we’d come from.

  I met up with him at the bottom. “Are they after us?” I asked.

  “Didn’t see no sign of ‘em. I spect they knew better, though I wouldn’t trust that one feller no more than a rattlesnake.”

  “What if they should come?”

  “Be some gunplay.”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t have taken the man’s horse.”

  “He acting up on you?”

  “Not at all. He’s quite fine, really.” I patted the horse’s neck, and he glanced back at me and nodded like he appreciated the kindness. “I just don’t want any troubles to come of it.”

  “Don’t worry yourself about that, Willy.”

  The rest of the boys had started moving again. We rode along behind. McSween didn’t seem in any hurry to catch up with them.

  “Got a name for him?” he asked.

  “I should imagine he already has a name.”

  “Has he whispered it to you?”

  I laughed.

  McSween rolled a smoke. He lit it up, then handed his makings across to me. I’d had some practice since my first go at it, back when we’d divvied up the loot. So I made myself a smoke that wasn’t too crooked or leaky. I lit up, and passed the makings back to him.

  “You oughta give him a name,” he said.

  “He doesn’t feel as if he’s actually my horse.”

  “Why, sure he is. You paid for him fair and square. All you’re missing’s a bill of sale. Fraid I didn’t think of that. If it’d make you feel better, I’ll do you one up myself when we make camp. We’ll let on like I sold him to you. Not that anyone’s likely to raise a fuss about it.”

  “Other than the owner, do you mean?”

  “You heard what I told him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I don’t say such things but what I mean ‘em.”

  “So you’ll actually shoot him if you ever see him again?”

  “That’s the long and short of it, Willy.”

  “What if he sees you first?”

  “You sure do worry your head over things.”

  “I shouldn’t like to see you get shot.”

  “Many a man has tried.” He flicked his smoke away and pulled off his hat. While he held that in one hand, he stroked his mustache with the other. Then he gave his long hair a few flings with his fingers. “You see all this-here silver?”

  Both his mustache and his hair were mostly black, but streaked with plenty of shiny strands.

  “Know what it is, Willy?”

  “Gray hair, is it?”

  “Silver. Precious silver. It’s the pay you get for staying alive. The longer you go without getting perforated by various rapscallions and Indians—or scalped—the more you collect. All you gotta do is take a gander at a man’s head, and you can get yourself a fair estimate of his worth. You see much silver up there, you know he ain’t easy to kill.” He flapped his hat back down onto his head. “What I’m getting at, you shouldn’t be spoiling your good times fretting about me. What’re you gonna call your horse?”

  I gave it some thought. “Perhaps I ought to name him Meriwether.”

  When I said that, McSween laughed harder than I’d ever seen him do before. He didn’t take on like Emmet over my reloading, gasping and weeping, but he sure did laugh up a storm. After he’d settled down some, he said, “That’s purely rich, Willy. Don’t you do it, though. That old boy’s a mite touchy about his name.”

  “How does General sound?”

  “After Matthew Forrest? I reckon he’d be right proud.”

  “General it is, then. Howdy, General,” I said. The horse bobbed his head up and down as if he liked the new name.

  Once I’d named him, he did seem to be more mine. I suddenly felt fonder of him just because of it. I knew I’d actually stolen him, no matter what sort of light McSween wanted to put on the doings. But I told myself that General was better off with me. Just by looking at the previous owner, you could see he had a mean streak. I had no doubt but what he’d mistreated General whenever he got the chance. So I pretty much stopped feeling bad about stealing him, though I never got past worrying that the fellow might come after us.

  By and by, it came to me that I was all set up, now, to travel on my own. I had myself a horse, a rifle, two pistols, a bit of money. No reason, really, not to bid the gang farewell and head for Tombstone to seek out Sarah and Whittle.

  I just wasn’t eager, though, to take that step. Partly, I reckon, it was for fear I might run afoul of the pair we’d robbed. I didn’t hanker to be alone if that should happen. Thing is, I didn’t hanker to be alone at all.

  So I figured to ride along with the boys, at least till after we got to Bailey’s Corner.

  For the next few days, we kept an eye on the territory to our rear. Nobody appeared to be following, though.

  Each evening, after finding a place to camp, Emmet and I wandered off for shooting practice. He gave me some rawhide to tie down my holster, and that helped considerable. I got quicker on the draw, and my aim improved.

  A couple of times, I asked McSween to come along with us. He never did, though, until the final evening before we rode into Bailey’s Corner.

  “You’ve come along real good,” he said after watching me pull and fire. “That feller Whittle, he’s gonna rue the day he crossed your trail.”

  “If I’m ever able to find him, perhaps.”

  “I’ve got half a mind to join you for the hunt,” he said.

  “Do you?”

  Emmet gave McSween a look as if he figured the chap had gone daft.

  “Yup. Half a mind.”

  “That would be smashing!”


  “Fact is, I used to be a fair hand at tracking redskins. Might be I could help you run down this Whittle and put him to rest.”

  “Why on earth you wanta do such a thing?” Emmet said.

  “Not much sport in robbing trains.”

  “It’s what we do.”

  “Seems like maybe I’ve done enough of it for a spell. It’d feel good to take a rest from it and get in on a good chase.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Trouble at Bailey’s Corner

  Nothing more was said about McSween’s notion to help me track down Whittle. I got to worrying, later on that night, about whether he’d meant it or not. After the others had turned in and McSween was standing first watch, I crawled out of my blanket and went looking for him.

  We’d been posting lookouts ever since we took Prue’s horse, as a precaution against ambush. There’d never been any sign of Prue or his friend, but McSween had said we shouldn’t count them out. “It’s when you quit watching for trouble,” he said, “that it most always sneaks up on you.”

  It took me a few minutes to spot him. He stood in a shadow between two high, moonlit boulders off beyond the campsite. He had his back to me.

  I was trying to walk quiet, mostly as it was night and I didn’t care to disturb the stillness. So sudden it shocked me, McSween whirled around and grabbed iron.

  “Don’t shoot!” I whispered. “It’s me!”

  “I know it’s you. If I was fixing to shoot, it’d be done with by now.” He holstered his Colt. “You got a lot to learn, Willy, or you ain’t likely to grow no silver.”

  As I walked closer to him, he said, “Many a feller’s died before his time for no better reason than he walked up behind the wrong man. I knowed a marshal in Tucson shot his best friend dead in just such a manner. Heard him sneaking up, turned and let fly. Put three slugs in his buddy and only just saw who he’d killed by the muzzle flashes.”

  “That’s awful,” I said.

  “Happens plenty. What you wanta do is keep your distance and call out, make sure he knows who you are.”

  “Yes, sir.” After a bit, I asked, “How did you know it was me?”

  “Them tight boots you got on. Your gait’s got a hitch to it cause of how they pinch your toes.”